I woke up as usual at 5:30 in the morning; most ponies would still be asleep by then, save maybe the princess perhaps. But I didn’t think about it as I stretched, yawned, then rolled off my creaking bed with a groan escaping from my mouth as I slipped into some house slippers. I decided to take a look around my room, just to break the routine for even a small moment. Dark as it was, Luna’s moon still allowed some of its silvery light to illuminate my surroundings before it would slip below the horizon to make way for dawn. My room was small, with wood and plaster as its walls and timber rafters arching the ceiling. The floor was also made of wood, and it creaked and groaned as I shuffled to the window overlooking the courtyard below, custom-made with lattice designs that I remembered from home. Home. I haven’t seen my home, my native lands, for twenty, no, nearly twenty-one, years already. I can’t, anyway. Last I heard of my home was that there was a large civil war, and my mother – perhaps the only remaining family I have besides my dying sister – had sent to me, pleading with me not to return. That was seventeen years ago, three years since I first moved to Ponyville of Equestria. I sighed. Perhaps they were dead already. And I couldn’t do anything about it. The moon seemed to take pity on me, for its silvery light gleamed, brightening my room even more. But it soon faded, retreating beyond the horizon, as a brief darkness took over, only to be soon scattered with swaths of deep blue, purple, magenta, orange, red, yellow – dawn, essentially. I looked at the clock next to the window – 6:12. I blinked. Had I been reminiscing for half an hour?
Regardless, I went and tidied my bed, folding the blanket and straightening the pillow. To the bathroom I went next, rinsing my mouth, washing my face, and taking a look at the mirror. I was greeted by a stallion, sporting a long brown and unkempt mane, slightly sad eyes drooping and wet with leftover residue; his face was slightly bony but well-built, and a few strands of hair that barely formed a goatee were strung around his chin – me, essentially. Twenty years had done little but add a few wrinkles here and there, but overall I looked young. I was young, of course, just a little older, maybe around Big Macintosh’s age. Speaking of Big Mac, he was one of my regular customers, which reminded me why I even existed in Equestria in the first place. Quickly washing away the leftover residue in my eyes, I grabbed a towel, dried my face, and trotted out of the bathroom after hanging said towel in its place, before tying up my mane into a spraying topknot. I was, and am still, an orderly pony; I was taught to be like that since colthood.
I swung the door of my room open and walked out to the living area. It was more of a kitchen per se, but we used it as a living space as well. I say “we,” because on the right corner of the room was a door that was labelled, “Bamboo Leaf.” The other tenant of this house and my partner in business, one whom I had known since moving to Ponyville; she was probably still asleep. Next to her door, and to the left corner of the room, was the stove, fridge, and counters. To the right wall was the front door and a curtain-veiled window. I grunted as I shoved some dried wood into the stove hatch, the tinder hitting against the firebox with dull metallic bangs. I then picked up a small kerosene can and poured it into the firebox in sparse drops. Last thing I wanted right now was the house catching fire. Striking a match, I dropped it, watching as the dark and cold box burst to heat and life in a flurry of flames. Satisfied, I closed the hatch and got about filling the kettlepot, just in time for Bamboo Leaf to open her door with a drowsy groan.
“Good morning, Bambi.”
“I thought I told y’not to call me by that, Spring,” droned Bamboo as she trotted lazily to the bathroom – the one located in my room. Yes, we had to share the bathroom. Of course, it was certainly a much better idea to keep separate bathrooms to avoid any…inconveniences of any sort, but unfortunately, neither of us had the money to renovate or build a new bathroom; we had just enough money to get by and live life. Anyways, living with each other for fifteen years has gotten us used to it; she keeps her personal stuff in one drawer, while I keep mine in the other.
By the time I snickered at her response she’d already shut the door and was doing her business. I continued my business of setting the kettle to boil, grabbing a box of cereal and filling a bowlful of it after I’d done that. The water was done in five minutes. I’d always suspected that the tinder was magically enhanced to quickly produce heat, although the store owner from whom I bought it seems to say nothing about it. Anyways, magic is beyond my league, since I’m an earth pony. I’m just happy that my water boils faster than the petrification of Equestria’s three great villains.
At this time, the first rays of sunlight began to peep through the window behind me. I lifted the kettle and poured the boiling water into a ground-laden filter sitting at the mouth of a small pot, the smell of coffee instantly showering the room. I let them brew, whilst I set the kettle atop the stove and opened the fridge for some milk for my own cereal. Bamboo was likely to have her bread and jam again.
I heard the bathroom door swing open, hoofsteps trotting into the kitchen area. I just finished pouring coffee for the both of us, Bamboo Leaf taking the time to smell the rich brown liquid steaming in her cup. “Mmm…coffee.”
“Most fit for the morning,” I grunted as I sat down heavily, said a little grace, and commenced to slurp on my cereal, and she on her bread and jam. Both of us said nothing, and my slurping was less than satisfactory to fill the awkward silence. “So…” trailed Bamboo as she munched into her jam sandwich.
“Hmm..?”
“What shall we talk about this morning?”
“Hmm, we could talk about the fact that time is running out and we’ve got a shop to open?”
“Eh, not that. We could really stop thinking ‘bout the business for now.” Her face flashed with an idea. “I know, why don’t we make mornings our personal time? Like, one-on-one stuff?” I scrunched a face as I chewed my cereal. A little fear began to creep inside of me, but I forced it down, instead concentrating on my cereal, which I suddenly found to be very interesting.
