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1083 5.93 KB 117
1083 5.93 KB 117
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Author: DangerousAmoeba
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Pastebin URL: sU1xrDwK.html
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Date: Jan 9th, 2017
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"Barley Creak, ain't that the name of that mare who use'ta live in the box?"
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>Most ponies barely remember anything more.
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>You'll never forget, her.
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"Why you always writing her name on napkins, Anon? Did ya know her?"
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>You think the question in your head.
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>Can you really say you knew her?
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>"No not really."
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>That is the truth. You knew her no more than most other ponies in this town.
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"Then why you keep writing her name? Whatever happen to her anyway?"
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>’whatever happened to her’
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>You hear that a lot, but more in passing.
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>She leans in, you know her.
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>She’s a caring soul.
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>Maybe this is what you needed.
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>Someone else to hear her story, as hard as it will be to tell.
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>You lean your head back, and close your eyes.
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>"Barley freak had but one thing to her own."
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>’freak’ was the nickname the colts and fillies gave her.
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>Her real name was ‘Barley Creak’, named after her hometown, which was abandoned after a fire.
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>You remember that cold rainy night, when you met her.
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>The kind that makes a pony shiver no matter how thick her coat.
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>”Three weight ounce, pure golden ring, with oh precious stone.
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>You describe the object in hand.
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>Your mind remembers it perfectly.
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>Gleaming gold, a dark stone right on the center, cut out like the right side of a heart.
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>Delicate, complex engraving all around.
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>”five nights without a bite, no place to lay her head.”
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>Everyone knew the mares poor condition.
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>No one ever did anything about it.
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>”And if nobody takes her in, she’d soon be dead.”
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>You remember seeing her for the first time.
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>Alone sitting in her box in a corner of an alleyway.
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>You saw her often, knew she existed, but never noticed her as anything more than another rock on the road.
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>”On the street she spied my face, I heard her hail.”
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>A part of you would have wanted to ignore her and leave. Maybe that part had a point.
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>For she told you a story you dare not repeat.
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>Even your heart can barely contain that tale.
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>”In our plot of frozen space she told her tale.”
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>Perhaps you where blind that day.
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>Or the rain hid your tears, but that saga should have forced a better person to do something more.
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>”Poor mare, she took my hand.”
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>You remember her bringing her frail hoof forward, placing a thing into your palm.
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>Entrusting you without payment.
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>A gleaming ring you immediately knew was valuable.
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>”So righteous was her need…”
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>That ring wasn’t just a gold band to her.
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>It was something much more.
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>It wasn’t just a valuable possession but a mark of who she was.
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>If only you had seen that, on that day.
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>But you didn’t…
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>”And me so wise, I bought her prize for chicken feed.”
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>You didn’t know the value of the ring, but you knew you lowballed her.
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>She gladly took the money, without questions or haggling.
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>”New found cash, soon begged to smash a state of mind.”
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>She needed the money, perhaps for food.
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>Or maybe she knew exactly what she wanted.
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>”Close inspection fast revealed her favorite kind.”
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>You remember her afterwards.
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>All up her hoof, the marks where there.
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>Small pricks of red, all along her otherwise beautiful though malnourished body.
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>”Poor kid. She overdid, embraced the spreading haze…”
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>That haze must have been bliss in her position.
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>Lost, alone, broken living in a box in an alleyway.
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>”And while she sighed her body died in fifteen ways.”
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>Maybe it’s what she wanted.
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>Maybe you’ll tell yourself that.
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>You where there, you where the last person she spoke to.
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>You shouldn’t have even gone back, you didn’t deserve to see her face again.
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>”When I heard I grabbed a cab to where she lay.”
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>When one of your friends told you the mare was found dead.
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>You don’t know what compelled you, but you remember being told and being there, nothing in between.
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>That night was clear, like the heavens opened to let the saintly mare quick passage.
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>”Around her arm a paper tag read D.O.A.”
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>You saw her, before the doctors put her in the coffin.
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>The coffin for those found without known kin.
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>She wasn’t even given a funeral. Just picked her up like trash and buried her in the easiest spot, in a simply marked grave.
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>Maybe you where the last person to see her.
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>Her tired sleepless eyes finally finding rest.
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>You saw her body, relaxed.
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>Like a sleeping bride on her wedding night.
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>There was one thing missing, a small patch of matted fur around her hoof.
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>Something belonged there, something, you took from her.
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>”Yes jack!”
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>You yell, trying to justify it.
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>To who? You don’t know. Maybe to yourself. Maybe to the mare, maybe even to her.
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>Maybe you made mistakes all along, but that final action.
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>That was the right choice.
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>”I gave it back! That ring I could not own.”
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>That ring was hers and hers alone.
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>It was meant for her, meant to her.
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>You weren’t to take it.
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>”Now come my friend, take my hand…”
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>The staff was short of ponies that day.
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>You held the mare by her hooves, lifting her up for the personnel to put her on the coffin bed.
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>”I’ll lead you home.”
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>Maybe you were too lost that day to think straight.
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>But you wished her a safe journey home.
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>The ring was where it belonged, with her arms crossed.
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>You swear you saw a smile that wasn’t there before.
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>You followed the wagon to the graveyard.
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>where she was lowered into a hole, with a wooden block of a headstone.
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>And the dirt was pushed into the hole, letting her finally rest.
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>--
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>When you open your eyes, you realize you can barely see through the tears.
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>The mare who was serving you also has wet bloodshot eyes.
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>This empty restaurant is where another soul will hear her story.
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>The mare puts a shaking hoof on your hand, which is resting on your thigh.
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>You think it’s for comfort.
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>Until you spy a small shimmer.
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>A little gold on the mares hoof, you focus on.
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>A gleaming band, black stone, cut like the left side of a heart.
by rmp
by rmp
by rmp