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First Prize
Ekaterina Dunaeva
School No. 207 St Petersburg
A Good Death is Worth Living
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On a warm evening in July, the herbs and blossoms were filling the air with a delicious fragrance. A few horses were grazing in a pen near a modest stable. Lazily and unhurriedly, they were munching on the grass; the youngsters started to play, chasing one another, while the older mares were casting reproachful glances at them. All of them had no memories and no worries, they were just getting on with their lives or just starting them. Knowing nothing but light work and pleasant relaxation.
He was standing apart from them, looking at no one. From the very beginning, since the very time of his arrival at the stable, he had somehow happened to appear an outcast.
He didn't feel like changing the situation, so he was always alone. At first the other horses were interested in him; eventually they began to despise him, then tried to offend him, but realising that he paid no attention to either their kicks or their bites, they finally left him alone. They neglected him for the old wretch he was, pretending not to see him at all.
Indeed he was old and weak, but not really as old as he looked. It was the hard life that made him miserable and wretched. He had to bear the sorrow and offence as punishment for the happier life that was his before. In fact, his life had ground to a stop after he fell in the racing field, badly injuring both legs. His owners decided not to give him any treatment and just sold him, thus condemning him to his final destination, slaughter. At the time he was unable to understand a thing and didn't even remember how he ended up at the little stable. The future held no hopes for him, and recognising this, his owner had him do the hardest work, what with him being a half dead wretch and not meriting much care. Everything around seemed to be singing, enjoying life and waiting for him to leave this world. Yet no one but him knew that he had been slowly dying inside for a long time already, a bit every day during the last two years. The process of dying began when he first noticed that he was not deriving any joy from his existence any more.
He was having a nap when the sound of footsteps wakened him. A pale young girl with a large shock of red hair was painstakingly walking in his direction. For six months, she had been hiring him to go riding in the neighbouring fields. She needed a placid mount because she was recovering from an accident and couldn't hold herself in the saddle properly. He couldn't know that she had been a professional and had ridden some of the best horses in the world. Nor did he know about the pain she was now suffering on horseback or about the pleasure riding still gave her in spite of the pain attacking her every time she mounted and rode him. He couldn't know that this was her last day with him, as her doctors had forbidden her to ride any more.
Little did he know, but he could feel her sadness, and his heart was aching with grief. Perhaps he understood for the first time that a young and innocent creature could also be suffering, just like he was, rather than revelling in life and love. Perhaps he could guess what was troubling her and understand that in a place deep inside herself, she was beginning to fade just like he had been for a long time. But then, it might only be sympathy extended by on mournful heart to another.
When they got to the fields, the golden sun was setting behind the distant murky forests, filling the high skies with deep purple. He was walking slowly and carefully on his painful legs, nodding his head. Then he remembered the girl on his back: was she comfortable? Was he pleasing her? Where did she want him to head? And, deep in those thoughts, he began trying to move more smoothly so as not to disturb her in any way and to anticipate her wishes through the motions of her fingers. So they were taking their time on the carpet of green grass interspersed with flowers in the gold evening sunlight.
Suddenly a powerful bird, cloud-white in its headlong fall, flashed above and gave a loud cry. The rider shivered and jerked the reins, her legs pressing her mounts flanks. His heart fluttered with sudden joy. He experienced the forgotten delight he used to feel before taking off in the racing field. At that moment he really noticed the sun, the forest, the sky and the field, that splendid field no horse can resist galloping across. Charged with great strength, he surged forward as if he were on the racing track again.
Good Lord! It was ages since he had galloped so fast, ages, since the wind was last blowing his mane, ages since his heart had thudded so strongly and life-force had been filling him to the brim! He thought that life had ebbed out of him, but it had always been there and was now surging through his every vein. All he had to do was open his heart to it!
They turned to the stable after sunset, as the first stars began to appear in the darkening sky. The girl unsaddled him, gave him some food and was about to leave. He was watching her. Unable to resist, she turned to him and crying, embraced his neck, human and equine tears mixing. Perhaps she was thankful for their exciting race in the fields, or sorry for parting from him for good. Perhaps he had been able to banish the death feeling inside her.
She departed with tears in her eyes. He stayed behind with his weak heart thudding, his injured legs shaking, his breath coming out in gulps, in his dank and dark stall. But he was happy. As the night descended slowly, his eyes closed forever.
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