Under the cover of night, I fling open the gate and set them all free. A rumble of thunder rattles the rocky ground, hooves ignite sparks of lightning.
Their freedom’s found within the folded and fractured hills. These wild creatures weren’t meant to be corralled or tamed.
A very clever allusion here, Caro. You have compressed a great deal of meaning and significance into the single word "horse" here. I wonder how many of your readers will get the reference.
The street name for heroin was the first thing that popped into my head. Then, Black Beauty, the story of the horse. I decided to go with an addiction story. It tells you where my mind is—in a greyish area.
His name was Chief. A Morgan. Chestnut. He stood 15 hands. Spirited, they said, like his new owner, Barbara. When she finished her writing for the day, they rode the farm’s wooded trails.
They grew old together. She sold the farm. She sold the horse. That old freedom forever gone.
The writer in the story is my grandmother and she published ten books (one titled “A Horse of Her Own”). I’m deep into writing a bio-memoir about her, my mom and myself—3 generations of family food-writers. Stay tuned!
Dot the draft horse started it. They met to pat the horses head. Sally finished tears of innocent hay-loft play. Unexpected, took Dick to the trestle to swim. Made out on a Sandy spit. Dot appeared, but time expired. Sally’s white shorts left a red dark period zipped up.
Chester had been on the racetrack, a movie extra, and ended up, bony and half-lame, as a gentle beginner horse on whose back I won a red ribbon at the school horse show. My mother bought him for 40 dollars and saved him from the slaughterhouse. Happily, he grew old.
The once majestic racetrack stallion had been reduced to a mule horse. An ace jockey on vacation spotted and recognized the glistening coat as well as the famous diamond shape on its forehead. They fondly nuzzled each other. Both are leisurely living on an idyllic ranch and once more comrades-in-arms.
The padlock clicked and I was fixed fast to my land.
So they dragged the broncos out, tied my legs to ‘em. Then Brodie set a fire in their tails. They took off like thunder, hooves sparking, and I screamed while dead Gram’s song filled my head.
Holy shit, Jon. This is gruesome and extremely visceral…and I want more! It’s nice to see you around and read your words again. Just read your comment below to Sharron…hope 2025 is looking up for you.
Sorry Sharron. It's been a year. Not a house-burned-down-in-a-town-sized-fire year. Nor an invaders-murdered-my-family year. And I'm very thankful for that, and glad to live on this boring island with its shitty weather. But for me personally it's still been a year to get through, and now I feel like writing again some of those words may be more exorcisms than feelgoods. I'll still try to make 'em zing though 🙂
Before dawn, So drowsy. Napping in the seat. The hum of the highway, while Ben drove. We slam into something hard! “Don’t open your eyes! There’s a horse’s head in your lap!” "Get it off!" I’m screaming now. He drags the poor beast’s head from my lap. We are alive.
Breakthrough, fiction
Josie attacked others, picked at her skin, and howled at the world. “Morning, noon, and night,” her father used to say.
Not anymore.
When she arrives at the barn, the world instantly brightens. The universe aligns. Horse and rider become one.
And, with a click of her tongue, they’re off.
Beautiful like last week’s tribute.
Thanks very much for the kind words, Scott! 🙏
Oh my, yes! I have seen this to be true. Lovely!
Thank you, my friend!
MUSTANG - fiction
Under the cover of night, I fling open the gate and set them all free. A rumble of thunder rattles the rocky ground, hooves ignite sparks of lightning.
Their freedom’s found within the folded and fractured hills. These wild creatures weren’t meant to be corralled or tamed.
Neither was I.
This is so vivid and gripping, Sharron. And I love that final line! It adds another layer to the story that wouldn’t exist without it.
Independence Day!
Reins of Despair, fiction
Shadows danced across faded roses on the wallpaper of the dimly lit room.
She clutched a syringe, her heart racing, a wild horse galloping to the end.
Memories of laughter and love faded, replaced by haunting heroin whispers.
She felt the reins slip away as the high washed over her.
This is equally dark and brilliant. A hell of a story, Caro!
Thank you, Justin!
