Taken | Jessica Flory

Rivers don't laugh or chuckle, I thought. Rivers belch and complain as they roll over the rocks. Rivers, on occasion, roar with the stresses of life, and sometimes take sorry souls whom they think can't take life anymore.
My brother was such a person. Taken by this exact river. My brother was not, however, a person who gave up on life. He was the kind of person who let out a loud, appreciated laugh at everything that was said. He was the kind of person who could tell one was upset and he would pat their back or give them a hug and let them know it was okay.
He was two years old.

Rivers don't laugh or chuckle, I thought. Rivers belch and complain as they roll over the rocks. Rivers, on occasion, roar with the stresses of life, and sometimes take sorry souls whom they think can't take life anymore.
My brother was such a person. Taken by this exact river. My brother was not, however, a person who gave up on life. He was the kind of person who let out a loud, appreciated laugh at everything that was said. He was the kind of person who could tell one was upset and he would pat their back or give them a hug and let them know it was okay.
He was two years old.

Interesting Thing | Jessica Flory

Ug did not look like a racehorse—or even an ex-racehorse. His eyes were closed and his chin rested on the bar to which he was tied. His coat was no longer a normal gray, but a matted mess of mud and manure, making it take on shades of brown and yellow. Every now and then, he would let out a long, deep sigh hoping to drop a hint to the people around him of how bored he was... as if they couldn't tell already.

I made my way towards this sorry excuse for a racehorse and swung onto his back. The stirrups were far too long for my reach and the rope had been tied to the halter, making this the only means to control the horse.

No matter, I thought, I'm just going to ride in the arena.

Soon after I had made this mental decision, I noticed my sister cantering up the road that runs parallel to the arena. Thinking that she wasn't going very far, I guided Ug outside and urged him up the road.

My sister and I met up with a neighbor and we continued on a ride around the block, talking and laughing and yelling things to friends as they passed.

As we passed our arena, we decided that we would ride halfway to our neighbor's house and then come back. It was there that we decided to try a small canter to end the ride with some excitement. I was confident that I could handle Ug with just a rope and halter and that I would be able to keep, at least, my toes in the stirrups. But as we started cantering, I realized how wrong I was. As Ug pulled right beside our neighbor's horse, I remembered the fact that our neighbor was also on his old racehorse. And they were picking up speed.

The smile on my face lasted only for a short moment. My neighbor's yells brought me back to the reality that we weren't going to be able to stop the horses. Our surroundings echoed with the pounding of shod hooves on the pavement, desperate attempts were made to stop the horses by attempting to run the horses into garbage cans.

As the road curved, our neighbor's horse finally slid on the pavement and into the grass. Ug soon followed suit and the beasts stood there, chests heaving. My neighbor and I weren't breathing so steadily ourselves.