Red Sky at Night (garden plot)

Chewing on his lip nervously, Scutcher looked from Noreens limp form to the wheelbarrow and then back again. The horse he was okay with, he supposed, if Jack said that it would be back at the stables then that was fine by him, after all the older young man probably knew the horse’s nature better than Scutcher did but the wheelbarrow was not negotiable. It wasn’t that Scutcher was trying to be difficult; he wanted to help, really he did, but he had to take the wheelbarrow home. Clenching his fists around it until the knuckles whitened, all of a sudden the handle felt hot and heavy like a burning metal clamp around his fists. He didn’t want Jack to have to struggle with Noreen, but he wanted to get beat on even less. “No,” said Scutcher firmly shaking his head violently enough that his muddy brown curls trembled as it moved. “I aint ditchin’ it…we can switch if you like. But it’s comin’ back with me whatever happens.”

It wasn’t often that Scutcher stood up for himself so firmly, certainly not at school with the constant teasing, pencil throwing or whatever other cunning ploy that the kids thought up to pass the long class hours but it was never because he was afraid, just because he didn’t see the point, it didn’t seem worth all the effort. This was different though, while the memory of the hot searing pain of bones bruising and teeth splintering in this gums was still fresh. He wouldn’t leave the wheelbarrow in case it got stolen or damaged or anything else and that really was final. He wasn’t afraid of Jack looking at him angrily and he wasn’t about to do as he was told just because someone else had said it. People always expected Scutcher to do that, because he wasn’t the brightest, just shut up and assume everyone else knew better. Jack though, Jack didn’t know nothing about Scutcher or what would happen to him if he came back without the wheelbarrow.

In his head, Scutcher said an apology to the now passed out Noreen, looking so limp and sad trailing in Jack’s arms like a wisp of delicately wrinkled paper or crisp taffeta.

“We’re almost out of the woods,” Scutcher mumbled in a low voice, lifting up his wheelbarrow and starting forward as though signalling that as far as he was concerned the matter was over. “Must’ve been this way a thousand times goin’ back from the garden. If we go north,” he pointed, “then we can find the road first an’ head east along that. Avoid the wolves.”

I feel my blue eyes start to flutter up and open and before I can even catch myself I'm clinging to who ever is holding me crying and moaning in pain. I feel like Someone stomped on my shoulder and I bury my face into the chest of my saviour. Try to choke back the sobs I realize its not Jack's arms I'm in but Scutcher's. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." I groan trying to ease my way out.

My knees are shakey and the world is dark "I just want to go home." I cry. We're going in the complete reverse way of my parents house and I don't know what to do. So I just hold my arm close to me and follow the boys to where ever they are going. The chill of the night is setting in and I shiver and hiccup from the tears. I'm a blubbering mess.

I see the lights to a little shanty not far off the road and Scutcher's eyes keep flickering towards it. "Shouldn't we just stop there?" using my good arm I motion towards the little run down home. Maybe someone there could help us? Maybe they might be able to give us a place to rest for the night. I know I won't be making the journey much farther in this pain. "Please don't make me go any farther." I plead with Jack.

I don't want to spend the rest of the night blundering around in the darkness. I just want to go somewhere safe and out of the cold. I don't care at this point if its a mudhole in a pig barn, anywhere is better than this. If Jack plans on resisting me he's going to have hell of a fight on his hands. This night has turned into a clusterf-ck and I don't want to deal with it any longer.

Forcing my feet to steady I start wobbling towards the rusty tin home. Each step slow and deliberate. The jostling of the movement causing the throb in my shoulder to pulsate through my body. I need to lay down, I need to get some where off the road. Calling back over my should I ask "Are you coming or not?"