I Guardian

I suppose to start it all off I should state a few things. First off, I didn't know anything about Equestria before the letter. Second, my father and I have never been close. The fact that I got a letter from him was just as strange as the idea of talking candy colored ponies. And finally, it never once entered my mind that I'd have a herd to protect.

Now that I have gotten that out of the way, let me begin my story.

My name is Mike. Mike Jackson. Yeah, I got teased about that in middle school. I'm 27 and a dishwasher for the Cheesecake Factory. Let me tell you, it's one of the hardest, most thankless jobs I've ever done in my life, not to mention the filthiest. You see, a lot of people think that working at such a renowned restaurant is so great. 'Do you eat a lot of cheesecake?' is the most ask question I get. After the twelfth time of saying 'no', it's gets annoying. Even though I'm a “dishwasher” I often act as a cleaner, emergency prep hand, French fry scooper, and a “HOLY SHIT! WE NEED THIS!” guy. Most days I come home stinking like sewage in the wee hours of the morning, but hey, that's life for you. You have to do crappy jobs to get by in this economy.

So, on one fateful night, after closing at 1:30 am, I stumble into my small, one bed, one bath apartment and sank into the computer chair. It was one of my nicer pieces of furniture at my place. It was steal at a thrift store, otherwise, everything in my place was cheap. Cheesecake Factory money at work.

I was starting to fall asleep, when I felt my pocket vibrate. Must be Kevin. Fighting with my pocket for a few seconds, I finally fished out my cellphone and read the little front display before flipping it open with a “Yo.”

“How was it?” Kevin asked. He was anxious to know about the new guy on the dish crew.

“Like a fire hose up the butt. Okay, so the new guy, Tony, he sucks. I mean he sucks bad. He's slower at the pans than Miles, and he seems to have even less of a thought process.”

“Fuuuuuu- we're screwed.”

“Yup. Why can't management hire anyone who actually knows the difference between hot and cold water?”

Kevin laughed. “They're management! What the hell did you expect?”

“You're right. Still. At least they could have hired someone who moves quicker than a Sunday driver.”

That got a chuckle out of Kevin. “Well, hang in there man. Good things come to those who wait.”

“Wait for what?! I'm barely surviving here! My rent is due tomorrow, and I'm not sure if there will be enough after for both gas and food. I'd rather not eat Ramon for the rest of my life.”

Silence fell over the room as I breathed out my frustrations.

“I've been working there for more than a year now, and they still haven't offered me a promotion or a raise...I'm the hardest worker there and they-”

“Give you a pat on the back when they see you, then just trample all over. Yeah I know. I know.”

Of course he knew. When he didn't see it himself at work, he heard all about how I had to come to the rescue and save everyone's ass because morning crew couldn't do a freakin' thing. For a while, we both were silent.

“Well, it's late.” I finally said. “I think I'm going to shower and hit the sack.”

“Okay, sounds good. I'll see you at work tomorrow night. What are you?”

“Cleaner. That is if they don't change the schedule before I come in, like the last three nights.”

“Yeah. Well, night.”

“Night.”

With a heavy sigh, I snapped my phone shut and went to shower. I always felt better after a hot shower. Half hour later, I settled down in front of my laptop to kill my prissy mood with a few youtube poop vids. Those always make me laugh. It was then that I noticed the letter.

That was odd. I didn't get the mail on the way in, did I? Most nights I was too tired to remember to get it from the front office. Picking up the envelope, I looked at the address.

Mike Jackson.

That was all. It didn't have the address of my apartment, nor did it have an address from who sent it. It kinda creeped me out, but I was curious at the same time. Curious because I knew that hand writing for some reason. With a shrug I ripped open the white envelope and pulled out the single folded up sheet of paper.

'Dear Mike,

It's been a long time since I've heard your voice or even I've seen your face. I wish I could say all this in person, but that is not possible. I'm sorry. I wish I could have been in your life more. Maybe your mother was right about me, that I just keep stumbling from mistake to mistake. But, my son, you are not a mistake. Even if I cannot see you, or never see you for the remainder of what life they say I have now, I am proud that you are my son. I might not know what you do, or what you have done, but I know that you are a good man, at least that is what I hold on to every day.'

My throat seemed to swell with unwanted emotion as my brain took all this in. My father was writing me, after nearly twenty years of silence. Part of me felt like an eight year old who was happy just to hear daddies voice, but I shunned that part of me, feeling anger and resentment for what the coward had done. He just up and left us one day. Mom didn't say why, even though I had questioned her most of my life about it. Even though she claimed she didn't know, the hardness in her eyes said differently. I bet she thought he ran off with some younger woman, but after fifteen years of asking, I finally let it drop, and tried to move on with my life the best I could, which isn't really saying much.

