Thank you @mariannewest for another fabulous #freewrite challenge.
And its the weekend!
Hurrah for the weekend freewrite challenge! This challenge involves three prompts. So each part of the story is informed by the next prompt.
To learn more and take part visit @mariannewest/weekend-freewrite-5-12-2018-part-1-the-first-sentence
If you don't know what a freewrite is visit @mariannewest, here is a link to the introduction post: @mariannewest/writers-or-wanna-be-writers-wanted-be-free-freewrite
The blanket was always left in a big heap after she was done. My father liked that about her.
My mother, on the other hand, hated it.
"Have you been letting that cow on our bed again?" she'd yell down the stairs. My father, would look up from reading a book or the paper, and wink at me.
"Yes!" he shouted. "You know Daisy produces better milk if she has a lie down in the afternoon!" He went back to reading, ignoring the swearing and stomping that came from upstairs. My mother would appear shortly afterwards huffing down the stairs, a bundle of laundry in her hands.
"As if I don't have enough to do, John! Washing our bedding every day because you let the livestock have a lie down in it! What will the neighbours think? Seeing you leading Daisy into the backdoor like that. I bet we're the laughing stock of the village!"
Mother was right, of course. We were the laughing stock of the village. But not because father let Daisy have an afternoon nap in his bed. Nor because he would massage her in the street, before taking her into the pub for half a pint of mild...
...
He was planning a pet movie contest, of course, and even that raised only a few eyebrows. No, the real reason we were the butt of the village joke was me and my looks.
Looking like the cross between a gibbon and a goat had always been something the local boys had liked to make fun of. Most of the time I thought it was harmless. After all, in this village of freaks, I was almost normal. The mayor of the village, prided himself on the ensuring that only the oddest people came to live here. Any child that was born too 'normal-looking' was encouraged to go on a long walk on a cold night. But me - with my looks - I was bordering on normal. So the village boys would poke fun and call me "human face!" even though I looked more goat-like from the side than most of them.
Father was not interested in what the village thought, of course. He was only interested in his books and his pet movie contest.
...
He continued in this way until he discovered that he could not doubt one thing. He wasn't even sure if that made any sense, Father told me later.
"I can't doubt one thing," he said, a look of confusion on his face. "I used to be able to doubt many things at a time. But not any more."
We were in the village pub. Daisy was at the bar, getting the drinks in. A few of the locals teased her and kept asking her if she wanted an "udder one". She just mooed at them and then kicked one of them in the bollocks with her hooves.
Father was in a bit of a state. His pet movie project had gone tits up. Most of the village were fighting each other over what was considered a pet. Since post of the villagers resembled one animal or another, and most of the villages had a cow, goat or dog that had more rights to the bed than the "humans" it was a tough argument.
Jeff - the man that looked a bit like a rabbit - wanted to to put forward the postman, because - as an outsider and someone who actually looked human - he was the only one that looked different from everyone else...
