//------------------------------// // Some Ponies Must Choose // Story: My Little Haiku // by q97randomguy //------------------------------// Long Haul brings the mail. He must go both far and wide. It is his true love. In his home city, Baltimare, he greets the morn, Rising with the sun. The mail run won’t wait For snow nor rain nor heat nor Those with bleary eyes. He minds the hour not. His wings long for open air And exertion’s burn. Ascending, he goes Package-laden on his quest To deliver mail. Pulling a huge cart, Long Haul watches below. There! A familiar face. He sees her, earth-bound, Staring up as he passes. A flash of beauty. Then gone, like always. No stopping with these bundles. Farther and higher. The ground slips away, Becoming a patchwork quilt. Each tree is a dot. Earth slips by below, A moving mosaic of land. It has beauty too. The greens are her eyes. The ocean matches her coat, Mysterious blue. Glints off the water Echo the smiles she gives him Each time he passes. His mind and body, Each goes off in separate ways. One ahead, one back. Manehattan, a speck, Will appreciate the cloth He brings, bolting there. He knows just one thing: They won’t meet for a week yet. Don’t think about it. Arrival. Bustle. Puny “skyscrapers” below. He laughs at the term. Then, Long Haul descends. Caustic mares and stallions glare, Making his skin crawl. Manehattan he leaves As soon as possible, for It turns ponies bad. Bearing new orders And packages too, he flies, Leaving the city. Turning to the west, He continues on toward The Crystal Empire. He gains altitude. The air high above is thin And parts easily. Hours pass him by. Trees become shrubs become ice. Real cold lies ahead. In The Frozen North Mountains are true skyscrapers. He scoffs not at them. Craggy flank him, Guiding Long Haul toward life, The city, his goal. He flies right through a Squall, rogue in this untamed land. Ice encrusts his form. Gusts shake both his cart And his self-confidence. Yet! Ahead is the spire. The sight brings him hope, And Long Haul surges forward, Drawn toward his goal. Through the pain he fights, Throat burning, wings dying embers. His eyelids are stone. He heaves in a breath, Each a pyrrhic victory. Even his lungs ache. Exhausted, he dips, Clipping snow from a mountain. Hoof and leg go numb. Everything is black. Covering his head is cloth. A blanket—but how? He lies in a bed. Soldiers stand around and watch. Memories return. Disused legs crumple. The hard road welcomes his face. Ponies rush to him. Long Haul looks around And thanks everypony there. Then, two more walk in. Alicorn and prince Stride into the room with both Concerned words and praise. They give him an award A medal (made of crystal) For a job well done. What had he brought them? Long Haul wonders. Or, he thinks, They could be too kind. They leave him to rest. But he is a pegasus, Strong, resilient. He had nearly died, But he springs back to action. After a short nap. When morning breaks forth, Long Haul springs into action And also the air. He heads southward now, To Equestria’s center, Its hub, Canterlot. Bearing royal seals On all his deliveries, He takes extra care. This time, Luck’s his friend. No storm comes to strike him down. The flight is easy. Squinting he closes On the city of royals. Its polished gold gleams. Amid the buildings, His head unconsciously dips. Majesty surrounds. Huge mountains rise up, Impassive. But here, buildings Speak of great power. The castle he draws near On hoof he approaches it. Can’t go through the air. Into the palace, Long Haul enters through the gate. Guards unpack his cart. Pleasant but clipped words, Direct him away again. To the post office. Prompt Delivery, The Postmaster General, Orders him this time. Out past Ponyville To Los Pegasus he goes. This time less a cart. A special harness, Designed not to move in flight, Clings to chest and back. Nevermelt Ice nails For some rich pegasus there Made by a strong mage They weigh too little, He thinks as he flies along. They’re not a challenge. To his left, the Gorge, A massive tear in the earth, Looks just like a mouth. Flight path unswerving, His mind wanders back to her, And he wonders why. Perhaps, he guesses, Being near death changed his life, And now he wants more. Yet that can’t be it; He’d thought of her yesterday. Must be something else. With her leaf green eyes And her lustrous, deep blue coat, She has captured him. What is it she does, Rising with the sun each day? He wants to find out. Alas, they won’t meet Until his route takes him home, Be it days or weeks. Tossing his blond mane, He sighs and continues on To Los Pegasus. There, he’s thanked and tipped By a plump pegasus mare Who owns lots of art. At the post office Is a roost for those like him Who traverse the land. He stays the night there, Waiting for the coming day And a heavy load. He awakes early Ready to be off again, Laden down with bits. Six casino’s goons Flank him in a tight circle. They look paranoid. Long Haul worries not. His airspace is always clear Since he flies so high. Cruising altitude All the others gasp for breath, But he laughs inside. Back to Canterlot. Millions of bits in tow, He feels powerful. Wings straining for lift, The armored cart weighs him down, But he combats it. He feels so alive. The escorts around him fade, Leaving just the sky. The wind supports him, His hooves far off of the ground, Left so far behind. A shining beacon, The roofs of the capital Call him from below. As he trots down streets, Ponies give the strangest looks. Bits draw ponies’ stares. At a gilded bank, They unlock him from the cart And dispelled some charms. He goes back to Prompt For his next assignment and Then heads for Cloudsdale. It’s a simple run, Shorter than he’d really like, But it must be done. He’s alone once more, Not that the goons from before Were real company. Cloudsdale’s nebulous Edge comes into Long Haul’s sight. Or does it, really? City outskirts range From stratus to cirrus clouds, A huge area. Pegasi don’t mind. Why would distance matter when They can fly with ease? Long Haul thinks about How nice life would be here With its far-flung homes. Then, a thought occurs. That mare is an earth pony. She could not live here. His flight slows slightly As he re-evaluates His priorities. Flights to neighbors’ homes Wouldn’t be worth it, he thinks. Then there’s seeing her.