Dream Horse

The horse is still in the road, not moving.

“Move!” I scream. On my right is a guardrail—God knows some kind of drop-off and lots of trees. The car skids downhill. The headlights bore into the horse, a solid gray wall of an animal, straddling the entire lane. I jerk the wheel left, into the oncoming traffic lane. The car straightens but continues to slide down the hill. The smell of burnt rubber leaches into the cabin. After what feels like a century, the car bumps down into the grassy shoulder, rolls into a ditch, and stops.

My heart’s coming through my chest, and my hands are slick, still gripping the wheel. I can’t let go. Through the passenger window, I see the horse still standing in my lane, lit up by the moonlight. Moonlight or headlights? She lifts her head and, with one huge effort, levitates up and over the guardrail and is gone. I stretch my eyes wider, roll down the window to see better, to make sense of what I’m looking at, staring into the empty spot in the road where a glowing silvery horse stood.