The sun lumbers over the grey horizon, and dull beams of sunlight permeate through the windows. Tiny dust particles sworn each other in the sun’s rays, but once a cloud comes and snuffs out the light, the dust is snuffed out with it. Dry hay and twigs snap under the weight of my thick boots, and I stop, lifting one foot then placing it back don again, expecting more snapping, more noise, more damage, but once something is destroyed it can’t be destroyed any further.
The horses are gone, released into the wild. As domesticated as they were, what prayer did they have of beating the elements? I crouch in one of the stables until my knees are screaming, then I fall on my ass and sit helplessly as something wet slowly soaks through my pants. The whole place smells like shit, but the longer I sit there, and the more used to it I get, the harder it is to remember a time when everything didn’t smell like shit.
Shadows pass over my face and my thoughts. At some point the dull sun beams disappear altogether, and are replaced by the moon’s pathetic attempts to light my vision. I fall asleep to the humid summer air, to the roar of the crickets, to my own mind saying goodnight, goodnight, goodnight.
Realistic Fiction
Comments are closed.
Good story.THUMBS UP!