Post Pied Piper #microfiction

A little piece of fluff here in response to Jane’s picture prompt.

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When they come to write the history of Hamelin it’ll be about pest control, won’t it? Kiddinapping, maybe. No one will ask about the hero-horse, the super champion, whose reputation is now in tatters. My legacy will be limited to a minor role in that picture, carrying another bunch of mewling ne’er-do-well ungrates back to their incompetent parents, led by the most puffed-up, self-regarding, blue-stockinged narcissus since Pontius became a pilot and flew too close to the sun.
You see, I was going to be the thoroughbred of all thoroughbreds, a glorious, much-feted, over-indulged race horse whose prize for ten years of sprinting to glory and gold standard unnecessary head-tossing would be ten years at stud. I mean, even Usain Bolt doesn’t get to live that life.
And neither will I.
Bloody unfair, frankly.
All I did was say I thought it would be nice to give something back. I was young, keen, enthusiastic. I was pushed into it, in truth. My people thought it would enhance my PR profile to offer a bit of pro bono help in time of need. What I expected were a few walk-on appearances, rally morale, bring a little sunshine, that sort of thing. What I got was pack-horsery.
They lined the streets to see me off, cheer me on my way. Even then I assumed I’d maybe lead the recovery team, prance at the front like the show-pony I am at heart with some Nabob on my back. But once outside the walls the truth dawned.
By the time we’d rescued the little darlings, I was broken. You can see how I can’t bear to look at the artist, I had to hide my tears. Ok self-pity isn’t attractive but it’s understandable, isn’t it? And maybe I shouldn’t have kicked his pert little arse quite as hard as I did.
These days you’ll find me down by the river. There are a few of us who’ve had a bad press. We meet for a chat, to reminisce. The children we rescued are all grown now. They’ve moved on. But the rats. They have a long memory. No one thought about them. And if I can carry all those children, just think how many rats I can get on my back.

About TanGental

My name is Geoff Le Pard. Once I was a lawyer; now I am a writer. I've published three books - Dead Flies and Sherry Trifle, My Father and Other Liars and Salisbury Square. In addition I published an anthology of short stories, Life, in a Grain of Sand this summer. A fourth book will be out soon. This started life as a novel in a week on this blog and will follow later this year. I blog about all sorts at geofflepard.com and welcome all comments. These are my thoughts and no one else is to blame. If you want to nab anything I post, please acknowledge where it came from.
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10 Responses to Post Pied Piper #microfiction

  1. Nice one. I liked the 10 years at stud/Usain Bolt joke

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Pingback: Microfiction challenge A Journey: the entries – Jane Dougherty Writes

  3. πŸ˜€ πŸ˜€ The same sentence caught my eye and I’m still laughing.
    “…to glory and gold standard unnecessary head-tossing would be ten years at stud.”

    Liked by 1 person

  4. willowdot21 says:

    Write what you see Geoff and you certainly did Geoff, my favourite line..lines
    led by the most puffed-up, self-regarding, blue-stockinged narcissus since Pontius became a pilot and flew too close to the sun.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Sacha Black says:

    love a bit of anthropomorphism. Loved the attitude in this yarn Geoffle.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Helen Jones says:

    Haha! Like this very much, Geoff πŸ™‚

    Liked by 1 person

  7. πŸ™‚ Fun stuff. How many rats, I wonder?

    Liked by 1 person

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