# Stories I randomly wrote.



## HopalongCassidy (Dec 19, 2010)

Umm good story but it's a he in the first part and a she in the last part.


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## EquineLover (Jan 24, 2011)

Yeah, just realised that :/ It's a HE. 

Here's another one, it's not as sad though. 


I left for the sale barn that day with no intentions at all. It was my job for my mum to see how much ill and abused horses were fetching. I passed many healthy horses with plump stomachs and shining eyes on the way to that corner. The corner were they chucked the thin, straggly ones before they were either bought for meat or by some helpless kid hoping to buy a perfect first pony. However, very rarely, someone with a good heart came along. That someone just happened to be me.*

Shandy was a dun with black points and a star on her head. She stood out from the other starving, troubled horses. Her dark golden coat speckled with stray black hairs defined her from the rest of the crowd. It still does, as she stands in the middle of my paddock, grazing.*

It was what you would call fate. It was meant to be. A 16hh neglected dun nursed back to health by a 5 foot twelve year old. It was when I was out riding her I had a lightbulb moment. Why do these powerful creatures who could potentially kill us with a buck and a kick let us get on their backs. We order them about, and on the whole they do what we say. Why? Why? It was one question I longed to know, and now I do.*

Shandy taught me many things but one answered everything. It was a peaceful summers day and Shandy and I rode at a pleasent walk along the waters edge. Shandy loved the river, more so the bridge and the golden corn feild that morphed into miles of lush green grass. Often, we stayed there. I could trust Shandy to graze happily while I ate sandwiches and drank. Today was one of those days. It would have been, anyways, had Shandy crossed the bridge. But it wouldn't. She backed up, skipped to one side, cantered and pranced on the spot, dipped her pretty nose into the river to drink, but WOULD NOT CROSS THAT BRIDGE. Yet she would happily jump a four foot log into the water or tyres across a ditch. I was fuming. Digging my heels in, I turned her towards the bridge. She bucked and then bolted. I was flung into the river, whisked away by the current.*

I met her, bedraggled and tired, at my house. She looked me with those innocent brown eyes that reached into the deepest depths of my heart. I had to forgive her. But I had been taught by my instructor never to give in. So I changed into some dry clothes and mounted again.*

We rode to the bridge. The river was gently meandering through the forest that surrounded the corn field. I edge her gently up to the bridge. She snorted and backed up. Yanking her head up, I kicked her on. Never let them win. My instructors advice swam into my head.*
"Come on!" I urged her.*
She pointed one foot and set it onto the bridge, like a cautious ballerina stepping onto a stage.*
"Come on!" I repeated. I let my reins run through my hands and she darted across the bridge, giving a little buck.*
"Good girl!" I praised her, patting her neck lathered thick with sweat.*

A crumbling crashing sound filled my ears. Shandy reared, and I grabbed her mane in panic. The bridge was collapsing before my very eyes!*
"You brilliant horse! You brilliant, brave horse!"

And I think that's why they let us on their backs. Because they love us and trust us and want to protect us. Because they want to. There was one thing I learnt that no other horse can ever teach me. Trust your horse.*


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## EquineLover (Jan 24, 2011)

I was young and inexperienced. Having just had my 11th birthday, and received £156 in cash, I went to the sale auction. I hadn't really expected to return with anything, just wanted to see what horses were fetching. 

There were three ponies whom I instantly loved. Two were chestnuts and the other a delicate strawberry roan. They wore a thin rope around their necks. The strawberry roan was the only one within my price range. I saw only her big caramel eyes and pretty face. I failed to see her terrible conformation, weak legs and ribs that poked out. So I bought her, rather stupidly, for £150. She came with a tarnished leather saddle and a bridle. I was happy with my purchase and rode her the two miles home. She had smooth gaits and was very sweet and well behaved. I turned her out for a week and bought her in each night. I was new to horse care. I fed her two big scoops of chaff everyday, as well as hay and sometimes pony nuts. She never gained weight and always seemed miserable. Mum was never bothered with horses, much preferring I spent my money on clothes and make up. Dad used to work on a farm, and he arrived from a hard day at the office to help me bring her (whose name was Poppy( in from the feild and muck out. I hacked her daily through the hills near our house. I suppose riding was the only thing I really knew how to do. I had rushed ahead and bought a horse I didn't know how to look after. I began to hate her. I couldn't go out with my mates because I had to take care of her. So I sold her to an auctioneer in America and received a healthy £540.90 in return. I gave her bridle to a friend, put a tent in her paddock, threw a taupilin over her stable, got rid of every trace of her. Whenever I saw a distant silhouette of a pony, I cried. I missed her terribly. 

What happened next was fate. I met a lady named Ms. Barker. I was crying over Poppy and she offered me a toffee in that way old ladies like to say: "Chin up ducky."
I told her my woeful tale. She was quite sympathetic, and led me towards a fenced off pasture near a homely, sun baked cottage. 
"Is this your pony?" She nudged me gently towards the fence. A plump pony with a shining coat stood proudly in the middle of the seedless paddock. She looked a different pony but it was definitely my Poppy. 
"Poppy!" 

