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. 

BABY'S DAY OUT: THE STORY

The bawling doesn't come,

Oblivious to the expected,

The baby doesn't cry,

Abomination! They cry,

And WHAM!

Calloused palms meet smooth skin,

We must elicit the essential.

Robust and high-pitched,

The baby's throaty reaction,

As if to say,

"I've heard your gist,

I'll be old enough soon,

I'll get u for it,

Wicked nurse."

After the nurse had slapped my butt, and I had burst to life, she handed me to my mother who in turn crooned admiringly before she handed me back to the nurse, the cue for washing up. I was bawling quite loudly now, and I could sense the nurse’s discomfort. Wasn’t that what everyone wanted – loud bawling? If only she knew, she wouldn’t have slammed her palms on my little bootie, baa baa baa. Maybe she hasn’t eaten. Now we were strolling down a white hall. Ok, the nurse was strolling down the hall, me in tow, bawling still, the antiseptic smell of the hospital violating my virgin nostril, this fact nudging up the volume of my bawling a fair few decibels. My face was ensconced in a rather succulent swelling – rather comforting –