You’re striding through an open field, lifting your feet higher than normal, feeling the lush emerald blades brushing your skin. A gentle breeze permeates the thick, black mane that shines under the warm light of the sun, its caress reminding you that you are very much alive.

A steady, rhythmic thud of hooves stands to say that you’re steady once again, that you’ve carried yourself through different lands and left memories of them all. That you’ve left a little imprint of yourself on the canvas of the world.

You halt at the edge of a low precipice, casting your gaze out over the horizon, to the origin of infinity.

A surge of pure joy, makes you leap onto your hind legs, executing a perfect rear, and you emit a long, loud whinny, just for no real reason. You don’t care who hears it. Only you need to. It says, I am here. I am alive. And I don’t care if you won’t join me.

You turn, trotting down, adrenaline carrying you that little bit higher, that little bit further each time.

Life is good.

The sun dulls down, the breeze turns sharp. You look up, ears pricked, confused. Where is the light going? Where is it going, when it has taken so long for it to shine?

And then your ears fall back, apprehensive.

You know why.

In the distance, a rumble shakes the very ground you stand on. That seemingly endless horizon, sealed with the silhouettes of dozens of men, and women, on horseback, armed with ropes and spurs.

You turn to run, but they’re coming from the other side too. From the right, and the left.
They’re closing in on you.

Before you can even think to fight or take flight, they’re onto you, ropes flying, and one circles your neck, and you can’t breathe.

Voices raise, horses bray, and you too cry out, screaming for them to let go, that you can’t breathe. But they keep coming.

Before you know it, before you can even hope for understanding, a horse slams into you, taking your breath right from you, and leaving you to struggle in the dust.

One person, two people, too many people, dismount to leer at you, and to laugh.

To laugh at the pain, fear and bewilderment they cause.

You feel yourself slowly dying, and wilt into the dirt, hopeless.

Maybe it will do good.

Maybe a world cannot function without the decimation of the good at heart.

Maybe freedom can never be permitted by all who are hesitant to pursue it.

But you will not be afraid to grasp for that freedom one more time.

A final rush, and you roll to your feet, feeling the ropes weakening, feeling the faded warmth of the sun on your back. It may be gone, but what it gave to you remains.
Throwing your head up, you snap the rope that holds you to the people.

And you throw yourself forward, galloping off and leaping over the other horses.

You never want to die in conformity for the happiness of others.

There is shouting. Confusion. Loud bangs of weapons that try to stop you.

But you keep running. Faster, and faster, your ears flat back in terror, unsure whether a bite of metal or a singe of rope will strike you down again. To the point where even the thunder of your own footsteps frightens you. The rope that snapped on your escape hangs from your neck, desperate to hold you back.

You won’t let it.

A frenzied, energetic buck soon solves the problem, and you feel lighter than a leaf, your beauty shining upon the glint of the returning sun, but does not dwindle when returning to the ground.

The voices fade. They remain, but not so prominent.

You’re free again.

You showed them that a life is not subject to destruction under their perception of normality.

You might get caught again, not this time, but maybe the next.

But they know now.

They know they cannot destroy you whilst the sun retains it’s shine.

You know, that you live the life of an Inkblack horse called Freedom.

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