[M:1450][M:1450]
Post by Michael on Apr 26, 2012 17:21:56 GMT
Short story I did for a horse racing writing competition - I was shortlisted.
See my name at 'da bottom;
www.willswritingawards.co.uk/news/story.asp?NewsID=36
The ones in italics are innuendo horsey names (:
Heartsick on the Home Turn
School is like the Grand National. There are so many other fierce competitors that can knock you off course or get in your way and too many fences that could bring you to your knees with one small error. Surviving is key for the first circuit, but now you’re planning more than just that. You’re coming up to Valentines and suddenly that blonde, curvy mare that just happens to be in your French class is strutting up to you with her exaggerated eyelashes and omnipresent lips... Who knew, that explaining that I think she’s the best filly in the bloodstock arena, wouldn’t get me laid?
“Hi Dan” she starts, peering at me between fluttering flashes of eyelash work.
“Hi Tara” I reply, feeling increasingly uncomfortable about starting a conversation with someone who hadn’t heard of Desert Orchid.
“I heard some stuff about you...” Oh no, she knows.
“I think you’re the best filly...” Oh no Dan, not the filly chat up line.
“What? I meant. Joe said... you see, I heard that you might like...” She cut off quickly looking away into the middle distance which suddenly seemed immensely interesting to the both of us. Joe knew I liked her; had he said something? Was she here to tell me she liked me back?
“You’re the boy, you’re meant to ask me” she said cheekily. I turned back from the enthralling distance to see her gazing down at me with expectant eyes.
“Urm... want to go to the cinema sometime and watch war horse!?” Oh no, not attractive “...a cool film, yunno.” Smooth Dan, real smooth. But she smiled – who’d have thought it!
“Friday, you can pick me up” she retorted cheekily, slipping me a piece of paper with a few numbers scribbled across it. Before you ask, it wasn’t the winning Wincanton saddlecloth numbers for Saturday. I checked.
Joe agreed my riding jacket and jodhpurs weren’t aphrodisiacs, leaving me with beach shorts and a purple t-shirt. Fortunately, by lending me some jeans, he believed I could still gain the “Love of Tara”, causing me to smirk. Nevertheless, his dad, Mr Lively, instructed me out within the hour, due to the fact they were having teaforthree only. Smiling to myself, I set out on my great endeavour to the lion’s den and, believe me, there was a lion on the prowl.
“Where have you been?!” Tara demanded nervously as I reached her house finding her sitting outside, looking as attractive as ever.
“Sorry” I replied, although unsure why, as I wasn’t late. Without missing a beat, she pranced over and took my arm, leading me out of the gate and into town in silence. Correction: I was in silence, Tara wasn’t. She chatted about everything and anything, including how Max (her ex) hadn’t given her anything for Valentine’s Day last year.
“Was he Mad?” I replied, giggling inside.
“And I want someone who won’t give up on me...” Well that makes sense doesn’t it? I am the only lad who thinks the female gender should have a translator attached to them, permanently? “And when he thought he was losing me, he gave up”. Hang on, she means he wasn’t a lough derg. Oh that’s easy.
“I wouldn’t give up, ever.” She smiled. Score.
“Mr Breen? Are you going to make any conversation with me tonight?” Oh Crick! Waiting in queues has always been a pet hate of mine and now under pressure to actually talk, my attitude intensified.
“Get me out of here” I muttered, under my breath.
“What?” she asked, looking at me with those elegant eyes that danced in the dim light and...
“Urm, I’m a celebrity, get me out of here, do you watch it?” Smooth. She gave me an odd look before bantering on about how hot the winner was. I just nodded like the Churchill dog when she gave the appropriate cue. Saving my head from further shelling, the queue moved fast, delivering us to the front rapidly. She asked for two tickets to the film she’d picked; I just nodded and handed over the cash. Smiling slightly, the cashier murmured,
“That’s the spirit, son” shocking me with his natural equine insinuation attribute that had taken me years to perfect. But before I could backhand him with a return of excellent innuendo one-liners, Tara had ushered me towards Screen 4.
The adverts, as dull as they normally appeared when with friends, gained my captive audience until she prised my eyes away again to involve me in her conversation,
“Do you like French, Dan?”
“Because you’re in it” I replied cheekily, without thinking. Luckily, it seemed to work; she grinned.
“Donc, on parle francais?” Oh no, I can’t actually speak it... unless...
“Et maintenant?.” It didn’t make sense, but I was proud.
“Ha ha, day off?” she giggled. Thankfully, after many prayers to notre pere, the film started and she soon forgot about testing my language skills. Much to her delight, she received a text from one of her mates with the message “He likes horses, Joe told me. Talk to him about your mum’s friend’s daughter’s Shetland” Oh yes, I’d be enthralled. She smiled up at me, noticing I had read the text and quickly explained
“She says I need a boyfriend”
“What a friend” I replied, overflowing so much with insinuation pride that it spread to my mouth.
“What are you grinning at?” she asked, looking at me intently. Here goes nothing...
“Your eyes” I improvised, hoping that was what the “Successful Dating Daydream Comebacks’ Handbook” had said.
“You’re such a cutie” she replied... Had it worked? Oh no, she’s looking at me in that expectant way again. What the hell do I say now? Handbooks don’t prepare you for this.
“I’m in it for the long run” Phew, much better.
After the film finished we walked awkwardly home, hand in hand. I did like her, but the fact she didn’t know where Cheltenham was worried me. Stopping outside her house, she turned to face me and I felt the moment coming. I leaned forward, as my Handbook taught me and waited.
