Rebecca Wilson enjoyed her horse riding with a vengeance.

 

She was up at dawn every day of every week.

Rebecca who was lucky in looks and in life, she loved her farmer husband but in truth not as whole heartedly as she loved Penguin her cross bred nag rescued from the knackers yard a year previously.


She brought Penguin to a halt and gently patted his neck.

She turned slightly in the saddle and gazed across the fantastic view of the Wyle Valley. To her left about a mile distant was the old hill top fort which she knew gave a really amazing view down into the Wylye valley.


The problem was old Penguin didn’t like the deep trenches that encircled this bronze age fortress.


“Oh hell”, she thought, “on a clear day like this I have to go and peek down below again”.


Rebecca shared a medium sized farm house with her husband Alan and two kids. Samantha aged two and John aged four. John was named after Alan’s father who had passed away nine years ago from the dreaded Mr Cancer.


The farm was spread over 700 acres which kept Alan and his staff of four busy for most the year.


Rebecca stood at 5ft 6 inches while Alan towered over her at 6ft 3 inches. Both were natural blonds and when all four were out together shopping or on holiday etc, people would comment openly that they resembled angels.

That of course was not totally true because like most couples they had their fair share of arguments. But their love usually shone through until the next disagreement came along.


Twenty minutes later Rebecca tethered Penguin to an old wooded post that constituted a part of the boundary of their neighbours farm and then ran down into the nearest defence trench around the old hilltop fort and let her momentum drive her easily over the opposite rim into the fort proper. Penguin bent low to reach the damp grass and then totally ignored its master.

The view was not as far reaching as Rebecca would have liked due to the early morning mist in the valley below. She took off her riding hat and sat down on the tumuli (which for those who don’t know, it’s a low round mound) that most of these hill top forts possessed. Alan had told her years before that these mounds were supposed to be where the original inhabitants had buried their dead. Of course over the thousands of years these had been plundered and no bones lay beneath the man made pile to haunt her thoughts.

She let the breeze ruffle her hair while she rolled a cigarette. Alan thought she’d given up months before. She always said the same little sentence while she smoked, “every body just has to have a little secret”.


The hand rolling tobacco smoke drifted lazily away to the east. She remembered those years working “like a bloody maniac” in London trying her best to climb the slippery ladder to what she assumed was success.

And then along came Alan.


When they married and she settled into being a farmer’s wife in the spectacular landscape of South West Wiltshire she had never really if truth were told, missed the crazy streets of London one iota.


Rebecca checked her watch and realised she had to get back home to get John ready for play school. Poor Penguin never liked to rush but this morning he would have to get his hooves moving faster than just a canter.



As she replaced her riding helmet she took another sneaky glance into the valley.


She reversed her quick run down into the defensive trench and once again her momentum took her up the opposite bank directly to Penguins side.


She place her left booted foot into the stirrup ready to hoist herself aboard when Penguins ears flatted against his head and his eyes rolled skywards.


The last thought that encircled her pretty head as first Penguins front legs collapsed throwing her forward and her helmet being torn from her blonde hair snapping her neck and taking her head completely off.



The absolute rendering of Rebecca and Penguin was over in less than a second.


瑞贝卡.威尔森喜欢享受肆意骑马的乐趣。

每一周每一天她都会在早晨起来骑马。

瑞贝卡颇得意于自己的容貌，生活感觉也不错。她爱她的丈夫---一名农场主。但事实上，她更全心全意地爱着Penguin---一匹她一年前从屠马场挽救出来的混血老马。

此刻，她停下Penguin,温柔地拍了拍它的脖子。

她迅速安上马鞍，注视着Wyle河谷那奇异的风光。在她左边约一英里处的山上，是高耸的旧城堡。这无疑给Vyle河谷增添了更迷人的色彩。

问题是老马Penguin,它可不喜欢那围绕着远古青铜器时代建造的旧城堡的深壕沟。

“哦，老天，”她想，“在这样一个晴朗的美好天气，我必须再下去瞅瞅。”

瑞贝卡和她的丈夫Alan与他们的两个孩子住在一幢中等规模的农房里。女儿samantha两岁，儿子约翰四岁。约翰是取自Alan父亲的名字，他9年前死于癌症。

农场绵延700多英亩，可够得Alan和他一家四口整年忙活的。

瑞贝卡身高5英尺6英寸，Alan更高，足有6英尺3英寸。他们都是天生的金色头发和蓝眼睛，当全家4个人一同出去购物或度假时，人们会公开称赞他们象天使。当然，这也不完全是真的，因为和绝大多数夫妇一样，他们也会有争吵。不过，在下一次吵架到来前，他们总是爱情甜蜜的一对。

约莫20分钟后，瑞贝卡把Penguin栓到一个旧木头桩上---那恰是他们邻居农场边界的一部分。然后，就跑向离山顶城堡最近的那防御壕沟里。她的冲力驱使她一下子就奔到了对面的城堡。而Penguin却弯下来吃身边那些湿漉漉的青草，完全忽略了它的主人。

由于山谷下清晨的大雾，壕沟并不象瑞贝卡想象的那么远。她脱下骑马戴的头盔，坐在了一圈坟墓上（对于那些不知道这是坟墓的人而言，这不过是一个低矮的圆形土丘而已）。那山顶上的城堡正好就建在坟墓上面。

Alan以前曾告诉过她，这些土丘正是远古居民埋葬死者的地方。当然，经历过数千年的沧桑岁月，这些坟墓早被劫掠了。她估摸着，现在这些人造的土堆下根本连一块死人骨头都没有。

她卷起一支香烟，微风吹乱了她的头发。Alan原以为她数月前已戒烟了。每逢她抽烟时，她总是念念有词：“每个身体都必须有一个小秘密。”

香烟一边卷着，一边袅袅地飘向东方。她想起那些在伦敦的时光，那些象工作狂一样拼命工作的日子。竭尽全力要攀爬她心中的成功滑梯。

后来，Alan来到了她生命里。

当他们结婚后，她安于做一个农场主的妻子，她沉醉在西南威尔特郡壮阔的自然风光里。她从不曾真正想念过伦敦那充满喧嚣气息的街道。

瑞贝卡察看了一下手表，意识到她必须回家，也该送约翰到幼稚园了。可怜的Penguin从不喜欢匆促，但今天早上，看来它必须得把蹄子放快些了。

她重新戴上骑马的头盔，又扫视了一下山谷。

随即，掉转身来跑下壕沟。再一次，她的冲力把她直接带到了对岸Penguin的身边。

这会儿，Penguin正两眼望天，两耳平贴着头。她把左脚放在马蹬上，准备上马。

闪现在她脑海的最后一幕是：Penguin的前腿一塌，她整个人向前栽了下去，头盔也从她那美丽的金色头发上跌落下来。她的颈子被折断了，整颗头颅掉了下来。

瑞贝卡和Penguin这绝对的表演在不到一秒钟的时间刹那间定格完成。