Laura kneels down, tears streaming from her eyes. There she was, Carmilla, her beautiful black filly, shattered and bleeding on a thick sheet in the middle of a recovery room in the back of the veterinarian's office. The filly's left leg is shattered now, too, smashed to bits by the cast that had been so carefully wound around her first broken leg, the one shattered in the match race.
Carmilla had spun circles on the floor, running, running, running, trying to beat a horse that wasn't there. She had fought, kicking, screaming, noises coming from her throat that should never have come from her throat. Tables were knocked over. Glass was broken. Needles were scattered everywhere. Blood was smeared across the floor. Bone fragments clung to the sheet.
Carmilla's eyes are wide, her sides heave. She twitches her mangled forelegs feebly, fully out of the anesthesia, and now wondering what had happened that had brought her to that state. She doesn't understand what she's done to herself. She doesn't understand why everything is broken again. She doesn't understand why no one is taking her back to the operating room. But she knows Laura is there.
There is nothing more they can do. Carmilla's heart stopped once during the surgery, one times too many, and she runs the risk of it stopping permanently if they operate again. She reacted badly to the anesthesia this time. There's no telling what she could do next time. Laura knows this. And it breaks her heart.
She takes Carmilla's head into her lap, running her hand over the filly's spotless forehead, teasing her forelock, the only straight clump of hair on her neck. Everything else is wavy. The filly nickers, burying her nose into Laura's side. She looks up at Laura.
"I know, Carm," Laura says, crying. "I know."
The filly's breathing picks up. She understands now. She understands that the damage she's done to herself is irreparable. She whinnies softly, and Laura cries harder. She knows it's a plea not to go any further. To fix me.
She shakes her head. "They can't do that, Carm. Not this time."
Carmilla goes silent, the whites of her eyes showing as she contemplates the outcome of this. And then the whites disappear into dark brown, and she sighs.
It makes Laura want to scream. Carmilla is suddenly so calm, so welcoming, about her fate. She knows the filly is thinking of Ell, her first jockey. "Oh, Carm."
Carmilla nibbles on the hem of Laura's shirt, trying to tell her that death isn't all that bad. Sometimes there's something to look forward to.
The filly is calm when LaFontaine comes near her with the first needle and delivers its contents under her skin. She pushes her nose into Laura's side. The tiny jockey is still stroking Carmilla's head one hand, clinging to her mane with the other. Carmilla whinnies softly. She knows Laura loves the sound. She wants Laura to remember it when she's gone. And Laura will. Laura will remember everything of the amazing filly she had the privilege of riding, all her quirks and habits, all her sounds, the way she slept for hours on end at a time. There is nothing Laura won't remember.
She keeps stroking Carmilla, talking to her, hoping the filly will remember the sound of her voice. And Carmilla will. Carmilla will remember everything about Laura, the tiny jockey who lit the fire inside of her again when she thought she had washed up for good, had brought her back to life, gave her a purpose. Rode her to victory time and time again. It was three years Carmilla is always going to remember, wherever she goes.
Then the last needle goes under her skin. And Carmilla's eyes close for good.
An alternate ending for a Carmilla Racehorse AU I'm working on. This isn't the tense it will be in. I was playing around with my tenses.
Reviews always welcome.