I can’t tell you about what happened on my ferry that month. Not really, anyway. I could tell you all I know about it, and even what I don’t know, and you would still be scratching your head while muttering what? what? There’s no clear reason to what happened, so if you really want to know about the whole ordeal, I can only tell you the facts.
I’ve been on my ferry for most of my life, taking ponies from Trottingham to Manehattan and back again. My ferry, which I’ve always left unnamed, wasn’t as popular as you might think. Despite Manehattan being filled to the brim with self-proclaimed explorers looking to add meaning to their life, there was no interest to travel to a strange little island. As far as Trottingham ponies were concerned, there was no incessant need to travel to the big cities when small ones were all they’ve ever known. Ponies liked to stick to their roots, is what I’m saying.
My ferry was real small, could only fit a couple travelers anyway, so I didn’t mind too much. Didn’t need no staff, so I could keep the bits and lead a fine, if lonely life. I once had a marefriend, but I eventually let her leave. She was probably screwing somepony else during my long absences, so it was bound to happen at some point. I never minded the silence though. I could talk to myself about my day and real simple, thoughtless things like the weather and the amount of seagulls I saw.
Now on this one particular afternoon, I was waiting at the docks of Manehattan for any passengers when this couple comes to my boat. I could immediately tell these folks were farmers, probably from Appleloosa or some other place. The stallion wore this wide-brimmed straw hat and his miss had a cute daisy planted in her hair, and they spoke with a country drawl.
“Excuse me sir, how much is it for the trip to Trottingham?”
“Forty-five bits.”
“Forty-five? That seems like a lot.”
“Oh it’s fine Mac,” cut in the young miss, and she flashed him this radiant smile that seemed to relax him an awful lot.
I felt bad then, so I thought I’d do a favor and let them ride for twenty-five. The stallion lifted his hat and handed over the bits hidden in there. After that, they just stood close together, gazing at the little back mark in the distance where Trottingham would be. I was just about to head out when this kid wearing a cap came to the dock.
“Hey mister, how much for a ride?”
“How much you got, kid?”
“Thirty, I think.”
“Well shoot, then, I’ll take you across for twenty five.”
The kid nodded and hoofed me some twenty bits. I didn’t bother counting until later.
I don’t choose to remember much about that kid, but his eyes still haunt me. They were mature eyes that should only belong to the elderly ponies who’ve already made up their mind about the world. Nopony else came, so off we went to Trottingham.
As it turned out, the country folks were awfully personable and we even struck up a conversation, though I was vaguely listening as I was too focused on steering my boat. They told me they had a friend who moved to Trottingham, who used to be country folk just like them before they tried out city life for a change. Apparently, it didn’t take him long to realize the city wasn’t for him, but neither was country life, so he settled for Trottingham.
They had a family back in Ponyville, just had a new daughter in fact. The mother beamed when she told me. They’d be back soon in a few days, if all went right. Then they kinda kept to themselves after they told me that. Guess they realized I was busy.
I was starting to get into that headspace I like where I hear nothing but the choppy waters hitting the hull of my little boat in a fruitless attempt to sink it. That sound always calmed me, and made the trips seem to pass much faster. I didn’t want to leave it, but the kid had other plans. The kid snuck up on me as silent as a thief, and whether I wanted to or not, I heard what he had to say.
He told me he was awfully mad about those parents over there. He told me that parents belonged at home, and the kids should take over when they are strong. He told me he wasn’t gonna do anything about it, though somepony should at some point. He asked me what I thought of his opinion. I said I didn’t think much of anything. He said you had to follow the things you believed in, or else there’s no point.
He didn’t say anything else after, just sorta walked off. Nopony else talked for the rest of the way, and when we got to Trottingham, they all walked out like they had something incredibly important to do. Maybe I felt a bit worrisome over that couple, that trouble might befall them. Of course, I probably didn’t think of a damn thing, and just carried on with my business.
I didn’t really think of that whole nightmare for a long time. That was until I was at Trottingham, when one of my passengers casually mentioned the murder of a married couple in broad daylight by a sixteen year old.
Only on that same day did I rack my brain trying to find a reason for what happened, and maybe I even came up with something. It’s been ages though and I’ve forgot exactly what that revelation was. Probably for the best. I’m sure this was all fated, and everything that was said and done would have to happen sometime. Think about the nice and quiet things, but not your involvement in fate; his eyes are like daggers.
