A Story Worth Telling

Chapters

Square and white
The art of crusading
The ultimate price
A safe haven
Words
The present
A crusader meetup

Square and white

Square and white, square and white, square and white.

I tried not to think too much about the job I was actually doing. Because if I did, it would drive me crazy. Rows and rows of tiny sugar cubes passed by under my ever-watchful gaze. I could say that my gaze was trained and that I would be an expert on the matter of checking sugar cubes, but truth is, every idiot could do this job. The job of making sure that every sugar cube was perfect.

It fitted right with the slogan. Not ‘square and white,’ I mean, but our real company’s slogan: ‘Sweet’s sugar cubes: pure, square perfection.’ And who was the pony who made sure that they would all be perfect? You guessed it, me, Sweet Tooth.

I looked at my wristwatch. Thankful as I was for having it, I could figure out how long I still had to do this eye-numbing work. I could only wish it would count down as well, so the hours would flow away, instead of pile up on each other.

The last of the sugar cubes came into sight. They too, were square and white—pure perfection. I wasn’t going to wait for the things to reach the boxing part of the assembly line; that was someone else’s job. Also, I wasn’t in the mood for talking to my fellow colleague. Each time exactly one hundred and ninety-eight sugar cubes were created using the sugar press which I know oh-so well, they would be boxed by another pony standing a few meters from me. Six by eleven by three. I could wait for a couple of seconds for the pony to fill the box up using a different machine and exchange a few words, but as I said, I was not in the mood.

Back to work then. I turned my head to the left to see an enormous pile of sugar slowly drifting towards me on the conveyor belt. Time to spring into action. I divided the pile into smaller piles, using my gloved hooves and my expert’s eyes to measure the right size. Then, I put some distance between the little piles and let them continue their way to my instrument of sugar torture. I came up with that beautiful, beautiful name for my machine a couple of days ago; on my first day, in fact. That day, I had nourished the hope that this job would be exciting and that it would be a nice opportunity to do something useful with my time. Both wrong. The work soon proved to be the exact opposite of that, revealing not hope, but my worst case scenario. After a couple of days I stopped naming things in a fun and creative way, and just did my job. My mind was completely numbed, perfect for the job. As perfect and square and white as my brother’s sugar cubes.

The small pile had reached my machine. It disappeared through the hole and into the mold. I scooted behind my machine, pushed the buttons, and pulled the lever down. With a hiss like a dangerous snake, the press molded the sugar into cubes. Sometimes I wished it were a dangerous snake, as it would make the job at least a little bit more exciting and adventurous. Of course, the machine could also be dangerous, if you put your hoof under it. Then there would be nothing left of my working hooves but small, grey sugar cubes.

Imagine if anypony would find that in their box of sugar.

I chuckled to myself. The fact that I could utter a laugh—if a small one—felt like an amazing achievement considering my situation.

But now was no time for laughing. Now things would have to be serious again. It was quality control time, not to be confused with ‘quality time.’ Like an endless row of snowflakes the sugar cubes passed before my eyes. But actually they weren’t snowflakes, because no two snowflakes were alike, and these sugar cubes were meant to be alike; that was the whole point. Sometimes I counted them, just to be sure that there would be a box full of them, even though I knew that there would always be one hundred and ninety-eight sugar cubes; that was the size of the mold, after all. In reality, I counted them to numb my mind and stop my thoughts from springing into every single direction. What if I would get distracted and something would go wrong? What if one of the sugar cubes would suddenly explode because I didn’t stare hard enough at it?

No, stop mind! No funny thinking.

Thinking about nothing is hard. My mind was impossible to bind in shackles. Darn it! Another colorful metaphor. Just stop it!

I moved back to load in the next mini-pile of sugar, careful to be back at the other side of my machine before my colleague would show her freckled cheeks, forever bound into a smile. What in Equestria was she always so cheerful about? As I loaded the pile in the mold, I looked around. There was nothing cheerful here, anyway. Just monotonous, grey, cheerless walls, illuminated by lightbulbs hanging high on the production hall’s ceiling. The other machines in front of us wouldn’t possibly have any good sense of humor either. So what was left? Should I ask her?

No, I thought, as I pulled the lever down and unleashed the snake. I’m not going to talk.

Besides, my shift was almost over. I looked at my watch again to be greeted with the time: ten to five—or one more press, so to speak. I didn’t even feel cheer because of that.

Instead, I felt my thoughts drift away again. The reason why my colleague always smiled just couldn’t leave my mind. It was so curious. I scooted aside, ready to begin my quality check for the last time. I’m glad I was so good at multitasking, for I could watch and count and check the sugar cubes while keeping an eye on my fellow unfortunate, who didn’t look unfortunate at all.

There she was, the blue-coated mare with the freckled cheeks. But she saw that I was looking at her, and flashed her smile in my direction. “Hi there, Sweet Tooth. How are you doing?”

“Alright,” I said, which could mean so many things. Maybe I was alright; maybe the work was going alright; maybe I agreed with a thought of mine, or one of hers; maybe my body was alright and my mind was not, or the other way around; or maybe I was right-hoofed—which I was. Nevertheless, she seemed content at the answer. But I wasn’t. I was still no hoofstep closer to discovering her infinite source of good cheer.

“What a beautiful day, isn’t it?” she said, as she started collecting the perfect sugar cubes in her gloved hooves. After that, she would put them into the sorting machine which she operated, and then pack them to be used in some pony’s tea or coffee.

“It… is?” I said, not even knowing if I spoke the truth. I glanced around and out the high window. It was a good day. The sun was shining, making the snow glimmer and glitter in its orange light and heralding the end of the day. It announced the last light retreating before evening set in. I reckon the birds that had stayed despite the season had to be singing too to make the picture complete, if the glass had not been soundproof. Of course it was soundproof; we wouldn’t want to disturb anypony with our loud machines, right? But what if I, the worker, would be disturbed by the sound? Would they build a soundproof cabin for me then? I highly doubted it.

“Yes, it is. I can’t wait to spend the evening at home. We always play board games with the whole family on Friday evening. You know, to celebrate the weekend.”

I nodded, but realized that the nod was a lie. I didn’t know how that would look like. I mean, I could picture the scene in my mind; everyone seated at the table, laughing, betting, moving their pawns or rolling the dice. But it would be like a picture. I wouldn’t feel anything. That made the picture fake and shallow.

But I had to say something back to my colleague, if only out of politeness. “That’s great! I guess you will all have a swell time tonight.”

“Definitely.” She flashed a smile as she guided the sugar cubes into the boxing machine. I didn’t have much time left. When the cubes were all snugly inside her machine, she threw her glance in my direction again. “So what are you going to do tonight?”

That caught me off-guard, for I never did do anything special in the evening. I usually got a drink in a bar or just strolled around town. I looked at the mare. “You know… fun stuff.” Another lie.

Her smile didn’t leave her face. “Well, that sounds… fun too. Fun stuff is always fun, right? Hence the name.”

“Yup.” I saw that she noticed the awkwardness of the conversation as well, and that she wanted to go back to work to end it. I decided to be a gentlecolt and end it for her. “Well, back to work,” I said, and moved to my machine again.

A steam horn blew through the hall, making me jump. Why did everything in this factory had to be so loud? Nevertheless, it was a welcome sound. The day was done.

But even though the day was done, my mission was still a failure. I hadn’t figured out what made the mare smile so much, and she was already out the door, going to her family. But even if she would have stayed here a tad longer, I doubted that I would have talked to her any more. She would undoubtedly have asked more questions that would be so normal for her but not so normal for me. It was better this way. I shut down the press, hung my helmet on the hook, threw away my gloves, and walked towards the door.

I couldn’t spot her in the line for the payments. I felt both relieved and disappointed because of that. As I took my spot at the back of the line, I realized that I didn’t even know her name. Was that asocial? It was. It was the first time I had seen her and I hadn’t even introduced myself to her, even though she knew my name already. And not knowing her name meant that I couldn’t ask anypony else about her and her mysterious smile. I looked down the line. Stallions with stubble on their chin and tired eyes looked eagerly to the end of it, where their money awaited them. There were mares too, also looking tired, and also looking forward to crashing into their beds.

This is what they all did it for then; money. My mind started to work on that. You earn money to do fun stuff. Then, when the money is gone, you do a job to earn money and do fun stuff. It was like a vicious cycle repeating itself over and over and over again. It was so simple.

And at the end of the line, there wouldn’t be money; there would be death. Work, fun stuff, work, fun stuff, work, fun stuff, death. Would we be able to work and do fun stuff in the afterlife? I didn’t hope so.

Step by step, the line shuffled forwards. It was as if my brother was reluctant to give money to the ponies who deserved it most. The workers wouldn’t know; I would. I knew the boss of Sweet’s Sugar Factory all too well, and I knew how he liked his money. Preferably lots of it. These ponies spent all of their waking hours doing the most boring work in Equestria—I guessed it was the most boring work, because I hadn’t done work any more boring—and yet it took so long for them to get their money. That was all the proof I needed; cutie marks are fake.

Of course I knew about the stuff they taught me in school, about cutie marks, destiny, special talents, blah, blah, blah. But I knew it was fake. How could destiny be so cruel as to force these ponies to do jobs they didn’t like? You could see it in their eyes. I didn’t only see tiredness, but I swore I could see also boredom. This was not what they were destined to do; I knew that. There was no other explanation. Fate had played a cruel trick on these ponies, and especially on me.

The line moved another three or four steps forward. When it came to a halt again, I turned my head to glance at my cutie mark; a sugar cube. The design was as ‘less-is-more’ as this factory’s monotonous interior. It was a white square, nothing more, nothing less. A white square on both flanks, reminding me again and again that working in the sugar business was my destiny; the thing that I would be doing for the rest of my life.

Except that it wasn’t.

It couldn’t be the truth. It just couldn’t be. There had to be some mistake. Doing the thing where your special talents flourish should be fun and should fill you with a sense of purpose and satisfaction. That was also something I learned in school. This work did none of those things. Therefore, working in the sugar factory couldn’t be my special talent, and least of all my destiny.

The line moved, as did my thoughts. They drifted to smiley mare. Could she have been smiling because she had figured out her special talent? Could this work really be her destiny and fill her up with joy and satisfaction? No, it had to be something else. It was probably the thought of spending the evening with her family playing board games. Yes, that was probably it. But despite my conclusion, I couldn’t leave the ‘probably’ out.

My turn came. I scooted over to the booth. “Name?” the stallion in the dusty booth said.

Was he serious? I was the brother of the factory director, and this pony didn’t even know my name? But then I realized how hypocritical this was for me to think, because I hadn’t even asked the name of the mare with whom I worked together. I shook my head, and obediently said my name. “Sweet Tooth.”

Without looking twice, the stallion scanned the open organizer on his desk, found the name, and read the number of hours I had worked. Picking up a mechanical calculator, he made a quick sum. Then he reached back, and grabbed a sack of Bits out of the vault. “Here you go.”

I nodded, grabbed the sack, and walked out the factory, ready to spend my evening alone on the streets.

I didn’t mean that I was homeless. Of course not, far from it. It’s just that I always enjoy a little stroll through the ‘beautiful’ part of Baltimare. Well, not really. I quickly left the industrial part of the city behind me and moved on to the somewhat nicer neighborhoods. Cozy little brick houses accompanied me on either side, together with a whole lot of other ponies returning home from work. They were mostly industrial workhorses, calmly discussing their working day in groups on the street. I noticed some ponies of the sugar factory were among them, but they didn’t notice me or didn’t know me—possibly both. If only they would know who I was…

This part of Baltimare, the residences of the workhorses, was a healthy middle between the high and beautiful estates of the factory directors and other great industrials, and the low, thatched roof houses of the commoners and the farmers. It did like to spend some time strolling through the commoners’ districts, as there were loads of parks, beautiful plots of land, and small forests over there. But the working class districts always made me feel more… authentic.

I turned the next corner and kept trotting until I could see it; the Buckingham Bar. It was not the sort of watering hole you would go to if you were a member of a high class, snobby family, but I didn’t care. I always thought the place had something that all of those expensive cocktail bars did not have: character. The bar had a certain personality created by the ponies who came here to drink, forget, or play pool. There were already some misfits standing outside. As I walked past them I heard snippets of sentences—and many curses—which indicated that they had been kicked out. Not by a bodyguard, of course, but by the barstallion himself. He was a giant.

As I entered the bar, I knew I was home. The smell of cigarettes and wood mingled with the dim light and the rough talk to create that strange, but pleasurable character. As I sat down on the barstool, I realized that I did admire the character of the Buckingham Bar. This place had more character than my whole house, including the ponies living in it. No posh haute cuisine could compare to this. I looked around at the stallions and mares seated at the table, talking, drinking, or playing cards. All of these ponyfolk seemed so carefree, so relaxed. It was as if they had nothing in the wide, wide world of Equestria to worry about. Nope, they were definitely not worried about anything, and least of all their cutie marks. To them, it was as simple as pie—or whiskey.

“I would like a whiskey please.”

“Sure,” Stomping Grounds said. He was the enormous stallion who ran this place. A stallion whose mouth was as big as his back muscles. He used to be a wrestler, until he retired.

“Thanks,” I said, as the glass stood before me. I gulped it down in one swig, feeling the warmth spreading through my belly. “Another one, please.”

“Will you stop your ‘pleasing’ alright?” Stomping Grounds slammed his hoof on the bar. “If you want something, just say what you want and quit the formalities. This is no place for formalities.”

He was right. I knew he wasn’t angry; it was all just for show. “Another whiskey,” I said.

“Now that’s more like it. Here you go.” But before Stomping Grounds could finish his sentence, I had gulped down the whiskey.

Stomping Grounds must have noticed that my desperate need for alcohol wasn’t just for getting warm again. “Hey, what’s the matter, lad?” he said, looking me in the eyes.

I didn’t want to tell him, of course, but if Stomping Grounds asked you something, you damn well answered. “Do you ever wonder about your cutie mark?” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the meaning,” I said. “Your interpretation and the interpretation society gives to your cutie mark.”

The big bartender pondered over that for a second. Then he looked at his own cutie mark, a beer bottle, and met my gaze again. “Nope. As clear to me as a glass of whiskey. What? Do you wonder about yours?”

He was smarter than I gave him credit for, or perhaps he was just very good at reading ponies, a skill he has undoubtedly gotten during the many years of bartending—and maybe also in wrestling. I nodded my head. “Yeah.”

“You shouldn’t think too much, Sweet Tooth, or you’ll get a headache.” Stomping Grounds let out a heavy chuckle, accompanied by his slamming hoof. “Thanks to the whiskey!”

I chuckled along, although I did feel a bit disappointed about the bartender’s answer. He walked away from me, serving another visitor. In the meantime I tried to form a few more striking questions in my mind; questions that would give me some useful answers. But when Stomping Grounds stood before me again, he was the one who began to talk. “You shouldn’t worry too much about your cutie mark and what it means. It comes when it comes. In the end, you will find your special talent and the job that goes with it. Just let it flow, your cutie mark is always right.”

Not the answer I wanted to hear. It only stirred more hopelessness inside of me. A painful question popped up in my head. What would be worse, having no cutie mark, or not knowing how to use your cutie mark? Stomping Grounds made it sound so simple. Well, it wasn’t. Cutie marks are a lie, a fake. If I said that to the big bartender, he would certainly throw me out, so I kept my opinion to myself. Instead, I asked him, “But what if you never got a nice job because you don’t know what your cutie mark means?”

Stomping Grounds shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe you have to look at it for a long time, and see what it is. Maybe you gotta discover it yourself.”

“Discover it myself?”

“Yeah, just travel. I always thought my special talent was wrestling, which it kinda was. But then I discovered bartending after I got drunk during my retirement party and couldn’t leave the bar anymore. I saw how things were going and thought, ‘Why not try this myself?’ I guess you gotta experiment. And maybe you have multiple special talents. Who knows?”

Those words stirred something in me, a positive feeling. “You’re right! I should try things myself. I need to interpret my cutie mark myself.” But not here, I realized. This would be a chance to leave my old life behind and pursue something new—to start over. But now, we’re going to do things my way, and nopony can tell me otherwise. I would have to go and travel, and not stop until I have found my special talent, whatever my cutie mark means. And besides, maybe I would learn what it means anyway. That would be a welcome bonus.

Stomping Grounds took my moment of thought as a sign that his mission was accomplished, and that he had helped me with my sorrows. He started to turn around, but I stopped him.

“More whiskey. This calls for a drink!”

“If you say so,” the bartender said, and filled my glass once more.

* *

Hours, a couple of more drinks, and some card games later, I was on my way home. Despite the many drinks I had had, the cold, nightly winds quickly extinguished the inner, alcohol-fueled fire that burned in my belly. With a shiver, I remembered that I had a scarf and a hat in my saddlebags. I put them on, which cost me more effort than it should have.

My fogged mind was working on the ideas that had sprouted inside of it. My quest for my cutie mark, or rather, the quest for my destiny—I already had my cutie mark. I could see myself traveling all over Equestria, getting wiser and more adept at life with every town or city I visited. And maybe, if I would fail, I could go and find a way to remove my cutie mark.

Heh. Funny.

I came to the harbor, the great port of Baltimare. This was where the stuff happened. This was where the money was made. As I strolled over the pier, trying my best not to fall into the water, I gazed at the enormous cargo ships that were moored in the harbor. Finally, I couldn’t hold myself upright anymore; the world was just spinning too fast for me. I slumped against a pole and slid slowly down, until my flank was greeted with the cold kiss of snow. But I couldn’t give up. If I couldn’t even travel to my house, how in Equestria was I going to travel all around the world? I gritted my teeth, but it didn’t help; my head still felt as if it were bobbing up and down in the water. I don’t know how I did it, but I raised myself up to my own four hooves again.

“Oh, look! I am already home.”

Of course I wasn’t. I was just looking at a giant ship from Sweet’s Sugar Factory.

“Hello, little brother!”

On the hull of the ship was an image of my brother, smiling, and with a sugar cube between his teeth. Only he could make a smirk which left plenty of room for a sugar cube and some nifty salespony sayings.

I suddenly felt the urge to climb aboard and throw all of the crates of sugar cubes overboard. I wondered what a sweet sea would taste like.

You know how drunken ideas work; they come and go. I forced myself to stagger onwards, because I knew I was almost home. Leaving the port behind, I entered the fancy pants part of town. Here, there weren’t any cozy brick houses, but classy palaces. The character and ambiance was gone. Broad roads, suitable for enormously luxurious carriages, divided the neighborhood in two. Beautiful gardens with statues or carefully tended bushes sprouted between the walls and little spires of the houses. In a way, this neighborhood was like the sugar cubes of the factory: pure perfection.

Well, not for me.

Every house was different in color and shape. Everypony had probably hired a different, overly-expensive architect to erect their little castles. Would they all want to become princesses or something? Princess Sugar Tooth. Heh. I wondered what I would look like with a horn and two wings—and a dress, of course.

There came the Sweet residence. It was different from all of the other palaces. Where the others almost resembled little castles, my house had a much more modern look. The walls were as straight, square, and white as sugar cubes. Loads of windows let in much light to give the place an airy and transparent feel. Airy and transparent? To me it felt empty.

A little white wall surrounded the house, separating the front yard from the world outside. I walked up towards the porch and jangled the rope which was attached to the bell inside. A few seconds later, the porch opened with a magical glow. No ‘hello,’ no ‘welcome back,’ no ‘we’ve missed you’—not even a ‘congratulations.’ Just an open door. But I knew how reluctant my parents were to let me in. Nevertheless, I did as I always did, and entered my house.

Father stood in the doorway as I stepped inside. But he wasn’t about to welcome me back. He probably figured that I had been drinking. Judging by the smell, I guess. “Why are you always drinking after work?” he said as I hung my hat and scarf on the coat rack.

“Just enjoying my time, Father,” I said back.

The white unicorn let out a snort. “Well, as long as you don’t participate in humiliating frivolities, I suppose it’s fine.”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want to ruin our reputation.” I hoped I had put plenty of sarcasm in those words.

We walked inside the living room, also decorated in the same style as the exterior of the house. White and black and square reigned everywhere. I wobbled towards the couch and slumped down. The cold weather and the road home had sapped my strength.

Father sat down in a chair next to Mother, who looked at me with wide eyes. “Oh please tell me you didn’t go to that disgusting bar again.”

I had told them about the Buckingham Bar one time, just to show how rebellious I was. We had been in an argument and I wanted to make them mad, so I had told them. Just as with the first time, I wasn’t afraid to admit that I had actually gone there. I nodded.

Mother let out a yelp. “Oh my! Oh my!” I thought she was going to cry and ruin her pretty dress, but I also knew that she wasn’t really disappointed. She gave me a look which said, ‘I thought as much.’

