//------------------------------//
// Letter 7 
// Story: Sincerely, Ragamuffin 
// by Homage 
//------------------------------//

Dear Princess Celestia,
I know it has been over a year since my last letter, but things have been so bad the past 16 months that I didn't have the energy to write to you.  But after learning what I did today, I feel compelled to explain to you how I feel.  I asked Mom today about her story of Equestria again for the first time in over  a year.  Mom then told me that since I am now a big pony (even though I still don't have my cutie mark), I am ready to handle the truth.  It turns out that my mother didn't make up the story about your kingdom of Equestria at all.  Every single word was true.  Equestria really exists, and it is right next door to Coltistan.  Princess, to think I thought that I was writing letters to an imaginary pony, when you really do exist.  You might think that hearing the news that there really is a place where ponies are happy and live together in harmony would make me feel happy, but it only fills me with rage.  How can a prosperous nation such as yours, which professes love, happiness, tolerance, and peace, continue to function without ever having lifted a single hoof to help the miserable ponies here in Coltistan?  I'm sure my family aren't the only ponies in Coltistan (besides the bandits) and I'm positive that they are just as depressed as we are.  Our harvest has suffered severely this year due to the ongoing drought, and we can barely feed ourselves.  Because of the drought, the bandits attack our farm nearly once a week now.  Five months ago, they attacked while Jackfruit, Pear, and I were outside planting in the fields.  Dad and Mom were out looking for food, so Pear, who was the first to notice the group of ponies in the distant horizon, told us to gallop into the barn and grab weapons from the stash behind a pile of barrels.  We only had two guns between us, a hunting rifle and a revolver.  Pear had more experience using guns, so she took the hunting rifle, and Jackfruit grabbed the pistol.  I took one of our machetes in my mouth and crouched down inside the barn, waiting for the bandits to come.  They approached the barn, blurting out obscenities and nasty threats of what they would do to us.  There were at least five bandits, and two guns between them.  One of the guns was wielded by a winged mare (Dad called them Pegasus ponies), whom hovered slightly above the ground.  Three Earth pony stallions carried clubs with nails through them.  The remaining two bandit ponies, a gray-coated stallion and mare, each had a horn on their head.  They did not carry their arms in their mouths like we did; their weapons, a crowbar and a rusty shotgun, simply floated in front of them.  Mom told me that ponies with horns were called unicorns and they could do magic.  I was afraid that they their magic would allow them to find us, but it would seem that magic doesn't work that way.  When they got close to our barn, Prickly Pear told us to stay down, and she fired her rifle at the Pegasus from our barn window.  Pear is a good shot, and the winged mare fell, spiraling downwards before hitting the ground with a loud thud.  The smallest of the Earth ponies spat out his club and yelled, “Holy hay, they're armed!” and turned around and galloped away, along with the rest of the ponies, save for the unicorn mare.  She grimaced at us, having noticed the direction of the shot, and her horn began to glow a bright orange.  Prickly Pear tried to shoot her, but the old hunting rifle jammed.  Jackfruit tried as well, but he was shaking badly and his shots all missed.  Suddenly, the unicorn's horn stopped glowing, and she gave an evil smirk before turning around and galloping away.  I noticed her cutie mark was a lit candle.  We remained in the barn for a few more minutes to catch our breath, but Jackfruit noticed a burning smell.  We turned around and realized that the barn was going up in flames!  We immediately got up and tried to gallop to the open door, but a large piece of burning timber fell and blocked it.  We made a dash for the closed double doors, and Jackfruit managed to reach them in time to force them open and escape.  But I heard a scream from behind, and I turned to see Prickly Pear trapped under a huge piece of burning wood.   I tried as hard as I could to force the wood off of her, but I just wasn't strong enough.  I called out to Jackfruit, but he was still galloping away at full speed and didn't hear me.  By this time, Pear told me that I should just go and save myself.  Stupid me, I listened to her.  I fled that barn as fast as I could, and it collapsed behind me in a pile of cinders.  My parents came home soon after, and I flung myself at them, crying.  I know that I couldn't really have done anything to save Prickly Pear, but the image of my sister being roasted alive under a support beam is permanently burned into my memory.  I try to remember the good things: her generosity and kindness, her eagerness to help and her positive attitude, her amazing talent for decoration and renovation, and most of all how she helped make life on the farm more bearable for the rest of the family.  But her absence has made the rest of us even more miserable, and I can't stop wishing that it was me who died and not Pear.  I don't cry anymore.  I can't shed tears of sadness when I have no other feelings.

Sincerely,
Ragamuffin