Where am I going to eat?
At the Ponyville schoolhouse, a green haired colt stepped past the threshold and into the outside world. The forecast called for cloudy with no chance of rain and sure enough, the skies painted the playground drab greens and lifeless browns. He wished he could sprout wings or had alicorn-level magic to start a downpour, anything to force everyone back inside and end recess early.
Alas, he was but a plain unicorn pony in a town full of strangers. Although Ponyville had been his new home for a weekend, in the grand scheme of things, nothing really changed for him. Granted, the weather was much cooler than the roasting oven that was Hoofington and – today notwithstanding – he had a clear view of Canterlot. With a lower cost of living, he had a bump in allowance and promises for nicer toys. He even had a bedroom where he could take many steps without running into a wall. For just about anypony, this would be an improvement.
Unlike his parents, though, he left Hoofington with tears without heartfelt goodbyes. To the children at his old school, he was part of the furniture, always there but ever silent. Even the teacher – that old and cantankerous mare – had forgotten to announce he was leaving until seconds before the final bell. That short time span was when he received the most acknowledgement of his existence. Even so, the hastily cobbled together words from the class rang hollow, every one of them only furthering the pain that they would forget him once they went on the merry way home. Indeed, he was the last one out the door and as he trudged down the roads, the same ponies passed by him without even batting an eyelash.
Then, a glimmer of optimism. Somepony called out to him, Snails, or so he believed. An actual snail had fascinated a nearby filly by slithering through the grass. Apparently, the hierarchy in this town had woodland creatures above him.
Standing here on the doorstep, he felt Ponyville would be more of the same. The one normally teaching class, a Miss Cherilee, had come down with the flu. Replacing her was another olden pony, a hunchback stallion with what were more like two jars on top of his face than eyewear. Right from the start, he believed his mere presence at this school was a mistake.
“We don’t have a Snails on the roster,” the old fool had lisped aloud.
On cue, the entire classroom started snickering. He hid behind the flagpole, a reflex to his crimson blush.
Once the substitute realized he was reading off last year’s list, he didn’t even get a second for a formal introduction. The substitute sent him to the last seat in the back; class was already running behind.
In retrospect, the old stallion did him a big favor. He had nothing interesting to say in front of foreigners. Snails was a colt sans a personality, intelligence or ponies he could call friends. His parents had boring jobs and he found his special talent purely by accident. That was it, nothing more to his miserable and reclusive life.
Since none of his new classmates tried conversation with him, he may just finish the day without hearing his own voice. That was no surprise to him. He spoke so little, he could get through the day with a head motion. If someone tried to talk to him right now, they wouldn’t hear it anyways; the blue lunchbox secured by his teeth would’ve reduced it to mumbling. Then again, anonymity was far better that dropping his food and draw attention. Mockery for spillage or his dorky slow voice, he wanted neither. Survive the day; he had that as his one goal.
If I can just find a quiet place for lunch—
Snails put a foreleg forward but moved it back. Ahead of him was the lion’s den. In the classroom behind the closed Schoolhouse door, even a senile authoritative figure could manage some semblance of control thanks to the four walls surrounding him. Out here in the jungle, the old coot was an insignificant bug walking about with a cane, delivering unheard orders to stop running or keep the sand inside the box. Realizing the futility of his efforts, he leaned against a tree and began snoring.
The colts playing on the slides pushed even harder to touch the skies. Two fillies tussled over who was next on the seesaw. One pony wearing a tiara feasted on an orange pegasus, taunting her for being a blank flank. He noted to avoid her altogether, unaware whether his snail cutie mark would also earn him some cry-inducing teasing.
Finally, an idea prompted him to leave the steps. Why risk choosing what’s around him when he can head in the other direction, he thought. Tight grip on his lunchbox, he ensured every step disturbed as little grass as possible. Yet his ears flinched with every excruciating crunch. Surely, somepony would soon notice his noisy racket, like that giggling filly chasing a ball that rolled right into his path. Then again, she seemed nice enough on the outside: glowing smile, curled hair and a white unicorn to boot. Maybe, just maybe this would be… never mind. She retrieved her lost ball and returned to her playmates with plenty time to spare.
So much for that.
A despondent sigh later, he continued ahead to the field behind the schoolhouse. Better, much better. A few stout ponies played tetherball but compared to what he saw at the front, this was paradise. He even found a perfect spot to eat, a tree right by the picket fence. It had shade, plenty of soft grass at the base and a thick enough trunk to obstruct the view from most onlookers. Still, he had to reach it first undetected and when the other souls in the area started arguing about who knows what, he cantered to his shelter.
Sitting on the ground, he placed down his lunch pail and flipped open the lid. Hay juice – his favorite – and a plain sandwich awaited his impatient stomach but he was in no hurry. Despite the time lost at the steps, he still had a few agonizing minutes of recess left. Therefore, he nibbled on the crust and savored every drop of juice until the bell declared this break over.
While more class lay ahead, he was out of sight at the rear of the classroom. Before he knew it, he completed the dreary cycle of a school day as he thought it would. He was nobody at this school and therefore, had nothing to say to his parents other than a few mumbles. That was okay for they had better things to do, like going out and meet new adult friends.
In the meantime, he stared out his bedroom window while creating a friend made out of what little imagination he had. The one he had made in the prior town, Straw, had left him to avoid being a reminder of how insignificant he was back in Hoofington. Of course, this new imaginary friend would likely leave him too one day, through another move or because he would find Snails too boring to call a friend.
For now, Snails named him Hay and he kept him company. By his definition, that meant standing there and responding to whatever Snails said with a headshake or a nod. That was all Snails needed, though, until it was time for bed. Although he wished for good dreams, he never got one. A nightmare would’ve at least given him something to talk about in the morning but alas, those also never came. Instead , he woke up and then went to the kitchen to munch on some cereal. His mother chirped away about something, blissfully unaware of his perpetual rut.
Skies partly cloudy, Snails made the long trek through the town center and toward the schoolhouse. Hay may have been walking next to him but with other school kids around, Snails couldn’t say anything to him. Well, he could’ve at the expense of his dignity. No, he had to wait until recess and retreat to his tree. Here, he could wallow in self-pity for this was his fate, a colt in the shadows, underserving to shine under the sun.
Then, a portly pony sat on top of Hay and snuffed him out of existence, forever.
Snails blinked a few times. Either he has truly lost his mind or this was a living breathing unicorn sitting in front of him. Then, he burped loud enough to shake some leaves loose.
Am I seeing things?
The newcomer began rambling about wanting to eat away from everypony else. This was his first day and thanks to inattentive parents, he arrived quite late for school but just in time for recess. Three fat jokes within a minute of being here, this short pale green colt told him. He too spotted this tree and declared it his personal safe zone. He wasn’t expecting another refugee but he would welcome the company. That was if Snails wouldn’t mock his bloated physique as well.
Easiest answer in the world, if he could just spit it out. “I–I would never do that.”
In return, he got his name – Snips – and even a promise to play together after they finished their snacks. Just like that, Ponyville was full of color. This stranger may just become a friend, a real one at that. Sure, there was no guarantee but this was a start, a chance, a reason to smile.
Maybe things would be different here after all.