I gave her the nastiest stare I was able to produce. “I guess fun is forbidden in this family…”

Suddenly, Father stepped in. “Oh, please be calm you two.” He quickly changed the subject. “Sweet Tooth, why don’t you tell us about your day. How did the work in the sugar factory go?”

“I won’t tell you about it, because it was horrible.” If I would be sober, I would have found an easy way to avoid the question and talk myself out of it. But now I was direct. Right in your face. And besides, I was still filled up with the ecstasy of my plan.

Both Father and Mother let out the same dismissive snort. “Why aren’t you grateful to have employment?” Mother said. “Work is harder and harder to get, let alone keep. You should be more grateful for the opportunity we present you as a worker in the family business.”

I felt a fight coming up. I didn’t care. “Why should I be grateful for something that I don’t like?”

Father sat down again and fixed me with his stare. “Your mother is right, son. Not only do you have a job in the family business in which you can grow, but you also have a job which perfectly matches your cutie mark. There are not a lot of ponies who could say the same.”

The word ‘cutie mark’ was like a false note in a beautiful concert to me. “Cutie mark?!” I stood up and twirled around, accidentally knocking over the overly-expensive vase on the table, although I didn’t feel at all bad about that. I believe Father grabbed it in mid-air with magic, but I was staring at my cutie mark. “Damn you, cutie mark!”

“Language,” Father said, as he put the vase on the ground beside him.

I felt my rage building. “Oh, yes. You want me to speak as properly as you do, so I can be an exact copy of you. Except that I won’t, because I will spend an eternity behind the conveyor belt, doing things that I don’t like, until I’m all grown up, and even then I won’t know what my cutie mark means.”

“Oh, please stop about your cutie mark,” Mother said. “Why can’t you be more like your brother. At least he enjoys his work in the sugar factory as vice president. He will be more than ready to inherit the family business. When we’re gone, I know for certain that the company is in the right hooves. Hooves that don’t complain and do what they’re meant to do, unlike your hooves. Or your mouth, which just complains and wails.”

To that, I jumped and smashed my hoof on the white floor tiles. I wish I had Stomping Grounds’s strength, so I would leave a crack and my point would become even more clear. “But you gave him the position of vice president, while you gave me the position of sugar cube presser.”

Father and Mother looked at each other. They knew I was right, they just didn’t want to admit it.

But I wasn’t done yet. I felt a sickening feeling wash over me as I took in their words for a second time. “How can you say that, ‘Be more like your brother.’ What sick parent can say that?”

“What sick son can misbehave so much?” Father retorted.

Mother closed her eyes and sighed. “Just a shame we had to have twins…”

My eyes flared up, and I regretted not being able to shoot fire out of them. In an upwelling of rage and sadness, I revealed my plan to them. “Then you’ll all be happy to hear that I’m leaving soon. I’m leaving to find the meaning of my cutie mark, even if I have to travel to the gates of Tartarus themselves.”

To that, Mother let out a shallow chuckle. “And what, may I ask, would be the purpose of that? You already have a cutie mark, and it describes your destiny plain and clear.”

“Sweet’s Sugar Factory is your future, son,” Father added. “Your destiny is to work. Maybe, if you would show a little more enthusiasm and initiative, you would be able to climb the ladder, but for now—“

Now it was my time to snort. “Ha! I know that whenever you say ‘maybe’ you mean ‘never.’”

Father blinked. “Never say never, son. You will ruin your whole career if you execute this strange plan of yours. At least your destiny should be a flourishing career in the sugar cube company.”

I felt the lies dripping off Father’s words.

Mother nudged him. “Oh please quit your jibber jabber, husband. You know that will never happen. Speak the truth, or you will dishonor our family as much as Sweet Tooth will. Sweet Tooth, a career? Ha! His career lies broken at his hooves, just like his destiny. It only needs one little push to shatter it like a vase.”

That hurt. A lot. I felt tears burning in my eyes, but I couldn’t give in. I tried to say something, but my voice was cracked. I swallowed, then tried again. “My destiny isn’t yet revealed; it is carefully hidden somewhere in Equestria. Hidden and waiting to be discovered. Waiting to be discovered by an adventurer, a crusader, like me.”

Father stood up and whinnied. I could see he was getting angry. “Well, Mister Crusader, your crusade ends here. You’re going upstairs now and you’re going to think about your terrible behavior for a long, long time. Tomorrow you’re going back to the factory and you’re going to like it. Sugar cube cutie mark, sugar cube factory. It’s plain and simple.”

“Yes,” Mother added. “And if you ever think about walking away from us like that, you can say goodbye to your inheritance, your job, your destiny, and your place in this family. We didn’t really want you. One son had been enough. Now that you are here, you need to earn your place in the family, but if you depart, you will betray not only yourself, but also your whole family. You will forever be an outcast, a nopony. So it is.”

“If you leave through that door,” Father said, his voice low and threatening, “you’re not going to come back in. In fact, you will not even come through the door of the front yard.”

I don’t know what hurt me more; Mother’s words or Father’s. I wanted to go. Now. But I also knew that I had to gather my possessions, and I couldn’t do that with a head full of negative emotions and the haze of whisky floating around in it. Suddenly, I felt sapped and sad. This whole argument was so terrible and unfair that I felt as if I would pass out right there and then, crying myself to sleep. But I couldn’t do that. Father and Mother would like that too much. I couldn’t let them see me crying.

I stood up, wobbled on my hooves, but held my balance. “I’m going to bed,” I said, “and tomorrow I will be gone.”

Slowly, I shuffled out the door and began climbing the stairs, which was more difficult than it sounds. Halfway up the stairs, I couldn’t see the steps anymore through my tear-struck eyes.

“Good riddance,” I heard Mother say from behind my back.

For a second, I thought about the family of the smiling mare at work. Parents who would probably say ‘good night,’ instead of ‘good riddance.’

I collapsed on my bed and cried. For a moment, I lost every single ounce of adventurous spirit I had, as it was wiped away by the flowing tears. How could they say such a thing? They didn’t want me. I didn’t know exactly what they rather wanted; me to become their slave, or me being dead. Suddenly I felt jealous. Jealous of the mare at work who had such a lovely family. Jealous of Stomping Grounds who could enjoy life because he had not a single doubt about his cutie mark and what it meant. I forced my mind to think positive, but it was so hard.

The best I could come up with was to see if I could befriend the mare at work and meet her lovely family, if only to feel the warm bonds which should be the core of every family. Not like mine, where career and results and work and money mattered so much; a family where the Bit was the head. I needed something—now more than ever. I needed a purpose. But here, I would never find it, and it seemed so far away.

And with those thoughts and feelings, I cried myself to sleep.

Best birthday ever.

The art of crusading

“Happy birthday, brother,” Sweet Mélange said. “Are you going somewhere?”

The fact that I was packing was obvious, as clothes lay anywhere and everywhere in my room. The closet was open, all the drawers were open, and, because I’m so dumb, I left the door open. “My birthday was yesterday.”

“Whoops, heh. I’m sorry I don’t have a present for you, but—“ he let out a chuckle—“I was busy working. Work is work, you know.”

“Yes. Work is work.” I didn’t look up to him.

I heard him shuffle on his hooves. “Hey, are you coming down to have breakfast? I don’t know what you’re doing, but you don’t want to be late for work now, would you?”

I grabbed my spare scarf and hat and put them in my saddlebags. “I won’t be late for work because I am not going to go to work.”

“Uh-oh.” Sweet Mélange stepped towards me until he was bent over my saddlebags too, searching for my eyes. “I’m afraid I will have to make an official report out of that. That’s strike two out of three, Sweet Tooth. One more and you will be fired.”

My own brother was going to fire me in my own house. My desire to leave this place only increased because of his words.

“But still, where are you going? It’s too cold to make long journeys now. I reckon traveling in this awful season would be most… uncomfortable.” Suddenly, he let out a gasp. “You’re not going to quit your job now, are you?”

Finally I looked up. The first thing I saw was his cutie mark; a cup of tea with two sugar cubes above it. I met his eyes. “I am. I’m going on a crusade to find my destiny.”

“WHAT?!” Sweet Mélange said with a jump. “You can’t do that! You’ll leave your future behind!”

Even my brother lied to me about my ‘future.’ It sickened me. “You and I both know that neither you nor my parents will ever grant me a position even closely like yours—especially not in the family business.” I moved to my little piggy bank and put it in my saddlebags, making sure to wrap it in some clothes. How thankful I was that I had always been an adept saver.

My brother clopped his hoof on the carpet. “You’re too smart for your own good, brother. I’m sure that thinking head of yours will lead to your doom.”

“At least I’ll go down authentically. I’m going anyway, Sweet Mélange. There’s no false promise which will keep me here.”

“FINE!” Mélange shouted. “Leave, if you want. Leave everything behind. Your father, your mother, your brother. You’re the most unfaithful twin brother I have ever had. Please do be a dear and take all of your stupid newspaper clippings with you!”

His face vanished, and I heard a heart-breaking rip. My head snapped around. I wanted to say something, but before the words left my mouth, Sweet Mélange was already out of sight, leaving a trail of ripped paper behind.

Luckily he hadn’t destroyed my favorite one; the one from the coronation of Princess Twilight Sparkle. I turned around and gazed at my wall, at my collection of newspaper clippings of Princess Twilight and her friends. For years I had collected every single article regarding the six mares from Ponyville. From the moment I heard about them—shortly after the defeat of Nightmare Moon—I had been hooked on their every adventure. They were my heroes, and I knew why, even though they contradicted my cutie mark theory. All of them had cutie marks which laid out their destiny and their path. It showed their virtues; loyalty, honesty, kindness, laughter, generosity, and magic. They had a mission in this world. They were the guardians of the Elements of Harmony and heralds of the magic of friendship. For them it was so clear what they were meant to do.

Looking over the many, many articles—and the giant rip that Sweet Mélange had created—a warmth spread through my heart. These mares were the closest friends I had, even though they had never seen me. I didn’t even feel jealous because their destinies were so clear and mine wasn’t. I felt… admiration. Admiration about how they had used their special talents and interpreted their cutie marks. They were the perfect example for me. They were authentic and self-aware, and that’s what I wanted to be.

A sudden sadness sprang into my heart as I realized I couldn’t possibly take all of the cutouts with me. Maybe I could salvage the ones that were undamaged and roll them up, but they would still weigh a lot. And besides, it was time for my own journey, and I should quit following the journey of the mane six like a creepy stalker. It was ridiculous anyway, if you think about it. But still… It was my life’s work. Very carefully, I took one of them off the wall—the one with a picture of Twilight Sparkle just after her coronation—folded it two times, and stuck it in my saddlebags. I knew the rest would be destroyed as soon as I closed the front door, but at least I had one now; the most valuable one.

I slung my saddlebags on my back and walked down the stairs. I couldn’t see anypony. I heard my brother shuffling about, making his breakfast. I wasn’t going to join him. I didn’t even try to be subtle as I opened the door and closed it again.

For the last time.

I made my way out of the rich neighborhoods as quickly as I could. As the familiar brick houses came into view, I considered walking past the Buckingham Bar to say goodbye to Stomping Grounds. Maybe I wouldn’t see him again. Maybe I wouldn’t even return to Baltimare anymore. Now that I think of it, I was probably planning to never return anyway. To be honest, I didn’t really feel like saying goodbye after all. To Stomping Grounds I was just another customer. He wouldn’t miss me.

Skipping the bar, I walked past the harbor once more. As I gazed at the ships unloading and loading and sailing off to far destinations, I realized I didn’t even know how or where to start my journey. I knew I wanted the get as far away from Baltimare as I could. By boat maybe? I watched as an enormous cargo ship slowly backed out of the harbor and set sail. By boat could be an option; it wouldn’t even matter where I went. But by boat was expensive, especially if I took one of those new steam-powered boats. Maybe I could offer myself as a deckhand on one of the trawlers, but then I would once again do a job which had nothing to do with my cutie mark. No, that would be a recipe for disaster, and it wouldn’t get me one step further on my cutie mark crusade.

Why not let the money decide for me? I took out my piggy bank, careful enough not to drop it in my stiff and frozen hooves. I wrapped it in a blanket, grabbed a rock, and slaughtered it. When I looked what lay in the towel, I wasn’t satisfied. This would never get me aboard a steamship. Never ever.

So how could I get out of Baltimare? I walked onwards as I pondered over that question. I hadn’t been out of town many times. There was one time when I went to Ponyville, but that was also the only time. I was not the traveling kind, and look at me now.

Was it fate? Memory? Both? Eventually, my hooves took me where I wanted to go; to the train station. I asked somepony for the ticket price, and discovered that I had more than enough money to buy a ticket to Canterlot.

Canterlot…

I sat down on the bench and waited for the train. If there was one city where I could find opportunities, it was be Canterlot, the shiny capital of Equestria. I was smart enough to ration my money as I was waiting. Who knew what unexpected costs might arise?

Hissing and puffing like the sugar press at my (former) job, the train rolled into the station. “All aboard for Canterlot!” the conductor shouted, as the doors opened.

I stepped onboard, but I felt strange. I couldn’t suppress an unpleasant feeling in my stomach. I was anxious. Would I really be able to sustain myself? What if I failed to get a job? Or, even worse, what if I would end up doing once again things that I didn’t care about? What if my money ran out? There were so many doubts. I tried to smother the anxiety with the comfort of my ride. At least this train would carry me all the way, because if I would have had to walk, I knew that I wouldn’t have had guts to go on such a long journey. Was I that weak?

I chose a seat next to the window, closing my eyes. And so the first leg of my journey began.

* *

As the train exited the tunnel and sunlight once again fell upon my face, it revealed the capital city and set it ablaze in a haze of golden light. I let out a gasp as I took in the magnificence of Canterlot. The white marble of the towers looked so pure and unstained, as if the city were built only yesterday. Even the snow couldn’t stain it; instead, it only made the whiteness whiter. Golden rooftops topped the houses and towers, spiraling upwards and reaching for the sun, which reflected off their shiny surfaces between gaps in their snowy covers. I was awestruck, and almost forgot to breathe. I could feel it. This was where my destiny would be.

“Final destination, Canterlot,” the conductor announced, but I couldn’t suppress a chuckle at the wrongness of that. For me, Canterlot wasn’t the final destination, but the beginning of my journey.

As the train came to a halt, I stepped out. Immediately, I was greeted by the sun on my face, and I felt a strange sensation. It was as if the sun shone even brighter here in Canterlot, as if its power was even greater as it was closer to Princess Celestia herself. I didn’t know if that was true, but I didn’t care. It felt good.

Leaving the train station behind, I headed straight down the main street of the city. Beautiful houses treated my eyes with their brilliance and architectural design. My eyes didn’t stop glancing in every direction, trying to take it all in, and I bumped into somepony more than once. As I walked on, I thought about how much Canterlot looked like Baltimare and how much it didn’t. The houses were all very luxurious and gorgeous, just like the rich district in Baltimare. But I could also spot… character in the houses. Somehow, these buildings weren’t soulless at all, but had a certain class, a certain style. And furthermore, every house in Canterlot looked this way. They were all made of marble or white bricks, and with gold-rimmed windows. They didn’t look all the same, of course; every single one was unique. And yet there was harmony. These buildings belonged in this city, just like the ponies who inhabited them.

The Canterlot ponies were all dressed in beautiful garments. Dresses, polo shirts, saddles, with flowers in their hair and jewels in their brooches. Yes, they were rich, but they didn’t seem cold. They greeted each other on the street and were polite to waiters. Calmly and silently they spoke, not at all like the rich industrialists of Baltimare, who knew that time was money, and the less they could say in the least amount of time, the better.

I couldn’t spot a single chimney, and therefore concluded that industry was not at all important in this city. No, there was beauty and style everywhere, and not at all room for an ugly industrial district with high smokestacks and grey concrete walls.

I passed by many different art boutiques. Or, actually, I simply couldn’t pass them by without taking a peek at every display. There were paintings, drawings, sculptures, and many more forms of art which I hadn’t even heard of. One particularly pretty display, belonging to a large cultural building with galleries and theatres, showed many different portraits of ponies. I gazed in awe at them; they were so detailed. The shadow, the composition, everything was in the right proportions. My face was glued to that window.

I don’t know how long I stood there, but it must have been pretty long; long enough for the gallery’s owner to spot me.

“Greetings, young man,” a friendly mare’s voice said to me. “I see you take an interest in the arts?”

I jolted at the sound of the voice, even though it was friendly and curious. My head jerked around. “Eh… y-y-yes. Yes I do. I love art, even though I have just discovered it.”

The mare took off her beret and gave me a smile. “Ah! I know that look in a stallion’s eyes. It is love. Love for the beautiful things in life. What is your name, little pony?”

“Sweet Tooth,” I said. “To be honest, it isn’t only the art. I think this whole city is simply gorgeous.”

“Why thank you,” the mare said. “My name is Purple Palette and I teach arts, painting in particular. Would you like to participate in a little painting workshop? The first course is for free, and will begin shortly.”

Does coincidence exist? Or did my destiny cry out for me? This was perfect.

“And it matches your cutie mark,” Purple Palette said. “It is a piece of canvas, isn’t it?”

I gasped. That could be true! Taking a peek at my cutie mark, I could see it before my mind’s eye; Sweet Tooth the painter. This was it. This was what I was meant to do.

“I would love to take your painting course, Miss Palette,” I said.

Purple Palette turned around. “Very well. Let us begin then.”

I followed her inside.

We passed a few doors of theater halls and ateliers before we reached Purple Palette’s own place. There were six other ponies inside, and only one stool left. Coincidence? I sat down and stared at the canvas before my eyes. An empty white sheet. Square and white, just like my cutie mark.

“Welcome everypony,” Purple Palette said, stepping on a small platform in the middle of the hall. “Our first course is about painting ponies in a realistic way, true to nature.” She clicked on a lamp. “Pay attention to shadow and coloring, and look where the source of the light is. But above all”—she twirled around and jumped off the little platform—“have fun and be creative.”

Shouldn’t be too hard; it was my destiny, after all.

Purple Palette threw her gaze to all of us. “May I present to you, the model, Miss Tree Hugger!”

And right at that moment, a beautiful mare stepped inside. Beautiful in her uniqueness. I could tell by her mane that she wasn’t from Canterlot at all. She had red dreadlocks, neatly bound in a knot underneath a daisy-covered bandana. She wore a beautiful, airy dress, bringing out her eyes and accentuating her apple green color. Her cutie mark was that of a tree in the shape of a heart.

She didn’t say anything, but flashed us a friendly smile before taking a pose on top of the plateau.

“Enjoy your art,” Purple Palette said, before grabbing a piece of paper herself and sitting down. As soon as she got to work, so did we.

I decided to work from top to bottom. I hadn’t drawn that much before, except when I was a little colt. Maybe my talent had ripened during the time I hadn’t drawn anything. Maybe my skills would be spot on by now. Tree Hugger’s dreadlocks were quite difficult, but I think they turned out alright on my canvas. The graceful curves of her body required a steady mouth, so I did my best not to quiver too much of the excitement of finally doing what I was meant to do. Slowly, Tree Hugger appeared on my canvas. Her tail was tricky too, as she wore it in dreadlocks just like her mane. Finally came her hind hooves, resting on the platform with a shadow cast over it. I used different colors to bring out the accents and create perspective. That way, Tree Hugger wouldn’t be just a cardboard cutout, but would inhabit my canvas as if it were her home.

After an hour or so, I was done, and laid down my brush. I saw that I was the last pony to finish. As soon as I let go of my brush, Tree Hugger stepped off the platform and walked over to my work, followed by Purple Palette. “Let’s see how you’ve done, little Sweet Tooth,” she said, as she gave my work a glance.

I knew that the moment she said it was good, I would know what my cutie mark meant. I wasn’t arrogant, but I was hopefully waiting for praise. Time to become a painter.

Tree Hugger did no effort to hide her laughter. A smile appeared on her face and she chuckled. “Wow, nice work. I like the way you used those alternative colors to bring out my chakras. I get some pretty good vibes out of it.”

Alternative colors? They were supposed to be realistic. I looked at Purple Palette.

“It’s… eh… interesting how you used shadow. It’s like… like there is more than one lamp shining on her. More than one lamp and more than one sun.”

It was bad. Miss Palette had no idea what to say. I felt my heart sink.

“Now, let’s take a look at the others, shall we?” Miss Palette said. From the tone of her voice I could hear that she wanted to leave my painting behind as soon as possible. I blushed. The awkwardness and shame was unbearable, and it only grew worse as I saw the other paintings.

They were gorgeous. Each and every one of them looked as if they could be swapped out with the paintings in the display without anypony noticing it. They could well be hanging in my living room, admired by Mother’s and Father’s cold, hard gazes. I couldn’t help but keep comparing their work with mine, torturing my mind. I had to stop and look at something else. Then, I looked at their cutie marks. Bad idea.

