One bullet, one shot

[Russian Roulette]

Russian Roulette held his ebony head high and proud. He took one last glance behind him as he started up the ramp into the trailer. For the final time his eyes settled on the old man in the wheel chair, his crooked little smile faded. Normally, his lips would of curled back, his wonky brown and yellow teeth showing plainly. There would be a glimmer in his eyes to, but now, there was nothing. His lips stayed closed, and his eyes were dull. Hardly did he even glance over at the stallion, as if his attention was else where in the distance. As Roulette had been led past him, he had forced a small smile on, glancing briefly at the his noble face before returning to the same depressive state. The stallions bright eyes faded with concern, his owner was acting so differently, not even a pat or a kind word. Then, then he was gone. The ramp was folded up behind him and Roulette shifted uneasily, feeling that something wasn't right.

Luckily he was in the comfort of an expensive trailer. One which was painted a rich blue on the outside, and was sparkling clean on the inside. A net of hay hung from the wall at just a neck stretch away, if that. Over a half plastic wall he could clearly see his rugs, and all his tack as well as his spare material head collar. Currently he wore his leather one, with a gold place with his name engraved. It seemed to have extra polish on today, it reflected more then normal. He tried to twist his neck round as far as he could, which didn't turn out to be very fat at all, but he managed to have a quick look out the open top behind him. A string of cars and one pulling a trailer was laid out behind them. Then the road changed to a dirt track, Roulette could feel the bumps beneath throwing his weight. Behind him now, were more trailers, and the stench of horse hung round. Old mouldy hay, rotten leather and dirt. The young horse started to dance around in the trailer, and threw his head back, calling out and grumbling deep in his throat.

The trailer lurched forward, and came to an unnaturally sudden stop. This was not the calm, careful drive he was used to. The same person who had led him in, a groom, came round the front, opening the side door. Russian Roulette pricked his ears, looking for some comfort. Before clipping the lead rope under his chin, he gave a quick pat on his neck. Then they were out, a cylinder bar removed from his chest line and brought out the front onto a concrete surface. Metal shoes clapping on concrete was a sound he was used to. However, he was quickly backed into a small space with many other horses around, and a number slapped on his rump, none of which went down well with the stallion. Whilst he was unable to rear with the chain under his chin, he was able to throw his rump in fear into the person sticking on the numbers and was dealt with a yank on his lead rope from the groom. He snorted grumpily, and knocked his head into him before again throwing his rump around, this time into another horse.

Then, it was his turn. As suddenly as the mare behind had had her neck shoved into by him, he was pulled forward. Obediently he stepped forward, through a wide walkway with no other equines then into a large sand pen. Around, judgemental eyes watched him, as he uneasily shifted his weight around. Halted in the centre, he stood perfectly square, with his neck arched prettily and tail flicking from side to side. Despite his brave stance he was still nervous. Unsure of what to come, he started to shuffle around. As pretty as he kept himself contained, it was not quiet what you wanted for a child's pony. After finally being stood still, a small knocking came from above. Raised above the other people was a smartly dressed young man. Curiously Roulette cocked his head to one side, watching with bright eyes as he called out, "Russian Roulette. Two year old colt who has already begun his racing careerer, is said to be a real bullet on the track. Shall we start the bidding at £4000?"