Just something short I decided to write... It's a drabble/short oneshot, if you can tell. Yes, I know it's not a true drabble. Whatever.



People often fall short of it.

For the cowboy cloaked in tattered leather and a dusty old hat on his head, Frank Hopkins made an odd sight riding to the finish line against two others on an impure brown and white stallion who came by the name 'Hidalgo' at a whistle. And even on that fateful and historic day that his his mustang raced with his head nearly parallel to the ground and his hooves about to trip over themselves, he fought for the first position, desperately passing up the two purebred Arabians that flanked him.

Arabians who'd been born for racing.

He, an impure mustang, as they called him, beat two Arabians who had been trained since foals to run faster than the wind. And yet, even once he was showered and adorned in praise by friends and family, Frank couldn't help but notice the dull and tired look in his faithful stallion's eyes. Once he had stepped foot back on American soil, he easily knew what his horse wanted most: Freedom. The freedom to race the birds and soar with the wind, and though he tossed and turned all night and wrestled with nightmares, Frank knew which decision was right. Should he let Hidalgo stay, letting him live out the rest of his days in misery, or let him return to where he was foaled and raised?

With a heart twisted in pain, he slowly took off his horse's halter that Hidalgo had known for nearly all of his life with Frank. The stallion had looked at him with a sort of happy look, but Frank dismissed it; it was hard enough. It was what they both wanted.

And no matter how much he was judged in the great race across Arabia and the other many countries by the "true racers," as they called themselves, he knew that he'd come out on top.

He always did.

Judgement never got to him.

Woo. This category looked rather lonely. Now, just a few more days until my birthday...

- Requiem for the Dream

January 26th, 2009