On the Other Side of the Fence

A Story by Irena

Just experimenting with description.

His was a handsome mane, glorious and flowing in the rising sun. He tossed it about as he ran, cantering across the soft grass and showing off his rippling muscles to the mares who grazed on the other side of the fence. They were a boring lot, never impressed by his little shows and pleas for attention. Yet still he tried, lifting his head to the sky and raising his hooves to the beat of unheard music.

It didn't matter to him what they thought, or at least, that's what he wanted to think. They were old, even ancient in his young, naive mind. They were already mothers and grandmothers, some too swaybacked to be ridden, others too tired and weak to manage a trot.

Still, they grazed in a seemingly endless pattern, an unbroken cycle of monotony. He thought that he was doing them a favor, saving them from the inevitable boredom that was sure to fall upon them if he left.

He kept trying to impress them, whipping his lovely mane back and forth, practically dancing across the grass until it was crushed into a mushy pulp, beaten into the soil by his polished hooves. Day after day, hour upon hour, he sweated in the hot sun while the old mares grazed in the same spot as each day before. They never seemed to notice him, and never looked twice at his swishing tail and flashing eyes.

Then winter seemed to come all at once, bringing with it, fierce and cruel winds, a dusting of snow and hopelessly cloudy skies. And as one thing arrives, another departs. He gave up on the mares, tired of being ignored and tired of trying. He sought greener pastures, hoping for attention, seeking what he felt he deserved.

He left that side of the pasture by the fence and the old mares looking back only one, watching them graze one last time. He abandoned his pastime which had once seemed so thrilling and new, but now felt stale and unrewarding. He made new friends and new enemies. He found adoring groups of fillies and admiring gangs of colts who followed him blindly. His new found ability to lead was a fit he had never known he had. He lived out his life as the strong, majestic stallion that he was, siring powerful offspring and fulfilling his duty. And in time, forgot about the mares on the other side of the fence and his many attempts to impress. It all became a distant memory, a dream that he had once had but now barely remembered. A tiny smudge in the perfect painting that was his world.

But the old mares remembered. They could picture him so clearly in their minds, prancing back and forth in front of them in that proud way of his. Yet they missed him. After he had left, they all seemed to age drastically. They desperately missed his youth and spirit, that confident expression he wore on his face which still lived on in their memories.

But now he was gone. They knew that they had to stop dwelling on the past, however hard it was to stop. Still, the monotony of their days was beginning to truly sink in. their last chance to enjoy life had slipped past each of them before they had truly realized what they had missed.

The mares never wondered why he'd done what he'd done for so long, and he never wondered what they'd really thought of him. Life went on in the way that it tends to, time passing by, sunrise to sunset and back again. Still, in the end, neither side of the fence was ever truly satisfied and the shining of his wonderful mane lay unpleasantly in the old mares' hearts.