he beat the horse with twigs, then sticks, then stones. the horse was not yet dead so it curled it's lips. blood poured forth and tears ran dry. he beat the horse as if it was meant for himself so he was doubly less merciful than he had been in the past. he watched the horse from across the road and slowly backed away. he let the horse breathe it's last breaths while the sun set over the black asphalt and greedy green of the fields where it used to play. the horse had broken legs so it couldn't run away when a boy of only twelve decided to have his way. his way was brutal but honest. he never treated anything in anyway he didn't find to be true to how he felt. he let his emotional response take precedence in each situation. he allowed himself to be engulfed in his reaction. he relished relinquishing power to the beast within himself. he loved the death beast within himself. this love had put tears in his eyes. these tears were of no consequence when he turned his ankle in the drainage ditch that ran parrellel to the road. he couldn't see the stone that would break his ribs. he would have to crawl in the muck for miles to reach safety but that didn't hold the same appeal as dragging himself back to the beast he had just beaten. he would lie next to the dying horse with the same shallow breath. he would bleed with his victim and pray that the wolves would find them tonight. he prayed to be prey alongside himself. he would be an artist that became his art. he was lucky to have tripped, to be given the gift of being loved by the world in the same way he had loved it.