02-24-2016, 01:44 PM
it's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
She doesn’t want to move, she wants to stay here for as long as she can, with her mother relieved and not angry or upset or disappointed. That one hurts the most; disappointment. The others will pass, eventually, but disappointment sinks into the bones of both parties, and sits there, forever, waiting to be relived at any moment.
Though she does not know any of this yet, as she is too young, and much of her experiences with horses has been the avoidance of anger. This is all she knows, and her mother’s relief washes over her, starting to cleanse her (though her soul will never - can never - be truly cleaned).
The questions start but stop just as quickly. She doesn’t understand parenthood, how this should work, but if the girl left him for too long it would never be one simple question. It would be speeches and looks and anger, so much anger, and she would cower silently until he decided what he would do with her.
Usually, he would do nothing, and this was somehow worse.
“I don’t know,” she says simply, because she doesn’t know; she went this way and then that way and then down the rabbit hole to lose her innocence.
And there she met the maddest of the hatters and the reddest of the queens and the most cheshire of the cats and it was all rolled into one horse.
She doesn’t know if she should mention him (she should, she is certain, but she is scared, scared that talking of him will bring him). So she stays silent, pressing herself as close to her mother as she can, as if she could just start again, this life, this short time that has felt so long.
“I’m sorry,” she says again, mumbling into her mother’s brightly coloured side. “I’ll never do it again,” she promises, but even as the words leave her mouth she knows that this is not a promise she will be able to keep.
But she will try, for as long as she can.
Though she does not know any of this yet, as she is too young, and much of her experiences with horses has been the avoidance of anger. This is all she knows, and her mother’s relief washes over her, starting to cleanse her (though her soul will never - can never - be truly cleaned).
The questions start but stop just as quickly. She doesn’t understand parenthood, how this should work, but if the girl left him for too long it would never be one simple question. It would be speeches and looks and anger, so much anger, and she would cower silently until he decided what he would do with her.
Usually, he would do nothing, and this was somehow worse.
“I don’t know,” she says simply, because she doesn’t know; she went this way and then that way and then down the rabbit hole to lose her innocence.
And there she met the maddest of the hatters and the reddest of the queens and the most cheshire of the cats and it was all rolled into one horse.
She doesn’t know if she should mention him (she should, she is certain, but she is scared, scared that talking of him will bring him). So she stays silent, pressing herself as close to her mother as she can, as if she could just start again, this life, this short time that has felt so long.
“I’m sorry,” she says again, mumbling into her mother’s brightly coloured side. “I’ll never do it again,” she promises, but even as the words leave her mouth she knows that this is not a promise she will be able to keep.
But she will try, for as long as she can.
ELVE
![[Image: n2oih3.png]](http://i64.tinypic.com/n2oih3.png)