Each pony had a cutie mark resembling something used in painting. One stallion had a couple of paintbrushes. A mare bore crayons. There was one stallion with a strange moustache who had a picture of a melted watch as a cutie mark, no doubt resembling his favorite painting style.

Suddenly, I didn’t want to be in the atelier anymore. No painter wanted to look at my painting. Not because they were too proud of their own paintings, but simply because they were filled up with embarrassment once they took a peek. If paintings express emotion, then mine expressed awkwardness.

“Thank you so much for this opportunity, Miss Palette,” I said, as I slung my bags on my back. “I learned a lot. You can give my painting to Tree Hugger, because she liked it so much. Goodbye.”

And with that, I trotted out of the room.

I felt tears burning in my eyes, eager to spill. I know it sounds ridiculous, but the feeling of defeat was as big as a tidal wave, washing over my heart and dashing it to pieces on a cliff. I felt as if I lost something in there. I lost a dream. I was so sure painting would be my special talent, and that my cutie mark resembled a painter’s canvas. But now I knew it was not so. It felt so bad to fail; so terribly, terribly bad. Every single drop of resilience flowed away from my mind. My crusade wasn’t over yet, but I had lost all the strength to continue.

My head hung low to the ground as I shuffled through the hallway. With every step I took, it became harder to beat the negative thoughts back to the dark corners of my mind. I had to think positive, but I just couldn’t—just as I couldn’t paint. I was ready to give up there and then. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and slumped down, sitting with my back against the wall. I was completely empty of thoughts, and I closed my eyes for a minute or two.

It was then that I heard a very peculiar sound coming from the doorway next to me. It was like a rattle, but rhythmic, as if the rattle was dancing on music. I forced myself to listen to it, to distract myself from my own gloomy thoughts. It kept going and going in a rhythmic cadence, flowing along with the music. Suddenly, it stopped, and an applause rolled through the slit of the door. It was a performance.

I let out a sigh, then got to my hooves. My curiosity beat the darkness in my mind, and I opened the door a little more. Just in time, because the music started playing again.

There was a stage on which an orange coated filly with a combed back, purple mane was dancing. His hooves tapped and trotted over the stage faster than the eye could follow. They were what created the ticking, rhythmic sound. The little pony was dancing to a cheerful piece of music with a rapid violin solo. But nothing was as rapid as his hoofsteps.

He danced and he danced as I watched in amazement. I wiped a tear away with my hoof to be able to watch the colt better. Before I knew it, his performance was over, and he once again received a thundering applause from the crowd. The little pony walked over to the microphone, a bit hesitantly it seemed, and grabbed it.

“Thank you all so much for coming. See you next time.”

A bit short and simple after such a spectacular performance, but the crowd didn’t seem to care. As the colt bowed, the crowd gave him one more applause. The colt walked offstage, and everypony else started grabbing coats and scarves. Apparently, the performance was over.

I had spotted the colt’s cutie mark; a top hat with the beam of a spotlight on it. I had to speak to that colt. He seemed so sure onstage. Sure about his cutie mark, about his destiny which was plain and clear. His destiny was to be a performer, a dancer. I compared him with the mane six who had found out who they were in accordance with their cutie mark, just like this colt. And besides that, I just wanted to compliment him on his performance.

I waited until most of the ponies were gone, all the while keeping a close eye on the little colt. Then I stepped inside, walked towards him, and greeted him. “Hi there. I saw your performance. It was really good.”

The colt let out a nervous chuckle. “Heh, thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

Why did he look so shy? On stage he seemed so confident and able, but now he seemed… bashful? “You’re really talented, you know? You don’t have to be ashamed. You should only be ashamed when you fail something like… like a painting.”

Ouch. I hurt myself with that little simile. I couldn’t find a better one.

He looked down. “Yeah, I know. I just have to get used to standing onstage. This is only my third performance. The first was in Ponyville and, well, I am still a bit nervous performing in the big city.” He looked up. “But maybe my stage fright will lessen with every performance I do. My teacher says that will probably happen. Or maybe I’ll visit the Cutie Mark Crusaders once more; they’re so good at helping other ponies.”

Crusaders? I was on a crusade. At the words ‘cutie mark’ and ‘crusaders,’ my curiosity spiked. “Who, may I ask, are the Cutie Mark Crusaders?”

“They are Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo and live in Ponyville,” the colt said. “They help other ponies find their cutie marks or solve problems related to cutie marks. They helped me deal with my stage fright. Thanks to them, I could perform and earn my cutie mark.” He stepped aside to show me his.

“That’s wonderful,” I said. Suddenly, I felt new hope well up after the tsunami of negativity. It was as if somepony had lifted the dark curtain to reveal a bright and sunny day, full of opportunities. I decided to be honest with this colt. “I’m looking for the meaning of my cutie mark.” We both regarded my flank, seeing the white square.

The colt eyed it and bit his lip. I knew he was thinking ‘you’re right,’ but I appreciated him not saying that. “Well, then the best place to start is at the Cutie Mark Crusaders. I believe their clubhouse is on Applejack’s farm.”

I knew where that was! I had seen a picture of it in an article about the mane six. The article had been about the private lives of the mane six, so naturally Applejack’s farm and her family had been in it. It’s just a shame that the article would probably be destroyed by now.

“Thank you so much for your advice,” I said, reaching out for a hoofshake. “My name is Sweet Tooth, by the way.”

“Tender Taps,” the orange colt said.

I smiled. “I’ll remember that name, Tender Taps. You know, when you will be famous someday, I can say that I have talked to the one and only.”

Tender Taps’s cheeks reddened. “Oh, please. I’m still a long way from that.”

“But you’ll get there, Tender Taps. I’m sure of it.”

I left the theatre behind and trotted out of the cultural building. The sun was still shining, making the snow even whiter. My crusade wasn’t over; I hadn’t failed yet. I had lost the battle, but I could still win the war. Fresh hope flowed like a spring breeze in winter through my mind. I knew what to do next. I walked to the Canterlot train station and bought a ticket to Ponyville. The train was already there.

As the conductor shouted, “All aboard for Ponyville,” I kept wondering whether all that had happened to me was truly just coincidence. eX�"�S

The ultimate price

The ultimate price? More like the ultimate reward. The ultimate reward for my efforts, for my crusade, for everything I had done the moment I walked out of my front door. I had never imagined that leaving everything behind would mean losing everything I had. I lost my savvy, my trust, my will to live.

It hadn’t taken me long before I started crying once again. Luckily there was nopony who could see me. I cried and I walked, I walked and I cried, lost in my own vicious cycle of negativity. The dark deluge had swallowed me whole. What was there for me to do? Yes, I could have taken the job Apple Bloom had offered me, but I knew that would only mean disappointing yet more ponies—and not finding the meaning of my cutie mark at all. My crusade had failed. I had failed. And now, I was ready to accept my fate.

I stood on the train tracks. I had chosen a spot right after a curve. The train would have to take a turn, and there was a small patch of forest which would obscure the engineer’s vision. Hopefully, they wouldn’t spot me until it was already too late. Or, better still, I hoped that they wouldn’t spot me at all; it would save them the trauma.

Look what you’re doing, somepony inside my head said. First you let yourself down, then you let the construction worker down, and now you’re going to hurt somepony with your own miserable life. I knew the pony in my head was right. I was going to traumatize the engineer, and probably all of the other passengers too, once they found out why the train bumped and why it delayed. Has somepony ever done this before?

I wasn’t over-exaggerating. Not at all. My decision was a calculated one, and the only decision I had. I couldn’t continue my crusade. I couldn’t go back home, and not only because I didn’t have any money with which to pay the train ticket. At home there would be nothing for me. No love, no support, no future. Perhaps I would do Father and Mother and maybe even Sweet Mélange a favor, if I would end my own existence. Now that I think of it, that seemed most probable.

I couldn’t hear the train yet. I wasn’t scared. They say that when you’re about to die you see your own childhood flash by before your eyes. I guess I just had to wait a bit longer for that to happen. I swallowed, then placed my hoof on the iron part of the tracks. I could feel the slightest vibrations through the metal. Death was coming.

Turning my gaze forwards and up, I could see black patches of smoke drift over the forest ahead. To my own surprise, I started shuffling on my hooves. I was scared. But what was I scared for? The pain? There would be maybe a millisecond of pain, probably not long enough to be noticed by my brain. No. The only pain I would cause was emotional pain for the poor train driver who happened to be working on my dying day. And of course, the pain I would cause the Cutie Mark Crusaders. I could see them crying over the news once it reached the newspapers. Those poor little fillies! Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo had helped me, offered me chances, and now I forsook them. I simply gave up, not only on my stupid crusade, but also on life itself.

But, to return to my previous musings, what was I afraid of? The afterworld? Would there be an afterworld? Would it be beautiful, or a terrible place? I didn’t even care. The biggest torment I could imagine was not finding out what my cutie mark means. So that was what I was afraid of, that my crusade would continue in the afterworld, and that I would be searching for the true meaning of my cutie mark for ever and ever. There would not be a bigger torture than that, and it would hurt me much more than that puny little impact. What if my soul wouldn’t find rest until it has completed what its body should have?

Slowly, as if my hooves were made of hard and heavy concrete, I stepped off the rails, one hoof at a time.

Then I stepped back on them. There was no other way. Perhaps my soul would find rest. Wouldn’t that be just marvelous? Imagine a world in which there are no sorrows or worries—maybe even no cutie marks. I would end up in that world; the only thing I needed to do was to give my life. With a small nod, I decided that one life—my life—would be a small price to pay for eternal happiness.

The rumble had grown. I could feel it in the rails. The rails trembled lightly, and I trembled with it. I was still afraid. Not only for continuing my search for a cutie mark in the afterlife, eternally seeking. Because I knew that while there could be a negative world, in which I would do as I sketched before, and there could be a wonderful world, there could also be… nothing. What if there was indeed nothing, and I would simply stop existing once the deed had been done? I shrugged. Then I would be gone, simple as that. Nothingness seemed like a better option than staying alive without a chance. I would be done with my crusade, and my spirit wouldn’t need to live on, crying over the failure I was—or had been.

I had to hold on to option number two; the wonderful afterlife. The thoughts of such a world were at least a little hopeful—the last hope I possessed. I felt a droplet of sweat pearl off my brow. But it was winter! I was nervous, and even the hopeful thoughts of a beautiful afterlife couldn’t drive away the nervousness I felt. I realized that I had to keep my mind occupied. At first I started making calculations, but I stopped once I noticed that I was biting my lip. I had to think of something practical. A gruesome decision popped up in my head, fueled by the black veil which refused to lift. Should I face the train forwards or backwards?

It was the same decision you made if you boarded the train. Most ponies like to take the forward-facing seats, because it feels more natural. Some ponies even get nauseated when they see the world flash by through the window the wrong way. Ponies weren’t supposed to go backwards; they were supposed to go forwards. But, in my case, I would stop moving altogether.

I saw the smoke coming closer; the train had started to take the turn. Mere minutes separated me from the separation of my soul and my body.

But that did leave the matter unsettled. Forwards or backwards? Facing it forwards would give me the opportunity to estimate the time of my death. Or would it be better not to know? Would it be better not to know when I would die? It might be more cowardly to do so, but I realized that facing the train backwards could perhaps whisk away the nervousness I felt. I decided to try it out, and turned around.

I could hear the train coming. I could hear its metal wheels grating on the rails, accompanied with the huffs and puffs of the steam engine. That would be the last sound I would hear. I turned my ears backwards, trying to estimate the distance of the train by the proximity of the sound. I simply couldn’t estimate. I was sweating over my whole body. I knew it wouldn’t be long.

A steam whistle resounded. I jumped. They had spotted me. I cheated by looking over my shoulder. I had maybe ten seconds left to live. I turned my head back, facing my death backwards. Behind me, the screech of the brakes made my ears ring, but I knew they were too late. The train had seen me too late, and would still have enough speed to crush me. I started counting down.

“Five.”

I swore I could hear somepony call out. Maybe the engineer?

“Four.”

Just a few more seconds to live.

“Three.”

I wondered what they would put on my tombstone, if there would be anything left to bury.

“Two.”

I didn’t get to one. A whooshing sound, as if the air was split by a giant knife, sounded just above my head. It had been done.

Immediately, my spirit soared up into the sky. Higher and higher. I felt a knot in my stomach as I saw Equestria becoming smaller and smaller. A couple of hundred meters away, the train finally came to a halt. I looked away. I didn’t want to see my ravaged body staining the front of the train.

I could still think. Yes! There was an afterlife, and my spirit soared higher and higher to that place, whatever it was. I always imagined that the terrible afterlife would mean that you would go down, and that the wonderful life awaited up, as close to the sun as possible. I closed my eyes.

But something wasn’t right. I felt that I was descending. Slowly, I circled back towards the ground in a lazy glide. Opening my eyes, I saw how Equestria became bigger again, and how a snowy plain soared up to meet my hooves. Soon we had landed. Yes, ‘we.’ I wasn’t able to stand, and I still shivered over my whole body. As I lay down in the soft snow, I gazed up, looking at a bright blue pegasus with a rainbow mane and tail. I was looking at the element of loyalty: Rainbow Dash.

Warm tears dripped onto the cold snow as my mind reconstructed what had happened. I couldn’t yet speak, and instead sobbed quietly. I wasn’t worried about how I would look in the eyes of Rainbow Dash. Maybe I wasn’t even sad that my attempt at releasing myself from my sorrows had failed. I just cried.

“Yeah, I know I’m heroic and awesome,” Rainbow Dash said, “but I think you’re exaggerating a bit there. It’s usually the mares who cry, not the stallions.” I felt her hoof poking me. “Come on, pony up! I saved your life, it’s all over now. Come on.”

Dash’s voice was coarse and harsh. She urged me to get up and continue my life, completely missing the point why I had positioned myself on such a dangerous place.

Rainbow Dash tried to find my eyes, but I hid them in my hooves. “Oh, I get it,” she said. “You’re still a bit shaken after my rescue maneuver. Well, I can fill you in on the details. So I was flying around a bit, just cooling down in the cold air after a heavy Wonderbolt training exercise, when I saw you standing on the rails. I braced myself, swooped down, picked you up, and flew you back to safety.” After a pause she said, “What were you doing on the rails anyway? Were you snow-blind or something?”

How in Equestria could Rainbow Dash understand what I wanted to do? The fact that she couldn’t figure it out, that her mind couldn’t fathom such a terrible deed, made me let out a loud sob. Even Rainbow Dash, the most awesome flier and daredevil, who had seen a lot of terrible things herself, couldn’t grasp the idea of suicide. Of course she couldn’t. For her, life had been a breeze; she had everything she wanted. I had followed Dash’s career through my newspaper clippings. The moment she got famous, the press had followed her around a lot, and Dash didn’t mind; she always liked being the center of attention. I had read how she had joined the Wonderbolt reserves at first, and then ascended to become a full-on Wonderbolt. I even attended her first flight show with the Bolts in Ponyville. She lived her dream, and had reached her goal. The concept of suicide was utterly strange to her.

Suddenly, I saw her hooves, as Rainbow Dash walked around me. Then I saw her head, as she sat down. Finally, I saw her beautiful, rose eyes, as she lifted my chin with her hoof and looked me in the eyes. With a much softer voice, she said, “Hey, what’s the matter? Aren’t you glad I saved you?”

I couldn’t tell her, I just couldn’t. But neither could I bring myself to avert my gaze; that would be disrespectful. So we gazed at each other. I saw Dash’s eyes waver as her mind worked on the strange situation. Perhaps it was the silence, perhaps her last sentence, ‘Aren’t you glad I saved you?’ Whatever the case, she finally came to the right conclusion. She recoiled from me, leaving my head hanging. I heard her let out a gasp. “Oh my! You weren’t trying to… to…”

She couldn’t say it; I couldn’t say it. I just nodded my head as a new wave of sadness was accompanied by yet more tears.

“Oh my,” Rainbow Dash whispered. She looked at me completely differently now. She hadn’t saved somepony from a tragic accident; she had saved somepony from himself.

Rainbow Dash obviously had no idea what to do. How could she? I know she still wanted to help me, even though I didn’t deserve her help. The best thing she could do was grabbing me again, flying as high as she could, and letting me go. But I knew that was not going to happen. Rainbow Dash was the element of loyalty, and being loyal also meant helping fellow ponies and not leave them hanging. She was going to help me, even though I didn’t want that.

“I… eh…”Rainbow Dash stammered. “Let’s just… eh…” She was at a loss for words.

“Just leave me,” I said, my voice cracked. I had no idea how I was able to speak. “I don’t deserve your help.”

Dash stomped her hoof down. “Everypony deserves help, Mister,” she said. Her words were resolute.

“Not me.”

“Yes, you.” Dash stepped closer towards me. “You must allow yourself to receive help, just as you would allow somepony else to receive help.”

Was I really that selfish? I was dumbstruck by the simile. Of course it made sense, although my broken mind couldn’t accept it.

But Dash wasn’t done with her motivational speech. “Mister, you don’t want to know how often I have fallen out of the sky, rehearsing aerial acrobatics or trying out new tricks. But every time I fell down, I got up again. So must you. You fell down, and now you have to get up, simple as that. And if you can’t get up by yourself, then you need somepony to help you get up.”

I knew Rainbow Dash was a pony of deeds, not words, so it wasn’t surprising when I suddenly felt her strong hooves lift me up. “Come on, up you go,” she said. She spoke to me as if she were a coach, talking to her team in a strict voice, giving every member courage. Strangely enough, I felt myself obey, and after a push and a shove, I was back on my hooves, albeit a bit shakily. I didn’t agree with Dash’s words, and yet I couldn’t do anything but cooperate.

Dash once again looked for my eyes, which were darting about before settling on the snowy ground. “Let’s go to Twilight Sparkle. She’s my friend, and the smartest pony I know. If anypony in Ponyville could help you, I’m sure it’s her.”

I didn’t say anything; I didn’t even nod. I just followed the rainbow tail as it disappeared from view.

We walked for a long time, but I didn’t see much of the scenery, for my head hung low to the ground. It was as if my mind had forsaken me, and everything that was left of me was a hollow shell of a pony. It was as if I wasn’t really there at all, that I had actually died there on the tracks. My eyes were not mine, my hooves were not mine, my mind was not mine. The edges around my vision darkened, and I was not sure if that was because of the sadness I felt, or because of some illusion.

Rainbow Dash was silent. I could see the awkwardness in her posture, as she moved stiffly, tense. She still didn’t know what to say to a pony who had only minutes ago tried to take his own life. I couldn’t blame her. How do you socialize with a pony who didn’t want to live anymore? What do you talk about? What jokes do you make? Would jokes be appropriate at all? I knew none would, for I had the feeling that nothing in Equestria could cheer me up, not even the interpretation of my cutie mark, my crusade which seemed hidden in a faraway place where I couldn’t reach it, let alone see it.

My ears twitched as the sound of lively Ponyville reached them. Apparently, we had left the hills behind and had walked back in town. I raised my head. There were many brightly colored ponies cantering about. Some of them stopped to wave at Rainbow Dash or greet her in another way. Rainbow Dash had to be famous after all I had read about her. How famous she was… And now she was towing along a sad little heap of a pony, not worthy of only a minute of her companionship. I received a couple of strange stares as we passed through town square, strange stares for a strange pony. I finally found enough strength, both of body as of mind, to look around.

A pretty little market was going on in town square. Many stalls with crafted goods were scattered about, and ponies were laughing and smiling, enjoying the merry ambiance despite the freezing cold. If I would have felt better, I would surely have smiled at yet another display of cuteness in the already adorable town. But now, it left me as cold as the snow.

As we moved through the market. I tried to avoid as many stares as I could, all the while hoping that I wouldn’t ruin the fun. It felt alien to be here. The merrymaking, laughter, and fun was too big a contrast against my bleak mind. Luckily for me, we left the market behind, and instead moved along a long path. When I saw what lay at the end of it, my heart skipped a beat. The castle!

I had seen pictures, of course, but I had never witnessed the crystal brilliance that was the Castle of Friendship in person. Tiny crystal towers were attached to enormous crystal walls, which were held up in the air by a shiny, sparkling tree. Rainbow Dash had said that we were going to Twilight Sparkle, but that moment slipped my broken mind. My memory was crushed underneath the heavy load of blackness. I should have been excited and thrilled to see the castle for myself. But even about this I cared little to nothing. And besides, my visit wouldn’t be a cheerful one. I was going to make yet another pony sad with my mood. Way to go, Sweet Tooth!

We entered the castle. To the left and right were large hallways, amplifying Rainbow Dash’s voice as she yelled, “Twilight!”

“Coming!” a voice yelled back.

I was going to meet the princess, but I didn’t want to make her sad with my pathetic story. I wanted to run, but at the same time I didn’t care. I turned around.

