WHOSO LIST TO HUNT

Spoiled afternoon greeted the woman in the pinstripe trouser-suit as she strode past the clustering mushroom caps, cradling a black crash helmet under her left arm. Slick white badgers, greasy, lithe creatures with abnormally long back-legs and little horns like shrunken antlers, were fratching and clawing at the mud, burrowing holes into the damp hillside. A ring of limestone sundials crested the summit, home to the chattering of the wingless parrots who nested there, safe in the stone’s cracks; whose upturned beaks announced their sorry state, frail, whilst the grave and lonesome land-turtles called out in
reciprocity.

“Be careful of the Babbling One, Ellen. Watch its wittering mouth, its fidgeting hands. Watch the gibbering flock and shun

I like the intertextual presentation. Words that tell sounds work well here and none of your images are obscure. I'd read this flash for the images you're doing so well.

The personal gear doesn't get past the crash helmet in the first 13. Parts that are doomed to be cut are more of a hook for the story than are the images.

And, yes, this story was specifically requested as a 'rewrite' or prose translation of a poem. So I chose 'The Jabberwocky', translated all the nonsense words as best I could, then tried to update the story somewhat. So, depending on your perspective, this is either a swipe or a reimagining. I'd prefer the latter, obviously, but you may prefer the former.