Rocking Horse
i'll be a jockey someday.
Screams and yells reverberated through the near empty house, splintering the thoughts of the little boy we see sitting in the attic. He lets out an empty sigh, pulling his knees to his chest and putting his hands over his ears, trying to block out his parents fighting again. Every night, it was the same screaming and fighting, nothing more and nothing less than a battlefield of loaded questions and accusations.
His father was addicted, couldn't get enough of the rush he felt when he laid down unspeakable amounts of money that their family didn't have on horses at the racetrack in the city. He usually lost, but when he did win, he won big. Their lives were like a wooden roller coaster; each month proved to be a new loop or a rickety turn and you always had this sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, just waiting for the wooden beast to buckle and come crashing down from the weight of the burden and stress it was carrying.
His mother was stressed, working two jobs and hiding money away to keep it away from her husband. She worried so much that at the young age of twenty-seven wrinkles and gray hair were starting to set in, marring her once beautiful and youthful appearance. She knew that they were in debt up to their necks, swimming and drowning in it. She knew that her husband's life was in danger because he couldn't pay back some of the people he had borrowed money from. She knew that her little boy's future was questionable and his childhood was tainted and stained dark with misery and worry.
But he was a dreamer. He may not have had all of the expensive toys that his school-mates had or extremely nice clothes, but he had a dream and that was worth more than any of those things. He wanted to be a horse jockey, and his biggest aspiration was to ride one of the horses that appeared in the Kentucky Derby.
His only toy was an old, wooden rocking horse that was worn and on the verge of breaking. Whenever he got on it to ride it, like he did now, it was creak and groan in protest from the boy's weight. His knees were pushed up to uncomfortable positions when he sat on it, a boy of eight years was far too large for this rocking horse, he'd outgrown it five years ago, but he still managed to fit anyway. If he were strong and healthy, he probably would have broken it a long time ago, but he was feeble and sickly.
Once he was positioned until he could properly ride the rocking horse, he closed his eyes and started to rock, sending the old wooden horse into motion. With every back and forth motion, the floorboards squeaked and the horse creaked until if he focused hard enough, he couldn't hear the screaming and fighting anymore.
No longer was he in the attic of solitude and misfortune, but instead he was at the Kentucky Derby, surrounded by galloping hooves of the other contenders and the jeers from the spectators and the loud, over the top hats that the women wore. Camera flashes spotted before his eyes and he saw his father in the crowd, he'd put every last penny he and his wife had on his son's horse, they were relying on him to save them. If he won, his daddy would stop gambling. If he won, his mommy wouldn't have to work two jobs. If he won, everything would go back to how it used to be.
He was getting closer and closer to the finish line, he could smell the roses that would be given to him and his horse once he crossed over and was the winner. He could see the happiness on his parents faces as he neared and then there it was - but suddenly there was a crack. His horse started neighing pitifully and then his eyes shot open just in time for him to see his rocking horse splinter into pieces, and he hit the floor.
He was no longer at the Kentucky Derby, he was on the floor of the attic in a heap surrounded by the pieces of his rocking horse. He wasn't crossing the finish line, and he probably never would. He didn't save his parents, and he realized that he probably would. Dreams that were so carefully and tediously wrought from misery and hope were crushed so easily and carelessly. Just like his rocking horse, his dreams were old, worn out, and now broken.
His father was addicted, couldn't get enough of the rush he felt when he laid down unspeakable amounts of money that their family didn't have on horses at the racetrack in the city. He usually lost, but when he did win, he won big. Their lives were like a wooden roller coaster; each month proved to be a new loop or a rickety turn and you always had this sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, just waiting for the wooden beast to buckle and come crashing down from the weight of the burden and stress it was carrying.
His mother was stressed, working two jobs and hiding money away to keep it away from her husband. She worried so much that at the young age of twenty-seven wrinkles and gray hair were starting to set in, marring her once beautiful and youthful appearance. She knew that they were in debt up to their necks, swimming and drowning in it. She knew that her husband's life was in danger because he couldn't pay back some of the people he had borrowed money from. She knew that her little boy's future was questionable and his childhood was tainted and stained dark with misery and worry.
But he was a dreamer. He may not have had all of the expensive toys that his school-mates had or extremely nice clothes, but he had a dream and that was worth more than any of those things. He wanted to be a horse jockey, and his biggest aspiration was to ride one of the horses that appeared in the Kentucky Derby.
His only toy was an old, wooden rocking horse that was worn and on the verge of breaking. Whenever he got on it to ride it, like he did now, it was creak and groan in protest from the boy's weight. His knees were pushed up to uncomfortable positions when he sat on it, a boy of eight years was far too large for this rocking horse, he'd outgrown it five years ago, but he still managed to fit anyway. If he were strong and healthy, he probably would have broken it a long time ago, but he was feeble and sickly.
Once he was positioned until he could properly ride the rocking horse, he closed his eyes and started to rock, sending the old wooden horse into motion. With every back and forth motion, the floorboards squeaked and the horse creaked until if he focused hard enough, he couldn't hear the screaming and fighting anymore.
No longer was he in the attic of solitude and misfortune, but instead he was at the Kentucky Derby, surrounded by galloping hooves of the other contenders and the jeers from the spectators and the loud, over the top hats that the women wore. Camera flashes spotted before his eyes and he saw his father in the crowd, he'd put every last penny he and his wife had on his son's horse, they were relying on him to save them. If he won, his daddy would stop gambling. If he won, his mommy wouldn't have to work two jobs. If he won, everything would go back to how it used to be.
He was getting closer and closer to the finish line, he could smell the roses that would be given to him and his horse once he crossed over and was the winner. He could see the happiness on his parents faces as he neared and then there it was - but suddenly there was a crack. His horse started neighing pitifully and then his eyes shot open just in time for him to see his rocking horse splinter into pieces, and he hit the floor.
He was no longer at the Kentucky Derby, he was on the floor of the attic in a heap surrounded by the pieces of his rocking horse. He wasn't crossing the finish line, and he probably never would. He didn't save his parents, and he realized that he probably would. Dreams that were so carefully and tediously wrought from misery and hope were crushed so easily and carelessly. Just like his rocking horse, his dreams were old, worn out, and now broken.
♠ ♠ ♠
Wow! I was inspired in my creative writing class to write this and I feel like it turned out pretty okay. Comments are always supremely appreciated.