Wilson Hops On

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The frog, snow-white, hopped peacefully from rock to rock, not knowing what he was destined for. That would change, soon. The gods came down angrily daring to catch Wilson, the snow-white frog. He leapt under mountains and into valleys, yet the gods were persistent alternating terrain to capture this chosen frog. And catch Wilson they did, he struggled croaking in fear pleading to his captors but to no avail. They carried him out of the sacred grotto, Wilson believed himself to be a dead frog, a frog that would croak to early. Instead the gods set Wilson down via a golden sliver of light and simply said “ hop on.”

Nightmare

It’s a horse. Can you guess what colors plague their minds the most? It’s black. The dark color that overpowers all, that can swallow up anything lighter that dares to power through.

This horse is all black, smoking, shimmering, not hidden like Conscience but not sharp like Shadow. Her socks are grey, her hooves pulse, she plods along, following me, aiding me. Her name is Nightmare but she is Hope. She is Beauty. She is Power.

She, in her huge Gypsy form, is difficult to see. Hope shows up the least and they can see no Beauty in this world. This world is destroyed. Corrupted. Shattered. Gods know what plans the world has for lowly humans.

Nightmare lives on. She, in her huge Gypsy form, fights Shadow and Conscience and will never let Hope and Beauty die. Her Power is immense, never weakening, but one day she will die.

She feeds on Hope and Beauty, and they are on their way to extinction. The good powers of this world, the bright sunlight, the clear winds, are being swallowed by the seething black haze that eats all.

Nightmare has left me and begins to die.

A Lazy Afternoon.

I had a really really “lazy” dream last night…

“That must be a heated summer afternoon.

This “gentleman” definitely feels too hot in his thick black fluffy fur jacket. Look at his long and sharp claws, and those hairless soles. Life must be much easier for a sun bear like him, because he has got all those necessary needs in order to live an ideal life in the trees.

It is lovely that the fur around his nose and mouth suddenly turns white, while his whole body is black. What a good-looking “gentleman”! His outstanding appearance must attract a lot of “ladies” around him.

However, this lucky “gentleman” seems to be lazy today. His frown and his drooping lips are saying that he doesn’t feel like doing anything but lounging on this comfortable tree. The heat makes him unpleasant, but the relaxing position placates him. His limpid eyes are staring into the air, but they are also filled with thoughts. He might be thinking about his life. He might be looking at some distant forest and dreaming about his future. Or, he is just thinking about tonight’s dinner menu. Who knows?”

But, dream is just dream. I had to wake up again and study for my finals!

Shadow

It’s a snake. She’s black too, but the kind of black the night sky is. She’s dark. She’s vivid. She’s powerful.

She’s real. She can never leave you, and sometimes, you want her to leave you. She can be your strength, and she can be your weakness.

She speaks your mind when you lose it, she’s there when your sibling’s a bother, she’s there when you don’t understand something.

She fights. She will fight hard, and when you think she’s done fighting, she will fight even more.

Her enemy is Conscience. Conscience makes her mad, and Conscience makes her strong. She fights Conscience with all she has.

The longer she fights, the less control she possesses. She looses herself in an effort to protect, she grows stronger and out of control.

Fangs, venom, whipping tail, flared hood, she fights Conscience and eventually she fights you. Your body turns from heavy to angry.

She is Anger. Anger must be held back. She must be held back. Nothing can hold back Anger.

She rises, hissing, spitting, glowing, menacing, fighting Conscience and fighting you. She’ll fight you and everyone and everything around you.

DESTROY

Her Anger will infect you.

ATTACK

You will be a danger to be around.

KILL

You can’t fight fire with fire. You must drown it with water.

Imagine never finding water.

Conscience

It’s a butterfly. It’s black, all black, with misty, soft, glowy, fuzzy edges, like the edges of a shadow.

You can’t really hear it, it’s there. You begin to let your guard down, it’s there. You let your mind wander, it’s there.

It speaks to you. Stop trying, it says, you don’t need to be with others. Just go, it says, just go alone, sit alone, eat alone.

