07-12-2018, 12:43 PM
<link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="//fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Atomic+Age" /> <style type="text/css">.template2_container{position:relative;z-index:1;width:508px;border-radius:350px 350px 1px 1px;padding:15px;background:#f7f4ea;border:15px double #2aecf9}.template2_container p{margin:0}.template2_image{border:3px dotted #000;border-radius:350px 350px 0 0}.template2_message{text-align:justify;font:15px 'Century Gothic',sans-serif;padding:15px 0;color:#000}.template2_name{text-align:center;font:65px 'Atomic Age',cursive;color:#2aecf9;padding:0}.template2_quote{text-align:center;font:18px 'Atomic Age',cursive;font-style:bold;color:#f71143;padding:0}</style><center><div class="template2_container"><img class="template2_image" src="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/dc/d3/6e/dcd36ef0b3e8c2f69e3865afb998a8af.jpg?epik=097V-E_IWHxpz"><p class="template2_message"> It hurt. Oh gods, did it hurt. The throbbing in her skull was enough to bring the pale mare up from the chemical fog she had been floating in. There was no way she was dead, it couldn't hurt this much to be dead. For a moment though it seemed possible she'd gone blind. There was nothing but a bright whiteness. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the extreme light, revealing the defined corners and edges of a very square space. How it was so bright she did not know, her beloved sky being hidden from view by more flat white. It was crisp and sterile, and an utter opposite to anything she'd ever experienced before. This was not Beqanna.
In the minutes that followed she was absorbed by an all encompassing pain as a million pins and needles staggered across her skin. The drugs that had been given to her were wearing off, allowing sensation to return to her nervous system begrudgingly. A persistent noise reached her through the pain, pulsing in sync with her now racing heartbeat. Minutes, hours, days. It seemed an eternity before the stinging ended, and she dared experiment with motion.
Each joint felt like it was made of sandpaper, gritty and coarse. With am almighty groan she rolled over, until her knees were beneath her once more. The effort of that action set the room spinning sickeningly around. Eyes slammed shut again, the pattern of her breath the only thing she could focus on until things steadied again. It was harsh. The floor, the light, the weirdly flat scent of the air. Just staying conscious was an effort. But she must, she must.
◇◇◇
It was amusing, watching the mare struggle in the quarantine cell. Clearly the drugs had been potent, holding her unconscious for the hour it had taken to transport her and then some. The reversal had been administered on intake, along with taking samples of blood and skin and urine. A brief but thorough physical exam had been given, Doctor Mendez going over the equinoid's body herself. Aside from the strange color and the extra limbs, the creature seemed to be a fairly standard horse. A shiny, blue horse. Her mane and tail and primaries were trimmed short. A microchip was implanted in her neck, and a freeze branded serial number applied to the opposite side. Just in case, they said.
She couldn't see me, of course, not through the camera currently trained on her stumbling form. The foam of the stall floor had padded her for the time she'd lain there, and now it seemed to be a source of confusion as she shakily explored the 10'x10' extent of quarantine. Trapped little mouse, what a shame. Tomorrow, the real work would begin. Briefly, I examined the clipboard in my hand. Vitals were decent, heart rate a bit elevated if anything. Blood group Q, reactive. That would yield interesting results.
◇◇◇
There was nothing, for hours. Just nauseating light, and then darkness. Either way, it made seeing a difficulty. The blue mare pressed her forehead into the corner of the stall, attempting to alleviate the headache that had been present since she awoke. At one point she must have dozed off. When she woke the lights had returned, bringing a new sound with them. A gentle clicking made itself known. She nearly crashed into the wall as a mechanized hiss blew against her, a hole opening smoothly in the wall opposite. With a snort, she danced from side to side, watching the dark abyss fearfully. Where the hell was she? Whoever had dared commit this violence against her had made a huge mistake. There was murder in her eyes as she caught her first glimpse of her captor.
She had not seen his kind in years. Back when her coat was made of cream and satin, and her youth was before her. Erect on two legs, they had harried her people ruthlessly in the days before she had found sanctuary in Beqanna. Man. This was a breed she knew, and yet this tribe was far different from those she remembered. Clad in loose garments, colored seemingly by rank. And all subject to a queen, the female in blood red and white. Her position in this place was made painfully clear.
