Under the foot of the horse

Regretfully the same couldn’t be said for the New Year. My parents, no longer divorcing, had returned to be the bane of my life. They’d also taken a liking to equestrian sport. Most notably, dead equestrian sport.

Using what odd powers they could obtain from local’s hereabouts, and by having the good fortune of finding an aged corpse of an equus caballus conveniently lying in a nearby ditch. They henceforth, with much muttering, chanting and cussing at each other, finally brought the poor beast back to life.

I did, momentarily, feel some sadness for the poor three-legged thing. Until, by some quirk of fate, it recognized me and squashed my bowler into the snow—some few minutes after it had thoroughly bitten me to death.

Alas, there is very little rest for the dead.

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