by Paul McIntyre

Bits of that night keep coming back to me. It was the usual pattern: beer, beer, shot; beer, beer, shot. After that it gets hazy. We staggered home through the field - the one with the grey horse in it. I don’t remember: was it your idea or mine to lead it across the motorway? The newspapers wanted answers too.


Paul McIntyre lives in Manchester, and blogs about scriptwriting here. (He's 28, but not yet worried about 30.)


Miss Vicki alias GranitaToGo said...

This somehow sounds like a true story, possibly because I grew up in the farm country of the U.S.

Nice story, except for the splattery part,a bit upsetting at the end!

quin browne said...

Leaves you wondering.

Anonymous said...

Paul... I loves it. You get the Big Six from me. Completely fluid, lulls you in then killer last line.


Teresa Stenson said...

A sinister Six. I like how the horse is just background until you really think of what you're implying, then you 'see' the scene, and the tragedy of it being lead unaware.

Christian Bell said...

If you keep repeating “beer, beer, shot,” unusual things will happen. This sounds very believable.

Martha Skye Martin said...

I chose this post because of the title. As a horse person and past owner of such, I hated this post. BUT, it was incredibly well-written and enjoyable on a disconnected-from-reality perspective.