Chernobyl

Downy feathers were extended around him as he lie carelessly upon the snowy grounds, obviously tonguing some foreign language to something unknown and otherwise unseen beneath his extensive wingspan. Chernobyl stood along the tree line, merely watching the stallion as he whispered. It was an odd thing to see and while she hadn’t much care for his species, she was still interested in the thing he had hidden beneath himself. Birdsong was slowly approaching and the warmth that accompanied it was something grand, though she was certainly an admirer of the winter’s cold. Something about the way it made her feel numb and safe kept her longing for the season every year, though she hoped this year was to be different. But only time would tell.

Stepping tentatively from the trees, she drew closer, her body languid and drawn together like a feral cat. However, no predatory moans or hungry utterance of word seemed to be necessary as she closed in on the foolish stallion, still wallowing in the muddy snow. Instead she merely glared at him, black eyes trying to find meaning in his childish display before realizing it was only a small plant that he protected. In his face was an innocence that bewildered her, as if between the two beings a connection existed. She pondered the idea and thought that maybe the plant was sacred or powerful, but upon closer inspection, she realized that it was but a mere weed. At this, she cackled, her leathery voice cracking and rasping with the effort before finally breaking into silence once more.

“Have you any reason to infatuate over this small weed or are you truly as daft as I think you are?” Though he words rung heavy with derision, laughter spilled from her stomach like bile before once again falling quiet to listen to whatever delirious babble this stallion would surely speak of. It was this moment of weakness that made her realize just how lonely she had become since her mother’s death, despite the heinous appreciation that came with the closing of the old mare’s eyes. Perhaps these two would make a fine pair anyhow; he agonizing over the welfare of a small plant and she ranting about her mother’s supposedly deserved passing.

After all, what else had the world come to before committing entirely to the insanity of life?

But oh, I'm staring at the mess I made
As you turn, you take your heart and walk away