“Don’t Push It” she smiled, launching herself inside her house in one swift move. Don’t Push It?
There’s hope for us yet!
See my name at 'da bottom;
www.willswritingawards.co.uk/news/story.asp?NewsID=36
The ones in italics are innuendo horsey names (:
Heartsick on the Home Turn
School is like the Grand National. There are so many other fierce competitors that can knock you off course or get in your way and too many fences that could bring you to your knees with one small error. Surviving is key for the first circuit, but now you’re planning more than just that. You’re coming up to Valentines and suddenly that blonde, curvy mare that just happens to be in your French class is strutting up to you with her exaggerated eyelashes and omnipresent lips... Who knew, that explaining that I think she’s the best filly in the bloodstock arena, wouldn’t get me laid?
“Hi Dan” she starts, peering at me between fluttering flashes of eyelash work.
“Hi Tara” I reply, feeling increasingly uncomfortable about starting a conversation with someone who hadn’t heard of Desert Orchid.
“I heard some stuff about you...” Oh no, she knows.
“I think you’re the best filly...” Oh no Dan, not the filly chat up line.
“What? I meant. Joe said... you see, I heard that you might like...” She cut off quickly looking away into the middle distance which suddenly seemed immensely interesting to the both of us. Joe knew I liked her; had he said something? Was she here to tell me she liked me back?
“You’re the boy, you’re meant to ask me” she said cheekily. I turned back from the enthralling distance to see her gazing down at me with expectant eyes.
“Urm... want to go to the cinema sometime and watch war horse!?” Oh no, not attractive “...a cool film, yunno.” Smooth Dan, real smooth. But she smiled – who’d have thought it!
“Friday, you can pick me up” she retorted cheekily, slipping me a piece of paper with a few numbers scribbled across it. Before you ask, it wasn’t the winning Wincanton saddlecloth numbers for Saturday. I checked.
Joe agreed my riding jacket and jodhpurs weren’t aphrodisiacs, leaving me with beach shorts and a purple t-shirt. Fortunately, by lending me some jeans, he believed I could still gain the “Love of Tara”, causing me to smirk. Nevertheless, his dad, Mr Lively, instructed me out within the hour, due to the fact they were having teaforthree only. Smiling to myself, I set out on my great endeavour to the lion’s den and, believe me, there was a lion on the prowl.
“Where have you been?!” Tara demanded nervously as I reached her house finding her sitting outside, looking as attractive as ever.
“Sorry” I replied, although unsure why, as I wasn’t late. Without missing a beat, she pranced over and took my arm, leading me out of the gate and into town in silence. Correction: I was in silence, Tara wasn’t. She chatted about everything and anything, including how Max (her ex) hadn’t given her anything for Valentine’s Day last year.
“Was he Mad?” I replied, giggling inside.
“And I want someone who won’t give up on me...” Well that makes sense doesn’t it? I am the only lad who thinks the female gender should have a translator attached to them, permanently? “And when he thought he was losing me, he gave up”. Hang on, she means he wasn’t a lough derg. Oh that’s easy.
“I wouldn’t give up, ever.” She smiled. Score.
“Mr Breen? Are you going to make any conversation with me tonight?” Oh Crick! Waiting in queues has always been a pet hate of mine and now under pressure to actually talk, my attitude intensified.
“Get me out of here” I muttered, under my breath.
“What?” she asked, looking at me with those elegant eyes that danced in the dim light and...
“Urm, I’m a celebrity, get me out of here, do you watch it?” Smooth. She gave me an odd look before bantering on about how hot the winner was. I just nodded like the Churchill dog when she gave the appropriate cue. Saving my head from further shelling, the queue moved fast, delivering us to the front rapidly. She asked for two tickets to the film she’d picked; I just nodded and handed over the cash. Smiling slightly, the cashier murmured,
“That’s the spirit, son” shocking me with his natural equine insinuation attribute that had taken me years to perfect. But before I could backhand him with a return of excellent innuendo one-liners, Tara had ushered me towards Screen 4.
The adverts, as dull as they normally appeared when with friends, gained my captive audience until she prised my eyes away again to involve me in her conversation,
“Do you like French, Dan?”
“Because you’re in it” I replied cheekily, without thinking. Luckily, it seemed to work; she grinned.
“Donc, on parle francais?” Oh no, I can’t actually speak it... unless...
“Et maintenant?.” It didn’t make sense, but I was proud.
“Ha ha, day off?” she giggled. Thankfully, after many prayers to notre pere, the film started and she soon forgot about testing my language skills. Much to her delight, she received a text from one of her mates with the message “He likes horses, Joe told me. Talk to him about your mum’s friend’s daughter’s Shetland” Oh yes, I’d be enthralled. She smiled up at me, noticing I had read the text and quickly explained
“She says I need a boyfriend”
“What a friend” I replied, overflowing so much with insinuation pride that it spread to my mouth.
“What are you grinning at?” she asked, looking at me intently. Here goes nothing...
“Your eyes” I improvised, hoping that was what the “Successful Dating Daydream Comebacks’ Handbook” had said.
“You’re such a cutie” she replied... Had it worked? Oh no, she’s looking at me in that expectant way again. What the hell do I say now? Handbooks don’t prepare you for this.
“I’m in it for the long run” Phew, much better.
After the film finished we walked awkwardly home, hand in hand. I did like her, but the fact she didn’t know where Cheltenham was worried me. Stopping outside her house, she turned to face me and I felt the moment coming. I leaned forward, as my Handbook taught me and waited.
“Don’t Push It” she smiled, launching herself inside her house in one swift move. Don’t Push It?
There’s hope for us yet!
