I walk down the cobbled streets on a warm summer's evening, coming home from a begrudging but rewarding day. While my wings were probably worked down to the very bone of my legs from Celestia knows what, I couldn't help but present to all I passed a weary smile. I had just received a large bonus from the Postmaster, as he stated that I was one of his most efficient and trustworthy employees. It's hard to describe the joy felt when those wonderful words whisked themselves away towards my ears that have been yearning to hear that phrase ever since I joined the local post office. "Arthur Rights, I'm giving you a bonus." It's such a great phrase it could bypass all famous quotes from any author or piece of literature in history. Even now, it's still ringing in my head.
The sun is beginning to set, casting a lovely orange-redish haze upon the eastern sky. I decide to rest my bones a bit and just enjoy it. I deserved this reward, albeit a simple and probably a pleasure most would pass up. But I couldn't help but admire it. I took it as Celestia's gift to me for the wonderful feats I had pulled off throughout my six years of couriering letters and packages. This is the first time I've ever done this, as I usually get back home far before the sunset, as my wings are usually able to carry me farther in a shorter amount of time, but I really busted my chops today to prove to the Postmaster I deserve my bonus. So, I decide to walk the rest of the way home, and thankfully it was only a short jaunt from where I currently was.
I come upon my simple cottage near the outskirts of Ponyville. It's quite a small residence, with barely enough room to hold a small bed, but it's what I call home. I can't help but feel quite cozy and protected in such a tight setting as my current abode, but perhaps this is because I was raised in a small apartment in the early stages of my life. I moved to Ponyville when I grew up a little bit, as my father had found an amazing job opportunity as a Postmaster in a relatively new town. He thought it would be a good opportunity for me to make new friends and explore a more rural/suburban setting. He was the main reason why I got into the work of delivering mail, and upon his death five years ago he left a legacy that I believed I needed to fulfill. Well Pop, I think I may have accomplished that today. "Hope I made you proud, Dad!" I say as I take a swig of some celebratory cider.
After I chug down the rest of my cider, I decide to skip supper, as I feared my excitement from the events of today would have made my supper come up the wrong end. So I decided to take a tablet to calm my queezy stomach, and I settle in my living room and light the fireplace. It has been a tradition ever since I moved into my new house that at the end of the day, no matter what happened or what state I'm in, I will read a few pages of one of the many books in my two large bookshelves. I take to one of them and begin perusing. Sadly, I have already read or studied most of these texts and have already extracted all the knowledge that needed to be extracted. Then my eyes came upon what appeared to be a very old, dusty, and battered tome; it was bound in red covering and decorated with stunningly beautiful golden letters and intricate designs.
The author's name was unreadable, as sadly somepony had probably torn off the part of the covering that bore the author's name. It was titled "Fare Well, Good Colt" and was a rather large book. Upon opening it, the overwhelming smell that old books get hit my nostrils and nearly caused me to vomit in disgust. I had never quite grown accustomed to such a smell, but thankfully I was able to persevere through and actually bear to read it without having things painfully upchucked out of my throat. On the inside of the cover, a phrase was written in gorgeous and carefully-written cursive lettering. It read: "To those who want some change in their dismal lives." I gave a brief "huh" at the look of this phrase, but largely disregarded it and continued to flip the pages till I reached Chapter One.
I held the book between my teeth as I walked over to my one single recliner. I sit back and I begin to read, of course. Not much else I could do with the book, now could I? So, as stated, I begin to move along the sentences. First at my regular reading pace, calmly soaking in the words and processing them. But as I kept reading, I was beginning to panic. My eyes grew ever hungrier and addicted to the text provided on every single page. I was reading at quite the increased rate, as did my heart as it raced at possibly light speed. My eyes could not stop reading, darting left to right like the faster Wonder Bolt. I could not even blink; my eyes prohibited it as it had quickly become a pointless blockade between them and the text.
I slammed down the book which I had just finished; sweat was racing down the side of my face as I breathed heavily and my heart tried to slow itself down. I wiped tears out of my eyes and went to fetch a glass of water, as my throat was parched for some unknown reason. Never had any book invoked such emotion or insatiable desire that I was physically unable to put it down and stop reading. After I guzzled down my first glass, I took another and splashed it all over my face and yelled to the top of my lungs. I cannot explain exactly why I did that, but it felt like something that was right to do.
I glanced over at the book again in disbelief, hoping that it was just some sort of odd figment of my imagination. It wasn't. It was still on the small end table next to my recliner, right where I had left it. I had to bite myself because I was in complete disbelief that this was reality. I thought that perhaps that I had passed out on the floor from exhaustion, but the sharp and sudden pain the hard chomp I inflicted on my leg had proved that I was, indeed, awake and responsive. I stared again at the book again, not knowing what to do.
I decided to go to bed, at that point. I dared not to touch the book, in fear that the incident may happen again. As I crawled underneath my covers, and laid in my bed, I found that I was unable to even close my eyes. My mind was racing with thoughts of what was written inside of that book, "Fare Well, Good Colt" Because of that book, I couldn't look at life the same way anymore. I thought I was happy, I thought that I had fulfilled everything which I had dreamed of, but that book said otherwise, and I agree with it completely. That book... it told the life of a pony, and although the pony's name was never outright said, the book many times insinuated who it was. The main character was me.
