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I am just an ordinary girl

fiction

By moladdaPublished 2 years ago 4 min read
1

My father was a fox farmer. As a fox farmer, he would keep some silver foxes in captivity, and when they got a good coat in the fall or early winter, he would slaughter them and take their skins to sell.

My job was to make sure the foxes drank enough water twice a day.

Once a feed vendor came to the fox pen to talk to my dad, and my dad said, "You must meet my new hired help." I was so happy I was beaming. "I almost made a mistake," said the feed vendor, "I thought she was just a little girlie girl."

Mom rarely went outside the house; she looked out of place in the barn. Sometimes she would ask me to do something in the house, so I would sit at the table and peel peaches or chop onions. The onions were so spicy that my eyes stung and tears flowed. The work inside seemed to me to be endless, boring, and depressing. But going outside to work for my dad was as important as attending a sacred ceremony.

As I was pushing the cart with the water tank to the barn, I heard Mom say, "When Laird gets a little older, you'll have a real helper. And then I'll be able to get her to help me around the house more, too." She talked about me with a cold tone that seemed to be tinged with a hint of regret and regret that made me apprehensive. "I turned around and she ran away, like I never had this girl in this house."

In the past, I thought "girl" was a word that symbolized innocence and purity, just like the word "child", meaning carefree. Now it seems that this is not the case at all. "I used to think I was a girl, but now I realize that "girl" is obviously not what I am now, but what I have to be.

My father's bloodstained apron reminded me that he usually shot his horse with a gun and fed it to the foxes. I had long since become accustomed to the death of animals because of the demands of life. But I would still feel a twinge of shame, a tinge of wariness and alienation added to my heart toward my father and his work.

Two weeks later, I learned that he was planning to kill another horse named Flora. This time I wasn't going to see it; once is enough to see such things.

It was a beautiful day. We first heard Flora's guttural neighing, and then we heard Dad calling loudly. My brother and I ran to the barn to see what was going on. The stable door was open and Flora was running back and forth at both ends of the barn. Dad yelled at me, "Close the door!"

Halfway to the door, I saw Flora coming straight for me. I had just enough time to bolt the door shut. Laird also rolled over the ditch to help me.

But instead of closing the door, I left it wide open. I didn't do it because I had already made up my mind, I just did it. Flora didn't slow down at all, she sped past me. Laird was so anxious that he jumped, he shouted: "Close the door, close the door!" Although it was not going to help at this point.

It was after one o'clock when my father returned. The truck was covered with a tarp. This meant that there was meat in the truck. We sat down and Dad said the pre-dinner prayer. We passed bowls of steaming vegetables. Laird looked at me from across the table and said, gloating and word for word, "Either way, it's Flora's fault for running off."

"What?" Dad asked.

"She could have closed the door, but she didn't. She left the door open for Flora to run away."

"Is that true?" Dad asked again.

Everyone at the dinner table looked at me. I nodded and took a hard swallow of my food. I felt so guilty that tears came to my eyes.

Dad grunted in disgust, "Why did you do that?"

I didn't answer, just put my fork down and kept my head down, waiting to be shooed away from the dinner table.

"Forget it." Dad said.

He sounded a little helpless, even a little relieved. What he said next forgave me forever, while discarding me forever. "She's just a girl." He said.

I didn't argue with my mouth, nor did I rebel in my heart. Maybe he was right.

Short Story
1

About the Creator

moladda

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