As I look back on the many hardships I’ve been through, I begin to feel quite old. I realize that it’s been five whole years since my life had changed drastically due to the Book. Even to this day, I’m vexed by its puzzling attributes, and whether or not it was designed with malicious intent or for the education and betterment of a pony’s life. I ask my wife what she thinks occasionally. She looks at me with a sparkle in her eyes, giving me the same answer she always does: “It got you married to me, didn’t it?” and thus kisses me on the cheek and resumes whatever task she was doing.
Though she is right—and I’m quite happily married to her—I’m still puzzled to bits over the Book. Millions of questions flutter around my head day after day, night after night regarding this damned book. I’ve tried so many times to stop worrying about it and relax, but the thoughts eventually just wander back into my head and cement themselves there. And so, after many months of these thoughts, I’ve convinced myself that the Book had a long-term effect on my mental stability, and it is slowly dragging me into a deep, dark hole known an Insanity. Oddly enough this has warded off some thoughts; putting my endless qualms to rest.
I still remember the day that I found the Book, which makes me quite glad to know that my long-term memory isn’t going away along with my sanity. It was an average Saturday afternoon in the middle of summer, which meant the sun was pelting the whole town with its scorching hot rays of light. As a result, various bodies of water were packed to the brim with various ponies as they cooled off and enjoyed themselves. For those who were unable to find refuge in water, they found their solace with an overabundance of fans in their salon. This meant the whirring sound of these electrical saviors dominated the air around most residences.
While I would’ve loved to have been part of either of these activities, I had to work that day. Instead of beating the heat in the lake or catching up on my reading whilst amongst a variety of fabulous fans, I was stuck in a post office that was hotter than the Underworld itself. Apparently, the post office “doesn’t have enough money in the budget” to afford any form of an electrical cooling apparatus, but instead had enough to pay the Postmaster handsomely. So there I sat, sorting out bills, letters, and packages out to their correct boxes while every last drop of water in my body dripped out and soiled the letters I slaved over.
This was a very mundane and tedious task which was assigned to me—no one liked doing it—but money was a precious object to have, and while I wasn’t paid well back then, I could take any money I could get to pay off the rent and other dues. I marched through this perilous and treacherous task, organizing giant swaths of unorganized mail while fanning myself gently with my wings, occasionally stopping to gulp down several cups of water from a water fountain in the hallway outside the sorting room.
I would stop every so often to look at a clock in the back of the room, which constantly taunted me throughout the day as it ticked and tocked painfully slowly. To my delight, it had shown me much later that it was indeed five o’clock, and that meant that I was released from my desert of a prison and was allowed to leave for my humble abode. Before I had left the wretched place, however, I looked into the bins which held the unsorted mail. I had gotten a lot of work done today, but there was still about two more large bins filled to the brim with letters. I had brushed it off, deciding to leave the work for future-me on Monday.
I had gathered what little belongings I had carried to the post office, and made my way for the front door. I was just about to place my hoof on the door, when a very plump figure emerged from the shadows, barring my path to freedom. The pony that had plopped his fat behind in front of me was none other than the Postmaster of the Central Ponyville Post Office: Fat Stacks, the most shady and money-hungry pony in Ponyville. He was far taller than I was, looking down on me with old, sagging eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, releasing the foul stench of coffee and onions, which I still find to be quite odd.
“Ah, hello Mr. Letter; I’m glad I caught you.” he said in his deep, monotone voice, making my nostrils curl at his odiferous mouth odors. “I popped in the sorting room just now to check how you were coming along and I saw a surprising lack of both you and completely sorted mail. Would you care to explain, Mr. Letter?”
“Yes, sir, I was unable to finish the task assigned to me today.”
“May I ask why, Mr. Letter?”
I gave a sarcastic laugh. “Sir, I would think you would know perfectly well, seeing as you’re the Postmaster! In order for the sorting room to work at the slightest bit of efficiency, it requires at least three ponies working in there at once. Oh wait! I remember why it’s only me in there! You fired so many employees that we can’t get shit done around here!”
“Don’t you dare talk to me that way, Mr. Letter! I have nothing to do with your inefficiency, because you lollygag around this damned place all day! I fired those employees because they were slackers costing this company money! I’ll let what you’ve done today slide, Mr. Letter, but if it happens again, I’ll fire you so quickly you’ll be in the burn ward faster than a speeding cheetah!”
