Nakazaniye

The trip to Baltimare took a bit longer than expected. Our train had to take a break at about halfway because a flock of sheep were blocking the tracks. I'm pretty sure they didn't mean to do that, but it wouldn't help me, in any case. These woolly numbnuts rarely have anything more complex in mind than the grass beneath their hooves, or whatever else they find to gobble up. As far as I was concerned, they probably weren't even able to knowingly harm anyone.

This way, our train was forced to halt for several hours in the middle of nowhere, and we didn't get to our destination before noon. Personally, I didn't mind the delay so much. I wasn't in any hurry, and the more time I spent traveling the more hours it meant for me to sleep. These cushioned benches that Equestrian Railways plants across pretty much any of their vehicles make for a perfect place to nap. Or at least, they would have, hadn't it been for the important-looking businesspony sitting opposite from me. He'd been getting more and more nervous from the time we came to a stop, apparently because of some early meeting for him to attend or something.

On any other day, I would have considered his anxious rambling hilarious. Today however, all it did was annoy the living Tartarus out of me. He didn't talk very much or anything, just kept checking his watch and going through his files every thirty seconds or so. Needless to say, I didn't get a shut eye at any time during the trip. And after a good half-hour of our prolonged stay, I had to fight back the urge to slap his stupid, arrogant face.

I didn't, of course. Although I probably should have. At times, I still think I should have given him a good piece of mind. Even today, I do. But that's never any use. Nopony can go back in time and change the past, after all. Maybe even that is for the best, even if I could think of a few occasions which I'd like to do something about.

Like I said, the train pulled into Balimare's Gare Du Nord at about noon. I know. It literally means northern station, and I already started wondering why I ever complained about Manehattan in this way. Some Fancy-speaking ponies once built this place, hence the weird name. Or so I've been taught. Anyway, Nord was the city's main station, with all the important tracks coming in from that direction, and all. Lying directly on the northern shore of Horseshoe Bay, the city couldn't really afford any connections from a different direction than up north. I think. All of this made much more sense back in third grade.

Three thoughts were on my mind, as I stumbled out of the comparatively humble building that was Nord's terminal, and out onto town square. First, I needed to keep an eye out for anypony who might still remember and recognize me. It had been a while since my last visit, but I did grow up here, after all. Second, I had to recall the quickest path from here to my parents' house. Third, a place to take a dump. Luckily, the train station provided everything I needed for the latter. The only thing that made me cringe about it was the fee of one bit, but what can you do.

My parents lived on the northern edge of town, but the station itself wasn't right in the center, either. Although covering the distance to get there would take me a while, I could still easily cover it on hoof. A short glance at a public map of the local surroundings helped recalling the path I had to take, too. Another five minutes or so, and I was firmly on my way.

It wasn't as simple to find anything in this town as it would have been in most cities. A lot of towns around Equestria only consisted of streets that interlocked at right angles. I don't know why. I think it's something about them being created artificially, but I might have been wrong. It didn't account for Baltimare, in any case. Around most parts of Baltimare, the streets were arranged a little more complicated than just a simple grid. Or to be more precise, they were a complete and total mess. Safe maybe for the neighborhoods around the harbor, but I never went there, anyway. The industrial quarters in the south weren't the nicest place to be around, and that's putting it mildly.

Apart from that, I needed to keep an eye out for street names, unless I wanted to get lost. Which wouldn't have been so hard to do, had they all been in one unified language. But being the cultural melting pot that it was, Baltimare combined streets that were named in at least three dozen different languages. Half of which I didn't even know about. I'm serious. There were intersections in this town, where each of the four adjacent roads was named in a different tongue than the others. And I could almost guarantee that nopony ever understood all of them.

Given that I never had the greatest skills of orientation, it was a mere miracle that I found my folks' place without ever having to despair or cry out for help. Then again, I've only walked most of these streets a billion times or so. Childhood habits do seem to pay off, I suppose.

