Fallout: Equestria - Red, White and Blue

A mansion lay before me. And I beheld the immense stature it had over the fog and the very mush it lay on. Twas quiet even with chatty uncle Pepperjack in the mix. There were three 'swampfolk', as he called him and his brethren, at our flank and sides. I never knew exactly why he took care of me in the first place. Or why the swampfolk didn't devolve far enough to be mindless brutes. But Uncle Pepperjack always said, along the trail of decrepit marsh terrain and tree husks, that they had a code of honor. Judging from how he and his men were capable of firearm use and complete sentences, I'd have described them as anomalies.

We neared the imposing structure and to the left were skeletal remains skewered on metal and wood. I had no idea why it felt so familiar. But the many charms and fetishes dotting the estate put me at ease. It washed unknown sentiment over my numb conscience. I spotted a hanging doll around the front entrance, hanging by thin twine. I took it myself and slashed the twine away as we passed by. It took two swipes to cut the twine clean in half.

Uncle Pepperjack simply plowed through the doors of the front entrance. Inside the initial room was a room to the right, an open doorway straight ahead, an upturned sofa on it's side and a wardrobe right beside it. We took the straightforward approach and passed a pair of swampfolk discussing what material a banjo's strings needed to be, for the best possible crispness of each note.

We took a right and arrived at the foot of a wide stairway and a pair of chairs to the right. One was a wheeled seat with metal tanks of gaseous substance. I spotted a figure in dark, tattered rags claiming the wheelchair for herself. Though she seemed the stationary type, I saw her kicking her hindlegs back and forth. My party and I passed by without a hint of any contact whatsoever, but I felt the mare's eyes upon me. I confirmed my suspicions by observing her snout inch in my direction.

We narrowly avoided an encounter; instead, Uncle Pepperjack taught me the magic of reading. In studying the enigma pony, I didn't realise how many books were surrounding me. The entire right side of the main room was a cluster of library shelves. It escaped me just moments ago that many of the books weren't even burned. They were really in tact, really functional. Uncle Pepperjack set me down and hoofed me one of the many pristine texts packed along the wall. I could only stare up and ask 'what is this?'

And he could only smile at my childish ignorance. The smile he gave measured ear-to-ear and told me he'd heard it a billion times before. He rest his hooves over my shoulders and made my body limp.

"This here is a book, White Star. It ain't no hollatape or hullagram, but it sure is good for ya. I bet you're so smart you can already read. Just try a little bit and I guarantee you'll be hooked." My uncle clarified, waving his left forehoof in mild, hypnotic gestures.

I did as he commanded and I read.

My eyes comprehended the strange ink art in sounds and images. I saw the curve of a shape and an oval shape attached to a slanted line. At the end of the word was a hook-like letter that I could read with alarming ease. So I said the first word I ever read to Uncle Pepperjack.

"C... Car." I stated softly, flooded with flashes and mental snapshots of numbers and letters flowing in comfortable harmony.

"Very good. Way too good. But, I'm gonna tell you right now there ain't actually anything in Equestria called a 'car.' You see that smudge right there? The whole word is 'carriage.' It's a great old wagon thing you can use to go somewhere without trottin' around. All you need is two ponies, one with wings and you." He stated, pulling up a wheeled, black rectangle and using a snippet of white, solid material to mark it.

"You see, one person needs to pull it so you don't have to do the work. You could try some wheeled, oil-driven carriages but you'll only be hurtin' the air. So instead, we use a safe, alternative steam engine in old Point Lookin. Now, you see, White Star, everybody gots a heart in their chest. And the heart keeps on beatin' so we can do work. That's what an engine is..."

I watched wordlessly as the tower of Fillylon became my archives and my uncle, a great pony if not a god, imparted with me all his supreme knowledge. He was my second encounter with the gods. He told me of the machines outside, each one hostile and running on corrupted targetting perimeters and scrambled pheromone analysis processors. He spoke to me about the pony body and it's many wonders of strength and ability. And most importantly, among the many lectures and presentations he offered, the most important was the process of psychology.

I sat attentive at my study or in the main room at all times, glued to his hooves and craving his vast economy of both allegory and fact, to which I never squandered. Every, single lesson he taught had to be roasted over fine coals or flash-fried to perfection. He did not speak of any of it, trivial or imperitive, as though it were trivial or imperitive. Every factoid about plumbing, to the nature of a pony in impoverished beginnings, would leave his lips like sacred prayers.

Soon, after my book reports on the nature of the author's voice in Neighteen Eighty Four, he spoke to me about the United States of Equestria. That night, the air was chilling, yet humid. The boglands and many methane pools blew in other directions. All I smelt, contrary to countless nights before, were the faint flavors of deep-fried radhogdogs and rice moonshine on Uncle Pepperjack's scribing robes. I held his hoof when he held mine, sniffling and biting his lip beneath drooping eyes.

"White S- Whitestar... you done do me proud, you little rascal. You understand everything I ever done read and heard from everyone in my life that knew it before me. You know Froyd and Hummingway, to Frost and The Art of More. You're all done here. I ain't no teacher for someone as hungry as you..." He said, looking down and shaking.

I closed my eyes and held him close, for the many things he taught me in his garden. And he held my head up in our only classroom, with two windows and four student body desks, all to stand before the greatest seat of all: the teacher's.

Uncle was not a suitable label for my one, true family member.

Instead, he was Father Pepperjack, the only stallion I ever listened to for hours on end just to keep him happy. He taught me the sacred code of hoof and key, so I was his child, enlightened from prior savagery. I spent the last few days of that year shadowing him. I too would learn how to teach... how to light up the world for every sinner and every savage I could lay hands on and heal.

After two years of study and devoting my life to the pursuit of knowledge, Father Pepperjack finally introduced me to the robed mare. We met in the main room just like we did years ago. Except, I took a seat beside her in Father Pepperjack's lap, toying about with Madre Diosa's ritual knife.

She spoke to him in raspy whispers, washing the sin from every nook and cranny of my blessed mind. But when the exchange halted, I only looked up to see her waiting for me. Her muzzle met the air of mine and she spoke.

"Hello, child... Hello, Whitestar. You are quite the specimen Star Spangle told me about." She soothed, handling my hoof in both of hers.

I felt her tracing the rotund, calcium-dense figure of my right hoof.

"Your mother's name was Star Spangle. And she was just like you. Clever. Quiet. And more smarts than smarts could ever say. This is why she picked you to take the black book. We need more ponies like you, leading Equestria out of this misery and ruin... Five days ago, you were Pepperjack's best student. But now, you'll be an educator just like him."

She took to smiling and it barely wrinkled her perfect skin.

"You will bring a nation to it's knees, or bring it forth from the ashes. The choice, as it has been foretold, will always be yours. So come with me, child... come with me and read your destiny."

I followed her into the basement and kept my blade between my teeth. It was my mother's sword and I'd speak it to anypony else singing blade songs. We reached the bottom of Whitehall Mansion and beheld the black book in all it's glory. It lay preserved in one, glass display case, for all the pilgrims to see.

I touched the glass and saw it.

The black book drew me in with it's cover.

A single, golden cross lay down the middle and taught me humility, to show me just how small I'd been all my life.