The Little Rocking Horse

The Girl

A glint of pink shone from the mane of the tiny horse as it rocked back and forth upon the swiftness of the little girl’s swaying movements. Her tiny fingers clutched around its body; her stumped and muddy fingernails almost reaching together at the tip of her looping digits. The dusty glaze of solid hair met a figure of moon-beaming silver, splashed onto the ceramic of which made up the hollowed body and subsequent pair of beams.

The little rocking horse flew through the air once more as the girl cried out with joy, imagining herself on the back of the creature; flying with such dignified height in a never-ending exhaustion and defiance of reality. Such laughter travelled through the delicately arranged space, following the flight path of the animal as this small child started from the floor and travelled ignitedly around the room; swooping and swaying, running and playing.

The Glass

The woman picked at the broken pieces of ceramic hidden in the fibres of the charcoal strands. A crimson glaze ran down her forearm and gathered at the tip of her elbow; the emotions bubbling in the overflowing swelling, dripping onto the carpet below. She was numb to the warmth of the substance on her fingers as it had no relevance to her being. As she rose from her crouched form and slumbered mentality she clutched at the broken pieces in the palm of red, yet with another hand, reached out and carefully placed the little rocking horse back upon the ledge of the fireplace.

The smallish creature rocked gently as she set it down, not a scratch upon its youthfully frozen facade; ever-glinting in the sunlight that appeared through the living room window. It’s ever-fulfilled dappled grey shine laying without core, filled with the woman’s own extending emotional value.

The woman looked deep into the horse’s beady eyes; shining bright, and there she observed her own experience, her own fear, her own torment. Tears dropped down from her purpled socket, running along her tortured skin, reaching no depth of feeling left inside of her empty figure.

The Gift

The woman entwined her fingers amongst the woven gold thread and gave a gentle tug. The bright vermillion of the tissue paper crackled with pain as the delicate yet brazen figure emerged from the box. The woman’s cheeks matched the wrapping and the pinstripes upon the silver box as she blushed at the sight of the tiny creature hanging from her grasp. The beautiful belly of the tiny rocking horse was bouncing off the light of the little fairies hung upon the mantle, swaying forgivingly as a presence of allure and composure.

With one finger held out softly, the woman brushed the metallic surface of the horse’s hooves, holding her breath at each touch. She jumped a little as the shock of an unannounced pressure on her hip broke the length of her hold. She moved one hand to her side and placed it carefully on top of the other; her silhouette of limb a little shorter and narrower than that which sat upon her skin, as still as dawn.

A generous tumble of chestnut curl fell over her shoulder as the woman turned to look at her partner. She turned her neck and closed her eyes as she received a kiss of meaning, soft upon her lips.

The Grief

The girl forced her fingers upon the length of the fireplace, feeling every memory, every scar that had been carved. Her fingertips gathered up the dust of the untouched surface as she followed the bellowing bevel of the wooden piece. Suddenly she stopped as her line of sight caught a glimpse of a glimmer under a heaped grey figure sat upon the mantle. She paused her mind and began to rub the grey heaped fibres from the piece to reveal the still gleaming, moon-beaming ceramic that she had remembered as a small child. A thought hit her head hard as she turned to the door and tripped across into the next door room.

The girl reappeared with a medium striped box, the lid sat underneath with the contents left open to senses. As she reached once more towards the little rocking horse, the girl's gaze caught the reflection of the woman inside; screaming for her release, her freedom. Her hand paused and hovered, so still, until her arm began to twinge with the ache of despair and it drenched her body with rotten feelings. She looked at the horse and the box in turn, flitting her eyes between the two, subsequently questioning her confidence of pairing minds.

As she began to conclude her thoughts, the girl took a step back and the woman she saw in the eye of the horse stopped screaming and became still; so still. The girl turned and put the lid on the box of her belongings, ignoring the red stained carpet underfoot. As she turned to greet her social worker at the front door, she took one last glance at the little rocking horse, it's beady eyes plain and black with no trace of ever living.