Ill finish it soon


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## mistygirl (May 13, 2010)

you are a very good writer great description and great stories i'm writing a story and hope to somday publish it i have 19 pages on word.


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## EquineLover (Jan 24, 2011)

Good luck and thx.  

Okay, Im a bit stuck on the Poppy story without the ending sounding like a child. Its not very good  Gonna start (yet another) new short 

Dream

Dream lived up to his name. I had known him since she arrived in Lulu's stall eight years ago, when I was just 4. I ride him from the age of seven, and he's always been something to call 'mine'. I had comfort in knowing that whenever I got back from a particually difficult day at school, he'd be there. He like resting his head on my shoulder and blowing softly down my t-shirt. We'd ride for ages while my onlookers clapped as we cleared jump after jump. Dream was a brilliant jumper. We entered shows, what you would call 'big' shows, and he always cane back doused in ribbons. Mum was only for the horse thing because it thought it made her look 'posh and classy'. She though Dream was common. Many times she'd encouraged me to sell him, and take up showing my 15.2hh bay mare, Suki. 

I didn't like Suki. She was fat and lazy and stupid, everything that Dream wasn't. You could cuddle Dream and trust him with your secrets. Suki wasn't cuddly. She was scaly, like a snake. You can't cuddle snakes. I rode her though, just to please mum. She jumped terribly, dragging her back legs over the top pole. Sometimes, she didn't even bother to jump. She was just a pain. 

One Monday night, I arrived home from school to see a pretty chestnut mare, about 16hh, standing in our yard. Dream was in Suki's paddock, due to his habit of jumping fences just for his entertainment. The chesnut had a perfectly pulled mane and tail, a star on her forehead and big expressive eyes. My heart pounded. She reminded me of the first time I had seen Dream, a gangly, wet foal, but I loved him all the same. Mum was touching me gently on the shoulder,
"You like her?" She asked.


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## EquineLover (Jan 24, 2011)

"Wow." Was all I could utter. 
"Her name is Friday. She's a top-class eventer but she had an injury lately. I know how great you are at nursing and training horses, what with the wonders you did with Dream, so I bought her off the meat man. "
"Why didn't anyone one want her?" I implicated, stroking her soft muzzle abs feeding her polo mints. 
"She's been classed as a problem horse. " My Mum sat down on a red brick wall, swinging her legs and humming a tune, looking bored as I tacked up the chestnut, eager to ride. Dream snorted indignantly from the paddock. I felt disloyal somehow, leaving him there. And you know one thing I never noticed, Suki was gone.
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## EquineLover (Jan 24, 2011)

The whole story

"Wow." Was all I could utter. 
"Her name is Friday. She's a top-class eventer but she had an injury lately. I know how great you are at nursing and training horses, what with the wonders you did with Dream, so I bought her off the meat man. "
"Why didn't anyone one want her?" I implicated, stroking her soft muzzle abs feeding her polo mints.

"She's been classed as a problem horse. " My Mum sat down on a red brick wall, swinging her legs and humming a tune, looking bored as I tacked up the chestnut, eager to ride. Dream snorted indignantly from the paddock. I felt disloyal somehow, leaving him there. And you know one thing I never noticed, Suki was gone.

The chestnut, whose name was Rocket, was amazing. Just as amazing as Dream. I thought gultily as me and Ricket cleared a three foot spread. I had been taking it easy fir the past few weeks, simple jumps, walking and trotting, hacking and a few exhilarating moments of canter. He had no problem, except he just wouldn't do a triple combination. So I put up three poles, the last one a jump. He trotted over them like a star. But as soon as they rise higher than one foot, he bolts. Mum wants me to sell him. She just doesn't get I can't do that. To her, he's just another horse, to me he's a friend. 

So I persist. But he will NOT jump that conmbination. No matter what I do. He will jump ditches, water jumps, logs, tyres, anything. Anything except a combination. 

"How'd it go, honey?" Dad asks me when I return. 
"Terrible. " I reply dismally, flicking idly through a celebrity magazine. 
"Hey. I know a bloke from my days in the instructing business. Steve. Steve Whitbury. I could give him a call. " Dad offers, punching in the number. He's like that, dad. Doesby wait for an answer, just does it. 

So this Whitbury bloke sets up the biggest jump I've ever seen. 
"She can't jump that!" I squeak. 
"You mean you can't, Hannah. Trust your horse. 
I canter Rocket up to the jump, my stomach jelly. She stops dead. 
"What stopped her?" Steve asks. 
"I told you she couldn't jump it!" I grin smugly. 
"Your stopping her because you've convinced yourself she can't. Now treat this jump as if it were a one footer. Go on." Steve encourages me. 
I gulp, take a deep breath and squeeze her. She springs into an energetic canter, stops, does a gigantic leap, lands and stumbles. My heart pounds, nearly in my throat. 
"You did it. "
"Not well. "
"But you did it. You've got to trust her, Hannah. You convinced yourself she can't jump combinations, just like you thought she couldn't jump that. So, let's try a combination. "
Wow. Steve is better than I gave him credit for. 
He sets up three cross poles. I nudge her into a steady trot. She pops over them, hesitating slightly at the third jump, but getting over it. Steve soon has us jumping whole courses, with a combination. I pat Rocket's steaming neck. 
"Good girl!" I praise her. "Good girl!" 
Dream has retired just lately. Very early, due to a heart condition. I still hack him gently, and he is still to this day my number one. Rocket comes a very close second, but Dream will always be first. I like to remember the day when I was four, when he was a tiny foal. We were united in our unknowing of this world, united in our love. 