“Heh,” was all I answered. I finished up the rest of my cereal and washed the bowl and spoon, setting it on the dishrack on the next counter. Whilst doing so my thoughts began to whirl around, but I never got to properly divulge into them because a little tingle raced up my spine. Before I could register what it was, though, a voice whispered, “Y’look like y’re in deep thought.”
I shrieked, nearly upsetting the dishrack, and turned to see Bamboo Leaf, returning to her seat, mouth wide open in a mirth-laden laugh, showing off chunks of bread and jam stuck in comical places. As fast as my surprise had come, was as fast it left, and I sighed. “Please, don’t sneak up on me like that. It’s rather unprofessional.”
“Pff…‘Unprofessional.’ C’mon mister, is this the army?” Her laughter had died down, but her humor hadn’t. I sat down and began downing my coffee. “Ooh, I wonder what the government’ll think if they see this new regiment pop up outta nowhere in Ponyville. We should give ourselves a name!”
“We already have a name.”
“Oh please, a name like Spring Creek House doesn’t sound very warlike – it should have something like…sword in it. Get whadda mean? Like…ooh! Spring Sword! Or, or…Bamboo Bastion! Or better, Spring and Bamboo Bastion!” I chuckled dryly. This wasn’t her first time ranting fancy ideas about everything, from the gossip on the street to to life in general; I enjoyed her humor sometimes, but more often than not I’d ignore her antics. At least she knew when to stop. Which she did in a matter of moments, downing her coffee with large gulps. I had finished mine and was supposed to leave the table, but for some reason, I found myself gazing at her.
I was gazing at her for no obvious reason.
I got up and washed my cup, setting it upside down on the dishrack to let it dry off. I trotted over to the bathroom and rinsed my mouth again, tidying up my mane, and picked up items of importance – shop keys, tissue, and a bag of bits, all packed away in a saddlebag I had strapped over myself – before leaving for the front door. On stepping out however, I noticed that Bamboo was washing her cup in a somewhat chaotic and rushed manner, water spraying all around. Her hind legs were tightly pressed together, and I immediately suspected what it was. Fifteen years had taught me some nuances.
“Need a little help, Bamboo?”
“Uh, yes, please.”
I trotted over to the sink as she rushed to the bathroom, shutting the door with a loud bang that rattled the whole structure. My mind humorously wondered if the house would collapse anytime soon as I washed her cup. It was no biggie, really. We’re friends, and friends help each other. I took a moment to look at her cup. A brief thought manifested and told me that I normally did not take a look at her cup. I shrugged. Today, it seemed that I was doing stuff out of routine. But I didn’t care; it was good to break routine sometimes. I resumed my perusal of the cup; it wasn’t much – small, squarish, porcelain – but what caught my eye were the designs on her cup. Soft, purplish, and bundled together. Wisteria flowers. Home.
Again, reminding me of home?
“Hey Spring?” I jumped a bit. Didn’t expect her to finish early. But she spoke again before I got to respond.
“Hey, you ok?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just admiring your cup.”
“My cup? Psh, ok, that is something you normally don’t do.”
“Well, I did. Anyway, I’ve gotta go and open the shop now, so I’ll see you later.”
“Uh…ok. Just t’let y’know that I won’t be around ‘ntil later; I’ve got some stuff to settle.”
“Hmm, sure. Just do your thing,” I answered dismissively. I reached my hoof and turned the crank, taking in a deep breath of the fresh morning air that soared through the door faster than a Wonderbolt. I let out a small sigh and got ready to descend the stairs, if not for the familiar voice to call out to me.
“Hey Spring?”
“What?”
“Are you ok?”
“Bambi, I’m fine.”
“…you sure?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Look, if you’ve got any problems, don’t hesitate to tell me, alright? I…I just wanna help.”
I paused. Help me? Would she understand? I often wondered if anypony could understand me, and my times – times of tears, hurts…regrets, maybe, and a host of other emotions that I can’t express in language. Do I deserve to be understood?
“Good day, Bamboo Leaf,” was all I could say. I forced my emotions down. I could not break down, not right now, not in front of her.
She sighed. “Same to you.”
