Reasons to Live - a collection of flash fiction stories

Mustangs

It was the way she handled the horses. She yelled over the sound of rain that Mustangs were born to be free. In the fields, she tamed them with a gentle touch of her hand, and words that sounded like rain drops on a hot summer's day.  

She rarely wore anything but faded blue jeans and over-sized shirts she'd sling over horse-drool stained tops. She said she'd never fall in love, never marry, never care about having kids, but that was before we met and her world came crashing down.

Standing on the edge of spring time she whispered of her turbulent past. I reached out and took her hand and she let me.

She was the kind who shot whiskey- harsh, back, swallow, repeat. I was still playing in the minor leagues with fruity lil' cocktails. She said it didn't matter, before handing me mason jars filled with moonshine and pinching my nose as I chugged.

I always woke up the next day feeling dizzy, unsure of myself, and a little more than confused about pretty much everything. Then I'd just look at the ol' wooden nightstand and smile at the garland she had weaved for my hair, crowning me Majesty of the Marigolds of some imperfect Kingdom.

She was a hurricane uprooting everything I thought I knew about myself. There was no place safe to hide from this force of nature. But I loved her.

I loved her.

I loved her.

God how I loved her.

***

It was a few months later I got a letter. The signature bore her mother's name. She told me you had been hit by a car, killed on impact. She said the doctors told her you felt no pain as you slipped away. She also wrote for me never to get in contact with her or your family ever again, she said I had been your downfall. Lies, all lies. It had been the first time in years you had smiled. You said I had made you happy, made you re-think life. H*ll, you even thought that maybe just maybe there were reasons to live this sorry life. You said I made you brave. In return, you made me count my blessings the way I would count the freckles on your arm, silently, in awe. You mother said she didn't like my type, didn't agree with what I stood for. She hated me from the start. 

I crumbled the letter before tears smeared the ink. I could read the lies in her words. You had always said if miles and trials separated us you would step in front of a train and end it all. You had told me that you couldn't stand living a life where they tried to hold you down, drown you in what they thought was right. The bridle was always too tight. The reins stung. There were no gentle words, no feel of summer's rain.

I remember your smile, the way the moonlight hid away in jealousy from your beauty. I orbited around you.

There are fields of marigolds spread before you.

Run away.

You said Mustangs were meant to be free.

© Christine Bottas. All rights reserved 2015-2019.