Took a very cool direction, powerful
Thank you, Scott!
whoa!
A very clever allusion here, Caro. You have compressed a great deal of meaning and significance into the single word "horse" here. I wonder how many of your readers will get the reference.
The street name for heroin was the first thing that popped into my head. Then, Black Beauty, the story of the horse. I decided to go with an addiction story. It tells you where my mind is—in a greyish area.
Service Animal/Fiction
The violent man nuzzled the stray cat gently, lovingly.
“Never took you for an animal lover.”
“No? Everything I am I owe to one of God’s creatures.”
“A childhood pup? Bringing comfort to a scared and lonely little boy?”
“Nah. Bombanero. 8th race at Hialeah. 80-1 shot. Changed my life.”
Haha— a perfect little twist! Too funny. 😂
That would do it for me. Bombanero! ha ha ha Great name.
Now that’s man’s best friend😊
👍🏻
A Horse of Her Own || CNF
His name was Chief. A Morgan. Chestnut. He stood 15 hands. Spirited, they said, like his new owner, Barbara. When she finished her writing for the day, they rode the farm’s wooded trails.
They grew old together. She sold the farm. She sold the horse. That old freedom forever gone.
What a touching story, Amie. I’d love to read more of it someday.
The writer in the story is my grandmother and she published ten books (one titled “A Horse of Her Own”). I’m deep into writing a bio-memoir about her, my mom and myself—3 generations of family food-writers. Stay tuned!
Sounds lovely, Amie. My wife and I will both keep an eye out. 😀 (Also, ten books?! That’s remarkable!)
Nice sweet bookend to Justin’s piece
Thank you, Scott! Most days, I’m never sure what will emerge from the keyboard.
50 words Horse
Dot the draft horse started it. They met to pat the horses head. Sally finished tears of innocent hay-loft play. Unexpected, took Dick to the trestle to swim. Made out on a Sandy spit. Dot appeared, but time expired. Sally’s white shorts left a red dark period zipped up.
A HAPPY ENDING
Chester had been on the racetrack, a movie extra, and ended up, bony and half-lame, as a gentle beginner horse on whose back I won a red ribbon at the school horse show. My mother bought him for 40 dollars and saved him from the slaughterhouse. Happily, he grew old.
This is such a heartwarming story, Lia. Thank you for sharing with us!
A blissful ending
The once majestic racetrack stallion had been reduced to a mule horse. An ace jockey on vacation spotted and recognized the glistening coat as well as the famous diamond shape on its forehead. They fondly nuzzled each other. Both are leisurely living on an idyllic ranch and once more comrades-in-arms.
Such a sweet, full-circle story, Sunil! Thanks for sharing.
Wild Horses (fiction)
“I ain’t leavin.”
The padlock clicked and I was fixed fast to my land.
So they dragged the broncos out, tied my legs to ‘em. Then Brodie set a fire in their tails. They took off like thunder, hooves sparking, and I screamed while dead Gram’s song filled my head.
Holy shit, Jon. This is gruesome and extremely visceral…and I want more! It’s nice to see you around and read your words again. Just read your comment below to Sharron…hope 2025 is looking up for you.
Lord have mercy..FBJ! Yikes.
Sorry Sharron. It's been a year. Not a house-burned-down-in-a-town-sized-fire year. Nor an invaders-murdered-my-family year. And I'm very thankful for that, and glad to live on this boring island with its shitty weather. But for me personally it's still been a year to get through, and now I feel like writing again some of those words may be more exorcisms than feelgoods. I'll still try to make 'em zing though 🙂
Zinnnnngggg! You succeeded here, I have to say. I look forward to the next ( with slight shiver )!
Horse On The Highway, CNF
Before dawn, So drowsy. Napping in the seat. The hum of the highway, while Ben drove. We slam into something hard! “Don’t open your eyes! There’s a horse’s head in your lap!” "Get it off!" I’m screaming now. He drags the poor beast’s head from my lap. We are alive.
My goodness, Sharon! I’m holding my breath over here.
Whoa. This is a grim and grisly story. And I happen to know it is true.