Horses
Horses
The thick dust from the horses in front of him made it impossible to see anything clearly. It was in his eyes and mouth. He felt it caking on his skin, mixing with his sweat, becoming part of his anatomy. Where am I? This was a thought he would return to countless times. He was walking, being led by the horses. He remembers nothing that would explain his current situation. The dust, the horses, his incredible thirst, his incredible sadness. It was as if he was awakened from a nightmare only to be thrust into another. The fright and confusion of the previous state merging with the current; an amalgam of desperation and depravity.ย
As far as he could tell, he was alone. Except for the horses. The horses were a constant. The horses and the dust. He noticed his hands were bound. He had known this all along, but it finally registered as fact. A leather strap, tightly at his wrists. The lead extended off in front of him. There was too much dust to determine how long. How long before the horses. They werenโt tugging at him, there was an arc of slack, unless he ceased walking. Then the tether would snap with a fierce reckoning and he would be jerked forward, pulled to the ground, and dragged. He doesnโt consciously recall this ever happening, he just assumes this to be true. So he walks.ย
He was not in some sleeping nightmare. He realized this with a despondent gloom. There would be no sudden wakefulness with a slow disintegration of dream fragments. His mind was becoming more alert, however, and he tried to fuel this with facts. Horses, hot dust, leather restraints, bare feet, thirst, hunger, pain. He didnโt recall his name. This one was new but not a particularly welcome fact. His clothes were stained and torn. He couldnโt recall wearing these clothes before: gray, cotton sweatpants with a rope tie, a moth-eaten tee shirt that was possibly white at some point long ago.
He surveyed his surroundings but there was nothing to see. Endless beige dust in front and to the left and right. The ground was hard but there was a layer of fine, sandy powder, but not sand, that he shuffled through, creating even more dust. It hadnโt rained in months, he surmised. The sky was a sickly yellow-gray sheet with a more intense white-gray stain, which was responsible for the heat. His skin was dark, but he was not a black man or a brown man. There was no green in sight. No blue.ย
He was sweating, even though it was what he considered to be morning. He had been violently awoken when it was still dark, pulled from a ragged and stained mattress on the floor in some dark and dungeonoid room. He guessed it had been a half hour before he saw dim light from the sky. He remembered hearing someone shouting, โGet up!โ And then, when he was outside, โMove!โ A manโs voice. English. Or American. The horses were ahead of him. He tried to remember the previous day, but he could only recall darkness and dust. It was difficult to determine if this was the same day or the day after. Or the day after that.
And it went on.ย ย
There was some pain. Feet, ankles, shoulders, back. He tried to gauge the amount of time since he started walking. From dark sky, to morning light, to now. He estimated five hours but he knew he could be off by two hours either way. Something bothered him as he shuffled through the dirt. He tried to place it. Tried to concentrate. A headache had emerged which amplified his pain and depression. He tried to stretch his neck in an attempt to alleviate a dull cramp. This is when he noticed two things. The sun, a weak diffused spotlight, was on the left side of the sky from his perspective, the same side and position as it had been when it emerged from the horizon many hours ago. The second thing he noticed was the shiny rock.
The rock was small and flat, about the size of an infantโs palm. It had a crude heart-shaped contour. It wasnโt actually that shiny, it just appeared that way due to the blandness of its surroundings and the way the light was hitting it. He looked at it with reverence, even slowing to the point that his tether tightened, and he was forced to move forward at the pace of the horses again. There was a memory of that shiny rock. If there was a memory, then that would mean he had seen it before. He tried to summon the memory, visualizing the rock from another angle, imagining himself picking it up, holding it. It was of no use. The rock was behind him, probably being covered in dust, never to be seen again.
Now he turned his thoughts to the sun. Why was it on the same side of the sky as it was this morning? He had no answer. He knew it wasnโt logical, but the logic processes in his brain had been grossly underutilized forโฆ he didnโt know how long. He began to cry, but the sound of his muttering was so foreign in this clippity-clop world, he quickly stopped.ย
And it went on.
The sky was becoming darker. He couldnโt tell where in the sky the sun was or had been. It was obviously dusk. There was a coolness in the damp air now. The horses stopped. He didnโt register this at first and kept walking. He heard a manโs voice shout, โStop!โ He couldnโt be certain if it was the same man as the one that morning. He didnโt care. He stopped. A black shroud was unceremoniously thrust over his head from behind and cinched at his neck. The tether to the horses was untied although his hands were still bound by a separate strap. He was seized by his upper arms and dragged to another space he estimated to be about ten yards away.
