Bill Engleson (@billmelaterplea) flew the highest this week and takes his eighth win!
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After a troubled night, a night where his brain burst with mice stampedes, pigs porking, and an unnatural quantity of steaming horse manure dropping into every somnambulant movement he made, Feeney struggled to find the legs to transfer his depressed body out of his thirty-five-year-old mattress.
“You’re gonna get stuck someday, Feeney,” his second wife, Prudence, had said fifteen years earlier. “A man can only put on so much weight before his body sinks into the depressed quicksand that a moldy old mattress can become.”
Pru left soon after she had verbally assailed the condition of their marital bed, much like Emily before, although Em had selected the Sleepy Head King Size Sleep Machine from a vast selection of Slumber Experiences at Honest Snoozy’s Sleep Emporium and then Alice, who came much later, occasionally commented on the lumps.
The next to last was Jessica, who barely stayed a fortnight before Feeney and his night voices and the aging mattress and a whole slew of other character flaws got in her craw, and she packed her valise with jewels and travelers’ cheques and drove away in his mother’s prize Edsel.
So, there Feeney was, nightmares galore, and not just nightmares, but night horses and other critters, all the fears he had, the years that were now shortened into months, maybe, because he didn’t believe he would get beyond a very brief time, even though Sile, his final wife, as far as he knew as his track record was not unlike Mickey Rooney’s, who incidentally starred in a movie, The Black Stallion…
His energy flagged.
There in bed, trying not to disturb Sile, regretting it all, regretting nothing, he wondered if life was a horse and he just needed to climb back on and go for a ride, once again.