The Night I Ate My Words

I am a bull.

I write stories.

This particular day started out as a normal afternoon at the library for my human and me, but it ended up being the night I came to understand that old saying: "I ate my words."

My human and I were regulars at the local library because our area was prone to long-lasting power outages. The library computers were much more reliable than the ones at home.

These outages were caused by storms, usually, and living way out in the country, where the service is slower than molasses.

As a writing bull, I need to be able to access my Writing.Com account at least once a week, to answer my email and, of course, my human liked to use the computer too, for whatever it is that she does.

On this particular day I had been given the special animal-friendly computer in the corner of the library, while my human was put on a waiting list for a regular human one. It is not my fault that there are more humans than writing animals. Not my fault at all!

I could tell my human was a little steamed about the wait, the way she kept muttering bad words under her breath. When she gets like that, her face turns red and her eyes get big and scary.

So, I prudently kept my distance.

Soon I was caught up with typing my story with my hooves. I type so fast that my friends, who are twins, nicknamed me "Hooves of Fire."

As my story unfolded, it was as if I was living it right then and there. Usually, I play computer games with the kids next to me, but this time all my concentration was focused.

This writing bull was all business.

I never even noticed the ten minute warning or even the fact that all the humans, including mine, had left the building. Even when the lights went out, I was so focused on the light on my computer screen that I never realized it until my tummy started to growl.

It was time for my evening hay and cider.

Embarassed at the loud noise coming from my innards, I looked around, only to discover, that I was alone. I knew that my human must have forgotten me.

I wasn't really too scared about being alone in the dark and locked in, but I was hungry and didn't know what to do about it. I mooed a little and emailed my friend Bess about my predicament, and sure enough Bess came up with a suggestion.

"Hooves, you should print out your story," she typed.

I tilted my head to one side, trying to understand what my friend Bovine Bessie might mean.

"I don't want to read, I want to eat," I typed back and waited for her response.

While I was waiting, I decided to go ahead and do what she suggested - so I printed out my story. Bessie always is a step or two ahead of me and I trusted her to help.

I trotted over to the printer and picked up my story and brought it back to the computer. I couldn't help but notice that the paper tasted good in my mouth.

It was then that a light bulb went off in my head.

Once again, my friend Bovine Bessie had saved the day with her quick thinking.

It was the best story I ever ate.

Note: This was originally a Writer's Cramp Entry. The prompt was to write about being stuck in a library after it closed. I have played with it and adapted over the last decade.