Serpent

A horse character. it's his history

Preceptions glazed over. Chassis was ripped from the future, tossed like unnecessary baggage into his memories, thrashing against the restraints that held him there, wanting nothing more than to flee the onslaught of his past before...too late. His fathers massive form loomed before the smaller, weaker version of the mighty Serpent. The foal version. Harsh words reigned down upon him, the gruff voice of his sire shouting obsenities to him. His mothers still form lay behind the demon he had once called dad. Never again would that title be bestowed. The words ended, cut off as if he had never lifted his voice, his graceful form sauntering off with the same untroubled fascade. Serpent scrambled to his feet, moveing toward his mother as quick as possible...as quick as he could without catching the notice of the larger stallion. Muzzle reached out, pushing against his mothers tenemant. Dead. Lifeless. Unmoving. His mother no more. Crimson coals burning where his eyes once were, turned with anger upon his father. That b*****d...he would pay for that. He looked once more to his mothers body, his eyes averting the bloody mass of her neck, as well as the gapeing wounds all over her body. He refused to even look in the direction of her lower body, the ripped flesh of her backside even worse than her neck. How many times had the mad stallion taken her? So soon after the birth of a foal, she had not been in estrus. For pleasure. Oh, yes, he would die.

Sides heaved with a frantic upheaval of breath, his lungs pulling in as much as possible and expelling it as quickly as he could only to suck in another stream of pure stratosphere. A wicked smile was clearly displayed on his face, damp strands of lusterouse ebon mane falling into his face, eyes focused on one thing. Fully grown, larger than his sire. Finally, his revenge had been wrought. The dark dappled grey form of 'daddy' lay before him, his neck ripped open even more savagly than his mothers had been. Hemoglobin seeped from gapeing wounds all over his hide. He had not defeated the one that had sired him easily, but he had done it. His already shadowed hide was covered in sweat, the jet black tresses of his coat even darker than before. Without a word, he turned, his breathing slowing a bit, his pulse easing into something less rapid than before. A new phase of his life had started. He left his fathers lands, the pain and hate that had been bred here, unfortunatly, not left behind as easily as corpses.

Haunted. Every day haunted. A trail of dead folowed him, reckless stallion seeking to win the approval of mares by challenging a stallion. What fool would challenge one that very body represented his own skill in battle? His carcass was a work of art, scars trailing alone every inch of his miserable constitution. He defeated every one of them, ignoring the femanists that turned their eyes at him, the victor. Over the years, the scars had done nothing but collect, overlapping one another as if each gash was carved into new flesh. Poetry carved into flesh.


 

Author's Note

spelling D:

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