All the Pretty Little Horses

/.../ song lyrics

... thoughts

(...) Author's notes

A beautiful dark haired woman sat in a wooden rocking chair, smiling at her only son. He was at an adorable, yet mischievous age. His hair flew about his face, sticking in every possible direction. He grinned up at his mother. She laughed; you could barely see his large, violet eyes beneath that rag-a-muffin, mop of hair. The woman hoisted her son onto her lap, and brushed his unruly hair. She hummed a familiar tune as she gently brushed away the knots. With all the knots gone, she deftly pulled it into a short braid. His hair was far to pretty to cut, she had decided. She kissed the top of her sons head, and embraced him tightly.

"I love you so much!" She exclaimed. The little boy giggled as the woman began to accost his stomach with raspberries. He squirmed and laughed and kicked.

"I love you too, Mommy!" The woman's smile vanished when she heard the distinct slam of a car door. Her violet eyes widened in fear, as she scooped up her son and bounded up stairs. She got to the child's room, and laid him gently in his bed. Her dark hair tickled his face, when she leaned in to kiss his forehead. She tucked him in.

"Don't you worry, David, Don't be scared. No matter what you hear. Do not make a sound! Do you understand me?" David nodded vigourously, unable to keep fearful tears from welling up in his big eyes. His mother wiped the tear away.

"MELODY!" The woman, Melody, trembled apprehensively the sound of the voice. No matter how many times she had heard the tone---the harsh rasp of anger always made her jump. Melody quickly shut the door to her son's room, and headed towards her angry husband. She did not have to walk far. He stormed up the stairs to meet her. His short hair blond hair looked almost white in comparison to his red, flushed face. His hazel eyes narrowed with rage—hatred. A little girl, a near spitting image of her father, was only a few steps behind. Her hair was blond, and in curly pig tails adorned with red ribbons. Her overalls had Minnie Mouse buttons. She rubbed the buttons when she was nervous. She stood at the stop of the stairs rubbing the straps buttons between her thumb and forefinger. She bit her lip as she watched her parents, no more than a few feet before her.

The angry blonde man smacked Melody with an open hand, the force of the blow made her head snap to the side. His hand left a large red mark on her pale, porcelain-like skin. "What did I tell you?" He demanded. Melody held her sore cheek confused. She racked her brain for what he was referring to. She found nothing.

"What are you talking about?" She asked, still clutching the newly made bruise. His eyes narrowed into dark, thin slits beneath his furrowed brow.

"You know what I'm talking about, bitch!" He struck her again, this time with a closed fist. Blood began to pool in her mouth. She spat, and he raised his fist to strike again. The little porcelain doll of a girl could take no more.

"Don't hit her anymore, she's sorry!" She pushed him, and pummeled at his stomach with her tiny fists. It was a feeble attempt to get him away from her mother. "Stella, no, don't!" Melody exclaimed. The man's eyes widened in disbelief, and a red vein popped up just above his left eye. Sadistic laughter came from the man, as he swatted her away. His hand smacked her in the nose, offsetting her center of balance. The girl stumbled backwards, her arms flailed as she tried to regain her balance. She tumbled down the flight of wooden stairs. Little David watched through the keyhole of his bedroom door. Stella made contact with the wooden stairs several times before landing in a heap on the floor. Each contact made a loud, sickening crunch. David flinched each time. Tears poured out of eyes and onto his cheeks. He pressed his hands over mouth to keep silent. He wanted to scream. His mother did scream. She pushed passed her psychotic husband, and ran to her daughter. Her body was contorted into a horribly unnatural position. Her back looked broken, and blood seeped out from a wound in her head, soaking her beautiful blonde hair. Melody felt for a pulse—Nothing. She screamed again.

"No, no, no, no! You're not dead! You're not dead!" She broke into debilitating sobs.

/Hush-a bye ../

The brunette sobbed over her daughter's lifeless body. "You're not dead!" Melody cried. Tears coursed rapidly down her bruised cheeks.

/Don't you cry../

"Thomas! How could you?! You killed her! You killed Stella!" Melody exclaimed.

"She brought it upon herself," Thomas replied, a predatory grin played on his lips, as he stalked down the stairs.

"Like you brought this, upon yourself," he growled and roughly grabbed her long brown hair. She never took her eyes off of her daughter's body. She didn't even have the drive to fight. She just wailed in grief. Thomas dragged the lamenting woman across the floor into the next rooming shutting the door. Screams of agony echoed through the house, shaking the windows. The boy looked on.

/Go to sleepy.. little baby/

David drew his knees up to his chest, and hugged them. He rocked back and forth. The little boy tried to block out the images of his sister's terrified expression the moment before she fell. She had been looking right at him. He could do nothing. The sight was impressed on the inside of his eyelids. He cried—his mother's screams also pervading his thoughts. He clamped his tiny hands over his ears, but it was no use. Tears welled up in the little boys eyes, and spilled out onto his cheeks

/When you wake, you shall have/

Thomas left his wife bloody and sobbing into the carpet. The man stormed out of the house—leaving the door open. He jumped into his car and sped away. Only God could be sure where he was headed. Melody limped to where her daughter lay in that shallow pool of her own blood. She fell to her knees next to her. She hugged the lifeless form, sobbing. She struggled to stand up. Her thoughts were dark, her life was over. She could barely bring herself to take the next breath. How could she protect David? What Thomas killed him too?

"I've failed," She whispered, "I cannot protect him." She fell to her knees once again. Her eyes caught the glint of her husband's switchblade; it was in the middle of the floor---where he had thrown it. She reached for it, knowing that she could no longer go on. She put upturned her arm, and found the vein. She bore the knife deep, grunting as she traveled all the way up to her elbow. She tried to mimic the cut on the other arm, but her fingers had lost feeling. The blade was slick with blood. She dropped it. Her eyes traveled upward, and saw a trembling David at the top of the stairs. He ran to his mother, and hesitated. All the blood terrified him. Melody gave her son a weak smile.

/All the pretty little horses../

"Honey! I want you to run! Run as far from here as you can get!" He nodded nodded, and kissed the forehead of his dying mother.

"Now go! I don't want you to be here when he comes back," she whispered hoarsely. "I love you, Mommy," he whispered and ran out of the house.

He ran

/Black and beige /

And ran.

/Dapples and Grays

David bumped into a boy with brown hair and smiling green eyes. His little body bounced off of the older boy, and crashed to the ground. He took short, ragged breaths. The older boy offered David a hand. He accepted it, and struggled to his feet.

"Hey kid, what's your name?" he asked.

"I'm -I don't have a name," the boy whispered, not having to anything to do with his father.

"Well, we are going to have to fix that. Call me Solo."

/Coaching six white horses/