Of Cinder Cones
I glared at each member of the group seated in front of me: Fake Thomas Jefferson, Dead Bowie, Professor Normal, Tie-Die, Fury Leika, Snake Bite, and our newest member, Dr. Horrible. For someone with a PhD in Horribleness, he didn't seem to have his heart in being evil anymore.
I examined the Doctor. His goggles, perched on top of his head, and his crimson lab coat certainly made him appear genuinely evil… from a distance. Upon closer examination, I could see that his eyes looked lifeless and dead. They were the eyes of someone who got everything he ever wanted only to find he didn't want it anymore. I know that feeling, I thought.
XXX
I was born May 29 many years ago in a stable typical of a typical horse. I was christened "Cinder" (race name= Of Cinder Cones). Like my name, there was nothing particularly special about me; I was a plain-old black thoroughbred, destined to grow up, lose a few races, and, if I was lucky, start my second career doing training level dressage or hunter schooling shows with some teenage girl.
Somewhere between the seemingly endless days at the racetrack, I realized that the path I was on was not one that I cared to follow. The night before what was to be my last race ever, I resolved that one day I was going to be an achiever, like Gandhi. I knew that the first step to ever achieving anything was getting off the race track so, like any aspiring achiever would do, I plotted my first act of badassery.
ooo
My jockey steered me into the gate, where we waited for the race to start. My jockey, I vaguely remember his name being Jorge or George or something, gritted his teeth and waited for the ride of his life. If only he knew.
The gate opened and every horse shot out like a bullet from a revolver. Every horse but me. I planted my feet and refused to leave the gate. George began to frantically whack me with his riding crop but still I refused to go. One of the guys on the ground near the gate tried to help him get me out of the gate. He grabbed a whip and made for my haunches. I kicked out with all of my strength, nailing him directly in the chest. I then bolted out of the gate and bucked like a bull fresh out of the shoot. To give George some credit, he did stay on for the first four or so bucks before flying off like a rag doll.
My next step was to run as fast as I could along the track. The humans had other plans for me, however, and attempted to head me off as I ran forward. The first person who stood in my way I managed to dodge. The second person was not so lucky. Technically it was his fault. He jumped in front of me, but still I was blamed for the injuries he sustained (2 broken ribs and a bruise the size of a watermelon). The third person, however, was a little better prepared for me than his two predecessors. I took one look at the huge tranquilizer gun in his hands and changed course away from him.
I made it almost completely around the track before I felt a sharp pain in my side. I swung my head around to see a dart from the tranquilizer gun stuck in my side.
"Oh horse feathers," was all I had time to think before I was down. The last thing I heard before I blacked out was the announcing over the loud speaker:
"Ladies and Gentlemen, that was the Thoroughbred, 'Of Cin-'"