“It’s a wonder I don’t do more damage. I bunk in the wheel well of an airplane and live on leftover military meals.” Unrepentant, the gremlin had been caught sabotaging a bomber.
The interrogator didn’t know what to think. The gremlin was no more than three feet tall, dressed in rags from a bygone era, and furry enough that the wheel well story was credible. “Whose side are you on?”
“Are there sides?”
“There’s a war on.” The interrogator felt sorry for the stubborn creature. Would he work for the Allies? He looked so miserable. “How about some home cooking?”
Monica's Monday Morning Flash 