“Wh- costing the post office money? This place has been in the green for over a decade now! You were just firing ponies left and right so that you could get more dough in your wal-”
“Enough, Mr. Letter!” he stamped his hoof in anger. “This place has made more money under my supervision ever since your idiot of a father died! I think it’s for the better of this company that he had that heart attack! So don’t you dare question my reasoning, boy, because I’m doing it to keep this office afloat!” He straightened his tie and smoothed out his suit. “Anything to say, Mr. Letter?”
He had done it, he had cut the wrong wire. I still remember the mix of emotions I felt after he said that: a combination of anger, sadness, and hatred for this gluttonous colt standing in front of me. Tears were welling up in my eyes as I choked out the few words my brain was able to find. “I-I… quit. I am done.” I had said as I got in his face, causing him to back up and be pinned against the door behind him. “I am t-tired of yo-your… your shit! Your utter nonsense!” by now, the tears were flowing down my face as if my tear ducts had exploded and were leaking all their contents. “How dare you! How dare you, you damn insensitive cheapskate! My fa-father was the greatest Postmaster e-ever to grace the very skies with his wings! H-he ran this place a whole helluva lot better than you! And I’m sick of it! Sick of it all! I-I’m leaving this forsaken place! May no one ever show you mercy; may you rot in Hell for the rest of eternity!”
I stormed out through the post office doors, blinded by my own tears as they flew behind me. I then remember leaping off of the ground and flying, just flying anywhere my wings would take me. I recall hearing Fat Stacks calling out from the post office, but the wind was kind enough to whisper in my ears just enough so that I couldn’t hear his yelling. I was done with him, as that wasn’t the first time he had insulted me or my father, probably because he still loathed my father and I since Fat Stacks believed my father was a terrible individual, for whatever reason.
I had calmed down after a bit, and eventually found my bearings, and adjusted my course to take myself back to my small apartment on the edge of town. It was all that I could afford back then, and I knew that I was going to be evicted soon enough lest I join the competing delivery service in town. It seemed like the thing most mail ponies were doing, so I reasoned with myself to apply for the competing post office in town. It’s the only option I had left available to me.
If most ponies were short on funds and were going to be evicted from their apartment, they’d most likely stay with a good friend or family member till they got back on their feet. Believe me, I was short on funds, seeing as Fat Stacks refused to pay me anything higher than minimum wage on account of my heritage. What was a depressing fact I believed I had to come to terms with was that I’d be homeless come the next month. See, all my family members had either passed away or had lost contact with me. I had no idea who was alive or where they were.
But what about crashing at a friend’s place for a while? Well, that wasn’t a viable option for me back then either. I was without friends of any variety; be they acquaintance, fellow chap, or very close buddy. I blame this on two factors: being that the Post Office had sucked all the life out of me, causing me to work long hours to try to make enough money to pay expenses and not enough extra time to do leisurely activities and mingle. The second variable was that I was quite… awkward around other ponies.
Whenever I tried to introduce myself to somepony else, it would feel as if my throat constricted and words were unable to squeeze themselves through the tight passage. In addition, I would sweat profusely and my nostrils would create a soft, audible wheeze. As a result, many ponies would stare at me with a fake smile on their face and back away slowly, and tried to avoid me the rest of their lives. This was really only when I forced myself to meet new ponies, but it seemed as if meeting new ponies under certain circumstances, like working alongside of another pony, made these odd happenings go away. This is why I was able to talk to Fat Stacks, as sad as it was.
I flew down and touched the welcome mat in front of my apartment, taking my keys out of my saddlebag and unlocking the door. Then the whole realization of the situation that was at hoof hit me worse than a speeding train, and I cried yet again, my head propped up again my front door. I had just quit my job, and I was going to be evicted. Those were the simple facts, and I didn’t like them one bit. I was just hoping as I stood there that the competing post office would accept my application, and that hopefully I wouldn’t be homeless for too long.
Probably after a good few minutes, I had grown to accept these terrible facts, and tried to cheer myself up by convincing myself that I should enjoy what I had now, and enjoy it well. I had a full fridge, a relatively-temperate house, and a bed to sleep in at night. It wasn’t much, but it most certainly was better than sleeping in a box in an alleyway while begging for even a single bit to drown my sorrows in apple cider.
