Under The Saddle (Horse Story)

o n e // my past is chasing me

MY life is like a tornado. I get to the eye, where everything is quiet and peaceful. Then I take another step, and I'm thrown back into a swirling mess of fears, problems, and hatred. My mind won't stop whirring, an empty echo inside of my head.

I'm lost, not only in this world, but also in myself. I'm living in a lie, full of fake people and fake beliefs.

I twisted an old tattered rope around my hand, the soft and frayed fabric becoming entwined in my fingers. It was a short length of a lead rope, no more than fifteen centimetres long. But no matter how small and insignificant it seemed, it held more memories and meant more to me than anyone could imagine. It had belonged to me twelve years ago, when I was gifted my first pony, Smokey, for my third birthday. A small, fluffy, black Exmoor pony, no more than twelve hands high. He had meant the world to me. Of course, he was sold along with the rest of the horses we'd owned. I remember telling the little boy that bought him to treat him like a princess, even though he's a boy.

Something squeezed at my heart, but I wasn't sure what it was. Pain? Sadness? Brushing it off, I pulled open my desk drawer, my finger gripping the handle so hard they turned white. I quickly slipped the rope back in and slammed the drawer closed before I could catch a glance at what was inside. The contents rattled for a second, and then went silent.

A sob itched my throat, threatening to escape, and I swallowed hard. I hadn't opened that drawer in years. Ten, maybe. Every item that had once meant something to me hid in it, away from the world. They reminded me too much of my mom, yet I couldn't bear to rid of them.

Flashbacks of the argument my father and I had just had fill my mind. Dad had announced that we were moving away to a small town in Virginia. Ever since mum's accident ten years ago, I'd been trying to rebuild a life in New York. I'd been fighting the memories that haunted me everyday, trying to block out my past. The thought of leaving the life I'd spent so long creating, scared me.

A knock on the door broke my thought, followed by Dad's muffled voice.

"Cheyenne, can I come in sweetie?"

I leaned back on my seat, running a hand through my hair.

"Yeah." I muttered under my breath. The door swung open and I glanced up, surprised that he even heard me. He forced a sympathetic smile, standing in the door way.

"Mind if I sit?" He asked, gesturing to the end of my bed.

My gaze didn't shift from my lap as I nodded. I wasn't in the mood to talk, and I definitely wasn't in the mood to talk about moving. As if reading my mind, Dad silently sat, the blue throw on the end of my bed sinking under his weight.

I flipped open my laptop, automatically clicking on the instagram app and tapping my nails impatiently as my newsfeed reloaded.

"Cheyenne," Dad questioned.

I sighed, slamming shut the laptop and twisting in my chair to face him. His eyes were still filled with sympathy, but now sparkled with excitement. I frowned in confusion.

"I know you don't want to leave, but..." He paused, staring at a spot on the ground as though unsure of what to say.

"We need a change Cheyenne. I need a change. This isn't for me, and it isn't for you either, and although you might not realize it, we're never gonna be truly happy here."

Anger bubbled up inside me. "But you think we'll be happy somewhere else?!"

"Yes."

"And you think you know how I'm gonna feel?"