TGIF’s Funny

FYI, given my level of art skills, this is totally what I would end up with, too!

Dark Side of The Horse – Monday, 10th December, 2012


The Pale Horse Again

Hello, friend.

It has been a while now, hasn’t it? Sorry, I was in too much of a hurry to stop. Or to see if your situation persisted. I have a hint that you might have found a friend for yourself. Good for you.

Your situation is probably the same though. Considering you were not that far from your roaming grounds. Things like these rarely change. A few twists, yes. Some turns.

But things don’t change. They remain the same. We remain the same. Shackled to this life. Ghosts of ourselves.

The Pale Horse

I saw him again today, walking about on his own.

The very first time I saw him was three days ago. Today, he was a little further down the road than last time but there was no mistaking him.

He was still the same dirty white color, with a head full of long blond hair and his two front legs shackled. The Pale Horse dodged traffic and the traffic dodged him back as he hobbled along the road on his shackled legs.

On Saturday, after I had swerved around him, I kept watching him in the back mirror till I took a turn. He was out of sight but the questions didn’t end.

What was he doing here? Had he perhaps ‘escaped’ from somewhere? How had he managed it? Why had he wanted to escape? Was he mistreated maybe? Or did he just not want to ‘work’?

I didn’t know what to think except that the sight of him limping along remained in my subconscious. More than a little painful.

Sitting with my family tonight, I mentioned this incident: that I had seen a white horse walking in the middle of the road. I told them I had assumed he was running away from somewhere, especially when I noticed he was shackled, but there was no rope on him to suggest he had ‘escaped’. And seeing him again, I didn’t know what to think.

“Did you see him in Raja Market?” my dad asked shrewdly.

“Yes, today right as I was turning towards it,” I replied.

“He’s there almost everyday.”

“But he didn’t even have the vestiges of a rope or anything on him!”

“With those shackles, he doesn’t need ropes,” answered dad.

Ouch, I thought.

The conversation moved on but I don’t know think the Pale Horse is ever going to. He is going to hoof around the same streets, very much like a ghost that he already is.

Addendum: Maybe that happens to us too. We allow ourselves to be/are shackled and then are forever doomed to try to find a way out of them. And in the end, we just become ghosts of ourselves. *shudder*