After collecting myself, I opened the door and stepped into the gloomy apartment, the smell of mold and old lumber hitting my nostrils head on. While it was certainly an older and cheap residence, it was far brighter than the dismal place where I was previously employed. I set my things on my tiny dining table cramped in the corner of my kitchen, and while the ancient floorboards creaked, moaned, and protested under my weight I walked towards the one paradise I had left: my salon
I entered the little paradise I had made for myself; a reasonably sized room with two recliners, a fireplace, and two gigantic bookshelves which dominated most of the space in the room. The bookshelves were chock full of varying types of books, and because of this, they filled the room with the most wonderful scent in the world: old printed paper. I took a deep breath of air, and sighed in relief. As I walked further in, my eye caught the sight of the one thing I’d been looking forward to all day: an electrical fan. So, without hesitation I jumped on it, turning the fan on and putting my face against it so that the whirring blades of winter wind could relieve my scorched face of my sweat.
After cooling off for a bit, I walked over to my shelves to peruse my large selection of tomes. The sad thing was that while my collection of vessels of information was varied and immense, there was nothing to read. I had practically read every single book on the shelves that were before me, and I’m not one to reread a book no matter how entertaining it may have been. As I was searching for a suitable book, I let loose a large, loud yawn and promptly looked at the time. 9:33, and after the day I had, perhaps my head would be meeting its old friend, Mr. Pillow, quite soon after a short read.
My eyes kept scanning the shelves for any books of interest, but to no avail. I was just about to give up all hope and hit the hay, when on the way to my bedroom I caught a peculiar looking book from the corner of my eye. It had very distinct features that made it stand out from the rest of the books on my shelf: it was old and battered, the cover ripped and faded in many places. Though despite being weathered and faded, it still stood out with its cover being a brighter red than those books surrounding it. My curiosity was itchy, and it could only be scratched by reading this book. I picked it up and headed to my room to read in bed.
Upon looking over the entire cover, I saw that the book lacked any description or features, save for its title: “Fare Well, Good Colt” inscribed in golden letters. This was slightly alarming to me, because I never recalled buying or receiving this book at any time, but I brushed it off, saying to myself that it was probably given to me at a young age. While holding it, I had found this book to be the oddest thing I had ever held in my hooves—the book sent weird tingles down my legs, and almost felt as if it was crawling around on my hooves despite the lack of visual movement. I lifted the front hard, heavy cover and was greeted with a note glued to the page written on old parchment. Upon reading, I found that it was a small poem:
I find this life to be filled with trials
So terrible that I wish to bolt
However, a Book is one’s savior
That book is “Fare Well, Good Colt”
Be you mare or colt or even foal
Sudden problems find their Way
The Book will give you the knowledge;
“Fare Well, Good Colt” saves the day
But be wary, My Little Reader
This Book can bring your end
But use it right and you will find
It to be your greatest friend
~Your Friend, the Author
“How peculiar.” I had said to myself as I put the book down to think. “What did the Author mean about being wary?” I brushed this off for the moment, but in time, I would indeed see what he meant by it. I picked “the Book” as he said, and flipped a few pages, skipping useless reading material such as the publishing information and index, till I found the first chapter. I settled down in my, fluffed up my pillow, and then began reading.
I remember how starved my eyes were for words. They had an insatiable desire to read every single word on every single page and they wanted to read it quickly. I remember my eyes darting from page to page, absorbing all the story on those pages in a few seconds, and my hooves flipped pages like mad to keep up with my vision’s demand. My mouth was wide open, and my brain was having trouble coping with what was going on in the book. Meanwhile, my heart decided to hold a massive drum concert, and was beating away like there was no tomorrow. And in a matter of minutes, I had finished the entire book, my hooves feeling as if they were on fire and my eyes dry and irritated. I threw the Book down on the bed, and looked at it with an expression of shock upon my face. That was because the Book stared back.
Two distinct, red eyes had somehow materialized on the cover of the book, underneath the title, and appeared as if they stared through my very soul. But, without warning, the eyes had vanished. Poof, gone. I carefully reached over my sheets, and something compelled me to touch the Book. Upon doing so, it shook furiously and rocked my bed back and forth, then floated up into the air above without warning. They eyes appeared yet again, bigger and brighter this time, and below them a thick, black cavity was forming—a mouth! The Book stretched beyond the limits of its cover to accommodate for the massive, gaping maw that was growing wider by the second before me.
