Gymkhana Runner
It was hot. The sun had burned away the last residual moisture and cool air of the morning several hours before. The crowd and contestants had thinned considerably. This morning, the area and surrounding grounds had been filled with trailers and freshly groomed horses and their handlers. The various classes that ran through to the afternoon, both English and Western were long since over.
Gymkhana never came soon enough. Marcel hated the wait. This small horse club catered to a wide variety of interests at their shows, and gymkhana runners were few and far between.
When the barrels were rolled out, it would be her time to shine. She had to warm up her mare cautiously. The heat had been getting to them, but her horse needed to stretch after standing around all day.
At the drop of the flag, she gave her mare the cue, and the ball of energy beneath her sprung to life. The little mare tore around the first barrel so close Marcel had to tuck her knee in tight to keep from hitting it. A second later, they were rounding the next barrel. The third was the widest loop, her mare knowing instinctively that now would be her chance to open up and tear down the arena at full speed.
Dust flying, they crossed the finish line, the mare huffing as Marcel pulled her around to circle before the horse was calmed enough to slow down to an impatient walk. They stalked out of the ring, were given their time, their best yet. It was a good feeling, to beat ones-self.
After all, she was the only competitor in her age group, but the thrill of the run was well worth the wait. Pole racing was next, and she could barely contain her excitement.
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In a flash
Short StoryShort works, flash fiction and drabbles. These pieces may be as short as one hundred words, or as long as one thousand. They may be speculative in nature, or just a bit of prose poetry. Some of these works may be found in my other collections. I wa...
