Super Short Story - Evil, Bed, Cow

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Last month's writing prompt required a 100 word or less short story involving the three words.  Actually, I had a choice between these words Evil, Bed, Cow, or these:  Anxiety, Piano, Clown or Anger, Coffee, Cave or Luck, Shoes and Onion.

Since I am not a fan of clowns (yes, I find them creepy), coffee or onions, I opted for Evil, Bed and Cow.  Here's my super short story. I hope you find it to be an interesting use of these words.

Evil, Bed, Cow

I roll over in the lumpy bed, twisted in the sheets from my nightly battle with the forces of good and evil which rage in my head.  Gingerly, I toss off the sweat soaked sheets. My head throbs with the lingering dehydration from the fifth of whiskey I guzzled only a few hours ago. Pain medication I tell myself.

The sun has been up for a good twenty minutes which means I'm already an hour behind schedule. I wince as I bend down to pull on the dirty jeans I've worn for a week. No point in putting on a fresh t-shirt because there was no one to be bothered by my odor and I was long accustomed to the reek of sweat, cow manure and fear.

I nuke a cup of water and dump in a heaping tablespoon of instant coffee. A pack of mini donuts suffices for my breakfast and I step out of the trailer into sun so bright my imitation Ray Ban's don't succeed in diminishing its glare.  Wishing I had stopped to pick up a bottle of aspirin, I hobble around back and unlatch the door. I'm greeted with the sound of impatient stomping, snorting and whinnying.  My hangover is not excused by a hungry horse. 

I back him out, throw his halter rope over a hook and fill his bucket with grain pellets. He's never needed to be tied once he sees food. He wouldn't leave that bucket unless the earth opened up and swallowed him. I dump his dirty water bucket and limp towards the rodeo grounds on the far side of the campground.

My battered back, hips, knees and feet scream with every step of what feels like a one hundred mile walk. If the bucking bull hadn't done enough damage in the five seconds I managed to hang on, the whiskey made sure I felt every day of my forty-seven years. Geez, if only I could have stayed on long enough to win the purse. Well, if I got my butt in gear I would make it to the next town in time to ride again tonight.



Happy Trails,

Leslie

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