The street names were still killing me. At some point, I could tell I was entering the suburbs I grew up in. Coming back here made me feel a bit nostalgic in the beginning, but that pretty much stopped after I realized how the place had seemingly lost nothing of its former, corny self. It's awful, really. Most neighborhoods in northern Baltimore are these kinds of communities. In here, the lawn in a pony's front yard always had to be neatly trimmed, at a height of five millimeters at max. Lights-out was precisely at ten, and if you ever failed to check your mailbox in two or three days, someone would probably call law enforcement or an ambulance or something.

My parents lived on 4283 Ronda de Amistad, that much I remembered. It was also one of these freaky place names that I had absolutely nothing to associate it with, despite having grown up here. The closer I got there, the more I started to keep an eye out for any curious bystanders. There were a lot of ponies in Baltimare who might still be able to recognize me, and many whom I really didn't want to do that. I had my reasons to avoid them. There's been a lot of bad blood between myself and this city.

Speaking of which, I still had no idea what I was going to do next. I also didn't see the point in even coming here, and part of me already knew this was the dumbest thing I could possibly pull in my current situation. Also, it wasn't going to end well, no matter what. Especially since I wasn't going to see my parents, anyway. Any minute now, I'd turn back around and make a run for it, that was for sure.

Except I didn't. I have no idea why, but I just kept going. Probably because I didn't really think about it. Sure, I was nervous. A bit scared even. But I mostly concentrated on trying to spot ponies first who didn't need to spot me. The thought of seeing my parents again only occupied a small spot in the very back of my mind. Mostly because I pushed it there. If I wasn't going to see them anyway, what was there for me to worry about? There was also still a long way ahead of me, I kept telling myself. Times and again, I did. Up to the point when I found myself standing on my family's porch, and all excuses effectively stopped working at once.

I gulped hard, seeing the small, beige cottage lie before me again after all those years. I had left this place for good, and coming back here was an incredibly stupid decision. But I only realized that now. And the more I tried ignoring a problem or refused to face it, the harder did the truth come crashing back to me. Without any warning, I started shaking all over, my breath rapidly intensifying within seconds.

It was somewhere around that time that I completely lost control. I didn't know what I was thinking anymore, and I just started acting from instinct. One of my numb forelegs rose up seemingly all by itself. I don't know. I didn't really, consciously put it there. After a second or so, my hoof started hovering at the height of the doorbell, uncontrollably shaking.

I closed my eyes, telling myself another ten-thousand times just how crazy all of this actually was. And how I wasn't going to see them. How I could still avoid all this, somehow. Then, with a deep exhale and without even looking I leaned forward until my hoof connected with the cold, brass knob.

The ring that came from inside sounded like the bell to my own funeral. It wasn't the same sound like when I last lived here, but I didn't even realize that right away. I felt too light-headed for that. In addition, my heart pounded in my chest like a sledgehammer, and my rib cage felt like it was about to explode. I didn't believe in any deity to say a prayer to, but in moments like these I really wished I did.

My mind raced, as I kept trying to find a way out of this mess. I could still make a run for it without being seen...probably. They wouldn't answer the door for another few seconds, but it wouldn't take any longer than that. With every moment that I kept hesitating, my chances for escape grew weaker. Eventually, I knew it wasn't going to work. None of it was.

Time went and passed, every new second feeling like an hour. After a short while, I became impatient. I didn't know how short it was, but it felt much too long. Maybe they saw me, and wouldn't open up? For all I knew, they probably weren't even home.

That must be it, I told myself. They weren't here, and that's why nopony would answer me. And in all honesty, why would anyone be here right now? It was a Sunday after all, wasn't it? They probably went for a walk in the park, they always did. We always did. I felt pretty sure about that. Maybe they went out to get some ice cream for...for...

Oh...that's right.

I almost jumped back when the door creaked open a minute later. I felt my mouth open slightly, although my teeth remained clenched together with all the might I could muster. My eyes were opened wide in shock, supported with beads of sweat running down my temples. In retrospect, it probably wasn't that much of a surprise when the pony who opened gave me a rather incredulous look.