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## EquineLover (Jan 24, 2011)

My little friend

"I won't go!" I argued, turning my back on mymum and continuing to mix Sultan's food. 
"Yes, you will, you stroppy little mare, I'm your mum, and what I say, goes."
Mum clicks away in her blue heels and pin-striped suit, perfectly styled hair still untouched. She thinks the idea of a family holiday in Cornwall will be such fun. I think not. 

Sultan paws the ground and whinnies indignatley from the other side of the yard. His bay coat gleams and his muscles ripple beneath it. 
"I won't let you go to that horrid lady that looked after you last time. I'm staying here, with you. " He snorts in agreement, then thrusts his nose into the food bucket. 
"Greedy." I child him, then leave him in his stable, heading for the sun-baked house surrounded by orches and draped in ivy. 

"Come on Emma, why isn't you case packed?" Mum leans agaisnt the doorframe in a clingy black skirt and bikini top. 
"I told you, I'm not going. " I say, pulling on my joddies. 
"You can't be sticking with that stupid idea. Your just like my sister, headstrong, stubborn... Just like that horse of yours. "
"I'm not going. Anyway, Molly's not going, so why do I have to?"
"Molly's busy. "
"So am I. Ive got to train for the showjumping event next weekend. "


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## EquineLover (Jan 24, 2011)

"You and your flipping horse. Come on now, pack." Mum leaves. I know she's given in. I hear Molly giggle from upstairs. Molly is my sister. She's eighteen, and at college. She's come home to study for the week. 
"Shut up, Mols!" I chuck a pillow at my belong to make my point. I'd say Molly was my second best friend. Second only to Sultan. 

The next morning dawns bright and early. The house doesn't feel right. It feels... empty. There's silence, and it feels hallow. Every slight seems to be a bang, vibrating around the room. Mollies outside. I can hear the clatter of hooves as she and her chestnut Arab, Minx, ride out. If I hurry, I can easily catch them. I'm not really an alone person, so I dress, burn a piece of toast and tack up. Sultan has a spring in his stride as we trot beside a forest. Minx snorts and whinnies ahead of us. Sultan gives a joyous buck and sets off, hot on their heels. 

We soon catch up with Minx and Molly. We chat idly about our horses and our plans for the upcoming show. On the horizon, I see a dark figure on a bold, muscular shape, arched expertly over a brush fence. I grit my teeth. It's my known nemisis, Carol Fuedman, practicing for the show on her pristine White thoroughbred, All's Well. I so want to show her me and Sultan can easily beat her pedigree mare. Sultan is eager now, having seen the fences, and I reins slip from my fingers. He lengthens his stride to a full gallop. 

Carol sees us approaching. She falters and looses a stirrup in mid air. I found myself unable to laugh as she falls to the ground. I find myself squeezing Sultan's side, urging him on.


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## EquineLover (Jan 24, 2011)

In a moment of crisis, it's funny, how it doesnt matter whether the person lying on the ground is your worst enemy or your best friend. You just want to help. I find myself thinking this as Sultan slides to a halt beside a shaking All's Well. The saddle is hanging underneath her belly, her noseband clamps her mouth completely shut, and I notice the bit is a strong one. Her mouth is tender and broken. I realise it's not Carol I want to help, not at all. I want to help her horse. But I can't exactly leave Carol lying there. Even I'm not that cruel. I dismount and kneel down. Her face is paler than usual. She's unconscious. My mobile phone digs into my leg, and I thank god for mum's seemingly stupid safety rules. I punch out the emergency number, mouth dry. 
"Hello? Yes, yes, ambulance please. Carol Fuedman, she's fallen off her horse, yes. Please yet here soon. She's unconscious. " I stutter. Molly has caught up, and poor Minx is breaking into a sweat. 
"Someone ride and fetch her parents!" I say, suddenly becoming the sensible one. 
"Well, Minx can't, and you know full well I can't ride Sultan, he'll chuck me off, so you'll have to ride."

I relish the feeling of the world speeding past. Sultans in full gallop when we reach Carols house. She lives in the posh part of town. The houses are red-bricked mansions, each with a blossom tree in their garden. I have a strange though that maybe their all identical inside, with cream linoleum and red Walls with sparkling chandleirs and gold encrusted taps. I knock on the door. A stern woman appears at the door. When she sees me her face softens. She likes me, I don't know why. I blurt out the story.
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