The Way Down

The horse had to change his name

‘cause things had got a little hot for him

in town lately.

Apart from a few badly placed bets

and a couple of losses

he also had a feeling

another race or two

could lead to a broken ankle

and thence a trip to the glue factory

as he’d been given to believe.

So Washington Square

(so named for unknown reasons)

changed his name to Philip

(as in horse lover, of course)

and headed on out.

Philip galloped

through many a paddock

stopping here and there to graze

and dodging the odd farmer.

until he came to some open plains

and Philip got to fly free

joyfully.

He ran fast and gracefully

across the plains

in a kind of bliss

until he came

almost head to head

with a gang of wild horses

who were coming round the mountain.

(now, collective nouns for horses

usually extend to ‘herd’ or ‘team’

but these guys were wild

and wouldn’t take kindly

to that kind of categorization.

So we’re calling them a gang okay)

The wild horses gathered up

in a not too friendly way.

Shame, ‘cause Philip was quite excited to meet them.

The lead horse

expressing himself in horsey language

said “So…

What are you?”

“My name’s Philip.” Said Philip.

“OK Philip. You have a name, how fancy.

But what. are. you?

You don’t look like a wild horse.”

“I’m – I was a racehorse.”

The lead horse kind of leered at Philip.

“So you can run fast, yeah?”

“…Yeah.”

“Let’s see you do that.” Said lead horse, surging forward,

the others at his back.

like a pack of wolves

So Philip turned tail and ran

the lead horse trying to bite his ass

but Philip was way too fast

and outdistanced the gang

running until he reached a road

where he rested, panting, thinking

Well this is a bit shit, he thought

Where the hell do I fit?

So he wandered down country

Down broken roads

feeling somewhat disconsolate

until he hit a small town

called Better days

Population unknown but -

with a shop and a hotel.

He still had some cash from his winnings

so he booked a room

and hit the bar.

The few locals there

paid him little attention

and the bar staff

just took him at face value.

Second night he was there

nursing a whisky

when a fat, ruddy faced, ham handed fellow

planted himself on the stool next to him

and said “Hey buddy

whatcha drinking?”

“Whisky.”

“Hey, two more of those please Denise.”

When fresh drinks arrived, courtesy of a surly faced Denise

he raised his glass and said “Jerry’s the name pal. You?”

“Philip.”

“Nice to meet you Phil. So what brings you here?”

“Just travelling.” Said Phil with a shrug, accepting the whisky.

“Not sure where yet.”

Jerry mused for a minute.

“What ya do for a crust Phil?”

The bar stereo started playing Johnny Cash.

“I’m - I was in the racing industry.”

“Aw, you’d have seen some wild times eh mate?”

“Could say that.” Said Phil, knocking back his whisky

and putting his glass on the bar, pointedly.

Jerry immediately finished his too

and signalled for two more.

“Looking for work Phil?”

Phil looked sidelong at Jerry and said

“Maybe.”

Jerry evidently liked his whisky

so as his face grew ruddier, and he hit Denise up for more

he said “I got a mate.”

As he downed another

“There’s a factory down the road, might have a position.

If you’re interested.”

“What kind of work?”

“Security. You mind working nights?”

“Guess not.” Said Phil, finishing his whisky.

“Great!” said Jerry, clapping Phil on the shoulder.

“I’ll pick you up about nine tomorrow, take you down there.

Gotta go home or the missus will be more pissed than me, ha.

See ya then.”

Jerry left, and Phil decided

It was about time he turned in too.

He thanked Denise, who gave no response

and lumbered upstairs.

Sure as shootin’

Jerry showed up around nine the next day

while Phil was doing some lawn mowing

and honked the horn

of his big silver ute.

Phil climbed in, and settled himself uncomfortably

and they set off.

Cruising down the road

on a bright Spring morning

trees and bush either side

it occurred to Phil to ask:

“What kind of place is it?”

“Glue factory.” Jerry answered cheerily.

Phil stiffened.

“Yeah, so it’s pretty quiet,”

Jerry continued

“Just sometimes you might get some kids, y’know -

drinking and hooning around.”

