Hayseed and I stared at his drunken father. He was truly a mess. I’m honestly surprised that he didn’t die of liver failure years earlier. I guess the Turnip Trucks have good genetics.
What upset me the most wasn’t the fact that this mess was going to be our only hope, as I had resigned myself to death in the first five seconds of the games, but rather that Hayseed jr. had to deal with him as a father. We would have one week of prep in Canterlot, and the whole time this sad inebriated excuse of a stallion was going to be representing us. Hayseed jr. had absolutely no chance.
“C’mon, dad, lets get you cleaned up.” Hayseed hoisted his dad over to the bathrooms. The drunk smiled lazily at me.
“Remember, shweetflanksh, if yah ever need a real shtallyun, I’ll be in th’ room righ’ o’er there!” I cringed at the thought of what might entail if I followed through on his offer. I actually found myself nauseous. Another twang of pity arose, this time not only just for Hayseed jr., but for them both. It was truly a sorry sight.
I sighed, and grabbed a napkin from the table and attempted to clean up his sick. I gave up right after the first few moments, instead electing to go to the back of the train and watch the sunset. We would be in Canterlot by tomorrow.
It was a peaceful evening outside. We were heading down the tracks through a forest. The moon slowly rose, and I tried to envision a time when Luna rose the moon. It must have been nice, back then.
I used this time to reflect on how my life had changed in the past few hours. My mother, who was heartbroken and suicidal. My father, who tried to desperately keep my mother under control. Roseluck, who had just lost her best friend...
I looked down at the tracks, how the train sped over them, how we whizzed by everything so quickly. The first tear was soft, slowly beginning its long and lonely journey to the ground I across my cheek, before slipping off and plummeting to the floor of the platform I was on. The others followed, pouring down my grey furred cheeks. Do all ponies react this way when faced with certain death? I doubted that the careers cried like this, even though they knew that they would probably die.
I thought of the orange filly, from District 6. She had nearly been in tears by the time she had gotten up to the platform. I thought of the colt from District 4, and the colts from 7 and 8... why did Discord have to be so cruel? Why didn’t anypony try to stop him?
I hadn’t even noticed that Hayseed jr. had shown up. “Hey.” He came over and sat by me. His cheeks were stained with not yet dry tears. “I came to watch the sunset. Didn’t know fancy folks like you did the same.”
I laughed, which felt odd. Conflicting, really, given my circumstance. “I’m not that fancy. The mayor and several others were way fancier than me and my family, and I’m sure they watched the sunset as well.”
Hayseed smiled. “Well, you’re always wearing that bowtie. Where is it? I kinda liked it.”
I shrugged. “Who knows? I left it off when I came to the Reaping, it’s probably still at home in my drawer.”
“And then there’s that pin. Where’d you get it? It’s nice.”
“This? My friend Roseluck gave it to me.” I looked at Hayseed. He avoided my gaze for a few seconds, then looked over.
“How did you get so good at the cello? I’ve heard you play before. It was... amazing.”
“I dunno. It was a natural talent, I guess. That’s why I got my cutie mark for it.”
Hayseed sighed and looked off into the woods. I followed his gaze off into the woods. I could have sworn I saw a pony in the shadows... my mind was starting to play tricks on me. Hayseed turned his head to look at me. “I wish I had something useful... nope, I got a drunk dad and a talent for picking turnips. Whoop-dee-doo.”
I was going to answer him, but at that moments, something incredible happened. As we stared out into the wild, the woods gave way to the ruins of a town. We passed by the train station, and overlooked the town square. A large, faded sign read “Ponyville.”
“Ponyville...” I muttered. “I guess this is one of the pre-war towns.” Hayseed nodded, still staring in awe at the ruins. I say “ruins” in the sense that the place was deserted, because most of the buildings were in fine condition. I guess for some reason, Canterlot never bothered with this place. I assume Discord sent out scavenging teams. Tech from before the war is prized in Canterlot for parts. I bet District 3 would kill to get their hands of some pre-war tech.
The sun was fully down by now, and the cold wind rustled through our manes. We would be reaching Canterlot by around two tomorrow, giving us six hours of cosmetic prep before the opening ceremony. I wasn’t looking forward to being dressed up like a clown and paraded in front of two hundred thousand or so strangers, not to mention the countless numbers who lived in the other Districts.
We went back inside, not speaking as we headed to our respective rooms.
“Night,” Hayseed said, opening his door and going into the room.
