Parcel Post was lost. Hopelessly, frightfully lost. All around him was dark and foreboding, and it had been six days since he had seen another living soul. The undelivered missive in his mailbag pulsed, like a living creature, and a pang of guilt cut him to his core. He had never made a late delivery before.
But at this rate, he might never make the delivery at all.
It had all started simply enough. Head Mailmare Derpy Hooves had pressed the envelope into his grip herself, and looked him firmly in the eyes — well, okay, one eye — as she entrusted him with his most important mission yet. “This route is a tough one, Poststallion Envelope, but I think you’re ready. I wouldn’t give this to you if I didn’t believe in you. I want you to go out there, and do your best, like any mailpony of the Ponyville Postal Service would. Now tell me — can you handle it?”
Parcel saluted hard enough that his hoof slapped painfully into his forehead. “I can do it, Head Mailmare Derpy! Through wind and rain, down track and lane, Ponyville Postal delivers.”
Derpy Hooves smiled at him, her expression gentle yet filled with pride. “No matter the weather, letters bring ponies together, and Ponyville Postal delivers.”
As the head mailmare spoke the second line of the motto, the other post-ponies gathered around to complete the mantra together. “Through storm and hail, without fail, Ponyville Postal delivers!” As one, they slammed their hooves down onto the wooden floorboards of the post office, and then they broke the circle. Mailbags were swung onto backs, parcels tossed into delivery crates, wagons hitched and loaded. Dawn was still three hours away, but Ponyville Postal was already in full swing.
As his teammates swarmed around him, Parcel turned with trembling hooves the envelope the boss had given him to see the address. What mission could be so important that she would entrust it to him like this, in front of everyone?
The thick white parchment bore no address. Just a single word, a name. ‘Discord’. The script was elegant and flowing, the ink one of the new ultra-black brands fresh from Canterlot. The envelope itself was clearly expensive. The sender of this message was clearly a very wealthy pony, but the name of the addressee filled Parcel with dread.
Surely this couldn’t be addressed to…the Discord?
He looked to Derpy for guidance, and the sympathetic smile on her face was all the confirmation he needed.
“I’d do it myself, usually,” she said apologetically. “I handle all of Fluttershy’s letters to him. But Dinky has an archery contest today that I need to be at.” She straightened her spine. “But I trust you with this, Parcel Post. Your performance on the overnight run to Appleoosa was exemplary. I am absolutely confident that you can handle it.”
To her credit, her voice barely wobbled at all.
Somewhat reassured, Parcel nodded firmly. “Absolutely. It’s just…where should I go?”
Derpy smacked her hoof into her forehead. “Oh, duh! Silly me. Just take the road out to the east of town, the one that leads into the forest. You’ll see the mailbox there. After that…well — just focus on the mailbox, for now.”
Parcel beamed, pulling his lanky body up to his full height. He had a mission. It was time to go.
He made swift progress through the empty streets of the town centre. The sound of snores drifted from half-open windows, and a few stray bats still flitted through the air. The first tinges of pale grey light were just visible on the horizon.
As Parcel Post left Ponyville behind him, the houses dwindled until finally none remained. The cultivated fields faded into scrubby grassland. Little saplings emerged here and there from the mist, and eventually Parcel could make out a forbidding black line on the hilltop that was the edge of the Everfree.
The road became a lane, and then a little-travelled track. By the time weeds were clogging the now tiny path, Parcel was beginning to grow concerned. Though he knew he had not taken a wrong turn, surely this could not be the right place. Not even a spirit of chaos would want to live in a spot so dilapidated as this.
Just as his brisk, ground-eating trot was starting to falter, he saw it. There was no sign of any house among the encroaching trees, just a simple spot of red. A lone mailbox, standing a solitary watch over a place that seemed utterly abandoned. As Parcel grew closer, he could make out a word, scrawled in pink crayon on the side of the mailbox. The same name that the envelope in his saddlebags bore.
Discord.
Hesitantly, cautiously, Parcel edged towards the box. He remembered that horrible day when Discord had first returned to the realm of the living. Every envelope in Parcel’s postbag had spontaneously become a snarling, spitting cat, and all of his parcels had transformed into alligators. The fight that followed had given him nightmares for months afterwards.
But the mailbox seemed harmless enough, other than the silly writing on the side. Parcel knew mailboxes. Opened dozens of the things every day. And this was just a normal mailbox.
He flipped it open, letter in hoof ready to drop it in. He could almost see the smile of pride on Head Mailmare Derpy’s face when he told her his quest was complete.
The response was instantaneous. There was a rush of air, a strange, high-pitched screaming sound that made Parcel clutch at his ears, and then a swirling vortex of purple magic formed, flooding out from the mailbox to snatch and tear at Parcel’s limbs. In panic, he turned and tried to bolt, but the magic had him by the tail, and he was floating as nature had never intended earth ponies to float. He kicked and struggled, but the magic hauled him inexorably towards the gaping black maw of the hellish mailbox, and there was nopony around to hear Parcel Post scream.
