(no subject)
Hah, infrequent post is infrequent. I've been working on a bunch of things for Creative Writing lately, but none of my original work is quite up to the quality of my fanfiction. I suppose that's because it's always easier to work with someone else's characters than your own - at least, for me.
But, if anyone wants to read it, here's the most halfway-decent thing I've come up with.
***
The first unfortunate thing that Stephan noticed about the horse was that, like most newly-deceased animals, they lost all control of their bowels. And, of course, as Mr. Ciardi had insisted no motorized equipment come onto his fields, he and Alecto had been forced to drag the mare off into a hole in the ground by cart.
“Miss Rosa’s never going to forgive herself for not being here,” he grunted as he fought the urge to cover his nose. Stephan usually worked in the house - he had been conscripted for no other reason than venturing outside for an afternoon meal. “She loved Mayfair beyond reason.”
“The horse is dead,” Alecto said, not bothered by the smell. It was all very good for him, Stephan thought uncharitably as the older man tossed another shovelful of dirt atop the corpse. Alecto worked the fields for Mr. Ciardi - a man like that was used to the smell of fertilizer and dung. “Miss Ciardi will get over it.”
Stephan snorted as he scooped up another shovelful of dirt. “Sentiment like that is why you aren’t popular with the ladies, Alecto. Rosa, she is a delicate flower. She cares for everything deeply, most of all that horse. If she was going to just ‘get over it’, as you say, why are we burying Mayfair in secret?”
“Miss Ciardi is only sixteen,” Alecto said, looking up and fixing Stephan with a stare. The man squirmed uncomfortably caught in the spotlight of his elder’s gaze. He could not possibly know - Stephan had made sure -
“She is sixteen, Stephan. She will grow up, past it.” And Alecto started patting down the mound. “Soon enough, she will have no need for a horse. You would do well to remember it.”
“Speaking in riddles and tongues, old man,” Stephan muttered as he helped Alecto pat down the last of the mound. As they threw their shovels into the back, he paused. “Shouldn’t we have a marker? Miss Rosa will want to visit.”
Alecto looked at him incredulously. “You want to waste my time, making a marker for a horse? Don’t be foolish, boy. There is more work to do, and Miss Ciardi will find the spot on her own.” And Stephan knew this, but how could he look Miss Rosa in the eye, call her bella Rosa and pretend that he hadn’t thrown her precious Mayfair into the ground to season the flowers? He should at least give her the marker to know.
“Foolish boy,” Alecto said as Stephan took a spare plank of wood from the back of the cart and began to carve a crude semblance of the horse’s name. The day was muggy, and the stench of the dead horse clung to them like thorns. “In the end, the horse has always meant nothing.”
But, if anyone wants to read it, here's the most halfway-decent thing I've come up with.
***
The first unfortunate thing that Stephan noticed about the horse was that, like most newly-deceased animals, they lost all control of their bowels. And, of course, as Mr. Ciardi had insisted no motorized equipment come onto his fields, he and Alecto had been forced to drag the mare off into a hole in the ground by cart.
“Miss Rosa’s never going to forgive herself for not being here,” he grunted as he fought the urge to cover his nose. Stephan usually worked in the house - he had been conscripted for no other reason than venturing outside for an afternoon meal. “She loved Mayfair beyond reason.”
“The horse is dead,” Alecto said, not bothered by the smell. It was all very good for him, Stephan thought uncharitably as the older man tossed another shovelful of dirt atop the corpse. Alecto worked the fields for Mr. Ciardi - a man like that was used to the smell of fertilizer and dung. “Miss Ciardi will get over it.”
Stephan snorted as he scooped up another shovelful of dirt. “Sentiment like that is why you aren’t popular with the ladies, Alecto. Rosa, she is a delicate flower. She cares for everything deeply, most of all that horse. If she was going to just ‘get over it’, as you say, why are we burying Mayfair in secret?”
“Miss Ciardi is only sixteen,” Alecto said, looking up and fixing Stephan with a stare. The man squirmed uncomfortably caught in the spotlight of his elder’s gaze. He could not possibly know - Stephan had made sure -
“She is sixteen, Stephan. She will grow up, past it.” And Alecto started patting down the mound. “Soon enough, she will have no need for a horse. You would do well to remember it.”
“Speaking in riddles and tongues, old man,” Stephan muttered as he helped Alecto pat down the last of the mound. As they threw their shovels into the back, he paused. “Shouldn’t we have a marker? Miss Rosa will want to visit.”
Alecto looked at him incredulously. “You want to waste my time, making a marker for a horse? Don’t be foolish, boy. There is more work to do, and Miss Ciardi will find the spot on her own.” And Stephan knew this, but how could he look Miss Rosa in the eye, call her bella Rosa and pretend that he hadn’t thrown her precious Mayfair into the ground to season the flowers? He should at least give her the marker to know.
“Foolish boy,” Alecto said as Stephan took a spare plank of wood from the back of the cart and began to carve a crude semblance of the horse’s name. The day was muggy, and the stench of the dead horse clung to them like thorns. “In the end, the horse has always meant nothing.”