Seabiscuit Vs. War Admiral by Eli

   Screams reverberated around the stadium, a thousand individual yells morphing into one magnificent roar, its decibals shaking the wooden stands, echoing into every mouse hole and knot in the wood, eminating from every available surface. It shook dust from the track, the dirt imprinted with the remnants of hundreds of races before, every footprint ingrained into the earth, scarring its detail into the hardened dirt. Beads of sweat dripped off the two jockeys faces, Seabiscut’s tamer in red, War Admiral’s version of the latter in black laced with gold, the two mounts exhibits of perfection in a racehorse, War Admiral’s acceleration and Seabiscut’s stamina two irreplaceable necessities. Necessities that would soon compete head to head. Their hooves clicked as the approached the starting line, the horses prancing with excitement, the Jockeys glaring with agitated anticipation and unparalleled concentration. The crowd stared down upon the circular peninsula of dusted earth, anxiously awaited the piercing ring of the starting bell. The two jockeys exchanged one more heated glance, the fire in their eyes burning with a passion that could not be replicated, their mounts rearing with utter exuberance , time ticking away before the beginning of the competition. A red flag appeared from the starters box, repersenting the matter of seconds before the bell as silence fell upon the arena. The clanging of the bell issued from the booth, crying out to every corner of the packed stadium, releasing a roar that shook the very earth itself, the roaring of mighty lion released from its cage to fight a armor strewn gladiator. Hooves pounded ruthlessly upon the dirt, their metal shoes relentlessly beating down, scarring the earth further, joining the thousands that were already immovably fixed in place as the two mounts rounded the first corner. The rail flashed by, the regularly placed pickets blending into one continues wall of white as the horses flew by, their strides in perfect sync, punching the earth with a pulse that could only be heard by the two mounts, as if both were matching the rhythm of a common metronome. Fans sprinted across the infield, rushing in masses towards the backstretch, determined to not miss a second of the historic feat. The crowd in the stands peered towards the far side of the ring of dust, stretching the ability of the human eye as they processed the information overload that was being hurled upon them. Flying down the straight away, Seabiscut pulled ahead by a full fur length, his stride swallowing up the earth and spitting it out behind him as he stretched to power himself down the field. Chunks of dirt separated from their orgin, flying into the air as if bewitched into earth by the metallic shoes of the two horses, personified by the momentum which the two half ton catapults possessed, whipping through the air at maximum velocity. As they aggressively galloped into the final turn, the crimson jockey eased back on the strips of leather in his hands, letting the mount’s stride tighten, enticing the horse that was just on his tail, showing him the opening. War Admiral sped up, slicing away at Seabiscuts lead, inching towards the exposed lead. Seabiscut was confident though, as this was all part of the prediscussed plan, for as soon as Seabiscuts dark hazel eyes saw the shimmering amber pupils of his opponent's he would not lose. It was not an option. The crowd screamed with horror as the Admiral caught his smaller competitor, their strides once again in a rhythmic sync, though Seabiscuts stride had to be longer, for his opponent was much larger. They hurled into the last stretch as Seabiscut caught the eye of his opponent. It was as if all the pressure was released. Seabiscuts stride lengthened, hooves pounded, breath panting, lead gaining. It was over. War Admiral sunk back as they flew acrossed the finish line. The crowd roared. The horse shook. They had won.