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Dreadhorse Chapter 2
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In the corner of the same world, Maire stumbled through the crowded marketplace, clutching a bulky and awkwardly filled grocery bag. She was a sprightly seventy-year-old, her mind as sharp as her movements were unsteady. Maire was a master of comic unpredictability. She had the unfortunate knack of sending piles of ripe fruit clattering to the ground or finding herself in amusing tangles with the occasional street vendor’s parasol or stray shopping cart. Today, though, her precarious jig was more lively than unusual.
As Maire made her way toward the bus stop, her foot caught on an uneven pavement stone, sending her into a playful spiral. With a dramatic waving of her arms for balance, she narrowly avoided a full tumble but instead landed with a thud on the bench beside a dark-haired man deep in thought.
“Sorry about that,” Maire chuckled, picking herself up. “The pavement and I have a complicated relationship.”
The man looked up, his bemusement turning into teenage-like surprise when their eyes met. It was Henton, a longtime secret admirer of Maire’s unintentional comedic charm. He had frequented this bus stop, pretending to read while secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of her. For Henton, Maire’s clumsiness was like a dance, uniquely hers.
“Oh, think nothing of it,” Henton replied, finally recognizing the apples now rolling under the nearby bench as hers. “Seems like the city’s making it a sport to trip people up.”
Maire laughed, and as they both bent down together to retrieve the runaway fruits, an unexpected warmth fluttered between them. It was an unspoken connection that neither of them fully understood but had always hoped for in the depths of their hearts.
As Maire regained her balance, holding her rescued apples with triumph, she noticed something that had slipped from Henton’s coat pocket during the commotion: a familiar old book that Maire also owned. She picked it up gingerly, her fingers brushing against a handwritten note sticking from the pages, instantly recognizing her own name in Henton’s tidy script.
“You… know me?”
Henton’s cheeks colored, and he met her gaze. “I’ve admired your… artistry for quite some time. Your ability to light up a room, turn the mundane into magic.”
Maire’s heart skipped a beat. Life had always seemed to tell her she was alone in her world, dreaming while others watched safely from the sidelines. Yet here was someone who had seen her, had truly noticed her every stumble and found a melody in her cadence.
“Thank you,” Maire said softly, her eyes shimmering. They sat in silence, the kind that spoke of shared understanding, when Henton steeled himself against the shadow of doubt that whispered from his own mind. He leaned closer, his voice steady despite his racing heart.
“The rules… the age, the boundaries we’ve been told exist between us — might they be worth defying?”
Maire’s laughter rang out like a bell. “Rules!” she scoffed lightly. “I’ve tripped over enough of them in my life. Let’s break a few more, shall we?”
His hand found hers, an unexpected welcoming warmth, this firm dedication echoed beyond words. And as the bus approached, squeaking to a halt in front of them, they stood together — ready to dare the world to move against the strength of their united front.
As they boarded, leaving a trail of bemused onlookers and scattered fruit, a new journey awaited them — its promise unknown, its ending unwritten.