silence was insane, the parting was mutual

‘There’s a dead horse in the road’.

The little boy looked down, mumbling, a dirty finger pointing me down a road I hadn’t even noticed when we drove past it. I cursed under my breath, bit into another cigarette as I fumbled for matches, scrutinising the filthy child through my eyebrows as I lit what must have been my thirtieth for the day. It wasn’t even noon yet. I flicked the match carelessly onto the hot tar road, inhaled deeply and blew the smoke into words of exasperation. I knew I would have to do something.

‘Show me then’. I pulled my hand away as he reached out to hold it.

She wasn’t dead, but she was certainly dying. I ignored the bulging stomach, convincing myself it was no more than a grass belly. It took one look to see that her back had been broken. Snapped in half, and twisted beyond repair as the truck that hit her dragged her behind it until the flesh tore away and the join came undone. A truck, yes. The tyre marks were enough evidence, and nothing smaller could have done this kind of damage. But the person who had done it wasn’t a monster. He, perhaps she, had gotten out, dragged the heaving horse to the side of the road, flung her front legs out of the way of any vehicles that would be using that road. And then he, or she, drove off in a hurry so as to leave the guilt in the dust, leaving the mare to slowly bleed out until the blood flooded her and she couldn’t even breathe deeply enough to feel the pain.

In my ten minutes of staring at the dying creature the little boy had run off somewhere. But now he returned, walked alongside a local guard of sorts. Hand pressed to my forehead, pounding from the heat and disgust, I told him to take care of it. But he refused. I looked up from underneath my fingers’ vain attempt at shading my eyes, sure I had misheard him. But no, he was adamant that this was one thing he would not do.

Another ten minutes must have passed. I stood, feet planted firmly and sure I could feel the tar burning me even through my leather boots. The guard’s gun hung at my side, limp metal and nothing more. I walked forward, the heat stifling the sound of my heavy footsteps. Knelt, stroked the muzzle and startled when the mare snapped out of slipping away slowly. She snorted, pained by jerking her head in surprise. I felt guilty for causing her even more pain, when all I wanted was for her to know that there was someone next to her. Someone who would never have killed her, much less left her to die so slowly.

The method was simple, and I remembered it despite always believing I would never have to use it. Base of the ear, to opposite eye. Base of the ear, to opposite eye. And where those two lines crossed, that marked the spot. The mare moved her head, breathing heavily into my hand. I couldn’t bear the thought of her open eyes flitting left and right, settling upon me as I pressed against the centre of the hand-drawn X. Removing the long-sleeved shirt I had tied around my waist, I wrapped it around her face, re-marking my lines on the material. I whispered something as I took a step back, but I never could remember what I had said. It didn’t matter, anyway. I cannot remember whether I had stoop up, bent over, knelt or squatted before her. But I remember the sound of that shot. Heat couldn’t stifle it, and it echoed down every road I had never noticed was there.

I gasped at the sound, the kick, what I had done and what it meant. Before me, there was no movement. To my right, the little boy stood with his hands planted firmly over his ears. He stared at me, wide-eyed and unmoving. I exhaled slowly, and searched my pockets for another cigarette as I heaved to my feet. There were none left. I bent down to take my shirt, changing my mind as I saw a slow stain seeping into it from the horse’s mouth.

I turned around, shooed the boy home, and walked back up the road. Twenty minutes, one deed, one death. No cigarettes though, and I cursed under my breath.