She wants to fly, not ride and flapflapflapflapflap. No wings to fly. Then she realized she would ride at the same time, with wings cutting through currents - do horses eat currants? - so maybe she should stay in the electric stable.

Instead of biologic neighs, there were childreny whinnies, and nays that the children whined for the undead mares, when the youngsters were snatched away by mommy's claws or daddy's talons.

The parents had saddles, too. They were strapped for life to the whiners. And they always whined. So did the parents. It was sad, but there were times. They could fly, but too often, they lost control and nosedove.

The young carousel operator wanted all the children to go away with their masters and masterettes, so that she could go home and watch the telephone. It always did not ring, that phone, and she thought if she were there, at home, it would, and she would be ready when it happened. But she forgot that a watched phone never boils. And if the pot in the kitchen was black, then she would have something to call it, and someone would call her, and the phone would ring. Maybe a bird would sing.

No, it would be a horse. Unlike the parents who had saddles, and the kids who wanted them, there were horses with saddles of a different breed. Their bred bread led her to bed, harassing and mounting and saddling her, too. That's why the beasts surrounding her now made her anxious and anxious to leave. They had no hearts, like their animate cousins; no love to offer, nor ear any softer, equestrians all!

An equestrienne walked by. The young woman spread out her wings to reach her, but the cousins of les b�tes kicked her back, galloping around and around. The bird called her now, but she could not pick up the phone.

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