They hit a wide gravel road and cruised up

to where two men stood waiting:

one a burly man with a hat –

the other a skinny, dark haired man, holding a rifle

with a cigarette

hanging off his lower lip.

They pulled up

tyres crunching on the gravel

amidst the willows,

and got out.

The sun beamed down

and the burly man beamed at them.

“Hiya Jerry!” He said jovially

and extended a hand, which Jerry shook.

Phil got out and received an assessing look.

“Harry, this is Phil.” Said Jerry

“And this guy here is Kurt.”

“Pleased to meet you Phil.” Said Harry.

(Kurt said nothing)

“Keen to do some work here eh?”

“Sure.” Said Phil

Harry eyed Phil critically

while bellbirds sang in the distance.

“Can you handle a gun?”

Phil blinked nervously.

“Will I need one?”

“Just to be on the safe side son.”

Said Harry with a cheery grin.

“Well…sure.”

Said Phil with a measure of false confidence

(he’d watched his share of westerns any rate).

So, they shook on it, and parted ways

and in due course

Phil cantered down there

to clock in at twenty hundred hours.

Kurt was at the gate

with a cigarette

hanging off his lower lip

and let him in with the key codes

and a side arm and shoulder holster

and fuck all else.

First few nights. pretty uneventful:

Phil wandered round the grounds, and the insides

No TV, apart from the closed circuit

but he did find a radio

which seemed to be permanently tuned

to the Lone Ranger show

which made Phil alternately laugh

and wonder what happened to Silver in the end.

So it went, for a week or two;

Phil stayed on at the hotel

became familiar with a few of the regulars -

even got the odd smile from Denise.

It was pleasant enough, and uneventful.

One night, a bit of action:

Phil was jerked out of his Lone Ranger reverie

by the sound of cars revving up.

He emerged, to see a bunch of kids down below

squealing round in circles on the gravel

two of them sitting on the bonnet

whooping and hollering

beers in hand.

Phil, looking down

thought it over.

He didn’t really want to confront the little bastards

so he drew his gun

and fired a few rounds,

warning shots over their heads.

The kids cried out

scrambled into their cars

and sped off down the drive.

Satisfied, Phil went back inside

and put in a log entry.

Next day, Phil was having a bite to eat in the yard

when Harry turned up

with Kurt in tow.

“Heya Phil!” Said Harry in that false cheery way

Phil had already learned to recognize.

“Heard you saw a bit of action last night.”

“Yeah, nothing too bad.”

Said Phil, while finishing his breakfast

‘Well,”

said Harry

“word is you might have been a little trigger happy.”

Harry chuckled at his own joke

which Phil didn’t get.

“I fired a couple rounds well over their heads.”

He said.

“No one got hurt.”

“Sure” said Harry, “but you got to realize Phil,

this is a small town,

and some of these kids have some pretty well-to-do parents.

I’ve taken a couple of calls this morning already.”

Phil was getting a bit surly now.

“And?” He asked.

“Look Phil. I’m running for council this year.

I need to stay on good terms with these people,

so firing guns around their kids-

what the hell?”

Philip drew himself up.

“These rich kids” he said,

“were doing donuts all over the gravel yard

I’d raked that day

and smashing bottles.

Should I have gone out and spoken sweetly to them?”

Harry lowered his eyes in contemplation.

“Yeah, point mate.” He said finally.

“But look, if it happens again –

maybe just give me a call

before you pull out the artillery all right?

Any time of night, I’ll pick up.”

“Will do Harry.” Said Phil.

The next week or so passed uneventfully.

Phil stayed at the hotel

drank at the bar

kept the lawn mowed

and clocked in at 8pm

for a largely wordless handover with Kurt.

Then came that night

Philip clocked in as usual

and cocked an ear

as he heard some unusual sounds below:

some rustling, some neighing.

“Yeah, some new stock came in.”

said Kurt

“Headed for processing tomorrow.”

Philip eyed Kurt

and Kurt eyed him back

with something of a smirk

before he handed over the keys

and left.

Philip waited for a while

after Kurt’s SUV had pulled away

before he went down to the holding pen

to find it crammed with horses

and realized, with a start

it was the gang of horses

who saw him off, up country.

But amongst them

he caught sight a mare

who wasn’t one of them

the most beautiful mare he’d ever seen.

