“I hate this.”

“Why? It’s comfortable, you’re so fluffy.”

In the night a battle ensued. While the two of you were sleeping, you fought over the cover, which he won. As an act of unconscious revenge, you wrapped yourself around him to rescue any warmth.

“Don’t you have a job?”

“Nah. I have a doctor’s appointment today… eventually.”

“Get off me.”

You let yourself roll off the bed, letting yourself fall on the ground. You stand up on your four legs.

“Do you have any coffee?”

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Oh gods, your kitchen is a fucking mess.”

“By the way, I think we might starve.”

“What?”

“Yeah, monetarily I have nothing I can use, except if you are willing to go through banking system and exchange currencies.” You find your small sac.

“Why do you have foreign currency? Why would you even trust me with your money?” You both move to the living room. It holds enough room, making possible to respect each other’s personal space.

“I don’t have time for that. I’m currently in an application process for the police. Oh, you should also apply for work, or do you plan to leave soon?”

This gives him a moment to pause. He looks into the distance outside the window, thinking. “I don’t think I have many options.”

“Don’t worry about that. They are always hiring, everywhere, the whole time, they are very desperate. Case in point, I have a severe case of amnesia, and I’m sure they’ll still take me.”

“You have what?”

“Everything before ereyesterday, gone, nada.”

He leans in the chair, the only chair in the living room, in slight confusion, before shrugging and deciding it isn’t that weird to other things he has seen, “… I wish, I could do that.”

Huh?

“Starting new, with no baggage. I would sell my wings for that.”

Quick, lighten the mood.

“Personally, I would give this experience a five out of ten. I forgot what I forgot, so I can’t complain. But no matter how bad it must be, you have to have memories that you want to keep.”

No visible reaction from him. You failed. He walks towards the door.

“Maybe. I’ll try to exchange the money and look for work.” He halts at the door as he grabs the doorknob with too much force. “And, Lost, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Hey, you could see it as returning the favor. You crash by my place, and you go through the tartarus that is the Stalliongradian banking system for me.”

You are once again on the streets of your mistress. And you are really hungry. If you had any self-esteem, you would be ashamed about things you are going to do. Luckily, just like how Stalliongrad abolished private property, you abolished your self-worth a long time ago, if it even existed in the first place.

“Comrade, listen to me. These sandwiches are bourgeois and aristocratic. White bread is completely inefficient and was used mostly nobility. It doesn’t satiate as much and doesn’t have the nutrients like whole-wheat. Now, if you could give m—wait, where are you going?”

That didn’t work. Your communist charisma isn’t that cracked up to what you thought it would be. Slowly meandering your path to your checkup, you still have plenty of time, you let your worries wash over you – you have no food, nor will get through that doctor appointment. And then in one of your times of need, when you’re in those rare moments of lonesomeness in this busy city.

“O Lost, a little lost again?” The red mare frowns at her accidental joke.

“Stalliongrad,” you throw yourself in front of her, “I wanted to see, I can’t serve you; I will absolutely fail my checkup. I probably still have trace amounts of whatever stuff I took, and I haven’t worked out in years.”

She smiles upon you, padding your head, “do not worry over it. It will be fine.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry.”

“Uhm, well, do you know where I could get some free food.”

“Hunger, an old enemy of mine. Back in the days when I freshly got my independence, I struggled with it too. No, hunger is a too light word. It was starvation and famine.”

The great famine: Oh, if only Caramel Marks left a tutorial, a manual, or anything. Perhaps if she had more time. Sadly, she did not, and her writing, interrupted by her bohemian ways and drunkenness, met her ultimate career stopper, death. So, without anything to go by the party wondered after the revolution, ‘how do we do a communism?’. And in their eyes, they had the farms, owned by the kulaks. Clearly, farms should be owned by those who toil on it. They collectivized them at a very bad time, which combined with a lack of trained pegasi, bad weather, and the sudden autarky of Stalliongrad and therefore lack of Equestrian import caused the worst famines seen on this continent. It is still present in the minds and the zeitgeist of the Stalliongradians.

“But this is in the past. I can’t undo it. My point is my dear heralds, the party, is not known for its unity. One of the factions created a soup kitchen to boost their popularity and set themselves apart during these times. It made only a small dent, but it worked. No creature knows where they got the food from, nor did they care. Most likely stole it from Equestria or produced it themselves with some luck. The soup kitchen still stands even if it is not that needed anymore.”