'I know you must have asked why I left your mother,' well no shit. 'I even wonder why I gave up the best thing that had happened in my life, but I did. I can't turn back and undue what I did. But, son, I don't have much time. I've gotten cancer of the lungs, and they say that it's terminal. I was given eight months to live. That was more than seven months ago.'

My heart stopped. Dad? Cancer? Seven months ago?

'I had to set my personal affairs in order before sending you this, and I'm sorry that it had to be this way. I would explain more, but that would only cause more confusion. At the bottom of this letter is a seal. All you have to do is place your hand on it and you'll understand.

I hope to see you before I pass, but if not, goodbye son. I've always loved you and missed you all my life.

James Jackson'

I sat back, emotions raging through me. That bastard! How dare he write me after all this time and expect my forgiveness! Wait, was he asking for that? Rereading the letter quickly told me that was not what he was asking. Fact of the matter was that in his attempt to not confuse me of what he wanted only confused me of what he was trying to say. But two things were certain. He had lung cancer and, if the letter is be believed, I just had to touch the seal at the bottom of the letter to understand what he was trying to say.

I looked at the starry crest at the bottom of the letter. Tentatively, I reached out my my hand to touch it. I paused before I put my hand on it. What was I doing? Here I got a tear jerking letter from my father, that explained nothing, and now I was just going to take his word that touching a shiny bit of tinfoil was going to make me understand something that he can't just come out and say?

I got up and tossed the letter on the table. I was too tired for this crap. I headed off to bed. That should have been the end of it, but I couldn't sleep. For some stupid reason, reading the letter that my father had written to me had gotten under my skin. Even more was what he said about the seal. Really what was the harm in just touching it? I mean, what was the worst that could happen? Nothing. What would probably happen? Nothing. So what did I have to lose? Nothing. That seemed right.

But then there was the whole problem of how the letter got there in the first place. The only person who had keys to my apartment was the land lord, and he'd never come in to place a simple letter. It just didn't make sense, but the more I tried to not think about it, the more my mind raced about it. With a groan, I threw off my blanket and walked over to to the table, talking to myself, as I sometimes do.

“Okay, we're going to touch the stupid thing, nothing will happen, and we're going back to bed.” It seemed simple enough. “Absolutely nothing is going to happen, got it? Nothing whatsoever.” Picking up the paper, I placed my hand to hover over the seal. “Nothing....Nothing will happen.”

Then why was I so unnerved about it? It didn't make sense. This was so stupid. I pressed my hand against it, subconsciously bracing myself.

“There...Nothing is ha-” My hand sank through the seal. “What the-” The sinking hand pulled the rest of my body through, like the crest was a vacuum of some kind. It happened so suddenly and fast that the last thing I remembered was feeling weightless before all went black.

Pain. My body was in pain, but mostly my head. What had happened?

“Shhh, he's comin' 'round.” Someone whispered.

“He looks cute.” Another whispered back in a girlish giggle. “Is he the new guardian?”

“Sure hope not.” The first voice replied. “He ain't look like much. Bet he ain't rustled with a timberwolf before.”

In my disorientated mind, I was able to perceive a few things, other than my splitting headache. First, these two were girls. I know, brilliant deduction Watson! Second, the first speaker had a southern accent that would be pleasant to listen to, if it wasn't for the contempt and disappointment in her voice. Third, and most likely the most important was, my headache was starting to lessen enough to reply, but keep my eyes closed.

“If by Timberwolf, you mean the basketball team, then you're right. I haven't played them, unless you count in video games.”

There was a pause. “Basket...ball? What in tarnation is that?”

“Oh, Oh! Is it a new game of some type? I love games! Can we play? Can we, Can we, Can we?!”

Somewhere a door opened, and the odd sound of clopping could be heard. I kept my eyes closed, as my brain was still upset with me for….whatever happened earlier. It was clear enough to think, but still fuzzy enough to accept all this talking without wondering why I was suddenly talking to two girls.

“Girls!” A third voice chimed in. Her voice was lighter than the others, and somehow held a hint of command that I only hear from managers at work. “He's asking for-” From the sudden halt of her speech, I was noticed. There was more of that strange clopping sound. “I see you got the letter...Please, come. We don't have much time.”

Slowly I opened up my eyes. The world around me was blurry, like I had sleep in my eyes. A few blinks later and the room I was in started to come into focus. I was laying on my stomach, being eyed at by three...ponies? That's not right. I blinked again, and sure enough they were ponies. One was an orange coated mare with long blond hair, no mane- ponies had manes- tied at the end with a red ribbon. On her head was a Stanton hat. You know, the classic cowboy ones? The pony next to her was pink. From her fluffy mane to her hooves she was all pink, the only relief of the overbearing color being her light blue eyes. The last mare through me for a new loop.

The first thing I noticed about her was that she was purple. Yeah purple. And she had a horn on her head. A long, very sharp looking, horn. I was too fixated on the horn to notice much else about her.

