Our Lives Among The Equine

by Fabian Corcair

Octy x 8 = X

Strings rubbed against its course edge across the metallic string, vibrating the wooden cello, both tightened in the grips of grey hooves. The metallic sounds traveled to the mare’s ear, zapping an electrical signal to her brain that she was hitting the right notes, prompting her brain to send impulses to the muscles in synchronization. Octavia Melody was enjoying her flow state, playing canon in the D in a motley of variations, no more different than how a cook added or subtracted ingredient to stray away from an already impeccable recipe for the sake of experimental flavors.

There on a wooden perch, I peek and hear through the hole, a crow whose feathers were matching the mare’s hair, nothing but blurry black in my visions. He haphazardly sang Canon in the D, mindless as a dull dolt tamed to the spoils of music, nourishment, and lackluster stimulation. In all fairness, I assume he’s a dolt since he wouldn’t stop obsessing over poetry.

I am the one currently in the Cello, I am the one stuck in the hole, doing nothing but feeling the cacophony of vibrations.

I am...

A spider, albeit extremely perspicacious.

An ambitious arachnid who dreams of being more than I am doing now, spinning webs, eating other bugs. I can sense the animals around me, their electricity, their sounds, their vibrations and interpret each as a language of their own. In spite of my massive intellect, in the grand scheme of things, I am nothing but a pathetic, pitiable bug who plays with webs like a youngling.

Their lives, to both my chagrin and exhilaration, endlessly give me an extra layer of substance to distract me from my meaningless existence. Since I have eight eyes, you might assume that I see eight different images, on the contrary, I can see through all my eyes at once, as my brain is preloaded with the ability to instantaneously connect all images into one whole three-dimensional picture for my singular mind to process. A similar thing happens at a higher cognitive level, from the past experiences, senses, reason, even their names, and I can semi-automatically piece them together into an overall story, and my imagination fills the gaps.

The vibrations stopped.

Octavia walks over to the crow and pets him; she massaged his neck with a hoof. “Who’s ready for their throat medicine?”

“Caw. Caw. Caw”

“Wow, your voice has improved a lot, hasn’t it?” She held up an orange plastic syringe. “Just a few drops more and---”

“Caw. CAW!” We’ve been through this several times, my love, but this is frustrating.

Octavia’s face proclaimed her vexation. “Sheesh, give me a break you spoiled brat, you want to sound like a dying parrot forever! Now, open wide,” she grinded her teeth. She peered into the syringe and found that there was no liquid medicine, she checked the bottle and too found nothing.

“Bullocks, I slacked off so we ran out.” She sighed. “Oh well, I’ll have to go out to gets some more along with my other groceries. Vinyl’s not here to take care of you, can you take of yourself?”

I take back what I said earlier, I need the medicine now! “CAW! CAW!”

“Alright, you can stay here by yourself.”

“CAW!”

“Alright, I’m going. I’m going.” She took a checklist off the fridge and left the house.

I hear no swatter’s voices. I crawled out of the hole in joy. The coast was relatively clear, so as long as I don’t disturb the crow, nothing should happen. I can’t stay in there forever, I have to eat eventually.

The crow scanned the area with deadly precision. He spotted a target and pointed a beak at the creepy crawly, which was me.

“...” Bug?

I stop.

Bug! “CAW!”

He saw.

“CAW! CAW! CAW! CAW!"

Daughter of Celestia!

“CAW! CAW! CAW!” I flap my wings ruffling my feathers in elation. I hop and swoop down to the Cello sitting on a stand.

I rush to the hole, hoping that I would make it before he did. I grab the edge ready to hide under.

He pecked and swat at me with his beak. I fall into the hole and land on my back. I struggle to get up, flailing my skinny arms. I flip myself upwards and crawl to the shadow where the crow can’t get me. My leg. He snapped his beak on my leg and dragged me out of the hideout.

I am dangling on his beak, helpless.

This is it. My demise. One of the history’s greatest minds, a snack to be eaten by those with greater power.

I drop the spider, only to catch it again. This time, part of the Spider’s abdomen was in my beak.

And so was my cruel life as a passive observer. I would love to have a dream fulfilled, any dream, I’m not picky. I wonder that if things played out differently if I had a body, one that could utilize appendages to manipulate the world around me, that would be great, having a voice, that would be great too. I could only piece things through with my eight eyes, yet I feel like I have more, for I can see through other’s eyes. Those gods must have a hundred eyes, as they can see through countless unique perspectives and hundreds of more that make up their internal convergent intelligence. Intelligence never dies, only perspectives. That’s what comforts me, always comforts me. Fare---”

CRUNCH!

...

Octavia pulled out the syringe out of the bottle. “Here comes the choo-choo train!”

I open my his beak and prepared for the drop.

The liquid dripped.

The crow’s eyes turn into pinpricks.

I swallow the stream of delectable liquid. The nuances of flavors tickled my taste buds, able to distinguish all flavors of the homogeneous solution from one another.

Something was missing, now it was found.

“Caw?” That’s funny. There must be a reason for this bizarre feeling, a sturdy foundation of reasoning might suffice.