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// Part 1: The Store – XVII 
// Story: Trolley Pushers 
// by Acologic 
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‘Well...’ he said. ‘Well, well, well, well, well.’

He laughed. Ale saw his face in the mirror. Farl wasn’t in, which was good. It meant he could speak. He had a lot to say.

‘Poor you,’ he said in a whisper. ‘You’ve really got it so hard, don’t you. Such a hard life. Such a pointless existence. Oh, how my heart bursts with pain and empathy. Ha. Or not.’

He smirked, walked out of the bathroom and began to pace the flat.

‘Well, well,’ he said quietly, pacing slowly, smirking, chuckling. ‘Well, well, well. So. What is it, then, my friend? What is it you’re troubled by? Ponies are being mean to you? Oh dear. Oh, look at the poor lad. Poor, poor boy. Let me wipe away the tears. Kiss it better? Ha. Mmm.’

He draped himself over his chair, leaning his head backwards so that the blood rushed to his head, smiling all the while. ‘Ahhh. The comforts of this world. The comfort you live in. You spoilt, arrogant, useless little worm. The lack of gratitude is staggering. So you feel upset, do you? That’s such a shame. I’m sure the world is bleeding for you. What a shame, my friend.’

He pulled himself up with a sigh, then smiled widely. ‘So. To business. The problem? What is the problem, you little worm? What are you wasting your time with now?’

Ale wasn’t sure he liked hearing his feelings dismissed as a waste of time, but he supposed, in a way, sometimes they were. He could concede that. But he wasn’t quite sure what he was getting at yet so waited.

‘A strange happening, that little mishap at work today, mm? Mmm. Very strange. Yes. Young Hull seems to have survived the ordeal. I’m sure you’re bosom companions now. Best friends. No? Now why is that? Was he not kind to you? I swear, he was perfectly polite.’

But polite meant nothing, Ale knew. He was polite to a lot of ponies himself. It didn’t mean anything. He wasn’t a friend to any of those with whom he behaved politely. In fact, the only friends he had were those to whom he was rude, impatient, irritable and angry. His mother. His father sometimes. His brothers. He couldn’t think of anypony else.

‘Ha. Yes. Polite does mean nothing. To you. Didn’t you hear your mother? Not everypony thinks as you do, young Ale. Oh, you poor, misunderstood little urchin. My heart bleeds, I tell you. Everything revolves around you. It’s all about you, isn’t it? Oh, what a stunted little shit you are. It makes me so happy to see you are capable of realising that. And of course, you do nothing about it.’

And why should I? Ale thought back immediately.

‘Why? Because you’re an idiot if you think the world spins for you, you selfish dolt. I don’t take issue with your self-centredness. But I am deeply disappointed that you think it translates into everyday life. You think anyone gives a shit about you? You said it yourself. They don’t. Why would they owe you anything? Can a pony not behave as a pony wishes to? Who will stop them? You?’

But I don’t want to stop them, thought Ale. I want them to leave me alone, the little shits. Can’t everything just leave me alone.

‘Everything. An interesting choice of word.’ And Ale sighed with defeat, knowing he’d reached a key point he’d been avoiding. ‘So. This little mishap. What’s bothering you? And don’t give me shit about moving potholes. You don’t actually care, do you? If it’s paranormal, or impossible, or unusual, or improbable. You don’t give a shit. You just pretend to because you think you should. Who cares? You don’t. You only care because you think it’ll trap you. You don’t want to be stuck with ponies. You don’t want to be there. You didn’t want to be there today, when Hull fell. When Elm came to help. When you and Lime pulled him out. “It’s bothering me”, you said. Hah! What a lie! You don’t give a shit! What bothers you, my slippery little truth-dodging friend, is responsibility! You don’t want ponies to expect anything of you! And because they did, you were happy to disappear. You wanted to. You would have let Hull die if it meant you were free of responsibilities.’

But Hull wasn’t in any real danger.

‘And you didn’t know that until it happened to become known. You didn’t care. You wanted to escape because helping demands too much energy. And you’re so selfish, you think all that energy belongs to you. Don’t be afraid to admit it. Confess, you little shit. Confess.’

I would never let a pony die because it discomfits me.

‘Wouldn’t you? We’re talking in extremes because that’s what you understand. I’ll concede that maybe you wouldn’t. But out of selfishness and fear. Because you wouldn’t want that floating over your conscience. Not because you actually give a shit about anypony. What a hoot this is. I expose your little games, unravel your knots and your riddles so easily. You try so desparately to bury the truth, and I can dig it out of you in one stroke. Your emotions are entirely selfish. Your petulant little outburst was guilt. Your mother saw that too. Look at you! You can’t even admit it!’

Ale wouldn’t admit it. Because it wasn’t true. He knew that. He knew he cared. A little. Not much, it was true. But a little. He didn’t like Hull, no. But he didn’t dislike him. He also didn’t owe him anything. He was feeling bad was all. A reaction to a stressful, unusual, distressing day. 

‘Ha. Of course you will tell yourself that. Of course you will. But you know, don’t you. You know. I do. I’ll make sure you remember.’

He found that he had entered the kitchen. He pushed the kettle on, smirking.

‘The luxuries. The luxuries you have. It’s incredible. Be grateful. But I know you won’t.’ He smiled. ‘Until next time, then, my friend. Enjoy your life. I’ll enjoy watching you struggle to.’

That was all he had to say, and it left Ale feeling hollow, empty, thin, weak and tired. Very tired.