Fifth Annual Wild Violet Writing Contest Winners (2007)
Fiction
— Third Place
The
Ponies of Nare
By Mary Ellen Walsh
(continued)
She would never read "The Ponies of Nare" to her kids. And this
group was like the ponies of Nare: They had muted colors; they seemed
kind; and they promised safety from horror and confusion. But they were
death to her and Michael, and perhaps a fate worse to Ana and Gabriel.
She realized she was the only adult here who wasn't part of this group.
It was a terrifying realization. Sarah hadn't seen any adults — including
her parents and family — in quite a long time. She was very tired
and finding it hard to stay conscious. She leaned against the wall of
a large dark building she had just run into — what was this building?
A railroad station? It was a railroad station. It had some artificial
light in it — a yellow, dusty glow from the high ceiling, and dampness
to it. But there also was a sweet smell — like vanilla, her favorite
smell. Where was the sign for this place? Near the track — over an
old newspaper stand where the newspapers were old and were yellowed. A
large sign on the wall read "Throne County Station."
The name sent a chill through her, and she knew her flight was over.
Mr. Uriel came upon her, with his clean smell and bright eyes.
He spoke somewhat kindly to her. "You have nothing to fear. We just want to help your children. You must release them to us, and soon. You know this must be done Sarah, for their sake."
"And then you will kill me as you did Michael?" Sarah asked Mr. Uriel.
"Michael is dead, but that is not our fault," Uriel said. "But yes, you must die."
"I don't want you raising my children — not you, Uriel, not these people either. They won't have me or Michael as a part of them, as a part of their world. Who will we be to them?" She was backing against the wall of the station, and as she did, she knew she would never leave alive.
"Use your faith, Sarah, and know in her heart all will be well. You do have faith — a strong faith. You have also always been the type of person who sometimes saw wrong in too many innocent things — who was sometimes suspicious of kind things. Your husband understood this about you but loved you for your good qualities: That you loved totally, that you would fight courageously for those you loved, and your lack of selfishness.
— The ghoulish chorus of men and women around him echoed what he said, and kept whispering — Celeste, Celeste —
"Michael told us this before he died, continued Mr. Uriel. "He begged us to spare your life and that of your children. But we can only save your children. You no longer belong in this world."
And what choice did she have? Another one of their group, Dominique Rafael, kindly wiped her forehead with a cloth. Caress, perhaps that was what they were saying — they were calming her, and she felt herself slipping, slipping away very slowly —
Her children would die if she doesn't reveal where they are soon. She herself could not get to them, not now. The faces of Ana and Gabriel were becoming blurred to her — what had they looked like? Hadn't their faces always been unformed in some way? Not like other children —
And why couldn't they find her children on their own? Why did they need her to tell them where they were?
"Okay, they are at 3 Seraphim Street, in the upstairs hall closet. Go to them, but I told them about the ponies, the ponies of Nare. How they could not trust anything just because it was beautiful and promised them happiness. I warned them, so they will not answer you." This wasn't true, though; she never told them this story.
Dominique, a man and a woman all rushed out of the room to go help the children. They were going to her children — and her children were leaving her —
Mr. Uriel walked toward her as she sat down against the wet, dripping wall of the Station. He leaned his hard, cold face toward her —
... Dr. Uriel leaned his kind, delicately featured face toward the terminally injured women on the operation bed. His look of relief was hidden behind his surgical mask. The twins were all right. They were premature, but the cesarean operation had been a success. He looked at their comatose mother, Sarah, and thought: They come into the world amidst tragedy, with their parents in a car accident that killed their father and now has their mother dying. He turned to Nurse Rafaela and told her: "I believe Sarah held on long enough to give birth, against medical odds for someone with her head injuries. But we are going to have to tell her parents we are taking her off life support. They will want to say their good-byes."
Sarah's parents followed Nurse Rafaela down the corridors of St. Peter's Hospital to where their daughter was lying. Her parents would tell her about the twins, and how they had survived, and that she could now go to Michael...
— Sarah stood up and saw Michael standing at the end, standing by the glow of the station. She walked to him slowly. "I lost our children," she told him.
"No,
you didn't," he said. He held out his hand to her.
