Contradictions

Um... Yay more stories?

Also, my dear sweet father surprised me with Dragon Dictate today, so I've been chattering away to my computer all afternoon, writing even more lovely stories for you. Hopefully this will help with my wrist problems.


Continuation of:


"Life is a contradiction at times--as are we."
~Unknown


Drew felt sick. He was sweating, twitchy and more than just a little edgy. He twirled his whip like a tick, flipping it this way and that at high speeds and slapping it against his thigh in a heavy metal rhythm. To any who asked, he blamed it on the Debutante. All this time riding, and he had never before ridden a true-blue sprinter. It was a completely different dynamic, one the other jockeys could understand. They never questioned him.

But it wasn’t the Debutante. Erik could blaze through miles fine enough but he was a sprinter underneath and that pomp and circumstance; he had the same feel as Thalassa, though the maiden filly held far more raw power. No, it wasn’t the Debutante he was sick over.

It felt like he had cheated. Cheated on a man, of all people—on Sven. He would not dwell on the details of the previous night, but he had found a way to enjoy it well enough at the time. But now? Now, he felt like throwing up. What the hell was this? Why did he feel like this? Used to be he had five different women circling him at one time and never felt a twinge of remorse.

They weren’t Sven, that insistent voice whispered in the back of his mind.

And therein lay the problem. They weren’t Sven.

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath as he stepped out of the tunnel with the other jocks.

He couldn’t dwell on it now. Ahead of him stood the smartest horse he had ever encountered, ready to go; she stood tall and proud, a deep, dark gray amidst a sea of brown. Her tail flowed behind her like a wave of sea foam in the twilight while her mane sat rigid and tight along her crest in neat little buns. The contradictions embodied this horse.

Drew stepped closer. Thalassa bared her teeth and pinned her ears; a test, he knew. ‘Face my fangs, or bear my wrath.’ He had been like that once, always testing and challenging everyone who tried to come close. He knew how to play this game, and so he faced her fangs. Beneath him now, she danced. Back feet, to, fro; front feet, to, fro. Back feet again, to, fro, over and over in a solid, high strung dance.

Robby grabbed her bridle and held her steady long enough to order, “Get your head on straight, boy! She can sense your negative energy.”

Drew cut his gaze to his boss and glared. “And how do you know that’s not exactly what she needs?” Negative energy was powerful—the most powerful of all energies, some said. The most destructive. Tally needed that destructive energy to run. Think about it. Put a calm and happy runner on a track and pit him against a man running for his life. Who do you think would win?

Negative energy. Tally fed off it, embraced it, and he had more than enough to spare.

He flashed his whip in the man’s face and the former jockey let go and backed up on pure reflex. And then they were off.

Some horses were high strung before a race. Some, cool as ice. Thalassa, however, was both. All through the post parade, she would contradict herself: to, fro, to, fro, back and forth with her feet like a clown on stilts. Then, all would go quiet beneath him. Her gate would smoothen out and her spine would rock in a gentle rhythm not unlike that of the rocking chair his abuela used to have on her front porch. He used to love sitting in that chair with her, rocking back and forth as the crickets heralded the night.

But the gentle rhythm only lasted so long—twenty seconds, maybe thirty—before the dancing returned. Up and down, to and fro, back and forth, smooth and bouncy.

Contradictions; they define us.

They loaded into their posts.

Drew tensed and locked his floodgates tight, drawing in every drop of crazed emotion and closing it off from the outside world. Beneath him, Tally grew still. He felt her breaths expanding her sides and synced his to match: up… down. Up… down…

Up…

The gates opened with a bang and a clatter and the field of nine burst forth. Thalassa shot to the lead despite his tight grip on her mouth. Her legs churned the dirt beneath them with sickening speed, but she wasn’t straining against him. “What the hell is beneath me?” he wondered aloud. The energy, the raw power that lay untapped just beneath the surface… It could give a dying man chills.

And he knew just how to tap it.

But not yet, no not yet. For now, more waiting. The finish loomed, but they had to wait. Wait for the breath, wait for the sound of thunder breathing up their tails…

At the turn for home, he felt it; the great monster that was their competition, bringing forth a wave of sound as it tried to take them down.

Drew glanced down to the head bobbing before him. One ear sat cocked toward that wave of sound, measuring its every move while the other lay facing him, tipped back as far as it could go as if to say, “Your call, mate.”

Drew closed his eyes, let out a breath and opened the floodgates.

Beneath him, he felt Thalassa jerk as the wave of confusing energy washed over her. Every doubt, every confusing emotion he possessed leaked from his body to hers. At the same moment, he gave her slack on the reins and the filly took off. The monster behind them wailed, a ruckus made from every jockey and every horse that fell behind them.

Up and down, to and fro, back and forth, smooth and bouncy, nothing could catch them now. They were a contradiction, serene in the start and chaotic in the end. Tight-twirled mane and flowing tail.

When the camera clicked, they stood nine lengths in front.





Shown:

Name: Thalassa
Barn Name: Tally
Gender: Filly
Age: 2
Height: 15.3hh
Color: Gray (black)
Eyes: Brown
Markings: 3 white legs, blaze
Build: Elegant like her dam, with straight legs, a thickly arched neck, and Ghost Pirate's dished muzzle.
Breed: Thoroughbred
Bloodlines: Ghost Pirate x Queene
Genes: Ee/aa/Gg
Temperament: Highstrung and rambunctious, Thalassa never stops moving. She is not the friendliest of creatures and is prone to biting and snapping, but a select few are allowed close enough for a cuddle.
Trainer: Robby Dolorez
Jockey: Alejandro “Drew” Santiago
Racing Style: Sprinter
Stable: Black Creek Crossing Stables

Art, Characters and Story © me


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