“Where is that kitchen?”

She tells you. “They don’t have the best track record. However, the worst they’ll do is advertise their town.”

The soup kitchen. It isn’t anything noteworthy.

Wait a minute. This building is too unnoteworthy. It is as if they went out of their way to make the most average building conceivable.

Why should that be a problem?

Oh, is that a kitty? Pet the kitty.

Ignore the cat.

You reach out for the kitty in an attempt to pet it. It hisses at you and walks away. You just wanted to pet it. What is wrong with that? It makes you sad. The cat does not like you.

Don’t take it personally, it is a cat, an animal.

Yes, it’s just a cat, an animal. Kick it. Revenge.

Ignore it.

Finally, you leave the cat alone and walk to the entrance. Without any anxiousness, you enter it.

You see it relatively abandoned, it is kept clean, and a counter is ponied by one pure bright-plue pegasus. You can see it before your eyes: lines of ponies, a breadline, waiting and hoping to have something to eat, and no knowing if they’ll get something. It is lonely, crushingly so; hope it stays that way.

The pegasus awakens from his daydreaming upon seeing you enter. A wide smile plasters his face. He jumps over the counter. In elatedness he embraces you with his forelegs.

“Thank you, finally, another creature. Barely any creature comes to visit me, and I’m completely lonely. I have been solitary confinement since FOREVER.”

With that socialite behavior his ‘forever’ means three days at most. He would crack under any longer time period.

“Couldn’t you go out?”

“Somecreature has to watch over the building.”

He is still hugging you. Don’t let him stop, this feels nice.

“Oh, sorry,” he retracts his hug. Damnit. “I’m Warm Ray, what brings you to visit our humble abode? Do you want us to host an event, a marriage, or birthday perhaps? ”

You introduce yourself, and ask, “isn’t this a soup kitchen?”

“It is, but we had to do some reinventing after no creature’s starving anymore. Now we organize events, parties and events.”

“For free?”

“Of course. Not every creature has the room, money, time, nerves for a good party. And our friends love making parties. Currently there isn’t anything to do, and some creature needs to watch over the building. We choose me for that.”

He refers to this ‘we’. Press him on it.

“Who’s this we?”

“WE.” He turns, letting you see his cutie mark, an equal sign, as if it would explain anything.

“I don’t get it.”

“Really? Isn’t that common knowledge? Have you never heard of Our Town, Starlight?”

“I wouldn’t know, I suffer from amnesia.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. We are Equalists from Our Town. We are the real communists. We share everything, food, work, toothbrushes, beds, and all. We are a community, and every neighbor is a friend.”

Equalism: Ask a raving anti-communist what communism is. The chance is high that they barely even know what it is, and they’ll give you a perverted version of it whereby no creature has any individuality. Take this explanation and wear it proudly as a badge: now, you have an Equalist. They all have the same cutie mark.

“Cool.” You say *cooly* “Are you stuck here?”

“It isn’t always so empty here, and we rotate work. We try to avoid division of labor as much as we can.”

Get straight to the point.

“Do you have any food?” you ask.

“OF COURSE! We—I can cook something up for us, I also haven’t eaten anything .” The lone Equalist heads to the kitchen. Not knowing what else to do, you follow.

The kitchen is overequipped and too large for two meals. You should offer to help, you can cook, you need to show him how good you are at cutting vegetables.

Also, it seems rude to sit idly by, while he cooks for you two.

“I can help.”

“You are a guest.”

“But I want to.” You call out almost childishly.

He pauses, looks at you weirdly at your display, “then cut these.”

You two sit at a table in the main hall. Looking around gives you shivers. This place is supposed to be filled with life, friendship, and comradery. Only you two inhabit this vast empty space now. While you munch, the sound reverberates. The outside city sounds that always accompany you are unheard; the walls are too thick.

At least, Warm offers companionship, which keeps any eerie feelings from creeping in. You understand Warm Ray’s initial reaction.

The food is okay.

You should start small talk, that’s what normal creatures do.

While you are eating you strike up conversation.

“Warm, do you have family?”

“The whole Town is our family. But I understand what you mean. I don’t have kids or anything like that, and I left my old family. You?”

“Maybe.” you point at your head, he nods in understanding, “and honestly, I don’t want to find out. What brought you to become an Equalist? Why even leave your old family?”

His ears fold against his head, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

This piques your interest, achieving the opposite of what he wanted. Ask him, crack him open.

