LITTLE BLACK HORN
He’s a wounded animal. A dying breed who I keep here with me. I never intended him to stay after the first night. There is no selfishness with Little Black Horn. This is what I’ve named him. He’s a dying breed. I was draped over him, trailing my fingers down the prominent blue veins on his arms.
‘What are you thinking about?’ He asks me. I’m not thinking about the accident. That is what he is implying. I’m not thinking about how frail you have become.
‘That we really should be eating something. You know I want to, but we can’t be laying on top of the bed all day.’
‘Then how about we lay in it?’ He begins kicking the duvet down around our ankles.
‘I really need to eat. Let me cook us something special.’….
(Highly recommended and free this weekend. Click the images for link. For more information on Harley Holland, visit his blog here.)