We spent three days riding up and down the beach and frolicking in the surf. We spent the nights making love in the sand and sleeping beneath the stars. At dusk, the horses would trot off, only to return at daybreak. They’d wander up to the property to graze, and Sandra would get them some carrots from the main house.
While she was there she made us breakfast, with Bloody Marys in proper old-fashioned glasses. I dozed until she returned and we ate at the edge of the water. When the horses were sated they returned to our blanket. It was their way of telling us they were ready to play.
When the horses left us on the third nightfall, I noticed Smokey’s limp. I couldn’t bring myself to mention it to Sandra, so I lay her down on the blanket and kissed her. She gave herself to me, her body opening to mine. My hands caressed her even as I slipped inside. But I was tense, and she knew it. She asked why.
“They’ll be home tomorrow,” I said, nodding toward the house. She accepted this, and I kissed her again.
The gunshot woke me in the morning. I was alone. I leapt to my feet and ran until I found them a half-mile down the beach. Sandra stood over him, the old man’s rifle smoking in her hand. Behind her, Beau held his own head low, an equine expression of melancholy.
“Dropped fetlock,” she said, eyes welling up. I cried for Smokey too. I hadn’t cried in years, but I did for Smokey. And for Sandra.
We wasted no time mourning. We led Beau back to our campsite and replaced his saddle. Then we were gone. (288/289)
Behind the Scenes
This week’s Flash Fiction Friday challenge proved a bit more difficult than other recent ones, as while I found the image appealing and evocative, I was at a loss to determine the course of the story until I actually sat down to write on Thursday morning. Once I began writing, however, the story flowed naturally. I like the narrator’s voice, and the pace at which the story progresses.
It was a deliberate choice to withhold the details of why the couple were there. Clearly they are squatting, though that is never explicitly stated. We also never discover how the squatters know the occupants’ schedule, i.e. when they are expected to return. It seems that this story is a small portion of a larger whole; reference to “the old man” – ostensibly one of the home’s occupants – furthers this notion.
In addition to the prompt photo, the requirements imposed by Ram the Sunlover this week include a 289-word limit, which I found difficult to keep from exceeding; and use of the word “…fetlock…” I doubt that I am the only participant who was wholly unfamiliar with the term, which refers to the metacarpophalangeal and metatarsophalangeal joints of horses and similar animals. I assumed that Ram had simply misspelled the name of a well-known kink website.
As someone who’s never ridden a horse, my knowledge of all things equine was lacking, and I had to research the subject extensively. The new knowledge shaped the story as it was being written. For example, originally not only was the couple squatting, but the horses that in the final version came with them were supposed to belong to the absent homeowners. This was changed, as I learned you can’t go on vacation for a week and leave your horses in a stable with a giant salt lick or something.
Deleted Scenes
Despite the 289-word limit, I found myself forced to cut various lines and details that simply wouldn’t fit. Sandra originally had expository dialogue in which she explained that Smokey had suffered a cut which had likely been infected by bacteria in the sea water. Also, while the narrator states that he hadn’t cried in years, he was originally to state that he “hadn’t cried for my wife and son”. This was another bit of character development that was never to be fleshed out. Finally, in reference to the Fetlock/Fetlife similarity, I considered including the following narration: “A year ago, if you mentioned fetlock, I would have said, ‘Isn’t that the website for kinksters?'” The passage was ultimately dropped from the close of the story as it felt too humorous given the traumatic events of the story. Including it anywhere else would have been too jarring.
Soundtrack
A lot of songs readily came to mind, some related specifically to horses and some not. To represent the wild, playful days I like The Horse Song by Iggy Pop, while Catherine Raney’s All the Pretty Little Ponies would nicely fit the passionate nights. And for the end of the story, when our protagonists ride away on the remaining horse, Remember (Walking in the Sand) by the Shangri-Las fits perfectly. That, or Happy Trails, by Roy Rogers and Dale Evans.
Very engaging and evocative, Jack. Nice job – and pretty fuckin funny re “fetlife”.
For another great song check out “Ghost Riders in the Sky” – Marty Robbins.
Ram
As tragic as it was, I liked your ending. Life on the beach, life on the run, is always fleeting, and loss is a huge part of that.
Well written.
OH holy crap Jack did you have to kill the horse?? Yeah I am an animal lover and I would have been a basket case had that happened.. seriously
Oh! So sad, yet enjoyable and intriguing story. I, too, thought there was a misspelling of of the kink website. Then I had to look up the word, “fetlock”. 😀