Young Olive Snook leaned against the top rung of the rickety old fence, watching as the sun rose on the horizon, casting an orangey red glow over the field of green grass that stretched out before her. The warmth from the sun collided with the remaining cool air from the dawn, creating a rolling fog that shrouded the dark, slowly moving figures in the pasture.
"They're beautiful." Olive gasped as the creatures came into view. Three chestnut brown stallions and one foal stomped and snorted, flicking their tails as they grazed on the dew soaked grass.
At this moment, Olive Snook was 13 years, 8 months, 10 days, 6 hours, 5 minutes old. A lover of horses since before she could even remember, young Olive had begged and pleaded for years for the chance to learn to ride, for her biggest aspiration was to be a jockey like the ones she saw on TV, smiling atop their winning horses adorned with flowered wreaths. She thought the sight was quite amazing indeed. And one early summer morning Mr. Snook consented to the whim of his fair haired daughter—since money was of little worry in the Snook household—and he purchased a special gift.
"Which one is mine?"
"That one over there—the foal with the cream speckles on the flanks." Her father said proudly, clearly pleased he was able to afford such an extravagance.
"He's gorgeous." Olive swooned, captivated by the animal. It was on the small side—not runt material—but rather compact and sturdy looking. The horse was a perfect fit for the tiny Olive. "When will I be able to ride him?"
Mr. Snook laughed. "Oh, he's far too young for that right now." Mr. Snook shook his head. "Besides, first things first my dear."
Olive's Father pointed towards a sprawling building across the field, a building that had gone unnoticed by young Olive in her complete fascination with her new horse, a horse she had already decided on naming the most delicious name—Pie.
"You will take your riding lessons there after school when the horse is old enough. No daughter of mine is going to sit on top of a wild beast without being properly trained." Mr. Snook shook his head sternly. "No Olive, a horse isn't a toy—it's a responsibility. One cannot go hopping on one all willy nilly."
Young Olive nodded; part of her could hear her father, while the other half was miles away, sitting atop her precious Pie and galloping wildly into the great beyond—willy nilly or not. And as she took in the large building looming in the distance she could not contain the pure joy in her heart; for she knew that it was where all of her dreams were to come true.
Little did little Olive Snook know, it would also provide the biggest of nightmares.