He had been enjoying the ride, the warm evening air sparking something in the hazy cloud that was his mind. But with the throng of people came confusion, almost a sense of fear.

Makeup was quickly applied.

"We're losing the light," a photographer complained tightly.

"Get him on it," another urged. He was clucking impatiently as he checked his light meter.

The old man's arms were grabbed. He didn't even try to fight them as they pushed and pulled him up on the horse.

It was almost a familiar sensation. This had been his experience with many things the past few years. He could almost feel, almost remember....

Almost, almost, almost.

He was lost in a sea of almosts. With nothing to hold on to. Nothing to keep his sanity afloat.

He had drowned long ago. Died. His mind was gone. It was only a matter of time before his body caught up.

He was in a familiar setting now-in the desert, on a horse. And he didn't even know it.

Coaxed by a wrangler, he grasped the reins.

A long-faced girl with dark hair and a lean body looked up at him. She was the one who had orchestrated this event. She seemed very angry about something. Maybe if he smiled at her she wouldn't be so angry. He instantly forgot to smile.

Below him, the horse snorted angrily at the air. Cameras clicked madly.

Men moved around, framing quickly. Click, move. Click, move.

The horse snorted once more, scuffing a thick hoof at the cracked and dusty ground.

Men swirling. Skipping, sliding, twisting all around him. He was becoming dizzy.

A loud whinny.

Other men coming forward, pushing past those with the cameras. The world dropping out below him. The horse rearing, rising furiously to its hind legs.

"Hold him!"

"Get beneath him!"

Sliding backward. Falling. The ground racing up to him.