They drift by, as I lie in the middle of the road, stiffly twitching, insides outside, muzzle crushed but an eye staring at the sky.
These beings, idly fast, following each other, like ants but untouching, seemed harmless. The sterile road too. So I tore through the barbed wires and chased the bullheaded sun as it buried itself behind the mountain.
The wind played with me, for the first time, picking up my hind legs high into the air. Gently nudged and kissed my nose. Wrapped its arms around me until my eyes and cheeks were wet, until I couldn’t breathe.
I was free.
Now, blood spills further away from me, swelling hazy dark clouds.
Was I supposed to ignore the rousing pull and pinch of life, ensnaring me into wanting more? Were the dead grassy hills and the cages all? Were my frail bones and muscles supposed to grow bigger, beautifully slow under a smooth gleaming coat, just so the whistling stompers on horses with ropes could gaze in wonder?
A burning screech.
Down the hill, an unflinching roar. Faster and faster it comes. Will it put me back together? A gurgling cry escapes from what’s left of my throat. My legs move. Rumbling red gravel jolts my heart and I
JP Lor has stories in The Dillydoun Review, CC&D Magazine and Versification.