By: Josh
Innocent White House
It was a scorching day over the yellow meadows and the air was stuffy. The golden sun shone between the majestic clouds hovering around in the blue sky. The clear bright heat rays of light fell on the withering blades of grass, sweltering in the sunlight. The fence, encircling the meadow, was old, holes protruding everywhere in the aged wood. It was a fiery day, just like every other day in the midsummer. The temperature was searing, the wind making the trees bend along was blowing in an attempt to relieve the strain of the heat. The barn in the distance had lost its redness in colour yet it looked very welcoming to travellers nearby in the blistering winds. A white house in the clearing looked comfortable in the clearing of the dust storms the wind kicked up. A simple gentle breeze pulled the smoke out of the chimney.
An automobile pulled into the farm's driveway. The car sputtered at the last few feet of the house and gave out. A plump man stepped out cursing and ranting. He was dressed in the typical clothes of that of a farmer. Blue overalls and a striped shirt bulged as if expecting to burst anytime. His round face was slick with sweat and his eyebrows were knotted in a deep frown. Opening the door to the house, he squeezed himself through. The coolness of the air wafted towards him and the smell of baked apple pie was pungent in the air.
"George, are you home?" asked Susan, his wife "I've made pie for you."
Grunting, George sat down at the table and his wife handed him a slice. Finishing it in a couple of minutes, he began to walk up the stairs to change his sweaty clothes. Taking a quick cold shower, he changed into a cooler set of clothes to relieve his uncomforting feeling of the heat.
"Dear, will go out and do your farm chores?" Susan asked, "They look awfully hot out there."
"I'm not going to do it." George replied gruffly, "I haven't done it for a couple of years… what makes her think I'm going to do it now?" he muttered under his breath. Stalking out from his room, he ran into his tool shed to fix his car. "What a dump, this farm." Grabbing some equipment, he began to work on his car.
As he began to work on his car, George began to think about how he got this farm. He had lived on the farm for most of his life and didn't have many friends. Occasionally playing with the animals was fun until he began to become bored of them.
Sniggering, underneath the car, he reflected about how he nearly killed a young chick by throwing it to the hounds. Were it not for his father, he would have seen it be ravaged and eaten. He was beaten and punished for that act… and many others. He looked out from underneath the car, over the aging fence and towards the animals. He laughed quietly at himself... the animals would pay, for wasting his time when he was young. Pausing only a moment from his work, he ran over towards the chicken coup and grabbed a chicken.
Moments later, the dogs were barking and feathers were everywhere. George chuckled wildly from the fence overlooking the dogs.
"George?" asked a small, high pitched voice from the house, "Don't tell me you killed another chicken." His wife came out bearing a frown.
Wildly looking around for a place to hide and finding none, George ran from the dog house.
A few moments later, a car could be seen pulling out of the driveway and its driver grumbling about how boring the dump was.If one paid close attention, one would see a sheep watching all the whole events develop.
Sam had almost finished clearing the meadow he was restricted to. The old ram wandered slowly from one side of the meadow to the other side. Many other young lambs followed him, slowly baaing as they went. He watched the car pull out from the rocky road and onto the main road. He turned his head in distain at the barking dogs and peered over the fence to watch the hens and roosters walk around and mind their business
"Today?" asked the old ram.
The rooster looked up from the other side of the fence sadly "No, not yet".
"Then when?" responded the old ram, looking tired and weary. He had shifted over to the corner of the fence, where a small hole was. In younger years, he would have been able to fit through, yet the many layers of wool the farmer had not sheared would hinder him if he tried to get through.
"If tomorrow rains, we will do it."
"But it never rains, the sun always shines."
"It will, trust me," said the rooster confidently shaking his head. Cornelius had been on the farm for many years, and had seen and heard many things. Amongst those things he had experienced was being thrown to the dogs. Shaking his head, he mumbled something for the hen that was killed. Stepping up from the high mound of dirt he had been standing on, he began his cocky walk back towards his pen. The homemade bandages on his leg was flailing wildly as his head bobbed up and down, all the while unaware of two dark shadows hiding from fury of the sun.
"What did he say about it?"
"He said tomorrow … if it rains," replied Sylvester.
"He must be crazy, it never rains… it's dead out here" replied his pessimistic companion.
"The old rooster never lies, now get some sleep, we have work tomorrow."
Patches of missing fur were scattered everywhere over the coat of brown. He scratched his pointy ears and the skin behind his ears began to flake off. The rat scurried along in the cover of large shadows to take his little den he had made. The other rat scampered off towards the other rats to tell them about the news.
Sam was tired, more tired than he had ever been. He was a very old ram; living on this farm had taken a lot out of him. He was a massive fur ball, yet he had almost no flesh to show. The wool on him made him look like a summer snowman. He dripped of sweat and grime as a young lamb approached him. The lamb, also layered with wool, smelled of sweat. The sun had burned down on the flock and the meadow they had been confined in had long been eaten away. Sam tried to crane his neck between the planks of wood fencing out of the green cool grassland. Barely managing to bite a few blades of grass, he turned and gave the young lamb the food.
"What did the wise rooster say? When are we going to do it?"
"Patience, he said it would be tomorrow where the rain will fall."
"Why do the farmers do this to us?" asked the starving lamb "… leaving us this big and woolly?" Sam thought for a moment and took a deep breath before he answered. He closed his eyes and remembered the years when the farmer took care of them. Those were the days, where they were clean shaven and cool. Not always hot like now. The farmer had sheared them and led them out to new pastures and let them stay in the barn over the winter. This no longer happened. The farmer had become negligent and had gone off playing, ignoring his outstanding tasks to the farm.
"Sir?"
