Archive for August, 2009

Forget the Horse

August 28, 2009

Helen posted this one as a comment!  Advice to anyone else keen to join us, post your story as a comment for moderation and then I can invite you as a contributor – or not!  Such is my scary power.   Which by the way I have wielded to give this a title. 

I stood under the trees like a horse, motionless, patient, waiting for the rainstorm to pass.

Patient?!

It may have looked that way. Inside, I was seething. How can my own sister be too cheap to hire a tent?

Shivering guests in soggy finery huddled together with the band, casually passing around bottles and plates they’d rescued from the picnic, while the photographer captured candid moments of camaraderie.

And all the time my cake – my cake! – was out there in the downpour. Sugar petals drooped, icing leaves fell, swags lost their swagger.

Forget the horse. My kingdom for a marquee.

It’s not a competition but this sets a standard!

August 27, 2009

I’m posting the following on behalf of abf101 who hasn’t worked out how to post yet!  Some of you have already appreciated its wit, having clocked it in the comments.

 I stood under the trees like a horse, motionless, patient, waiting for the rainstorm to pass. I’d never seen trees like a horse before; but at least they were shelter from the windy wetness. What could they be for? The high command had been very cagey. “Just build it,” they said. Ours but to hew and cry – and get skelfs everywhere. Now it’s to get wheels. I ask you! I ask everybody. Silence and the occasional wink, as if somebody has a crafty plan. Ten years’ battling away and we end up with a wooden horse. Very funny, Odysseus!

Waiting

August 26, 2009

Ok – a suitable challenge to take up on a day such as this! Bit rusty, I fear, but here goes:

I stood under the trees like a horse, motionless, patient, waiting for the rainstorm to pass.  But what did it matter if I was soaked? There would be an element of cleansing, surely, if I could offer myself to the deluge – allow the water to course over my hot eyes, to wash away the signs, to plaster my hair to my face and make my appearance at once remarkable and normal.

I was no longer normal. He was dead, and it wasn’t my place to be distraught. But I was, and the rain mocked my tears – and my waiting.

C.M.

Cooking again!

August 25, 2009

Horrified to discover that the frying pan has been cold since February.  My excuse is I’ve been doing a lot of living.  What’s yours?   I was intrigued to see in the Herald of Saturday 23rd Aug that  ‘An Old Woman Cooking Eggs’ by Velazquez was chosen by four famous Scots as their favourite work of art from the National Gallery of Scotland’s collection.   Now there’s an incentive to creative endeavour.

Here is a new challenge.  Write a mini story in 100 words beginning:

‘I stood under the trees like a horse, motionless, patient, waiting for the rainstorm to pass.’