Saturday, January 19, 2013

FFP #7 - Cleaning Things

This week I am participating in +Becket Moorby's Flash Fiction Project, which is using images as daily writing prompts.

And, I am catching up....

This is today's image, courtesy of jam343 via Flickr Creative Commons (Attribution Link).

The little girl pointed and said, "eenie meenie mynie moe", then teased the rake off it's hook. Closing the shed door, she put the rake between her legs and began running around the yard, riding her pretend horse until she heard her mother calling her name.

"Myrna? Myrna, get over here now!"

The girl regretfully reined in the horse and rode up to the garden gate.

"Gimme that thing before you go and hurt yourself," her mother said, and suddenly Myrna's horse was gone, swept out of her fingers and into the garden. A stray tear settled on her cheek as the girl walked slowly back towards the house, stamping at the dirt as she went. Her mother always took her toys away just when she was starting to have fun.

She plopped down on the porch steps, set her chin in her hands and wondered what she would do next. She wondered for what seemed a very long time to a little girl, until her mom finally put the rake down and went into the house, patting Myrna's head as she passed by.

"I'm going to clean up and make supper," her mother called back to her. "Put the rake away for me, and no more playing with that thing. You'll wind up with a broken leg or something and then I'll hafta shoot you dead."

Myrna looked at the rake, then stood up and walked it back to the shed.

"Eenie meenie mynie moe," she whispered, and her finger landed on the broom in the middle. She pulled it from it's hook and once again, was riding around the yard. As the sun began to dip, she felt the horse stir beneath her and heard it's restless snort. She patted it's head and wrapped her fingers around the flowing golden mane, then nudging her heels into it's sides, began galloping out of the yard and towards the sunset.

<word count: 320>


Parabolic Muse said...

in 'its hook' the noun 'it' is possessive and so there is no contraction. 'It's' always means 'It is'.

Pedantically yours,

p.s. or, is it 'pedanticly'?

Parabolic Muse said...

Myrna is my hera !!