“Whoa there,” Rainbow Dash said, as she unfolded her wing and blocked the way.

Behind me, double doors opened. I turned around, gazing at the princess of friendship.

She was standing on a balcony overlooking the entrance. She trotted down the stairs. When she saw me, a smile curled her lips. “Hello there, what can I do for you?”

Nothing. Nopony could help me. I averted my gaze.

Rainbow Dash took over the conversation. “Hey Twilight. We were wondering if you could help us. This here is eh…”

I obviously had to say my name, but I didn’t. I was overcome by an ultimate shame. Shame that the princess of friendship had to deal with such a loser like me. I had read the newspapers. Twilight Sparkle had solved friendship problems all over Equestria, making sure that the magic of friendship got strengthened wherever she went. Helping other ponies was her cup of tea. Sadly, she couldn’t help me. I was a problem that couldn’t be solved.

In the silence, Princess Twilight Sparkle kept smiling at me, patiently waiting. Rainbow Dash wasn’t so patient. As soon as she saw that I wasn’t going to say anything, she flew up to meet her friend halfway up the stairs. Rainbow Dash whispered something to Princess Twilight which I couldn’t hear. It would probably have hurt me if I could. They stood like that for a minute or two, when suddenly Princess Twilight’s ears perked up, and she let out a small gasp which she couldn’t suppress good enough for me not to notice. Dash had told her.

Rainbow Dash stayed behind, while the princess continued her descend. My knees buckled, and I fell down in an awkward bow. At least I had the presence of mind and courtesy to give the princess a sign of respect.

“Oh, please don’t bow,” Princess Twilight Sparkle said. Just a hoof length separated us. I raised shakily, afraid to meet the princess’s gaze. When I did finally meet hers, I realized I had all the right to be fearful. The eyes were wise and caring; two qualities I didn’t possess.

“I heard the story from Rainbow Dash,” she said. Her voice was that of a teacher’s, ready to spread knowledge, yet not strict. I couldn’t turn my ears the other way. “I heard the story,” she repeated, “but I guess that is only half of it. You should tell me the rest of the story. Trust me, it will be good for you to do so. If you want, Rainbow Dash can stay too. Would you like that?”

The words reached my ears, but it took a moment to make a decision. I shook my head slowly. The fewer ponies I would infect with my sadness, the better.

“Very well.” Princess Twilight turned around, nudged with her head, and Rainbow Dash hovered over to the door. “If there’s anything I can do, pony, you just have to ask,” Dash said. Then she closed the door and I was alone with the princess.

“Let’s go to my study,” the princess said. Without a word, I followed.

The shiny hallways didn’t do anything for me, didn’t move me. My heart felt as empty as the hallways. Warmth radiated off the roof, probably produced by the light glowing crystals. The light seemed cold to me.

As we reached the study, Princess Twilight and I stepped inside. The princess motioned to a comfortable-looking chair, and I sat down. Shoving another chair to the opposite side with her magic, Princess Twilight sat down as well. “Shall I get you some tea or coffee?”

I shook my head.

“Very well.” Princess Twilight looked behind her, searched for a moment, and then floated a quill and a notebook over. She let them float in front of her, low enough to look me in the eyes. Then she cleared her throat, swallowed, and began.

“So, why don’t you tell me your name for starters,” she said, her voice as gentle as could be.

I couldn’t refuse to a princess. “My name is Sweet Tooth, Princess Sparkle.”

The princess waved a hoof. “Oh, please. Twilight will do.”

I wasn’t going to call her that.

The princess sat up straighter. “Do you trust me enough to tell me the whole story, Sweet Tooth?”

How could I not trust the princess of friendship? “Yes,” I said, my voice wavering.

“I’m afraid I am no expert on mental health,” Princess Twilight said, “but I can listen to what you have to say and maybe give you some advice. I have read several books regarding sicknesses of the mind, so maybe I can take away some of the pain.”

I shook my head slowly as she was talking, ever so slowly. She noticed it.

“I know things might seem bleak, Sweet Tooth, but there are ponies who can help you. I can be your first step towards them. I know you will feel better when you talk about the things that drove you to such… drastic measures.”

I had to admire her verbal tact. I didn’t want to share my misery, to saddle the princess of friendship herself with my unfortunate encounters and failure. Yet, she wanted to help me, and besides, she asked me to. If I wanted to forsake myself, that was fine. But disobeying a princess went too far. I told her my story—all of it. I tried to leave out as many painful moments as I could, and avoid intricate description of my emotions, but those were the very things Princess Twilight asked about the most, as she was trying to get a picture of them. What I did wasn’t important; what I felt was. Princess Twilight could already see that emotions were going to play a central role in my healing process. Every time I spoke about my feelings, her quill moved across the paper, captured in a magical haze. Especially the matter of my cutie mark crusade was of interest to her.

“I guess that took some bravery,” Princess Twilight said. “Leaving home and hearth behind permanently would probably have been a hard decision. A brave decision too.”

It wasn’t brave, it was foolish. And the decision hadn’t been hard at all. Princess Twilight could see that. It was as if she had read my mind and seen my thoughts, and after some more questions, she asked me how my home situation was. I told her exactly how it was.

“I’m not angry at my parents or even at my brother,” I said. “I now realize that they wanted to offer me stability, however boring it would be. How could I be so selfish?”

But the princess shook her head. “You weren’t selfish, Sweet Tooth. The way you describe everything, I think you suffer from some sort of trauma, and the source is in your family.”

I wasn’t sure I could accept such a thing. I wasn’t sure about anything. I started swaying back and forth as thoughts jumbled through the mess that was my head.

Princess Twilight Sparkle saw that I was having a hard time. She put the quill and the notebook down, and focused her attention on me. “I have made some notes about you, Sweet Tooth,” she said. “I’m sure that with the right treatment, maybe some medicine too, you will feel better. But I’m afraid I can’t give you such a treatment, let alone medicine. I’ll have my assistant Spike send the notes and a request for a treatment over to the Ponyville hospital. I know that they have a wing dedicated to mental illnesses. Even though it is quite new, it’s also very innovative. They try out new treatment methods in the Ponyville hospital, so I’m sure there will be a treatment which will work best for you.”

I suddenly recoiled, breathing heavily. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a second. Treatment? Medicine? I didn’t want some doctor wasting his time with me. And besides, I wasn’t sure I could retell my whole story again without falling into tears. Oh, the humiliation that would await me at the doctor. And medicine? I had never before needed to take any medicine; I was as healthy as a fish in the water and always have been. And besides, who was going to pay for medicine? I was broke.

Once again, Princess Twilight had guessed my thoughts. Who knows, maybe she had actually been reading my mind the whole time. She was the element of magic, after all. The princess blinked and nodded. “Don’t worry about the costs, Sweet Tooth. I would be more than happy to pay for everything. I’m pretty sure the doctors will give the treatment for free when they see that the letter came from me.”

I winced. Was I really that pathetic? Right at that moment, I knew that I wasn’t worthy of being with the princess. She was so good for me. She had helped me so much, and now she was going to pay to save my wretched life? I don’t know how often I thought that, but I didn’t deserve any of this. I shuffled on my seat, then stood up. “I have to go,” I said, hoping to sound at least a little polite. “You shouldn’t help me, Princess Twilight, it’s not worth it.”

The princess stood up as well. “Of course it’s worth it. A pony’s life is worth more than a few Bits. I have traveled all over Equestria, helping ponies in need of magic or friendship. Everywhere I went, I made things better, I set things right. I have helped ponies, and I’m going to help you too. What you are going to do is nothing different. You are sick, and you need treatment, it is as simple as that. Perhaps your situation is even harder than any friendship problem, but it can be solved. You can get better. You just have to give it a chance, and not walk away.”

While the princess talked, I stood still. I was on the verge of walking out of the castle, leaving the princess and my opportunity behind. An opportunity to seek treatment, to help me get better. But I wasn’t sick; I was a failure. Surely there was no way to cure failing, or at least, I had never heard of it. I looked at the princess. She looked back with hopeful eyes. But she knew it was I who had to make the decision, and I had to make it now. Behind her hope, I saw worry. She had no idea what I would do once I would walk out the door, and, to be honest, I didn’t know either. I was a loose cannon; a danger to myself. After having spoken to me and given me the opportunity to seek help, the princess’s heart would be broken once I would end my life. I was close to death; it followed me wherever I went. In my mind, I was already thinking of another way to do it. Luckily I wasn’t a pegasus, so if I could find a length of rope…

I took a step towards the door; Princess Twilight did one towards me. She didn’t say anything; the decision was mine to make. She just looked at me, and then she stuck out her hoof.

So we stood for a long time. Pondering, hoping, planning.

“You can do this, Sweet Tooth,” Princess Twilight said.

I felt tears coming up. After all she had seen of me, she still didn’t give up on me.

“Why?” I said.

“Because you are smart, I’ve seen that much,” the princess said, putting her hoof back down. “Every decision you made was a calculated one. You have always used your head. That’s why I think treatment will work for you, because you’re smart and you can strengthen your mind.”

“I didn’t make any decisions,” I said. I did a step closer to the door. “It was fate that guided me, but I myself ruined it. Fate gave me all of the options, but every time I blew it. Rainbow Dash had saved me. I suppose I should be angry.”

“Why would you be angry?”

“I should be angry at fate that it betrayed me, that it stopped me from taking my own life. Cutie marks are a lie. Destiny is a lie. Fate is a lie.”

The princess flashed a thin smile. “That’s exactly what I meant.”

“What?” I had forgotten how to speak with two words.

“You’re saying all of these things, because you think and philosophize; your mind is deep. That is your strength, your virtue. And that is what will help you get out of the darkness.” Princess Twilight Sparkle raised her hoof once more. “Will you give yourself that chance? A last chance?”

No. I didn’t want to give myself that chance. Then why did I take a step towards Princess Twilight? Why did I take another one? Why did I stick out my hoof as well? Why did the princess’s smile grew broad as she took my hoof in hers?

To this day, I have no idea how I managed to do that. was actua �rQ

A safe haven

Talking, lots of talking; and pills, lots of pills.

I had been in the Ponyville hospital for a week, and the treatment program had started. The start of it was the hardest thing I had ever done. As I predicted, I was unable to retell my whole pathetic story without bursting into tears once or twice. The doctor must have thought that I was a wimp, and of course, he was right. Doctor Redheart was his name. He was an old pegasus pony with years of experience in psychology. You could tell that he had, because he looked exactly as a psychiatrist should: deep wrinkles lining a face with ears that had heard countless horrible things and with a mouth that had said countless comforting words. Who knows how many lives he had saved, how many ponies he had prevented from killing themselves. Doctor Redheart always knew just what to say. He always knew just what to ask. His questions were so tactical and calculated, it was as if the old unicorn was literally prodding at my heart with his hooves. But the questions were painful too; strikingly painful. They struck sad chords in the very depths of my soul, laying it bare and driving it to the surface, whereupon the doctor could take a closer look.

No matter how hard Doctor Redheart tried to paint a picture of my broken mind, I knew he was wasting his time with me, and every day I hoped that he would come to the same conclusion and stop trying to help me. He didn’t of course, so every day his daughter, nurse Redheart, would come and get me.

I stayed in a room at the Ponyville hospital. You could compare it to a hotel room. There were the basic things: a bed, a fridge, a table and some chairs, etcetera. They had made sure that there were no dangerous objects with which I could… finish what I started. No knives, forks, scissors, razor blades, lengths of rope—not even rope in the curtains. The room was Sweet Tooth-proof.

Every day there was a perfect rhythm. First I got up. There was an alarm clock, because according to Doctor Redheart, it was important to hold on to a fixed day-night cycle. No late-night video games for me. After that I had breakfast with the rest of the patients. That was the part of day I detested the most. Not that I detested the other patients, of course not. I just felt sorry for them, because they were actually sick. Not all of them had depression, though. There were also ponies with obsessive-compulsive disorder, anger issues, panic attacks, epilepsy, nervous breakdowns, and elderly ponies who had things like insomnia or dementia. Those were ponies who really needed care and attention, and I granted them all the happiness in Equestria. It was just that I felt ashamed to be there.

During those breakfasts, I always felt like one amongst many. I felt alien, as if I didn’t belong there. Oftentimes, shivers accompanied me with the meals, even though the tea was hot. It was the realization that I would be stuck there forever, for I knew I couldn’t be healed.

The afternoon was spent doing stuff. Most ponies exercised in the gym or played Ping-Pong or buckball or basketball, because sporting releases chemicals in the brain that make you happy, according to Doctor Redheart. But other ponies did games or made stuff, oftentimes together. It warmed my heart to see that ponies could still be friends despite their illnesses. As I looked around in the spacious hallway, I saw two fillies with anger problems making a puzzle together, peace and calm radiating from them. I saw a stallion and a mare, both suffering from severe depression, play Ping-Pong, completely absorbed in their game and moving so swiftly and nimbly, as if nothing else mattered but their game. Good to see the treatment did something for them. A stallion was reading a book, his eyes never leaving the pages, even though he suffered from ADHD, which meant that your mind was busy all the time. It still was, I reckoned. It was busy filling itself up with the narrative, the dialogue, the action and the adventure from the book, absorbing every letter and demanding all his attention.

It was good to see that some ponies were doing so great, but my eyes also saw ponies who were not doing well at all. Over at the table was a little colt surrounded by countless calculators and pieces of paper. Every few seconds, he made a seemingly random calculation, only to write down the outcome on the piece of paper. His tongue hung out of his mouth as he continued writing and the calculators continued beeping. Eyes flashing from paper to screen, he seemed locked in an eternal math struggle. One that wore him down every day, for he yawned a lot. I’ve seen ponies trying to take a calculator away from him, but when they did, the little colt became feral. He then snarled at the thieves, and bit at their hooves until he got his calculator back, only to redo his calculation. Poor little colt. How could one live like that?

And there was also this stallion. This strange, elderly stallion. You could always find him on the same spot, every single day at the very same spot. He sat there in a rocking chair in the solarium, gazing into the large garden which lay behind the Ponyville hospital. He didn’t even rock in his rocking chair, he just sat there, doing nothing, staring into the distance. Was he seeing something? Once, I had walked past him and dared to throw a glance his way. His head never moved. He was always staring at the exact same thing at the exact same time. I wondered what he suffered from. I reckon it must be dementia. How else could I explain what he was doing? Every day he would look at the garden, and every night he would forget what he had seen. Then, as soon as the sun rose, he would go back to the garden and look at it again, maybe for the hundredth time, but for him, every time was the first.

I looked at the poor ponies, observing their behavior, but I also knew that I wasn’t doing much better. The house rules prevented me from staying in my room all day, although that is what I wanted. I couldn’t kill myself, so I did my best to kill time—alone. I did look a bit like the elderly pony in the solarium. I too, always sat in the same chair in the same corner, as far away from everypony as possible. I too stared at something all day long; a book. I read and read and read; I had never had that much time to read before. Luckily, the mental department of the Ponyville hospital had its own library. Only books with happy endings, of course. I got quite addicted to the Daring Do books, reading them one after another, trying my best to get lost in the story, so that I didn’t have to continue with my life.

The second half of the afternoon was talking time. I sat down with Doctor Redheart and discussed my emotions, the things I had done today, and the plans I had for the future. “What do you feel, Sweet Tooth?” “Did you do anything fun today?” “What are you going to do tomorrow?” I’m not going to write down all of those conversations; I don’t want to trouble you with all of that boring stuff, reader. Let me just say that the answer to the first question was ‘nothing,’ the answer to the second question was ‘no,’ and the answer to the third question was ‘I don’t know.’

I felt sorry for Doctor Redheart that I couldn’t give him some proper answers to those questions. I didn’t really resist the treatment; I just didn’t want to be helped. I didn’t support the decision of getting help, because I just didn’t like myself anymore. I was completely done with myself, my crusade, and my life.

My medicines were very closely monitored. They gave me a healthy cocktail every evening before I went to bed; the stuff made me drowsy. They probably did that to prevent me from overdosing, and to make sure I actually took them. To my horror, they did help. I was able to enjoy the things I was doing, but, however strange it sounds, that wasn’t what I wanted. I reasoned that the medicines made me fake, as they gave me an artificial feeling of happiness. They were like an emotional amplifier. The sound—or, in my case, the emotions—got amplified in my brain before they showed themselves in a smile or a frown. The medicines made me feel really strange all the time.

As I expected, neither Father, nor Mother, nor my brother Sweet Mélange showed up to check on me. During my first conversation with Doctor Redheart, I had given him my address and told him of my home situation. Then he had made a surprisingly short phone call, telling about my grave situation and about where I was surprised. For me it was no surprise that they didn’t pay me a visit, given what they had said to me once I told them about my crusade, but the doctor was. He didn’t say it, but I could see in his eyes how shocked he was to see how little a family could care for their son. I couldn’t blame him; my family relations were cold.

The doctor’s window looked out on the valley, now filled up with powdery snow. The clock on the wall ticked and ticked, marking the seconds of awkward silence. Doctor Redheart scribbled something in a notebook, then he lowered it, adjusted his glasses, and looked at me.

“Friendship is magic, you know?”

“What do you mean, doctor?”

He sat back in his antique, cushioned chair, and stroked his goatee. “Well, you said that you spoke to Princess Twilight Sparkle before you came here. She is not only the element of magic, but also the princess of friendship. The two things go hoof-in-hoof. Of course there is magic that can heal, but friendship is a remedy that can cure more than just wounds.”

I stared at the bright red carpet, locked in the same posture I had taken every day. I was scared of the doctor’s deep, wise eyes, as if they were a surprisingly deep lake. One step into those infinite eyes, and I would be sucked in the lake, left to drown at the bottom.

“I still don’t know what you mean by that, Doctor Redheart,” I said. “Is there a way magic can cure me?”

The doctor shook his head. “No, there is not. Or at least, not yet. Some forms of magic can be used to cure wounds and close them, but psychological difficulties must be treated a different way, with different medicine. And even though you take pills to support your mood, the real cure comes from within. You can only cure yourself.”

He wanted me to make friends. No way. “You say that I should make friends, but I can’t do that… here.”

One grey eyebrow shot up. “Why not?” Doctor Redheart said. “There are lots of nice ponies here, maybe even ponies you can relate to. Not just because you share the same illness, but because you have the same interests. Talk to somepony. Books can be nice companions when you’re alone, but they cannot replace real friends. Princess Twilight Sparkle had learned that too, before she became princess of friendship.”

I fidgeted with my hooves. “I… eh…” The doctor’s voice was never strict or stark. He always gave advice, not commands. He really did leave my own fate in my own hooves. Only I could cure myself. I made another attempt to voice my aversion to his plan. “I… don’t think—“

The door swung open, and nurse Redheart’s face appeared. “Father, I have Digit here for you. He says he has to speak with you urgently. I think one of the ponies took his calculator again.”

Doctor Redheart raised his eyebrows. “Oh, that is very urgent indeed.” Then he looked at me. “I’m really sorry for this, Sweet Tooth, but we have to continue our plotting another time. It is important for Digit to remain calm. Just the slightest sliver of stress and he snaps, if you know what I mean.”

I nodded, standing up.

“We will speak again later, Sweet Tooth,” the doctor said. I closed the door and walked through the hallway.

Nurse Redheart quickly guided Digit to Doctor Redheart’s office. Once Digit’s tail disappeared, she hurried to catch up with me. She looked for my eyes, but I looked away. She shared the same characteristics as her father, especially the eyes. But apart from being pools of reflection, her eyes radiated a fresh beauty which was hard to explain. I felt that my ordinary grey eyes shouldn’t be looking at hers.

“I overheard the doctor’s advice. You know, about making friends…”

I nodded, but kept walking down the hallway, towards the rec room and my usual reading spot.

Nurse Redheart kept following. “Maybe I can help you with that, because I know almost everypony here.”

That was true. I had often seen nurse Redheart in the rec room talking to the ponies, trying to cheer them up, calm them down, or just making small talk. She had tried to make conversation with me as well, but I had ignored her. I know that wasn’t a very polite thing to do, but then again, I reckoned that making small talk was not part of the therapy. But that didn’t mean I didn’t like her. She was fresh, young, ready to take on Equestria, but also sensitive and caring; she was a nurse, after all.

“I’m sorry I ignored you,” I said. “It was impolite.”

Nurse Redheart waved a hoof. “Oh, no hard feelings there, darling. I know that new patients often need time to get settled in.” She looked away for a few seconds, perhaps trying to find words. I decided to help her.

“So how can you help me make friends?” And I looked in her eyes as I said that. I was not going to be impolite this time.

“Well, the basis for a good friendship is having something in common, like hobbies. What do you like to do, Sweet Tooth?”

“Reading,” I said.

“Oh, yes, of course. How silly of me. Of course you like reading.”

