Bumps Along The Way

With a whistle and a heavy shunt, the train carriage finally came to a stop. Moments later, the carriage doors opened before me, smoked clearing to reveal the busting Trottingham platform. I took one cautious look outside, before a gathering crowd of ponies eager to get to work, forced me from the carriage and out onto the cold concrete of the platform.

I let out a tiny eep, my nervousness demanding I do so as I narrowly avoided falling into the gap between the carriage and the platform. About me, ponies far larger than myself, dispersed out into the virtual sea of equine bodies. Today, a Tuesday to be precise, most were finely dressed business ponies heading off to work in bigger, more illustrious cities like Manehatten and Canterlot.

There were a few exceptions to that specification however, one of which was myself. A small, sad, little puddle, afforded me a glance at that exception as it reflected my equally pitiful image.

I was a petite, violet coated, unicorn mare with a dark blue mane and tail. A sharp, white streak though the latter pair, was about the brightest my appearance achieved, besides my teal eyes. My cutie mark was a long stem of lavender, surrounded by several green leaves.

I'd still little idea what the mark even meant. Then again, I'd little idea what any of my miserable life meant any more. I had no home, no family, certainly no job and even fewer friends, if that was even possible. Right now, that felt like least of my problems however, and as I looked at my relatively sleek figure in the puddle, I gulped at just how soon I might lose that too. In fact, I’d pretty much lost my looks already, the bags under my tired eyes, my messy mane and the tattered, brown saddle bags slung over my back, were already the perfect testament to that.

But were where my manners? Oh yeah, probably with the rest of my ruined life back in Manehatten.

My name was Lavender. To be honest, I’d always considered it the most boring name ever. Why name somepony after the colour of their coat? In truth, my mother had never really been one for good names, and I'd been the last in a long line of siblings to finally get mine. A family of rejects and failures, I might add. Now, it was finally my turn to fulfil that traditional role in my own special way. In fact, given my current state, I liked to think I'd set a new record for just how far a mare like me can fall.

The world seemed to agree, as before I could even take a step forwards, an oblivious pony trotted blindly through the puddle, splashing me right in the face. I squeaked in alarm, then noticed the passing stallion responsible for my recent bath trot away relatively unscathed.

"By Celestia, why me?" I groaned to myself, wiping the dirty water from my face best I could, and moving on into the cover of the station before any more little nuisances could find me.

The Trottingham station itself, was huge. There were at least six platforms and a vast array of shops and cafes, all of which were covered by a large, glass roof and crisscrossed by a whole manor of bridges. Even so, it was nothing compared to what I was used to back in Manhattan, not that I'd ever get a chance to see that oh so great city again. I'd spent the last of my bits just to get here, so Trottingham was now my home, weather I liked it or not. It had either been here or Stalliongrad, and I’d chosen here because it was furthest away from the life I'd been so abruptly kicked out of.

Finally reaching somewhere dry, and after a rather desperate run to the little fillies room, I finally set about looking for what I'd come here for, a job. Moments later, I levitated a small piece of ripped newspaper out of my saddlebags. I’d found it a week ago in the Manehatten times, and upon it were brief directions to several places hiring throughout Trottingham.

My ambitions were disturbed a moment later however, as a loud grumble emanated up from my gut. I let out a tired groan, levitating the paper aside and rolling my eyes. I was hungry, very hungry, and most ponies would say for good reason. But, for a filly in my predicament, that reason was anything but good.

"Look, I have no bits and therefore no food, so by Celestia please shut up!" I called back over my shoulder, seemingly to nopony in particular.

All my stomach did was growl loudly again then, as if the world just loved to force me down further, the scent of warm food caught my nose. My hungry eyes moved over to the source of the smell, and frond one of the station’s many cafes. Its front was decorated by a delicious array of daisy sandwiches, daffodil salads and sizzling hay fries. My hunger quickly took hold, and I was almost watering at the mouth before I finally snapped myself back.

"No. By Celestia, no food!" I declared firmly, stomping a forehoof.

At that, some of the passing ponies glared at me like I was some kind of crazy mare and, realizing I’d just called a great deal of attention to myself, I sank down as low as I could, smiling sheepishly.

"What did I tell you? I need to get a job or we’re both screwed." I hissed back at my stomach, through gritted teeth.

There was a short moment of quiet, then another obnoxiously loud grumble. The next breath to escape my muzzle was a long and arduous groan. Finally, I looked back to my worn piece of newspaper, in an effort to ignore it. A Hay Burger Town just down the road was first on my list of potential jobs. Yet, the thought of the food they’d be serving there only made my cravings for a decent meal grow more. I forced that hungry instinct right back to the furthest corner of my mind with a mental buck. Then, I battled to ignore the tingling sensation in my stomach as I made for the station’s exit.

I had seven chances to get this right, seven jobs available. I also had an equal number chances to screw it all up, just like the rest of my family, and knowing my luck, I’d do just that. After all, I was the latest in a long line of the failures. But, as far as I knew, I was the first of those rejects to be starting a whole new doomed lineage of my very own.

Oh, did I forget to mention the gleaming jewel upon my crown of mishaps? It was the one great screw up that had finally exiled me from my failure of a family, and granted me the false luxury of isolation after only five weeks of dragging it around. I was pregnant.