The room was small, about ten feet by fifteen, with a dirt floor, and a small rectangular opening high up in one wall that aspired to be a window. When the large man deposited him on an old, wooden chair he had removed his shroud and left. Before he could adjust his vision from pure black to candlelight, the man had closed and bolted the door behind him.ย
He scanned the room hoping to find any sign of familiarity or spark of a memory. There was none. The room was lit only by a single candle atop a dirty and decrepit desk, the sort one might see in a classroom. There was a small, flattened mattress on the floor, which may have once belonged on a childโs bed. Had this been the same room from that morning when he was hurriedly awoken and dragged outside to begin his inexplicable and laborious journey? If so, why was he returned to this spot, with no seemingly sensible goal to his exhausting travel?ย
As his eyes became accustomed to the dim lighting, he noticed a misaligned blackboard on the wall behind the desk. There was a crude hole and a bucket of water in the opposite corner of the room, no doubt the facilities for this zero star lodging. His eyes returned to the flickering candle on the desktop and he noticed a glass of cloudy water and a plastic plate of unrecognizable substance on which a small rodent was gnawing. He immediately lurched forward, emitting a primal guttural noise, hands flailing, which he realized were now free of their bonds. The rat scuttled away, crawled down the desk leg, and made his escape into one of several holes at the base of the wall.
He reached for the glass first and downed half of the water. It tasted metallic but he drank it. The stuff on the plate was some kind of meat with what looked like rice. To his amazement it was still warm and was somewhat palatable. He finished his meal in a matter of minutes and collapsed on the mattress. The room was warm but not stifling. It was quiet; he heard nothing but his own breathing and the occasional grunt of a horse outside. He thought about his predicament but was no closer to an answer than he had been in the morning. He remembered the heart-shaped stone and, with surprising forethought, etched the word ROCK in the dirt floor with his finger before he passed out.
Sometime during the night, he was groggily aware of the sound of the door opening and a sharp, stinging sensation in his thigh, and then the door being shut and locked again. He fell back into an unconscious state.
He was wrenched from his resting place the next morning before dawn. As he was being dragged to the door he noticed the word he had scrawled on the ground the previous evening. It would be many hours before he recalled its meaning. The day was a carbon copy of the previous, but he had little recollection of it or the countless ones that came before. But now, hours into the dust and monotony, he remembered the stone. With that memory came others. Mostly the horses. The sounds and smells of them, the constant walking, and the inevitable tug if he lapsed.ย
His thoughts turned to the rock whose memory had incredibly endured through the nightโs phantasmic veil into todayโs reality. He made it a personal quest to find the rock, an oasis of recollection in a desert of forgetfulness. He scanned the ground ahead and towards the right. He didnโt know with any certainty if he was on the same route or even the same direction as the previous day. No, the sickly pale sun was on his left, same as before. He walked and searched but it would be another three hours before he spotted it.
He felt an exhilaration upon seeing the rock. It was twenty or so feet ahead and he wanted it. Why this dusty, inanimate object meant so much to him was beyond his understanding, but he trotted ahead several steps to put more slack in his reins. This would allow him to move to his right the several feet it would require to grasp the rock. And this is what he did. When the rock was a mere six feet ahead, he sprinted off his predetermined path. He stood above the rock, admiring it for its sheer beauty, even though it was only a dusty stone. He bent down toโฆ his hands were swiftly tugged in the opposite direction, the horses having eliminated the slack in the lead to a straight, unforgiving force. He fell on his side and was dragged several yards before he could right himself.
That evening, back in the room, he had to shoo three rats away from his supper. After he ate, he sat on the mattress staring at the etched word in the dirt. Half of the R and the bottom part of the O had been scuffed away, presumably in the scramble with his tormentors that morning. He fell asleep cursing himself for waiting too long before reaching for the stone. During the night he felt the sting in his thigh again but was too exhausted to do anything about it.
The next day, he was armed with memories: the horses, the dust, the rats, the stone. The walking and the heat were excruciating. The wait was unbearable. He tried to focus on the rock and the procedure with which to obtain it. He would run forward upon seeing it, creating enough slack in the tether, then quickly, with no stopping this time, angle over to the rock, crouch, and pick it up. He would have to use both hands since there was only a three inch gap between them. He felt confident that this would work as long as the horses were using the same path.ย
Hours passed before he spotted it, a little later than he would have liked. He had been thinking of the previous night when he had inspected his thigh by candlelight. There were bruises and tiny puncture wounds. They were injecting him with something, undoubtedly the cause of his memory lapses. Maybe he was becoming desensitized since he was remembering certain things. Now, he must take action. He ran ahead several paces, turned quickly, and scooped up the rock.ย
A wave of exhilaration swept through him as he fell back in line with the horses. He caressed the stone with his thumb, squeezed it to his palm, passed it back and forth between hands, being careful not to drop it, occasionally glancing at its beauty. After so much handling, most of the dust wore away and he was delighted to see its true color, a light and smoky olive green with tannish specks. He had never before seen such a thing. He deemed it beautiful and sacred, his most prized possession which, of course, was not saying much.
