The Mare at the Bus Stop
The bus driver called out that the next stop was Ponyville; we would be there in two hours. It’s amazing how quick my trip had been. I only hoped that the rest of the trip would go as smoothly. It had been hours that I had been sitting there, watching as the landscape rolled past me, thinking not about any one thing, but about everything.
I thought about how dumb it was for me to leave everything I had worked for behind, I thought about how stupid I must be for thinking that I could simply run away from my problems, from the stress, and from my shortcomings. I didn’t even know where I was going. I got a ticket for a bus that would take me across the country, and I simply hoped that I would find someplace, or something along the way.
I didn’t know what I was hoping to find. I simply decided one day that my life wasn’t good enough, that somewhere I could be doing something that would give my life more meaning than it had. I sold all my belongings except what I could fit in my saddlebags; a book, my toothbrush and toothpaste, a blanket, and a deck of cards. At the bottom of my bag is all the money I have, twenty five hundred bits. I only hope that that is enough wherever I end up.
I cursed my plan once again. Was my life really so bad? I had a few friends, an apartment, and a job. All hollow, Empty, Meaningless, I told myself. I took part in them out of necessity. They were like props, holding my life together in some foal’s puppet show. I saw the strings, and now the excitement was gone. I wanted something better. I needed something better.
I leaned against the window, my breath fogging up the glass. It was getting dark out; I had been travelling almost all day. I briefly considered getting off in Ponyville. I had heard that it was a very friendly town. But it was small. In all likelihood I wouldn’t be able to get a job there, at least not a job aligning with my talents. Its shame really, that that plays such an important role in the hiring process. Few ponies will hire you if your special talent doesn’t correlate in some way with the job you want.
I saw Ponyville in the distance. The bus stop was on the very outskirts of town, so we wouldn’t actually have to enter it. That was for the better anyway; if we could stay on the highway we would be able to get to the next city faster. If we were really lucky, maybe there wouldn’t even be anypony at the stop. I wasn’t that lucky, or maybe I was incredibly lucky, it is really hard to tell.
At the bus stop there was a mare. I don’t think any of the other passengers gave her a second look, but I was completely enamored. It wasn’t that she was the most beautiful mare I had ever seen, but there was something about her, something I simply couldn’t place a hoof on. It was like magic, which would have made sense if she was a unicorn, I had seen unicorns use magic to make themselves look better. She, on the other hoof, was an earth pony, no magical enhancement required. I would like to say that she was indescribably beautiful and end it there, but that wouldn’t do her any justice.
The first thing I noticed about her, and about almost any pony, was her fur. Its color could only be compared to the thick and flowing cream one might add to their coffee, and it was beautiful. Even in the terrible lighting of the bus stop I could see that was well kept, having the texture of only the smoothest Saddle Arabian silk. I wished nothing more than to confirm that fact with my own bare hooves. Her mane was amazing to. It was a deep red with soft pink highlights. Some ponies in the city dyed there manes, some were born with a naturally two toned mane, but whatever the case for her was, it looked better than anything I had seen before.
I saw her sitting there on the bench, watching the bus approach. Many of the passengers that had been picked up were, for lack of a better phrase, unique. From ponies that were clearly looking for their next fix, to ponies clearly looking for their next meal, and ponies that clearly had nothing left to lose, each passenger was different. Sure there were the ponies that rode because, I don’t know, maybe they couldn’t afford the train, but they always looked out of place. They sat as crammed into their seat as their bodies would allow, avoiding eye contact, or contact of any other kind.
She didn’t look like any of those ponies though. She didn’t seem concerned with the pony passed out drunk sprawled out on the bench next to her. In fact, she didn’t seem to have a care in the world. Her face showed neither happy nor sad, nor anger or anxiety. Contentment seems like it would be taking an easy way out, because it wasn’t quite that either. If I had to say it was something I would say it was enlightened; a kind of calm that could only come from understanding an inner peace. Just looking at it her put me at ease, I felt as if all my concerns melted away, replaced by the warm glow of happiness.
She stood up from the bench as the bus stopped. I could see her cutie mark was a rose. I liked roses. Cutie marks, not so much. That rose could stand for anything. It could symbolize a special talent involving romance, or maybe even perfumes. Hell, she could just be good at growing roses. But to me that doesn’t matter, I know that you can go beyond your cutie mark, have other talents that are just as special. I liked the rose because it matched her beauty, but I wasn’t going to let it try and make me assume anything about her, as some ponies do.
I scooted closer to the window so I could see her for as long as possible. I knew it was creepy, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want her as much as I wanted to be her. I had started this trip looking for something more, to be content, no, fulfilled, with my life, and she exuded that sense of inner peace. And it made her all the more beautiful. I watched as she stepped on board, looking at each of the seats, slowly moving towards me.
She stopped. She gazed at the seat next to mine. I looked from the seat to her. We made eye contact, and time stopped. Looking into her eyes I felt warmth, happiness, I felt love. Her eyes lacked the judgment of my old friends and family, the soullessness of many of the ponies in the city, and they lacked the restlessness I had seen in my own eyes. The green pools flowed only with acceptance, and then I heard her voice. It was soft, and soothing. “Would you mind if I sat here?” she asked. It was a question I think she already knew the answer to. I’m sure a blind pony would have been able to read my face at that point.
“I wouldn’t mind at all.” I replied.
