Quicklinks:
|
Great Writing - Home > Short S. > A Little Story
| READING ROOM | ||||
|---|---|---|---|---|
|
| COMMUNITY | |||
|---|---|---|---|
|
| ABOUT GREAT WRITING | ||
|---|---|---|
|
| WORK AWAITING REVIEW |
|---|
|
| GW IS... |
|---|
|
Great Writing creative writing community is designed to prompt ideas
and provide inspiration and motivation within aspiring and amateur
authors. Whatever your topic; from love poetry to Doctor Who or Harry
Potter fan fiction, Great Writing's online writing group is where you
can make new friends and improve your creative writing. |
| WHO'S ONLINE |
|---|
| We have 1606 guests online and 6 members online |
Shorts
| print friendly version | |
| A Little Story | |
| By foxmulder | ||||||||||||||||||
| 24 October 2007 | ||||||||||||||||||
|
Just a small story. No introduction necessary. Untitled - Not much business today then? - Hmm? Ah no, no. Shame really, it’s my last day. I was hoping for some fares but…
His voice was distant, preoccupied; it matched the face. - Yes sir. Forty years I’ve been working this beach… - Yeah, you took me for rides when I was a child. Surely that’s not the same donkey? - Hmm? Who her? No, no. I’ve only had Lucy a few years. I’ve had dozens of donkeys… He trailed off and there was silence. I could smell the donkey and the scent brought to mind clear memories of my childhood and the times my grandparents would take me to this beach to ride the donkeys, under the supervision of the very man who had just spoke. Near the waterline a child was trying to fly a kite but the wind was much too strong and the kite wouldn’t stay in the air. Still, the child persisted. The old man spoke again: - Yes, you and every other kid ‘round here, all ‘tourists too, thousands of them, I’ve taken on the back of these here donkeys, north pier to central pier, back again, even all the way to south shore on nice days. But the council says I’m too old now so…nevermind eh. Would have been nice though, today… I looked at my watch and it was nearly eight; I had been there for nearly two hours. The stubborn summer light was finally fading and I felt I should start heading home. I almost got up to leave but something stopped me, as if I was magnetized to the rocks. I decided to wait and let the old man move first. Ten minutes passed. Even more people had left the beach and a slight drizzle was being sieved through the clouds. The donkey-man was still gazing vacantly towards Ireland, probably thinking about the last forty years. I wanted to tell him to go home, that he’d given his final ride, but I had neither the heart nor the courage. I lit a cigarette and watched the child with the kite, who I could now identify as a little girl, a red bonnet protecting her tiny ears from the wind. The girl’s interest in the kite had drained away, but the father seemed convinced it would fly. Suddenly a voice came from the promenade above: - Are you working? Donkey rides? The old man shuffled round and, straining his neck, looked up at the railings. - Can I have a ride on your donkey, Granddad?! It was the bellow of a young man with shortly-shaved hair and a can of beer in his hand; two of his friends were loitering behind him. All three looked drunk and I guessed that they were tourists on a big summer night-out. They had a good laugh and walked on. The incident cut deep enough for the old man to say: - Blackpool never used to be like this. It used to be…you know…families, kids and that. Now it’s just boozers and louts and… A family approached from the north, a timely representation of the other face of the town; mother and father arm-in-arm and a young boy running ahead looking for crabs in the water pools. The boy spotted the donkey and ran over. The old man’s face changed. The boy began stroking Lucy and said: - What’s his name? - Her name is Lucy, replied the old man with a smile. - Dad, can I have a donkey ride? Dad shouted back: - Hey? Hmm…yeah, sure. If that’s okay with Mum… Mum quickly decided: - No, no. Come on, we’re late already. Sorry.
Her last word was directed at the old man, who was stood up with Lucy’s rope ready in his hands. He sat down again. The boy ran back to Mum and Dad and they rushed off. Directly ahead, the girl in the red bonnet was now crying and even father seemed to have given up with the kite; they looked to be packing up to leave. I wanted to leave too and decided on a few more minutes only; I desperately wanted to see the old man take a fare, it had become important to me.
Only registered users can rate and write comments. Powered by AkoComment 2.0! |
||||||||||||||||||
 Previous item
|
Next item
|
|---|