Indie Blogger Challenge #14
119 Words regarding:
You get drunk and ride your friend’s Harley through an Amish apple butter store in Arthur, IL. You wake up in their barn, in overalls and ill fitting shoes wearing a goofy wide brimmed black hat/in a floor sweeping ginger dress wearing clogs and a stained frilly bonnet. The Harley is missing and there’s a barefoot nine year old kid holding a chicken standing in front of you. You try to sit up but the kid says:
“Your hair is stuck.”
My hair is glued to the barn floor with apple butter. It tastes pretty good once I remove the hay.
“So… How do I get out of here?” I ask.
“Why?” Says the kidlet.
I smile sweetly, stand up quickly – not grimacing too much as chunks of hair rip out of my head.
“They eat small children where I come from.”
He runs off, out of the barn. I turn to leave in the other direction.
Only to see his Amish Daddy standing there.
“Well, hello.” I say.
“Get to work.” He pushes a shovel into my hands. “Who eats small children?”
I start working, cause I just have nothing left to say right then. How can you top children eating?