I forced a smile, before turning and trotting down the stairs, the clop of my hooves reverberating in the small courtyard. It was an external staircase, made of cobblestone, which led into said courtyard surrounded by the back areas of other shops. Our rented house was attached to the back portion of the shop I ran, and we lived on the second floor. The bottom floor was where we stored our supplies and tools. But I wasn’t here for supplies. I was here to open the shop. Taking the key from the saddlebag, I pushed it into the crank and gave it a hard twist. It clicked and grunted, then moaned as it was pushed open. Darkness greeted me, and I greeted back with a flick of a switch next to the door. Immediately seven lamps blinked into existence, driving the shadows away and revealing a small and cozy restaurant. The area directly in front of where I was entering was the counter – polished cobblestone topped with nice varnished wood – which ran the length of the shop. The ceiling was arched with timber rafters, albeit fancier than the ones in my room, and a staircase to the very far end of the shop led to the second floor, a small mezzanine of sorts, held up by thin and sturdy pillars adjacent to the counter. The windows – latticed in similar fashion to my room – were still shut as of now; they would soon be opened. I walked the length of the counter, stopping at a large cauldron perched on an enclosed brazier. Opening the small hatch and shoving some charcoal from a tinderbox into the brazier’s ashen tray, I struck a match and lit it, embers crackling to life. Above the pot was a small tap that I proceeded to open, fresh and clean water spitting out and into the heating cauldron. Whilst it was filling, I opened a fridge and began taking out the following ingredients: spring onion, broth mixture, carrots, and an assortment of nuts. These were all to be put in the cauldron with the water to be boiled into soup – the base soup for the various dishes that I served in this restaurant. Plop the broth into the boiling water, chunk up the spring onions and carrots, and finally, give the nuts a good cracking before throwing it all into the soup mixture – it was the order of preparation that I knew by heart, having run this place for fifteen years. It was mom’s recipe; actually, it was a recipe she had stolen from a restaurant she had worked at, in one of the bg cities back home. She passed it on to me, and I took the recipe with me to Equestria. It was probably the only thing closest to home, to family, to my former life. Well, they’re probably gone now. Equestria’s my home now, and I’m thankful for that.
I left the soup to boil itself after adding the prepped ingredients. I then turned my attention to the rest of the restaurant: tables to be wiped, floors to be swept, fires to stoke, and a myriad other things to make ready before opening time. It was the price to pay for running a shop that fused ancient traditions from my homeland with the modern innovations of Equestrian technology, but it was a price worth paying. I was able to serve customers with foreign flavors from home while still maintaining some “Equestrian-ness” to it; it was actually a word that Bamboo Leaf had invented, and I, against my better judgement, began to use it to describe my cooking ideals due to the lack of any better word. I didn’t serve a big range of dishes, actually. I served noodles – homemade as well, mind you – with soup or broth, with vegetables as its main dish; meat was rarely ordered, and even that from gryphon customers. Other than noodles, I also served snacks – kelp fritters, hay fries, dandelion dumplings – and tea, green tea and black tea, both supplied from a small grocery located along the fringes of Ponyville, that was opened by one from my lands. The owner – I will never forget him – not only gave me food and shelter by kindness of his heart, when I had first arrived haggard and broken; he did it because he recognized me as one from his native lands. I lived with him for five years, helping him in his shop, before he in turn helped me open my very own shop, the one which I still run to this day. And ever since, for fifteen years, I always shopped at that grocery ever since I discovered it twenty years ago, when I first came. He is dead now. His son runs the place.
Reminiscing time was over as I finished with the necessary preparations of the restaurant – tables were wiped squiggly clean, floors were swept near-dustless, and pots were boiling over. The last thing I did before turning the sign to “Open” was step outside and lift up the wooden shutters, attaching them to hooks bolted under the tiled eaves of the building, before unfurling a large rectangular banner slit at intervals, displaying a big and bold symbol. My family’s crest.
I flipped the sign to “Open” and waited for the day’s patrons. The cauldron was now simmering with hot soup, and I put in a few more pieces of wood to keep the heat. Two smaller pots were on the stove which I had lit earlier, one simmering with hot oil, and another with the first batch of freshly cooked noodles. I carefully opened the hatch to check the fire; it was smoldering. Good.
A bell jingled with the creak of an opening door. “Good morning, welcome to Spring Creek House,” I greeted, turning to face my first customer of the day. He was a unicorn, bespectacled with slightly oversized glasses, and clad in a star-patterned cape with a rather large collar. His coat underneath was sunburst orange, and his mane and tail a darker shade of that; he sported a rather large goatee. He blinked once or twice before saying, “O-oh, uh, good morning! Uh, may I ask sir, what place is this?”
“A noodle restaurant, sir. Long established. Homemade recipes and hearty meals,” I quipped, suddenly surprised at myself for saying that phrase. But I had no time to think as the potential patron’s eyes arched in curiosity. “We serve noodles and soup, of which you can choose different flavors, snacks – kelp fritters, hay fries, and dandelion dumplings – and tea. Black and green tea. One of the best you can find in Ponyville.” “Oooh, that sounds nice. Um, what flavors do you have for the noodles?”
“We have the Normal, noodles served in spring onion, carrot, and nut soup, and the Crystal Fare, which is basically adding flavored crystals to the soup, as wel–”
“Wait, did you say ‘Crystal Fare’?” interjected the customer, jaw dropping and eyes widening in excitement at the mention of crystal. “Uh, yes, sir. Would you like t–”
“Yes, yes! One bowl for me, please!” bubbled the customer as I nodded and set to prepare his order. The sound of his hooves and the squeak of a chair indicated that he had taken a seat next to the window. I wondered if he had a taste for crystals – or maybe he had come from the Crystal Empire. I had never travelled too much myself; other than the long and arduous journey from my homeland to Equestria, and a few short trips from one end of Ponyville to another, I have never set hoof outside of the town. Maybe one day I should, but not now. Right now I was plopping a hoof-full of noodles into a bowl of steaming hot soup. After I’d done that I went to the fridge and pulled out three crystal pieces and plopped them into the soup, a satisfying sizzle and an otherworldly aroma emanating from the dissolving crystals. The aroma was one that I had long gotten used to, but for my customer, it must have caused his nostrils to flare and his mouth to water, for the aroma – as my very first customers had told me – was unlike this world. It was by no means undelectable or distasteful; in fact, if anything, it was like tasting heaven itself.
