Come On, Mate… It’s Just a Game of Horseshoes
No longer does my three-point-stance turn beautifully into a fallaway three-pointer with the deadly swoosh. Gone … the days of a perfect toss of the ball forcefully spiked across the net for a ‘40-Love’.
Life has always been an awkwardness of mixed metaphors.
My youth-filled ‘wild side’ … sneaking past my parents’ bedroom… absconding my 8:30 curfew.
Curses! The unwitting savior of the plain’s buffalo has me in death’s throes.
My six-by-six havens are being ravaged by this obnoxious, impossible-to-kill Sledgehammer grass.
Perfect twirls and dead-on ringers are being accosted by awkward entanglements.
This unspeakable horror will not be my Waterloo.
(Sorry, this one went a little weird?)
Written for The Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge: Requirements: February 10, 2016 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about wild spaces. Is it a wilderness or a patch of weeds in a vacant lot that attract songbirds. What is vital to the human psyche about wild spaces? Bonus points for inducing something cute and furry.