I sat there, beneath my covers, putting a hoof above my eyes to shield them from the brightness of the Book’s eyes. I was beyond scared, and was simultaneously questioning my sanity. Suddenly, the Book made a quick movement forward towards me, causing me to flinch and shut my eyes. I then opened them to see that the Book was only about an inch away from my face, and was sucking me inside its mouth with a violent force. I held on with all my might to my covers, flapping my powerful wings furiously to try to escape the Book, but its force was too powerful matched against mine, and I was thusly sucked in.
I then hit a cold, dark surface of some sort, and quickly stood up to find myself surrounded by nothing but black void. I was inside the Book, for whatever reason. Now the third stanza made perfect sense; I believed I had done something to anger the damned thing and was now being punished for doing so. I looked around, to see if there was anything at all to this plane of existence other than the Void.
Then I saw something. Far off in the distance was a ray of white light, shining brilliantly and seemed to be coming closer towards me at an amazingly fast speed. I put one of my forelegs over my eyes yet again to shield them from the dazzling beauty of this new light source as I slowly walked to it. As we got closer to each other, I was able to see that it was a long, thin strand of shining white light that was snaking to and fro through the air. It was kind of a wonder to watch it do so, because its movement was spontaneous and captivating.
When it got closer to me, however, it halted, and faced its front towards me, appearing as if it had locked onto me. It vibrated violently like the Book on my bed, creating what felt like a serious earthquake throughout the entire Void. It then bolted towards me, and I flew away as fast as my wings could carry me in a moment’s notice. I ducked and weaved, going any possible way that I could, but it was literally on my tail. It felt as if the light grabbed said tail, causing me to halt in mid-air. It then began crawling up my body by some unknown force, spreading out and branching off in many directions, covering every inch of my body.
It eventually reached my head, and I could sense it entering my brain somehow, painfully manipulating my thoughts and knowledge. I clenched my eyes shut and let out a loud scream as the pain reached its peak, which consequently caused all mental activity going on to cease immediately.
Then, I woke up in my bed; the Book laid next to me looking as it did before the incident. I looked at my surroundings, patted myself to make sure I was all still there. Thankfully, I was, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I was convinced it was just a bad dream I had the night before. However, I didn’t felt pretty terrible. My eyes were still irritated as ever, and my throat was very sore, along with the rest of my body. I went to the kitchen to get myself a glass of water, and to also make breakfast.
I looked at a digital clock that I had in my kitchen, to see how late I slept in today. “9:41” I said in between a sip of water. “Not bad, not ba-” I was cut off by something, however, as I noticed that the clock read “PM” instead of what should’ve been “AM”. I looked out the window to make sure my clock wasn’t off, and it was indeed nighttime. In fact, it was still Saturday night. I had only been asleep a few minutes.
“What the hell just happened?” I asked as I leaned over the sink. Suddenly, a shooting pain went coursing through my head, seeming to make its way from the back of my skull to my eyes. The pain was almost as terrible as the pain I had in what I was still calling my “bad dream”, so it too caused me to clench my eyelids shut. After about what seemed like an eternity, the pain subsided and I opened my eyes.
I knew instantly that I had somehow acquired new knowledge on how to secure a job at the competing post office and avoid eviction next month. The knowledge was insanely precise and, little did I know, correct. It told me what to put on my resume, what to say at my interview, and how to avoid eviction next month by taking up specific odd jobs around town at specific places at specific times on specific dates. I was beginning to freak out at this point, and I darted into my room where the Book still lay.
I picked it up. “If this thing is what gave me all that useful knowledge… if all this knowledge is even true, you’re a very useful book. You’re gonna stay in my secret hiding spot for now. I can’t risk somepony taking you; you’re too useful, but do you think you can make it less painful next time?” I laughed at myself again, and put the Book underneath the bed, which in hindsight isn’t the best hiding spot in the world. Anyway, at that point, I was trying to remember what I had read last night, but it was truly hard to do so. Whatever that light was, it had messed with my memory of the Book, but it did appear to have been the vessel which carried the information which solved my issues.
I really didn’t care if I had forgotten what the Book said. If it keeps up the act of giving me useful information to any problem that I may have, then I’ll take that over a well-written plot. The next thing for me to do was go to the competing post office on Sunday and apply for a job there. Things seemed to be looking up for me at that point, but how wrong I was.
