Sara and Rufus
Rufus asked Sara to wait for him, and she tearfully said she would.
"I go to seek our fortune Sara." Rufus told her, shouldering his pack. "To literally claw our future joy from frozen mud and granite tombs."
Sara kissed him and smiled bravely.
"Remember to look to the far north hills and keep me always in your thoughts."
Sara assured him that remembering to do so wouldn't be a problem.
"And know that the sound the wind makes echoes my heartbreak and my soul is calling for you."
Sara nodded and rested her head on his chest.
"My time apart from you, sweet Sara, shall not be counted in days or weeks, but in fallen tears on a wilderness beard."
Sara began to wonder when exactly, if ever, Rufus planned to leave.
"We shall each have nights, dear Sara, when we fear the loneliness is more than we can bear. It is then that we must be strongest--if not for ourselves then for each other."
Sara gave Rufus a little shove, hoping it would start him down the trail.
"Nothing is certain except love, my love." Rufus breathed, striding back to her side. "Remember to look often to the far north hills and keep me always in your thoughts."
Rufus was beginning to repeat himself. Sara cleared her throat.
"Know this, sweet Sara, I shall always--"
Just then a cougar jumped out from behind a grove of aspen trees and ate Rufus' face off. It was a perfect example of how savage the frontier could be, and though she never quite forgot Rufus, Sara married well and did just fine.
Rufus, on the other hand, not so much--mostly because a cougar ate his face off and then he died.
The End
posted by Latigo Flint @ 2:06 AM
8 comments
8 Comments:
D'you suppose that cougar's for hire? I imagine there's a service and money to be made there. I expect we all know somebody who we've sighed about and thought, if only a cougar would eat their face off so I can get on with taking these clothes to the dry-cleaner's.
In the city, perhaps a cougar might not cut it - the mass panic etc. A roving band of sqirrel thugs for hire might be the answer there. Squirrels who like a bit of face for their dinner.
Savage and true, savage and true, and also a little funny in places, not that the humour detracted in any way from the savage truthfulness, in fact it was partly funny just because of the savage truth.
"...fallen tears on a wilderness beard."
That is so classic. A metaphor for fallen tears on a wilderness beard, I think.
I'm unsure as to whether I should cry or laugh.
Sara should be thankful. Who wants to hear that shit all the time anyway?
Thanks for the laugh. :)
*Clap clap* Oh bravo Mr. Flint bravo.
A cautionary tale with a moral of great importance: the all-too-delicate, romantic poets among us meet tragic, early ends. I hope it doesn't happen to Rufus Wainwright.
The trouble, Sam Problem Child, is that one never quite knows when one may someday become that person of whom others wish a cougar would come and eat their face off.
Much better Helga Von Porno, much better--savage and true. Consider our marriage back on.
Glad to hear it Ethan Greer.
Quite right Old Hoss, quite right indeed.
You're welcome Randommoments--but you had it right the first time. Tears were the correct response. There's absolutely nothing funny about hemorrhaged love and faces eaten off by cougars.
Thank you Cad Grublygold.
(We're the Grins in the Dark, you and I, and woe to them who forget it.)
You made me smile Ari, just now. Well done.
I thank you for saying so; however, that is scarce payment for the many times you've loosed mirth from my stony heart, Mr. Flint. ;)
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