This punk’s head was ringing. Maybe it was the lump to the back of his noggin that hurt like heck. Maybe it was the ache in his horn that begged release from the cork on its tip. Fellow rolled onto his tiny back. Zip-ties dug into his wrists and ankles. Nostrils flared in his zip-tied muzzle.
‘I can’t breathe,’ panicked Corkhorn the Unicorn.
Corkhorn struggled and flailed like a fish thrown onto a river bank. He bucked around trying to get the thing off. Corkhorn brushed his horn against the bars. In a fit, he pitched himself against the cage bars and slid his horn against it. White fur splattered with dirt.
‘C’mon a little more. Just a bit more,’ Corkhorn mentally begged, his horn clang against the bars, ‘please come off.’
The cork popped off revealing a broken tip that just leaked glittery magic against the floor. Ivory lightning sparkled from his horn and bounced around him in excitement. The resulting electrical field sent waves of inversed luck polarizing the surrounding air.
Corkhorn curled into a ball when the zip-ties blasted off. One zip-tie chucked itself into the nearest grate. The cork rolled across the floor. Other zip-ties ricocheted like stray bullets. Corkhorn reached out to pull in the cork, but the anti-luck aura reached its tendrils out. It canceled the good luck holding the cage door shut and sent the Unicorn inside somersaulting onto his face.
Corkhorn shoved the cork on his horn. The aura faded away. Corkhorn leaped. His hooves caught the sides of the open vent. Down went the cage floor. Corkhorn scrambled into the air duct as quick as his fore-hooves would let him. He shook from fear as his heart thumped so loudly his ears pulsated to the beat.
“I almost died,” whimpered Corkhorn, “Now where am I?”