There was nothing that we could do to stop them; the wild horses just kept coming. Driven by the mean beat of the helicopter blades they ran before us and into the pens as they screamed for their lives.
We prayed that they would not come, in fact, we prayed to every god worshiped by man but they ran in fear before us, anyway.
We called everyone that could possibly help, be it press or political, and the wild horses still continued to run. The pens filled, the screams of terror multiplied yet they continued to come.
There was no way to stop them, there was no one who was listening; we held each other and cried as the shattered spirits stood in their imprisoning pens pacing and fearful, their wonderful lives ended.
Phones ring, emails fly and fax machines churn out the message that the wild horses continue to fill the pens, yet the call for help is not heard.
We know of other herds, running in desperation across our public lands, filling up the pens, tens of thousands of them and they continue to keep coming.
In the dead of night, when our eyes are closed we can hear the distant calls from the wild horses who have lost all and have no hope; yet they continue to come. Even in our dreams, we cannot stop them.
But the nightmare that stalks us is not the beating of the hooves, the screams of terror or the vision of the dusty pens filled with once grand and glorious souls.
The dream of dread that chills our soul is the sound of silence, the vision of empty pens, the feeling of helplessness and loss because the wild horses are no longer running; they are no longer coming as they are no more.
The American dream that we leave for our children and share with the world is that the wild horses are gone, the last one has run into the pen and all the wild horses are finished.
The dream is the nightmare that one day, soon, we will look at each other and ask, “where were you the day the last wild mustang disappeared?” and all will be cloaked in silence as the wild horses will no longer be coming.
Our prayers will be answered, our messages will be received as inaction turns into action and our last wild horse becomes nothing more than a dim memory.
The wild horses have, finally, stopped coming.
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