Instantly, Sam snapped out of his memory. "Whaaa?" Sam looked up and saw the two innocent eyes of a monstrous snowball stare at him. He could see the skinny pink flesh bits stick out underneath the young lamb. Others had gathered around him now. It was like a gathering of snowballs … only that the sheep weren't all white. Some were brown with dirt and others still with mud encasing them. Those who managed to keep their coats clean were now matted down, the skin choking for air and squeezing out sweat in an attempt to conquer the heat.
He told them why he thought the farmers left had left them and lived a comfortable life in the house nearby. More sheep gathered around him. He began to tell them of the past where the farmer did his chores. Even more sheep gathered around. The old ram was like a magician, with crowds fascinated by every trick he did. The crowding sheep held onto each word he said and retained it.
Cornelius woke up from his slumber. He stared down at the hay which was brittle and white. It had not been changed for a few years. He looked up and stared at the hens on their eggs, trying to keep them warm. They had spent months, trying to keep them warm and away from the farmer. The walls of the pen were old, and many insects had eaten through them. Cornelius could see the dust outside, all squishy. The roof of the pen was old and many holes were in it. Rainwater dripped from these holes and drizzled onto the ground forming puddles.
He flinched as one raindrop fell and hit a sensitive spot on his bandaged leg. It stung. Unwilling to peel the bandage off, he looked up through the holes of the roof and enjoyed every rainy moment.
The gates of heaven had finally been pried open and the rain had come gushing out. Instantly the dead grass leapt up from its dead state and began to grow. Flowers began to open their dry petals and enjoyed every moment of the rain. Earthworms scurried as fast as they could to get above ground to get oxygen.
Cornelius nearly jumped with joy, it was raining and their freedom had been set for today.
Climbing for the plank to the top of the barn the rooster yelled for the last time on the top his lungs.
"Cockle Doodle-DOO!"
The wind picked up outside in the meadows. It blew through the thin layers of wool the newborn lamb had sleeping outside making it shiver. Slowly but surely, she awoke, and tried to comprehend the new sensation of this liquid falling down on her. A sudden drop fell on her nose and she blinked out in terror. BAAA! She squealed in terror as another fell on her forehead.
"You are so loud when you are scared"
The old ram got up from the muddy puddle he had been sleeping in. Stretching, he realized it was raining. Others had already awoken, the younger ones trying to understand the new feeling of rain, and the older ones happily rolling around in the mud. "It has finally come," murmured Sam. After weeks of drought, the rain had come back finally. The sheep began to prepare...
A rat awoke from the splatter of rain outside his little den. He stared outside, but he could not see anything. It was too foggy. Sylvester ran out of the hole he had made outside of the white house. He knew it was time.
The large bulge shifted out of the den and into the rain. The rat began to run towards the meadow. When he got there, the animals had already begun to meet just over the fence. The horses were there, the pigs were there, the sheep were there, the cows, and the chickens. Everyone was there. He watched as the old ram began to ram into the wet brittle wood. The wood creaked and refused to budge. With utter distain, the horse simply raised his hind legs. SNAP! Two planks fell to the ground.
Leading them was the old cock. A swaggering hen popped out from her coup and began to tell the animals why she should be the leader. Sylvester managed to catch the odd words, "Cornelius… incompetent… I lost chicks to… farmer. "
Seething with anger, the old cock began to tell them his entire entire tale in which he had kept for too long. How the farmer as a kid had thrown him to the dogs and had been rescued by the father. Yet as the years passed, the boy had tormented him over and over again by throwing sticks and rocks. Finally, Cornelius unravelled his bandages on his leg. It was a gruesome sight. The skin had almost rotted away and the entire area was purple and blue. The smell of decay reeked in the air and was blasted by the wind into the face of onlookers. Reeling from the shock of the sudden smell, the animals backed off.
Concluding his supremacy, the rooster gave the shocked hen a forceful stare. As the hen ran off towards the chicken coup, the horses gathered together and laid out their plan they had prepared aeons ago. Absorbing the plan the horses had read out, the animals began to move to their positions.
"Onwards!" cried the old ram moments later pointing towards the house. Sylvester began to run away as the mob began to race across the meadow towards the little white innocent house. He ran as fast he could, over the grass and under the rotting fences. Trees and insects flashed by, he wanted no part in this. Food flashed by his nose and he fought the urge of running towards it. He knew it was time ... time for the farm animals to take revenge on the ignorant farmer.
"George, will you come and look at this?"
"What?" gruffly replied George to Susan, who was staring out the foggy window. The room was dark.
"Can you hear that?" whimpered his wife. She grabbed George and yanked him to the window. A loud noise rose up from outside. Wood was snapping and hoof steps could be heard all around. George blankly stared out the window. There he could make out a brown mob rushing at his house. Instinctively, he grabbed his shotgun and loaded it. "Be careful…" whispered his wife as George ran out with his bulging pyjamas and his nightcap on.
Susan jumped from the house door as he ran through it and she locked it tightly. She ran upstairs and peered out the window. A loud shot was fired. She jumped back from the ringing windows. She jumped into the bed and pulled the covers over her. Another shot and another continued. Two more shots followed them. Then, it was all silent. Susan breathed a sigh of relief as the bedroom door opened silently and there were no more gunshots. She slowly peered from the bedcovers.
"George?"
Two red eyes stared back at her. She screamed.
The gentle breeze blew through the mid-summer day; the sun was no longer scorching. The heat wave was finally over. The flowers were blooming and the grass was green. The wind whistled through the boughs of trees nearby the white innocent looking house. It was all silent except for the noises one would find natural at a farm. The white house was once a mark of cruelty. Now it served as a tombstone.