Cheval An original fiction by Coutuva
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Cheval lay at the top of the hill quietly, chin propped
in her hands, long red hair tossing occasionally in the gentle
breeze. She had come to see her friends -- the herd of wild horses
that gathered almost daily in the lush, expansive grassland below
her.
She loved to spend time just watching them play, race, and
simply mill about below her, envying them their enjoyment of life.
These were times that she treasured, as seeing her favorite
creatures so happy and carefree distracted her from the drudgery
and pain of her own life.
It was a chance to let her soul breathe.
At times, she felt as if she were somehow connected to the
herd, always seeming to arrive at her vantage about the same time
they would return to the grasses below. She knew the wild, wonderful
creatures had no schedule, simply showing up and staying as they
saw fit.
Sighing, she smiled gently to herself as she watched those
she considered true friends, even though she had never tried to
approach them. She even found herself again wondering if they knew
she was watching, as they always seemed to put on their best antics
right below her sloping, grassy perch.
Finally, her friends decided it was time to find another
place to go, and with loud, strident whinnies wafting on the
twilight breeze, they began to filter away through the far south
tree line. As always, she fought the incredibly strong urge to
follow them, knowing that if she did, she might not come back.
Rolling on her back, she stared skyward at the gathering
clouds, frowning slightly as she noticed they indicated a chance
for rain. Rain was okay by her, but the thought of having to lay
in wet grass to watch her friends dismayed her, as she didn't like
anything to interfere with that time.
Resigning herself to the fact that she had to go home
sooner or later, she rose and brushed herself off. Sighing, she
began the longest walk of her life -- back to the house that her
father called home. She had never considered it to be a home, only
the building she happened to live in.
Upon walking in the door, she was greeted by a familiar and
extremely depressing sight. Her alcoholic father was passed out in
his tattered easy chair, a beercan laying on the floor near his
dangling hand. Cursing under her breath at the smell of stale beer
emanating from him, she picked up the can and carried it to the
kitchen, all too anxious to be rid of it.
Knowing he would not wake up until at least the morning,
she covered him with a blanket and sighed heavily, wondering why
she bothered. She knew he'd never notice if it got cold ovenight.
As she looked at his snoring, dishevelled form, she shook
her head, finally understanding why her mother had acted the way she
had over the years before her death. She had simply given up trying
to help him, since he had no intention of helping himself.
He was so far gone that he didn't even care that his drinking
had in effect killed his wife. She wouldn't have been out on the road
that day, had it not been for having to go bail him out after a binge.
She never quite forgave him for that, nor the fact that she had
been reduced to the lonely keeper of a thankless, miserable, staggering
drunk, unable to have friends or even attend school because of it.
Sighing once more, she turned away from the disheartening
sight and walked over to the fridge, intent on making herself
something to eat. Opening the appliance, she was stunned to find
nothing but beer cans and a half-empty bottle of pickles in it.
Cursing under her breath, she realized that he had spent the last
of their money on beer again, meaning that until her survivor
benefit came in, they were broke and starving; as usual.
Rummaging through the cupboards and pantry, she managed to
find the makings of a peanut butter sandwich, and hungrily wolfed
it down. Upon cleaning up and bringing in enough wood for the
night, she checked again to ensure 'the drunk' was still breathing,
then headed for her bedroom.
Flopping on her bed, she stared unseeing at the ceiling
above her, her mind replaying scenes from her afternoon's pleasant
distraction. As she smiled at the thoughts, she found herself
remembering the words of their neighbour, who had jokingly
suggested that she should have been a horse, since she always
wanted to be near them.
Grinning bemusedly at the idea, she rose from her bed and
started to undress, having decided that she had best get her
shower while she had the bathroom to herself. She knew well that
if 'the drunk' woke up, he'd be in it steadily, and the results
were never pleasant.
After laying out her nightclothes and slipping on her
housecoat, she checked the house over to make sure it was secure,
and then headed into the bath. Locking the door behind her, she
peeled out of her housecoat and started the shower, testing
carefully until it was just the perfect temperature. With a long,
soft sigh, she stepped into the warm stream of water, closing her
eyes and letting it wash away her woes.
As the warm liquid enveloped her in its caress, she let
herself relax completely, the water seeming to insulate her from
the big bad world.
Her smile slowly widened as she luxuriated in the
sensations, staying wide until she finally reached for the soap
to lather up.