For the record, I don't do drugs, though I've had a few really weird dreams in the past. Maybe this was one of my weirder dreams. Yes, that was it. It was fine. I'd ride this out until I woke up and- Something touched my side. The touch was hard and cold. Of crap this wasn't a dream! With a yelp, I sat up and scooted back against the wall.

“Wha-What's going on?!” Looking around wildly I could see that I was not in my apartment. Kinda obvious since I'm talking to ponies here. “Ho-”

“Calm down.” The purple horned on said calmly, putting up a hoof. “It's okay.”

“Like hell it's okay!” I was panicking. “I'm surrounded by horses who talk! That's not natural!”

“We're ponies, not horses.” Orange coat snorted.

It all didn't make sense to me. How could this be real? I had touched something on a stupid letter from my father who had left twenty years ago, and now I was in a room with three talking ponies, each of various colors. Did I fall and hit my head or something? Was I hallucinating?

“Girls, you're scaring him.” The purple horned one grumbled. Over her shoulder I could see them shuffle uncomfortably, not to far away from the door. The door!

I lunged for it, feeling my fight or flight senses taking over. Before I could reach the door, the door opened up, revealing a pony unlike the others. First off, she had wings, and her mane was that of a rainbow. Remember what I said about not doing drugs?

“Twi, he's calling for you.” She simply stated. After nodding at something behind my back, she turned and started trotting off, leaving me with a myriad of emotions to run through me. With the other three mares behind me, I had little choice but to follow her.

Turns out that I was in a house of some kind. Because I was distracted by the colorful, four legged creatures around me, I didn't realized that there was an odd assortment of furniture placed about the wide space. Most of if looked like throw pillows and small tv tray tables, for ponies use, I guessed, with some chairs that were clearly meant for humans. A quick look told me there was no electricity, nor running water.

Oh how much I wish this was a dream. A very real feeling dream. I don't think I could survive without in house plumbing.

The cyan colored pegasus led me to a room, where a man, in his early fifties it looked like, was in bed, surrounded by two other ponies, each sitting on the far side of the bed, teary eyed. The man, who till now had his eyes closed, opened them at the sound of our arrival. He smiled softly at the purple one, Twi I think her name was, holding out a hand to her, which she practically galloped to, nuzzling it affectionately. Then his eyes shifted to me. I knew those eyes. Those green eyes, that I hadn't seen for so long. His face broke into a smile. A weak, but joyous smile.

“Mike,” His voice was deep and raspy, as if each breath hurt. “Son. How glad I am to see you one more time.”

Something deep inside me wished he wouldn't look at me that way. Tears filled his eyes, like I was the most precious thing in the world, in his world that was now falling apart. I didn't want to move, but the nudge in the small of my back pushed me forward towards the beside. I didn't know what else to do. I knelt down beside this dying man, who was my father, and held his hand.

“I'd like to tell you everything,” He wheezed, “but as you can see, I'm a little short on breathe.” His chuckle turned into a wracking cough. The ponies around him looked at him, ears drooping. “But, Twilight here will fill you in on the important stuff.”

Twilight's ears dropped at this. Her horn glowed a little, seeming to ease the old man's pain, but that seemed all she could do anymore. Her eyes welled with tears that she tried in vain to hold back, as if trying to be strong. She looked pitiful like that, staring at the man, plainly wishing that he didn't have to die. He let go of my hand and patted her head.

“It's okay Twili. I'm sure Mike will take care of you all better than I could. Maybe even find you a nice stallion to have some foals with.”

A silent shock of electricity ran through me. Take care of them? Me?

The man looked to me, holding out his hand again. “Mike, this is important, please lean forward.” Confused, I did. He placed his shaky hand on my forehead. “I, James Jackson, guardian of this herd, to give my blessing to you, Mike Jackson, my son, and charge you with the responsibility and duty to protect this herd with your life. Treat them well, and they will respect you as they respected me, and give you their love and trust. Never betray them. This is my last act as their guardian, and my only request as the father you never had.”

I felt something. Something in my heart. It's strange to put it in words, but it was like a key was fit into a lock, but not yet turned. I was touched, yet...I felt...betrayed. All my life, as long as I could remember, I had only the vaguest knowledge of my father. Now that I had the chance to meet him, to confront him for leaving, to ask him so many questions I had, he only shifted his responsibility to me.

The hand on my head slipped off, to the bed with a soft thump. Looking up, I saw his glassy eyes staring at me. The man had passed from this life, and from the smile on his face, he had left in peace.

All around the bed, the candy colored ponies began to cry and whinny at the loss of someone important. Someone they loved. Pangs of jealousy pricked at my heart, as I stood, feeling like a stranger at the deathbed of my own parent. Without a word, I left the room, trying to figure out just what the hell happened and how was I going to get out of it. What did I know about taking care of ponies?