Canter of the Antelope

He lies halcyon, in crimping, dry grass. Everyone else entertains his idea, except the one not of everyone, for he only sees his own animism. The antelope's legs incline faster than his heart and mind. The first rubber-stamp of his hoof registers to his cortex, and he realizes the canter has begun.

The antelope sees only a blur of debris, but he knows as long as he doesn't see red or black, he's alright. He's unsure of his backbiter at this point; all he knows to do is run. The grass was cleared, not by his extremities, but in his own mind; he could not even feel the canvas of that prancing ground. "Pound, pound, pound! POUND, POUND, POUND!" His feet screamed that word over and over. The antelope could not tell if that meant melodic victory or bloody nightmare.

Running forever was the antelope's only strategy. But suddenly, something was wrong. He knew he had not died, yet his situation was surreal. His vision was cleared to witness the expanse in front of him.  He had never felt the grass, but now he could not maul the ground. But worst of all, the word he both feared and held on to was gone. He only felt the wind.

One leg crashes harder than the others, and it snaps. His pupils are shot to a greater magnitude than his heart, even though that has ceased to moderate as well. Had he jumped, or fallen? Did a rock decide to play devil's advocate? These were the questions he felt inside, and they created an equilibrium for torturous body twitching.

A shadow he does not own lingers over him. Now, even questions do not subsist; there is only twitching. The twitching replaces all feeling and action: screaming, fear, hope, movement, thought, plans, retaliation. Whatever could be explored was gone.

And yet, as his pursuer is about to incite his death, they both feel the quake. The impact of whatever destiny has set in course has led to one, mighty ripple: a cliff slide. As Mother's tear is shed with both entities on it, the antelope cries. There is no smile on his face for joy, but there is happiness somewhere in his tears. He thinks of nothing: there is no pursuer, there is no prancing ground, there is no cliff slide. He keeps that emotion with him as he falls into the depression, and his own.