"Put another song in me," whispered Britton, teasingly. Don't turn this. Don't turn the page (turn the page). Emergency room evacuation.
And then she lie next to me, stroking my mane with her paw, claws sifting through the dirt dirst and rubble stuck between the hairs. She didn't like the coarseness of my humor, so the meal was free of charge. Wine and whisky, whispers and complaints. Am I helping, yet?
Good. Do it again.
"How strong are you?" she wondered.
"Stop caring," I said.
"No. I need the souls. How strong are you?"
"Shut up and go juggle or something."
She gasped at my rude remark.
"...I'm sorry, I just know that juggling is your favorite thing to do," then I softly whimpered in her ear, "Velma hasn't been to the barn in over a month. I wonder what's happened to her..."
There was a noise, "did you hear that noise?" she asked. I hadn't heard any noises. Just her breathing. So I asked to clarify, "your breathing?"
"No, numbskull. The tip tap on the window."
"Oh. My mistake."
Stop whispering. You stop whispering, wind. Wind.
Wind.
Wind was her name.
Wind.
"Wind!" I cried out.
She ignored me. My Donny was hurting, though, and I needed help fast. Come back home Donny. You're calling in my heart, and it hurts.
Donny was the biggest bull on the farm. He bucked his way out of Britton's legs and took off through the forest. We all don't know if he made the city borders or not. Citation.
Insert bibliography here. MLA format. Name, date, assignment, class; teacher.
Donny may have gotten a disease and been banished by Britton, though. We can't tell which is the truth and which is the lie. Wind just kept telling me that he was banished, but she always lies, and lies next to me in the hay occasionally.
Britton is eating cheese right now. I can see him in the glimmer, on his chair.
Britton has a box problem so all of his windows are blocked with boxes. I can never see him anymore because he's boxed up. Never thinks outside the box. Whithering away in his chair and his cheese.
Moulding cheese crumpets. Disgsuting humans. He needs to learn what it's like to be a wolf and beautiful along with the other horses and wolves as we all run together in the pack, here it comes, coming down the mountain along with Auntie Wilna (she's Brittons sister-in-law).
The apples are running dry again and there's nothing we can do another about it but spit on them and hope they soak up the mouth juice. Britton doesn't know that we spit on his apples though so don't tell him. Especially when he tubs and ribs. Epecially when he rubs them on his chest.
Britton likes to dance to the Hip Bone Jiggle by Sprinting Bruce. I can hear him dancing now. Swaying his bum left and right. Bashing his head into the wall. Slamming his pooter on the couch and bouncing back up like a chicken on a trampoline. I wish he would invite me to dance sometimes in the lines. He doesn't know that I've been practicing my trot and swirl. We would make a gratitude and a great dance team if only he'd trust his horsestincts and give me a chance. Give it a whirl while he gets winded touching his elbows together.
Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap.
That's the sound of Britton's cheeks.
Tap. Tap.
Tap. Bap.
Oops. Slipped in a bee. It's buzzing in his ears, and Wind enjoys the dear fear of Britton's allergic reactions to bumble bee stingers infecting him with poison in his blood garbage and pudding in his blood. These bees are difference. Deli meat.
Flight and taking off into the bus of students is what the bees do to waste time while queenie is being the queen.
"Wind, keep massaging my eye sockets," I say. It feels nice when she picks the maggots out of them.
