True Colors At The Ranch Pen

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A Windswept Plain

Last month while participating in the Story a Day challenge at storyaday.org, one of the prompts was something about finding yourself on a windswept plain. The story of a middle-aged ranch woman dumped and left for dead on a windswept plain instantly sprang into my mind, so I wrote it down and will share it with y’all this week.

(You may also visit storyaday.org on June 13-14 for StoryFest 2015 where other participants have posted their short stories.)

Without further ado–and since I have a date at the library with the grandkids–here is True Colors On A Windswept Plain by yours truly.


True Colors On A Windswept Plain

What is he eating up there on the ridge?

I thought he was in love with me, but trust that fat hog to find something to eat while I’m sprawled out here on this windswept plain.

Oh, great…the sun’s coming up over the boulders behind him. It’s going to be blistering hot in a little bit. I’m thirsty already. Why is it I always immediately want what I can’t have? That’s probably what got me in this mess in the first place.

Oh, piddle. Let’s see, here. What are my options? I wish I had my gun, but he took that, too…

Not much chance of hiding this from hubby, now, I don’t suppose. He’s gonna be really mad when he finds us.

What’s poking me in the hiney? Oh, that figures. Cactus. Trust that fat lard to find the only cactus–or vegetation, for that matter–on this windswept plain. Ouch.

Oh, nice. This sand is starting to heat up. Pretty soon it’ll be approximately two-thousand degrees out here. You’d think the least he could do after all I’ve given him…risked for him, was come stand where I can die in his shade.

What…where am I?

Oh. Must’ve dozed. For pity’s sake. I’m sweating like a pig now. He took the water bottle, too.

“Hey, moron! Remember me? Why don’t you come down here? I’ll save hubby the trouble. No? Didn’t think so. Why couldn’t you have shown your true colors before we got this far from the barn?”

Is that a buzzard? I wish my glasses hadn’t smashed to pieces like my leg. Good grief! Not just one buzzard. It’s a whole flock of the darn things, ain’t it? Circling me, not him. Well, hasta la vista, fatso.

Guess it’s time to say my prayers before I die and…ask forgiveness for trusting that rotten horse!


 

Until next time, God bless all y’all and enjoy, Michael W Smith–who has been one of my favorite singer dudes since I was young back in olden times–tearing up Sky Spills Over, an oddly appropriate match to my story.