Sisyphus

Prompt: " A story about an old horse working at a riding stable -told from the horse's perspective. "

Sisyphus was running. He rounded barrel after barrel in the bright night lights. The yells of the two-leggeds surrounding him used to terrify him but now, they were just unnerving enough to make him run like a wolf was on his hooves. Barking and snapping him to run faster. Faster.

Eventually, the buzzer sounded and the reins snapped tight, pulling him to a stop. Sometimes he would get a wreath of plants he wasn’t allowed to eat after the buzzer. Sometimes just a good brushing. He never knew how they decided that. But this time, the buzzer wouldn’t stop. It buzzed again and again till Sisyphus was twirling to see what to do. Where was his rider? Wasn’t she just there? Who were all these creatures surrounding him? They drew closer and closer. The buzzer got louder and louder. All went black.

Sisyphus opened his eyes to the walls of his old stable. The buzzer from his dream nothing more than the rooster crowing over and over, signaling the dawn at the dude ranch. Sunlight cascaded from the rafters and the smell of other horses and fresh cut wood were all around him. Between the hay, stable boards, and early morning sun, the entire world was varying shades of bronze. Just like Sisyphus himself.

“I should have known.” Sisyphus thought as he got his legs back under himself. That simple act was getting harder and harder these days, but it sure beat staying down. “Those days are long behind me. Nothing left now but these untrained two-legged foals.”

It had been ages since Sisyphus got to really run. He had no idea that night long ago was his last time. He just remembered that he didn’t get a wreath. Since then, day in and day out he only got to walk in circles around the pasture. That would be alright if it weren’t for the riders.

Before, he only had one rider. She was perfect. Sure, he was slower with her weight to burden him but her presence brought so much more. Every time he saw her he knew he was going to get to run as fast as he could, as long as he could. Push himself. Her touches guided him, her spirit drove him faster each time. Now, being saddled didn’t mean thrill. It meant “work”.

“Why do the two-leggeds let their colts stay wild for so long?” Sisyphus wondered as he sauntered over to his morning bag of oats. “By the time I could walk, I was being trained. Why don’t they do the same for their own foals?”

Every day, Sisyphus was ridden by many foals and, sure, some were totally uneventful but most were harder to endure than any race. They pulled his fur. They made loud strange noises. Some would do nothing but sob on his back until their parents came and took them away. If he protested, he got in trouble. It was like all of his dignity and respect had faded like his mane. No matter how he tried, he just couldn’t make sense of why his two-legged heard was making him do this.

That was something Sisyphus had learned long ago about the two-leggeds. They did lots of things that made no sense for the heard. When he was young, and surrounded by other proper horses like himself, everything had a purpose. When you ran, it was to get somewhere. Eat new grass. Find new mates. Yet, when he was with his old rider, even she just made him run in circles. No matter how fast he ran, he always ended up back in the same stable. So confusing. Over the years, he learned the two-legged sound for such things was “work”. Every time Sisyphus heard that sound, he knew it meant doing something over and over for no purpose he could find. Before, it was circling barrels with no grass in sight. Now it was carrying foals in circles over and over again. No new food. No new mate. No purpose. Just back to the same stable every night.

Eventually, as expected, the red maned two-legged came to lead him from his stable to be saddled and prepared for the terrible foals. All of his internal bitterness aside, Sisyphus always complied with his “work”. He was getting old, and learned long ago how much easier life with two-leggeds was when he was compliant. So he stood still, flicked his ears, and started the long wait till he was allowed to go back to his stable.

“Wonderful. Another hot day.” Thought Sisyphus as they exited to barn and headed towards the circular rut that had become his place in the world. “Maybe the purpose of all this is to make that rut. Maybe that’s what the ‘work’ sound means. Dig a rut in the ground. But then, what was the ruts purpose? Was that where they got his oats from? Was he digging them up bit by bit?”