A roan

with a white blaze

and round, hazel eyes

and she clearly wasn’t part of the gang.

While the other horses were nickering around

and eyeing him up

Philip called her over

and she came

with a slight limp.

“Hey” said Philip.

“Do you have a name?”

“I did, but I changed it.” She answered.

“Thought as much. What was it? You look familiar.”

“Rose Magnolia”, she answered, a bit ruefully

scuffing a hoof.

“I knew it!” Exclaimed Philip.

“I’ve seen you at the races. You were pretty good.

So why are you here?”

“I hurt my ankle a bit in my last race.” She said

“Next thing, I was loaded into a truck

with these guys

and ended up here.

So I didn’t know where I’d end up

and I changed my name.”

“So what did you change it to?” Asked Philip.

“Philippa.”

Philippa answered quietly.

They regarded each other in silence

while a world of emotion

swirled in Philip’s head

at which point

the lead horse butted in

and said with a sneer

“So, runaway turned jailer now eh?

Horse with a name?

Here to ‘process’ us?”

Philip looked around nervously, thinking fast.

“No,” he said

“I’m here to bust you out.”

“How?” Asked Philippa

“Just give me a minute.” Said Philip, and paused

“You can still run?”

“Yes.” Said Philippa proudly

Philip smiled

and turned and ran round the corner

up the stairs

to the office.

The keys, he had no idea

which would unlock the padlock

to the enclosure.

But then he spotted some bolt cutters

and hurried back down with them.

He had some trouble working them

but eventually got the chain cut

and the gate open

with a loud creak which made Philip wince

The horses mustered, but Philip said “Hold up, hold up -

let me get the back gate open.”

He raced for the back gate

knowing he had keys for that one

but thought what the hell

and used the bolt cutters again

working them with ease this time

and yelled at the horses

“Come, come!”

As he pulled the gate open.

He ushered the horses through

saying “Go, go go!”

They piled out

as Philip heard

the crunch of tyres of gravel

and the roar of engines

and caught sight of headlights

heading their way.

The last one out was Philippa

moving delicately

and turning to Philip

“You’re coming too?”

“No,” he said.

shaking his head

“I’ll head them off.

You all go down country

and don’t look back.”

She ran out the gate

and did look back

just for a moment -

before following the others

into the night.

Philip raced back around the corner

to confront Harry and Kurt at the gate.

Although momentarily blinded by the headlights, high beam

He could see Harry was toting a rifle.

“You bastard.” The stout man said,

“I knew you were gonna let the side down.”

And he levelled the rifle at Philip

who yelled “Fuck you Harry!”

and dodged sideways

as Harry let off a shot

and ran into the factory

and up the stairs

closely followed by Kurt.

They met on the metal grill boardwalk

and squared off –

Philip reared up

and he went for his gun

but Kurt drew first

and plugged Philip square in the chest.

With a whinny

Philip went backwards over the railing

and straight down

into the bubbling glue vat

directly below

dying instantly.

The light morning rain gave way

To a warm, muggy day.

Harry came in to the pub looking thirsty

and found Jerry

nursing a beer.

“Hey mate, how ya doing?”

“Yeah.” Jerry replied

not committing to a mood.

“Heard there was a bit of trouble last night.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, signalling for a beer.

“Lost a bit of stock. Thanks to your mate Phil.”

“Not really a mate.” Said Jerry. “I was just trying to help him out.

Seemed a bit down on his luck.”

“Well,” said Harry

“he’s way down now.”

taking his first sip and exhaling with pleasure.

“So what’s happened with him?” asked Jerry

“He came to a sticky end.”

Said Harry, with that humourless chuckle

that nobody liked.

Jerry didn’t chuckle with him

but instead drained his glass

and set it on the bar.

“That’s too bad.” He said

and got off his stool

and walked out of the bar

without a backward look.

The horses ran through the night

heading down country

until they found some open plains

and felt safe, in the early morning.

They galloped happily

and as they grazed

spoke glowingly of Philip

like a kind of hero, or martyr.

Only Philippa didn’t speak;

just let a silver pearl of a tear

roll down her cheek

and dissolve in the grass

and the soft, fine morning rain.