“Here you go, sir. A Crystal Fare.”
“Why, thank you! It smells just…indescribable!”
“Yes, that’s what my first-time customers almost always say. Well then, I’ll leave you to enjoy your meal.”
I turned and went back to my post at the counter, soft slurps and clinking chopsticks dancing in harmony with the quiet and quaint ambience of the shop. I was satisfied to see that my new customer enjoyed his meal. In no time he had finished it, and as he paid the 5 bits for the meal, he muttered about how he should bring his special somepony to dine here next time. I smiled as he talked about how awesome she was, and I recommended that he should come with her in the evening – that was the time when the fun and community kicked around full-swing. He left with a huge grin, saying that he certainly will. The shop went quiet, the outside din of town life providing a soft background music. Ponies from all walks of life passed by the windows, cutie marks reflecting in Celestia’s sun, some chatting with each other, others playing, laughing, and running about, and still others doing the hard, manual work – pulling carts, carrying crates, selling wares, or sweeping streets. A familiar feeling began to come over me.
My mind briefly took me back home, to where it all began. I could feel the soft dirt, where wisteria flowers grew in abundance, and fields of rice surrounding the outskirts of a stonewalled-town, where small tiled-roof houses huddled together in orderly street blocks, each block containing a community of families who worked in similar trade. I can remember galloping with my lanky little hooves with the evening sun against my back, passing by kaleidoscopes of humble wooden houses, busy shop fronts, rowdy eateries, and sturdy storehouses, on streets where merchant ponies passed with their carts, or an occasional farmer clad in a rough coat made of straw. I remember coming home with mud on my hooves and sweat pouring all over me, having victoriously finished yet another great game of mouse-and-cat, and smelling a great aroma floating from the house, gently beckoning me to come in. I didn’t care about the dirty mud or stinking sweat; all I cared for now, was the ever-teasing smell of food to lead me to mom, where I could hug her and kiss her and tell her that I had won again. She wouldn’t mind the mud on the floor or on her simple dress, and neither would she mind the sweat that would stick to her, for she was also sweaty herself from sitting in front of the fire for too long, vigilantly keeping watch over the pot of porridge that boiled in the hearth. It was a simple fare, really. Local vegetables, some spices, maybe a nut or two, and tea to drink. Sister would be, as usual, lying down in our room, barrel heaving slowly up and down in deep breaths, still feverish. It was something that neither mom nor I could do about; mom had just about spent her energy making traditional medicines, and nothing had worked to even bring the fever to a standstill. Day in, and day out, we would sit by her side, hold her hooves, caress her head, and mom would sometimes sing a lullaby. She was still there when I left, never to return again. I never saw her again. I would never again hear her sweet little breaths, though heavy, and I would never again hear my mother’s lullaby. Gone was the stallion of twenty years ago; here was a stallion of nearly forty years, running a fifteen-year old business, living among good ponyfolk. But I am just a nopony, and nopony to call family. Bamboo Leaf…I can’t. I just can’t. We’re just business partners, that’s it. There couldn’t be anything more for me.
“…ring…pring….Spring!”
And who was that calling me?
“Spring!”
“O-oh, yeah?” A loud bang, clatter, and painful moan was all it needed to snap me back to the real world. I had turned around frantically and slammed my body into a wooden table inside the work area. Pain stung my flank as I turned to Bamboo Leaf, whom I expected to be laughing. She wasn’t.
“Hey, you alright? You were pretty zoned out for some time,” she observed.
“Really?” I shrugged, rolling my eyes at her. “Anyway, what are you here for?” Silence. Awful silence. I looked at her. She blinked at me, and I blinked at her, mentally disbelieving myself that I had somehow forgotten that she worked here. “Uh…to work? By Celestia, did you forget?”
“Uh, yeah…sorry.” I turned away as fast as I could; I could not believe my stupidity. I hastily opened a fridge and grabbed a bowl of crystals, trying to think of a way to regain my cool. It was absolutely hopeless. “Aren’t those supposed to be kept cold? I mean, nopony has ordered anything, right? So why are you bringing the crystals out now?”
“Uh…I-I dunno.”
“You’re acting really strange today.”
“Am I? Maybe you’re just imagining things today,” I retorted, as I put the bowl back inside and shut the fridge door ever so slightly harder. Bamboo flinched at the loud bang it made. “We had a new customer this morning. Said something about wanting to bring his marefriend over, so I recommended him tonight,” I said, a hopeless attempt at trying to make up for shutting the fridge a little too hard.
All tension disappeared from her face. “Really? That’s nice. Wonder who’ll be here for the fun tonight!”
“Yeah,” I muttered awkwardly.
She said no more as she set about checking up on anything that needed attention. Conflicted, I took up my post and stared out the door, expecting any customer to come by. I am a fool, it’s so hard to keep my cool, said my thoughts. Hey, that’s a nice line. Should use it whenever I lose myself.
“Well, there’s no need to make any noodles because we’ve got plenty, enough for at least ten bowls,” called Bamboo. “That’s fine, we’ll just let it be. I’m…gonna relieve myself in the bathroom for a bit,” I answered.
“Yeah, sure. Take your time.”
