| General Fiction posted April 25, 2019 |
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A story
Daisy Chain
by zanya
The last time I saw Charlie she was chewing her cud in a green, meadow. A daisy chain over her large brown ears, she mooed contentedly as she feasted on pieces of tasty, summer-dried hay. Occasionally a robin or a crow came to rest on her hazel-nut colored, broad back.
On early Spring mornings when bird song echoed across the land, Farmer Joe could be seen in his apple-green wellies leisurely strolling through the meadow to milk Charlie. Charlie knew the spot well, beneath the hawthorn tree with May flowers in bloom.
The two, man and beast, understood each other well. Charlie stood stock still, chewing contentedly, while Farmer Joe sat on his three-legged stool beneath her and sprayed the warm white liquid into a sky blue pail.
Farmer Joe was getting on in years and sometimes had to hang on to Charlie's long tail to assist him, as he rose from the milking. Farmer Joe always rewarded Charlie with a friendly slap on the rump.
One day a big truck arrived at the farm. Men in suits and women in suits got out and put up signs which read 'For Sale or Rent.'
Charlie no longer wanted to chew sweet Summer hay. Something was up. Charlie couldn't rest. No robins came to rest on her broad back. Charlie no longer chewed contentedly. Farmer Joe no longer came with his blue pail.
The men in suits had phones and tablets. The women in suits barked orders. They clicked and photoshot and keyed in. Charlie felt like an anachronism. Her precious white liquid was out of fashion. Humans now got white liquid from coconuts and almonds and allsorts. Humans ate more leaves and shoots.
Charlie spotted a rusty gate open on the farm as the men in suits peered at their screens or talked animatedly. She ambled out. Cars flew up and down the road. Charlie was scared. She lay down in the cool of the grass kerb. A small boy and his dad were collecting watercress in the roadside stream.
The young boy Noah called to his dad,'Dad can we bring this nice cow home with us to our pet farm?"
Dad looked at Charlie. Her eyes seemed so sad and forlorn.
"Why not, Noah," dad replied. With that, the two walked towards Charlie and Noah stroked her ears. "What shall we call her dad? Let's call her 'Charlie', Noah said. Charlie mooed contentedly again. A warm sun appeared from behind the clouds.
On weekends when the kiddies came to visit the farm they laughed and played with Charlie, pulling her ears and stroking her back.
Driving in the country a decade or so later with my son, Josh, I drove down the lane to my father's farm. It was now the site of a phone company factory.
A medium sized sculpture of Charlie, complete with daisy chain, stood at the entrance gate. It read;
'Sleep tight Charlie, sweet bovine dreams.'
Charlie writing prompt entry
The last time I saw Charlie she was chewing her cud in a green, meadow. A daisy chain over her large brown ears, she mooed contentedly as she feasted on pieces of tasty, summer-dried hay. Occasionally a robin or a crow came to rest on her hazel-nut colored, broad back.
On early Spring mornings when bird song echoed across the land, Farmer Joe could be seen in his apple-green wellies leisurely strolling through the meadow to milk Charlie. Charlie knew the spot well, beneath the hawthorn tree with May flowers in bloom.
The two, man and beast, understood each other well. Charlie stood stock still, chewing contentedly, while Farmer Joe sat on his three-legged stool beneath her and sprayed the warm white liquid into a sky blue pail.
Farmer Joe was getting on in years and sometimes had to hang on to Charlie's long tail to assist him, as he rose from the milking. Farmer Joe always rewarded Charlie with a friendly slap on the rump.
One day a big truck arrived at the farm. Men in suits and women in suits got out and put up signs which read 'For Sale or Rent.'
Charlie no longer wanted to chew sweet Summer hay. Something was up. Charlie couldn't rest. No robins came to rest on her broad back. Charlie no longer chewed contentedly. Farmer Joe no longer came with his blue pail.
The men in suits had phones and tablets. The women in suits barked orders. They clicked and photoshot and keyed in. Charlie felt like an anachronism. Her precious white liquid was out of fashion. Humans now got white liquid from coconuts and almonds and allsorts. Humans ate more leaves and shoots.
Charlie spotted a rusty gate open on the farm as the men in suits peered at their screens or talked animatedly. She ambled out. Cars flew up and down the road. Charlie was scared. She lay down in the cool of the grass kerb. A small boy and his dad were collecting watercress in the roadside stream.
The young boy Noah called to his dad,'Dad can we bring this nice cow home with us to our pet farm?"
Dad looked at Charlie. Her eyes seemed so sad and forlorn.
"Why not, Noah," dad replied. With that, the two walked towards Charlie and Noah stroked her ears. "What shall we call her dad? Let's call her 'Charlie', Noah said. Charlie mooed contentedly again. A warm sun appeared from behind the clouds.
On weekends when the kiddies came to visit the farm they laughed and played with Charlie, pulling her ears and stroking her back.
Driving in the country a decade or so later with my son, Josh, I drove down the lane to my father's farm. It was now the site of a phone company factory.
A medium sized sculpture of Charlie, complete with daisy chain, stood at the entrance gate. It read;
'Sleep tight Charlie, sweet bovine dreams.'
On early Spring mornings when bird song echoed across the land, Farmer Joe could be seen in his apple-green wellies leisurely strolling through the meadow to milk Charlie. Charlie knew the spot well, beneath the hawthorn tree with May flowers in bloom.
The two, man and beast, understood each other well. Charlie stood stock still, chewing contentedly, while Farmer Joe sat on his three-legged stool beneath her and sprayed the warm white liquid into a sky blue pail.
Farmer Joe was getting on in years and sometimes had to hang on to Charlie's long tail to assist him, as he rose from the milking. Farmer Joe always rewarded Charlie with a friendly slap on the rump.
One day a big truck arrived at the farm. Men in suits and women in suits got out and put up signs which read 'For Sale or Rent.'
Charlie no longer wanted to chew sweet Summer hay. Something was up. Charlie couldn't rest. No robins came to rest on her broad back. Charlie no longer chewed contentedly. Farmer Joe no longer came with his blue pail.
The men in suits had phones and tablets. The women in suits barked orders. They clicked and photoshot and keyed in. Charlie felt like an anachronism. Her precious white liquid was out of fashion. Humans now got white liquid from coconuts and almonds and allsorts. Humans ate more leaves and shoots.
Charlie spotted a rusty gate open on the farm as the men in suits peered at their screens or talked animatedly. She ambled out. Cars flew up and down the road. Charlie was scared. She lay down in the cool of the grass kerb. A small boy and his dad were collecting watercress in the roadside stream.
The young boy Noah called to his dad,'Dad can we bring this nice cow home with us to our pet farm?"
Dad looked at Charlie. Her eyes seemed so sad and forlorn.
"Why not, Noah," dad replied. With that, the two walked towards Charlie and Noah stroked her ears. "What shall we call her dad? Let's call her 'Charlie', Noah said. Charlie mooed contentedly again. A warm sun appeared from behind the clouds.
On weekends when the kiddies came to visit the farm they laughed and played with Charlie, pulling her ears and stroking her back.
Driving in the country a decade or so later with my son, Josh, I drove down the lane to my father's farm. It was now the site of a phone company factory.
A medium sized sculpture of Charlie, complete with daisy chain, stood at the entrance gate. It read;
'Sleep tight Charlie, sweet bovine dreams.'
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Writing Prompt Write a story that begins with the line: The last time I saw Charlie ... (continue the sentence and story) |
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