Come Run With Us
By Gaeriel Mallory
Blackness was the last thing I remembered. I then opened my eyes and saw my body lying on the ground of the dirty alleyway, covered in blood and a hole in my chest.
"What happened?" I had not realized I had spoken until someone answered me.
"You're one of us, now," a voice whispered in my ear.
I turned my head to see a beautiful white horse standing next to me with a large spiraled horn growing from its forehead.
Looking the other way, I saw more unicorns, watching me closely.
"Come," the unicorn said. "Your old life is gone. Run with us."
I lifted on foot gently and pawed the ground. I lifted my head and snorted through my nostrils. Yes, I thought. This is right. I reared up on my hind legs and neighed my welcome to the world.
I ran.
We were the last of the unicorns--the only unicorns. Humans could not see us. But some joined us when they died. Those with good hearts yet die a tragic death.
They're the ones that humanity forgot.
Like us. The unicorns.
So we run and watch over them, running our horns over them when they cry out in the night because of bad dreams. We fight off the ghosts that would haunt them and defy the monsters that would take them.
But we could not fight human nature itself. That fact is proven by the numbers that join us each day.
"Come run with us." It is our mantra to the new ones. The ones who still remember their old lives, their families and friends. Their names.
For unicorns are nameless. We need no labels to validate why we exist. We are content just being, running with the changing landscape pounding under our hooves and the wind running her fingers through our manes. We just are--that is enough.
I can barely remember that I once had a name myself. I cannot even recall if I was male or female; young or old. Did I have a family who loved me? It does not matter. I have a new family now.
We live to run and we live to help.
* * *
His name was Jemmy. He was only six and he had red hair that glistened in the sun. He had a smile that was contagious and a laugh that made everyone near him want to laugh with him.
Unfortunately, he did not smile or laugh very often.
He more often cried, hiding in the corner from a drunken father or a screaming mother. He wore long sleeves and long pants to hide the bruises and he covered his face to hide the tears.
I was the one who comforted him in the night when nightmares hunted him. I was the one who made his father's arm fall one inch to the right, bruising instead of breaking the arm. And finally, I was the one who made the neighbors wake up to the abuse that was going on in the house near theirs.
The social worker came and took Jemmy away. I did not like the look of her; there was a coldness in her eyes and she did not attempt to speak to Jemmy at all.
"What will happen to him?" I asked the unicorn who had spoken to me that first night.
"He will be taken away and placed into foster care. If he is lucky, he will be put into a home that will love him. But more likely, he will be put into a home where he will face the same abuse he faced here--possibly worst. He will grow up and his own children will have to cry in corners, scared of an angry parent."
"Oh." I looked again at that sad little boy who sat in the in backseat of the social worker's car.
She started the car and began driving down the street. I hesitated before galloping in front of it, causing her to swerve without knowing why and impact with a telephone pole.
The herd watched as the neighbors ran out of their houses. We watched as the two ambulances came. We watched as the ambulances left--one with sirens blaring and speeding down the street. The other with the lights and sirens off.
"What will happen to me now?" a voice to my left asked.
"You will be part of a family and loved," I answered the unicorn once known as Jemmy.
I turned and tossed my head, letting the wind run through my mane and my horn shine in the sunlight.
"Come, run with us."
We ran.
--fin--