My inner child.
Inspired by secondsilk, who said: "My inner child is six, and wears pig tails and frilly pink dress. Beware."
My inner child is ten years old, has blue eyes and a few freckles and bright blond hair worn in braids. She's tall for her age, and slim, and completely obsessed with horses. Signs of this are everywhere in her bedroom; the blue and white wallpaper striped like mattress ticking is obscured by posters of horses and pictures torn from riding magazines. A corkboard with her show ribbons thumbtacked to it hangs on her closet door. Above it, a rusty horse shoe from her first pony is nailed in a place of honor.
Toes of one black jodphur boot peek out from under edge of the comforter on her bed. The other leans against the side of the frame. Like the rest of the room's furniture, the headboard and frame are painted crisp white. There's a woven throw with galloping horses folded at the foot of the bed, adding random earthtones to the blue and white gingham bedding. It's all surprisingly tidy; she makes her bed as a part of what she secretly thinks of as "stable management". It's like cleaning out stalls regularly, but without anything to shovel.
Built-in bookcases flanking a windowseat contain a welter of equine artifacts: trophies she's won, an outgrown velvet hardhat, a set of spurs. There are prancing Breyer figurines, books by Marguerite Henry and Mary O'Hara and Dick Francis. Her desk has a hutch with a shelf, where her photos are displayed. (More horses than people, big surprise.) If the computer is on, her background is equally predictable: Bonheur's "The Horse Fair" perhaps, or a scanned picture by Wesley Dennis or CW Anderson.
When she's at the stables riding Duchess, she concentrates fully on that, living in the moment. Here is where she sees the future. She's already too tall to be a jockey, but there's still the Olympic equestrian team, where she's mounted on a big steel-grey stallion who can leap the moon. After they've won it all, from the Games in some exotic corner of the world to Madison Square Garden, she'll buy a farm, and make lots of money selling stud services to people who admire her wonderful gold-medal horse (She has the soul of a practical mercenary.), but that won't be until she's really old, like thirty....
My inner child is ten years old, has blue eyes and a few freckles and bright blond hair worn in braids. She's tall for her age, and slim, and completely obsessed with horses. Signs of this are everywhere in her bedroom; the blue and white wallpaper striped like mattress ticking is obscured by posters of horses and pictures torn from riding magazines. A corkboard with her show ribbons thumbtacked to it hangs on her closet door. Above it, a rusty horse shoe from her first pony is nailed in a place of honor.
Toes of one black jodphur boot peek out from under edge of the comforter on her bed. The other leans against the side of the frame. Like the rest of the room's furniture, the headboard and frame are painted crisp white. There's a woven throw with galloping horses folded at the foot of the bed, adding random earthtones to the blue and white gingham bedding. It's all surprisingly tidy; she makes her bed as a part of what she secretly thinks of as "stable management". It's like cleaning out stalls regularly, but without anything to shovel.
Built-in bookcases flanking a windowseat contain a welter of equine artifacts: trophies she's won, an outgrown velvet hardhat, a set of spurs. There are prancing Breyer figurines, books by Marguerite Henry and Mary O'Hara and Dick Francis. Her desk has a hutch with a shelf, where her photos are displayed. (More horses than people, big surprise.) If the computer is on, her background is equally predictable: Bonheur's "The Horse Fair" perhaps, or a scanned picture by Wesley Dennis or CW Anderson.
When she's at the stables riding Duchess, she concentrates fully on that, living in the moment. Here is where she sees the future. She's already too tall to be a jockey, but there's still the Olympic equestrian team, where she's mounted on a big steel-grey stallion who can leap the moon. After they've won it all, from the Games in some exotic corner of the world to Madison Square Garden, she'll buy a farm, and make lots of money selling stud services to people who admire her wonderful gold-medal horse (She has the soul of a practical mercenary.), but that won't be until she's really old, like thirty....