Don’t pressure him, it would be mean and hurtful.

Be inconspicuous about it. Give him the option to say nothing.

“Bad memories?”Help him. Forcefully. You need to fix his emotions by squeezing them out off him.

He nods. “I wish I could just leave the past behind. Leave it completely behind like you did.”

This is the second time you heard this. You should keep record of it, it won’t be the last time. Weird how many creatures hate their past. “Have you talked about your problems with your friends?”

He stays silent. He didn’t.

Weird, that is very unlike an Equalist.

That’s a perfect attacking point. It’s time for an amateur therapy session. “You don’t have to talk about your past. But if you want to accept it and process it, it could help if you talk about it.”

Partially true, every creature has their own coping mechanism.

He thinks about it, biting his lip. During his thinking you take another bite out of the food. It could use more salt.

“Is it okay if I give a confessional?” Your gamble worked out.

“Of course, you can unload any emotional stuff. I won’t ridicule you.” You escalate the gamble. “But are you sure you want to talk with a stranger about this.”

“Then let’s be friends.” His demeanor makes a complete turn, he stands on his seat with his hindlegs offering you one forehoof.

“This isn’t like an offer to join your cult?”

“We aren’t a cult.” That’s what every cultist says. “And, no, just friendship offer—” YES! Another friend.

“Yay!” you ignore his hoof, going over the table in excitement, standing on your hindlegs, and giving him a hug, “friends.”

A terrible realization: Quadrupeds aren’t supposed to stand on two legs.

You approach the hug with too much swiftness, which threw you off balance. In panic, you try to save yourself. You grab Warm Ray harder. This didn’t work, instead he falls with you, almost taking the table and everything on it along. His eyes widen in shock.

Impact. The force of gravity distributes itself through your flesh and bones. You take the brunt of the fall. “Sorry,” you say, “I’m so sorry.”

He laughs it off, “don’t worry I’m fine. Are you?” You both scramble back up, sitting next to each other at the table.

“I am.” You calm down. You’re slightly bruised.

“Look, nothing happened.” His attitude changes again, as he remembers the original topic. “Well, here goes nothing.” He takes a short pause thinking how to start his story. “I think it started when I left my parents’ house, when I was a small colt, without a cutie mark or anything to my name. My parents…” he pauses, “I was rebellious and I don’t think I could just return. As a street urchin I had to earn money somehow, and I wasn’t willing to be a thief at this point. I took to gambling, and that’s where I won my cutie mark. I was good at it. I think my cutie mark increased my luck; they do have effects like that.”

Gambling: Gambling laws vary from region to region in Equestria. In some cities he could be committing a crime, in others, like Las Pegasus, he could gamble his whole wealth away. Severyana was infested with gambling, that’s why luck-based games are loathed in Stalliongrad nowadays.

You ask, “and where were you at that time? Was it illegal?”

He nods, “my life’s calling was a crime. I wandered Equestria, saw some corners of it. Even in places where gambling was legal, it didn’t protect me from unscrupulous ponies. After getting beat up in an alley for the umpteenth time for having too much – the house always wins after all – I started to resent it. I hated my life’s calling and whatever that decided it. It was hard to find any real job with it, I didn’t want to work with the casinos, and street gaming isn’t a reliable way of earning money—others didn’t employ me because of my cutie mark, they saw the stupid dice and … you know.” He looks down at the food, boringly poking it.

“And then you found Our Town eventually?”

“They were still recovering from Starlight’s betrayal, the one against her own cause. They changed a lot; they don’t have this brainwashing thing and all that insane crap. They are friendly, invited me in, accepting no matter what, and one thing led to another, the community grew on me. When I properly joined, I was glad I no longer had to see my old cutie mark. It was like a restart.” His voice raised at the end.

“This doesn’t sound so bad. You’ve found a commune, and you’re happy to live with them. Happy end, and all that. Why didn’t you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know. I think I want it to be a true restart.”

That is impossible.

“Warm,” you look him directly in the eyes, “you can forget, but the past’s effects are still there. I can attest to that. My body, for example, my body is an absolute state, even if I can’t remember how I did, and who knows who I left behind.”

“Lost, do—” what is that? You see a clock on the wall. And it strikes – oh no. You quickly stand up.

“Oh, I am sorry, Warm. I have an appointment.” Thank him for the food. “Thanks for the food.”

“Lost, will you visit me again?” You are a friend after all.

“Of course, I’ll see you.”

Author's Note