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4: 3 AM, or something like it [Several hours later] Paul staggered down the back steps of the ranch house, clenching a bottle of whiskey in his wiry, pasty fingers. Slipping on the last step, he fell on his backside. He sat where he landed, the dew from the grass seeping through the seat of his pants. "Sh**," he stated to himself and drank from the whiskey bottle. Mid-swig, he found the situation amusing. He laughed, then coughed, then laughed some more. Whiskey trickled down his white T-shirt, staining the collar and streaking down the front. He lowered the bottle and wiped his chin. Squinting into the murky night, Paul saw the sky brightening before his eyes. The sun, rising behind dismal, low settling clouds, was still making her presence known. "Damn," Paul mumbled. A long day lay ahead of him, and all he'd had for rest the night before was fitful slumber. Disturbing dreams and a wicked hangover had kept him tossing and turning until several minutes ago, when he had decided to drink off his hangover. The idea was most appealing now, as he sat humming, swaying, and giggling to himself. He chugged some more alcohol. To his immediate left was a horse pen. A chestnut Morgan stood at attention at the very edge of the fence, seemingly staring at Paul. "Hi, horsey!" he wiggled his fingers at the Morgan, who snorted. Paul gazed at the white diamond-shaped fur on the horse's forehead. His eyes locked onto it until they hurt. Shaking his head, he turned back to his whiskey and took another swig. As he lowered the bottle, Paul heard a gentle 'Clunk, clunk! Clunk, clunk! Clunk, clunk!', each time sounding just a little bit louder, and a little bit closer. Paul glanced to his right and saw horse's legs. Following the legs upward, he found the horse's trunk, the horse's face... And a rider. Paul wiggled his fingers at the rider. "Well, hey, Rob!" he slurred, setting the bottle beside himself and standing. Wobbling by the stairs, he held the railing. "'the hell you doing up so early?" Rob furrowed his eyebrows and glared at his friend. Paul shrugged. "The day starts early on a farm." He gave Rob a crooked smile. Rob lowered his hands, lying the reigns across his lap. "Not out here to tell me ANOTHER song I screwed up?" Paul scratched his head. "I do have SOMETHING to say to you..." "Don't bother," Rob turned away from Paul. "I don't have the energy to deal with this sh** right now." Tightening his grip on the reigns, Rob pulled them to the right. The horse moseyed away with Rob. Paul unhitched the horse pen door. Ascending the steps and sliding over the horse pen, he landed on the bareback of the Morgan. "Come on, girl," he chided the horse as he dug his heels into her side. The Morgan stepped forward, following Rob's golden Thoroughbred. "Wait!" Paul yelled to Rob. The horse plodded along, too slow to ever catch up with Rob's horse, in Paul's opinion. Paul kicked the Morgan's side, and she broke into a gallop, fast approaching Rob... And fast losing her rider. "Ah!" Paul clenched the Morgan's chestnut mane with slick, sweaty palms. He felt himself tilting to the left as his fingers lost hold of the mane. "Rob!" he cried out to his friend. Losing his balance, Paul slipped off the horse. The Morgan galloped onward, leaving her rider lying flat on his back, not moving. |