Whispered Prayers of a Girl

I run my fingers through her hair a couple times, before walking back out of the room and closing the door behind me. I unload the groceries, then put a pot full of water on the stove to start boiling for the chicken. Grabbing another pot, I add more water and set that down on the stove for the rice.

Chicken and rice. One of the simplest meals, but one of the best.

By the time I’m done, Gigi’s back from eating, waiting for me at the door. I grab my gloves off the counter where I discarded them before putting away the groceries, then we both walk outside.

The snow’s coming down a bit more than it was before. The ground is already covered in a thin layer of white, but this time tomorrow, it’ll be at least a couple feet deep, if not more. The snowstorm that’s due is supposed to be a harsh one and last for several days. That’s why I was in town a couple weeks earlier than normal. The road out here tends to be rough for days after a snowstorm, and I’d rather have everything I need just in case. I did most of the chores this morning that needed doing before the storm, but there are a few things that still need tending to.

As Gigi and I walk across the yard to the barn, I make sure to keep my eyes forward and not look at the half-built house. It’s been sitting there abandoned for four years. I’ve been meaning to tear the thing down, but I just can’t yet. It hurts to look at it, but the pain at the thought of destroying it is much worse. I’ve been trying to build up the courage; I just don’t have enough yet.

Gigi barks and takes off in front of me. I chuckle as she chases a rabbit. It must sense the bad weather that’s coming and is out foraging for food before being forced to stay in its hole. The rabbit takes off with Gigi after it. She stops after several feet, does her business, then takes off in another direction.

After watching her for a couple of minutes, I get to work on making sure the horses have enough hay and water and everything is secure against the heavy winds that are coming. Luckily, the temperature isn’t supposed to be too bad, only the midtwenties, so I don’t have to worry about the horses being too cold since they’ll be away from the winds.

I stop long enough to let Gigi in when she starts barking at the back door to the house, then continue the few things I have left. Bandit, the male Arabian I’ve been working at breaking in, snorts at me as I walk by. I flip him off because I’m pissed at him right now. My damn backside still hurts from him throwing me yesterday.

“Don’t you snort at me, you big bastard,” I say, baring my teeth with a forced smile. Horses may seem like mindless animals to some, but they’re actually pretty smart. They’re very watchful creatures and can sense moods.

Bandit’s been one of the most stubborn horses I’ve come across since I started training them eight years ago. Ordinarily, it takes me anywhere from three to eight weeks to train the horses that are brought here, but Bandit’s being ornery and doesn’t take kindly to someone being on his back. Hell, he doesn’t even like it if someone looks at him. I’ve had him for nine weeks already and have gotten hardly anywhere with him. He’s solid black, a very pretty horse, but very moody. He’s also purebred and cost the owners a fortune, which means they’re being very patient. However, I don’t see that lasting much longer if I don’t make any more headway with him.

I grab a couple of apples out of a basket, stuff one in my back pocket, then approach the white-and-brown mustang. Bella came to me three years ago to be trained. A few weeks into training, the young girl the owners bought her for fell from another horse and broke her neck. She’s now paralyzed from the neck down. Understandably, they no longer needed Bella for their daughter, so I bought her from them. Unlike Bandit, Bella is very gentle and docile. I put her next to him for a reason, hoping he’ll see my interaction with her.

“Hey, girl.” She neighs softly and nudges the hand holding the apple, not trying to take it, but letting me know she knows it’s there. “I’ll take you for a ride as soon as the bad weather passes.”

I hold the apple up in my palm, and she crunches down on it. I run my hand down her neck, murmuring quiet words to her. Bandit snorts beside me, and although I don’t acknowledge him, I do watch him out of my peripheral vision. His dark head is pointed our way, watching me interact with Bella.

I talk quietly with Bella for several minutes, ignoring the beast beside me, before finally turning to him. His black eyes watch me as I approach his stall, and he tosses his head back a couple times. When I reach out to place my hand on the side of his neck, he snorts loudly and kicks out a hoof.

“No need to get all pissy on me, Bandit,” I tell him, keeping my voice calm. He snorts again and turns his head to the side to avoid my hand when I place it on his neck. “Shh… calm down, boy. It’s alright.”

He lifts his head, dislodging my hand, and takes a step back. I pull the other apple out of my pocket, and he eyes it with interest.

“You want it?” I ask, holding it up. “You have to take it from my hand.”

I hold my breath with anticipation as he bends his head and sniffs the apple. His warm breath floats over my hand as I hold real still, not wanting to spook him. He nudges it a couple times, snorts, then knocks the damn apple out of my hand. I narrow my eyes at him when he lifts his head and looks me right in the eye. If horses could smirk, I have no doubt this damn animal would be right now.

“You little shit,” I mutter.

He just snorts and turns away, going over to his hay and munching on it, telling me with his actions to fuck off. I bend and pick up the apple, putting it back in the basket. As frustrating as Bandit’s been to train, I’m enjoying the challenge he’s giving me. It’s kept me distracted from thinking of other things. Things I don’t like thinking about.

I walk back to the house once I’m finished in the barn. Gigi meets me with a soft bark, then heads back through the doggy door to be with her pups. After checking on the chicken on the stove, I make quick work of the buttons of my shirt as I walk down the hallway to my bedroom. This cabin may be small to some people, but it’s perfect for me. Once upon a time, I had plans to build a big house and fill it with laughter, but not any longer. That ship has sailed, crashed, burned, then sunk.

I toss my shirt on the floor in front of my dresser, then take off my pants, leaving them in the same pile. In the bathroom, I turn on the shower to let it warm up. Turning away, I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. Normally I try to stay away from mirrors. Not because the scars are hideous and I hate looking at them, but because of the memories that come with seeing them. I don’t turn away this time. I stand there and force myself to look at them, and the memories immediately assault me.

A woman’s laughter and soft smiles.

The screech of tires.

High-pitched screams of fear.

Deep screams of pain.

Innocent wails, then silence.

My own pain gripping me.

My vision fading to black as my life dies before me.

I look at the snarled and twisted skin on my arm and side. I was awake when the heat of the flames hit me. I was conscious when my flesh started to melt. But that’s not what I remember when I see my scars. What I remember is what I almost had. I remember not being strong enough to save them. I remember the screams and the broken pleas.