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  • Creighton Prep

A Rider and His Horse: Max King '20

The hooves thundered on the dirt road, with the speed of lightning. The horse’s legs were as solid as oak stumps. They were pumping pistons driving forward. The rider sat patient, like a falcon perching. The two were made of iron, but the iron was covered in rust and dust. Their adventures made them legends. Their story was like an aged book that was loose at the seams, but they would never close it. The people loved them because were a sign of hope. They chose to live free from the shackles of society. They went from town to town, giving their assistance to those in need. The only payment they would accept was a meal and a bed. The setting sun glistened over the rider, but his eyes were shielded by jet black cowboy hat. Just below the hat nestled into the riders face were two blue jewels, and rough whiskers wrapping around his jaw. The horses muscles rippled down throughout his dark brown skin, like waves. The horse was a machine, always pressing on. They were made for each other, inseparable. They desired adventure, so with his jewels he looked ahead. The roads have always guided their way, and the destination never disappointed. So they kept trucking forward through the deserts, mountains, and the mud. They were able to keep steady because they weren’t motivated by gold. Their hearts were pure as ivory; they desired a different kind treasure. It was the tears being wiped away from a child’s face; the old man thankful for the labor rendered; the liberation of a people that brought the taste of creamy butter on warm bread. They found meaning in making better lives for others. They discovered that people hold more value than diamonds ever could. So as they rode, and they dreamed of all the possibilities that were at the end of the road. The rider spurred the horse giving it a jolt of energy. There wasn’t enough time in life to go slow. -Max King '20

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