We reached the rec room, where everypony was already doing their favorite pastime. Reading, puzzling, playing checkers or chess. And of course, the mysterious elderly pony was sitting in the solarium once more, looking out over the snow-covered gardens.

Maybe friendships are based on something fun that you share, but for me, it was curiosity. Being curious about something or somepony means that you are interested in that something or somepony. I was curious about this pony, about what he was doing there, and about what he was staring at all the time. I wanted to know the secrets to his infinite patience. Thanks to the medicines, I got a little more interested in stuff, if only a little. That’s where that strange urge came from; the urge produced by curiosity.

“Him,” I said, pointing to the old stallion. “What do you know about him?”

Nurse Redheart followed my hoof. “You mean Sunray? I… I’m afraid I don’t know much about him. He’s not much of a talker, but I don’t think he is grumpy or something. He just wants to have his moments of peace and quiet.”

“But his moments of peace and quiet last a whole day.”

“Yes,” Nurse Redheart said, “you’re right. I have spoken with my father about him a couple of times. Seeing how he is at peace all the time, I can hardly imagine that something is the matter with him. At first I thought dementia, but he remembers my name and his own. Doctor Redheart says that there is definitely something wrong with him; he’s definitely suffering from something. I just wished I could find out what it was, so I could help him.”

“Maybe he doesn’t need help,” I said.

“Maybe not, but still my father thinks—“

A little bell ringed, interrupting nurse Redheart. She fumbled in the pockets of her skirt, and then pulled out a brass pocket watch. As she pressed a little button the ringing stopped. “I’m sorry, Sweet Tooth, but I have to go. Try to make some friends here in the hospital, it would do you good. You would make me very happy if you introduce me to your friend once I get back.” She winked, and moved ahead and up the stairs. I waited until she was out of sight, then walked over to my reading corner, where my Daring Do book was waiting for me.

Strangely enough, I couldn’t concentrate on the story. I found myself reading the same sentence over and over again, all the while peeking glances to the other ponies in the room. But most of all, I looked at the strange elderly pony, whose name was Sunray, as nurse Redheart had told me. Unlike all of the other ponies in the room, he sat motionless, and yet he was the most curious pony in the hospital to me.

As Daring Do discovered the age-old temple, half buried in the—

As Daring Do discovered the age-old—

As Daring Do discovered—

“Oh, darn it,” I said out loud. Now it had to be my time to discover something, or my own mind would drive me as mad as Digit with his calculators. Laying down my book, I got up and walked through the glass door into the solarium.

I could understand why Sunray would spend his time here; it was pleasantly warm. The sun, despite the season, hadn’t given in any of its strength, and the insulated windows of the greenhouse-like solarium captured some of the warmth and refused to let it go. A couple of little palm trees stood here and there, thriving in the almost tropical warmth of the solarium. It was quiet too. My hoofsteps were clearly audible, as was the old pony’s breath. It was as if the glass walls of the solarium were soundproof. Maybe they were.

“Come on, don’t be shy, my little pony,” the old man said suddenly. “I’m much too old to be a threat.”

I jumped at the sudden sound. Sunray’s spoken words felt as if they were screamed. The silence was so thick. But now it was shattered, so I thought I might as well speak. “Good day to you, Mister,” I said politely. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“I… suppose not,” the pony said, a little doubt in his voice. He reached with his hoof to the side, clearly trying to grab another chair. But the nearest chair stood a couple of meters away, so his hoof kept waving in the empty air. After a few seconds, he stopped his awkward motions. So he was dement?

“Don’t bother, Mister,” I said, grabbing a wooden garden chair and unfolding it next to him. “I got it.”

“How wonderful.”

I sat down next to him. The first thing I did was follow his gaze, trying to find out what the old stallion had found so captivating. But I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Because of the altitude, evergreen firs, spruces, and pines were planted in the garden, probably to create a bit of nature close to home; according to doctor Redheart, even nature had a positive effect on the mood. There were little gravel paths, a couple of heather plants on both sides, and a big fountain with a bowl where birds could wash themselves; but the birds were long gone. There was nothing to see, so why kept the stallion looking? No, not just looking, he was staring at something, unable to draw his gaze away.

“I see you like silence as much as I do,” the old stallion said. “Well, almost as much as I do. I am the master of silence.” He chuckled.

While he was speaking, and even when he laughed, he didn’t turn his head towards me or moved his eyes. He just kept staring forwards and talked, as if he were talking to someone outside.

“Can I touch your face for a bit?”

What? I wasn’t sure how to feel about such a strange request. The old pony had already given me plenty of rewards for my curiosity. I let out a doubting snort, trying my best to muffle it. But my curiosity only piqued, so I allowed him. “Sure, go ahead.”

The pony stuck out a hoof, and soon found my face. I closed my eyes as he touched my forehead and my muzzle. Then he stroked my mane, which I found kind of funny; nopony had ever stroked my mane before. When he reached my back and felt my tail, I opened my eyes, only to find myself staring into the old pony’s.

I jolted so hard that I almost fell off my chair. The pony hardly had any eyes.

The color in his irises was almost faded, almost as white as the white of his eyes. His pupils were grey, instead of black. He was the pony with the spookiest eyes I’d ever seen. Two grey—almost white—dots, staring into nothingness.

“You don’t have to be scared, you know,” the pony said with a smile. “Blindness is not contagious.”

So that’s why the pony didn’t look at me when he spoke. Not because he was impolite, but simply because he couldn’t see me. What was so normal for me, didn’t exist at all in his world. I suddenly had a million questions to ask him, to sate my curiosity. But he was the one who spoke first.

“I always want to get a feel of new ponies I meet—literally.” He laughed, although I wasn’t yet able to. First I had to control my breathing again. “That way I can ‘see’ what a pony looks like. You could say that I see with my hooves.” He looked down at me. “The only thing I can’t feel is your cutie mark. What is it?”

“It’s a…” I hesitated. “A sugar cube… I guess.”

The old stallion tilted his head. “You guess? But you have two perfectly functioning eyes. Surely you must be able to see your cutie mark on your behind, can’t you?”

Suddenly, I didn’t really like this conversation very much. It turned in the wrong direction. I didn’t want to be remembered of my vague cutie mark, which, together with my broken mind, had plunged me into so much misery. I was thinking of getting up really silently and then sneak back through the door, so the pony wouldn’t notice I’m gone. I only now realize how rude that could have been. But just as I was going to get up, Sunray changed topic. Perhaps he had felt my reluctance, or heard it in my voice.

“Say, what is your name, little pony? My name is Sunray, and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Sweet Tooth,” I said.

Sunray sat back in his rocking chair, staring ahead again. “A pleasure to meet you, Sweet Tooth. I’m very pleased to see young ponies still talk to… not so young ponies nowadays.”

I didn’t know if I should be looking in his eyes when I spoke. But of course it didn’t really matter, so I followed his example and stared ahead at the winter landscape. “I was just curious, Mister Sunray. I was curious about what you always seem to be looking at, and now I know the answer is nothing.”

“Then your answer is both wrong and right. Yes, I can’t see anything, but I can still know where I am. I asked the nurse to open a window, so I could hear the tweeting of the birds that haven’t yet left the cold behind. The hooting of the owls, too, although you have to listen very carefully to hear those; they are very shy. And what to think of the sounds of the wind, and the rustle of the pine trees?”

“If you put it that way,” I said, but Sunray wasn’t done yet. He closed his eyes as he continued his musings.

“And sometimes, when I feel like it, I go outside. I always hope it is snowing, because I like the feeling of fresh snow on my muzzle. I feel the cold, fresh mountain air filling my lungs. There are a lot of ways for blind ponies to see, Sweet Tooth. Nopony sees with his eyes alone.”

What Sunray described sounded beautiful, and I couldn’t do anything but agree. “I understand.”

“Good,” Sunray said with a nod. “Now that I have taught you something, do you mind if I ask you about something which I don’t understand?”

“Yes, go ahead.”

Sunray cleared his throat, which made a long, rattling sound. “I don’t understand what a brisk, young colt such as yourself is doing in a place like this.”

“Eh…” I stammered. I could have told him the whole story, but I felt reluctant to do that. I had only just met this pony, and besides, I didn’t want to bother him with my pathetic story. He was the one who deserved care and attention, and not me. No, I didn’t want to tell him. Should I lie? I somehow had the feeling that despite him not being able to see, he could spot a lie from miles away. Even though he was blind, he seemed so… aware.

“Is it depression?”

My chair creaked as I jumped up. Yes, it was. How did he guess?!

“Ah, it seems I am right,” Sunray said with a faint smile. “I have known lots of young fillies and colts suffering from depression. It is not their favorite topic to talk about, and they are often ashamed.” He turned his head in my direction as if he were looking at me. His eyes were aimed directly at me, which made me feel uncanny. “You don’t have to feel any shame when you’re with this crazy old stallion, you know?”

I swallowed, not able to say anything or look away from those white, seemingly soulless eyes. I knew those eyes weren’t soulless; they possessed more soul than mine.

Sunray sat back in his chair, and waved his forelegs around. “But here we are completely alone, my dear Sweet Tooth. There is nopony who can hear us, so we can say anything we want. Even though I am not mute, I can assure you that every secret stays inside my head.”

Somehow, I believed him. His voice was solemn and earnest. Somehow, I trusted this strange pony more than Doctor Redheart himself.

“Did you try to kill yourself?”

Whoa, whoa. Sunray said that as if it were nothing. As if killing oneself—or trying to and failing—was the most normal thing in Equestria. I couldn’t tell him; I remained silent. But then I realized that was a very dumb thing to do. Sunray had guessed my illness when I was silent before, so he would insinuate that the answer was ‘yes.’

“I see,” Sunray said. He had guessed.

This was bad, this was really, really bad. I had to change the subject—now. I asked a very rude question, because it was the first one that popped up in my messed-up mind. “Have you been blind from birth?”

“Yes, I have,” Sunray said. There was absolutely no embarrassment hidden in his voice. It was just a fact, a statement. “And I am not at all ashamed because of that.”

“You shouldn’t be,” I said. “There’s nothing you can do about that. You were just unlucky, that’s all.” But as those words left my mouth, I realized how rude they were. I couldn’t believe that Sunray still wanted to talk with me. There I was, a young, rich pony who tried to kill himself, speaking to an elderly pony who had been blind from birth. He had every reason to be depressed, not I. Despite his terrible disability, he had been able to retain his sanity and live happily to an old age. I couldn’t believe how ungrateful I was that I wanted to end my own life, while there were ponies who had a much more difficult life than I. It was a good thing Sunray couldn’t see me. That way, I could blush safely and maybe even cry. I already felt tears in my eyes.

Sunray remained silent for a while. I sniffed. He heard that. “You just said that I shouldn’t be ashamed of my illness, because there is nothing I can do about it. Well, shall I tell you something, Sweet Tooth? Neither should you. You’re not pathetic or an embarrassment. Depression is as real a disease as blindness. It is a disease which is even harder to bear than blindness, I’d say. But luckily for you, depression can be cured; blindness cannot. You just need to not give up, until you’re as old as I am.”

While the striking questions of Doctor Redheart played sad chords in my heart, Sunray’s voice was like an actual sunray, shining into my soul, chasing the darkness away and playing a cheerful melody. I sniffed again.

Sunray turned his head once more and stuck out his hoof. To my astonishment, he reached my face and wiped away my tears. How did he know where my head was?

“I hope what I said helped you, Sweet Tooth.”

“It did,” I said, my voice still betraying the tears I had shed. “It helped a lot. Thank you.”

Sunray shook his head. “Don’t mention it. It is my job, or at least, it was my job.”

My ears perked up. “Were you a psychiatrist?”

“Almost guessed it. I was a social worker. I used to go to institutions like this one to talk to ponies. Or sometimes I went to their houses to meet them personally. They were all ponies who had… difficulties in their lives. Depression, abuse, anger issues, traumas, loss of a loved one, violence; I’ve heard it all. Sometimes I could help them, and sometimes… not. It’s quite ironic that I am now here, in the Ponyville hospital, while I used to be the one helping everypony.”

There was a hint of sadness in his voice. Now I was the one who spotted something. Sometimes it’s not about the words that are said; sometimes it’s about the words that are not spoken at all. “Did something happen?”

Sunray stiffened. “There was an… incident.”

I was worried, because his answer was so short. “What incident?”

Sunray sighed. “When you work with the psyche of other ponies, you have to be both engaged and detached. You need engagement and compassion to make sure that the patient trusts you with his or her sensitive topics. But you also have to detach yourself, otherwise you get swept along the wild stream of your patient’s emotions.”

The old pony was silent again, but I couldn’t yet paint a picture about what had happened. Luckily I didn’t need to ask another painful question to Sunray. I was beginning to feel like a torturer. He continued on his own.

“There was this one little filly. She had… problems. Big problems. Her parents abused her. They did the most horrible things to her, and she told everything to me; she trusted me completely. But she said that her parents couldn’t find out, otherwise she would be in big trouble. I couldn’t imagine her getting into more trouble than she already was. I couldn’t imagine something more terrible happening to her than the things she had already suffered through. I tried to help her, to say things that could make her feel better, but…” Sunray sniffed. When he spoke next, his voice sounded cracked. As I looked in his white eyes, I saw tears falling down onto his jacket. “Sweet Tooth, there is only so much a social worker can do. I felt so powerless. We spoke so often, meeting in secret and in the facility where I worked, both hoping that her parents wouldn’t find out. In the end, I think I did help but… but…”

The stallion couldn’t finish his sentence. His voice was broken, and he tried to wipe away the tears from his eyes. But the tears kept coming. It took a long time for him to find his voice. Sunray squeezed his eyes shut. His lips moved, but no words came out. After a couple of retries, he was able to continue his story.

“Her parents found out, Sweet Tooth. They found out that she had been meeting me. I don’t know all of the details about what happened next, because I didn’t see her anymore. Now that I think of it, maybe I didn’t even want to know the details. I tried to visit her house once, but her parents were home, and chased me away. There was nothing I could do.” Sunray swallowed before he continued. “The next day, I read in the newspaper that a young filly had been found in the woods. She was suffering from hypothermia, and bore many horrible wounds. When the police found her, she was in a coma.”

Sunray didn’t need to tell me more. But still he did. He was still fighting back tears as he told me the rest of it.

“I felt so horrible. I felt as if I had let this happen to her, as if it were my fault. Maybe it was; to this day, I still don’t know if I should blame myself. I have visited her many times in the hospital, but she still hasn’t come round. After that tragedy, I lost it. I wasn’t able to function anymore. The simple task of making a sandwich for myself became an enormous challenge. So here I am, telling you this story, feeling no better than during the accident.”

Now I knew why he made so many jokes before; because he wanted to bury the shame and guilt he felt underneath them.

“You’re the second pony I have ever told this story to, you know?” Sunray said, “besides Doctor Redheart. He tries his best to help me, but the core of the treatment is me being able to forgive myself. I don’t think I will ever be able to do that. The doctor says I should enjoy my life and keep my spirits up. I visit the filly I told you about every week, and every week I hope to hear her voice again. I would give everything to hear her voice again, before I pass away. I know my clock is ticking, Sweet Tooth.”

All the while I listened in silent awe. I had never imagined that such a sad story was hidden in the old pony’s soul. His eyes may be broken, but this pony had seen many horrible things in his life. I wanted to help him, but I also knew that I couldn’t even help myself. Then, suddenly, an idea popped up in my mind. I looked at Sunray. “I can visit her, if you want.”

Sunray’s head turned towards me. “Would you do that for me?”

“Certainly. It would be an honor. If you pass away before the filly wakes up, I swear that I will visit her and talk to her.”

Sunray lowered his head. “Please tell her how sorry I am if she comes round.”

“I’ll tell her how much you cared about her when she comes round.”

“Thank you,” Sunray said.

We were silent for a moment, both contemplating each other’s words and the stories we had shared. I felt the obligation to tell Sunray about my issues now. Even though I still found it shameful to talk about it, after the things that Sunray had told me about not being ashamed for your illness and disabilities, I found that I had to. I simply had to tell him. He had trusted me with his pains, and now it was time to trust him back.

So I told him everything, literally everything. I told him even more than I told Doctor Redheart. About my fight, my crusade to find the interpretation of my cutie mark, my failed attempts, my darkest hours and miraculous rescue. The story seemed old to me, as if it were something I used to do in my youth, but had given up because it was too ridiculous; just as you would throw away clothes that no longer fitted you. To be honest, I had almost forgotten about the whole crusade thing. In the Ponyville hospital, everything and everypony had to do with my mental health, not my silly crusade.

When I told Sunray about my conversation with Princess Twilight Sparkle, his eyebrows shot up.

“You talked with the princess of friendship?”

I nodded, but then realized that Sunray couldn’t see that, so I quickly accompanied my nod with a, “Yes, I did.”

“That’s amazing! It seems at least some good has come out of your troubles.”

I couldn’t help but agree and chuckle at the old stallion’s bafflement.

“So what does she look like?” Sunray said. “Is she tall?”

“Actually not,” I said back. “She’s just as tall as you and me.”

Sunray turned his ears towards me. “Can you describe her for me? Would you do that, please?”

There was a child-like giddiness in his voice. Of course I would do that for him. I took a moment to find the right words, and then began.

“She’s not tall, but still very impressive. Her aura and stature will make you want to stop what you’re doing and look at her, observing her every movement, her every hoofstep. Her voice is laden with wisdom. It is the kind of voice you can listen to forever. If Princess Twilight Sparkle was reading you a story, you wouldn’t want her to close the book before she reached the end.”

Sunray sat back, taking in my words. “Don’t stop there! What about her eyes? Are they beautiful?”

“As purple and gorgeous as her mane,” I said. But then I caught myself. Of course Sunray would have no idea what a color is; he had never seen just one single color.

“I’m afraid I am no expert on color, Sweet Tooth,” Sunray said. “Could you describe purple for me as well?”

I scratched my mane with my hoof. How does one describe a color to somepony who had never even seen one? Purple is purple, after all; a mix of blue and red. There’s nothing more to it. Still, I tried my best to give Sunray a lively description. “Purple can be a cold color, as it looks like blue, which is even colder. But purple is softer, easier on the eyes, a bit warmer and strikingly feminine. It stands out from the crowd and radiates calmness to whoever looks at it. In short, it is the perfect color for the princess of friendship.”

Sunray nodded. “Now I understand, I really do. Thank you.”

But I wasn’t done yet. “You said you wanted to know what her eyes looked like. They are the deep eyes of an adept reader. Thanks to those eyes, Twilight Sparkle has absorbed all of her knowledge out of her experiences and, of course, her books. I won’t even dare to take a guess at how many books she has read. Her eyes are precise, seeing the smallest of details and figuring out ways to improve. Her eyes really are the windows to her soul; learned, bright, and shiny.

“How marvelous.” Sunray smiled. “That was one of the most beautiful things I have ever heard.”

I wanted to say that Princess Twilight Sparkle was indeed very beautiful, when I got interrupted.

The door opened with a squeak. Sunray’s ears turned towards the sound, just like my head. It was nurse Redheart.

“Well hello, nurse Redheart,” Sunray said.

“Hello there, gentlecolts,” nurse Redheart said. Then she looked at me. “I see you’ve made yourself a friend, Sweet Tooth. How wonderful.”

“Wait, how did you know it was her?“ I asked Sunray.

His familiar smile returned to his lips. “I don’t know anypony else who opens the door so carefully, and who has such a light-hoofed gait as you, nurse Redheart.”

Nurse Redheart rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.” Then she looked at me. “Doctor Redheart is finished with Digit, so you can finish your daily assessment with him.”

I wasn’t in the mood for our little talk. I was never in the mood for our little talk. And somehow, after all I’d heard from Sunray, I figured it would do me much more good if I’d stick around him a while longer. “Actually, I would like to spend some more time with Sunray, nurse Redheart. Is that ok?”

Nurse Redheart clopped her hooves together in delight, but then quickly regained her posture. With that little movement, I guessed that had been exactly what she wanted to hear. For once, I had followed the doctor’s advice. “Yes, I think that would be ok,” she said with a serious face, but then dropped her mask. “Oh, what am I saying? Of course it’s ok. I will tell Doctor Redheart the good news. Have fun, you two!”

When the glass door closed again and I turned around, I looked right in Sunray’s hollow eyes. “Would you do me a favor, Sweet Tooth? It’s just a small one.”

“Certainly,” I said, ready to help this poor old stallion out with whatever he needed. Something about his tone suggested that it was something important. But as he asked me his favor, he revealed that it was not.

“Can you describe nurse Redheart for me? I never had the nerve to ask her if I could see her with my hooves. I found that quite… impolite, if you get my meaning. Could you do it the same way you described Twilight Sparkle?”

