Of Ponies and Rainstorms

by Bandy

Of Ponies and Rainstorms

Inspired by the song Come Rain or Come Shine by BB King & Eric Clapton. The song adds great effect to the story, and I highly suggest you listen while reading.

The pony sat in the rain. He liked the rain, its cool wetness enveloping him as it fell from the skies. He silently thanked the Pegasus responsible for this cool downpour. Everypony appreciated Pegasus ponies for their sunny days, but no one uttered a word of thanks for the rain these ponies bestowed upon Equestria. All, except him.

He looked around him. The café’s open-aired pavilion was what made it his favorite place to go during storms like these. Its deep, brown walls seemed to emanate the pure essence of drab onto whoever was unlucky enough to sit near them. He didn’t mind. He liked it like that. He liked it that no pony would come to the café on a day like this. He could have the whole place to himself. He liked it that even on a good day, only several ponies could be found slumped in the seats of the café, working off a hangover or writing poetry. He liked the myriad of conversations about past parties and blank verse. He liked it that on a day like this, the owner let him sit outside and simply take in the surroundings, like he was doing just then. He had given the owner more than just good business for this. They were, in fact, close personal friends, occasionally sharing a good drink and reminiscing about the good old’ days.

As the rain fell, he realized just how lucky he was. He was successful, he had friends who cared for him, and he had an outstanding reputation as one of the most amiable ponies in all of Ponyville. But most importantly, he had himself, a rainy day, and a cup of coffee, slowly growing lukewarm since it left the heat and shelter of the coffee machine some time ago. He took the cup in a worn hoof, and sipped it. The blast of heat from the drink perked him up slightly.

A pony passed by the shop, an umbrella held tightly against their side to prevent the wind from taking it. He laughed at the pony, a small, horse chuckle escaping from his lips as he stared at the pony. This one would never know how freeing the rain could be, how simply standing in its delicate embrace would rid your mind of all troubles, big or small. The rain did more than just help plants grow. How so many people dismissed this was beyond him.

The owner of the shop, a worn, grey earth pony with a moustache appeared behind him, wiping his hooves with a towel. They stood that way for some time, simply taking in the storm at length. Finally, the owner spoke up. “I’m closing early. Nopony’s gonna stop by with THIS weather.”

“That’s a darn shame, too.” replied the pony sitting in front of him.

“It sure is… It sure is…” the owner trailed off for a moment, lost in the quiet serenity the rain provided. “Well,” he said, coming back to his senses, “I’m gonna go home. Key’s behind the picture where it always is.” He gestured at the solitary piece of artwork hanging on the wall. It was made as a gift by a patron of the café who just happened to be an artist, an abstract piece made from several mellow watercolors slipping and sliding across the canvass, fighting for control of one’s attention.

“Gotcha. Thanks again, man,” replied the sitting pony, eager to be alone with his thoughts once more. The shop owner patted the pony on the shoulder, then wandered away, not bothering to defend himself against the rain. He enjoyed it just as much as the lone pony in the café did.

He was alone again. The only sound that could be heard was the unceasing pitter-patter of raindrops cascading onto the earth below. The pony looked at his cup. It had once been filled with coffee. Now the only thing in it was a few drops of the now cold liquid clinging to the bottom. He got up, and tossed the empty sup in the trash. He heard a slight decrescendo in the rain’s pounding on the earth. He turned to look out at the sky. Clouds above his head began to dissipate, becoming white and fluffy at the loss of their moisture. He exhaled sadly, knowing that this storm was coming to an end. He was always saddened at this, but the thought was counteracted by the knowledge that most ponies could go about their day and enjoy themselves without rain to bog them down. At least others could be happy.

The rest of the clouds gradually parted, revealing the great ball of fire that gave life to the world. Eventually, the remainder of the clouds dissipated, and ponies began to wander the streets. He shook his mane slightly, letting its wet strands fall onto his back and shoulders. A passerby stopped and looked at him, noticing his disheveled and wet appearance.

“That was some storm, eh?” inquired the passerby.

The pony stole a glance at the sky, now devoid of clouds completely. He sighed. “It certainly was… It certainly was.”