Demon 1
by Summer
(PMB South Africa)
Note fron Summer: I wrote a much longer, much more detailed version of this story but I had to shorten it so I could put it on this site. Please tell me if you like it and I'll try posting the second part as soon as possible.
During the very early part of my foalhood, I was a very happy and contented creature. My mom and I lived in a big field with about a dozen other horses. There where two foals too, and I remember how we played chasing games and playfully nipped at each other. And when we had finished playing, we would retire panting and sweating to our mothers sides.
However my joyous carefree life did not go on forever. As I grew older and wiser, I began to realize that the world wasn't as beatiful and life wasn't as simple as I'd imagined.I was shocked to find out about the harsh reality of the future that awaited me. Who wouldn't be shocked to find that their owner was a horse dealer and that they had only been bought so that they could be sold to a slaughterhouse for horsemeat? The dreaded fact served as a barrier between me and happiness. How could I be happy if I knew that every day that whizzed past me was bringing me closer and closer to the sharp silver blade that would part me from my body.......
I would have forgotten about my future as horsemeat if it had not been for the weekly reminders that forced me to think about it. As a foal brought up for meat, I was never handled by humans and I was quite terrified of them. They where the "reminders" that came every week. They would come -a small group of men- and stand at the fence, talking and pointing at us horses. As soon I caught sight of them, I would flee behind my mom.
When the men finished talking, they would open the gate
to our field and come inside. If the horse they wanted was a tame one, only one or two men would come with a lead and halter and catch the horse. I would watch with my little horsy heart soaked with sadness as they were lead away, their heads hanging sadly, their eyes tired and defeated.
But for the wilder horses, it was another story.Usually
six to seven men would come carrying ropes and whips. The horse they where after would go crazy and bang wildly into the fences as it tried to escape - but to no avail. The men always lassoed them quicky. But even though they where caught, the horses wouldn't give up. Their last fight for freedom included bucking, biting,
kicking, rearing and neighing loudly. The men would beat them and shout at them. Sometimes it shut them up but sometimes it only made them jump more. And then they would be dragged away, still screaming.
Every time I saw this human-beat-horse display I would be deeply hurt and feel a deep sense of helplesness. I wished I could get at those humans, tear them and trample them and teach them a lesson no horse had ever dared to teach them. But I knew, though I hated knowing, that the humans with all their whips and kill-with-a-bang things they kept on their waists were much too powerful.
But I can still remember the day I ignored this fact -the day the worst thing ever happened.......
To be continued.