Everything about the pony's life, all of his experiences and memories... They were all shockingly identical to mine. No, not identical, that would make some assume that there would be some differences. His experiences were my experiences, and I doubt that it's complete chance that my entire life has been completely congruent to the character's. All the most significant things that ever happened to me... moving to Ponyville, making friends, becoming a courier, my father dying... All of those events occurred in the book as well. The thought that I never really felt like I had accomplished all that was to be accomplished in my life, or that I was the happiest I could possibly be never hit my mind. However, that book practically showed me that the life that I lead isn't necessarily one to be proud of.
You see, delivering mail is my life. That's it, there's nothing else to it other than deliver mail to those who need it. Other than purchasing new books every so often and reading them, that's really all that my life consisted of. Sure, I have "friends", but most of them are co-workers who I don't speak to outside of work, or ponies I've gotten to know over the years because I see them or deliver to them a lot. That sums up my entire social life, and it's how I've lived my life ever since I moved out of my parents' house, and upon actually reading it all out, I realized how dull and uneventful it truly is. Sure, that sort of lifestyle works for some ponies, but not for me. Even though my heart has been set on being a courier since I was young, I've always wanted to see the world and explore it all.
And that's just what the character does in the book. He leaves his bleak life to go out and visit the whole world, and experience the many different cultures and see all the famous bits of it. But one part that puzzles me is that he does it with another being. The book never says his relationship to this other pony, or if it even is a pony, all I know is that he does it with another being. I wish that the book could have elaborated on that part a lot more, as it's the part that intrigues me the most. Is it somepony special to me? Somepony that I secretly have a crush on? Will that somepony that I have a crush on marry me and literally follow me to the ends of the planet? I wouldn't know, because the book never says! The pony is brought up at the beginning of the journey, and only comes up whenever they are desperately needed.
Something else noticeably odd was that the story was noticeably unfinished. Towards the end of the book, a sentence is cut off and is never continues on the next page, and that sentence is "And then..." It puzzles me to no end and I cannot help but wonder who wrote this book or why it is unfinished. I rolled over in my bed, trying to clear my mind of philosophical things, or puzzles shrouded in mysteries, but I couldn't help it. I lied there the entire night, unblinking and staring at my ceiling as my brain kept mulling over all that story had presented. I hate my brain now, and wish it wasn't part of me, because that night was possibly the number one night in which I wanted and needed to sleep.
The next morning, unsurprisingly, I felt like complete and utter cow manure. I felt terrible. All of my energy was sucked out of me, and no amount of coffee or encouragement could get me to do anything today. Thankfully, today was my day off and I was able to catch a few more Z's before doing anything I had planned. Although, I didn't really have much planned, nor do I ever have anything planned as I am lacking the most in the friends category. So, I did what I usually do on my days off: I read my books. However, as I was getting ready to sit in my recliner, my eyes looked upon "Fare Well, Good Colt" lying on my coffee table. I cannot say why, but something possessed me to read it again, even though the outcome that previously happened was completely terrible.
As I picked it up and held it in my hooves, magical purple light flooded the room as it emanated from the book. The light was so brilliant that it was impossible to see what was really taking place. After what felt like an eternity, the light receded into the book, and the air fizzled and hummed with powerful magical energy. I glanced down to the book yet again, and I instantly noticed a shocking transition that left me aghast with my jaw wide open. The book had retained its original title "Fare Well, Good Colt", but there was a subtitle reading "And Then, He Made Friends". In addition, the book was much thinner with less pages. The name of the author was still blurred out, however, which frustrated me to bits.
I glanced around, not quite knowing what to do. Do I read it again? Will it reveal events that will happen in the near future? Am I yet again the main focal point? Also, how scary is it that I begin to think about how I never have anything planned, due to a lack of friends, that this book suddenly seems to have an answer to my woes. Well, there was only way to find out, and that was by reading it. I timidly opened the book cover, not knowing what to expect, as the effects the book will have on me could be marginally different, or completely the same. Either way, I wasn't too eager to feel those effects yet again. I flipped the cover over completely, and before my eyeballs hadn't even glanced upon the first word, I had blacked out.
I awoke later that night; my head hurting and my eyes itchy. The book lay on my chair, smoking for some odd reason, but it eventually petered out. I stood up, and yet again, an uncontrollable thirst came over me, and I gulped down three glasses of water. I propped up against my kitchen counter, and I tried to recall the events that took place in the book. Yet again, the story seemed to be centered around me, but this time, it took place in the present to near future instead of some unknown time that may or may not happen. What was odd was that this time, it was in the format of a journal entry, with dates and everything. So if this really is a book foretelling my future, then I can keep this at hoof and know exactly when these events will happen!
I decided to try to calm down, as this made me excited. The book foretold adventures, parties, events, and so much more in my future with new-found friends! It sounded so wonderful! I decided to just let my excitement out, because containing it probably isn't all that healthy. After drinking yet another glass of water due to my complaining, dry throat, it appeared as if it was already about time for bed to get ready for work the next day. I had to blink twice and rub my eyes, because I believed they were lying to me when I looked upon the clock. I had been out for six hours! It almost seemed as if each time I read this book, the aftermath was getting worse and longer. I feared that fact, but what was the cost? Only being knocked out for a little bit? Okay, a long bit. Even though it knocks me out, I believed that knowing what lay ahead for me was a far greater benefit than just being knocked out and being thirsty.
So, after a short meal, I laid my most favorite book on the coffee table again, and went to lay down in my bed. I was surprisingly tired, and fell asleep quite quickly. I was excited for the days to come, when I'd make some new friends. And the first one was one pony I've had a crush on ever since I've moved here.
