“I’m sorry, ma’am, I really am. I just don’t know what went wrong.
Because four months ago life seemed good, yes? Sun shined, moon shined back, and mail was to be delivered. And I was the best at delivering the mail, oh you bet your horseshoes, ma’am. The very best.
I was a mailmare in those days, see. Wasn’t exactly my talent but it was absolutely my passion. But the Equestrian Postal Service wasn’t in the best of times, ma’am, and things needed to go smoother than an oiled alligator across a melting glacier. And as much as I’ve tried, ma’am, passion don’t really smooth things no matter how much you apply. Mistakes were made. Anvils were creatively relocated. A rogue storm cloud by the name of Kaiser was rather misleading about the side effects of playtime. There was a fall, and an exile, and a lesson about friendship. But there was heat and somepony had to take the heat, ma’am.
They took my hat and took my mailbag and threw me out. Wasn’t them being cruel, neither. They had a three-strikes policy that they occasionally stretched into an eighty-seven strikes policy, but there were limits, ma’am. Limits to everything.
But that’s all excuses, ma’am. I’ve got more excuses where that came from. I’ve got the excuse that I was hungry. I’ve got the excuse that I was cold. I’ve got the excuse that I’ve got a little filly less than three years old. I’ve got the excuse that I was poor. I’ve got the excuse that I was scared. I’ve got the excuse that in the brain I’m not quite all there.
But all of the excuses aren’t quite the truth. The truth is that when Mr. Filthy Rich came wandering by and asked what was wrong, he listened to me, ma’am. And I was in a state where I needed somepony to listen to me more than anything, and listen to all my excuses, and to give me hope. Didn’t matter what he would have told me in that moment, I’d have believed it if it was something to believe in.
And Mr. Filthy Rich didn’t come across as a bad pony. He was a little rich, yes, a little filthy, sure, but he seemed nice enough. He had a charming grin, ma’am, so charming that I’d believe it if his special talent was said to be smiling. And he had pictures of his daughter, and I didn’t think anypony who’s daughter looked that sweet could be all bad.
So I asked him, “Mr. Filthiest, sir,” and he gave me a bit of a glare so I hurried right on, “What business does a business pony have with an out-of-work mailmare?”
And Mr. Rich said to me, “Zap apples, my dear! They grow wild in the Everfree, don’t you see? And while I have to pay Apples for apples, these apples are free! I’ll need a partner for this business adventure, and you’re a perfect fit (and expendible, I’d wager).”
He was offering employment, and employment I lacked, but that comes back to the excuses from before. The truth of the matter, ma’am, is really that I’m not a very clever pony, and I thought Mr. Rich was a really nice pony with a really nice smile. He’d talked to me when I was down and needed a friend and I wanted to help him see his plan to the end. I did it for a smile, ma’am. No lies needed.
We set out immediately towards the Everfree, to see if it was as Mr. Rich had heard. I was kind of nervous because Mr. Rich had told me to look out for monsters, but my eye kept slipping, ma’am. I tried to tell Mr. Rich but I couldn’t quite figure out the words to say that I was occasionally a bit, well, derpy. So I just kept turning around to stare at him, well, sort of, in the hopes he’d realise it was a serious medical condition that might impede my duties as Adventuring Assistant and, most importantly, that it wasn’t my fault. I think he just found it creepy.
But we were lucky and we didn’t run into any monsters. We didn’t walk into any neither, ma’am. We just meandered into the Zap Apple grove in the middle of the woodland without right nothing stopping us. And it was just like Mr. Rich had said – Zap Apples everywhere, without them being even in season!
“Ha!” said Mr. Rich, “The legends were true! The Zap Apples here are always in bloom! No more waiting! No more seasons! No more omens and signals and nonsensical reasons! No more farmers! No more ploughs! Tell me Apples, see these apples, how do you like dem apples now?”
The harvest is ours, Derpy, the harvest is here, and it’s ours for the taking so show no fear!”
And he picked up the axe he’d tied into his tie, and he chopped a tree down just like that. He gathered the apples and threw them into a bag, but by the time he was done the bag was full. He stared at the bag and then he stared at the trees, like he was trying to figure how he could fit the entire forest into his saddlebags.
And it was at that moment when somepony started shouting at us, and it was at about that moment that I momentarily forgot how to be a brave pony and accidentally hid behind a rock. And then a terrible mare emerged from the forest. She was striped like some terrible fae, and she was eating her hay in the evilest way.
“I am Zecora,” said she, “and I speak for the trees! What pony are you who chops down these trees just as you please?”
And Filthy said, “Why the devil are you speaking in rhyme? Speak normal for once and stop wasting my time!”
“Oh, your time is precious, of that I have no doubt,” quoth Zecora, “But the Timber Wolves are coming! Go on now, get out!”
And it was a terrible sight, a wretched sight, a sight so scary I was glad I only really saw it with one eye. It was like the trees came alive, branch into fang and root into claw. I saw them start towards us, and that was all that I saw.
