Thursday June 5th, 2014

The exercise:

Write about: gaining ground.

With the potatoes finally in the ground and all of our heirloom tomato plants transferred to the garden, that was the feeling I was left with today. We still need to get the cherry, beefsteak, and roma tomato plants out there, along with a whole bunch of seeding, but I'm feeling a little more optimistic today.

Also: exhausted. I helped Kat's parents with more cherry tree netting this evening and by the end I literally could not lift my arms. The feeling passed fairly quickly, but it was still rather unsettling.

Tomorrow we pick strawberries and get ourselves organized for our first farmers market of the year. It's been a while and I'm fairly confident I'm going to forget something important, but it's still exciting.


He is far ahead, confident in his position. I can see him easing off the gas pedal, prioritizing caution ahead of speed. The fool.

The finish line must be in sight now. I imagine he's picturing himself crossing over it, breaking the tape. Basking in the glory of victory. Already he is spending his winnings, plucking models off the beach with his reputation alone.

He slows just a little more.

I step on the gas. Hard.

It will be close. But he is leaving the door open for me to catch him, to snatch this win right out from underneath him. Before long I will fill his rear view mirror. That ought to startle him out of his pretty little daydreams.

Then the race shall truly begin.


Greg said...

Congratulations, you're sounding much more positive at the end of this week! And it sounds like Nature is being tamed by you and your glamorous assistants, and that you'll be hosting visitors to your farmers' market stall tomorrow morning :) I sincerely hope that people keep coming up to you, gesturing to your assistants and asking you why they didn't know before that you have such lovely daughters ;-)
Hmm, "...Then the race shall truly begin." These are dark thoughts today, and I am curious as to what the prize may be and why the competitors are racing at all!

Gaining ground
"I thought you said this was a training ground, Vince?" Dave peered through his binoculars once again, looking for any sign of soldiers marshalling or gym teachers bellowing instructions at reluctant pupils, but there were just large people sat there. There wasn't even the anguish of the middle-aged office assistant attending a boot camp in an effort to stave off middle-age-spread.
"Training ground?" Vince sounded slightly stunned, but that was his normal state of being. He was wearing green and brown camouflage, and had stuck some branches to his helmet, making him look like a bemused antelope. The long face just added to the illusion.
"Yes Vince," said Dave, his voice a study in patience. "Training ground. Because we're looking to kidnap someone athletic, remember? To make money, remember? The stuff you need for... for... actually Vince, do you just eat it?"
"No Dave! I send my kid to that private school. That costs real money."
"Yeah, yeah, I forgot. I just don't expect you to know what a school is, Vince. So, speaking of things I just don't know, what the hell is this if it's not a training ground?"
"It's a gaining ground, Dave. People come here to sit around and get fat."
"What Dave?"
"I don't... I do... I... WHAT?!?"
"I figured they'd be easier to kidnap Dave. Look, I've got a bacon buttie for bait."

David said...

My father was shot when he tried to move the fence at the edge of our property. Only three feet. He did not die. Mother may have wished he did. He lost a finger. At least the tip. Maybe he was not really shot. Just grazed. Semantics.

No one lived in those woods. We thought. The bullet sad otherwise. The bang. The pfft as it cut through the leaves. My father’s grunt. And curse. I do not remember blood, just bone. My father screamed. Get on the ground. We did.

A madman. Escaped from an asylum. Hiding out. But I was not Pip. There would be no expectations for me. My father's face. White. No clue what to do. Run back to the house and hope he was not shot down as he fled. Or wait till the sniper lost interest.

I had to pee. I told him. He said there was nothing we could do. Another bang. Off in the distance. No whizzing sound. Other than in my pants. My father looked at me. As he lay in the dirt and I lay in the fresh mud. He took my hand and we made our retreat. Without urgency. We made it safely back to the house. I changed my clothes.

Marc said...

Greg - hah, I think I shall get some interesting looks this Saturday when I show up with a different tall blonde girl :P

I am shocked that Vince not only has a child, but sends him or her to private school!

David - some fantastic details in this one really bring the scene to life. Excellent writing here.