I’m riding a magnificent white
charger, his pink mane groomed and decorated with ribbons.
He holds his head high, obviously glad
I chose him. He speeds his gait from a rough trot to a smooth canter.
Suddenly, a thud shakes his post,
throwing his magic off kilter. His canter becomes a wild gallop. He snorts, and
for the first time I notice red staining his nostrils.
“Please, slow down,” I beg.
Centripetal force threatens to pull me off his saddle and throw me into dangers
that are whipping past so fast I can’t identify them. I grip with all my
strength round his neck of shiny muscles.
Between sprays of red droplets
shooting from his open mouth, he gasps, “Only you can stop us.”
2 comments:
Wow, that was awesome! Marsha, you are a true master of words. Loved this.
Thanks lots, Ciara. Glad you stopped by!
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