Far Tamen 's Stories

[Prompt] Shattered

2008-08-29T17:53:14Z

All it took was one word. One word, and everything I knew about myself was shattered, my confidence gone. Just like that, I was everything he had told me I was- stupid, ugly, dirty, poor, racist. The cruelty of his swift attack left me breathless- he came, he conquered, and I broke like my mother’s crystal vase. It was just one word.

Redneck.

All he knew was my name and the color of my skin.

Nice ducky!

2007-11-15T20:22:45Z

The goose came at me, beating its wings and hissing, its pink tongue vibrating. I stumbled back, only to find another of the cursed birds right behind me. I spun around and around, looking for escape, but everywhere I turned, on came another, and another. They were attracted to me like wolves to a fawn with a broken leg- they always were. That was why I’d panicked when Mom said we were moving to a lake house.

There were four of them, raising a ruckus now. Soon, the rest of the flock would hear and come to their aid.

“Nice ducky,” I said shakily. “Nice ducky. My name’s Ben, and I have a family, just like you. I didn’t mean to to upset you- now if you’ll just leave me alone, I’ll be on my way.”

My voice squeaked. The goose nearest me honked and hopped forward, looking as murderous as a migratory bird could. As slowly as if through mud, I bent down, grabbed a stick, swung it upward- and time froze.

“Not again!” I sighed. The geese remained stiff and still as living statues; not even the wind moved.

Haiku challenge: The Lake

2007-11-14T22:29:26Z

Not quite a mirror,
No, more like a sheet of slate-
Steely, clouded gray.

Silent observers,
The trees: shades of fire each,
Whispering, watching.

Flocks of geese, come for
Escape from winter’s cold grasp,
Grace the lake’s surface.

No Choice

2007-11-14T22:05:03Z

A rushing river filled my head. I was only a frail autumn leaf in the rapids of panic… this wasn’t how it should happen. The good guy always won. Why wasn’t I winning?!

I gritted my teeth and glared at the rearview mirror for inspiration. I wasn’t about to let this guy have his way with me. My alter-ego’s face stared out at me levelly, a vein pulsing in his temple. His eyes flashed; I found I couldn’t look away.. All of I sudden that inspiration struck me like a slap in the face.

“You know what to do,” my alter-ego commanded- then vanished. My own frightened face stared back at me, wide-eyed and blotchy.

“What the heck?! What’s going on, girl?! Who were you just talking to?!” My stalker’s anger was terrifying, the gun in his hand a dire threat. I had to act fast, no matter how my whole being screamed out against it.

My alter-ego was the exact opposite of me. I was female, he was male. I was cautious, he was compulsive. I hated killing… he didn’t.

I had no choice.

Blind Fear VII: Karaoke Time

2007-09-20T20:29:45Z

Getting the halter around her head was easy- she was used to it. However, leading her out of the stall and to the corral was just a tad bit harder.

Anything unknown terrified her. Loud noises, strangers, being taken somewhere she’d never been before. Sierra dug in her slender hooves, pulling, pulling against the lead rope, with me pulling, pulling on the halter.

I eventually gave up. I stood and regarded her for a moment; then I nickered like a horse. “Here, girl. Nuttin’ to be ‘fraid of.”

No luck.

Then an idea struck me- it was like the sun had burst through a bank of clouds.

I sang. I sang, and she followed me. I swear, it was just like the Pied Piper.

Once I’d gotten her into the corral (she trotted slowly around the fence, to see how big it was), I slipped back into the stable and took my saddle off the wall. It was time to see if she could be ridden- maybe, just maybe, if I could prove to Dad that she really was a racehorse, then maybe, just maybe, he’d relent.

I should’ve known.

Blind Fear VI: Finally, Some Good Fortune

2007-09-20T20:21:53Z

I woke in the morning to yet another bright, hot, sunny day. Typical weather. I slogged downstairs, still not fully awake, and poured myself some cereal with milk. Dad was already up and out; not surprising in the least.

The spoon was halfway to my mouth when I remembered.