So you go alone. You sit alone, You eat alone. Then you leave alone.

It flies next to you. You don’t need to look up, it’s just there. It grows. It always grows. It lands on your shoulder, your head, your chest. It’s heavy, too heavy. Don’t fall, you tell yourself, don’t fall. Just fall, it replies, just fall.

It’s a heavy load, it is. In class it keeps your head down. In walking it keeps your shoulders hunched. In sleep it keeps your body curled.

The others, they try to keep it away. They fight, claws, fangs, hooves, venom, they fight hard. It keeps coming back. It keeps speaking.

You’re not good at this, it says, you’re not good at that. You’re good at being bad, it says, that’s a better way to think about it.

It still grows, it’s still there. It covers you with it’s wings, it pushes you down. You can get back up but it pushes you down harder. Stay down, just stay down, it says, stay down, stay low, then you can’t get any lower.

You can still get lower, but man, it doesn’t know that.

The little Dolphin that couldn’t

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The little dolphin that couldn’t. When he was born his mother was ripped apart by a Great White Shark. Mr. Dolphin now had brain damage. Furthermore, his fins where shredded to pieces he could barely swim, he was slow.

While swimming in the seas of Japan Mr.Dolphin encountered some cold hearted fishermen. Mr. Dolphin was not smart so he approached their vessel slowly and foolishly. The fishermen viciously harpooned Mr. Dolphin inflicting life threating wounds to him. Close to death Mr. Dolphin decided to let the currents carry him westward.

Mr. Dolphin found the coast of Hawaii, where he met an average looking dolphiness, looking for a mate. Mr.Dolphin approached her, Mr.dolphin was instantly rejected by the Dolphiness. The dolphiness would have a child with another dolphin. Mr. Dolphin would swim far out to sea where he would die alone and forgotten.

(this was  experiment made with my friend infamousdolphin to test the power of cooperative creativity.)

The little dolphin that could

When the little dolphin was born, his mother gently lifted him to the surface to take his first breath.  He had a gifted mind. Furthermore, he was a strong and capable swimmer. He was fast.

While swimming in the seas of Japan, Mr. Dolphin encountered some gracious fishermen. Mr. Dolphin approached them slowly and carefully. The fishermen fed him some of their leftover fish. Having regained all of his strength, Mr. Dolphin decided to swim eastward.

Mr. Dolphin found the coast of Hawaii, where he met a beautiful dolphiness, looking for a mate, Mr. Dolphin approached her. Mr. Dolphin and the dolphiness fell deeply in love and had a child.

Mr. Dolphin carried his newborn gently to the surface, where he would take its first breath.

This was an experiment made with my friend frog3 to test the power of cooperative creativity.

Death by Bucking Horse

There was this one horse. His name was Houdini, and he was solid, pure black. I had always wanted to ride Houdini but I was always told that my skill levels weren’t high enough, or that he was too “green.” When I got to riding Layla and a pony called Dixie my mind wandered away from Houdini.

When sophomore year came around, I had first seen Houdini during my freshman year, I saw much less of Houdini, but occasionally I would still see him around. I wasn’t sure where he went at all, but I slightly remember someone telling me that he was either out in pasture or being trained by someone else.

This year, my junior year, he’s back, and I continued to ask to ride him. For two months I got continuous no’s but with promises of “wait until we ride him for a week,” or, “once you’re able to keep your back straight.” I kinda gave up hope by the second month, really.

Winter sports started, and the current horse I was riding was needed by another rider. I remember walking into the barn and then being jumped upon by an instructor. “I have exciting news for you!” she said. For some reason I had literally no idea what she would have said. “We’re gonna put you on Houdini!”

Internally I was jumping up and down like a little girl who had finally gotten a pony for her birthday, but on the outside I just took a couple breaths and said “wwwwwoooooooowwww oh thank gods yes finally…”

Houdini was still extremely green and didn’t seem to understand how large he was. He would swing his head around and try to cuddle (I think) me but would end up knocking me into a wall or the gate. I learned how to move quickly and duck away within the first few days.

