Wow @
Vngel that was beautiful! I do have a soft spot for stories that come full circle. I love how philosophical this was. Remarkable. And all in under 30 minutes.
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JCStitches Congrats, you have successfully whetted my appetite for some cake. The personification you used literally sucked me into the scene you spun. Also really enjoyed your inclusion of "overused" fantasy things, like sneaking past a dragon to get its treasure... only to completely turn around and use them in a sense that traditionalists wouldn't expect. Glad you decided to post it!
As promised, here's mine:
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Week 2 prompt: "Do you think they noticed…?"
Written as a 20 minute sprint w/ Vngel, fwuitgummy, JCStiches.
Total WC: 673 words for sprint, 1,052 total.
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“This is a terrible idea.”
Clover still had no idea how she had let little Alexander the Great talk her into this ridiculous heist. Okay, that was a lie; she did know. That puny Shetland pony might look all fluffy and cuddly on the outside, but he could talk the rear wheel off a tractor until he had his way. Clover stared down at the small form of Alexander – who was quite nearly a third of her own size – busy with the lock on the gate. Clover knew she could beat the diminutive equine in a fight any day. So why couldn’t she beat him in a contest of will?
To be absolutely fair, they were doing this for a good cause. She hoped. But that didn’t mean she had to like it.
“This is a terrible idea.” This time, the mare said it aloud.
With a toss of his shaggy head, Alexander looked up at her, grim lines of determination crisscrossing his muzzle. “We’ve got to do this, Clover,” he said imperatively. “For everyone’s sake. You know how much Timothy loves that little ball of his. You heard how he was crying when he lost it last night. The alternative is to go all night listening to him have a meltdown.”
“I know, I know,” Clover groaned. Of all the things in the barn to pick up, why did the farmer have to take that grubby little toy inside with him? “Please, don’t remind me. Let’s just get this over with.”
“Fine. Watch that window for anyone while I unlatch this gate.”
While Alexander continued to work on the latch (he was notorious for causing all sorts of mischief by unlocking every stall in the stable), Clover stared warily at the window to the farm house. It was a cozy looking little place to a human, but a foreboding fortress of mystery to her. She didn’t like it. It was too… human.
“Done!” Alexander announced triumphantly. The sole entrance to the little picket-fenced enclosure surrounding the house swung open with copious protest from unoiled hinges. The Shetland led the way straight up to the path, with his reluctant, less nimble companion trailing behind. Clover took great care of where she placed her hooves, minding the pintas and the copper canyon daisies. She wanted this mission to end with zero casualties, and zero signs that they had been here.
A gentle nudge of Alexander’s nose was all that was needed to open the door to the farmhouse. The farmer rarely bothered to close it properly, much less lock it.
“I suppose he thinks the picket fence is enough to keep us out,” Clover thought. “And he’d be right, at least in my case.”
Alexander strutted confidently into the dusty hallway. Between the clattering of his hooves on the floor and the creaking of the wooden boards, Clover feared the entire household would awaken and bear down on them. Trying to tread quietly, she followed. As she passed the living room, a great, gravelly noise barreled into her ears. She was startled at first, but then spotted the still-booted feet of the farmer hanging off one end of the couch. A tangled heap of gray dog, equally asleep, laid at the foot of the furnishing.
“Up there, Clover!” Alexander’s voice snapped her back to reality. “There’s the ball. I can’t reach it, so you’ll have to.”
The ball was perched nonchalantly on top of a table, next to a vase of old and dried flowers. It was easy for Clover to reach, but too high for Alexander. That, she surmised, was the reason he had dragged her along. Sucking in a steadying breath, Clover gingerly reached out with her teeth to take hold Timothy’s favorite plaything. The dried plants crackled and tickled as they brushed against her nostrils. Clover fought the urge to sneeze. Her teeth connected with the ball and she picked it up with a sigh of relief.
“Alright. Let’s get outta here.” Alexander said.
“Oh no,” Clover said, sniffling. The aged flowers had done their work. “I’m going to sneeze!”
And she did. A monstrous sneeze that seemed to shake the whole house to its foundation. Panicked that she had alerted the farmer, Clover whipped around and made a mad dash for the exit. Her rump smacked into the table with the vase, sending both plummeting to the ground. Glass, filthy water, and ugly flowers flew everywhere. Clover leaped through the doorframe, forcing the door aside with violent force. Her hooves now scrabbled over the gravel pathway as she dashed towards the safety of her pasture, on the opposite side of that accursed picket fence. Preserving the pintas and the copper canyon daisies was the last thing on her mind now. One flying leap carried her over the wooden boundary and to safety. At last able to breathe, she dropped her head and pretended to crop the grass. Perhaps if she acted natural the farmer wouldn’t suspect anything. Only then did she realize she had left Alexander behind.
“Oh no. What have I done?” She could only imagine what trouble the little pony might get into when the farmer caught him. But he hadn’t done anything! It was her fault for breaking the vase and toppling the table. She couldn’t just leave him to deal with all the consequences. She WOULD go back. She summoned her resolve and marched back towards the house, only to stop mid-stride. There on the porch was Alexander, the ball in his grasp, looking quite unconcerned. Short, stubby legs pumped confidently as he floated down the gravel path and out the gate, shutting and latching it behind him. Given what had transpired, there was a conspicuous lack of activity coming from the human residence.
“Do… do you think they noticed?” Clover stammered. Even if by some miracle the farmer hadn’t been roused by the noise, the old hound Sniffer would have been. Why wasn’t he barking? Nothing made sense. She looked at Alexander for some sort of clue and was surprised to find him beaming at her.
“Not at all,” he grinned cheekily. “They were still fast asleep when I left. Those two have probably made each other deaf with all that snoring. By my horseshoes, I’ve heard broken tractors make less noise than that.”
