A Series of Shorts

Her hooves brushed softly against the carpeted floor as she exited the howling winter air outside and entered the theatre’s warm lobby. She shook her head gently a few times and delicate flakes of snow fell from the earmuffs she wore and floated to the ground like feathers. Turning towards an abandoned luggage cart that was nearly empty, her eyes caught sight of a familiar oak wood case with a treble clef carved into the body. Smiling, she crossed the floor gracefully on her delicate but precise four legs. To a spectator, she would have looked as though she floated across the floor, rather than walked across it.

Her charcoal grey coat glistened slightly in the yellow light of the lobby, partly from the snowflakes that had melted upon contact with it outside and partly because of its incredibly smooth and soft texture. Not a molecule of stray dirt upset any of her features. When she reached the case, she reached a hoof out that trembled only slightly and ran it slowly down the length of the wood. A small shiver ran down her back and legs and she turned to look at a portrait upon one of the ornate walls. Her bright, violet eyes took in the details of the orchestra, the conductor’s poise, and the trance of delight that had fallen upon the audience.

Taking up the vessel that held the key to her entering the same world inside that portrait, she stood on her hind legs, embracing the wooden case with her fore legs. Her silky mane, dark as ebony, sliced through the air gracefully with the movement, not a hair out of place, and covered the right side of her face slightly, like black silk. To an unknown source, she whispered almost inaudibly, “Thank you.” A single tear hit the red carpet moments later, disappearing instantly on impact as though it was never there, just like this memory.