Work Text:
Benjamin lay in the hay of the stables, staring through the small window at the brilliant colours painted on the sky. It was only in these quiet moments that the aching in his bones subsided enough for him to think clearly. He watched as another Sunday slipped through their fingers, breathing raspy.
“Clover?” He called, his low voice echoing through the cobblestone hallways. The elderly mare quietly came to his side, steps unsure and wobbly.
“Yes, Benjamin?”
He sighed. “My joints have grown arthritic, my muscles — sore. I cannot work anymore. The pigs know that much. Sooner or later, they may dispose of me, if my heart or lungs have not given out in the meantime.” Benjamin lowered his head, sighing and closing his eyes. “I am saying that I do not have much longer in this world, Clover.”
Though she noticed Benjamin's deteriorating health a long time ago, her heart still ached hearing him acknowledge it. She looked down at him with her old, weary eyes. “So what do you plan to do with the time you have left?”
“Bring me a piece of paper and a pencil from the schoolhouse. A new batch of supplies have just arrived.” Clover departed as quietly as she came, leaving Benjamin alone with his thoughts again. He lay down on his side and rested his head against the cold hay. It had been a dull grey winter, but it seemed the greying donkey had lived to see the spring. The bitter chill had not been kind to Benjamin’s geriatric bones; They had become arthritic and every movement brought him great pain.
Before long, Clover returned, three sheets of paper on her back and a pencil held in her mouth. Benjamin stood, with great difficulty, placing the papers on the floor and grasping the pencil between his two front legs, before beginning to write.
Dear Boxer,
How are you? Still working hard and putting in so much effort, even after death? I wouldn’t be surprised.
Benjamin paused, unsure of what to write.
It's been nine years since your murder. Muriel has died and so have the dogs. Napoleon, the rat bastard, is somehow still alive. Clover's grown old and her eyes are failing. I'm thirty-five, but you're still twelve. Well, technically eleven.
I still miss you. Every day. I miss standing in the fields and eating grass, side-by-side; I miss your motto, "I must work harder", though it was idiotic; I miss your goofy smile and loud voice.
It's hard without you, I admit. When you were still here, life was enjoyable, if only slightly. You were my only friend. You were my only ray of sunshine in a life of darkness. Without you, I'm not sure how I managed to survive these nine years. Every animal took solace in your presence. They saw you, a beacon of strength, a megalith of power and determination, and worked ever harder. You never faltered, even if it cost you your life. Recently, Napoleon bought three new horses; Though they are relatively strong, especially compared to us, they could never, ever compare to you. In your final years, pure determination and mental fortitude were the only things keeping you on your feet, yet you still outclassed me and Clover by a long shot.
But you're gone and my life is now dark again.
I still remember every single detail of every single moment of my life with you, from when I first saw you, two decades ago, to watching the caravan slowly disappear over the crest of the hill. Everything else before and everything else afterwards seems like a blur. I met you when I was seventeen and you were three; I still lived right here, though the farm was owned by the much kinder Mr. Jones Sr. You were annoying, but you had just been taken from your mother, so I sympathized. It didn't take long before you forgot about your old life though, and, just like that, you became integrated into our life, a keystone of the farm.
Benjamin’s heart swelled with emotion, tears threatening to spill over.
I was still happy, then; Optimistic about life, same as you. Fifteen years of back-breaking labour somehow hadn’t crushed my soul. I recall the cheerful conversations we had; rations, life, weather, the other animals. Remember Alejandro and Pablo? Sally? The dreams of freedom, of happiness?
They say “one is not old until regrets take the place of dreams.”
I have lost my youth so early, it pains me now.
I have so many regrets. Of not cherishing you while you were here; Of not enjoying my life while I still could; Of not taking action and tearing down Napoleon as soon as possible. When you were here, I thought myself a decade ago a fool, yet I still do now. In retrospect, it would’ve been easy to convince the other animals of Napoleon’s clear megalomania and immorality, especially with the horses and cows backing the counter-revolution, but my eyes were clouded by my cynicism and nihilism. I thought myself enlightened, but I was really blinded.
Tears dripped down onto the paper below.
What does it matter now? I had my whole life ahead of me then. Now, I have a few weeks or maybe months of pain and hardship before me, that is if the pigs don’t put me out of my misery first.
Such is life.
A never ending cycle of torment and regrets and pains, like drowning, but there’s no surface to rise up to. There’s no use of thinking about what could’ve been, but there is in thinking about what could be. Unfortunately, that realization came to me a few years too late.
I know what you’d say to me if you were still here. Cheer up, Benjamin. I’d sigh and smile and go with you to the fields.
I miss you, so, so much. My heart aches every time I see your empty stable, every time I see the gate through which the caravan passed, every time I see the orchard where we used to lounge. I loved you Boxer, as a friend or more, I do not know. All I know is that I will pass with you in my heart and mind, and that I will pray with all my heart that there is an afterlife where I can see you again, if even for just one more moment.
With Love,
Benjamin