Pale Horse

Written By: Joey Bartlett

Jory remembered the first time he saw the white horse. He had been kicked out from yet another friend's house. The weight of his body indented into the dirty floral pattern of the couch, which had already seen better days. It was his last days soaking in this lap of hedonistic luxury. His luck would run out, it would only get worse, he had been caught stealing a few items from the shelves of the grocery store where he worked. Nothing lavish, just a pack of spicy chicken ramen noodle soup, a pack of chocolate bourbon biscuits, and a small soft drink.

That was enough for Saleem to get rid of him, to kick him out as if his months of work meant nothing. The days of coming in early and leaving late, of mopping, sweeping, and doing odd fixes around the place, all meant nothing. The man had simply replaced him as if he was nothing, erasing his contributions. Throughout his life, this had been a constant theme, but each time it hurt just the same. It felt like daggers piercing through his heart.

He had already grown accustomed to the disparaging looks from others, their judgmental stares as he waded his way through the concrete streets. The high-rise jungle had become his haven, a far cry from the rural village he once inhabited, where every breath and cough were recorded by prying eyes. Now he was adrift amongst a sea of misfits, living in a powder keg fueled by indulgence that was usually plastered across campaigns as a cautionary tale to others.

The day she rode into his life came as a surprise, considering the lions in the den had already pounced on him, leaving him with battle scars and no one to turn to for aid. She found him when he needed her the most. With a black eye, a busted lip, and a torn spirit, he traced her steps as her white mane flew in the open road, the sounds of her hooves galloping across the baking pitch.

Standing against the old telephone pole that stood more like an antique relic needing to be preserved, Jory waited for salvation from his life of hardship and worry. He waited for a beacon of hope to lift him up and make him anew. But after almost three years, he felt like a dreamer. Stories like that never happened to people like him. So, he resigned to the fact that the will of whatever unforeseen powers dictated his life up until this point would continue to drag him across the hot coals of life. He was once a believer in all things good and holy, but now he could discern what was truly good and what was holy. There had never really been much good, and the holy came at a cost too high for him to pay anymore.

As the noon sun reached a fever pitch as the hunger in his stomach consumed him, it was then that he saw her. Her immaculate white coat, alabaster hair, and golden hooves. On her back was a black rider, a creature standing about 7 feet tall with the head of a hound. Draped in flowing fabric that billowed behind him, his body exuded a godlike presence. His hands held the diamond-covered reins that controlled the magnificent white horse.

The strange creature mesmerized Jory. As the shadowy rider dismounted the horse, he said to the weary broken man, he spoke onto Jory, "Perhaps it's time for a ride of your own." With the lure of escaping the hell he was trapped in, Jory mounted the white horse and galloped into the open streets.

Ever since that day, he took his first ride, he has been roaming the streets yearning for the sweet embrace of freedom and the caress of a love she gave. Every day, he trails her lines, mapping her course, but never finding her again.