◇◇◇
There were three injections. The first was a mere sting, and for days afterward eager faces paraded by, watching as the mare demonstrated seemingly endless strength and energy. She was like brand new, invincible. The serum seemingly afforded her the gift of vitality itself. Until one day it didn't. Exhaustion showed itself one morning, when her usual exhibition was due. Instead of strutting forth proudly, her pace fell flat and uneven on the rubbery surface of the arena. Murmuring voices went from inquisitive, to doubtful, to irate. Back to the drawing board.
The second injection brought no relief. Instead, it seemed to hasten the pathetic ending that suddenly felt so near. A sore, aching stiffness spread from the site, invading muscle and bone with weary degradment. Sleek hair began to fade into a dull pearl, shedding out in ragged clumps. Her hooves chipped with the barest of pressure. The once jubilant faces now barely managed to glance her way. She was a disappointment, and she was dying. Away from home, her children, any chance at life and love. The once glorious mare now stood at the wayside, waiting for the end. One last injection. A Hail Mary shot that no one expected much out of. The injection site was sore for several days afterward, a constant reminder. Each day that passed increased the sensation that she was fading away into nothing.
It had been several weeks since the injections began. The visitors had stopped almost entirely, all except the man with the dead eyes. He returned daily, pausing before the gate of her stall to stare. Watery brown eyes that she couldn't hide from, couldn't escape. He had lurked on the edges since the day she'd arrived, not speaking, or doing much of anything. Just watching, with a look that made her feel... dirty. She was sedated most of the time. Would not tolerate handling otherwise. Even so, she knew she would avoid his touch of he chose to attempt it, drugs or no.
◇◇◇
It had been three months, almost to the day since we had acquired the test subject. At first she was a triumph. The only one of the five collected to survive the initial injections, to thrive even. It was a short-lived victory. Dr. Mendez grew irate as the subject failed to recover. She took to wandering the labs late at night, checking and rechecking files and reports. A month into the new series of experiments, Ankh died. After that, the good doctor's behavior went from irritable to borderline madness. Muttering about how much money had been wasted, how many years of research. How many years we were all going to prison for if this failed completely.
The stupid cow. She stood there, day in day out, managing to look arrogant despite her ever worsening condition. Like a plant deprived of sunlight, she was a pale shadow of the beast they had captured. Where she had once gleamed with life, she now hardly glanced my way when I visited each morning. Today, her head barely lifted from the point at which she was cross tied. The sedative drugs had been weaned off over the last month, when her strength began to wane most noticeably. Now it was assumed that the nylon ropes at either side of her face would hold her sufficiently.
A weak cough heaved from her chest while I watched, bringing up speckles of gem bright blood on her lips. Horrible, weak thing. She was not worthy of the wonders that had been offered to her. And she was bringing us down with her. A lead rope hung coiled by the latch of her gate, black nylon and steel chain. We should have put her down weeks ago. The latch flipped up, and the lead rope found its way to my hands. I had not been involved since that first day. I was no scientist, only a lackey. My power had been imaginary. Used and thrown to the side. Their mistake. Her mistake.
My feet brought me before the pitiful creature, until I could look inside the human depths of her blue eyes. They could understand us, we'd been told. They did not speak our tongue, but could understand things given the opportunity. Hard to tell, just by looking at the dull emotions that flickered low in her face. "Unnatural monster. Couldn't do one thing right, could you? Didn't even try. I should have shot you when I had the chance." My voice was as empty as my eyes, no emotion emphasising the otherwise vicious words. His hand reached up to lightly stroke the length of her face. The cross ties held her in place, preventing her from moving away. Smiling tightly, I gave no warning when my opposite arm flashed forward, bringing the chained length of the lead rope down across her face.
◇◇◇
They looked at each other then, one in shock, the other in perverse euphoria. A welt was already raising itself across the bridge of her nose, small crimson droplets standing out against the milky skin. The spell broke, and she jerked back with what was left of her strength. A terrible laugh fell from the man's throat, mocking her fear. That was when he set about his business in earnest, striking over and over with the chain of the lead, bruising and breaking skin across her face and neck, shoulders and chest. Years of frustration poured out into the assault. Her hoarse screams fell on deaf ears, though they agitated the other horses. Her knees gave out at last, dropping her to the rubber floor, head still suspended upright by the ties. The sudden fall woke her attacker from his violent work.
