by Ginger, age 11

Adelaide sat in the little attic nook she called her room. She stared out the sky light windows and watched the rain pound down. With a notebook in hand she was trying to come up with a fictional story to submit to the annual school creative writing contest. Something outside the window caught her eye; it was the neighbor’s horse Azhar. Azhar pranced, not minding the heavy rain. Her white mane swirled as she trotted. Adelaide found an idea for her story. She wrote:

It was hard to see the white horse through the fog and rain, the figure became almost translucent, like a ghost of a horse, mane flowing, hooves prancing.

Adelaide liked it, so she continued, staring out the window watching Azhar all the while. Azhar seemed to float on in the fog, because the fog covered her hooves. It wasn’t that Azhar seemed scared or tense, which was odd, she seemed like she enjoyed the rain. She threw in a few joyous bucks and playful rears. Adelaide wrote:

The horse seemed magical as she “floated” on the fog and joyously threw her hooves in air. She whinnied into the air and shook her mane. She seemed so happy yet so sad.

Adelaide wanted the sun to come out soon, then maybe she could visit Azhar.

The next day Adelaide walked the familiar dirt path to her neighbors house. Adelaide took riding lessons there twice a week at their small riding school, and just helped out there a lot. She knocked on her neighbor’s door. The door of the barn, that is — the older couple were rarely in the house. A man in his mid 60′s answered the door. “Hello Adelaide, what brings you down here today?”

“Hi Mr. O’Connor. I just noticed your new horse and was wondering a little bit about her,” Adelaide replied.

“Well, why don’t you just go out there and see her for yourself. Then I will tell you her story,”

As they walked out to her paddock, Mr. O’Connor begin to explain that they had rescued the Andalusian from slaughter. They both wondered why in the world someone would let a high quality Andalusian like her go to slaughter. In fact, Adelaide often contemplated why someone would let any horse got to slaughter. The mare was about 10 years old and it was obvious she had received high quality training previously, as well as later abuse. When they had gotten the horse three days ago, her feet were so terribly overgrown it was difficult for her to walk. She also had a few other minor injuries, like scraped up legs and bad thrush.

“Well, my wife couldn’t bear to see this pretty girl be killed, so we rescued her. I have no idea how we can afford all these horses on our hands right now,” Mr. O’Connor said. They had just reached the Andalusian’s stall. As Adelaide neared the stall, Azhar also trotted to the edge. Azhar put her head at Adelaide’s head and their eyes were almost even. It was the eyes that first captured Adelaide; they were so deep and intense, they seemed to tell a story. Azhar’s breath steamed on Adelaide’s hand. Adelaide was still so transfixed on Azhar’s eyes, she didn’t’ even hear Mr.O’Connor at first.

“Say Adel, would you ever be interested in a horse like her?” the man said.

It took a while for Adelaide to respond, but when she said, “Well, of course, but we couldn’t afford her,” Adelaide said, with downcast brown eyes.

“She’s yours,” the man said with a smile. Adelaide didn’t’ say a thing. “For free,” he reassured. “We bought her with you in mind all along, so enjoy your horse!”

Adelaide had a smile so big it looked like she just won the lottery, “Thank you,” Adel said quietly.

She looked into Azhar’s deep eyes and whispered to her, something about a horse who prances on fog. The end of the story read:

The lonely girl found a lonely, magical, horse, the horse who pranced on the fog and reared towards the mist. And they became partners; horse and rider, girl and horse.

When Adelaide got older she would reach into her old notebook and see the story that won the writing contest, and she would know that was the true story of her and Azhar.