the mane event - {z/d/p/k}
Jul 6, 2012 3:06:38 GMT -5
Post by ✨ zozo. on Jul 6, 2012 3:06:38 GMT -5
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I don’t know why I bother to torture myself, walking down these dusty lanes, crooked wooden posts and old rolls of wire lining the sides. (A wallet slips into my hand oh-so easily – idiot needs to learn to never put his valuables in the back pocket.) Constant mourning sets off a powerful ache inside of me - nostalgia filling my lungs as they crisp farm air does as I inhale, memories and carbon dioxide as I exhale. Wishing I could go back is silly, but I’m only human. No matter how hard I try to turn to stone. I miss my mother, I miss who my father once was, I miss my horses and my pretty fairy dresses. (5 dollars and a wristwatch, thank you, kind sir.)
The horses are beautiful, long faces and strong muscles and shining coats, nuzzling at the ground below them as they much on the grass for food. (Today I've claimed $42 dollars, a watch, 3 wallets and a hat. Pretty good, but not my best.) I can spot every breed, measure every hand of length, every limp and lame foot and white sock in the field. I was born to do this, raised to do this. She stole it, she stole it all. The mere mention of my step-mother causes my fists to instinctively clench around the tiny silver ring I slipped off of a finger – far too wide for my own hands, but perfect for my box of treasures stashed under my bed. An anger flares inside my aching limbs, a thirst to hop over the gate I find myself leaning against right now and stride towards them, say hello, perhaps give them a treat to nibble my hands with, had I any. Pockets full of sugar-cubes, carrot pieces and slices of apple to match sparkly pink gum boots and a magic fairy crown. Scratch their necks, leap upon their backs, and take right off into the afternoo-
Hello, old friend of a mischievous smile.
I could do it. I could take off, do what I do best. Steal. Not even steal – just borrow. For a while. I don’t steal, I borrow. Forever. I haven’t been riding in so long, but I have years of training behind me. Long walks through forests and hills and fields. Cantering down lanes and galloping up plains. Bareback is no problem, and surely I can pick out a good-natured companion nice enough to accept a ride for a stranger. Cogs begin to turn and grind in my head, and the thought of the look on my step-mother’s face stretches my subtle whisper of a smile into a wicked grin. Oh, how you'll hate me for this one, love. I almost spit the word out, her sarcastic pet name for me that bleeds a lie painted especially for my father. Determination drumming through my head, I leap over the old gate in one swift movement and land with a thump in the field. Time for some fun.
A little shack of a house sits a few fields away from me, but I still take my precautions. Tip-toeing across the field with almost-silent footsteps, steering clear of the backs of the horses, I walk slowly, announcing my arrival as calmly as possible. The last thing I need is a kick in the face and to be found unconscious in a field. Ripred knows how that will turn out – interrogating questions from the property owners, Peacekeepers, my father,the witch.What a girl was doing wandering in a field so far from home, carrying too many a wallet and pieces of jewellery. Too much to lose, too much to risk on a stupid, amateur mistake. And I am no amateur in the art of theft. A smile, slow movements and a few moments later, and I’ve befriended a beautiful mare. She reminded me of my own, a creature I cherished long ago. My best friend, my companion, who I would read stories too and always sneak an extra sugar-cube to at feeding time, who I’d trudge out in rain and wind and hail in my gumboots and bury my head in her neck whenever I was upset. She slipped through my fingers as the Evil Queen stole her away, and my King did nothing to stop her. I refused to let this one, or my plan, slip away the same way.
”Hello there, pretty,” I whisper, stroking her soft coat with smooth, experienced hands. I can feel her muscles twitch, tail flicking off an insect, and nudges at my pockets. The action tugs at the corners of my mouth again, a genuine smile – something so rare to wander into my usually cold expressions – blossoming. ”Sorry,” I sigh, ”unless you like leather, I’ve got nothing.” A reply in the form of a snort is produced, and I blink my brown orbs back at her, chuckling. ”Wanna go for a little ride?” I ask, limbs longing to feel the broadness of a back and the wind in my hair, face, everywhere. Might as well try... I think, hands trailing to the horses’ spine – and I leap.
They say that horses can sense your emotions. Scared, worried, anxious, excited, sad, angry. Perhaps she sensed my eagerness to ride, or the way I rushed into things, or my leftover, fuming rage towards my stepmother I thought I left behind me on the ground. But my feet barely meet the sides of her before I sense something’s wrong. In a rush, I try to dismount, but her tail flicks irritably, ears flatted, nostril’s flare – and despite my best efforts, she won’t calm down. ”Shit, shit, shit – no – calm – down – no – hush – shitshitshIT!” My heart leaps into a feverous beating as she lurches around, desperate to throw me off. I’ve fallen off a horse many times in my life, but I had the gear, the watchful second set of eyes, the hugs and pats on the back for when the pain was so bad I was forced to tears. Now I remember why Dad always told me to wear a helmet. My head might crack open or my spine may snap, but all I can do is cling and hope for the best, still yelling as she takes off with me and my words bouncing about on top of her. ”Crap, crap, craaaap!”
The Evil Queen will not be impressed.tl;dr :
