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Read by James Price
The Last Real Thing or Why My Family Left for America
Aedan and Bartley ate their fill; I’d been shorted for laziness. As further punishment, Mother sent me to gather peat alone.
There I spied the soldiers. Preferring dreams to drudgery, I decided to join them.
I’d be a cook’s apprentice with the job of tasting and eating. They’d raise me to fight. I’d come back a leader. I’d conquer Ireland, but once my mother recognized me and apologized for withholding the fish, I’d have my army free everyone. Then we would conquer England!
In dreaming this, I’d come near their camp and, as the speech you’ve practiced flees once you catch the pretty girl’s eye, I lost my resolve. I couldn’t address the soldiers; I didn’t even know their language.
But I’d been gone too long. I’d gathered no moss (rolling stone though I was!) and I knew I’d catch it, so I squeezed between a rock and a bilberry bush and, eating my fill of the black fruit, I hatched a second plan. In this one Cromwell held me captive, but I escaped to warn my village before he arrived.
It all became real when a string of mounted soldiers picked their way right in front of me, hoofs grazing my bush. My uncles had said they’d pass us for Drogheda sure, but they were headed toward us.
As soon as I thought it safe, I sped over the hill and ran as fast as I could. And I was a fast one. I ran every morning and now I run every night. The ground rolls under me like a log in swift water. I speed up to keep my balance, but the faster I run the further away home slips. I pitch forward. I almost fall. I do fall. I’m scraped bloody, but I’m up again chasing a horse I can never catch, a horse at full gallop whose hood is almost in my palm. My lungs cough. My throat chokes. Every night, I seize up for lack of air, but still I run.
The gate recedes before me. Even in nightmare, the soldier’s rearing horse is magnificent. Nostrils flaring. Thick mane. Huge chestnut. My brothers can’t resist. Aedan, Bartley and our dog Scamp run to greet the horse and his soldier. Mother doesn’t stop them. She is out looking for me. If I was there, I’d be first. I was fastest. But I am on the hill.
Aedan takes the lead. I try to stop him. It is like a dream where you can’t scream only I do scream. I scream and he can’t hear me. I scream and it is no dream. It is the last thing that ever happens. The last real thing. I am far. I am close. I do not know any more.
The horse rears. Scamp yowls. I run and scream and fall and Aedan gets there first. He cries “Dia duit!” Which is Irish. Which is forbidden. And no matter how I run, no matter how I scream or dream, the soldier raises his sword and runs him through.
(c) MFC Feeley, 2018
MFC Feeley (left) lives in Tuxedo, NY and attended UC Berkeley and NYU. She has published in The Tishman Review, Brevity Blog, Ghost Parachute, and others. She has been nominated for Best Small Fictions and was an Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Quarterfinalist. More at MFC Feeley/Facebook and @FeeleyMfc
James Price’s recent theatre credits include Fire and Phoenix for Historia Theatre where he combined the roles of Christopher Wren and Charles II. He has narrated a variety of audio books. His TV and film credits include the BAFTA award winning L8R Youngers 2 for the BBC, In My Head and Background Action.
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