Mr. Rich started running, and I thought that there was something to that. So I bolted along with him, ma’am, and ran as fast as my hooves could carry me, for as long as my lungs would allow me. I’m not normally one for running, ma’am, but when the trees come at you with fangs and claws I’m one to make an exception.
I swear, ma’am, I felt teeth in my tail and claws on my legs, but I ran like a mailmare. We emerged from the woods and it was like the trees behind us were howling for our blood. Checking my tail, it was full of twigs and rocks and Mr. Rich’s good suit was tattered and torn. He had a look on his face, ma’am, a look like nothing I’d imagined of him. Fury and rage were his as he yelled at the trees.
“Just you wait! Just you see! This wretched forest will soon belong to me!”
A little scary to see, a pony yelling at trees. But even though I usually only recall three of six Elements at a time I was remembering loyalty then and it was loyalty that kept me from running home. I stood by, both idle and uncertain, waiting for the yelling to stop. Eventually Mr. Rich came to a stop and just sort of sat and stared.
As he stared I heard a rumbling from behind us. I didn’t look at first, thinking it was just a passing train or a crashing zepplin or some other everyday occurance. Moreover, as far as I was concerned, if it wasn’t bursting from the forest with fangs and claws it was probably all right. I didn’t really think to look around until the rumbling sound was almost upon us.
If it was loyalty I was remembering it was laughter that I was forgetting, though, so when I turned to look behind me I screamed quite a bit. It took poor Mr. Flim and Mr. Flam ten minutes to calm me down, by which time their dramatic entrance wasn’t quite as dramatic.
They weren’t ponies to give up just because one of their audience had spent ten minutes screaming and flailing, and they were back into the swing of things right quick. Mr. Flim put on his grin and Mr. Flam put on his hat and together they put on a show.
“I’m Film, he’s Flam, we’re two of a kind, with gagets and gizmoes and genius of mind. We provide solutions, and you’re in a jam. Tell me, do we have an answer to this pony’s problem, Flam?”
“I’ll tell you what we do have, Flim, solutions for ghosts, goblins and ghouls. But I’ll tell you once and tell you right, I think our problem here is wolves.”
“Wolves! Oh gracious oh my! How will you cope?” cried Flim
“Don’t fear, my good pony, and don’t ever lose hope!” said Flam.
“For this problem, and more, by the Princess we were tasked,”
“And being the Brothers Flim Flam we responded too fast!”
“And we built the Three-Tracked Tree-Trembler Timber-Tumbler!”
“With the top-of the line Massive and Minor Monster Humbler!”
And now we arrive at what had me screaming so much. I’d seen the Flim Flam Brothers when they’d rode their Cider Machine into town, but that had been nothing compared to what they were currently selling. It towered above the tallest trees, a huge monolith of metal with three sharp axes swinging to and fro in a dizzying way. It was filled with jaws and claws and gnashing teeth and emitted a most dreadful smoke. It could eat a tall tree in a single bite, and I could scarcely imagine what it’d do to a pony.
“Perhaps a demonstration is called for?” Asked Flim with a spangly smile.
“Order early and often, we can always build more!” Said Flam with a star-studded grin.
And the Three-Tracked Tree-Trembler Timber-Tumbler rumbled forwards and the three axes thwacked out – thwacked three times, and three times a crash. Three trees fell and three trees were snatched up. They were sucked through the jaws and the gnashers and the stompers and the burners and out was collected a small pile of apples and a great heap of ash.
“I’ll take one! I’ll take four!” cried Filthy, eyes lighting up like he had back at the Zap Apple Grove.
“Good pony; in this business, you want in on the ground floor.” Said Flim.
And that was how I found myself piloting a ten-storey doom robot chopping down the Everfree. It wasn’t how I’d expected the day to go when I woke up that morning, but I wasn’t able to quite put my hoof on what went wrong. None of my decisions seemed outright wrong in retrospect. Just a lot of little wrongs, and I guess that adds up.
There was about one Zap Apple tree to five normal trees, so we cut our way through the forest. The machines chewed up the wood, spared the apples, and left the ash. By the end of the day we’d filled our tanks. It was then that the Brothers Flim Flam told us they’d got a magical Jelly-Jam Power-Presser that they were willing to rent us so we could make Zap Apple Jam.
Afterwards, Mr. Rich counted his profits, and he bought me dinner and told me I was a good assistant and a very clever pony after all and, more importantly, I was a good luck charm and we were going to take over Equestria. And I felt good. I’d gone from down to up; and if getting fired always paid this well I was going to start helping my friends get fired too.
But the next day, when we got up in the morning and walked down to our Tree-Tumblers, we heard the sound of tearing trees and branches. There were no less than twelve Three-Tracked Tree-Trembler Timber-Tumblers trundling through the treeline! Mr. Flim grinned and tipped his hat at us as we passed.