“Of course.” I took a moment to find the most poetic words I could conjure up, and began. tyv��]

Words

Special paths had been made, which were kept snow-free and salted so that every patient of the Ponyville hospital could enjoy a little walk. As I said, nature is good for the mind. The mountainous surroundings treated us to beautiful valley after beautiful valley. It looked as if even the trees had been made snow-free, to show some green in the otherwise monotonous white of the snow and the grey of the mountains.

“I had never really bothered taking one of the walking paths,” Sunray said as we walked a relatively flat path. “I mean, I couldn’t see any of the scenery, and not being able to see while walking on a mountain path might get a tad dangerous.” He breathed in deep, letting fresh mountain air into his lungs. “But I’m glad we can go outside together, Sweet Tooth. You honor your name.”

“How so?” I said.

Sunray chuckled. “Well, because you are so sweet.”

To that, we both let out a burst of laughter. Laughter… I couldn’t even remember the last time I laughed. It seemed so long ago. When was the last time? Maybe after I got drunk in the Buckingham Bar? No, that was not real laughter; that was drunken giggling. This was real laughter: sharing a funny moment with a friend.

As we took a bend in the road, walking between the pine trees, I realized that Sunray was the first friend I ever had. Sure, I did have my mates in the Buckingham Bar I always played cards with—and I usually won—but Sunray was different. All of the thoughts and memories I had shared with Sunray I couldn’t possibly have shared with my mates in the bar. Those ponies were too… simple. Not that being simple is a bad thing, it is just that Sunray had a unique view of the world and the ponies in it. He was deeper than my mates. And I was proud to call him my friend.

I held his hoof in my own, so Sunray didn’t need to use his walking stick, which he normally held in his mouth. That way, he could talk with me, and I warned him of gaps or rocks on the path which could make him trip. Our cooperation skills were quite good, as Sunray hadn’t even tripped once. I was his seeing-eye-pony.

“Oh, this is a nice one,” I said, as we rounded the corner. There was a beautiful valley below, and I was going to give Sunray a nice description to make the valley even more beautiful. We stopped.

“Well, let’s hear it then,” Sunray said. “Is it to the left or to the right? Then I’ll pretend to be looking at it.”

As we chuckled, I put his nose in the right direction. Of course, he couldn’t see a thing, but it’s the effort that counts. And besides, maybe this made him feel a bit more normal.

“Down below, the valley stretches out like an enormous bowl filled with snow. It almost looks like a bowl of yogurt. The rims of the valley are flanked by enormous spruce trees, waving in the air as if they greet the mountain breeze. Below there is a frozen lake, an infinite mirror of which I think it wouldn’t just reflect your appearance, but also lay bare the depths of your soul. “

“Ha, imagine that,” Sunray said, “a mirror that reflects your soul. A magical mirror-lake.”

I talked to Sunray, but still kept my gaze glued to the beautiful valley below. “That could be nice. Maybe the lake has even more magical powers. Maybe it could reflect your future. Maybe the future is as bright as the light of the sun, reflecting off the lake.”

And so we dreamed away for a while, standing on the path and gazing into the valley. Suddenly, I saw an owl taking flight from one of the nearby trees. It let out a hoot as it scanned the snowy ground below, searching for prey.

“Oh, what’s happening?” Sunray said, perking up his ears.

I smiled. “A lone hunter of the unwary, with eyes as sharp as the wind, with an agility that puts graceful to shame.”

“Good one, Sweet Tooth. It’s an owl, isn’t it?”

“It is,” I said.

Sunray let out a moan. “Oh, now you’ve made me jealous.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, if I had the eyes of an owl, those big, yellow, hunter’s eyes, then maybe I could see some more of Equestria.”

We laughed for minutes on end, filling the valley with the sound of our voices. The owl must have thought we were mad. And maybe the beast was right; we were in a mental institution, after all.

But things had changed. The time spent in the Ponyville hospital felt less wasted somehow. No, not somehow; there was a very clear explanation for that. My time in the hospital had given me a friend, my first and only friend. Things seemed better when I was around Sunray. His good-natured—and sometimes cynical—humor kept us both standing. But there was more than that, because I had a complete picture of Sunray. I could look past the jokes and the laughter and see the fragile pony beneath that. That was not a bad thing; it made our friendship feel more genuine. Good friends share happy moments; best friends share every moment, no matter how dark or gloomy.

Sunray pulled on my hoof. “Let’s go and see what else this mountain has to offer us.”

I nodded, and together we shuffled on.

We were faster than you might expect, and I felt myself almost walking at my normal walking speed. There were many gaps and rough parts on the path, but very often I didn’t even need to warn Sunray about the obstacles; he just stepped past them. It was as if he had a sixth sense, as if his lack of sight was made up to him by giving him something else in return. I know it sounds silly, but you should have been there.

We entered a patch of spruces and pines, which belonged to a whole part of wooded terrain, nestling snugly on the mountainsides.

Perhaps Sunray could feel the needles underneath his hooves, or perhaps he smelled the scent of pinecones and tree sap and bark. He turned his head around, and he sniffed the new scent. “Are we in a forest now, Sweet Tooth?”

“We are,” I said.

“What does it look like? I bet it’s beautiful.”

“It’s dark, for the sun is having a hard time penetrating the crowns of the trees. They are fresh, healthy spruce trees and pine trees, standing around us and looking us over. Maybe they are silently wondering what a fresh, young colt as myself is doing alongside an old stallion like you.”

“Hey! That’s not what they’re thinking,” Sunray said.

I whinnied with a mocking smile on my face. “I don’t know that. You’ll have to ask the trees.”

Sunray nodded. “Fair enough. You got any more?”

“Oh yes. The forest is a bit darker than the open valleys we have come across, but that doesn’t make it any less beautiful. We could chop down and take away one of these spruces; it doesn’t even matter which one. Whichever tree we choose, it is sure to make a nice Hearth’s Warming tree.”

Tapping his chin with his hoof, Sunray said, “A forest full of Hearth’s Warming trees, huh? It’s a shame we didn’t take any axes with us.”

We chuckled, but then I quickly continued my description.

“An aura of mystery surrounds these trees. Who knows what is lurking in these woods, observing us? What’s a forest to us is like a village to all of the animals.” My story was interrupted by a couple of squirrels, dashing past us and disappearing between the trees. I decided to include them in the tale. “A few squirrels skitter about, stressing and panting, hurrying to hide enough acorns to survive the winter, and always hoping that no other animal will find them first.”

Sunray laughed. “You make the forest sound magical.”

“Perhaps it is,” I said. “Perhaps the mystery of this forest is an ancient source of magic, or a den with a vicious monster which needs to be conquered. The way this forest just envelops us, I would almost believe it.”

“Jeez, Sweet Tooth. You’re giving me goosebumps with your story.” Sunray shivered to illustrate his words.

I grinned. “That’s the whole point.”

“Can you guide me towards one of the trees, Sweet Tooth? I want to feel the bark.”

So I did. Just a few paces off the path, and Sunray stood directly opposite of a large pine. Slowly, almost reverently, the old pony touched the bark with his hoof. As I observed this strange ritual, I noticed how much Sunray’s skin looked like the bark of the pine. “What are you doing?”

“Just feeling,” Sunray said, as he moved his hoof up and down. “I like the feeling of bark. It is rough and strong, able to bear an enormous load of needles and pinecones, getting them as close to the sky as possible.” After some minutes, he put his hoof down once more, and we walked towards the path together. Sunray wasn’t tired yet, when I asked him. No, quite the contrary, Sunray seemed more alive than ever. He didn’t even pant or sweat or anything. Right now, as we walked together through the forest, I could hardly imagine he was the same pony I had seen sitting in the solarium day by day, staring into nothingness. This Sunray was funny and tenacious and energetic. In my eyes, he seemed to grow years younger. Maybe, when we would finish the mountain trail, he would be as young as me.

“I like nature, Sweet Tooth,” Sunray said. “It is always so perfect. Every critter and every plant is designed to live in perfect harmony with the rest of the world.” He took a deep breath and then sighed contently.

“But then why are we not?” I said. The words left my lips before I could call them back.

The ever so thoughtful Sunray had difficulties with the question. I could almost hear the rusty cogs in his brains working and turning. The old pony took a few deep breaths and looked around—or listened around. We were silent for a while; Sunray clearly took the time to mull over my question, letting it linger in his mind. His ears kept turning around, as if one of the trees would whisper the answer to him. Slowly, almost stuttering with hesitation, he gave the question his best shot.

“I think we ponies are created with a purpose, dear Sweet Tooth,” he said. “It has to do with fate, luck, and destiny. The fact that one door is shut doesn’t mean that you should wait at the other side, trying desperately to open it. There are other doors, other possibilities. If I hadn’t been blind from birth, I would maybe have been a painter or a writer. But because I was so good at listening and understanding, I became a social worker, and was able to help so many ponies.”

I snorted, although I didn’t realize I did. “I don’t believe in destiny or fate. They say your destiny is on your flank in the form of your cutie mark. I don’t believe that. Destiny is as fake as cutie marks.”

Sunray was silent for a minute, then nodded. “I understand that you see it that way, given your situation. But that actually brings me to my second point: challenge.”

“Challenge?”

Sunray nodded. “Yes, little Sweet Tooth, challenge. I think everypony is born with something he or she has to overcome. With me it is my lack of sight, with you—and I apologize for my directness—it is your vague cutie mark. Maybe for somepony else it is not being able to hear, or not being able to walk. If there is one thing I have learned from my stay in the Ponyville hospital, it is that everypony faces difficulties in their lives.”

Sunray suddenly stopped walking, turned his head towards me, and grabbed my shoulders with his hooves.

“Sometimes these difficulties are very hard to overcome, but we have to overcome them. Only then will we become our true selves, stronger than we were before.”

“But I gave up,” I said. “I gave up trying to find the meaning of my cutie mark, trying to overcome my burden.”

Sunray pondered for a minute. “Yes, yes you did. But that doesn’t matter, because more often than not, we need other ponies to help us overcome these obstacles. We need friends; everypony needs friends. And, if you want, Sweet Tooth, we can find the meaning of your cutie mark together.”

I felt tears sting in my eyes. “That means a lot to me, Sunray.”

“Good,” Sunray said, letting go of me and walking forwards. “Then we shall begin immediately.”

I caught up with him and took his hoof, pondering over his words.

The forest was smaller than I thought. Ten minutes later, we could already see Celestia’s sun filtering through the roof of needles. Once again, the ground became rocky, and trees had a harder time finding places to put their roots. Very soon I knew there would be lovely viewpoints from which we could enjoy the little valleys. The path began to climb upwards, becoming progressively steeper. But Sunray walked onwards undaunted. Surely he must have felt the path climbing. What did he want to do? Scale the mountain together?

“Sunray, maybe we should head back,” I said. “This path seems a little steep.”

Sunray whistled. “Pha! You can go back if you want, then I’ll go on alone.”

“That… might not be such a good—“

An enormous rumble filled the air, as if lightning bolts struck mere meters away. Sunray’s knees buckled, and he fell down. I caught him just in time, placing him carefully on the ground. The rumbling was followed by a distant whooshing sound, sounding almost as if a whole Wonderbolt squadron of Rainbow Dashies was practicing aerial stunts in the distance.

“What’s happening?” Sunray said. He didn’t even sound scared; he just sounded surprised.

I turned my head towards the sound.

“An avalanche!”

Sunray’s hollow eyes went wide. “Oh! Describe it for me, quickly!”

Of course he would want that. I looked at the distant mountainside, from which the snow was falling down. Here we go… “It’s such a magnificent, majestic sight, yet also frightening. It looks as if the mountain is pulling off a jacket made of snow, letting it fall down on its feet. The puffy snow rolls down the slopes of the mountain like moving clouds, becoming bigger and bigger. It is the raw, unyielding force of nature, to which nothing that ponykind has ever made can compare. Not even the most gorgeous of castles in Canterlot, because this is pure, raw power and strength, and there is nothing more impressive than that.”

And everything I said, I meant. I had never before seen an avalanche, although I had read about them in Daring Do and the Frozen Kingdom. Yet my description was completely different from the one in the book, for my description was a unique product of my mind, fueled by an impressive eye-witness account of an actual avalanche. It was beautiful.

I looked up to the left, where the mountain we were walking on continued to rise until it reached its rocky peaks. Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to be in the mountains anymore, for the avalanche had laid bare a sliver of fear in my heart. Luckily, Sunray shared my thoughts.

“Maybe we should go, Sweet Tooth. I am… eh… feeling cold.”

I snickered. “It doesn’t take an extraordinary sense of hearing to figure out that you’re afraid.”

Sunray turned around, shaking his head. “I’m not afraid, I’m cold. And besides, I think I’ve heard enough.”

I took his hoof and walked back down the sloping path. Apparently, Sunray had heard enough descriptions from me. Perhaps he became bored by my voice, or maybe the words I chose weren’t exciting enough. My ears drooped down as I drew my conclusion: I had bored Sunray to death.

I decided that I wanted some conversation, if only to chase away the bubbling negative feelings. “Hey, Sunray?”

“Yes?”

I looked at his cutie mark for a moment: a shining sun, casting its light in diagonal beams over his flank. “Why did your parents name you ‘Sunray?’”

“What, because I couldn’t even see the sun?” Sunray chuckled. “They named me Sunray because I was as great a gift as the light and warmth of the sun to them. Even though they knew that I would never see, they loved me so much. They cared for me with joy in their hearts, and I guess they had taught me to care for others as well.”

“What a beautiful story,” I said, feeling a pang of jealousy. You really were a product of your surroundings and the norms and values your family imposed on you. But if that was true, then why is my family one of winners, of rich ponies with a booming business, while I failed whatever I tried?

“You are special, Sweet Tooth,” Sunray said, completely out of the blue.

I made a small jump. That caught me off-guard. Had Sunray read my mind? “Why do you say that?”

“Because you are.” Sunray let go of my hoof and put his on my shoulder. “The way you described your family, there isn’t an ounce of compassion and love inside them. They probably hated you, giving you a boring job like that.”

I nodded shallowly.

“And that is why you’re special. You defy them by not becoming like them. You are nice and kind and creative and smart; everything they are not. You defy them by not being at home, not being their slave, and being with me. Those parents of yours? They have probably never made a friend as you did, and I reckon they will never make one. I bet the closest things to ‘friends’ they have are business relations. Cold, calculated business relations, who like smiling towards each other but wishing each other to be broke in their minds. Competition they call it. No, Sweet Tooth, you’re nothing like them, you’re special.”

Once again, I felt tears dripping down to the ground. :EN-US'>
&n�w�עU

The present

Square and white, that is what my cutie mark looks like, because it is a blank page.

A blank page is an opportunity, a chance to create something from scratch. A chance to fill the paper with words to create stories, poems, songs, or anything you want. A chance to inspire others with your work, and write stories that say things about you, about the world, or about the ponies living in it. A blank page is an endless world, and I couldn’t have wished for a more beautiful cutie mark.

In the end, Sunray had been right. When there is one door, one opportunity closed, it is useless to start banging on it until your hooves hurt. You should try opening the other doors, see what opportunities wait behind them. That way, we can bypass the challenges we have to face, and exploit our talents in a whole different way. I suppose that is what I attempted with the Cutie Mark Crusaders, trying so many different things to get the meaning of my cutie mark. But, thanks to Sunray’s words, I realize that I kept pushing against locked doors, no matter how many things I tried. It had taken a friend to help me overcome my challenge.

Thanks to Sunray, I can believe in destiny again. If I wouldn’t have given up on myself, if I wouldn’t have tried to do the ultimate deed on the train tracks, if Princess Twilight Sparkle hadn’t sent me to the Ponyville Hospital, I never would have met Sunray—and I would never have discovered the interpretation of my cutie mark.

I am a writer.

It started when we returned to the Ponyville hospital after our walk. Sunray had urged me to grab a piece of paper and a pencil as fast as I could. Of course I said to Sunray that drawing wasn’t going to work for me, but he had something else in mind. He said I should write down my new experiences, everything we had seen and talked about on our little walk. I thought at the time that that would be quite boring, but in the end it turned out alright, as you have just read the result, dear reader.

So I finished my piece, which became longer than I expected, and read it to Sunray. It became a piece describing the wonders of nature, chopped in bits and pieces by dialogue, and interrupted by deep thoughts. But to my horror, Sunray started declaim it out loud. I still can’t believe how amazing that pony’s memory was. There was a little stage with a microphone, used for the occasional guest performance by stars willing to do something for charity, and Sunray scrambled up the stage, grabbed the microphone, and recited the first words.

And then something strange happened. Everypony stopped doing what they were doing and listened to Sunray. Now I must admit that Sunray was a marvelous storyteller; it would be very impolite to give all the credit to myself. His voice was deep and soothing, betraying his former profession as a social worker. It was a voice which said, ‘I care about you,’ and he used it for my story—he cared about my story.

With every sentence he read, more ponies gathered around and looked at him. Even Digit stopped doing his mad calculations and looked up at the elderly pony on the stage. Sunray read the piece aloud as if it was a beautiful piece of poetry, loud enough for everypony to hear it, but soft enough to let the words sink in with their own weight. While I was—apparently—a story writer, Sunray was a storyteller, and a good one at that. Later, when I had asked him about this hidden talent of his, he gave me an odd smile, and said that in his youth he always liked to play Ogres and Oubliettes, whatever that is.

When he was done telling, he received a wealthy applause, accompanied by the stomping of hooves on the ground. I even felt myself clopping my hooves together, and I was the one who wrote it. Sunray invited me to come onstage and receive some credit of my own, which I did. It was at that moment, when I gazed into the eyes of all of the patients—all of my fans—and hearing their applause, that I knew I was a writer, and forever would be.

So yes, I do believe in destiny again, and maybe even in cutie marks too. If my cutie mark hadn’t been so vague, I never would have left my home and gone on my crusade, which is now finally over. I suppose I should even thank my family for only reinforcing my decision to leave and never come back, as they also inspired me to write that last scene of chapter one, the one with the fight. My crusade is over, and I have finally found my special talent. I think it’s safe to say that after writing three bestselling novels and a bundle of short stories. Maybe you can also count this lousy and pathetic autobiography to those, dear reader. When I went to the signing session this year, you all asked a lot of questions about how my career started. You asked for it, and here you have it, a road with many bumps and gaps, but also a road which led to a beautiful and rewarding destination.

And all thanks to Sunray, my first friend. Unfortunately, the old stallion passed away, but his spirit lives on in my books. Every book I write, I write for Sunray. In the few years that Sunray was still alive, he had seen me grow, and I had never seen him laugh and joke so much. He considered me his son, I like to think—and I know it is true. He had watched me write, he had helped me with brainstorm sessions which lasted whole nights, and which only ended when we would fall asleep of exhaustion. There were so many ideas that came out of the old stallion that I now have material enough to write ten books, easily. And that’s also why I believe that every book or story I write has a sliver of Sunray’s soul in it. He was the light that chased away my darkness, and he still is.

Unfortunately, Sunray had never seen his comatose patient wake up. But I’m happy to say that I did. She’s a little filly named Gold Leaf, and now my beautiful daughter. Of course I am not her biological father, but I adopted her when she regained consciousness and traveled back to the waking world of Equestria. Once she woke up, it took some time and some medical examinations before she was allowed to do things, and she and I didn’t leave those days wasted. We talked a lot. Miraculously enough, Gold Leaf could still remember Sunray and the long talks she had with him, trying to make her life a little bit better. She could remember every conversation she had with the old stallion, which were many, and when she recounted them for me, I could feel the impression Sunray had left on this young filly shining through, his soul drifting on the words he had spoken to her.

And Gold Leaf was also curious about me, for I was the only one who had had contact with Sunray before he died. So in exchange, I told her everything that had happened with the two of us, even reading to her the little piece I had written. Needless to say, she loved it, and we often had a merry time together.

That’s why, as soon as Gold Leaf was dismissed from the hospital, I adopted her. She’s really so sweet, and a walking source of inspiration. She looks a lot like Sunray. Just like Sunray, she possesses this view of things, this philosophical viewpoint, that is unique and unparalleled. If I wouldn’t know better, I would think that she was actually Sunray’s granddaughter, for the likeness between their walks and their talks is striking. She’s doing very well. She’s going to school—studying language, of course—and even writes stories of her own. She says she wants to be just like me when she grows up, and I believe she will, because, although I am quite a harsh critique partner, I think her stories are very creative and funny, just like she herself.

And what about me? I’m pleased to say that I am doing fine as well. Obviously, I am no longer staying in the Ponyville hospital, although I do sometimes go there to read one of my stories or recite a poem or two. But I neither am I living with my parents again; they had banished me, after all. No, I am living my dream. Remember when I said that if there was one place I’d settle down, it would be Ponyville? The moment I began earning some money with my writing, I saved and saved, until I had enough to buy a cozy little house in Ponyville. I couldn’t think of a more beautiful town to raise my daughter in. Everypony is so friendly here, and there are tons and tons of festivals and holidays which the Ponyvillians celebrate. It is as if Ponyville is the friendliest and jolliest place in Equestria, certainly compared to Baltimare.

