A seemingly well groomed, snob hill academy, right? Dead wrong. What lay behind those precious doors. Some wish to never find out, afraid the truth may steer the school's classic reputation the other way. Others dare to grow ever so close to it's handles, just waiting for the right time to press gently and open the entrance. Couragous beings choose to only barge right in, settling their place in the system of reputation. Behind these doors, lie the greatest display of rivalry and competition you will ever set your eyes on. Only then do you realize the greater scene of horse and rider becoming one, flying to the top. The only thing that stands in your way is your competition. Will you take the challenge?
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You Give Me Something That I Can Believe In (open) « Thread Started on Sept 22, 2007, 1:53pm »
I can't believe this moment's come It's so incredible that we're alone There's so much to be said and done It's impossible not to be overcome
Andrew walked into the barn his shoes scuffing slightly in the empty aisle. He looked around. After arriving the previous week he had not become fully aquainted with his new surroundings and the new stable. He walked further down the aisle and gave a soft whistle. He chuckled slightly watching a grey nose poke out from between the bars and hearing a soft nicker. Fishing in the pockets of his jeans he laughed finding a peppermint and handing it to the mysterious muzzle. Hey there girl, did you miss me? He slipped into the stall placing a worn leather halter on the horse before leading the mare out of the enclosure.
Putting the young grey mare in the cross-ties he gave her another peppermint before heading into the tackroom. He opened the wooden tack trunk with his name engraved on a brass plate gingerly. A combination of neglect in travel and overuse had made the one hinge weak and he didn't want to deal with a broken lid his first week at school. He kept it open taking out the grooming tote. The trunk screamed it's use with numerous scratches on the inside and the tarnish on the brass plate. The trunk was full with two full bridles, a standing martingale, a running martingale, draw-reins, a small plastic box of spare bridle and saddle parts, a bandage rack in the lid, a box of ointments and sprays, chaps, two helmets, his boots and Jazz's leather and sheepskin open front boots, regular open front boots, numerous bell boots, polo wraps and a hearty amount of saddle pads. The small tray on the top held small pieces such as peppermints, spurs, ear plugs, crops, socks, and gloves, along with some band-aids.
Andrew shook his head sadly, he always wanted to clean the trunk out but it was all stuff he used on an almost daily basis. And the spare parts were needed. Looking at it one more time he focused on the lid of the trunk, which held the bandage rack. Nailed into the bandage rack was a small sized corkboard, on which was tacked emergency numbers and numerous pictures, some dating all the way back to his pony days. He returned to the cross-ties leaving the trunk open to save the life of the breaking hinges.
He started to clean the mare, she had rolled in the dirt and needed a good grooming. Jazz was in top condition for a jumper. She looked alert standing in the cross ties, her ears pricked forward towad the open barn door. Andrew scratched the mare's ears handing her another treat. He turned the radio on quietly and kept grooming her quietly, appriciating this quiet moment...
You give me something that I can believe in Dont' let go of this moment in time I can't explain the things that I'm feeling Dont' let go
FADING
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