By the time he was strung to the center pole, Sisyphus was so absorbed in his morning bitterness so he hardly noticed the first foal they put on his back. It was a quiet thing, and light. A perfect way to start the morning. He could just pretend it wasn’t there. Those were always the best.

Its parents called from the edge of the ring excitedly but this just fueled Sisyphus’ melancholy. “What are they so excited for?” He thought under the hot sun. “The foal is not even running on its own. They aren’t being given treats. So many things the two-leggeds do have no logic. I’ve only seen horses act like that for apples. That makes sense. Apples are wonderful.”

The next foal was unacceptable. It smelled. It was heavy. It was loud. The screaming adults by the barn must have been this ones parents. They were just as large and noisy as their foal. At least that made sense.

The day drew on and on just like every other day before until something drew Sisyphus from his labor trance. There was no foal on his back. Normally they came one after the other until it was time to stop. But the sun was still high in the sky and there he was – still tethered with nothing on his back. Concerned, he started to look around.

Back near the barn, there was a circle of two-leggeds with a foal in the center. He could not make out their faces, but they were talking excitedly and glancing at him from time to time. It was unnerving. Eventually, the two-leggeds began to walk towards him smiling, the little foal hiding behind the female two-legged the entire way.

The delay finally broken, Sisyphus let out a heavy sigh and resigned himself to another round of the rut. “Work” never seemed to stop. Another part of the insanity of that concept.

But even after a long wait, still no foal in his back. Just excited whispers from the adults to the foal behind them.

“Do you want to say hi Annabelle?” The two-legged male asked.

A small sound came from behind the female and those unnerving smiles came back to all the two-legged’s faces. Then, the adult female reached down and picked up one of the smallest foals Sisyphus had ever seen. Puffing a bit, the apparent mother of the tiny thing lifted her little one up to gaze right into Sisyphus’s eye.

The whole world seemed to stop.

What stared back at him was pure joy.

Through the locks of tight curled black hair stared two deep brown eyes alight with life. The little foal’s eyes stared straight into him. Somehow they knew him, and they loved him. Immediately Sisyphus was thrown back in time.

He remembered when he was a foal and the heard was caught in that rain storm so long ago. Though the sky was dark, and the earth was wet, the entire heard pranced through the pasture. There was no purpose to their bucks. No creature to fend off. There was no purpose to their joy. No apples to be had. Old and young horse alike ran in circles, kicked the air, and all was joy.

Stunned by his memories, Sisyphus hardly noticed that the little foal had reached out to touch his nose - her hand warm and tiny against him. It smelled of apples and peanut butter and other mysterious sweet things. The foal squealed with joy and they started to get her settled on his back. She was lighter than a feather.

“Play!” Sisyphus thought to himself as he led the little foal around his old rut. “Play has no purpose either!”

“That day in the rain. There was no purpose to what the heard did. No purpose but joy. Back when I rounded the barrels each night. I felt that joy from my rider. Is that what the two-leggeds have been doing with me this entire time? Playing?"

The thought rippled through Sisyphus’ entire world. His rut. His memories. The joy in the little foal’s eyes seemed to illuminate all that he had missed. When the parents returned to take the giggling mass from his back he couldn’t help but turn his nose to nuzzle her shoulder before she was taken out of reach. Would she ever know what her eyes had shown him? What did she see in his old brown eyes?

“Aww!” The female two-legged exclaimed. “He likes you! Do you want to give Mr.Horsey an apple?”

The little foal bobbed its head excitedly and Sisyphus found himself doing the same, excited to get to take one more look at those eyes so full of joy and play.

“I have been helping the humans play this entire time.” Sisyphus thought as the adult reached into a bag, pulling out a bright apple. “They call it work, but the only difference was how I felt about it. None of the other human’s eyes look like this foal’s. Maybe they feel wrong on the inside like I did.”

As the family extended the apple to Sisyphus he decided something: to remind the other two-leggeds what this little foal had shown him. That “work” really was only play, like horses dancing in the rain.