Author's Note
The title is a joke. Please don't squeeze lemons in anyone's eyes, pony or otherwise.
Chapter 1
I don’t remember much from my childhood. I lived in a village in Zebrica named Riverbed which, like most of the country was stricken with poverty, crime and drought.
My foalhood consisted mostly of famine, disease and the plan.
The plan to immigrate to Equestria. The place where food is plentiful and the streets are safe.
My mother went first. My father and I were planning to come a few months later. We were going to live in a town called Ponyville. I miss her so much.
In truth, I barely knew my mother. She left when I was very young. I do remember a few things about her though. She was the village herbalist and could often be found hunched over a cauldron, mixing a brew. She also had a very soothing voice and always spoke in rhyme, a habit I found most peculiar. She did it as effortlessly as breathing. Whenever I tried, I would stutter and trip over my words like a complete idiot.
* * * * *
We're going to Equestria right now on a galleon. I'm terrified. I have to be quiet as well. I'm hiding in a barrel- illegal transportation of Zebrican youth is a crime punishable by death. For some reason.
It's very cramped in here because I'm sharing the space with our latest crop of starfruit. We grow them on the tiny plot of land by our house. They are our own special type and they resemble apples only with, as their name suggests, stars on.
They are the best things I've ever tasted in all my years of living. All twelve of them. I'm very surprised ponies have never had them.
* * * * *
Dad was just outside- he's posing as a cabin boy- and he is conversing with a young zebra mare. With her soft accent, I'd position her place of birth somewhere in the north.
Then, prompted by the clopping of hooves, Dad and the mare immediately silenced themselves.
Another voice joined the conversation. This voice was darker and huskier. I couldn't recognise his accent to save my life, perhaps it was an Equestrian accent?
Whether I could place his accent or not, given the quiet air of respect and terror that singed the air in his presence, one thing was certain. This stallion was the captain. He was in charge and he knew it.
He spoke with a voice so commanding that all felt lowly in its presence.
"Well, well, well. What brings you here young Izinyo?" he questioned addressing my father.
You could tell by the tone of his voice he neither knew or cared.
"Captain Stern," there was a gap in his speech which I presume was filled with a salute. "I'm just going to Vanhoover to sell my starfruit," said Dad with a fake confidence.
I could fell a cough rising in my throat.
"Starfruit?" questioned the captain barely paying attention to the conversation.
The cough rose higher in my mouth each second.
"Yes, they're delicious,"
Then I let out a noise that was not quite a cough but not quite a squeak.
Regardless of what it was, the captain definitely heard me.
Whoops.
"Hmmm did you hear that?" asked the Captain.
"No. I didn't hear anything. Not at all," replied Dad.
"Because it sounds like it is coming from inside here,"
I couldn't make any noise. I had to be silent or we'd be found out and Dad would be killed.
I did the first thing I could think off. I shoved my hoof in my mouth. It wasn't my greatest idea but it was the only one I had.
That moment seemed to last an eternity.
There was a long empty pause that filled the boat. For a single instant, the whole universe was silent.
My air supply was running out. My lungs screamed for air. Just as I was about to gasp for air something happened.
Sometimes life gives you exactly what you need. Most ponies call this fate or karma. In our village, we call it Bahati but that's beside the point. The point is that was one of those moments.
There was a shout from the heel of the boat. "Captain we need ya o'er here," I suppose it must have been important as, with one last inquisitive look, the captain trotted over to where the voice had come from.
That was a close one.
* * * * *
After a few hours, Dad picked up my barrel and hoisted it over his shoulder.
I could feel the slight bounce of my Dad as he walked along the pathway. The sound of the bustling streets of Vanhoover filled my ears. Turning a corner Dad set the barrel on the cobbled ground. I heard his voice, happy and joyful. "Come on out Ibiza,"
Pushing the lid of the barrel up I freed myself from its constraints. I squinted at the sudden intrusion of light. After a few seconds, I got used to its brightness and saw Vanhoover in all its glory.
Now I remember it quite differently to how it really was. In reality, it's a bit of a dump but back then it was awe-inspiringly beautiful.
The cobbled streets were lined with modest houses painted in a variety of pastel tones. Scattered along the boardwalk were a few bars and pubs where sailors could 'lay their hats' as it were. Vanhoover was a port town after all.
A few ships, ranging in size from rowing boats to cruise ships, lined the dock.
In fact, one had shored just seconds ago and its crew were flocking into town, many hugging and laughing with friends and family, some even with sweethearts.
"Are we safe?" I asked already certain of the answer.
"Yes!" cried my father in ecstasy "We're free," He picked me up and span me around, something he hadn't done since I was a tiny foal. "Should we go get a drink? "
"Yeah,"
* * * * *
Eventually, we settled on a pub called 'The Dragon's Egg'. The pub was relatively quiet given the bustling streets. Dad ordered an ale and, even though I wanted one too, he made me have a juice. Something about me being 'too young'.
A part of me wishes I could have frozen time at that very moment to prevent the terrible things that happened next.
Sitting in a booth near us was a pair of stallions. I don't remember much about the first one but the other is forever ingrained in my mind.
He was grey with a jet black mane and tail. His cutie mark was a stone wall. Even today I remember the look of hate in his silver eyes and the glint of the knife in his hand that seconds later was stained with blood.
My dad's blood.
