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Short Story: Wind

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Image courtesy of twitter user @intrepidwanders

Dad took me to look at the turbines again today. I didn’t want to go. We’ve been every day this week, and he just gets angry and upset. I suppose I can understand it; I’m not altogether happy about it either, but I’ve got used to it. And it’s only been three weeks, the wind is bound to start blowing again soon.

I suggested to Mum that she go along instead, but she gave me “that look” and I realised that wasn’t going to happen. I even offered to do the washing while she was out – we’ve had to start washing our clothes in an old bath in the yard. It’s a nasty job and I hate doing it – not that we have all that much washing at the moment; we tend to wear most of our clothes to keep warm. Anyway, with no hot water we don’t tend to bathe all that often. Nobody does. I don’t even notice the smell any more. It’s not all that practical at this time of year anyway, the clothes just freeze on the line and don’t dry at all. But despite my offer she said she’d rather stay at home and look after Parton.

Parton is our dog. He’s a cross between a German Shepherd and, well, quite a lot of other types of dog probably, but at least one of them must have been St Bernard because he has a very woolly coat and he’s very cuddly. I think that’s the real reason Mum wanted to stay at home; Parton is a good way to keep warm.

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