Man vs Horse - a western-fantasy-fiction adventure

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Alrighty, here's a kind of fantasy-fiction-western . Its late, and after finishing an english essay on Shakespeare i decided to chance one of my stories on the board. Please... be gentle


Man vs Horse - How the Horse Always Gets Even

When Eric Bredford was faced with the choice of his lifetime: either to hang by his neck until he was dead, or to enlist in the military for an indefinite period of time, he naturally chose the latter. His reasoning’s were based on the fact that, as a fairly successful highway man – he had only been caught once… - he was fairly confident in his ability to slip away and disappear. In fact, with the exception of that one rather unfortunate time, he had always managed to make a clean getaway. In addition to his marginally high chance of successfully eluding the heavy-footed military police, he figured that while he was enlisted –as a soldier, not a deserter, deserters had slightly less benefits… - he might exploit his situation and learn a few skills. As it was, he was fairly adept with his trusty rifle, what with having it since a child, but he was still touchy on dealing with horses. It seemed to him that whenever he wanted the damned animal to do something it’d either flat out refuse, or worse – as was the case of the day he was captured – do the opposite of what it was suppose to.

Now, a highway man with good skill with a rifle was one thing - skill with the weapon allowed him to disable his target from a safe and marginally comfortable distance -, but a highway man with skill with a rifle, and skill with a horse was quite another. In fact, he was nearly invincible. A cooperating horse allowed for a quick get away, and also offered a sort of guarantee incase of a pressing situation. It was Eric’s strong belief that a good horse would supple food incase of a sudden situation of poverty presented itself. It also offered money, and best of all, protection in a firefight. Yet, a cooperating horse was simply not something Eric could get his hands on. Either the four legged beasts could sense his regard towards their particular species, or they’d been previously fond of the man or men, that Eric had taken them from - taken being a figurative term, much like borrowed, of course.

Not only did the military promise to provide the skills necessary to sway the beasts disposition into the handlers favor, but they also promised a good horse for each recruit as well as well rounded three coarse meals. It was this last perk that had helped Eric properly stomach his decision, as since they were to be fed, and given a horse, he could eat properly, and then ride off without worry of having to eat his ride when he felt that bloody persistent pang of hunger in his gut. As it was, Eric was sure he could go for at least a couple days after a serving of army brand gruel. The stuff was rumored to linger about for days after it was consumed.

Thus, it was images of escape and freedom that accompanied Eric as he was brought from the cold dank of the cell lockup –must they always be dank? – to the Hillman’s Elite Location for Legalization, or HELL for short. HELL was reputed to be the scariest place outside Louisiana, and as Eric and his fellow prisoners were led toward the fortress – their escort’s horses were firmly attached to their manacle chains – he could feel his imaginative bubbles of freedom and escape popping above him. The fort’s walls were at least thrice Eric’s height – he hailed at a sturdy 5’8 – and it seemed to Eric that the area about the fort was darker than its surroundings, almost as if HELL boasted its own weather system.

To himself Eric thought, ‘Sure the damned thing looks mighty impenetrable, and it probably is, but they can’t possible keep up inside it forever. We’ve got horses to ride and they’ll need plenty of flat ground for that.

In answer to his unspoken thoughts their escort stopped his horse and swung about to face the prisoners.

‘Alright you bunch of walking horse crap, we’re here. It took nearly forever too, but that’s because the horses seem to be offended by your presence. But we made it. Welcome to HELL.’

‘Well, that was original…’ Eric thought in response. He was too much of a realist to not understand that making some sort of wisecrack would earn a good deal of pain. Eric didn’t really like pain and thus he tried to avoid it whenever possible. His fellow captured however, lacked the mental grace to understand such things and were promptly educated by the butt ends of their escorts rifles.

‘Once you, or the horses, your choice, drag your miserable arses into the fort you will begin your reeducation.’ The important looking guard explained.

‘And our escape’ Eric thought

As if hearing his thoughts the man looked directly at Eric and said, ‘And for the bunch of seaming piles of rat feces that think that they’ll simply escape their reeducation, they’d better think again. Once you set foot in HELL, you won’t leave until you’re judged to be completely reformed.’

Eric was starting to get a bit creeped out. ‘How the hell does that rat bastard guess when I’m thinking like that?’ He swore to himself.

Once again, as if by magic, the guard replied to Eric’s unvoiced thoughts and promptly delivered his rifles butt into Eric’s gut.

“What the hell was that for!?’ Eric gasped. He was getting very edgy, and when the guard just shrugged and moved on, he swore to consult some sort of priest within HELL and get the man the exorcize whatever curse was clinging to his slightly moral-less hide.

Eric’s sentiment was reinforced when he realized – much to late – that the other prisoners had already moved on to the entrance to HELL. With a curse he found himself being reacquainted with the ground and dragged across the rough rock and anything-sharp infested expanse that separated him and HELL. Sure enough, at one point when Eric’s head bounced high enough to see over his chain-risen legs, he spotted the guard that had been thoroughly enjoying himself with Eric’s suffering bouncing up and down atop his now galloping steed.

Somehow, in between getting the wind knocked out of him and screaming his lungs course, he managed to voice, “Son… of… a… bitch!!!’

The day wasn’t proving too lenient on Eric. He had hoped that the trip to HELL would be a much easier journey than the one he was so fully engaged in.

During the rough and bouncy ride, Eric discovered that the guard’s steed had an equally distasteful opinion of him. This revelation came in the form of freshly excreted piles of steaming matter that seemed to be dropped at strategic places in front of Eric. After the third trip though one such pile, Eric was able to conclude – rather bitterly – that the bloody horse seemed to be a natural at timing, as he was never airborne when he met up with the horse’s rancid offerings.