I dropped the spoon with a clatter and burst through the kitchen’s screen door, stopping on the back porch. There was my dad, and there was the horse trailer, waiting to take Sierra away forever.

Only something was wrong with the engine- the upper half of my dad’s body was hidden under the hood of the truck; although that didn’t stop his fine choice of words from reaching my ears.

I looked up at the sky and blessed my own good fortune. Rather, Sierra’s good fortune. My dad had never been good with cars. It’d be a full day before he could get someone out there to fix the trailer.

With a whoop of joy, I ran to the stables to see her… my horse. Sierra.

So Cliche 4

2007-09-20T19:56:56Z

The prince knew his fairy tales, of course. All that he had to do now was gallop gallanty throughout the land, pretending he actually cared, and have every woman in the kingdom try on the stinking shoe. They would flock to him at the sight of him atop his mighty steed, the donkey, his limp, greasy hair thrown out behind him.

Little did he know the ugliest, poorest wench of them all was the one to whom the shoe belonged.

So he was galloping- okay, plodding, really- down the road on his obese donkey, when suddenly, the fat animal’s hoof caught on a branch, and-

I Don't Understand

2007-09-14T23:25:53Z

I was only in first grade. How was I supposed to know the meaning of tragedy?

If I didn’t know before, I certainly found out what tragedy means when I came home from my friend’s house that evening. We’d spent the whole afternoon playing make-believe; little, innocent- unknowing. No one had told us yet the horrible blow our country recieved just that morning.

I was doomed to find out the moment I walked in that door.

I came up the stairs, school bag in hand, greeting my family cheerfully as I skipped into the living room. There I found them: my mom, my dad, and my two older sisters, sitting together, staring at the television screen. I wondered what show they were watching.

I skipped to the couch and plopped down beside my mom, who hushed me, chattering incessantly. I dropped my backpack to the floor and stared.

Stared as I watched, again and again, the tragedy that changed our country forever. Stared as I witnessed real suffering for the first time in my life.

tragedy: n. 9-11

So Cliche

2007-09-14T19:20:27Z

Once upon a time, there lived a very poor family, the poorest in the kingdom. They wore old dishrags for clothes and ate whatever they could find in the woods.

One day, as the young daughter sat in the shade of a large tree, her stomach growling with hunger, the prince himself came galloping down the road on his noble donkey. She had always heard how handsome the prince was; but in truth, he was pretty butt-ugly.

Surprise! I'm Right Behind You

2007-09-13T23:37:32Z

?: ...again.

Before I had a chance to react, I was sitting in the sink, my head pressed against the mirror behind me, his hands around my neck. His hands were cold and hard, like the hands of a corpse. There was nothing particularly frightening about the face of my stalker; in fact, he looked like a pleasant man- except for the fact that his thumbs were getting ready to close my windpipe and shut me up forever.

My stalker smiled in the creepiest way imaginable as he leaned in towards me. I caught the reek of cologne coming off his body, and I turned my face away in disgust. His fists tightened around my neck.

“You’ve evaded me for far too long. It’s time to end this. I no longer want the pleasure you have to offer me.”

I struggled and squirmed, stuffed in the sink basin, and managed to get one leg free. I brought my knee up into his stomach with as much foce as I could muster, and took advantage of the slack in his hands’ grip to headbash him.

Thank God I’d taken those self-defense classes.

Blind Fear V: She's Worthless

2007-09-13T23:19:37Z

“What are we gonna do with her, Pa?”

“I don’t know, Kaytlin,” Dad said, sounding defeated. “She’s worthless.”

“She ain’t! I can train her!”

I knew immediately I’d said the wrong thing. My dad looked at me sharply, and when he spoke it was with an undeniable ring of finality. “This horse is worthless,” he repeated, “and she’s dangerous, too. Tomorrow I’m taking her back.”

No matter how much I cried and begged, his will was unshakeable. There was nothing I could do.

