A letter from Cotton Weaver
A Letter from Cotton Weaver
I guess since I’m writing my life story down, I should start at the beginning. My earliest memory, I think, was from when I was about 4 years old. I was quite the thin little colt, though that was no fault of my parents. We lived on the edge of town, in a cozy little house. I remember always running out into the yard after finishing my breakfast, checking on the little tree sapling my folks had planted the day I was born. Heh, it’s like we had a competition going on, who would grow the biggest? I was winning by then. Those were good times.
My father was a tailor. Quite well-known in a few circles. Owned a small shop on the busy streets of Manehatten. Whenever my mother took me with her to bring father his lunch, he would act like we were regular customers, fitting me for a suit all fancy-like and such while mother tried to keep from laughing. He always said that this was my legacy; his father was a tailor, and his father before him. His thread and needle cutie mark was certainly no hoax. That stallion was the best unicorn tailor you could ever meet. Good times for all of us. Until everything changed.
Both my father and mother died one night in a chariot crash. One day I was living happily with the happiest family you could dream of, the next day I was an orphan: Kicked out of my home and sent to the orphanage, my father’s store sold to the highest bidder. I remember my final day at the house. I walked through those empty hallways and into those empty, hollow rooms. The hushed tone in the house was no longer warm and cozy, but cold and sad. I hugged my tree and, as I was about to leave home for the last time, carved into it my name, hoping that one day I would see it again, growing tall and strong without me to take care of it.
The orphanage was a dark and bitter place. For the first year, I spent my nights curled up with a photo of my parents, sobbing myself to sleep. I missed them terribly. The other children were also like me: aimless, hollow, and crushed. There was no laughter in those rooms, no cheer in the hallways. Lessons were held in the orphanage as well. It was a depressing time. As the years went by, however, the pain had begun to fade. It was always there, but soon my mother and father began to collect dust beneath my bed. One of the many things I would learn to let go of throughout my life. I remember the day I finally stepped out into the real world once again, free from the depression of the orphanage, free to find my own way. I won’t lie, I was scared and confused. I roamed the streets for days, looking for work, a home, anything. For the second time in my life, my entire world had been flipped upside-down. Then, I met her. The mare of my dreams.
It was late one chilly winter night. Winter hadn’t been wrapped up yet, and I was out walking through the streets, watching the foals romp around their mothers as they tried to hurry home before it got too late. I looked up upon hearing the bell toll for 8 o’clock when I saw her. Let me tell you, she was beautiful. Too beautiful to capture in those grainy, old photographs. With her light blue coat, azure mane, and brilliant, twinkling sapphire eyes, I knew at that moment I wanted to be with that mare for the rest of my life. She appeared rather chilly that winter evening, so, being a gentlecolt, I invited her to my apartment for tea, offering her my jacket. Let me tell you something, my heart soared when I heard her accept.
After that night, we kept in contact for many months, always ending the same way. Her coming over and enjoying a cup of tea. It took a full year to work up the courage to do what I had wanted to do when I had first laid eyes on her. Exactly a year after I had met her, on yet another chilly winter night, I proposed to the mare of my dreams. I think that could be described as the happiest day of my life, only tied, perhaps, with the day of our wedding. You should have been there. It was the most beautiful thing you could have ever imagined. When she walked up the aisle in her wedding gown, believe me when I tell you that she looked magnificent. We were truly in love. The moments I had with her are the ones I’ll cherish forever. Then we had our foal, Thread Spinner. The most precious young colt ever to live, named after my father.
We started a business together. I was living up to my father’s legacy, by being the best tailor I possibly could. She was a baker. You, son, were the light of our days. I thought those days would never end, and I didn’t want them to. Unfortunately, son, good things must always fade. It was about the same day you left for Canterlot University that your mother, my wife, passed away from natural causes one night. I wept for days upon days. I thought I had witnessed all the loss that I was to experience already. Not a day went by where I did not shed a tear for the mare of my dreams, the mare I had shared all of my hopes and aspirations with, who had simply faded away, joining the photograph of my parents under the bed. On that day, I resolved that I was going to work as hard as I could, in memory of your mother, and so that you may continue my legacy.
Yes, son. That store, where I would dress you up in suits as if you were a customer, that was my father’s. And now it is yours. I don’t have much time left now. But I just want you to know that I have always loved you, through the good times and the bad. Nothing could come between us, and I want you to know that as I leave this letter, this memoir, this legacy, and pass it on to you. I hand the torch to you, son. I know that you will make me proud. You always do, and as I watch from up above, I know that I always will be.
I love you so much.
Tears dripped on the parchment as the old unicorn put away the quill and ink, and gently placed the letter on the bed which he had shared with his dear wife. He made a final trek through those cold, sad hallways, into the yard where he looked up and smiled, chuckling and wheezing softly. He placed a hoof on the mighty oak tree fondly resting his forehead against the rough bark.
“Well, old friend, it looks like you’ve beaten me. I think I’m ready for a rest now...” The old stallion smiled and lay down beneath the shade of the strong, silent tree, where he drifted off into the eternal slumber of the everafter, with that same, peaceful smile upon his old wrinkled face, now trouble-free and truly happy...