I closed the door to the bathroom, seating myself on the hard wooden seat and let my bowels open. The flushing toilet was an invention that only Equestria seemed to possess. Back at home, I did my business in a large dirt hole, where it would flow into the farmers’ fields, carrying rich nutrients to fertilize their crops. But I never thought of it when I was young; all I cared for was to quickly escape the area once my bowels emptied, for I couldn’t stand the stench. But now in Equestria, I enjoyed the bathroom. It was small, with a shower and sink, and had a small vent for the smell to escape. But most of all, it allowed you some real privacy, where I could divulge, sort out, and process my thoughts. And this time, my thoughts were conflicting.
Why am I thinking so much about home today?
And why am I being snarky with Bamboo Leaf?
I had no answer to these thoughts– no, I was afraid that there would be answers to these thoughts, and that I was trying to not find it. Bamboo Leaf – a peach-coated, auburn-maned earth pony who was sociable, humorous, and easy-going – was to me like any other ordinary pony. But no, my thoughts were telling me that it could not be the case; it just could not be the case. There was something about her – what was it? – that made me afraid.
Was it that she had parents? I had met her parents before when she’d invited them over to our house, and we shared a good meal together – respectable ponies they were. Maybe it was a secret jealousy within me that envied her family, when I hadn’t had one for years. No, it didn’t click.
Was it her character, her personality? She was fun, annoying sometimes, but respectable. She made friends whenever she could. She was positive, although not always – she had her times, especially when her parents had died; she cried rivers into my chest till the fur became sogged through; it surprised me that she came to me instead of shutting herself in her room – and transparent. If she made a mistake, she would apologize quickly and try to make it right. These were qualities that I didn’t have – I was quite the opposite. Rational, quiet, observant, alert – qualities that were rare to find in Equestria. The happiness found in many ponies was genuine, make no mistake, but I was reluctant to admit it, even to myself while I was sitting on the toilet, that I sometimes felt out-of-place, especially since I was a foreigner. At least Bamboo underst– wait. Wait. She wouldn’t understand. We came from polar opposite backgrounds. There was no way she could understand. Even if I wanted her to understand – I just can’t hope for that, right? I’m a nopony. I didn’t need to be anypony. Just flush the toilet and get back to work.
I came into the shop, spotting Big Mac eating with his wife at the bar, engaging in light-hearted conversation with Bamboo. I smiled at the couple, then turned to acknowledge Bamboo Leaf, who flashed a smile and continued her talk with the two customers. I tried to focus on washing the dishes in the sink, but my thoughts wouldn’t leave. Fear. I was scared that I would lose myself – a public place like the shop wasn’t suitable for my deep and private thoughts. Not here. But my mind decided to not listen to my mental commands to shut up – if I did lose myself, I would alienate both my customers and Bamboo Leaf, who’d already observed that I was a bit strange today. I couldn’t break down now.
Thankfully, I heard the jingling of bits and the scratch of a nib, signifying that the couple had paid for their meal and Bamboo was recording the sale in a small notebook. I released a sigh too loud, causing Bamboo to turn to me. “You alright, Spring? I’m not imagining things, you are acting strange today.”
“Hmm, maybe.”
“What do you mean, ‘Maybe’? It doesn’t explain why…sigh, you are a bit…moody, today. Is…is something the matter?”
“Well…” was all I could answer. I was still washing. I couldn’t–
“Spring.” I turned to Bamboo, noting the authority in her voice.
“Y-yeah?” I tried to muster. I noted how dangerously close my voice came to cracking.
“Do you want to tell me something? Is there a burden you need to share?”
A burden. Would she be able to share it? Did she know the battle my thoughts were fighting right now? Would it ruin her? So severely that our partnership would be severed by just a few words? Would she leave and never come back? And I would be left alone. Left alone to run a business that constantly reminded me of my former home, my former life, my former everything that I had known, which had been so mercilessly taken away from me. Would she be able to handle it?
“I…”
She put the notebook down and beckoned me to sit at the table. I found myself sitting at the wooden table, the one I had banged into, and Bamboo sat opposite, head leaning in a bit too close. I felt hot all over my face suddenly. It was ridiculous. How should I say it anyway?
“You know what, just…forget it,” I muttered. I sighed, rising to leave, if not for a strong hoof to grab me and gently sit me down. “Here,” said Bamboo, offering a tissue paper to me, and then did I realize that I was crying. Crying. In public. In front of my friend. I was cracked already, I realized. It only took a piece of tissue paper to let the dam break.
“It’s alright, I’m here.”
I broke, for good this time. I was crying rivers. I finally realized why.
I am forty years old. I was born and raised in a land far, far away from Equestria. Neighpon, it was called. For twenty years, all I had known was a peaceful idyllic life – my mornings were spent helping the farm, and my evenings were spent with a small, simple dinner, with the two ponies whom I had for a family. It was my aging mom, and my dying sister. I loved them both. For twenty years this was all I knew. And I, as a colt, had thought that it would stay that way. Preposterous.
