Post by x| mOoKI on Mar 19, 2007 6:46:40 GMT 10
You can buy me, you can take me...
Dust. That's all there ever was in these places. Dusty remains of broken dreams, dusty relics of faded lives. Soul after soul was led into the ring, wheezing and coughing; soul after soul was bought, sold, bargained, haggled, handed over time and time again. And everything was brown and dull and wooden, always old, always dying. The horses were no exception. Most simply gave in, heads hanging, hooves dragging as the let the two-leggers take them wherever they pleased, around and around in circles as the crowds oohed and aahed and squawked over numbers. But there’s always one.
x. tHe RebEL .x
A snap of jaws. A flash of teeth. The little mare pranced in anger as a sweaty hand slapped her flank, her eyes glistening white in the half-light. Her majestic back arched as she gave a little rear, hooves lashing this way and that, her delicate head ramming the human hard in the chest as she came down again. He stumbled back against the post, fixing her with a fierce glare. She met it with a fiercer one, nostrils flaring, head lowered as she prepared to charge again; but now the two-legger knew what was coming. He spun out of the way and quickly grabbed her halter, clipping on the lead-rope before she could retaliate. But the mare was never one to be beaten. Jerking to the side, she set of at a brisk trot out of the stall, her tail held high and her gait proud and majestic. The two-legger stumbled along behind, fighting to keep up with her and cursing loudly. Still she strode on, through the gate and out into the arena, gazing innocently around the crowds while the human clung on to her halter. The onlookers chuckled with amusement, though the man didn’t seem so happy. Regaining his balance, he clicked the lead-rope off from her halter, and in a instant she was off, cantering elegantly around the arena. Wheeling round at the other end, she caught a glimpse of the man storming furiously out of the arena, slamming the gate behind him, and a smirk crept across her mug. But for now there were other things on her mind. Slowing to a trot, she circled the ring once, twice, three times, her head tossing this way and that as she studied the crowds curiously. Suddenly the loudspeaker squeaked and she bolted, ears pinned to her skull, dirt flying everywhere. A murmer rose from the crowd as she neared the gate, showing no signs of stopping; but at the last moment she swerved round and back again, giving a little excited buck every so often. Her movement was quick and spirited, her flawless white pelt rippled over well-toned muscles, her expression bright and curious, and she soon regained her composure. But there was little time for admiration, for soon the loudspeakers were booming again.
”And here we have Delilah’s Remorse, a fine young Arabian mare with excellent breeding and beautiful movement. Untrained as of yet, though with great potential for any field of riding. We’ll start the bidding at $800.” By now Delilah had slowed to a halt and stood stock still, the perfect image of grace and dignity; head raised tall and proud, stance elegant, tail raised. And for now she waited, unmoving, unflinching, as yet another soul was bought, sold, bargained, haggled, handed over time and time again. Yet this one would not be broken, this one would not fade away like so many others. No dust would weigh down on Delilah’s Remorse.
Dust. That's all there ever was in these places. Dusty remains of broken dreams, dusty relics of faded lives. Soul after soul was led into the ring, wheezing and coughing; soul after soul was bought, sold, bargained, haggled, handed over time and time again. And everything was brown and dull and wooden, always old, always dying. The horses were no exception. Most simply gave in, heads hanging, hooves dragging as the let the two-leggers take them wherever they pleased, around and around in circles as the crowds oohed and aahed and squawked over numbers. But there’s always one.
x. tHe RebEL .x
A snap of jaws. A flash of teeth. The little mare pranced in anger as a sweaty hand slapped her flank, her eyes glistening white in the half-light. Her majestic back arched as she gave a little rear, hooves lashing this way and that, her delicate head ramming the human hard in the chest as she came down again. He stumbled back against the post, fixing her with a fierce glare. She met it with a fiercer one, nostrils flaring, head lowered as she prepared to charge again; but now the two-legger knew what was coming. He spun out of the way and quickly grabbed her halter, clipping on the lead-rope before she could retaliate. But the mare was never one to be beaten. Jerking to the side, she set of at a brisk trot out of the stall, her tail held high and her gait proud and majestic. The two-legger stumbled along behind, fighting to keep up with her and cursing loudly. Still she strode on, through the gate and out into the arena, gazing innocently around the crowds while the human clung on to her halter. The onlookers chuckled with amusement, though the man didn’t seem so happy. Regaining his balance, he clicked the lead-rope off from her halter, and in a instant she was off, cantering elegantly around the arena. Wheeling round at the other end, she caught a glimpse of the man storming furiously out of the arena, slamming the gate behind him, and a smirk crept across her mug. But for now there were other things on her mind. Slowing to a trot, she circled the ring once, twice, three times, her head tossing this way and that as she studied the crowds curiously. Suddenly the loudspeaker squeaked and she bolted, ears pinned to her skull, dirt flying everywhere. A murmer rose from the crowd as she neared the gate, showing no signs of stopping; but at the last moment she swerved round and back again, giving a little excited buck every so often. Her movement was quick and spirited, her flawless white pelt rippled over well-toned muscles, her expression bright and curious, and she soon regained her composure. But there was little time for admiration, for soon the loudspeakers were booming again.
”And here we have Delilah’s Remorse, a fine young Arabian mare with excellent breeding and beautiful movement. Untrained as of yet, though with great potential for any field of riding. We’ll start the bidding at $800.” By now Delilah had slowed to a halt and stood stock still, the perfect image of grace and dignity; head raised tall and proud, stance elegant, tail raised. And for now she waited, unmoving, unflinching, as yet another soul was bought, sold, bargained, haggled, handed over time and time again. Yet this one would not be broken, this one would not fade away like so many others. No dust would weigh down on Delilah’s Remorse.
...but you know you'll never break me.
((Blech. Terrible writer's block today. Normally my posts are better than this. 
))
))
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