Return of Jet Pack Chipmunk

Her name was Babette, and Jet Pack Chipmunk was done with her.

“You’re kicking me out?”

“I need my sleep, baby.”

Babette reached back to slap him, but Jet Pack Chipmunk caught her paw and threw her to the ground. She lay there, crying. “You’re just like them. You’re just like the humans!”

Jet Pack Chipmunk massaged his temples, trying to work the guilt out of his brain. He’d worked with humans, but he never wanted to be associated with them. “Just… just. Stay the night.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. But just for tonight. Us chipmunks gotta stick together. Right, babe?”

When Jet Pack Chipmunk woke up, she was gone. Along with everything else. The only thing left in the tiny loft was some shelves and his jet pack, all of which would probably have made too much noise for her to take. Jet Pack Chipmunk leaned over his nightstand, and put the rest of a bottle of cheap wine to his lips. Where would he go now? Even France had been taken over while he was gone and England was just as safe as Germany now. Was there any place free of war, violence, poverty, or deceit? Europe was a Hellhole and Jet Pack Chipmunk couldn’t help but feel like he could have done more.

He threw the empty wine bottle against the wall. It didn’t even shatter. He was tiny and weak. These fragile paws couldn’t do anything anymore. But they used to. He used to soar through the air like an eagle and gnaw out the eyeballs of discontent. “A chipmunk never runs with his tail between his legs,” he used to say, “mostly because his tail isn’t long enough!” What happened to him? Where did all that youth and cheek go?

Jet Pack Chipmunk looked at his jet pack, dusty from the months of disuse. He strapped it on his back, feeling the weight of it again. He braced his knees as if he could take off again, to feel that heat and weightlessness and the freedom of it all. But there wasn’t any jet fuel left, and there hadn’t been for some time. Jet Pack Chipmunk slumped to the ground, rubbing his paws over his eyes. There was a German military base close by, but it would be suicide to try to siphon fuel from the Blitzkrieg. Jet Pack Chipmunk finished rubbing his eyes and looked around the stripped room. He reached back and felt the cool steel of the jet pack. There wasn’t anything left for him here. The way Jet Pack Chipmunk saw it, there was only one choice from here on out.

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Filed under Flash Fiction, Session XXII

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