Katy
Bourne is the sister of my friends. She
wrote a book called Weirdo Simpatico:
Little Stories for Short Attention Spans. Amazon is where I got my copy, and I’ve really
enjoyed it. She talks about how she
started by writing little stories about words which others would give to
her.
I
was telling a friend about this, and mentioned that I had a mind to try
it. Did he have any words?
“Yep”,
he said. “Burp, fart, and sneeze”.
“I
can’t write about that”, I said.
“Then
you can’t write”, he replied. “Those are
the words”.
So,
my pride and ego on the line, all I could say was, “Challenge accepted”.
You
can decide whether I get it or not. Oh, I
did add a couple of extra words of my own.
Burp—
It
took the room by surprise.
Completely. Thoroughly. The sound roaring like a flash flood raging
through a dry creek bed after a torrential rainstorm. Where once only the soft clinking of
glassware, and the tinkling music of silver had mixed with the murmur of
intimate, close conversation, now came a force of nature, shattering everything
in its path—the intensity of the moment so unexpected, so quick. The diners froze in horror as if they had
just sat down to dinner in Pompeii.
Fart—
She
wasn’t sure she was that happy about it.
Yes, for a moment it had seemed wondrous. The pain was gone in an instant. She felt light. She felt free. She wanted to leap for joy. But now, the consequences had begun to set
in. Her eyes burned, and her nose urged
her to flee. “Run!” it cried. “Run now!”
Sneeze—
It
built slowly like soft, white cumulus clouds on a hot summer’s day. At first there was only the tickling of a
faint breeze, so faint, in fact, that she could not be sure it was really there
at all. But just as the clouds grow higher
and higher, so did the pressure. The air
turned angry, and the clouds darkened.
For a moment, the world held its breath.
Then, the flash of lightning, the rumble of thunder, and the rain
falling down until it rested lightly on her soufflé.
Salad—
"Weeds again?”, he said.
"They're not weeds, it's salad. It's
good for you. Now stop it and let's enjoy our meal".
The Waiter returned and stood quietly, pad
and pencil in hand.
The lady gave her order, including the House
salad. With Vinaigrette.
"On the side please", she
said.
"And you Sir", said the
Waiter.
He hesitated. She looked daggers at
him.
"The salad", she hissed.
"I'll have the salad" he said,
looking at the Waiter.
"Yes Sir. House or Caesar?"
"Macaroni", he replied.
Survival—
“Run”,
she cried.
“Run now!”
So I ran.
Then ran some more, staying tight to her speckled white hip and swinging
black tail.
“Why
are we running”, I cried out.
“It’s
what we do”, she called back. “Just stay with me”.
Across
the green grass, splashing through the cold water, and stumbling, flailing against
the black mud which sucked my feet deep into the earth. Eyes blurry from wind and effort. Lungs on fire. The only sound in my ears, the roar of the
blood racing through my veins.
“There!”,
she cried. “Over there, the gap in the
thicket. Do you see it”? She pushed her nose into my shoulder to guide
me to where she was looking.
Where? Where?
My mind was on fire and I could not focus. What gap?
Then
suddenly I saw it. A dark space. A shadow on the wall of trees ahead. I pointed my nose towards it, pushed hard
with my hindquarters and I was through.
Ahead of me, the old Appaloosa mare was slowing. I caught up to her and slowed with her.
“But
why are we running? I still don’t
understand”, I gasped. The mare slowed
to a walk and swung her head towards me.
“It’s what we do. When we don’t
understand, we run. We run first and
figure the rest out later. Don’t ever forget it. It’s how we stay alive”.
