Prayer for the Cowgirls
David Antrobus Posted on Friday, May 30, 2014 at 8:52PM 
Right, we have Dan Mader's flash fiction Friday thing once again. To be honest, I'm trying to keep up while catching some intense Stanley Cup playoff hockey. No Canadian teams left, but it's hard for me to let go, nonetheless. It's okay, it's all good, worry not.
But yeah, I've been reading plenty of stuff this week about misogyny and rape culture and male privilege and domestic violence. I have some personal familiarity with some of that shit, truth be told, as much as I wish it weren't so (not as perpetrator, before you ask, and for that you must take my word). It's ugly, basically.
Anyway, try to imagine Thelma and Louise with a Cormac McCarthy screenplay, and this latest piece might come clear after a night under some burning starfield, the air having cooled fast, as deserts do.
The thing is, what's important is that writers keep writing, keep improving and entering, displaying their work in places that are both supportive of all-comers yet exacting in terms of standards. We can raise ourselves by our bootstraps, brothers and sisters, no lie.
But yeah. Okay, here it is: my flawed cowgirls get the goddamned blues. Life is messy, yo.
Prayer for the Cowgirls
They tied their mounts in a meager stand of red birch, evening's onset drawing out shadows beneath the vast western cliff face.
To their right, the eastern plains were already dark as an indrawn breath.
Blanket folded between her dusky head and a small rock, Ashlyn lay back and tried to guess where in the sky each new star would choose to glimmer.
Glimmer-born, she thought. A fine name for high fantasy.
But here was only low reality—the edifice that loomed to their left, the quiet trees still as quills, and the memories of their belligerent, cheating, freshly killed husbands still bleeding out on worn linoleum.
What indignities this land has witnessed and then always covered like someone dutiful raking their trail with cedar boughs. Build a fire and not all ghosts scatter.
"Well. We did it." Clara's face indistinct amid the greying of the world.
Another star awoke, and Ashlyn smiled. "Sure did, sis. Turned them tables good."
The horses chuffed and nickered amid the birch stand. Small birds in the scrub chittered and flit, settling.
"So, head out before sunrise?" asked Emilia. "Keep going?"
"I say yeah. Too tired to move, but giving y'all high-fives in my mind here. Night, girls."
"Night."
"Night."
High on the cliff above them a cougar screamed like a child lost in a charnel house, while everyplace else shrank into silence and the stars blazed from their impossible distances, as they always will do and always have done. Amen.
Reader Comments (8)
How do you do it, Mr. Antrobus? Any genre, any setting, any characters? The entire piece is true to the theme, and you've used words of gold. Loved it (in case there was any doubt ;) )
I'm not sure; I simply keep on writing. But I'm so happy it works for you, Jo.
to the bone - finely done
Thanks, Russ. Took my own advice and kept it more simple this time.
Nice! Really enjoyed this, David.
Thanks, DV Berkom, for stopping by and for taking the time to comment. It's genuinely appreciated whenever anyone bothers to read my stuff.
This is a great piece man. Simple, yet powerful imagery and language. Fucking love it. You bastard. ;)
Heh. It's a win-win, though. We all get to write and your blog gets more and more hits. Not only that, but the writing is fantastic lately. Everyone's.