The Fault In Reality

Chapter Four

The next morning my muscles ache. Last night I'd slipped out of the horse's corall, left him after he'd reared up. It was a bad place to end, that I know, but I did and do feel exhausted.

My feet brush against the floor, and I'm not content to find it ice cold. A quick glance out my window tells me I've woken early. Too early. The sky outside is only just hinting sun, and even then exclusively at its horizon. I take a moment to appreaciate the different hues of blue, all thrown together in the sky, subtly changing shade from black to a faint, pale white.

As good a time to get up as any other.

I set my teeth together and raise myself from the warm cucoon that is my covers. The door squeaks quietly as I prod it open, and, as though conspiring together, the stairs emit a similar protest. My nightgown brushes against my ankles, teased by the drafts.

Distant snores lace the otherwise silent air, and the fridge, with its unfriendly light, casts my gaze onto its empty shelves. As though on cue, my stomach clenches. It's not long before I'm standing outside, barefoot in the grass, of which is shimmering with the ghost of last night's rain.

The smell of the morning is fresh, sweet as usual after relief to a long bout of sun. The scent settles something stirring in my chest -the irratible, grumpy feeling that the house seemed to cater to.

I wander around, waiting for the sun to rise from its bed in the horizon. Colors slowly cream together to give way to light, and so one by one, lights flicked on in the windows of the house. Slowly I make my way back inside, and settle myself in a comfortable couch.

Soon everyone has filled the kitchen with noises of soft chatter and a sizzling pan. When the smell of pancakes overcomes my reluctance to interact with their cheerful manners, I push myself out of my seat and slip silently into the dining room.

My father is an overall pleasant man, but it can not be said that he is without flaw. I remember, when I was five or six, he dubbed it a good idea to take me to a ball game. Baseball could not interest me any less, and the entire incident ended with me breaking my arm whilst tripping over the bleachers.

This morning I can think of more than one problem with him, based on his appreance alone. Dark hair deshevelled, chin stiffened with a bristly stubble, and adorned with a largely noticeable pink bathrobe, he's quite the sight. I lean against a nearby wall and watch him as he flips through a newspaper and sips at a mug of sharp smelling coffee.

My mother is not far, fluttering her hands about uselessly as Pat leans over the stove, tenderly flipping some pancakes.

"Really, are you quite certain there's nothing I can do to help?" she asks.

"W-ell..." says Pat in a voice that implies it's not the first time the question has been posed. "I suppose you might set the table."

So my mother flutters off in her busy way, unfolding some placemats and setting down plates and cutlery over the old oaken table. I wait for someone to notice me, and am not flattered to find no one does.

I clear my throat.

Three heads snap up and brighten with what I'm certain are fake, automatic smiles.

"Good morning," my mother says. "How did you sleep?"

I'm fairly certain the expected answer is 'good', or 'fine'. The proper one, at any rate.

"Terribly," I reply.

Pat's gaze nestles back into the crook of her cooking.

"Oh?" she says. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"I'm sure."

With a little turn on my heel, I make out to leave the room, but find my path blocked by none other than Chase. I consider a sigh, but decide it too much effort and merely replace myself back against the wall.

"Good morning," he says.

"Is it?" I say.

He makes a great show of looking about himself, and then at me.

"Well, you're unhappy, so yes, it must be."

"Chase!" says my father, in the sharp sort of voice I'm certain he means to sound parently.

"All right, all right," mutters Chase.

After a breakfast of fluffy pancakes, strawberries, and sticky syrup, my mother is ready to leave. I'm nervous to watch her go, nervous to be left alone with present company. Spending the summer with my step mother, ex-father (such as it would seem) and unpleasant step brother is hardly appealing.

"Good bye," my mother says to me. She smells of perfume and looks of manicured nails. "See you soon," she adds.

"Since when is two months 'soon'?" I say. Then, deciding to be a little less cynical, I heave a sigh and say, "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too, honey. And don't worry; the weeks will simply fly by."

I quirk an eyebrow, ready to reply with one quip or another, but I'm denied the pleasure as she steps back into her dusty car. I trail a few fingers half-heartedly through the air in a dismal wave, and watch her dissapear down the drive.

The dog takes sprinting off after her, baying his farewell in deep, throaty tones.

"Era," says Chase from behind me, and I turn around.

"Yes?"

"You're really not go near that horse. I mean it. I saw your little stunt yesterday, and if you aren't careful I'll tell my father."

"Since when is he yours?" I demand. "As far as I'm concerned, I've known him longer."

I smile as Chase gives a little squirm of discomfort at this.

Pat calls from somewhere inside the house, and soon all that's left of him is the swinging door. I pick my way back to the black horse's corrall. It's time for a name, I think to myself as I watch him eye me wearily.

As per usual, his ears are pinned neatly to his head. I whistle a bit of this and that, tune death and aimless, until his ears inch forwards.

"That's a good boy," I say, and they fly backwards again, this time with an anxious stomp at the ground.

I slip under the rail and contemplate everything. My mind loops around Eclipse, but it's not a subject I'm willing to touch. So instead I think about horses, as a general.

Pain, of course. Pain of the fall and pain of the loss. And guilt, too.

So why is this creature different? His appearance isn't much. He's got a nice pair of legs, but over all he's nothing like I've ever seen. I'll admit I'm a bit of a snob, self-centered. Before Eclipse I wouldn't consider a horse of mismatched build, couldn't see past my own gain in the show ring. But I'm quite sure -no, completely sure, that things have changed. Me and Eclipse were a team. A team like no other.

After her, I don't want to ride. Any horse after her would be a disgrace to her memory.

And there's no way I can risk injuring another creature, not like I did to her.

So what to do with this one?

A/N: blah, not much happening... yet.