A SHORT CANTER TO FREEDOM | A Short Story

I flick my tail, once, twice, thrice. I’m preparing for action. I should have done this long ago, but I’m here, nonetheless, at this verge. I begin to move my considerable limbs, on one spot, like I’m an athlete limbering, on the verge of glory. Yes, I’ve once spied a television. Rasheed notices my sudden activity. He pulls at the bit. This time, I don’t respond in the way he’s used to. I don’t snap into submission, ready to obey the master’s will, ready to let some hapless, cowardly beach-goer, who can’t bear to stay on me without help for a mere thirty seconds mount me, like the white men mount the dirty sluts of Taqwa Bay, as he poses for pictures. Instead, as Rasheed pulls lightly on the bit, I shake my head vigorously, my diminished brown mane fluttering in the cool ocean breeze. Rasheed wasn’t holding on to the bit tight enough. 

WEDDING BELLS

There were rows upon rows of empty seats. It was like someone had spread a rumour that Area Boys from Mushin were being expected. If that was the case, a few adventurous humans dotted the auditorium, like reporters hell bent on reporting events in Homs, Syria, despite the foolhardiness of the idea. However, they were suspiciously gorgeously dressed, somewhat ruling out the foolhardy reporter option. I stepped back – momentarily dazed by the emptiness of the hall – and even further back till artificial air was replaced by its more natural, dusty counterpart. Er, wait, I only simply stepped out of the auditorium.  Was it the wrong place? It was an alien area of sorts; something could have gone wrong. Perhaps it was simply the affliction called “African Time”. Perhaps.

THE GREATEST DILEMMA EVER

I got inspired by God-knows-what to embark on a quest for the greatest dilemma ever. The problem with this quest is that Google can do only so much; it requires meticulous research, sorting, and weighing on the Baadger-Satchel Scale of Dilemmic Importance. Very tough job, but don’t take my word for it. I’ll spare you the boring gist and just give you the results of my 2-year long research.

Despite years and years of drilling, we still sometimes freeze up, if only momentarily, at crunch time. This was what happened to Neil Armstrong in 1969. As he stood in the opened hatch of the lunar capsule, he was caught in two minds. Those scientists have probably never stepped out of their laboratories or research stations; what if they were wrong? What if I disintegrate or sink immediately I step onto the moon? What if I do the jumping walk and float into space, never to see my Earth again? But then again, can I pass