Tag Archives: Acceptance

Friday Fiction – The Wisdom of Horses

So, Friday Fictioneers got some publicity this week! I’m looking forward to seeing some shiny new faces among the posters … as well as the rugged old ones of course. My story is below the picture, and I LOVE constructive criticism, so please do be honest about what you like and don’t like.

Photo copyright belongs to Erin Leary, master of the good ship FF is Rochelle Wisoff-Fields and other stories can be found through her site.


The Wisdom of Horses

I watched the two of them, nose-to-nose across the fence. Do they envy? I wondered. Does the bay wish for her neighbour’s grassier slopes; the chestnut ache for a foal of her own?

Do they both watch the trailers and suspect their kin of going to better places? When they hear “market” or “knackers”, do they imagine greener fields and juicier apples? When racing news drifts out of the pickup, do they dream of taller studs, or long themselves for rosettes and applause?

Or do they just stand, nose-to-nose, enjoying the fields and the sunshine, the grass and the company?


Filed under Friday Fiction, Writing

Friday Fictioneers – Acceptance

In haste this morning as there are still mince pies to eat and presents to open, but I couldn’t bring myself to miss a FF prompt! This week, Rochelle has presented us with the photo below, taken by Doug MacIlroy. I’d welcome your comments on my story. And if you’re got extra reading time and missed either of last week’s stories, I would love for you to nip back – they are two of the pieces I’m most proud of from this year.

Have a great Boxing Day!



The boy Frederich arrived in Saint-Etienne with the Volkssturm; a girl called Aimee made the man return. But a happy marriage and five popular children hadn’t won over his neighbours. Women spat as he passed, the men turned away or shouted obscenities.

“Doesn’t it upset you?” I asked him once.

“Why?” The slightest accent tinged his perfect French. “I did bad things in this village and a hundred others. My father taught me to resist abuses of power, and yet I conscripted to save my skin. This is the living death I chose the first time I raised my gun.”

* * *

For more about Frederich’s dilemma, click here.

For more about his father, and a hint about how this connects to the photo, click here.

And apologies for the lack of accents on Etienne and Aimee – I can’t work out how to make wordpress display them.


Filed under Friday Fiction, Writing