That evening, after his meal, he sat at the mattress staring at the rock. He had stowed it away in a pocket when the daylight first started to wane, not wanting it to be discovered by his captors. He contemplated the possibilities of utilizing it in an attempt to escape this existence. There were two choices. Sharpen it somehow and use it to sever the leather strap binding his hands. This would mean his escape would take place during the day when he was more likely to be spotted. Or he could in some way use the stone to enlarge the window enough for him to crawl through. This would have to be completed at night in one go, otherwise the light of day would reveal his plan.
He decided on the latter. His hands would be free at night, he would have a full belly, and he would most likely get further away in darkness. He had to stand on the chair to reach the hole in the wall. There was no glass or frame. It looked like someone had just smashed through the wall with a large hammer, leaving rough, uneven edges in an attempt to make it somewhat rectangular. At this height, looking at the inside of the wall that the hole revealed, he could now see that it was only wood framing with thin plasterboard on either side covered with stucco.ย
The hole was only about a foot across, so he would have to widen it at least another six inches or so. It might take a while, but it could be done. He began scoring the wall vertically about eight inches to the right of the hole. The rock had slightly rounded edges and did not make a good tool for the job but with enough effort he cracked through the stucco. Even though he hated the thought of ruining the precious thing in his hand, his jewel, his salvation, he persisted. In an hour, he had a large enough section of the interior drywall carved and pulled it away in dusty chunks.
He was disappointed to discover that there was a wooden stud between the hole and the cavity he had just created, leaving no more room to wiggle through than when he had started. He cursed himself for not carving down from the hole. He sat on the mattress to rest and re-evaluate his plan. He closed his eyes for a few moments. When he opened them, he was gazing upon the water bucket in the corner of the room, barely visible in the candlelight.ย
New plan. He would pour water on the exposed drywall, score the stucco with his rock, then pull away the newly softened wall. It went slowly. The drywall came away in tiny pieces, but after another hour he had created a gap between two studs, which were about sixteen inches apart, easily enough room for him to crawl through. The final step was the outside wall. He would dampen it with water and try kicking a hole in it. He cringed at the thought someone might hear, but it had to be done.
After soaking the drywall, he pushed on it with his hand. It gave a little, which pleased him. He then scored the wall with the stone. He splashed the remaining water on his target then extinguished the candle. He was ready. He kicked softly at first, wanting to make as little noise as possible. The wall gave a little again but the stucco on the outside was still intact. He kicked at the edges a few times with increasing force. On the fourth kick, he heard a cracking sound and the wall opened up slightly on the score line. A few more hard kicks and he had his door to freedom.
He waited and listened as he cautiously peered out. There were no sounds from the horses but he could smell them. No signs of people or other animals. Dogs had come to mind as he was working but all was quiet now as he wriggled outside. He discovered that his room was part of a longer building. In the dim moonlight, he could see similar window holes in the wall at random intervals. He briefly wondered how many more captives there were in this building. He made sure his precious stone was in his pocket, then he ran.
It was worryingly easy. He noticed several ramshackle buildings in the small compound, only one with any light from within. There were no fences or men patrolling the area. There was also nothing but unnerving darkness beyond in any direction. There were no stars, only a pale foggy moon. As his eyes adjusted, he could see the faint silhouette of a scrub of trees a few miles away. He redirected himself and moved on.ย
Halfway to the trees he needed to rest. He was exhausted from working on the wall and running briskly the past half hour. He could no longer see the light from the one building in the compound. He shuffled on the rest of the way to the trees. It took him another two hours but he finally reached the meager copse. There were only about a dozen or so trees but they made a good resting place, plus he felt too exposed on the flat land. He collapsed on the scrubby ground behind one of the larger trees. He would rest an hour or so, then resume his escape.
The light of predawn surprised him at first. It was too soon. The realization that he had slept many hours came to him suddenly and he cursed himself for his stupidity. At least the morning brought a new light to his surroundings and he scanned the horizon for a possible destination. To his horror, there was nothing. Ahead of him and to his right, the bleak landscape went on forever until it blended seamlessly with the dirty sky. To his left, a mountain range was visible dozens of miles away. His thirst argued against the uncertainty of that route. In fact, any route looked like a death trap.
He rested under the tree for a long while. When the morning sun crested the horizon it was as if he was thrust into an oven. He heard thunder in the distance behind him but knew from the pale ochre sky that there would be no storm. He would have reveled in a rainstorm at this point. He got up, every bone aching, and turned towards the growing rumbling. The air was so thick and heavy he could only see the dust cloud they made. But this time, they weren't marching away from him. He caressed the stone in his pocket and began walking toward the approaching horses.