langley cassidy | district ten | fin

She awoke early one morning, the fog from the night before mingling with the dewy grass, the single solitary sound of a shotgun blast echoing through the blue autumn morning. The fog lay still like smoke over a battlefield. An omen. A warning. The shotgun shell falling to the floor and rolling away from her father’s worn work boot long before she had stumbled down the stairs and took off towards the barn, her nightdress billowing around her legs as she ran across the cold, wet lawn.

“Why, Pop?” was all she managed to mumble, her eyes wide as she took in the sight of her favorite horse on the floor. He hadn’t suffered, her father spat, the gears in his mind already moving as to how to transport the carcass. The kind of money they would get for the body. If it was enough to feed the Cassidy family for the winter. He called it horse flu and she could see the dried saliva and mucus around Cicero’s mouth, the boils barely visible.

“He woulda infected the whole lotta them, Lang. We can’t afford that!” Her father’s words were lost to the wind as tears trickled down the young girl’s face. Seven years old, barely able to hold the reins properly and her companion was gone.

“They’ll be others, kid. We need horses. This land needs horses.”

Langley ran back up and into the house, her blonde hair trailing behind her as she through on leather boots, work pants, a worn denim top and jacket. Disappearing out of the house and over the first hill of their property. Seeking the solace of the old oak tree. Her father let her run, knowing she would cry herself out. Knowing she would never forgive him.

Young hearts break easily, mended with time and memories. Her heart was mended with razor wire.