I have never had a positive experience with a horse. At age five, I was almost trampled by a pair of gigantic work horses. At twelve, an oversized Shetland tried to decapitate me by darting under low-hanging braches. And just last week, I had the most dramatic, near-death experience of my entire life.
I was sitting astraddle a gray mare when she decided to take off unexpectedly. I was thrown to the ground with my left foot entangled in the stirrup. With every beat of her thundering hooves my head banged off the pavement.
I screamed, “Whoa!,” and hollered for help, but she only ran faster. The Grim Reaper laughed and leaned on his scythe. Then, just as I was about to lose consciousness, the store manager came out and unplugged the machine. I swore right then and there, I’d never get on another horse.
This week’s photo prompt is courtesy of my good friend, Douglas MacIlroy. If you haven’t read his masterpiece relating to this picture you need to—I highly recommend it. If you are new to Friday Flash Fictions, the leader of our cavalry squadron is Colonel Do-Write Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this weekly exercise in madness mosey on over to her blog for instructions. After which, scroll down to the blue In links critter and follow the links to other author’s blogs.
It’s time to water the humans.
They’re unsightly creatures with only two legs and no hooves or tail. In fact, their appearance is so hideous that I’m forced to cover my eyes when dealing with them.
We keep them behind a fence for their own protection. When allowed to run free, they often throw large leather appliances on our backs, strap them to our mid-sections, and insist we carry them around as if they were royalty.
For the most part, they’re more trouble than they’re worth. But occasionally they show up with some oats or an apple.
I appreciate that.
Horror, Psychological Thrillers, Flash Fiction, and Poetry
Stories From Within
Finding ways to make words sparkle
This is the blog of a woman who is seriously on the edge and I mean right ON the edge…no, not there… just a little bit further… further than that…no, further still…just a tiny bit more… just move slightly to the right a little…no, that’s too much…just move a tad to the left…that’s right, just there…now you’ve moved too far to the left… Damn, what part of the ‘on the edge’ do you not understand? Oh, and her matricidal boy genius, come devil spawn.
Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.
Confessions of a Delusional Maniac
I may make you feel, but I can't make you think.
All the Blogging That's Fit To Print
AS I TOLD THE GIRL THAT I LOST MY VIRGINITY TO, THANKS FOR LAUGHING AT ME HERE TODAY.
I don't write, I touch without touching.
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Stylistically Abusing Language for the Betterment of Mankind
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And the worst things. And all that weird stuff in between.