Ficlets

“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.