A Minion's Glimpse

Lambent light, the starred sky. The streets are illuminated such that the cloudless heavens, the brightest of them all, could not illuminate so magnificently. The sequence majestic: a stallion that had been tied to shackles almost his whole life, the knot shattered. Is it still a treachery if nothing remains of the chains?

A betrayal for him, even though he acted on his purest instincts. The contradiction now: whether his owner was crushed by the storm or by the destruction his flight wrought through the rocks and the trees. It may be the case that he not only fled the scene but also became part of his master's demise.

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Yet he limps forward, a headless animal that used to be directed by his master, of which he never saw the face. The slippery snow fills the murky plain. He is fearful of the path, whether there may be no meal for him. But in the reflection of the water on the ground, he sees not only the lamps aflame but the warmth of the dwellers. In the depths of veils, he does not slack, does not look, but continues head down, hesitant of the mercy that befalls upon him. Never had he moved along these paths before where he stumbled upon food and the populace. The night is painted for him to see as he continues to tread unmarked land.

Hearing the murmurs of the public, his heart races as if someone will look at him and accept him at his service. For that, he fears he will not be of much value. Although he once had considerable speed, misdirected without a leash, he saw humans wander many times. To him, he wanted to feel astray, but not today, not in the rarest of forms. An appropriate goal for now is simply not to look back at the trolley he drags. One of his legs feels as though it may collapse. He is not sure if it is from the loss of blood or from the sheer cold.

His spirit uplifted dissipates as he figures the predicament in which he moves, in addition to the deathbed he drags, an erroneous herald.

A horse of his own, a minion still with a leash, burdened on his back. Though he may not be able to attain much, the warm clothes for the winter, a space to stay. His eyes follow the road on which a stallion, fueled with repletion, strides with carelessness. The trolley is not on his back but a hindrance he takes away with him. He wants it. A prideful horse may instill some pride in him as well, but the imagery in his mind is unsettling. He cannot see himself taming that beautiful beast. He may have lost all hope in himself, but he can still witness an alluring painting without being apart of it. And his part in this case is an accessible and obvious way out.

Entry into the contest: Concurso de Arte y Escritura #187 y Ganadores de la Edición #186/ Art and Writing Contest #187 y winners de la Edición #186

I invite @dreeyor to this contest.

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