“Quickly Derpy! With all haste! The quest for Zap Apples has become a race!” Shouted Mr. Rich and he climbed aloft his Timber-Tumbler and began Thwacking trees as fast as he could. I hurried to do the same. I tumbled trees by their tens. I didn’t want to let down Mr. Rich, ma’am, so I tumbled as fast as I could.
And at the end, our machines trundled back to the forest’s edge and we took our Apples to the Brothers Flim-Flam. But there was a problem –
“Of Jelly-Jam Power-Pressers we only have one,” cried Mr. Flim in what could be called shock.
“And of ponies with Zap Apples we have over a tonne!” Cried Mr. Flam in a reasonable show of horror.
“A conflict approaches, as sure as the tide,” said Mr. Flim, “Suppose we’ll just have to let the market decide!”
And they held an auction, and it ran to the wire. The price charged for the machine was outrageously high. Mr. Rich lost, but the winner lost too – making an eighth of a bit on every jar of jam sold. And we were left with a lot of apples and nowhere to go. Together, Mr. Rich and I walked on down the lines of ashes and ruins. I tried my best to think of something to fix his problem, but he was falling deeper and deeper into anger, ma’am, and I didn’t want to be nearby when he yelled at trees again.
And then a voice; a once fierce voice, like a ghost of a snarl. It was coughy and puffy and not as scary now. It said, “I am Zecora, and I speak for the trees. Why do you use machines such as these?”
“These machines can do what ponies could not,” said Mr. Rich proudly, “Look now – it is your wolves and not I that have been caught!”
“And was it all you wanted, oh pony of greed? Is this what you sought? Is this what you need?”
“No! I’ve been set up! I’ve been scammed! This two-faced betrayal was not what was planned!” cried Mr. Rich.
“And not a thought to the ashes behind you, or the trees that’ll soon be few?”
And Mr. Rich got a grin.
A wicked grin. A vile grin. A diabolical, verminous, lice-in-the-mane grin. A grin so oily it could oil the gears that turned in his head, the gears that ground out the terrible answer to his terrible problem.
“There’s too many Zap Apples on the market,” said Filthy Rich slowly, “For supply and demand to meet... supply has to cark it.”
And Filthy Rich gathered the machine’s fuel supply and together we worked to spread it far and wide. Through the night we drove our Tree-Tumblers through the forest, pouring out oil. Filthy was laughing with every soaked tree. He had madness in his eyes and I knew I should leave. I knew it in my head as well as my heart; if I stayed for much longer I would go much too far.
But I wasn’t a brave pony that particular night. I had excuses a plenty, as you already know. That Mr. Rich would do it anyway, that he’d hurt himself if I wasn’t around, that there was no reason why his plan couldn’t work, no reason why his plan shouldn’t work. But in the end it was friendship, again. I didn’t want to let him down, ma’am, the pony who’d been nice to me, and given me a job and hope and respect. The pony who hadn’t commented on my eye or called me a klutz or a ditz. So I worked for Mr. Rich.
And in the morning he set the forest ablaze.
Monsters fled the fire in all directions. A dragon ran through Ponyville, and a hydra trampled Hoofington. All the locked-up madcreatures were suddenly set free to roam and made free to roam. Could see it from Canterlot, could see it from across Equestria.
And Filthy Rich, covered in smoke and covered in ash, came by the Brothers Flim Flam with his Zap Apple stash.
“Looks like your business just went up in smoke,” said Filthy, “But, tell you what, why don’t we talk about hope?”
There was no regrets in his eyes or in his mind, he made his quick bundle and left Ponyville behind. He gave me a bonus and said his good-byes, and he parted with that gleam still sure in his eyes.
That’s my story, ma’am. That’s how I burned down the Everfree for somepony else’s dream. That’s how I became a rich pony. That’s how I got what I wanted.
But ma’am...
I never forgot it when you said that you spoke for the trees. And I never asked the question of how you speak when there’s no trees left to speak for. I never really thought to realise that to get my wish I’d have to step on the wishes of other ponies. And I never realised how ugly fifty square miles of ash and stumps really are.
Sun don’t shine any more, ma’am. It’s just the smoke here. Moon don’t shine neither, or at least, not that you can see. Just tree stumps and the trash of stepped-upon dreams.
I still don’t know what went wrong, ma’am, but I know for that I didn’t do right. I followed him on because it was the easy way out. The way of not thinking and not deciding.
I could have done better. I could have stood up. I could have done something, but now...
... but now it’s not too late.
Don’t you see, ma’am Zecora? I was about to make the same mistake again! I was going to say that I’d lost and give up! I was going to say that it was too late!
It’s not too late. It’s never too late. It’s always a good time to be a better pony.
I’ve broke a lot of things, and hurt a lot of ponies. But I can make it up. I can collect the seeds and grow new trees. I can speak for them, too, until they’re big enough to speak for themselves.
I’ll make it so that you can come home.
Someday.”
