The Cider Journals

I've never really been one for the black tie affairs. The mix of emotions, the tears, the coalition of family and friends all gathering to mourn the dead- it just takes too much out of me. I'm not built for that sort of ordeal. I live a simple life at home with my dog, and I don't need anything else. Ponyville offers me all I need and more, I can't think of a reason I'd ever need to leave. But yet here I am in Canterlot for Compass's funeral (the farthest I've traveled in years). Were this anyone else's funeral, I would not have attended. I hate trains. Hate. Them. And the ride from Ponyville to Canterlot was almost enough to make me vomit. I could hardly breathe. But for Compass, whom I hadn't seen since colthood, it was worth it.

I met Compass Rose in my early school years, more specifically on the playground. While most of the colts and fillys were playing tag, swinging, or playing sports, I simply laid down somewhere in the shade (usually against the wall or under a tree). Just as I am today, I wasn't able to socialize with my peers. They made me anxious, I became nervous, I shook, and after a while I decided I was just more comfortable being by myself. The loneliness never really bothered me, it was quiet. Calm. Thinking back now, I often question why Compass ever approached me in the first place. During a usual recess, I was camped out beneath the shade of a tree while the other ponies played buckball on the athletic field. Teams were being chosen, and I was a good distance away, when I heard my name through my usual silence.

"I want Rooty!"

My ears perked up, and I raised my head. Had someone just said my name?

"Rooty come on! Over here!"

Definitely. But why? It took my eyes a minute to adjust to the light, but across the field I saw Compass waving a hoof at me. Why the hell was he waving at me? At that point it clicked- he wanted me to play buckball with them.

"Uh...no thanks Compass!" I halfheartedly called across the field.

"Get over here!"

Nervously, I brought myself to my hooves and shuffled over, With each step I felt the safety of my tree slipping further and further away until finally I felt alone. Compass however looked to me with an enormous smile.

"Don't worry, it'll be fun!"

I was hesitant to believe him.

The game progressed just as I expected. While the rest of the ponies made hits and ran the bases, I almost intentionally missed every pitch and trotted back to the dugout to watch the others play. But around my 6th pitch, my luck changed. Compass came into the dugout and eased close to me. I recoiled slowly, my instinctual reaction, but stopped when I heard him whispering.

"On the next pitch, close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Just trust me."

With that, he trotted back out to the field.

In the dugout I swayed back and forth impatiently, waiting for my turn to come and go so I could retreat back to the dugout. Each bucker seemed to take an eternity, the game stretching further and further into forever. But by the grace of Celestia, my turn came. As I had before, I trotted up to the dugout with my eyes fixed on the ground. I had the intention to miss again as I had before, but a voice in the back of my head urged me to heed Compass's advice. If nothing else just to humor him. Staring out at the pitcher, I waited for my salvation to come rolling down the mound. I closed my eyes, held my breath, and bucked out my back legs.

FTANG'

What?

I turned around to see the ball soaring past second base and into the feild. I stood motionless watching it, having never hit the ball before. A roar of cries echoed around me for me to run, but they seemed to bounce off of my ears until Compass's voice came through-

"Run Rooty! Run!"

Immediately, I turned and ran towards first. Kicking up dirt behind me, I dashed past it and made the turn for second. By this time, the runner on first had already made it home- and the pony in the outfield had gotten ahold of the ball. He tossed it into the air with his snout and bucked it with his back legs. I heard it whizzing towards me, and put on the brakes. It missed me by a hair, and again I stood motionless.

"Rooty go!"

And I was off again. Trotting, panting, begging for third base to come closer. Again I passed it, unaware of what I had just done, and made the gallop for home. Faster, faster, faster. Again the opposing team had seized the ball, and once more it came like a bullet racing towards me. This time I wouldn't have time to stop. In a sudden burst of faith, I jumped.

"Safe!"

What? Me? I was safe? Had I even kicked the ball? I was overwhelmed by what had just occurred, my mind of frenzy of disbelief. But my sobriety came back to me when Compass darted between my legs and bucked me onto his back, parading me through the field and back to class. I'll never forget that game.

"To Mister Rooted Caution, the deceased has left a trunk." The estate lawyer called.

In a flash I was back to reality, to the funeral. I was at the division of his estate in accordance with his will- wait, did the lawyer just call my name?

"Is a mister Rooted Caution here?"

"Y-yes, that's um...that's me." I responded nervously.

"The deceased left you a trunk of possessions. We aren't at liberty to open it."

Why would he leave me anything? Why would he even remember me?

"These fine stallions will help you bring it to your carriage."

I lead the helpers outside to a luggage cart I'd borrowed from the train station, and brought the trunk back to the train. Luckily at the time, the train was fairly desolate and I had room to breath on the way back. I wheeled the trunk to my apartment, into my room, and placed it in a corner. I didn't open it for three days, I didn't have the courage. But inevitably, it had to be opened. And so on the third day, with a shaky hoof, I opened it. Inside laid a collection of cider bottles, all full. They were marked with years, locations, labels, all in varying languages and text styles. On the far side of the trunk, pressed against the wall, was a small brown journal. Opening the front cover, a letter fell out onto the floor. I immediately noticed my name written on it. Picking it up, I opened it. My eyes widened, I felt a cold sweat.

"Rooty, it's good to know that you're reading this. I have a job for you."