After dinner I told my dad I was going to do my homework outside, and crept to the stable instead. I walked slowly and noisily through the door, looking around for her stall. Sierra’s slender bay head with its star marking on her brow hung out over the door, her eyes aimed somewhere above my head. I came closer, whispering and making noise so as not to startle her again.

She was a beautiful creature, tall and delicate. Her coat was clean and smooth; it shone in the dusk.

And yet tomorrow she was bound for the slaughterhouse.

Blind Fear IV: A Dirty Trick

2007-09-13T23:02:57Z

“This horse…” I whispered. “She’s blind.”

Dad ran his fingers through his graying hair, looking furious. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” he yelled. “I was tricked!”

I bit my lip as I looked at the filly. No matter how hard I tried, she would not calm. Her ears never came forward, even a little, and her breath came hard and fast through wide nostrils.

“I was told I was buying a racehorse,” Dad continued, gritting his teeth. “Instead they give me a disabled piece of trash.”

“She’s not trash!” I shouted immediately. “All she needs is training.”

“That horse,” he growled, jabbing a finger in her direction, “will never be broken! Her own blind fear has made her wilder than any mustang. Sierra Nevada, the up-and-coming star! How could I be so gullible?”

“Sierra,” I murmured. It was a good name.

As for how we’d gotten her, I was mystified. My dad had always been a cautious man.

“He offered her for dirt cheap,” Dad explained. “I never even got a good look at her. Idiot!“

Blind Fear III: She Makes Her Entrance

2007-09-13T22:52:01Z

My dad ducked into the dim interior of the trailer and approached the filly, whispering softly. She still seemed agitated, but only fidgeted as the lead rope was unclipped and Dad pulled her towards the outside world.

No sooner did he give a gentle tug at the halter than the filly took off, galloping wildly in the narrow space, her hoofbeats echoing painfully, ears flat against her neck, nostrils flared. She thundered down the ramp, but missed her footing and went down, rolling the rest of the way and landing hard at my feet.

The spooked horse scrabbled to her hooves, and tried to make a break for it; I snatched the lead rope and dug my heels in. She resisted with all her strength and reared.

Dad was at her other side in a flash, taking hold of the halter. For three minutes we stroked and soothed her, though she still trembled.

The reason for her terror became instantly clear when I looked in her hazelnut eyes: the horse was blind.

Blind Fear II: The Third Horse

2007-09-13T22:36:31Z

I could hardly sit still as I perched on the corral fence, the long white horse trailer just twenty yards away, inching up the road to the stable. The trailer was ancient, and let out a long sigh as my dad brought it to a stop. I flopped off the fence and skipped to the loading dock, my hands itching to throw open the double doors and see our new beauties. My dad’s easy lope seemed more like a sloth’s shuffle, even as he stood beside me and placed both calloused hands on the door and let it creak open.

Inside was one muscular bay, a colt by the looks of it. Beside his broad booty I could make out the rears of two others in the dimness, one strawberry roan and another bay. The second bay horse seemed terribly fretful, shifting from foot to foot and tossing its head.

One by one the yearlings came out. The colt was territorial, already trying to stake a claim on the mild-mannered roan.

I could tell before she was even lead out that something was horribly wrong with the third horse.

Blind Fear

2007-09-12T19:43:11Z

“Kaytlin, I thought I told you not to play with your food.”

I didn’t look up at my dad’s condescending tone. He made it sound like I was a two-year-old or something, making mashed potato mountains and gravy lakes. I hadn’t been very happy since my parents split up a few months ago; actually, since they first started fighting.

“Kaytlin, I have news. We’re getting more horses.”

He had my attention immediately. Horses? We hadn’t had new horses in ages.

See, my dad’s a horse trainer. He buys foals, trains them, then sells them to breeders, jockeys, and rich people giving their kids ponies for Christmas. Right now, business wasn’t so good; the farm was in desperate danger of bankruptcy.

We only had three horses of our own: Dad’s horse, Mom’s horse, and an old nag that I learned to ride on. Now that Mom had moved to the concrete jungle, I rode her horse; Mom’s mare was slow and an easy ride, always reliable. Quite the opposite of Mom herself.