We believe that Houdini is part Friesian – Royal Friesian Horse, that is. They look like cousins of Gypsy Horses, and they’re a stunning breed. The way they walk, trot, and gallop is extremely upright and almost stiff, like every step they take is deliberate. In my mind I called them the “soldier horse” because they were so methodical with their steps.

Houdini could hardly walk in a straight line. Seriously, I’d try to keep him on the rail and he’d end up either running into it or turning away from it. He actually ran me into a jump pole once, but he’s learning, I think.

A skill that all riders must know is how to lunge a horse. The gist of it is basically to chase a horse around a little round pen while giving them instructions such as “trot” or “canter.” Houdini would trot and canter for a few circles, buck in my direction a few times, then stop completely and simply stare at me.

What I didn’t understand was what he didn’t understand. He followed my instructions perfectly, to walk, to trot, to canter, yet he would always stop a few minutes in and stand square in front of me, unmoving. Even when I tapped him with our bright, neon-orange whip he would stare at me like “what are you doing I did not sign up for this.”

Oh, and he bucks. Like, a lot. If I keep the reins a little too long at the trot he lowers his head and starts bucking. Or that’s the official term, what Houdini does is more like pronking. Usually done by antelopes, pronking is when they leap up into the air with an arched back and stiff legs.

Yeah, that’s what Houdini does. In an hour he pronks about 4 times and I have yet to fall off. There was one pronk, this one was more like a rodeo buck, where I crash-landed on the saddle and hit my knee on something hard. That was two days ago and I still have a massive yellow bruise.


(Mien gott look at that mane)

I call Houdini my Butternut Squash.

Squash because he likes to squash me against the walls of the stall.

Butter because his coat gleams like melted butter.

And nut because he’s the nuttiest horse I may ever ride.

My Princess

The first horse I rode in OVS was Urbino. He was an old horse, mainly brown, and very tall. I constantly struggled to put his bit on, as he would always lift his head up above the reach of my arms. I’m 5’2 now. I was probably 5’1 or 5’0 two years ago, so I asked to switch horses that would either work with me better or was a tad shorter.

I switched horses maybe one or two more times before settling for Layla. I believe she was at least part Gypsy, tall, sturdy, and one of the most beautiful creatures I had ever seen. Her coat and mane was black and white while her tail was pure black. She was a massive horse, and had not been ridden a lot, so she was quite stubborn and didn’t quite like having the bit put in.

To my great dismay she would also lift her head up above arms reach, and for a while I got my taller friends to help me bit her. Being that short and weak was unbelievably frustrating.

Layla was a complete Princess, for she knew how tall and beautiful she was. The way she walked, the way she swayed when she lifted her feet up, made it seem like she was dancing down a catwalk.

Slowly she began to respect me, and after a while she seemed to understand that I was short and that I needed a little help when brushing her mane and putting her bit on. On the days where she felt good she would lower her head for me and on the days she seemed more stubborn she’d ignore me and let me struggle on my tiptoes.

She was pretty darn lazy, plodding along with her feet picked up high. A whip helped, but I had to teach her that she had to walk at a relatively quick pace and not hang her head. She learned quickly and was probably my smoothest ride ever.

I rode Layla for about a year and then moved on to different horses, but I visit her every day to brush out her mane and maybe give her a mint or a handful of grains. When I leave the barn I always look back, and she’ll always watch me leave with an inquisitive look on her face.

I always wonder what horses do all day, but maybe horses wonder what humans do all day too.

The failed hunter

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Running through the grassy plain

While hungry one is in constant pain.

Sun shines providing a beautiful sheen.

The beast’s body coiled like a spring.

Claws have no need to be shown.

The prey lets out a fearful groan.

Chase begins, it moves quite fast.

Will the beast’s hunger always last?

Straight dash for a thousand feet.

Will the prey and death ever meet?

One false turn and the beast slips.

The prey escapes, it’s time to quit.

Hungry but in a dry safe place.

The chase will begin another day.