I have no
idea of the context of the conversation or anything much about it at all but it
involved the need to wrestle a horse to the ground. I remember thinking how humorous and
ridiculous it sounded at the time. The
very idea seemed absurd, impossible even.
Now it sounded very useful indeed.
So I hit
the clearing and laid down some oats to keep the unicorn occupied. And then I cleared the area of stray twigs
and dry leaves, anything that might make a noise to alert her to my presence. Then I did what I spend most of my time
doing.
I waited in
the bushes. By now the ground had grown
accustomed to my ass. A dent had been
created by my weight and in it I would nestle and roost each week waiting to
put a plan into action. It was
surprisingly cosy, actually. Like Homer
on his couch awaiting a new season, I would sit, crack into position, hugging
my legs in anticipation, eyes alert, scrolling the scene for that first flash
of white.
Which that
day came soon after three, not long after I’d had an afternoon cup of tea. She entered the clearing, her head held high
until she found the clearing empty of contraptions when it dropped and she sat
down dejected.
I cursed in
my head - how had she not seen, or at least smelt, the oats? Normally it would not take so long. And then she sneezed a funny little sneeze
and everything made sense.
Thinking on
my feet I picked up one of the twigs I’d hurled aside earlier and threw it
towards the oats. Hearing the small pat
of the twig hitting the ground the unicorn turned around and perked up
immediately on the sight of those oats, so delicious to her.
Once her
nose was buried I started to creep up on her, my eyes fixed on her behind,
trying to spot any movement that might indicate she knew what I was up to while
moving as silently as possible so as not to make her tail twitch.
Following a
nervous and long couple of minutes I was in a position to pounce. I paused, a little worried of what I was
about to do, I didn’t want to shock her too much or hurt her in any way. I remembered the first time I had seen her
and had tried to approach her, how she had run on the moment I had put my hand
out and how far I had come since then. Then
something inside took over and I just did it.
I dived at
her middle, wrapping my arms around her and pushing the unicorn to the
ground. She resisted, of course, trying
to push me off but I had caught her just right and sat on her, had her pinned
as I took a rope from my waist and tried to gather her legs in to immobilise
her - I had a cart waiting in the wings.
She must
have seen WWF before or something because right at the last second, just before
she was to be bound, just when she looked defeated, the unicorn made her body
convulse, a ripple running right across her torso, sending my sorry ass flying.
I composed
myself quickly, turning and pulling myself to my knees in time to see the
unicorn’s advance, head down slightly, a grin on her face. I smiled back and prepared for her strike.
What
followed was something akin to the metopes on display of the British Museum
showing the fight between the lapiths and the centaurs but with a little of the
playfulness and gentleness of lovers injected in that we both held back for
fear of hurting the other. Only a
little, though - the unicorn was still ultimately fighting for her freedom and
a certain grit determination remained in her eyes.
We tussled
this way and that, moving one moment fluidly to gain the upper hand, the next
jerking to get free of the other’s grip until I was suddenly on my back, my
shoulders pinned to the ground by the unicorn’s hooves.
I held out
my hands and said, “I submit,” smiling again as I had at the start of the fight
proper. I had to hand it to her, she’d
beaten me fair and square. All I could
do was walk away defeated but energised by the exercise.
We did not
wrestle again for a long time. I wish
that first time had been the last.
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