Random words generated at creativitygames. net
When I don’t have a particular post to write about, I enjoy a random set of words to stir my creativity. I have a category devoted to these stories.
Today’s words are:
Here’s my story:
The driver side window whistled as Dillon drove along the country road at a speed, far beyond, the speed limit. He reasoned that the country cops wouldn’t even have radar since he thought of them as hillbillies with bare feet and IQs of 20. If he had used duct tape to repair the window, it would have been okay. But he’d only found masking tape in the trunk. That was not going to hold. Dillon made a note of this and vowed to add duct tape to his burglary kit.
This whole hazing wasn’t sitting well with him either. The open fields and tranquil setting of the farmland, was slowly having an effect on him. Stealing the car, on behalf of the gang, seemed like fun while in the city, but now, the idea of losing his freedom was unsettling. His surroundings reeked of what he would be missing, if he were captured.
At first, the adrenaline rush he’d experienced was awesome. Now, nerves and regret were closing in on him. Dillon reached into his pocket for the pin joint he’d rolled earlier. Yes, a little smoke would calm him.
As he tried to light it, the tape gave way and the weed went out of the , now open, window. His baseball cap followed.
Dillon took his foot off of the gas. He considered turning around but there was no way he’d find the joint now. The cap wasn’t even his. He let the Pontiac Firebird come to a stop on its own.
The 16-year-old got out and just stood there. The sun covered him in a cloak of warmth he’d almost forgotten existed. It was like a hug, comforting and firm, yet not at all unkind. No punch in the gut followed. He lifted his face and felt a phantom kiss on his cheek.
Dillon was hopelessly lost.
Standing beside the road was an old horse. There was no one in sight on any of the roads that he could view from his position. Meadows with waving grasses were all he could see.
“Where am I?” He whispered to himself.
The horse lifted its head and gave a snort of “hello there”. Dillon didn’t know that horses snorted. Didn’t they say ” neigh” on “Old MacDonald’s Farm” ? He cautiously approached the animal.
“Wow, you’re big dude. Wouldn’t happen to have some grass on ya?” Dillon chuckled for a moment at his clever pun.
He reached his hand over the fence and stroked the animal’s face. It snorted again and he jumped back.
“Listen, I won’t hurt you if you won’t eat me. That a deal big dude?”
It dawned on him, that he no longer was worried about the cops, his gang or anything. The peace that he was wrapped in, right there, right then, was better than any “high” he’d ever felt. Then, he squeezed under the barbed wire and stood beside the beast. It was huge and powerful, yet gentle and friendly. The horse’s pasture was at the bottom of the steepest hill and Dillon decided to climb it so he could see the whole valley.
He patted the Old Gray fellow and, as he did, a layer of dust filled his nostrils.
“C’mon Dusty, let’s have a look.”
At the top, he sat for a long time. As Dusty grazed beside him, an old hymn, his grandma used to sing, came to mind. It filled his head…
“Amazing grace! how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found;
Was blind, but now I see.”
It was in his grandmother’s lap he had heard these words. Remembering them, was as surprising to him as the horse’s gentleness. Strength without anger…power without hurt.
Dillon walked through the night. He was feeling wonderful, no longer afraid of anything. He struggled to remember when, exactly, being afraid had become a constant inside of him.
When daylight broke he hitchhiked into the city. He had already decided that he was going to get his belongings and return to that pasture. Dillon wanted something. He had a goal to work on a farm , if not that one, any farm. The gang would never miss him and certainly would not find him.
His only concern, now, was that the farm would have horses.