Posted in Creative Writing.
This extract was written in 2005 and has been taken from a bigger project. I have decided to put it on-line instead of having it ‘locked up’ out of the way.
Closing her eyes, Clare turned to the comfort of her imagination; seeking to escape the cruel sphere on which she lived; nostalgically reminiscing; allowing her mind to wander, to experience a carefree romantic innocent princess-fantasy, for a momentary indulgence; an idyllic life, with the world at her feet and a smile on her face; it was so real: the beauty and happiness of pleasant dreams.
Engulfed by hazy rays of sunlight washing down from the clear blue sky, springing with every step she took, Clare joyfully meandered bare foot across the rich and vibrant meadow; the flora beneath her feet, so soft and calming, caressing her toes and affectionately tickling her ankles.
Her long white dress, elegantly cascading from her waist, twisting and swirling, as she leaped through the air; flitting from one place to another; merrily picking the flowers for her bouquet, some bashful and others so assured and vivacious.
Accompanied by the orchestral splendour of the surrounding fauna; while the honeybee meticulously kissed every pretty face; butterflies fussed and fluttered around; and blue tits drank from a nearby stream; as she walked within the rich hunting ground of a Swallow, performing his agile low level flight and nimble manoeuvres to skilfully seize his airborne lunch.
Intrigued eyes cautiously watched from a safe distance: a herd of wild horses grazed nearby, studying Clare and her every move as she approached the stream. She knelt down by the water’s edge and looked up; her eyes followed the natural walls of the valley right to the summit.
Above, the silhouette of a mighty stallion observed the meadow from higher ground and commanded the respect of all below. But despite his prominence, he slowly bowed his head and reluctantly conceded to an invisible force.
Clare leaned forward and looked into the clear sparkling water serenely trickling passed the many rocks that littered its path. Through the ripples her reflection peered back at her. She looked closer as the image stabilised, revealing large meaningful dark eyes, a mane ruffled by a slight breeze and ears acute to the herd behind.
For a moment, Clare admired the young mare gazing up out of the water at her. Then turned away and cantered to join the herd; ready for an enticing adventure and to live this newfound life to the full.
Because wild horses roamed free, amongst the trees, galloping through open fields, leaping over fences, across pastures new; they rode the crest of waves, drank from the purest of waters, and followed their hearts, to chase their ambitions and feel the wind in their face; or turned, at a moment’s notice, to pursue another path, carefree, and always joyful; they were so passionate, so powerful, so exciting; most of all, so liberated.
But something was wrong. These horses were not free: they were contained; restricted; their freedom to roam had been revoked; they were involuntarily confined by another; shut away and denied their true existence.
You could see the sadness in their eyes, and the pain, such pain: it tore her stomach. They were screaming out but she was helpless; she reached for them but it was of no use; they slipped into the distance as she was dragged away never to see them again.
This was not the destiny she foresaw. Why did this have to be; could no one understand how much it meant to her? All that she lived for could not survive in captivity; her tears could not heal the deep wounds or fill the voids once occupied by her confiscated dreams.