He was a scarlet-coated unicorn stallion, a good ten years older than me. I noticed his race not so much due to his horn, but mostly from the stupid pink coffee mug hovering beside him in mid-air. He was dressed in some sort of equally stupid morning gown, and looked like he was ready to exorcise extreme caution. Or something. Whatever that even meant. In any case, I couldn't remember ever seeing him ever before, and he certainly wasn't my father.

"Can I help you?" the stallion asked. His voice was full of mistrust, although he probably tried to keep it neutral...somehow. I didn't answer him straight away, either. Being to busy controlling one's breath leads doesn't allow much time for any other priorities. I'm pretty sure I must have looked like a complete and total creep, staring at him with a ragged breath like that. He seemed to agree with me on that point, judging from the way he returned my looks.

"Lady, I have no idea who you are, but this is ridiculous." He frowned, placing his mug onto a nearby desk. "I don't want to buy anything, and I don't want to join any religious group or anything. Got that? Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to enjoying my day off."

"No, wait!" I exclaimed, as he started shutting the door again. The stallion only rolled his eyes in response.

"Yes?"

"I...I'm looking for...I mean...meaning..." Clenching my eyes shut with frustration then, I sighed. "Ugh...do you know where I can find Mr or Mrs Punch?"

I could only cringe at the name, as always. After all these years, one would think I'd have gotten used to it, but I still hated my guts for being associated with a word like that. At least, what I said got the job done. The guy's features lit up to some degree, and most of their hostility was certainly lost in the process.

"Oh...well, I haven't been asked that in a while now," he explained, suddenly a bit unsure. "But truth is...and you've probably guessed, but...they don't live here, anymore."

I felt my spirit drop at his words. That couldn't be so good. "Well, then, uh..." I started stuttering again. Awesome. "...any idea where they went?"

He shook his head in response. "No, not really. We never actually met. If it weren't for the neighbors, I wouldn't even know their name. I bought this place from some local real estate guy a good four years ago, and they already left by then." He slightly lowered his voice, craning his neck to get a bit closer to me. "From what I've heard, they weren't exactly a happy family, either. But I can't say why. I'm not one for prying into others' business."

"Oh, y-yeah, right," I replied with a weak chuckle. "Probably wasn't worth knowing about any...anyway."

I tried to cover up my own idiotic emotions with that. On the inside, I felt nothing of the sort right now. Just terrifyingly, horribly sad and desperate. I always kept telling myself I didn't miss my folks, but I always thought we could, and probably would get back together, eventually. Being unable to reconnect with them all of a sudden...it felt like being hit with the exact same hammer that previously worked its way against my chest from the inside. Also, I noticed how the edge of my vision was slowly getting blurry. That really didn't help, now not it didn't! I turned to leave without any further comment.

"Well, I'm sorry I couldn't help," the stallion called out behind me. Then, he hastily added, "are the Punches somehow important to you, Miss...?"

I stopped dead in my tracks, shivering. Why in the wide world of Equestria did he have to ask for my name? Why now?

"It's Berry," I told him. "Just that. It's sort of a pen name."

It was sort of an emergency situation, otherwise I'd never have anyone call me Berry. I just didn't. The last time I'd done so was back in fifth grade with some annoying kid from my class. He then kept calling me Chuck instead, for some reason. And it made me boil over with rage more than once, so I just decided to introduce myself by my full name from there on. Until now, of course. But it wasn't like I was ever going to see this guy ever again. Now, if only I could leave in peace...

"...are you some sort of writer, then?"

Oh, for fuck's sake!

"Huh? No, I...I..." Now, I couldn't use the painter thing. Painters wouldn't call it a pen name, right? "...I'm an, uh, artist, somehow. I write short stories and songs, then I perform these, and..."

"Oh, you're that kind of artist!" He said it with a sarcastic notion, and I would have done well to turn around and punch him right in that stupid throat of his. But against my better judgment, I went straight ahead and left. I didn't even look back. There were a few tears running down my cheeks by now, and I really didn't want to show those off.

"Wait! Are you performing anywhere nearby, or..."

"The show got canceled!" I yelled as loud as my shaky voice would allow it, just before I got back onto the sidewalk. I turned left, then dashed down the street as fast as I could, and back to where I'd come from.