“Night.” I did the same, and observed the place I was to spend the night. another TV was in there, turned off. There was a bed, and not much else, but the room looked nice. A painting of Discord was hanging above my bed. He was wearing his suit, and had his white rose in his lapel. He sickened me. I didn't want him watching me sleep. I took the painting, headed outside, and chucked it off into the tracks behind us. It splintered upon making contact. I knew Hoity Toity would be angry at me, but I didn’t care.
I returned to my room, and layed down. The bed was soft and comfortable, much softer then my bed at home. I tried to enjoy it, but was reminded of the people in my district who slept on old, bare, stained mattresses in the street. I tossed and turned for who knows how long before finally drifting off into unconsciousness.
My dreams were filled with the homeless all trying to get into my house to sleep in my bed. I had to keep denying them, and they got angry. They turned into a mod, trying to break down my door. I had to give them my cello to get them to leave. I turned around to see Roseluck holding a white rose in her mouth. She transformed into Discord, who smiled menacingly down at me, before holding up a pistol, like the ones the unicorn peacekeepers carried, and shot me in the face. I woke up in a cold sweat.
Heading to the window, I saw that it was day. The sunlight felt warm on my coat, and I just stayed there, basking in its rays. I heard a sharp knocking on my door, and ran over to check on it. It was Hayseed jr.
“Come on. Let’s head to breakfast. It’s almost noon.”
Hoity Toity and Hayseed sr. were already at the table. Hoity Toity was spreading a thin blue cream on a single crumpet, while Hayseed sr. was nursing a sparkling water. He must be extremely hung over. I resisted the urge to shout as loudly as I could in his ear.
“So, dad,” Hayseed jr. began, “What are you going to teach us about the games?”
Hayseed sr. grunted. “What? There’s nothing to teach. You’ll most likely die. Nothing I can do to change that. In fact, I know you’re not going to make it out, jr. Sorry, the odds are against you.”
I looked in disgust at our mentor. “How can you say that? He’s your son! Give him some encouragement, at least!”
The drunk cracked a grin. “What, and lie to him? You’ve got more a chance then him, and you’ve already resigned yourself to suicide!” I gasped. How did he know that? Seeing my startled expression, he went on.
“Oh, believe me, Sweetflanks, I know. You’ve got that look, that energy around ya. You’ve already given up! You know how many tributes I’ve gotten in the past twenty-four years who just gave up like you did? I can’t remember, drink has a way of doin’ that to ya, but I’ll tell you one thing. Not one of those tributes went through with that plan of ‘stepping off the plate’ or ‘giving themselves up to the careers.’ You wanna know why?” Hayseed sr. put both of his hooves on the table, and put his face very close to mine. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. Actually, it would be more accurate to say I smelled his breath on the alcohol. He continued, this time his voiced lowered.
“You wanna know why? Because when it came down to it, they didn’t have the guts to go and do it. Their basic instincts kicked in, and they fought like hell. Sure, many died in the bloodbath, or were killed in the first few days. But a few had the mettle to pull through. Your sister, for example. She was the mare in the ninth set of tributes I had gotten. She fought hard. I believe her kill count was seven. She made it down to the final five. Pity that she was watching where she was going. That stallion from 3 sure knows his stuff.” A stared into his eyes, cold hatred seething through me.
“How dare you bring my sister into this. I’m not my sister.”
Hayseed laughed coldly. “Obviously. She actually knew what she was doing. You... well, the less said the better.”
I was getting ready to punch him right in his ugly face when he suddenly grabbed a very long serrated knife and lunged it at me. Time seemed to slow down as I grabbed the handle with my hooves and forced it down into the table. It sunk in halfway down the blade.
“That is mahogany!” Hoity Toity exclaimed in distress.
“No one cares, you fashion whore,” Hayseed barked at Hoity Toity. The stallion opened his mouth in horror and shock, but Hayseed cut him off and turned back to me. “Sweetflanks, trust me, life ain’t grand if you do win. Especially for the mares. You’ll just end up a Canterlot whore, starving in the streets, addicted to all sorts of drugs you couldn’t even pronounce. Death would be better. Trust me, I would know.” Hayseed jr. stared at his dad in awe. I’m guessing he had never heard his dad talk about the Games before.
Hayseed sr. put his hoof to his head. “Dammit, all that talking is making my head pound. i’m gonna finish this up. To put it bluntly, death is the prefered option if you're a mare. This system rips mares apart. But I want you to at least try. There’s no way I’m having one of my tributes kill themselves. So... don’t try to win, but don’t give up. And if you do happen to win...” Hayseed chuckled darkly “Goddess help you.”