Several happy, almost carefree minutes elapsed as she
slowly washed the day away, her mind preoccupied once more with
thoughts of her friends. She loved how their long manes and tails
flew as they ran, and the sound of their strident cries echoing on
the wind as they tested each other's patience. No matter her mood,
thinking about them never failed to lift her spirits, and she often
credited them with helping her stay sane.
Abruptly, her pleasant reverie was interrupted by the
uncomfortable sensation of the shower running cold, which was her
cue to finish her hair and get out. The small hot water tank they
had only lasted about half an hour when it was full, much to her
long-standing annoyance.
After drying off and cleaning up the bathroom, she quickly
changed into her nightclothes and flopped on her bed once more,
absently looking through an equestrian breeder's magazine she had
bought several years ago. Its pages were faded, tattered and
creased, but it was the only thing she had when her friends were
not around. Since her father would spend their money on beer and
bars, they couldn't afford a TV.
Finally, after going through the book cover to cover again,
she placed it on her dresser and rolled over, noticing how tired
she felt. Glancing at her clock, she saw that it was fairly close
to her normal bedtime, and toyed with the thought of just calling
it a night.
As she lazily debated her course, she closed her eyes
slowly, the softness of her pillow and her relaxed state soon
combining to make the choice for her. Within moments, she had
descended into a deep, sound sleep, her day's emotional highs and
lows having worn her out completely.
Suddenly, she was jolted awake by an extremely loud whinney,
so loud that it sounded like it came from right above her. Jumping
upright in her bed, she looked about anxiously for the source, only
to see that her window was open. Breathing a heavy sigh of relief,
she walked over to close it, but stopped short when she heard
another loud whinney.
Leaning out the window into the cool night air, she scanned
the area carefully, finally spotting a large but fairly young
stallion. It stood alone atop the ridge in the distance, its perfect
form silohetted against a foggy, surprisingly bright mist.
Almost as if on cue, the young steed nieghed loudly, sounding
to her like it was calling her name. She gasped aloud at the idea,
as it seemed to confirm her long-held thoughts about the herd.
Quickly throwing on a pair of jeans and a sweater, she
climbed out her window and began to walk toward the stallion, which
simply stood on the ridge quietly.
She walked up to within several yards of it, and it kept an
eye on her all throughout. When she stopped advancing, the animal
looked at her and repeated its call, only much quieter.
She had to shake her head, wondering if she was still
sleeping; the call sounded even more like the young horse was
yelling out her name, and worse, she swore she could detect a sense of
urgency in it.
"I'm coming..." she responded on reflex, and cautiously
began to approach the animal. It simply stood still, watching her
every move. She noticed, to her great relief, that its ears were
upright and flicking about normally, and its eyes were calm. In fact,
the horse barely reacted until she was right beside it, and then it
nodded toward her as if showing approval.
She was just beginning to wonder what was going to happen next
when the horse abruptly nudged her with its nose, shoving her over the
ridge and toward the thick mist. When she looked back to protest, it
only stepped past her and disappeared into the mist. Before she could
react, it poked its head back out again, bit and held her sweater, then
with a quick yank, pulled her in.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Wells... We've been all over the town and
surrounding area, and haven't been able to find any other trace of
her. The sweater and pants from just over the ridge is all we have,"
the officer stated, with clinical sympathy. "We are keeping the
investigation open, though... Just in case," he assured, flashing a
small smile.
"O... Okay, Officer. Thanks," the old man responded softly,
gaze falling to the ground. As the officer tipped his hat and turned
to depart, the old man raised his can to his lips and drew a long
slug. "Shit... Now who'll get my beer?" he muttered, then turned
and shuffled back into the house.
Later that night, as the owner of the neigbouring farm was
returning from his fence repairs, he happened to cross the hill below
which the wild horses usually gathered. As he rode across, he heard
the thundering rumble of the herd approaching, and stopped his mount
to watch the show.
Within moments, the horses began to gather in the expanse
below him, bringing a smile to his old rancher's face. Abruptly,
his attention was caught by a young, light colored and very
spirited mare that came racing across the field, its flowing red
mane and tail flying proudly in its wake.
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END - Cheval An Original Fiction by Coutuva
© 1999 Coutuva
Comments Welcomed, Flames Extinguished!
coutuva@vecdev.com
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