“Artie, I can’t believe you rode that horse up here to the revival meetin’,” Kaye said. “Why not, Momma,” Artie replied, “Old Clara is good to ride.” Kaye said, “You didn’t even put a bridle on that old hag.” “Momma!” Artie cried, “Clara is not an old hag.” “Bah,” said Kaye. “You’ve embarrassed me in front of the preacher and all my friends.”
Out of the meetin’ tent flew Artie, as fast as his short legs would carry him. He swung himself up on Clara’s back. As they walked down the road, Artie searched the fields for the biggest haystack he could find. He parked Clara and himself right behind one.
After dark fell and Artie’s momma got home, he was still behind the haystack with Clara. “He’ll come home when he’s hungry or scared,” she said to her husband, and shut the door, turning out the lights. #flashfictionforaspiringwriters #writing
*Photo courtesy of Phylor
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