When the dust settled and the mailbox snapped its own lid shut, letting out a satisfied belch as it did so, the first bird of the morning awoke and began to sing. The thin, reedy music rang out across the empty fields.
When Parcel dared to open his eyes, he was still floating. The sensation of weightlessness made him nauseous, as did the vast realm of empty black around him. Naturally, he vomited. After that he was engaged for a while in trying to air-swim away from the remnants of his oat bran and wheatflakes, stomach heaving still more at the smell of his own sick.
He looked around, trying to find some sort of landmark to get his bearings. This was…unexpected, to be certain, but a post-pony’s training prepared them for every eventuality. Only one thing mattered.
Deliver the letter.
Parcel glanced down at the white, now slightly crumpled envelope he still held, and gritted his teeth. “Through storm and hail, without fail, Ponyville Postal delivers.” Trying hard to remember his swimming lessons from school, he kicked out with all four legs, and began the second phase of his journey.
What followed was the worst three days of Parcel’s life. Well — he thought it was three days. It was hard to tell in here, what with there being no sun, moon or stars, or any other semblance of the world that had ordered Parcel’s days.
That was not even the worst part. Nor was the fact that he was lost, though Parcel Post had never been lost in his life, and knew the road names of every single dirt track for a seven mile radius from the Ponyville Postal central office. The storms of chocolate milk were tough, sure, but he had been out in worse weather before. The floating islands containing carnivorous candy animals were horrifying, but thankfully he had been able to swim away before they noticed him. Even the flying badgers were…if not fine, then at least able to be coped with.
No, the worst part was that the letter, the cursed letter that Parcel still carried so carefully, was late. Ponyville Postal Service never made a late delivery. In the six years since Derpy Hooves had taken over as head mailmare, they had won the county prize for most efficient postal service four times. It had been two years since they took longer than half a day to deliver a letter.
Until now.
The stench of failure clogged Parcel’s nostrils, and his head hung low with despair. As he passed the bottomless pit for the sixth time, he looked down at his woefully undelivered letter and began to sob. Every time he thought he was getting somewhere, every time he thought he had taken a step in the right direction, things in this place jumbled themselves up again and he was right back where he started. Perhaps he deserved to be eaten by those sharp-toothed candy creatures. How could he ever face his colleagues again?
“Ponyville Postal delivers,” he muttered, the words acidic on his tongue. “Ponyville Postal delivers. Except for me, it seems.”
He spent the fourth day drifting in a fugue state, letting the upside-down winged teapots and the antlered weasels laugh at him all they wanted. What did it matter anymore? He had already failed.
But then, at last, just as he was giving up all hope and resigning himself to a slow death by starvation or a quick death by candy-fang, whichever came first, a glimmer of hope appeared. In amongst the mess of floating islands was a new one. One Parcel had not seen before. It bore a small, cheerful-looking red house, wildly incongruous in this setting. But to Parcel it was like water in a desert. Frantically, he swam towards it, his legs pumping like pistons and his saddlebags slapping against his flanks.
As he was finally nearing the grassy shores, there was a pop of teleportation magic, and the monster that Parcel had seen around town so many times suddenly loomed before him. It was closer than Parcel had ever been to it, or wanted to be, and the glare in its eyes made him wish he were a million miles away.
“A mailpony, here?” Its voice was at once deep and squeaky, and Parcel winced at the sound.
“Y-you are Discord, right?”
“Yes,” the thing spat. The rumble of a carnivorous growl was suddenly very present behind the word.
“I have a letter for you,” whimpered Parcel, holding it out.
Discord brightened at once, and seized it from him. “Goodness! A letter, for me? Has Fluttershy perhaps decided to apologise?” In a flash, the envelope was torn open, and a golden ticket was clutched in Discord’s claws. He gasped theatrically. “It’s my ticket to the Grand Galloping Gala! I was invited after all.”
“Hooray,” Parcel said weakly.
Discord’s eyes snapped back to him and his expression darkened. “Tell me, why is this so…late?”
Parcel stumbled for words. “I — it would never usually be late, sir! Ponyville Postal always delivers! But — it’s just — this is my first time on this route, and there aren’t exactly many street signs in here—”
Discord reached out and clamped two talons around his muzzle. “Excuses, excuses. What matters is that it’s finally here. Just…make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Nodding frantically, Parcel promised that it would not — though how he could guarantee that in a place as strange as this was beyond him.
With a strange smile, Discord released his grip on Parcel’s leg. “Well, thank you. Goodbye then. I look forward to seeing you again.”
“Wait — could you just point me in the direction of the way out?” Parcel struggled and flailed, but he was already drifting away. “Wait!”
Already turning away, Discord waved a claw. “I think it’s…that way, maybe. You’ll figure it out.”
As a nearby candy monkey chittered and showed its sharp teeth, Parcel sighed and began to kick his weary legs once more. It would be a long journey back. But his heart was lighter. At last, his duty was done — Ponyville Postal had well and truly delivered.
