The horse’s hooves beat the ground in thunderous strikes as the audience cheered him along. He was bred and raised to win this race. He made dirt clods fly as he dashed around the track, faster than his father before him. His back was drenched in foamy sweat and he was panting for breath. The reigns were tugging viciously and he longed to be released from his restraints, the saddle rubbed his back ruthlessly and the weight of the rider was becoming unbearable. Faster and faster he traveled. The other horses disappeared behind him and he pushed himself harder to get as far ahead as he possibly could. Four more laps… three… The yells from the stands encouraged him as he ran. Two more laps… one… He was on the last lap as his rider hit his flanks with a riding crop. Victory was within his reach and he didn’t plan on losing anytime soon.
A little girl was standing on the sidelines watching her daddy’s horse run with all its might. She watched as the muscles on his back ripple as he moved in a fast and furious gallop. She waited breathlessly has the horse burst through the ribbon tied across the finish. The rider of the horse practically fell off the horse when it finally came to a stop. The horse then proceeded to collapse a few paces away from its rider. The horse had given its best, it had put its’ all into the race and it was spent. The horse drew in a single breath that could be heard all over the now silent stadium and the soft beat of the horses still running on the other side of the track. The breath was his last. He died knowing that he had won the race.

Years later a young woman walked into a stall and refreshed a vase filled with wilting red and white roses. She kissed her hand and then pressed it to a picture of a beautiful horse that was ready to race. Too bad that race was his last.