powered by your voice
Jul 14
in fiction 0 Comments challenge: Milk

The Curse Of The Cows

The table shook slightly.
They had promised me that it would be sturdy, but that was back when it was first built.
They were still building tables then.
Then they brought the cows, and you were riding one of them, carrying a stool.
Through the warm, sunny days you showed me how to stream steaming milk into a bucket.
You would sit on the stool and I sat by your side.
When I turned nineteen you brought me a glass of milk and placed it on the table we made when I was sixteen and you were twenty-three.
And the table shook slightly.
You had to leave soon because they wanted to show you grass, but we had weeds and I thought those were better.
I had no idea really.
You still had to leave though, and I got angry.
I slammed my hand down on the table and ignored the crack webbing between my fingers.
Your hip bumped the table when you ran from me, and the untouched glass of milk
fell.
Shoulders heaving, I watched the glass fall and the white drops fall on the floor.
The next day I heard that you died, on the grass, running toward a tractor.
You had no idea what it was yet, and it rolled right over you.
I told you our weeds were better.
It was raining when they brought your body back, and a lightning strike caused our cow to burn.
I walked outside the next day and that stool was still there.
I picked it up, put it on my back, and left out place.
Thunder rolled in across the hills, but I found another patch of weeds among all that grass.
And I lay down.
And I turned over the stool.
And I traced our initials with my eyes, while bugs flew up my nose and rain spat in my face.
And in my mind's eye I pictured the tall, cool glass and I imagined the white drops of milk gathering themselves into a puddle, and I forced the liquid back inside.
And suddenly the rain stopped.
I opened my eyes and saw a cow coming towards me, a figure on its back.
Damn.

#sos17
 
About the Author: Graceth Harleli
"She is too fond of books and it has turned her brain." ~Louisa May Alcott
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