a variation of TRUE events:

I have a desire to start new projects every day, but there's only one I need to continue. A cookbook, a good one, doesn't just tell you how to make dessert or exercise interesting language or talk about games, but all that and more that wouldn't fit anywhere else. My resolution is to cook it up more than I did last year. so here we go, a cookbook within the book; this post brought to you by the letter "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!?"

One roughly axed fence post creaks in its support, hard frost wets the joint of splintered wood.
It draws the attention of two horses, Misty and Buttercup, both young, rebellious and cold.
Three common traits, but in combination... what dangers await their unexciting captive youth?
The fence cracks under both pairs of hooves, the report echoes off houses on all sides.
Near the middle of nine houses a boy paints in a canvas of snow with his gloved hand; reveals a zeppelin in empty gullies of snow.
At his age it is strange he knows the aerodynamic design of the zeppelin in such detail.
Seven mothers stand as spiritual centuries on front stoops at all sides of the horse field as though to contend the beasts to stay behind the broken fence.
A new world peaks through the hole in the fence - eight points of the wooden cell fall out of sync.
Misty and Buttercup jump one intact fence rail and pass nine cars before turning toward the strip mall.
The startled vicar releases prayer hymnals, but dilating pictures fly from ten wet leather covers; moist vaginas full of tongues fly under wind and snow.
When the melting begins in the spring, eleven children will find the pictures and will be children no more.
At the intersection drivers do not notice the greens yellows and reds, but two sharp-eyed horses chased by their distraught caretaker.
The strip mall bakery is overtaken by Misty and Buttercup - they use their hooves to smash open cases of breads and sweets, but it is only the escaping aroma they are after.
Fourteen blocks away the fire trucks escape the hall through an opening mouth.
In fifteen minutes there will be chaos.
Misty and Buttercup prance around the parking lot just as their sixteen-year-old caretaker reaches the row of shocked storefronts.
Sedans are stomped, SUVs bumped, the loosed animals create a chorus of seventeen car alarms and dance in equine rhythms.
Eighteen men surround the animals with only their gloved hands to protect themselves.
Nineteen seconds of thrashing brings the horses under control.

As twenty minds recount the day in electric whispers, two horses still feel free and one new fence post moans.