Come my twentieth year, and all hell broke loose. Civil war had broken out all over the land. Our provincial lord was fighting a war with neighbouring lords come to invade his lands. I remember the frantic couriers passing through the town, announcing bad tidings of defeat and death, while soldiers – that of our province – came in and out of town, brandishing weapons of war and banners of stoic crests. We were instructed to provide them with hot food, and we were expected to open our doors to shelter them. Colts were expected to learn from the soldiers the ways of war, while young mares were expected to provide them with entertainment, company, and additional services. I didn’t know what that service was, till I witnessed it one night. She was a young mare whom I had known since colthood; I sometimes called her my older sister. The soldier had one strong hoof planted firmly on her shoulder, warning her not to resist. She whimpered a yes. Like a sledgehammer slamming into my heart, I realized what would happen. Seeing her like this made me feel like throwing up dinner. Without a second thought, I ran and bucked as hard as I could, adrenaline rushing through my veins. It was a blur. In fact, I feared I had missed. But once my breathing had slowed, I heard nothing. No sound. No movement. She had run off, silently weeping. I observed her galloping away, then looked down at where I supposed the soldier was standing.
He was dead.
I ran home and told mom. I remember seeing the color drain from her face. She immediately instructed me to pack some dry food, bedding, and all the clothes I had, and to leave now, as soon as possible, to the west. “There,” she said, “is a land ruled by the Princess of the Sun, who visited here in ages past. Go and live there. Do not come back. I love you, son.”
Just like that, an entire part of my life was torn apart from me. It was abrupt and sudden. That would be the last that I would ever see of them again.
I had no time to think. No time to react. No time to wait for her response. It was all so sudden. But when it happened, it happened. Two hooves shot out and pulled me into an embrace – an embrace tighter than the riggings of a ship, and stronger than the waves of the sea. In that moment, she understood. She understood. There was no need of words, of expression, or of anything for that matter. She didn’t need to say, “It’s alright,” or, “I’m here for you.” Bamboo Leaf, my partner for fifteen years, discovered a dark and decrepit chamber of my heart, and lit it up with understanding and love. She didn’t shrink away, she didn’t try to escape it; she just trotted in and brought a light. And if she could do that, if she didn’t shrink away from such a darkness, then…she would not hesitate to go further, right? She wouldn’t hesitate, if I opened yet one more chamber for her to light up, right?
But not now. Right now, while my mind was thinking these thoughts, she was embracing me. It wasn’t the casual embrace one would receive during certain special times. I had embraced her before, when she mourned for the loss of her parents. But this embrace…was different. I felt something like I had never felt before.
Peace?
Maybe, but I can’t describe it. Nevertheless, it was refreshing. It felt as if fifteen years of worry, stress, anxieties, doubts, fears, and anger were just drained in that one, strong hug.
I felt better.
“I’m sorry, Bamboo.”
“For what?”
“For the times I’ve been a jerk to you. For the times when I had repaid your kindness with nasty–”
“Shhh, sh, sh…it’s alright. It’s alright, I forgive you, ok? It’s alright.”
I broke down again. For a brief moment, I was back to a young colt, bawling into his mother. But Bamboo didn’t mind. She had done the same thing to me, when she had cried her broken heart into me at the loss of her parents; she was now doing the same for me, comforting me.
But while I enjoyed the comfort, it was time for things to come to a head. She was trustworthy. She was bold. I could risk it; if she had the strength to discover and understand a deep part of me, there was no reason to think that she wouldn't still do the same to a yet deeper part of me. She wouldn’t hesitate to enter that one more undiscovered chamber. Once I said it, there would be no turning back. I would not mince it, I would not beat around it, I would not stutter. I would say it clear and straight. I opened my mouth.
“Bamboo, I like you.”
One cannot say that, in fifteen years of living in the same house, one would not develop feelings for another. I was no exception. I had feelings for Bamboo Leaf. It was simple. Her personality, her character, her all, was just what I found her to be so attractive. It wasn’t so much her beauty – make no mistake, she is pretty – but it was her, herself, that won my heart. She was different…so different from other mares I had met. She was pure, had strong morals, and had a strong sense of equity. I have not met mares as close to that as she was.
And because of that, I shrank in fear. I was worried. What if I confessed it, and she rejected me? What if she, after hearing it, would just straight up leave and never come back? I had thought, then, that it would be better that she left, because I’m a nopony. But at the same time, I might never find a friend to rely on, to depend on, because of my struggles with life. I am a foreigner – why would anypony want me?
It would be too bad, too risky. I just let my feelings for her…hide itself, wrap itself, around that feeling of loneliness, despair, and that struggle with coping with my life after having left the only other home and family that I knew and grew up in, and who were now possibly dead. We would just be business partners. We would run a noodle and soup shop like friends. Forever. That would be it.
Until now.
The embrace slacked. For a moment, I felt her hooves loosen around me. My fears came back and taunted me; forever I would be haunted by the mare to whom I confessed my liking for. At least that’s what my mind said.
If not for a mouth to suddenly come up and plant itself to my cheek, I would have believed those lies. But instead, contrary to what I had expected, she responded with a kiss. Short, sweet, and tender. Yet it spoke a thousand words, unsaid words which helped heal my broken heart.
“I like you too, Spring Creek.”
My cheek tingled with a furious blush, as fresh tears cascaded down my soaking fur, a mixture of embarrassment and joy.
“You do?”
“Yes, and I mean it with all my heart. Do you mean it with all your heart?” she said, her voice dangerously soft.
Did I mean it with all my heart? Was I willing to enter into a deeper level of our relation, past being just mere business partners? Or was it all a fantasy that my twisted mind conjured up for me to cope with my times?
