Wingbeats

1: Wishful Thinking

Have you ever had one of those days where things completely go wrong? Well, that's what my entire life was been like, and oh, by the way, I'm a horse.

When I was little I lived on a farm in the middle of New York. Yeah that's right, New York.

You see, I lived at the petting zoo in the middle of Central Park, which was about all I ever saw of the place so don't go getting the wrong idea that I knew much about the Big Apple. It was a pretty dull life until "it" came (as in my little brother), but before we get to the main story I'd like to tell you a little bit about myself- context and what not.

My name was Angel; I personally detested the name at the time since it was a fairly lame thing to name a foal, though I suppose it made sense since my coat was a pure dazzling white. It was so white I almost looked like I had been bleached when I was born.

As a half year old filly I had no coordination at all, my spiky white mane and tail bobbing around wherever I went. When I tried to go faster than a walk I was highly uncoordinated, and believe me I almost always fell over. I was really clumsy for the first part of my life.

And as far as my breed? The owners had no clue; I was an orphan since they had found me wandering the park what appeared to have been hours from birth, although personally I suspected some fast, quick as the wind racing horse. Mostly, it was just wishful thinking on my part.

My days were pretty dull as I said before, but that all changed when he arrived.

My owners came into my pen early in the morning just as I was finishing breakfast. They had a bright, dark purple rock with them, and as they set it down I figured it was just another prop for the enclosure I lived in, though I could have sworn I saw it move.

I figured it was my imagination, so I went about my daily routine: eat, try to play with the other animals who hated me for some reason, eat again, take a nap, play by myself, and then eat again, it wasn't until bedtime that I noticed something wrong with the almost-black violet rock.

A noise like the quite chirping of a blue jay started to come from it, and I looked back over at the strange rock, confused. Rocks didn't chirp, nor did they spontaneously generate starburst of cracks upon themselves. I cocked my head at it; eggs did that, but rocks didn't. And then it dawned on me.

It wasn't a rock, it was an egg. And holy mother of horseshoes, it was hatching.

It's not that I didn't like large purple eggs or anything, but this one was hatching, and I had no clue what the heck it was hatching. Massive bird? Large reptile? Something horse eating? What currently living even comes OUT of an egg like that?

As I watched, the egg shattered into pieces, spilling it's cargo onto the soft dust of my moonlit pen so that I found flopped before me, wet and just out of the egg, a small, baby, black as night pegasus.

Well, mind officially blown. At least it wasn't horse eating.