Stepping back, he looked at the results of his handiwork. Purple bruising was apparent through her thin coat, blood trickling from a dozen lacerations. Her ribs moved in short, heavy gasps, working hard to get oxygen negotiated. One eye was swollen shut, blood leaking over it from the cut in her brow. Blood was also leaking steadily from both nostrils. Pain beyond anything she had ever experienced before radiated against her skull, drowning out all thoughts but one. Let it end. Let this finally end. The only sounds left were both of their labored breaths, and the steady rhythm of the beaten mares blood dripping to the floor. Two things then happened at once. Sabra's breath stopped in her chest, and Doctor Mendez' shrill voice screamed from the offices opposite.
"What the FUCK have you...done...?" The short latina woman had sprinted across the arena and now stood outside the stall, horror on her face as she absorbed the scene within. Other early morning workers were arriving, and all were drawn to the drama unfolding. The intensifying sunlight suddenly suffocated, leaving the building dark inside. The temperature plummeted, until whorls of horefrost began to etch themselves across the steel desks and the concrete floor. It was like standing at the heart of a hurricane, or watching a new star be born from the cosmic ether. That eerie, sucking quiet that heralds a tidal wave. And then the wind began to howl.
Pressure built inside the building, until it felt almost unbearable. Capillaries began to leak when with an audible crash, it was released. It was thunder and lightning. It was a hurricane. Inside the building black clouds were forming, mounding, obscuring the vision of all around. That made it very easy to see when the prostate mare began to glow with crackling electricity. She rose from the floor, held up by some unseen force when consciousness found her once more. Eyes snapped open. Their clear depths had been replaced with pits of flaring blue energy, static held the ragged ends of her hair out in a fiery halo. Intensive cold began to radiate from her skin, turning the nylon halter encasing her face brittle and shattering it into frozen needles.
She rose through the fog, a pale, thin wraith. The edges of her form blurred into mist, blue fingers of lightning glowing and striking intermittently from the heart of her. Water began to accumulate as a torrential downpour whirled around them. Dr. Mendez stood frozen, tears streaming down her face. She was the first to regain herself, backing slowly away. There was an anti-serum, hidden in her office. The trauma... It had to have been the trauma that activated the change within the storm mare. A beautiful disaster that would destroy them all if she wasn't careful. But if she were prudent... this may well be her magnum opus. </p><p class="template2_name">SABRA</p><p class="template2_quote">I'm Hell on Heels, Say What You Will</p></div></center>
Word Count: 2150, on the nose
In the minutes that followed she was absorbed by an all encompassing pain as a million pins and needles staggered across her skin. The drugs that had been given to her were wearing off, allowing sensation to return to her nervous system begrudgingly. A persistent noise reached her through the pain, pulsing in sync with her now racing heartbeat. Minutes, hours, days. It seemed an eternity before the stinging ended, and she dared experiment with motion.
Each joint felt like it was made of sandpaper, gritty and coarse. With am almighty groan she rolled over, until her knees were beneath her once more. The effort of that action set the room spinning sickeningly around. Eyes slammed shut again, the pattern of her breath the only thing she could focus on until things steadied again. It was harsh. The floor, the light, the weirdly flat scent of the air. Just staying conscious was an effort. But she must, she must.
◇◇◇
It was amusing, watching the mare struggle in the quarantine cell. Clearly the drugs had been potent, holding her unconscious for the hour it had taken to transport her and then some. The reversal had been administered on intake, along with taking samples of blood and skin and urine. A brief but thorough physical exam had been given, Doctor Mendez going over the equinoid's body herself. Aside from the strange color and the extra limbs, the creature seemed to be a fairly standard horse. A shiny, blue horse. Her mane and tail and primaries were trimmed short. A microchip was implanted in her neck, and a freeze branded serial number applied to the opposite side. Just in case, they said.