I have received neither word nor letter from my parents and my brother. I bet they are too busy with their work. But that’s alright, because so am I. They have helped to shape me into what I am now, so for that, I thank them kindly.

And of course, now that I live in Ponyville, it is even easier to keep track of the mane six’s adventures. I sometimes go and visit Princess Twilight Sparkle, and we have long chats over cups of tea. Not just about my mental health, but also about my stories and about philosophy and about her own adventures. She had even given me access to her library, so I never have to worry about buying books myself. I can’t tell the princess how grateful I am for everything she has told me. I have learned so much about the idols I used to study via newspaper articles. Seeing them in real life is so much better than looking at a wall full of newspapers. One morning, as a surprise, Twilight Sparkle had gathered all of her friends in the throne hall, and she let me ask them whatever I wanted. I believe Rainbow Dash got a bit bored by the end of the afternoon, but there was just so much to ask. When the sun finally began to set, I had enough material to write an extensive biography of all of the main six, including Spike and Starlight Glimmer. Oh, there’s just so much to do.

But first, Gold leaf and I went to the hospital. It was a beautiful summer day, so we decided to take the mountain paths to get there. All around us, there were beautiful fields of heather, with their little white and purple flowers rocking in the breeze. The grass looked green and healthy, the air fresh and revitalizing. Not at all like the air in Baltimare, where not even the rich district would have the privilege of mountain breezes. From this altitude, we could see the town of Ponyville lying snugly in the valley. We took a moment to look at the beauty of the little village, considering ourselves lucky that we were living in a town as cute and beautiful as Ponyville. Truly, the town itself keeps inspiring me—the town and its silly and diverse population.

We moved on, climbing higher and higher, until the Ponyville hospital came into view. As we walked closer, I could see nurse Redheart pushing an elderly pony in a wheelchair. Both ponies waved, and I waved back.

I felt Gold Leaf poke me as we turned our back to the hospital and instead took the gravel path surrounding it.

“Aren’t we going to tell some stories, dad?”

I looked down and stroked my daughter’s mane. “I’m afraid we will do that another time, Gold Leaf. We have to visit somepony else.” I knew it was going to be sad, but I also figured that Gold Leaf was old enough to bear the sadness. And besides, I thought that she would like to see him as well. I swallowed, then continued our way.

We took the path leading into the mountains. There was nopony else; it was deserted. We passed a beautiful overlook and stopped a couple of minutes to look at the green valley with its mirror lake. I wondered whether my soul would shine bright when I would take a peek in the waters.

“Is this the soul-mirror lake?” Gold Leaf asked.

“It is,” I said, and I felt tears well up in my eyes. I turned around. “Let’s move on.”

We reached the forest with its evergreen trees. Instead of cold white snow there was the warm green of the needles and the brown of the bark and the earth. That was where I learned my most valuable life lesson. I my head, the memories revealed itself like a movie you see for the second time. Only the cast was slightly different. I felt the urge to talk, to say something to my daughter, but I felt that no words could truly capture that moment. Not now, anyway, with Sunray gone.

There it was. Beyond the forest was the very same spot where we decided to turn around and head back after Sunray had heard enough. He said that not because he had enough of my poetic descriptions, but because he had heard enough. He had heard enough to conclude what my destiny should be, what my special talent was and how I should put it to good use. I still can’t believe how much he had helped me.

Right there, faced towards the view of the mountainous valley, was a single stone. I walked around it until I could read the inscription, with my daughter by my side.

“Here lies Sunray, my light in the darkness. May he forever see the virtues in ponykind.” Gold Leaf read the epitaph aloud. When she was done, she looked up at me. “That’s beautiful. Did you come up with that?”

“I did,” I said, crouching down to plant a bunch of heather next to his gravestone.

“That sounds just like him,” Gold Leaf said. She sniffed, and that was not from the healthy mountain air.

We held each other’s hooves, and cried softly. Gold Leaf was just as sensitive as I was, and hope her emotions will never backfire on her. But if they do, she has a very understanding father who will help her through the storm, to help make her shine like rays of the sun.

THE END

Author's Note

This story was very hard to write, but I had to. This story simply had to be written. As the title says, it's a story worth telling. I dedicate this story to all people suffering from depression and suicidal thoughts. Find the Sunray in your life, and talk, talk, talk. Or if you find you can't, then write, write, write. That is so important. There is so much power in words. Words literally saved my life, and they can help you too. :twilightsmile:

Stay strong, reader. I hope to see you in my next story!

Love,

Elkia

A crusader meetup

I stood on a low hill, gazing spellbound at the apple orchard. It was late in the afternoon, and the low sun made the apples on the trees shine a bright red between the snow cover. It looked beautiful. Of course we had parks in Baltimare, but a true, genuine, healthy apple orchard was something I had never seen before. However dumb it sounds, I suddenly realized that every apple I ate had grown on a tree just like these ones. I’m such a city dweller, aren’t I?

Truth is, I didn’t just hold to enjoy the scenery. The main reason for me stopping was to gather some courage. I was going to the home of Applejack, the element of honesty, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. The chances of meeting her and speaking to her were quite high. I swallowed hard. From up here on the hill I could see her, walking about. She was plowing the path, shoveling away the snow with the energy of a workhorse.

I couldn’t just walk up and speak with one of the elements of harmony! I didn’t deserve that. My crusade wasn’t that important. But then again, from what I’d read in magazines and newspapers, Applejack was a country mare, a workhorse. Maybe just walking up and saying hi was exactly the right thing to do…

Some rabbits made the bush next to me rustle. To me, it sounded like an air horn. I jumped, but landed quickly and ducked down. Oh! I hope Applejack hadn’t seen me.

“What should I do?” I asked myself. I started biting my hooves. “Wouldn’t it be extremely weird to just walk up to her and ask her about her sister?” I shook my head. “Not if I’ll explain my crusade to her. But can I do that? Am I even able to talk when she will be standing right in front of my nose?” I knew the answer: no.

I did know about the sisters of the mane six. I knew about Apple Bloom, who was the sister of Applejack, Sweetie Belle, who was the sister of Rarity, and their friend Scootaloo. They were mentioned in an interview I read, complete with photos. But my knowledge was limited to that one interview, and it hadn’t said a word about the term ‘Cutie Mark Crusaders.’

“Oh. It is weird.” I lowered my head in defeat. The second leg of my journey came to an end even before it could begin. And only because of my damn shyness. Was it shyness? Or doubt? Both in equal measure, creating a very nasty cocktail in my heart. With a heavy sigh, I gave up. “I am weird.”

“Indeed you are, talking to yourself like that.”

I jumped at the sudden voice. My heart felt as if it were a basketball.

“Surprise!” Apple Bloom said, jumping out of the bushes with Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle following behind.

I wasn’t able to say anything to them yet. First my breathing had to calm down—a lot. Those weren’t rabbits which had hidden in the bushes.

“What… wh—huh?” It wasn’t the best thing to say, but those were the only sounds I managed to produce.

Apple Bloom stepped forward. “We snuck around you when we saw you spying the farm.”

Well, they did a wonderful job at that. “I-I-I wasn’t eh…”

“At first we didn’t know what to think of you, Mister,” Sweetie Belle said.

Scootaloo jumped up. “Yeah, but then we heard you talking about a crusade—“

“And now we’re curious,” Apple Bloom finished. “Do you have a cutie mark problem perhaps?”

I don’t know how I did it, but my heartbeat returned to a slightly normal cadence, and I found myself able to speak again. “I… I am, in fact. I am looking for the interpretation of my cutie mark. I figure there’s more to it than meets the eye.”

Scootaloo walked around me to look at my cutie mark. I could see her frown. “Yeah, it does look pretty vague… What is it anyway?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. My parents think it’s a sugar cube, but… well… Let’s just say that a career as a sugar factory worker is exactly as fun as it sounds like.”

I sat down and explained the whole story, how I traveled to Canterlot and then to Ponyville. Of course, I left a couple of painful details behind. Things that weren’t relevant to my crusade, although they had helped to start it.

“It’s sounds like you have a problem, Mister,” Apple Bloom said. “But don’t worry. The Cutie Mark Crusaders are here to help.”

I couldn’t tell how grateful I was. “Thank you so much. My name is Sweet Tooth, by the way.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Sweet Tooth,” Apple Bloom said. “I’m Apple Bloom, and this is Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo. And together we are the Cutie Mark Crusaders, YAY!”

That last part they shouted together in unison, and I winced at the sudden sound.

Together we walked away from the hill and from the farm. I was both thankful and disappointed because of that. Thankful that the decision whether or not to talk with Applejack was made for me, but disappointed that I missed out on a chance to talk with one of my great heroines; that would have been quite something. Sometimes my mind is quite a paradox. But it didn’t matter what I felt like; now it was crusading time.

“Follow me, everypony,” Sweetie Belle said. “I have a beautiful idea.”

We reached the outskirts of Ponyville, and to my surprise, it was only minutes before we walked on its main street. Ponyville was so tiny, perhaps even smaller than a district in Baltimare; maybe even smaller than the rich district alone.

But it was wrong of me to compare Ponyville with Baltimare, because compared to the big city, Ponyville was like a lovely painting. Little limestone and wooden houses with straw roofs covered in snow dotted town square. My head kept swaying from the left to the right. To me, it looked as if I had been teleported into a fairytale—or perhaps a pretty dream. If that was the case, then please, please, please don’t wake me up.

There were some ponies outside. Apparently, they didn’t like fancy garments in Ponyville, for apart from scarves and knitted hats to keep themselves warm, there wasn’t a single ruby-inlaid brooch to be seen. I had thought that the worker’s district in Baltimare had this rustic and coarse character; I now realized how wrong I was. Ponyville was the most charming place I had ever visited, and I promised myself that if I would go looking for a place to settle down, it would be right here.

Leaving the residential district of Ponyville behind, The CMC’s and I soon found ourselves on a dirt road leading beside a patch of forest. It didn’t look like we were going to do something in the town at all, but we were also not going inside the forest. We followed a bend in the path, leading up a small hill. Once we stood on the top, I gazed down at a pretty sight; a lake.

Compared with the Baltimore harbor, it wasn’t more than a puddle, but that didn’t stop everypony from playing around with the ice. Some ponies were ice-skating on the frozen lake, twirling around in graceful dances or trying their best to go as fast as they could. On our side of the lake, a couple of elderly ponies were fishing, their lines dipped in the water through a small hole. There were shouts and calls and laughter and fun. I could feel the ambiance of their merrymaking in the cold winter air. My heart lighted up, and I smiled.

“So what are we going to do?” I asked Sweetie Belle.

“Look there,” she said, pointing at the far end of the lake. Something curious was going on there. Using an improvised winch which ended in an iron claw, some ponies were busy hauling large chunks of ice out of the lake; ice as clear as a crystal window. Suddenly, the rumble of a chainsaw mingled with the cries and laughter of the playing ponies, and I could see how they cut yet another massive block out of the ice.

“What are they doing?”

But before Sweetie Belle could clarify, Scootaloo jumped up. “Oh! I get it. You want to try making ice sculptures!”

Sweetie Belle nodded.

“That’s a great idea,” Sweetie Belle said, eying my cutie mark. “Maybe your cutie mark resembles a block of ice, ready to be sculpted into a beautiful piece of art.”

I cringed at the word ‘art,’ the memories of my painting attempt fresh in my mind. The memories, and also the feeling of failure. “I… eh…” I turned my head around to tell the Cutie Mark Crusaders that I had given up on arts, when my gaze fell upon my cutie mark. It did look like a chunk of ice. Maybe even more like a chunk of ice than like a painter’s canvas. Canvases are rectangular, after all, and ice cubes are perfectly square, just like the picture of my cutie mark. Square and white, reflecting the snow in its transparent surface. I decided that it was worth a try.

We walked down the hill and towards the ice sculptors. “Hi there,” I said to a stallion as he laid down his hammer and chisel to admire his work. “Can I try that myself, perhaps?”

“Sure can,” the stallion said. He nudged behind him with his head. “You can have that block over there. There should be a hammer and a chisel lying around somewhere, and probably some safety glasses too. If you wanna use the chainsaw, you just ask me, alright? You got any experience with ice sculpting?”

I was a bit amazed at the friendliness of the stallion, letting me borrow his ice and his tools like that. If I would have asked the same thing in Baltimare, they would have charged me for sure. “Eh… no,” I said.

The stallion smiled. “Doesn’t matter. I bet you’ll be a natural, judging by our cutie mark.”

I felt a little déjà vu moment coming up. I just hoped that this experience would end in a more positive way.

At least The CMC’s were positive. “Have fun making stuff, Sweet Tooth,” Apple Bloom said, “we’re gonna go ice-skating, but we’ll meet up when you’re done.”

I nodded, put on the safety glasses, and set to work.

I had a nice image in my head about what I wanted to make. I was thinking about an image of Princess Celestia, rearing on her hind legs. That would make for a nice piece of decoration—until the sun would start to shine. I chuckled at the irony of that. I asked the stallion with the chainsaw to cut out the rough shape of my creation. As the rumbling of his machine stopped, the image was even clearer visible in the ice. Now it was my turn.

Clink, clink, clink, my chisel resounded, as I chipped away bits and pieces to bring out my design. Soon the base of my statue was covered in bits of ice, and my tongue hung out of my mouth. Sometimes I stopped and stepped back, looking with a critical eye to my creation. Just as with painting, I started from the top to the bottom, working my way down slowly.

Clink, clink, clink, CRACK!

“Oops.”

There went most of Celestia’s light, flowing mane, which now lay at my hooves in a heavy chunk of ice. Darn. Now I couldn’t finish her. I felt panic creep into my nerves. What to do? What to do?

And then I got it. I decided to make Princess Luna instead. She was smaller than her sister, so I figured I could use the smaller piece of ice I had to make Celestia’s little sister. I mean, you have to start small with every task, right?

I went back to work again.

Isn’t that the basis of a creative mind? I thought as I worked. I meant finding out-of-the-box solutions to difficult problems. I had just come up with a creative solution to my problem, so obviously I possessed a free creative spirit. I was already free, as I had left behind my ‘family’ and home. So creativity would be next, finding a way into my heart. Yes. I think I could already feel it. I could feel that this was what I was meant to do. I felt one with the sculpture. It was fun too. Crack! there went another unwanted piece. Crack! There went another. The creative energy coursed through my veins as I worked, making my strikes sure and powerful.

Crack!

A little too powerful apparently.

Slowly, half of the statue slipped away to fall with a thud in the snow below, leaving me staring at half a princess. I couldn’t believe it. Was I really that clumsy? With a sigh, I realized that I was, but I couldn’t give up. If I would have even half of a creative mind, I had to find an out-of-the-box solution. My mind began racing through alternative options, new ideas or plans how I could finish this work. My head stuck with princesses. Suddenly, the answer came to me, and I slapped my hoof against my forehead. Of course! Twilight Sparkle, my ultimate exemplary pony. Why not make a statue out of her, the mare who inspired me so much with her friends; the mares whose photo’s silently convinced me to go on this crusade to look for my inner self.

I thought I could still make such a statue, as I figured that I had enough ice left. There we go…

But as soon as I landed my hammer on the chisel, everything went wrong. A massive crack sprang into my statue, snaking from top to bottom, making that ominous sound all cracks make; that sound of destruction.

“No, no, no, no!”

In a moment of desperation, I wrapped my fore hooves around the statue, hugging it tightly in a foolish attempt to hold it back together. The crack kept spreading. It sprouted tinier cracks which fanned out to the side. I felt my statue collapse. I jumped aside as I felt the weight shift. I didn’t want to be standing under it when it would collapse—or maybe I did, because I knew that my second attempt went down in an avalanche of ice.

And that is exactly what happened. I tripped and fell on my back as my statue collapsed right in front of my eyes. After a rumble and the sound of rolling ice, there was nothing left but a small little stump, barely bigger than a horseshoe.

I saw everypony gazing at the miniature avalanche which I had just created. Even the chainsaws stopped rumbling as their wielders watched me. Once again, the awkwardness had found me, and I plunged down into it. I heard hooves trotting towards me. Please, everypony. Leave me. Leave this failure!

“Sweet Tooth, are you alright?” Apple Bloom said.

I took her hoof and scrambled upright. I felt my cheeks reddening despite the cold breeze. “P-p-please don’t mind me, I’m sorry for the mess,” I said, hoping that everypony could hear my voice, which had grown meek with embarrassment.

I brushed the bits of ice off my hooves and turned to face the Cutie Mark Crusaders, but only Apple Bloom stood by my side.

“What is it?” Scootaloo said, looking at what had remained of my work with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s a… no, wait,” Sweetie Belle said. “Is it a wheel?”

“Nah, it’s not round enough,” Scootaloo said.

“Maybe an eye?”

“Nope. There’s no iris or highlights.”

“A ball?”

“As I said, not round enough.”

I didn’t want to hear what they were saying. Each guess was a stab through my heart. I had failed again. I wanted to throw myself in the lake and hide underneath the ice, until everypony had forgotten about my stupid clumsiness. I could have hurt somepony!

The same dark veil was being drawn over my mind. Why was it that creative things never worked for me? How could it be that moments before I had felt the pure ecstasy and fun of creating things, and then almost buried myself underneath an icy avalanche?

My head became heavy; my ears drooped down. As my gaze wandered more and more to the ground, I suddenly saw Apple Bloom looking at me. She saw that I was not alright, not at all.

“You sure you’re okay?” she said with a gaze so earnest, it didn’t fit a filly her age.

I blinked hard and forced my gaze to meet hers, raising my head. “Yes,” I said, reaching out and stroking her mane. “I’m alright, Apple Bloom. I just had a… dark moment.”

The CMC’s couldn’t see me like that. They couldn’t see me like the heap of despair I was and would be. But maybe that was good. The CMC’s helped me to control myself with their presence, to bury the negativity and store it away. Memories of the failed painting workshop came into view. I couldn’t become like that now, not with everypony looking at me; not with the little fillies, the Cutie Mark Crusaders, seeing me.

I swallowed, blinked, and rasped my throat. Slowly, I stepped closer to the end result of my calamity. It was vaguely round, but that was it. There was nothing else to see. Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle were still guessing.

“It’s a snowflake,” I said. At least my ‘creative mind’ could come up with that lousy excuse for what my statue represented.

“Eh… Of course,” Sweetie Belle said, looking up to me. “Of course it’s a snowflake. Each and every snowflake is unique, and… and so is this.”

“Nah, it doesn’t look like a snowflake,” Scootaloo said. “It isn’t even diamond-shaped.”

Sweetie Belle nudged her hard. “Not helping,” she hissed.

I wasn’t angry at Scootaloo’s remark; I was just disappointed in myself and my lack of creativity.

Apple Bloom could feel the awkwardness too, and jumped in on the conversation. “Let’s just try something else. Something far away from here.” She looked around; some ponies were still watching the crash site.

I couldn’t be more thankful for Apple Bloom’s words. As we passed the friendly stallion who had so generously offered his tools to me, I whispered a quick, “Sorry,” before we left the lake. I heard the laughter and fun continue behind me as I trotted over the hill.

All the way to our new destination, I tried my best to smother my negative thoughts. And at moments where I couldn’t, I made sure that the Crusaders walked ahead of me. Apple Bloom had said that she knew what to do next, and I trusted her completely. We walked in the direction of Ponyville, passing a few snow-covered fields. This was obviously a new part of town, as there was some construction going on. Despite the season, ponies were still busy building something in the distance. Ponyville citizens must be tough, I thought. As we neared the construction site, I could see that the ponies were building one of those cute little houses I had fallen in love with when we walked through main street.

Apparently, Apple Bloom was less adept at keeping secrets than Sweetie Belle. Suddenly she jumped around and called, “Masonry!”

I tilted my head. “Masonry?”

Her friends did the same.

“Yes! Masonry.” Apple Bloom looked at all of us in turn, until her gaze settled on my cutie mark. “That white square might also be a block of concrete or limestone. Maybe Sweet Tooth will be a big and strong construction workhorse.”

I never thought of myself as ‘big’ or ‘strong.’ My brother had called me ‘pipsqueak’ often enough to remember that. “I… I don’t know, Apple Bloom,” I said. “I don’t think I’ll be—“

“But you never know if you never try,” Scootaloo said. “As Rainbow Dash always says, ‘Don’t try before you die—try until you die.’”

Well, working on a construction site offers many opportunities to die, I thought. Where in Equestria did those creepy thoughts come from?

I didn’t have long to ponder over that strange question, as Apple Bloom trotted onto the building site.

“Hey! You’re not gonna come here without a helmet!” A burly pegasus stallion shouted. He was carrying a pile of wooden support beams on his back. Putting down his load, the stallion eyed Apple Bloom. “Now that I mention it, what the hay are you doing here. This is no playground, kid.”

