The rage that first fills, then apparently bursts forth from the child leaves me tired and cold. I bite, he drops, and I stop where I am. I see no need to venture on, see no reason to continue what others might perceive as a fight. Have I not accomplished my goal?
With a slow ache in every motion, I turn to look back at the mare. I should wonder who she is; I should wonder why, in her kindness, she reminds me of my mother. I should wonder further why, in her presence, she seems nothing like mother at all.
The screeching that follows my action is childlike; I have no need for it, I have no innocence of tantrum left. I only scowl, I only snort and look down upon the bloody boy with no bone but hate in his body. Others see evil, I see only incoherence. I see only insubordination, inferiority. Somehow, slowly, I am becoming greater than the world around me.
I was mild, once. I was quiet and meek. I think somewhere in my heart I still am, somewhere where you live, somewhere where my grief has not hardened. But now I am tall and though hurt I am strong. I step forward, first once then again. My eyes burn, my child's tail lashes. I have no remorse. I have no intention for anything, anymore. You're gone, why should I try to recover?
But sinister flowers stop me in my tracks, bursting from the ground behind the boy and spewing unfamiliar poisons. I choke on the hideous scent, the smell of blood that reminds me so much of you. Why should my happiest memories be clouded by this? Why should I be lost in poison?
I can do nothing but succumb--my body shakes and shudders and what little I've managed to keep down returns again to the air, coming out from between my teeth in an insipid, gray-green film that mixes with the blood tracks on the ground. I struggle, I cough and I try to see through the odd pang like reverse-hunger in my chest.
The boy's eyes are bright, light like my father's. His evil is darker, his evil is below my own. Someday, I will tear him apart.
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