What Happens In Your Dreams:

The Barn:

Horse riding is my passion. I've been in the saddle for 5 years, not as long as some, but long enough for it to have become my life. Three years ago I met a my dream horse; tall, doe eyed, and the color of chocolate with a fiery personality to round it all out. I worked out a way to ride her her immediately, and as I suspected, we fought viciously. She hated me and I loved the challenge so I bought her. We clashed and I cried and we almost fell apart, but suddenly there was a change. She became more docile, we began to work with each other rather than against, and everything was easy. I was in love. Then, college came around.

College has always been a dream of mine and something that I was not about to give up, though I was torn apart by the fact that I had to sell my best friend. My family and I put out an ad encompassing my horse's skills, downsides, and our requirements for a good home. We had many offers, and we rejected all of them until one day we were contacted by an older couple. We drove out to their ranch with a pretty barn and gorgeous fields full of horses. We signed the papers and shipped her to the barn immediately, confident that she'd be happy and comfortable. We were assured by the family that we could visit her whenever we wanted, and I decided to come out every weekend before college.

The couple and I soon grew close, talking with each other every weekend and often having summer barbeques in their fields. Towards the end of summer, their grandson came to stay with them. We shook hands and were cordial, but I didn't like him very much. He was rude, crass, and always angry, which are the worst personality traits to have around horses. His grandparents gave him free reign around the barn since they considered him a "responsible adult" and I came to the conclusion that I should just stay away and spend my time with the older couple and my horse.

My first year of college began, and I reluctantly began to visit my horse less and less. My visits dropped from once a week to once a month, and each occurrence became more and more depressing. The school load became so heavy that I missed a monthly visit, a fact the couple took note of. The next time I arrived they hugged me and said they missed me, wasting my time until I had to leave without seeing my horse.

Finally, the loneliness became unbearable and I showed up at their ranch without announcing myself and ran immediately up to my horse's pasture. She seemed thin with multiple lacerations and a lame back leg. I texted the couple that I was heading over, waited a few minutes, then headed down to their house to ask about what happened. After a gentle interrogation, the couple changed their story from "she rolled in briars" to "our grandson rode her". This fact worried me greatly. I asked them to please take care of her and left to complete some late homework.

My encounter with my horse grated my nerves until I had a chance to visit again. I sped to their barn quickly just to discover her condition was worse, and they refused to admit what had happened. Each visit after that tore me open as I watched my horse crumble. I couldn't do anything. She wasn't mine to care for anymore. And, to top it off, their grandson always seemed smugger every time I arrived.

I spent three weeks floating through my days; alone, distraught, and sinking farther and farther into an endless pit until I visited the barn again. The day soon arrived and I drove over, my heart filled with terror and frustration. I reached the gates and they slowly creaked open for me with an air of foreboding. As I pulled up to the stable, I noticed that the only person at home was the grandson. I ignored him and strode up to the pasture where my horse usually spent her time, but it was empty. I suspected she may have been moved to a smaller stall, so I stomped over to the grandson to wring her location out of him.

"Hey, where did you put her?"

"What are you talking about, girl?"

"You know exactly what. The horse that your family bought from me! And don't you dare call me girl."

He seemed to rack his brain for a moment.

"Oh. Yeah. That old b*tch. She threw me off so I shot her. Right through her mangy skull. Tough luck, girl."

My best friend was dead.