The Flaming Chariot

• Nicholas Borsato, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2011

The Flaming Chariot
The thick air was stifling, threading its fingers around my throat. My window is open but no breeze flows in. The humidity suffocates me; every breath I take creates a new fresh bead of sweat that runs down my back. I look at my son; eyes wide, enthusiastic. I know he is looking forward to this and I’d be lying to say I wasn’t. This is the starting line, the beginning of the journey and we are in this together. We both take a deep breath simultaneously to prepare for what is to come.
“I’m ready dad”. I smile as I open the pages of the story book. My son waits with anticipation. I settle in and read aloud “Chariots of fire” waiting for sleep to engulf his tired body...

Our story begins with a rider who is in a golden chariot. It is his chariot and no one else’s. He knew it inside and out. Familiarity swept over him as if he was tied to it by an unbreakable chain. In front of him were two white flaming horses of fire. Their power was like that of no other. They drew him forward at lightning speed, never stopping, never tiring. They pushed forward with a powerful unknown energy never seen before. Before him was a large stretch of road which was a forbidding pitch black as dark as the night’s sky. The only light came from the horses and their bright flame, but the light was insignificant compared to the dark abyss before him. A gentle breeze tussled through his hair as he rode on. For now he is content to ride along smoothly but he knew all too well that this would not be the case forever.

He turned his head to the right and outstretched before him was a great blue abyss that never seemed to taper off. He began to look closely. He realised that he could see other chariots with flaming horses pulling them along on their own stretch. The rider grabbed hold of his reigns and tried to steer his chariot toward these golden beacons but try as hard as he might, he could do nothing to change his own course. His horses continued to move forward. Eventually he gave up on his efforts and returned to watch the mysterious travellers. He could now see more than what his eyes allowed before. Some chariots over took his while others moved at a lesser speed. He saw the roads they travelled on. Ominous dark obstacles protruded from the surface of some roads while others were bare adding no nuisance to the horses stride. The Rider studied these people with interest. While some were standing upright with energy others were hunched over with bags set into their eyes. All the while the horses carried on their relentless charge. He felt empathetic to these people as he too knew their pain. He too had faced these obstacles, sometimes causing him to drive off on the wrong path to a place he did not wish to go. The horses seemed to have a mind of their own; they chose the paths on which they would take. Although The Rider could not choose where he wanted to go somehow he had a strange feeling that he knew where he would end up.

Suddenly the horses changed their course and began to veer off. He wondered what was happening. Then he saw a presence drawing closer to him.

I look down at the sleeping child on my lap, content in his dreams, comforted with feelings of protection. His chest rose and fell steadily. I gently lift him and placed him on his bed. A sad smile forms on my face. My childhood was never blessed with such experiences. Wanting to continue I turn the page and read on.

It was his father that was coming closer to him. He realised what was happening just before it did. In that moment the roads levelled out into one. It was now wide enough to cater for two chariots. Together with his father they rode on.

My son stirs and opens his eyes his with a look of bewilderment on his face. He soon spots me sitting on the old chair and calm resides over him. Understanding dawns on him we are both engaged on this rollercoaster ride that this story had taken us. I look down to the book and read on.

Soon the road began to split off and he was alone once again but the circumstances had changed. There was something different with the road it was littered with dark rocks that caused the chariot to tremble in its hinges. A sick feeling entered the rider’s stomach like someone had just dropped a cold stone into the pit of his belly causing ripples of anxiety. This anxiety quickly began to take over and soon became overwhelming. He knew what was to come.

In the distance but coming ever closer was an aged rusty sign that he had seen too many times before. It was off yellow with paint flaking off the sides, the image is almost too difficult to make out. It was black like the road before the rider and split into two directions. There was writing underneath but age had faded it so much that the rider could not read it. Then unexpectedly the horses burst into a brilliant blinding ray of pure white light and before him the fork was exposed. He could only go down one. The extra light allowed him to see what each option entailed. He weighed up the pros and cons and eventually come to a decision. With all his strength he grabbed hold of the reigns and pulled to the left. The horses didn’t respond so he pulled harder. Still nothing. Anxiety quickly turned to fear. The cross roads were very close, the rider pulled with all his might but the horses began to turn right. He let out a painful scream “NO!” Heavy wet tears rolled down his eyes but it was already too late, he was already on the other road moving further and further away from his preferred choice. He slumped down into a cold hopeless heap. The pain was just too great to deal with no matter how many times it happened. Depression slowly stalked into his thoughts like a dark wraith ready to consume the weak. The rider was completely overwhelmed by the fact that he could not control something that was so personal to him.

As I close the book I look up at my son who is wide awake with a confused look on his face. “Dad” he said “why couldn’t the rider choose where he wanted to go”. “It was because he couldn’t control the chariot” I replied.
“Does this mean I can’t choose where I want to go” a worried look was entrapped on my son’s face
“No, you can choose to go anywhere. Now go to sleep” I tuck him into bed his sheet coming right up to his chin. I get up and turn the light out. Just before I shut the door I turn around and whisper “I’ll make sure of it”.