Blossom The Race Horse Who Should've Known Better

Blossom The Race Horse Who Should've Known Better
There was once a very arrogant race horse named Blossom. Every time she ran a race, she would always walk to the younger and weaker horses, hold her head high, sniff at them, and say, "I'm the best race horse in the world, and you know that. You runts can never beat me, I'm the fastest one around!" None of the horses were brave enough to speak up and tell her off.

One day, when she was racing in Jamaa Derby, she used up all of her carrots too quickly, thinking that none of the other racers could catch up with her if she did that. But she was run and ran through three mud puddles, a large lake of water, a very bushy and thorny bush, and five lumps of hay. She was second last. "Dag nabbit!" She spat in anger. Now she could never catch up with the others since her carrots were gone!

She flattened her ears. What would the others say to her when they found out that she lost? They would probably laugh at her. Soon, she heard the trotting of another horse behind her. Turns out she wasn't last in the race after all! He was the most smallest, youngest and weakest out of all the horses. He saw Blossom.

"Why hello there, Blossom, are you last?" The horse said. His name was Wretched, and he was grinning from ear to ear. Blossom flattened her ears and was flushed with embarassment. "No, not at all! Better catch up with the others!" She huffed, dashing off.

Later, when the race was done, Blossom didn't do her boasting with the other horses like she always did. It was actually very quiet. So Blossom did it again, and lied about it. "I'm the most best race horse in the world, and you know that. You runts can never beat me, I'm the most fastest one around!" She said it quickly but proudly.

The horses blinked up at her with big, sad eyes. Wretched glared at Blossom, and for the first time in forever, the most quiet stallion in Jamaa spoke up. "No, she didn't! She's lying to you guys! Blossom, the most 'best' race horse of all time in Jamaa Derby, was LAST place!" He shouted. All the other horses gasped. They stared at Blossom in shock. Then Wretched. Then Blossom. This went on for a while.

Blossom was shocked too, she was flushed, sweat was trickling down her forehead like a waterfall. "N-no I d-didn't, th-those are l-lies! All l-l-l-lies!" Blossom stammered. The other horses began to laugh hysterically. It seemed very obvious that she was last, and that was so.

"Looks like the so-called best race horse lost it this time!" One of the horses, Emperor, jeered.

"Yeah! She looks like she's gonna lose her head!" Another horse, Lieutenant, shouted.

Blossom was curled up in a ball, sweat falling down her face forever, her chest heaving. She was humiliated. She wished a hole could just appear in front of her so she could jump in it, curl up and die.

But Wretched wasn't guilty. He smirked. Sure, he felt a little sorry for the poor racehorse, but at least she wasn't being as arrogant. Wretched's skills became stronger and stronger, and soon he was the most fastest racehorse on the track. But he never bragged about it, and the others praised him. Now it was Blossom that was the slowest.

Soon, Blossom slowly grew ill. She resigned from racing and it was told that she ripped a muscle in her leg and that she would heal very soon. But she didn't. She caught the Stone Disease, and then turned to stone, petrified.

Maybe it was the fact that Blossom only bragged because nobody ever praised her for winning, and maybe it's everyone's fault. Poor horse was never properly understood before death...

But at least the horses in the stable were kind enough to hold a funeral for her.