I didn’t need a second thought. It was real. Through my ups and downs, joy and sorrows, struggles and stress, and my doubts and fears, the small embers that had ignited since the day I felt for Bamboo only grew stronger and stronger, only held back by my fearful, silent mouth.
“Yes, Bamboo. With all my heart.”
She smiled with the radiance of a thousand suns. I smiled back, genuinely. My heart was at rest. From now on, we would take it from here, one day at a time.
“Hey, Spring, I’m curious,” asked Bamboo Leaf, her voice a little louder this time. “How did you come here to Equestria?”
I sighed. “I came without fanfare, actually. I…stowed away on a ship.”
“Oooh, stowaway,” she whistled.
“Yeah, a stowaway I was,” I chuckled. “It was hard to get to port. It was fortunate that my province touched the sea. Its coast was located around south. Getting there however…” I paused, trying to take a deep breath. Bamboo put a hoof on mine with a nod of assurance, and I continued.
“…It was hard. Difficult. And dangerous. I had to constantly watch for soldiers. I saw…things…” I paused again, fear creeping back. My mind flashed with images of banners, crests, and death. Soldiers. Foals. Stallions. Mares.
I couldn’t…it would be too much. Too much to bear. But not for me. For her.
I opened my teary eyes as a hoof grabbed my hoof tightly. My breathing was ragged and heavy, and my eyes were clouded with hot tears. She was there again, holding my hoof, comforting me the best she could. “I-I’m s-sorry, Bamboo, it’s too much…”
“It’s alright, I’m here. It doesn’t have to feel too much.”
“N-no, Bamboo, not for me. It’s too much for y-you.”
She paused, trying to process my words.
“It will be too much for me?” It wasn’t a voice of doubt, but rather one of gentle curiosity.
“Yes, B-bamboo. It will be t-too much for you. Y-you…don’t know what I saw. A-and I doubt you would be a-able to h-handle it.” The grip around my hoof became tighter.
“Spring, we just went a step deeper in our relationship.” Tears began forming in her eyes. “I may not have seen or felt what you’ve seen or felt, but…b-but, whatever is too much for you…will be too much for me as well. And when we share what’s too much between us, it won’t be as much as it seems.”
I gazed at her, awestruck. She was willing to hear, to lend an ear. She wanted to hear my story. My story. Wrecked, broken, bloody is my story. And she was willing to hear it.
“D-do you want the full d-details?”
“All of it, Spring. All of it. Spare nothing. Make what’s too much for you, too much for me.”
I looked at her eyes. They were deep, sincere, and full of longing. Longing to share. To share in joys, sufferings, hurts, and comforts.
“Are you s-sure?”
“A hundred percent sure.”
“Sigh…Ok.”
It had probably taken a week to reach the coastal area of the province. The civil war had spread all over the land, and provinces were fighting against one another – at least that’s what the news couriers said. I wouldn’t have believed it if I had not come out of my little town; being born and raised in a place cozily snuggled between two mountains, we never really cared for what happened outside. We were always concerned about our crops, and the only news we received was either by the merchants’ words or couriers. Even when our provincial lord’s soldiers occupied our town, it wasn’t too concerning; as long as our life remained the same despite the circumstances, we were happy. If only we were wiser.
I passed a village on my way to port – or, what remained of thoat village. It wasn’t the burnt houses or broken walls that caught my attention – it was the inhabitants. Miserable. And suffering. I was told, by an old stallion passing by, that the neighboring lord had invaded these parts and had done what he wished to these villages and villagers. His voice told me he had lost all hope. I felt the same too. But it wasn’t the sight of dead ponies that stung my heart…it was the sight of dying ponies that I broke. Atrocities. Vile atrocities. The old stallion pointed out a house, its walls burnt and roof collapsed in, where, he said, orphaned foals were sheltered. He led me there. It was good to have some company, for the sight he showed me was beyond Tartarus. In the midst of the dilapidated dwelling, five skeletons lay there, torn and ragged clothes draped over them. They were bloodied and broken. In front of the door was another skeleton, larger than the ones behind, and I guessed that it might’ve belonged to somepony older. My companion, in a soft and sad voice, said that the owner of the shelter died protecting these foals. They had died along with him. We came out. The air was cold, chilly, uncertain. My heart sank to the bottom at the fleeting thought if there was more. There was. The old stallion led me to the outskirts of the village. He pointed it out for me. There, on a lonely hill, four or five crosses were planted there, and corpses hung on them. I had heard of such executions before, from the mouth of merchants. Now was my chance to see it first-hoof. I sometimes wish that I hadn’t.
An entire family was crucified. Tied to those crosses. Then speared to death. Two parents, two foals. A stallion and his mare, a colt and his sister filly.
I left that village somberly. No words to say, no thoughts to think, and many tears to cry. I had to move on, if I wanted to ensure my survival. I hardly slept during that time. The silhouettes of those crosses haunted my mind for days to come. I passed through several more villages. If I remember correctly, half of them were destroyed, and their inhabitants slain, taken captive, or having fled. And the ones that were not were lifeless, dull, and quiet. Many stayed off the streets, retreating into darkened rooms at the sight of a stranger like me. I didn’t bother because my destination was in neither of those villages anyway.