Apple Bloom stopped. “We were just wondering if you need an extra pair of hooves to build… whatever you’re building there.”

“An internship, huh?” The stallion rubbed his stubble-covered chin. He shrugged. “Yeah, why not? Heavyweight is sick anyway, and I reckon having somepony is better than having nopony, even though that somepony is a rookie.” He looked me over and frowned. “Do you have experience in construction?”

I wanted to shake my head, but was stopped by Scootaloo. She fluttered her wings, jumped up, and held a hoof on my mouth. “Yes he has,” she said. “He is exceptionally good at masonry.”

The builder saw the strange display. “Can he talk?”

“Yes he can.”

“Alright, let’s see him in action, then.”

I glanced at Scootaloo with fearful eyes. But then again, she might just be right. Not about the fact that I had masonry experience, but that I might be a natural, if this interpretation of my cutie mark proved to be right.

As I followed the pegasus to the construction site, the Cutie Mark Crusaders left me to go sledding on a nearby hill. “Don’t worry, Sweet Tooth,” Apple Bloom said, “we’ll keep an eye out on you.”

“Thank you,” I said back. Those children were so sweet.

The stallion began briefing me on the task. “We gotta build a little tower over there.” He pointed with his wing to the left. “It’s kind of a lonely corner, so I won’t be able to supervise you, and I’m afraid none of the boys will. We’re on a tight schedule, and I need every pair of eyes and hooves and wings I can get to finish the main hall. Our client is some rich unicorn who apparently loves towers. Why do wizards always want to have a tower in their estate?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hmm… maybe the high altitude is good for their magic or something. Beats me. Anyway, let’s get you up and running.”

We stopped before a heap of stones, a wheelbarrow, and some tools. “The blueprints are over there,” the stallion said. “Now get to work.”

And with that, he left me alone and walked to the other half-built building.

It seemed that I had to start from scratch. There were no markers on the ground; no drawn circle, no ropes strung between little poles—nothing. He really had thrown me in the deep end.

I tried to use my common sense. Everything starts with a plan, as did my crusade. Folding out the blueprints, I scanned it with my eyes before realizing that I had no idea how to read blueprints; this was the first time I had seen one, after all. With great effort I was able to decipher just how big the tower had to be, so I took up some poles and a piece of black string and marked off a neat circle.

I felt quite good at that. I had been thrown in the deep, but I would slowly build myself a way out of it. How hard could it be? Now it was just a matter of applying mortar, put the brick on the next one, scrape off the excess mortar and check if it was level. When I was just a little colt, I spent hours and hours watching ponies at work building apartments, flats, or other houses. I always gazed spellbound at the workers, secretly wishing that I could be as strong as them, or use telekinesis to lift loads into the air, or being a pegasus and working on the highest tips without having any fear of falling off and plummeting to my death. Surely that must have been a sign. Surely that had to be an indication that I would someday become a construction pony. It made sense; it seemed nothing more than logical.

The first bricks were in position. I made sure that every brick stood on level ground, so the tower would have a sturdy foundation. When I was done with that, I jumped out of my little stone circle to gather some new bricks in the wheelbarrow, rode the wheelbarrow over to my working spot, and emptied it, tossing the bricks onto the ground. I set to work on the second layer.

Mortar, brick, scrape, check. Mortar, brick, scrape, check. Mortar, brick, scrape, check. This was so easy. Before long, I had built myself a nice round wall, about as high as my own head.

But then I realized that I had a problem. How was I going to reach the next layer now? Even while I stood on my hind legs and on the tip of my hooves, I could barely reach it. And besides, I didn’t dare to lean too hard on my creation; not until the mortar would be dry and the wall would be sturdy.

I sat down, pondering over my problem for a second. If only I were a pegasus or a unicorn…

“A unicorn!”

I didn’t reckon Scootaloo the pegasus would be able to haul a brick all the way up, but Sweetie Belle the unicorn surely could. I knew how strong telekinesis was, and I reckoned that even a young unicorn should know how to lift at least one brick at a time high in the air.

I called out as loud as I could, my voice amplified by the round tower I was hidden in. Luckily, the hill on which they were playing wasn’t far, and a few minutes later I heard the sound of little hooves in the snow.

“Wow! Nice work, Sweet Tooth,” I heard Scootaloo say.

“Quite an interesting design you’ve chosen,” Sweetie Belle said.

I turned my head to where I reckoned they stood. “Thanks. It isn’t finished yet, but I need your help to do so. Sweetie Belle, can you use your magic to lift the bricks to the top? I think I can just throw the mortar with my trowel in the air. That way at least some of it will land on top of the wall.”

There was a silence on the other side. They were pondering over my plan.

“I think I can do that,” Sweetie Belle said.

I clopped my hooves together. “Wonderful. Just be sure to stand back as I throw the mortar, or else you’ll get snowed under by it.”

Sweetie Belle chuckled. “Let’s do this.”

And so I set to work once more, albeit in a different way. I had a good supply of mortar nearby, so we could start immediately. As I threw the first bit of mortar on top of the tower, I heard a soft tinkling sound. Seconds later, the first brick landed on top of the tower, enveloped in a green, magical haze. This was actually working! I felt my heart flutter, and maybe even a little bit of pride bubble up inside of me. Now this was an out-of-the-box solution.

Even my mortar-throws got progressively better as we worked. Throw, tinkle, throw, tinkle, throw, tinkle. After an hour, the tower was enormously high. High enough to clad me in shadows. The sky showed itself in a white circle far above.

I was so busy working that I didn’t hear the heavy hoofsteps of the construction pegasus. But when he stopped and looked at my building, I could clearly hear his shouts. “What… the hay… is THIS?!”

He didn’t sound happy.

“T-t-the tower,” I said, my voice stuttering in surprise.

“WHAT?!”

Then I started apologizing; I knew I had done something wrong. “I’m so sorry if I did something wrong, Mister.”

“Something?!” the stallion shouted. “You did everything wrong!”

I heard the flap of his wings. A second later, he landed with a heavy thud in the tower. His eyes flared up as he locked me in his gaze.

“First of all, the tower was supposed to be square, not round!”

He did a step forwards; I did one back.

“Second of all, there is no door!”

Whoops.

“And last of all, this tower looks as if it is glued together with maple syrup!” And as he said that, he punched his hoof into the wall right next to me. Both our faces were etched with surprise as his hoof went clean through the wall.

I didn’t let an opportunity like that slip by. I dared to glance at the stallion one more time, whimpered a, “Sorry,” and charged through the wall. Once outside, I didn’t stop galloping until I was well out of sight—and hopefully out of mind soon.

“Fail, fail, fail!” I yelled at myself as I charged on and on through the snow. Once again, I had blown it. Once again, I hadn’t discovered my special talent. And worse, I had made somepony angry because of that. I felt sorry for the poor stallion who had hired me, and I wasn’t at all sorry for myself. I felt a strange sense of anger flowing through me. Why couldn’t I do anything right? No, why couldn’t I do anything at all? I didn’t stop galloping, ventilating my anger and sadness working my legs, and using the cold airstream to calm myself down.

For a moment, I totally forgot why I was here and why I was doing things if I kept disappointing myself. I had hurt myself maybe even more during this crusade than during my fight with Mother and Father. They were right, and I was right too. Cutie marks are fake and only plunge you into misery and sorrow. My crusade was doomed to fail. I was doomed to fail.

As I galloped onwards, the snow grew thicker and thicker. Before long, it became harder to move forward, until I met a big, snowy hill, and was forced to stop. I buried my face in the snow. Like an ostrich, I wanted to hide from my sorrows with my head in the ground. That’s why I didn’t hear the Cutie Mark Crusaders until they stood right next to me.

“Hey Sweet Tooth, what are you doing?” Scootaloo said.

I wasn’t sure. I just wanted to be alone now. “I’m sorry Crusaders. I give up.”

They obviously heard the desperation in my voice, and it struck them silent for a few seconds. Suddenly, I felt some movement in the snow. They were digging my head out. After a minute or two, I was looking at the three little fillies.

“Hey, come on now, Sweet Tooth,” Apple Bloom said. “You can’t give up. You need to trust in yourself that you can do it.”

Scootaloo stepped up. “Yeah. You don’t wanna know how long it took for us to earn our cutie marks, how many times we tried and failed. Failure is part of the game.”

“Then I don’t want to play anymore,” I said. “I didn’t even like masonry.”

“Oh, but I’m sure you will like the next idea,” Scootaloo said.

I shook my head; my ears drooped down. “No more ideas, Crusaders. I really appreciate your help, but some ponies can’t be helped.”

Apple Bloom jumped up. “Of course they can be helped. We have to help you! We have to complete our mission! I know failing feels bad, but you just shouldn’t give up so easily. We are not going to give up on you, you know? You’ll still be stuck with us for a while.”

Apple Bloom had a very special voice. It was the voice of a leader; inspiring, determined, rough. Something stirred inside of me. I wanted to join her in battle wherever she went. But the battle was to help me. I suddenly realized that I had to try something else; if not for me, then for the Cutie Mark Crusaders. I couldn’t let them fail their mission, because then they would feel even worse than I did, knowing that they couldn’t help somepony find the meaning of his cutie mark. The Cutie Mark Crusaders had always been my best shot at finding my destiny, and I reckoned that my chances of finding it on my own would be very slim. The Crusaders had much more experience in the matter than I, and possessed a much stronger will and mind than I did.

I looked at each one of them in turn, and they looked at me, waiting for me to say ‘yes.’ I couldn’t let them down by letting myself down. They would be the fourth ponies I would have let down. First was my family, second Purple Palette, third was the poor construction worker. No, no more negative thoughts! I shook my head wildly.

The Crusader’s hopeful smiles grew gloomy as they saw my gesture. But I quickly clarified. Letting out a sigh, I said, “Alright. Let’s hear your idea, Scootaloo.”

Their smiles flashed back to their faces. Scootaloo jumped up and flapped her wings in delight. “Yes! I knew you weren’t a quitter, Sweet Tooth.”

I blushed. “Oh, please.”

“So what’s your idea, Scootaloo?” Sweetie Belle asked.

As an answer, Scootaloo rubbed her hooves together, as if she was plotting out something brilliant. “You’ll see…”

* *

“Bowling?”

We were standing in front of a large building, bearing an enormous sign with some bowling pins and a ball. The sign said: ‘The lucky shot, bowling and games.’ Some ponies were carrying large, ball-shaped bags and wore fancy polo shirts as they trotted towards the building together.

“Not just bowling,” Scootaloo said, “but also gambling.”

As we walked inside, my mind was still trying to make the connection between a sugar cube cutie mark and gambling. I felt something touching me, and I turned around.

“Tada!” Scootaloo said, holding a felt pen between her teeth. “How many dots would you like on the other side, Sweet Tooth?”

I threw a glance at my behind, seeing not a sugar cube on my flank, but a die bearing three dots.

“Stand still, will you?” Scootaloo said, as she dotted my other side so that it looked identical to the first. “There. Done.”

“I’m not sure that is how cutie marks work, Scootaloo,” Sweetie Belle said, raising her eyebrows.

But Scootaloo shrugged. “Maybe they don’t, but I think we gotta help fate a hand. Let’s push Sweet Tooth in the right direction.”

I had my doubts as well, but I didn’t want to ruin the Crusaders’ enthusiasm with my pessimism. Now they all looked at me, wondering what I thought of it. I managed a smile. “Let’s go gambling!”

The three little fillies jumped up in joy and rushed on ahead, eager to give me another chance.

Scootaloo had been right. To the left there were many bowling lanes, most of them occupied, while to the right there were tables on which some ponies were playing. That area wasn’t very busy, as I could see that only one table was occupied with a couple of ponies playing some game.

I breathed in and out. There was a relaxed ambiance, and a smile curled on my lips as I looked at all the ponies, having fun trying to beat each other in the different games they played. It reminded me of the Buckingham Bar, which was always busy in the evening when ponies got back from work and played some games—sometimes gambling away the salary they had just earned. Of course, I liked to play as well from time to time, especially card games, and I fancied myself quite a good player. Of course, I wasn’t a pro, but I had won a game or two, oftentimes using the Bits I won to give everypony a round of drinks. Yes, I thought to myself. Gambling. Why not? Perhaps gambling would be my best shot at getting the meaning of my cutie mark, since I had some experience—even though my cutie mark was now literally fake. I was no novice, and I was going to show that to the ponies around the table.

I walked up to them, greeted them with a small nod of my head. “Can I join?”

“Sure,” one of the ponies, a grey stallion with a fedora, said. I could see that he flashed a funny smile as he said that. I know what he was doing; he was silently sizing me up, estimating my level of skill. His eyes lingered on my cutie mark, and his eyebrows went up, ever so slightly. By the way his smile stayed glued on his face, I reckoned he didn’t think me a dangerous opponent. Ha! I would show him how wrong he was.

“You can do this, Sweet Tooth,” Scootaloo said. The Cutie Mark Crusaders shoved my chair back and I sat down. The Crusaders had my back. At least I would have some mental support.

Fedora started dealing the cards. “Place your bets, everypony.”

With a shock, I realized I had forgotten about that part; they were playing for money. Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure about this idea anymore. I still hadn’t found a job or some other way to earn a living, so my budget was limited, very limited. I reckoned Father and Mother had probably already plundered my bank account, so the only money I had was the contents of my slaughtered piggy bank.

“What’s the matter, big shot?” Fedora said to me. “You too poor?”

I had never been called poor—never ever. Yet I was now.

Scootaloo nudged me; everypony else was waiting with heaps of Bits on the table.

I realized I had no choice. Reaching down into my saddlebags, I brought out the towel with my remaining Bits in it. I did receive some strange looks as everypony saw the pieces of piggy bank still in it. I blushed as I quickly threw the contents on the table, accidentally shoving all of my Bits to the center.

Fedora handed me some cards as well. “It seems we have ourselves a sixth player after all.”

Sixth player? I glanced around, counting heads. Indeed, we were altogether six players. But wasn’t prancing poker played with four ponies?

“It seems our newbie here is going all-in,” Fedora said after a quick glance at my Bits. “Now that’s one way to introduce yourself.” He let out a chuckle. Before I could say anything more, or realize what had happened, the game was on.

I felt a surge of panic as I realized there was no backing out now. The bets were placed, and any interruption to the game would count as a forfeit, and I would lose all my money. Right now, I had to win, there was no other option. The stakes had never been so high for me.

Everypony was looking at their cards. There were poker faces everywhere. Mine failed miserably. I could tell by their stark expressions that they were professionals. While Fedora had taken the time to look at his opponents, I had totally forgotten about that. I took my cards in my hooves, but didn’t yet look at them. First I wanted to know what I was dealing with—literally. I looked at everypony, one by one, paying extra attention to their cutie marks, and what I saw didn’t comfort me. They all had cutie marks which had something to do with games. One mare had a deck of cards, the stallion next to her a pair of dice—real dice—and the two ponies sitting left from me both had a roulette wheel. I hoped that they would be bad at this card game, as their true talent lay with playing roulette. I couldn’t see the cutie mark of Fedora, as he sat opposite of me, but I reckoned it had to be either a fedora, or something to do with card games. I hoped it was a fedora.

Nopony made a move yet, which left me some time to glance at my cards. Did I want to see them? I squeezed my eyes shut, not daring to look. But in order to play—let alone win—I had to see what I was playing with. Slowly, I opened my eyes, looking at my six cards. Six? There should be four.

But my worries were quickly whisked away, as I saw my winning hand. Yes! I couldn’t suppress a little smile; victory was mine. The only thing I had to do now was await my turn, and then I could play out my hand. Somehow, I had always known that prancing poker would be my special talent—even though it required a felt pen to work.

The Cutie Mark Crusaders saw my smile. They scooted closer to take a look at my hand. They would probably not know what hand was the one of a winner, for prancing poker was a pretty adult game. They were probably more used to playing canter quartets or something.

The mare next to me got her turn. To my astonishment, she drew a card. Drew a card? You’re supposed to play out your hand! What she said next made my blood freeze cold.

“Can I have a three from you?” she asked Fedora. With a grumble, he handed her two of his cards.

These ponies weren’t playing prancing poker; they were playing canter quartets! And that meant that my hand was absolutely useless.

My eyes twitched from side to side, and I shuffled on my chair as if I needed to go to the bathroom. Panic ruled my body; there was nothing left of my victorious smile. I had to get out of there. I had to withdraw. I had to find a way to get my money back—all of my money. I had to—“

“Quartet, you little fillies!” the old mare shouted as she threw her cards on the table. To my horror, I saw that she had indeed four threes. She had won.

With a triumphant smile, the old mare scooped up all of the money, shoving it into a big saddlebag she held between her teeth. Clearly, she had expected to win a big prize.

My money was gone. All of it. Once again, I had failed to reach my destiny, and this time it didn’t hurt another pony—it hurt my wallet. I had no idea what to do now.

“Hey,” the rough voice of Fedora resounded, “are you gonna play another round or what?”

My mouth felt dry; too dry to speak. I believe I said something like, “No thank you,” before getting up from my chair with wobbling knees. Behind me, I could hear the old mare whisper, “Probably broke.” Of course, she was right.

The Cutie Mark Crusaders moved. They knew what had happened. Slowly, I walked towards them. Without a single word, they accompanied me to the exit. Scootaloo walked in front of me, casting an occasional glance over her shoulder while Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom flanked me on either side. They were probably expecting me to faint, as my legs felt like they were made out of rubber. I did almost fall over a couple of times, but I made it to the exit at last.

I walked on, unsure where to go. The vault, behind which my darkest thoughts and feelings were hidden, burst open, and an inky black wave swallowed me whole. I couldn’t feel my legs; I couldn’t feel anything. I just walked on and on, out of town, taking the back roads and avoiding as many ponies as I could. I just wanted to be alone with my sorrows. Now, I really was in a crisis, and not just a cutie mark crisis.

“That was all your money, wasn’t it?” Scootaloo asked.

Sweetie Belle poked her friend. “Scootaloo!”

“No, she’s right,” I said after a heavy sigh. “That was all of my money.” I couldn’t believe what an idiot I had been. I was so convinced, so worked up in the ecstasy of finally finding my true talent, that I had totally forgot to ask the ponies around the table what game they were playing. And besides that, I should have picked easier opponents. How in Equestria did the idea of going all-in come up in my head? No, it wasn’t an idea; it just happened. Everything happened so fast…

“I’m sorry,” Scootaloo said. Those words were like the stab of a knife. I stopped and looked at the little pegasus filly.

“Don’t be, Scootaloo,” I said. “This was all my fault. I shouldn’t have bet all of my money. You are not to blame.”

“So… what are we going to try now?” Apple Bloom said, carefully, as if I would be angry at her for trying again; for giving me another chance. How could I possibly get angry at her for that? They were trying to help me, but I failed every time.

I avoided their gazes. “Nothing,” I said.

The Cutie Mark Crusaders were once again silent. They were probably careful with their words, hearing how fragile my voice was. It broke my heart as I realized that they still wanted to help me.

“You know, you can also take a job on the apple farm,” Apple Bloom said. “I’m sure my sister will hire you if I tell her that—“

“That I’m a failure,” I suddenly burst out. “You saw what happened with the construction pony. It was such a simple task, and yet I failed him. The same thing would happen once Applejack gave me my first assignment. I’m not here to create, or build, or win; I’m here to destroy, to ruin, and to fail.” I felt the tears burning in my eyes and averted my gaze, trying my best to calm down. I managed to do so after a heavy sigh. “I appreciate all your help, Crusaders, but I think we should part ways for now. I know I shouldn’t give up, but I just have to be alone, recharge myself. Do you understand?”

They nodded. But Apple Bloom looked me in the eyes so deeply, that I was afraid I might get lost in hers. “Are you gonna be alright?” she asked.

“I… I think I will.” It was the most honest answer I could give her and the best I could do. I didn’t want to lie to her, as I saw how she read me. No, I didn’t lie, but I did cover my answer in as much vagueness as I could. To be honest, I myself didn’t even know if I was speaking the truth.

We reached a crossroads. Wherever the Cutie Mark Crusaders went, I wouldn’t follow. They stopped.

“I guess that means… goodbye?” Apple Bloom said, her voice hesitant.

“It does.” I reached out a hoof and patted each of them on the head. “Thank you all again for the amazing opportunities you have given me. I’m sorry that I let you down, but remember, you didn’t let me down, or yourselves. You tried your very best with me. Maybe we’ll meet again soon.”

They probably wanted to say a few more positive things to me as parting words, but I couldn’t let them. Instead, I turned around and galloped the opposite way, a road leading away from town and towards the hills. I had no idea where I was going. I did hear the Crusaders yell something after me, but I was already too far away to hear it. I doubted it would have helped me, considering what I was about to do next.