She couldn't see me, of course, not through the camera currently trained on her stumbling form. The foam of the stall floor had padded her for the time she'd lain there, and now it seemed to be a source of confusion as she shakily explored the 10'x10' extent of quarantine. Trapped little mouse, what a shame. Tomorrow, the real work would begin. Briefly, I examined the clipboard in my hand. Vitals were decent, heart rate a bit elevated if anything. Blood group Q, reactive. That would yield interesting results.
◇◇◇
There was nothing, for hours. Just nauseating light, and then darkness. Either way, it made seeing a difficulty. The blue mare pressed her forehead into the corner of the stall, attempting to alleviate the headache that had been present since she awoke. At one point she must have dozed off. When she woke the lights had returned, bringing a new sound with them. A gentle clicking made itself known. She nearly crashed into the wall as a mechanized hiss blew against her, a hole opening smoothly in the wall opposite. With a snort, she danced from side to side, watching the dark abyss fearfully. Where the hell was she? Whoever had dared commit this violence against her had made a huge mistake. There was murder in her eyes as she caught her first glimpse of her captor.
She had not seen his kind in years. Back when her coat was made of cream and satin, and her youth was before her. Erect on two legs, they had harried her people ruthlessly in the days before she had found sanctuary in Beqanna. Man. This was a breed she knew, and yet this tribe was far different from those she remembered. Clad in loose garments, colored seemingly by rank. And all subject to a queen, the female in blood red and white. Her position in this place was made painfully clear.
◇◇◇
There were three injections. The first was a mere sting, and for days afterward eager faces paraded by, watching as the mare demonstrated seemingly endless strength and energy. She was like brand new, invincible. The serum seemingly afforded her the gift of vitality itself. Until one day it didn't. Exhaustion showed itself one morning, when her usual exhibition was due. Instead of strutting forth proudly, her pace fell flat and uneven on the rubbery surface of the arena. Murmuring voices went from inquisitive, to doubtful, to irate. Back to the drawing board.
The second injection brought no relief. Instead, it seemed to hasten the pathetic ending that suddenly felt so near. A sore, aching stiffness spread from the site, invading muscle and bone with weary degradment. Sleek hair began to fade into a dull pearl, shedding out in ragged clumps. Her hooves chipped with the barest of pressure. The once jubilant faces now barely managed to glance her way. She was a disappointment, and she was dying. Away from home, her children, any chance at life and love. The once glorious mare now stood at the wayside, waiting for the end. One last injection. A Hail Mary shot that no one expected much out of. The injection site was sore for several days afterward, a constant reminder. Each day that passed increased the sensation that she was fading away into nothing.
It had been several weeks since the injections began. The visitors had stopped almost entirely, all except the man with the dead eyes. He returned daily, pausing before the gate of her stall to stare. Watery brown eyes that she couldn't hide from, couldn't escape. He had lurked on the edges since the day she'd arrived, not speaking, or doing much of anything. Just watching, with a look that made her feel... dirty. She was sedated most of the time. Would not tolerate handling otherwise. Even so, she knew she would avoid his touch of he chose to attempt it, drugs or no.
◇◇◇
It had been three months, almost to the day since we had acquired the test subject. At first she was a triumph. The only one of the five collected to survive the initial injections, to thrive even. It was a short-lived victory. Dr. Mendez grew irate as the subject failed to recover. She took to wandering the labs late at night, checking and rechecking files and reports. A month into the new series of experiments, Ankh died. After that, the good doctor's behavior went from irritable to borderline madness. Muttering about how much money had been wasted, how many years of research. How many years we were all going to prison for if this failed completely.
The stupid cow. She stood there, day in day out, managing to look arrogant despite her ever worsening condition. Like a plant deprived of sunlight, she was a pale shadow of the beast they had captured. Where she had once gleamed with life, she now hardly glanced my way when I visited each morning. Today, her head barely lifted from the point at which she was cross tied. The sedative drugs had been weaned off over the last month, when her strength began to wane most noticeably. Now it was assumed that the nylon ropes at either side of her face would hold her sufficiently.
