Let them run

He stared at the horses, all 500 of them, just yearning to run. He knew they wanted to be free; to let go and move as fast as they could. And yet here they were, penned up.

He'd acquired them as part of his inheritance when his father passed away only a month ago. The memories were still fresh in his mind; memories of letting his own ponies run alongside his father's, and the heady combination of speed and adrenaline made the day pass in a blur of color and sound.

They all worked together as a team, pulling and pushing, until they met their rider's demands. There wasn't one that outshined the other, nor one slower than the rest, they worked as a single unit to accomplish their goals.

He'd been only five the first time his father let him pet the horses. After that he'd spent several years training him how to care for them, how to anticipate illness and how to mend injuries. His first ride, at age eight, was exhilarating despite being brief. The horses had dumped him onto the ground after only 15 seconds, and yet he was eager to get back on and try again.

After a few bumps, a handful of broken bones and countless bruises he was given free reign by his father. At age 12 he no longer needed constant supervision and was allowed to take the horses out whenever he liked, providing he gave them a thorough rub down when he brought them home.

At 16 he started winning races. His rise from unknown kid to a well respected professional was as fast as his horses, and both won their fair share of acclaim. People tried to give him new horses, insisting they were better or faster than his own, but he never betrayed his original herd.

And now here he was, holding the last of what his horses thrived on. There was no more food for them to be found, he'd acquired the last of it. How would he feed them all with such a small amount? How could he expect them to run and perform while malnourished?

He had to face the fact that his horses were doomed to die. They wouldn't live forever, as he'd promised them they would. He had to hope they understood that no matter how much he loved them, he couldn't control the global economy; he couldn't create more food for them from thin air, and the earth had no more food to give. She had been drained dry.

With a sigh he remembered something his father had said to him, "It's better to burn out, than fade away." With that memory permeating his mind, he approached his horses, clutching the red plastic container which held the last of their food in his hand.

Tipping the container up, he fed the last $10.00 worth of gasoline into his fire engine red Hayabusa and turned the key. Sure, he'd have to walk them home, but what a final ride they were eager to give him.