Knightsbridge

My name is Knightsbridge, and they say I’m really hitting my stride this year. I’ve even won a couple of races this summer. I’m starting to earn decent prize money. I don’t recognise where I am today though. This is a new course to me, and the longest I’ve ever done. But I know my job by now, I just need to run and jump for as long as they make me run and jump. It’s hard work, but I don’t have a choice. 

Jumping fences is really tiring. Horses are heavy, and every time we have to push our bodyweight, and the weight of the person on our backs, over a fence, it takes a huge amount of energy. The longer the race, the harder it gets, and this race feels very long.  

At the second to last fence I don’t quite make it. My legs clip through and I feel something break as I come crashing to the ground. White hot pain erupts through my leg, and I try to stand up but I realise something is very wrong.  

It doesn’t take long for them to decide that this is my last race, my last look at the sky, my last breath. I’m only six years old, barely an adult, and already my life will be ended. 

My name was Knightsbridge. I was someone.