Croc King

Written for Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction
Challenge #355 using the photo below as our
inspiration. Here’s where the photo took me.

Dean had survived three years in the Everglades. Three years of heat, mosquitoes, and knowing which logs had teeth. He’d learned to read the water, to spot the telltale ripples, the lurking eyes.

So when he saw the massive crocodile hauled up on the bank, he froze. Twelve feet if it was an inch, armored like a prehistoric tank, jaws that could snap a man in half.

The croc’s eyes swiveled. Not toward Dean, but inward, crossing themselves in apparent concentration. Its snout twitched. A tiny piece of a leaf clung stubbornly to the tip, dancing in the breeze.

The great predator went still. Then its eyes crossed harder, focusing on the offending vegetation with the intensity of a philosopher pondering existence.

Dean watched, mesmerized, as the croc’s dignity slowly unraveled. It huffed. Shook its head. The leaf fluttered but held fast. Another shake, more vigorous. The leaf remained.

The ancient reptile’s tail thrashed once in what Dean could only interpret as frustration.

He should run. Every survival instinct screamed it. Instead, he stood there watching a monster from the age of dinosaurs wage war against a single piece of flora …. and lost the battle to a completely inappropriate laugh he could no longer contain.

The croc’s eyes uncrossed, focused outward. On him.

Dean ran. Fast.

Do not dis the Croc King, Dean.

NAR©2025

This is “Welcome to the Jungle” Guns N’ Roses

Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge #355

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