The Door

The man's hand was on the handle of the door, holding it open, allowing the light to stream through. Behind him the darkness appeared to alternately caress him into its folds as though not wanting to lose him then, in the next moment it was easing him towards the open door, the light bright and welcoming, carrying within it the sound of many known voices.

Gingerly he began to open the door further.

From behind him ripping through the darkness there came a scream, the sound of a horse's desperate neighing, a neighing he instantly recognised and a smile came to his lips. The darkness swirled and reshaped itself as though it was attempting to block the sound before it was swept to one side and before him stood his horse, as black as, no, blacker than the darkness that had surrounded him. Blacker because where the darkness had been dull and enveloping, the black that now stood in front of him shone like hard obsidian. As did the eyes that stared at him through the great shaggy forelock. Again the scream! The sharp piercing screaming warning neigh of the stallion sensing a rival or the screaming call of a horse angered... or afraid. He knew not which. He saw the great mouth, devoid of bit or rope, open in front of him and knew that that was the source of the scream but it was as though the sound came from a long way away.

His hand left the door which gently and silently closed behind him and lifted to touch the warm muzzle that stood inches from him. The nose snorted once as though in confusion then allowed his touch, allowed him to lean against that great warm head for a few moments then, with a shake that he knew of old, a sign that cuddle time was finished, the head withdrew from his embrace. A final, quieter neigh came directly from the mouth, a snort and the horse half turned, give himself a shake that made every hair of his mane and tail swirl like a dancer and off he trotted, his movement dragging the remains of the darkness in its wake.

The man stood there, the smile of earlier still on his lips as he watched his horse trot away through the swirling mists that were now white and light filled.

That morning he awoke. For the first time in the 12 weeks since the accident, he awoke. Buzzers sounded and nurses ran into the room all talking to him at once while simultaneously checking each of the instruments to which he was attached. The doctors were close behind, all smiling, all talking as though a miracle had happened.

It took another three weeks for him to recover enough to be let out of the hospital, to be allowed home. Friends had been to see him, chatted with him, those friends who had looked after his horse all the time he was in hospital. Telling him how he was doing, how increasingly agitated he’d been until the day his owner, his friend, had awoke. Those same friends who took him, not back to the empty house filled with memories of a loss he’d have to face soon enough but instead, to the stable, to the one member of his family who remained and who now looked at him with those same black eyes and shook that same thick black mane and suffered his allotted 2 minute cuddle, well.. perhaps slightly longer this time... maybe a few minutes longer…..


Terry Rhiannyr
November 2014