As the years pass, his once-shiny gold mane turns to rust, the intricate designs on his saddle chip, leaving white where the paint used to be, and his glassy eyes glaze over with blindness. His legs are stiff from running, his horseshoes rusted and decayed with the bitterness of time. His glossy coat turns to gray with utter neglect. They turn the machine off, leaving it an abandoned and decrepit mess on the side of a beach. Still, they won't unshackle his feet or untie his neck and let him go. His teeth are bared in a frozen smile of defiance, and his eyes reflect the sadness he knows. Behind the surface of his dried skin and dirtied mane lies a strong will and an unbroken soul. And where the music once played, a resounding, silent neigh is echoed through his frozen rebellious jaws.