I was standing on a beach somewhere on the west coast. My assumption comes from the fact that to my right was the ocean and to the left were a bunch of high hills with stairs on their faces. On the beach was an old, shabby recreational vehicle and a dead horse. The poor horse had been shorn of all hair and left sunburned and forlorn on the sand stretched out to his full length.

Inside the RV was a filthy little boy wearing a black hoodie and sweats. The RV was full of sickly green light, sunshine filtered by the sixties era venetian blinds. The kid was busy making a meal and was oblivious to me. Back outside I saw that the horse was stirring in the sand. He looked at me with droopy, bloodshot eyes so I sat next to the beast.

"I'm the skin horse. In there's the velveteen rabbit. Being real sucks." Tears welled up in my eyes as I heard the skin horse recount his transformation from a careworn toy to a moribund horse. I looked back at the RV and the filthy little kid which was the velveteen rabbit was peeking out at me and the skin horse.