//------------------------------// // I'm not pretending // Story: Happy Ending // by not plu //------------------------------// The train car is a bubble, but not a warm one. I’ve always loved traveling, just for the sake of traveling. Trains and chariots are comfortable bubbles: they’re safe and neutral and have a definite beginning and end. The in-between places, somepony once said to me. I don’t remember who, though. But this bubble is anything but comfortable. It’s cold and empty, save for me and Dinky. Ponies don’t exactly visit where we’re going very often, even though the visitation windows are sparse. Sometimes it seems as if they’ve done everything to even discourage ponies from going. But unfortunately, we have to go, legally. We still haven’t spoken, not yet. Occasionally, I glance over to her, but she always averts her eyes. I can sense she wants to say something, but I doubt she will. “Mama?” “It’s Golden Harvest.” I mumble, almost inaudibly. She glances down anyway. I doubt I’m capable of feeling real guilt, but I attempt to fix it anyway with a smile. “What is it, Dinky?” “Um, I was just wondering... where we’re going.” “Dinky, we go every month.” I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. “I’ve told you. To see your mother. Your real mother.” “Well yeah, I know. But more like... why?” “Why are we seeing your mother?” “Um, sorta. I know that the... law ponies said we have to, but I guess I mean like... why can’t I- why am I not... with her?” My mind immediately recalls all the training I’d been given for this moment. The pamphlets. The meetings with the therapists. Cartoon drawings of smiling foals, and sad ones, and patient-looking ponies and pretty meadows seep into my mind's eye. I can remember all the things I’m supposed to say, sure. I just want to set that straight. “The court said your real mom isn’t good enough to be taking care of a foal.” She’s silent. My mind, immediately reacting to the (very wrong) choice I made, slips into a memory. “You can’t just live in denial like this. This is real. And you’re gonna have to deal with this. I’m trying my best, Golden, but we share this burden. We have to. I don't even think you understand. Sometimes you can be so bucking selfish...” It was warm then. I’m not sure if Dinky really understands what I meant. Even though I said it as simply as possible. Either way, she stays silent. For a while, at least. “Mama?” I turn my head and look at her. “What’s being a farmpony like?” I ask her why she wants to know. She smiles slightly, and launches into full story mode, babbling about all the things Script has told her about his job. Her smile grows larger as she continues, and her cold aura seems to melt, as if the bubble were forming again. If she can spread warmth, I might as well try. I smile, gently, like a... mother would. “Well, my job’s not nearly that interesting. It’s a lot of work, really. But there can be fun times, too. You spend a lot of time with family, all of them.” “I think that would be great.” She beams up at me, but my gaze turns toward the window and the snow-covered scenery rushing past. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.” The warmth seems to be fading. Maybe it was just my imagination: just stupid hope. I instead attempt to change the subject by asking Dinky about school. She likes talking about school. My mind blocks her out. I don’t like to think of her as a mistake, because that implies responsibility. I wasn’t the one sleeping around, or whatever, yet I’m the one who’s stuck with the foal. It could’ve been anypony. I mean, Derpy was friends with plenty of other ponies. Hell, she still has family. Not sure if they’re on speaking terms, though. She was even relatively close with the Elements. I’m sure one of them would’ve jumped at the chance to take her. Would’ve been perfectly content to sit on a train, listening to her immaturity, instead of dreading the day for weeks. I was perfectly happy before Dinky came along, but now that bubble’s been popped, and I still have to act like everything’s fine. It’s not. The whistle blows, signaling the stop is near. I interrupt Dinky mid-sentence to tell her to get ready. She probably knows I wasn’t listening. I carefully put all my layers back on, and the warmth creeps back into my skin. As Dinky struggles to tie her scarf using only her magic, I look out the window. The town (and therefore, the station) grows larger by the second. We stand in silence as the train slows to a stop, simply breathing. Getting off trains is always the same. You’re always surprised when the bubble pops, I guess. Dinky nearly clings to me as we exit the station, maybe from cold or fright or anxiety or maybe just from immaturity. I try to shake her off, to no avail. As we enter the real world, I look up, reflexively. And there, my eyes meet my fate. Somewhere, a bubble shatters. It’s not mine.