A weak cough heaved from her chest while I watched, bringing up speckles of gem bright blood on her lips. Horrible, weak thing. She was not worthy of the wonders that had been offered to her. And she was bringing us down with her. A lead rope hung coiled by the latch of her gate, black nylon and steel chain. We should have put her down weeks ago. The latch flipped up, and the lead rope found its way to my hands. I had not been involved since that first day. I was no scientist, only a lackey. My power had been imaginary. Used and thrown to the side. Their mistake. Her mistake.
My feet brought me before the pitiful creature, until I could look inside the human depths of her blue eyes. They could understand us, we'd been told. They did not speak our tongue, but could understand things given the opportunity. Hard to tell, just by looking at the dull emotions that flickered low in her face. "Unnatural monster. Couldn't do one thing right, could you? Didn't even try. I should have shot you when I had the chance." My voice was as empty as my eyes, no emotion emphasising the otherwise vicious words. His hand reached up to lightly stroke the length of her face. The cross ties held her in place, preventing her from moving away. Smiling tightly, I gave no warning when my opposite arm flashed forward, bringing the chained length of the lead rope down across her face.
◇◇◇
They looked at each other then, one in shock, the other in perverse euphoria. A welt was already raising itself across the bridge of her nose, small crimson droplets standing out against the milky skin. The spell broke, and she jerked back with what was left of her strength. A terrible laugh fell from the man's throat, mocking her fear. That was when he set about his business in earnest, striking over and over with the chain of the lead, bruising and breaking skin across her face and neck, shoulders and chest. Years of frustration poured out into the assault. Her hoarse screams fell on deaf ears, though they agitated the other horses. Her knees gave out at last, dropping her to the rubber floor, head still suspended upright by the ties. The sudden fall woke her attacker from his violent work.
Stepping back, he looked at the results of his handiwork. Purple bruising was apparent through her thin coat, blood trickling from a dozen lacerations. Her ribs moved in short, heavy gasps, working hard to get oxygen negotiated. One eye was swollen shut, blood leaking over it from the cut in her brow. Blood was also leaking steadily from both nostrils. Pain beyond anything she had ever experienced before radiated against her skull, drowning out all thoughts but one. Let it end. Let this finally end. The only sounds left were both of their labored breaths, and the steady rhythm of the beaten mares blood dripping to the floor. Two things then happened at once. Sabra's breath stopped in her chest, and Doctor Mendez' shrill voice screamed from the offices opposite.
"What the FUCK have you...done...?" The short latina woman had sprinted across the arena and now stood outside the stall, horror on her face as she absorbed the scene within. Other early morning workers were arriving, and all were drawn to the drama unfolding. The intensifying sunlight suddenly suffocated, leaving the building dark inside. The temperature plummeted, until whorls of horefrost began to etch themselves across the steel desks and the concrete floor. It was like standing at the heart of a hurricane, or watching a new star be born from the cosmic ether. That eerie, sucking quiet that heralds a tidal wave. And then the wind began to howl.
Pressure built inside the building, until it felt almost unbearable. Capillaries began to leak when with an audible crash, it was released. It was thunder and lightning. It was a hurricane. Inside the building black clouds were forming, mounding, obscuring the vision of all around. That made it very easy to see when the prostate mare began to glow with crackling electricity. She rose from the floor, held up by some unseen force when consciousness found her once more. Eyes snapped open. Their clear depths had been replaced with pits of flaring blue energy, static held the ragged ends of her hair out in a fiery halo. Intensive cold began to radiate from her skin, turning the nylon halter encasing her face brittle and shattering it into frozen needles.
She rose through the fog, a pale, thin wraith. The edges of her form blurred into mist, blue fingers of lightning glowing and striking intermittently from the heart of her. Water began to accumulate as a torrential downpour whirled around them. Dr. Mendez stood frozen, tears streaming down her face. She was the first to regain herself, backing slowly away. There was an anti-serum, hidden in her office. The trauma... It had to have been the trauma that activated the change within the storm mare. A beautiful disaster that would destroy them all if she wasn't careful. But if she were prudent... this may well be her magnum opus. </p><p class="template2_name">SABRA</p><p class="template2_quote">I'm Hell on Heels, Say What You Will</p></div></center>
Word Count: 2150, on the nose