Beat The Clock.

Jan 27 - Beach

Waves of sea water lapped at May's feet as she stood along the shore just down hill from her private ranch. The private side of Catalina offered solace in the quiet winter months as few remained where the sun could be found just a hundred miles or so to the mainland. She dug her toes deeper in the granules of sand as she gaze off into to the early evening sky. It was beautiful here. Close to perfection. A prison of paradise.

As the wind swept across the beach, she hugged her sweater closer to her body, careful to favor her right side. Roger had gone to California for business, but have left strict instructions on how things were to be managed while he was gone. Fifteen years of marriage has not made her fit to handle his stables, he had stated, looking down at her sprawled on kitchen's white marble floor. She was like wild mare that needed constant direction in order to be tamed. The black and blue bruises forming along her ribcage were to there to remind her of that fact.

The climb up the dune was bitter and sweet. There were no raised voices or hands in her presence, just the steady thunder of waves meeting the shore.

The few hands still left on the property tipped there hats as they finished their rounds. Little to no tourist action left little for them to do expect walk and run the dozen horses in the stables. Except, of course, Hera - Roger's prized black Arabian mare. She was to be handled only by him. May knew exactly how that felt.

She took a deep breath as she approached Hera's door, wincing in pain, then doing it again. It got a little easier the more she did it. Simply breathing. Bundling up enough courage, she walked to the stall and stared into the dark of her husband's other love. Hera was beautiful in breed and form, even in stillness. The deep, jet black of her mane caught the light as she whinnied and clawed at the ground. May could only stare in compassion and shame.

He holds on so tight. He'll never let me go.

The words rang in her head as her hand reached for the latch. There was something so violently wrong to be shackled when you are born to run free. May found herself walking backwards, the door to the stall coming with her. Hera did not move from her place in the midst of her surroundings. Too scared, May thought. Too frightened of what could happen next.

"Go!" May shouted, the sound vibrating through her lungs. "Go! Run!"

Hera took off out of the stables, down the sand dune, onto the beach with bits of sand and surf flying behind her. She was majestic with the muscles in her sleek body taking flight down the stretch of shore. Shouts from the ranch hands were distant in May's ears as she watched Roger's prized possession run free.

Just breathe, she thought. It hurts a little less every time.