I reached port tired, hungry, and cold. I asked if the ship was going west. The captain, of big build and smoking a pipe, said yes, he was sailing west, but no, he wasn’t going to take any passengers without some coin. I had none. And I didn’t bother anyway. I had planned to sneak aboard beforehand. I had seen these ships before, during the few times my uncle took me to coast to visit his relatives. And I had explored them once or twice. I knew somewhere that there were some empty spaces hardly used by the crew, and if I could find it I could hide myself. By sheer coincidence, a crew member spotted some banners and alerted us. The captain was at least decent enough to let me hide in the ship for the time being. I had my chance. I entered the lower parts of the ship, and to my absolute delight, there was a space between two wooden walls, and there I snuck myself, trying not to breathe too loudly. I figured that I was hidden in a cramped space at the side of the ship. Perfect. As I made myself comfortable, a stench arose. I was sweaty and surely smelled pungent, but I realized that it wasn’t me that gave off the smell; rather, it was something above that smelled strong, and I immediately realized that it was the lavatory. I mentally grumbled, but then realized that it could increase my chances of staying undetected. Oh well. It wasn’t a flushing toilet they were using; it was a bucket that they placed underneath a wooden top that served as the seat. And I was cooped up below the bucket, against the side of the ship. It had to do. Beggars surely couldn’t be choosers. The alarm was called off long before, and by now the crew were making preparations to cast off and sail to the west. The captain must’ve forgotten about me, because he seemed to be engrossed bustling around with the crew that he probably didn’t take notice that I didn’t make an appearance after the alarm died down. The ship rocked and creaked under the strain of the sails and weight of the cargo. And off I sailed west, unnoticed and undetected, into the land ruled by the Princess of the Sun.
“Spring…”
I looked up with a sad face. “Yes?”
“I-I…don’t know what to say.”
“It’s alright. You don’t have to.”
“…Do you…need a hug?”
“…Y-yes. Yes, please, Bamboo.”
And I threw myself into her strong embrace, crying yet again like a little colt to his mother.
“It’s alright, Spring…what’s t-too much for you…is n-now too much for m-me,” she choked in-between tears.
“T-thank you so much, Bamboo...it feels better.”
“I’m glad it does.”
“Sniff sniff…sniff sniff…it’s so touching…” sobbed a voice.
Eyes widening, both our heads shot up and turned towards the bar. There sat a lime earth pony, a blue-feathered gryphon, a sky-blue changeling, an orange dragoness, a furry yak, and a pink-feathered hippogriff, all eyes red with tears and cheeks hot with emotion. “O-oh, forgive us. W-we’ll take your orders r-right away!” both of us cried in shock and embarrassment that somepony else had seen us, and in public no less.
“Sob…sob…m-mister and m-miss, I d-don’t know who y-you are – we came here b-because we heard this p-place is g-good – b-but…b-but…your story is soooo t-touching,” cried the hippogriff. “Yeah, we n-never expected to come a-across such a sight, but man, that was…” mumbled the gryphon. The others nodded in agreement. We both stole a glance at each other before I sighed. “How long were you here? D-did you hear everything?”
“Well, not everything, really,” answered the dragoness. “We just came at the part where you were talking about you hiding in a ship’s toilet, but we actually cried when you two…hugged.”
“Yeah, it was so touching to see such love,” agreed the changeling. Then she hesitated a little, pondering if she should ask a certain question.
“I, uh…I hope you don’t mind me asking, but…are you two…together?” I glanced at Bamboo. She smiled and nodded.
“Yes, we are. We just became together today. Before that, we were business partners. But now, I guess we’re both.”
“Oh great, it’s becoming romantic,” mumbled the gryphon, at which the hippogriff jabbed a claw at him. “Hey, Gallus, aren’t we together as well? Hmm?”
His face flushed as red as tomatoes as we – including Bamboo and I – burst into laughter. Poor griff, he sure was embarrassed. I spoke up.
“Young griff, don’t be afraid. Just be yourself, ok?”
“O-o-ok.”
“Alright, we’ve delayed long enough with lovey-dovey stuff, let’s take your orders!” cried Bamboo, jumping to her hooves. Business started up again as the two of us began to work. But this time, I felt alive. I felt happy. I felt satisfied. I was able to serve a bowl of noodles full of pride and joy. Everything felt beautiful.
That night, amidst the patrons who crowded the shop as usual, the evening vibe was upped by some music I decided to play that night. It was played by an old gramophone that was given to me from the old stallion at the grocery shop, whom I used to work for. I never really found use for it, as I was not musically inclined. But today, it changed. The gramophone was playing one of DJ Pon-3’s lively upbeat tracks, and I found my hooves tapping to the beats constantly. I smiled. I felt alive. Really alive. And I wondered why. Glancing over to Bamboo, I found her vibing to the beats as well. She smiled. With a flash, I realized why.
I had found hope in the midst of hopelessness. I had found peace in the midst of unrest. I had found light in the midst of darkness. And it was here to stay. Never to leave. And as I smiled back, my heart brimmed with excitement and anticipation at the future I was going to make with Bamboo Leaf. Here was my hope, light, and love.
Nothing could ever take it away.
Author's Note
Just as Spring Creek found hope through Bamboo Leaf, you can also find hope in Jesus.
Whooo! I had quite a time writing this rather large one shot. I hope you enjoy!