Separated from the bodies suffering, Eric’s mind was able to speculate on the situation. ‘I only wanted to eat the thing… it doesn’t have to be so bloody critic about it.’

Just before Eric was ready to call things even with Death and expire, the horse stopped. Eric lay on the ground unmoving. Eyes closes, he tried to calm down his breathing. In fact, he was so shaken up that it took him much longer than usual to notice the warm pile of processed fecal matter beneath him. ‘I’m gonna eat that damn horse if it’s the last thing I ever do’ he swore to himself.

Shakily and with a lot of cursing, Eric managed to get back on his feet. Before him his vision swam. It was this way that he was able to perceive at least four identical fists streaking for and eventually making contact with his head. Aside from the hastily assembled curse – there was always time for cursing - he had only enough time for a single though before he found himself engulfed in darkness. ‘Which one of the bloody Gypsy’s in that last ripped off caravan pocking cursed me?’

In accordance to the state of unconscious that he was now suffering under, Eric struggled very little as his limp unresisting form was dragged through the gates of HELL in much the same manner as that befitting a large sack of rice. Once his body was dragged past the entrance gate, the solid cast iron door swung back into place, crashing shut with a satisfying smash.

***

Eric was alone in a vast expanse of flat lifeless tundra. The air around him was still and the only noise he heard was his own breathing and heartbeat. Looking up, he noticed that there was no sun, or even stars in the sky above him. There was only blackness in the sky. Yet, somehow an Éire glow illuminated the plain. He could see for an incalculable distance, and yet, he saw nothing. The place was as lifeless as it was immense. Panic began to build within him. His mind raced with such questions as, ‘where was he?’, and, ‘what happened here?’ Mostly it was his concern for his own wellbeing in this place that frightened him the most. He had no supplies, had no idea of where he was. His breathing began to quicken as he finally began to give into his panic. As he grew frantic he began to turn around in circles, vainly trying to see something on the looming horizon. Turning as he was, he nearly fell over in fright when out of no where a massive horse appeared before him. Before he could even curse or better yet, scramble away it was on him, all hooves and teeth gashing and mauling….

***

”Goat raped spawn of a whore!’ Eric screamed as found himself in a dark room, flying into a seated position, or he tried to get into a seated position. On his fright propelled upright lunch, his head crashed against a solid, unyielding board that had been seemingly strategically placed a foot above his head. With a loud thump his head bounced back to where it had originally been. The impact however seemed to have a positive effect on Eric, as it cleared his jumbled thoughts.

“I got eaten by a pocking horse?” he asked himself aloud in disbelief. ‘Could it be’, he wondered, ‘that his mind was telling him that he should be a little pickier about what he ate?’ He snorted at the absurdity of the notion and decided that even if his brain was telling him something, he was completely within his rights to ignore it. After all, he’d done it before plenty of times, and look where he was now… He paused at that, looking around him. ‘Alright,’ he concluded, ‘not thinking landed me in some kind of cell… point taken.’ Eric prided himself as a man who never made the same mistake twice. Thus, with the mistake of not thinking mentally recorded in his list of never-agains, he put his hands against his head to try to ward off the throbbing pain that had somehow manifested itself in his head.

While his fingers were still trying –vainly - to heal the massive headache Eric was suffering from, the lid of his prison lifted. The brightness of unshielded sunlight flooded his box – or was it a coffin, the rational part of him brain thought. The rest of his brain, the apparent majority, screamed loud curses on the pain brought on by the brilliant light mercilessly sticking Eric’s unadjusted eyes.

Before Eric could give voice to some of the more creative curses echoing in his mind, a hand reached in, grabbed his shirt, and effortlessly pulled him up onto his wobbly legs.

Noticing that the man was the guard that had taken his suffering as personal pleasure the day before, Eric greeted him unthinkingly with a cheery ‘Hello darling, I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep yourself away from me for too long’. After the pain and his breathe came back to him, he suddenly recalled his previous oath of thinking things through first. ‘Well I’ll be jiggered,’ he thought, ‘I forgot about that one…’

‘May I ask what brings you to see me, or was it just that you couldn’t keep yourself away from my smile?’ he asked, smiling to add effect. Doubling over in agony he noted to himself that thinking things through first was proving to be a lot harder than he’d previously imagined.

“As your first duty in HELL, you are to be assigned stable duty.’ The Guard spat. His appearance and manner reminded Eric of a particular tavern waitress he’d had the unfortunate chance to cross a few years back. Before he could release this shocking tidbit of knowledge to the man, he was grabbed and dragged. It seemed to Eric that his arm might simply fall off before they ended up at wherever they were headed. It thus came as a release when the guard released his arm. The following nose dive into the front door of the stable offered Eric no such pleasure.

“You don’t eat until the place is spotless,” the man yelled and slammed a heavy large door. Alone in the stables, Eric had a sneaking suspicion that the man had been picked on as a child. His thoughts were interrupted however, by the nickering of horses. ‘Aha!’ he thought in triumph, ‘I won’t go hunger after all.’ Hoping to get a good look at the evening menu, he stepped over to the nearest stall and looked in.

Before Eric was a massive, mean looking, workhorse. It had, however, one other trait that had Eric yelping loudly and falling backwards. The horse was identical to the one that had so unpleasantly frequented his dream. Working hard not to panic, lest the horse smell his fear and decide to resume eating him, he shakily walked over to the slop bucket and shovel that had been placed into the corner. Keeping at least one eye on the man-eating horse, Eric began to clean the stable, cursing every step of the way, only quietly lest the horse get angry, and more to the point, hungry.

[ October 15, 2004, 01:14: Message edited by: Celesialraven ]