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