This is one of my favorite things I’ve written. Hands down.

Since I love it so much, I figured I may as well post it, for others to enjoy as well. I am completely open to constructive criticism and remarks. This is not edited, and I’m not even sure if it will end up in the final draft, but I think it describes the main character, Cassidy, really well, so I thought this would be a good introduction to who she is, and what the story is about.

By the way, the story is Christian. I promise.

Prologue

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I met God at my first rodeo.

The lights. Red, green, purple, neon dancers allowing no room for shadows. Flashing and turning in the blink of an eye. Lights you couldn’t hide from.

The smoke. Rising from bad decisions and good times. Descending from the stands and coating throats with sandpaper. Smoke you could get lost in. 

Dust. Kicked up under hooves and boots, spinning around barrels and momentarily hiding bulls and riders from view. Dust you could feel in your veins. 

The energy. The hoots and hollers, the roar of the crowd. The stars above reflecting the excitement back at us. 

It was an otherworldly experience. My first clue. 

Mom had left to get kettle corn from a shack down the aisle. “Watch your sister,” she had instructed my ten-year-old brother. How could she have known the affect the rodeo had on me? Could she see the stars in my eyes? Perhaps it was evident, as I watched the runs on the edge of my seat, my knee bouncing, fingernails between my teeth. 

Or maybe she always knew I was a wild child. A soul that belonged with the mustangs and wildflowers. A child of the wind.

That night, the wind took me to the arena. 

I’m not sure how I ended up on the railings, feet dangling on the inside, back facing the crowd. All I know is my brother didn’t protest. Neither did the security. It was like I was meant to be there.

The dust in my eyes, the dirt sprayed onto my jeans, it was like a drug. And I couldn’t quit it. I was addicted to the thrill, drunk on the love of the ride.

The horses. Powerful, wild things with enough compassion to allow humans to ride. It’s a silly thing, trusting human beings. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this. The precision of the ride, the twists of the beast’s muscles as it tore up the sand beneath it. It was magical, it was purposeful, it was created. My second clue.

I remember questioning what I was taught, briefly, in that moment. How could something so magnificent be an accident? How could something so perfect be a result of random chemicals colliding in space?

I’d only ever been to church once, on an Easter Sunday two years ago. What was that guy’s name? The one that died and came back to life? Jesus?

“Did you make the horses, Jesus?” I remember whispering.

No answer. Well, that solves that. 

The rodeo was over. The colored lights gave way to bright white ones, and the final song played. I’m not sure how long I stayed on that railing, but it was long enough that the cool metal gave me goosebumps. 

I thought I heard my mother’s voice, calling my name. I twisted and hopped down, glancing back the way I came. The stairs I knew I climbed down had disappeared. 

“Cassidy!” came the faint cry again. I couldn’t pinpoint the source. 

I went down the aisle way, my numb little legs carrying me with difficulty. The hallway under the stands looked familiar. But the longer I followed it, the more distant my mother’s call became. 

I didn’t lose hope. Hope was apart of me. It ran through my veins faster than the blood, fueling my passion-driven search for my mother.

Somehow, after an eternity of twists and turns, dead ends and storage closets, I found the exit.

A few yards away was my mother, eyes puffy and tear tracts engraved onto her oaken face. And standing across from her was a man I hadn’t seen in two years. Dad.

I always had wings on my feet. You couldn’t pin me down. And somehow, I was rooted to the floor. I couldn’t blink. And for the first time in a long time, I was scared.

They were arguing. I could tell. Mom was waving her hands in the air frantically like she always did when she was mad. Dad, on the other hand, had his arms crossed, a frown just slightly pulling at the corners of his mouth, like he was trying to hide it.

“Jesus, do something!” I was able to say.

Dad said something. Mom screamed an incomprehensible string of words at him.

Dad punched her.

Someone screamed. It sounded like my brother. Perhaps it was me. 

Mom was on the ground. Something red pooled around her. Is that…?

A body obstructed my view. A lady with a kind face and red lipstick. Red like my mom. She was talking to me, but I couldn’t hear her through the rush inside of me.

So I ran.

The tree roots holding my feet released me at last, and I ran. I ran and ran until I collapsed. Until I was lost.

I didn’t cry.

I never prayed again.

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I hope you enjoyed this post! Y’all have a great week!