Harmony Games

by Thessur

Chapter 1: Bucket Brigade

I struggle under the burden of sloshing water buckets strapped to my back. The straps go over my wings and rub the feathers uncomfortably every time the buckets shift. It’s been a dry spring and the dust swirls around my hooves with each step. There’s not a cloud in the sky, the Canterlot weather patrol has apparently been too busy to send us our rain allotment for the past few weeks. So with the rain “delayed indefinitely” we have to haul water from the river to the fields. This happens every year. You’d think someone would figure out a more efficient way to get the water to the fields. Then again, if we had a watering system or rain that came on time, then the overseers would have to find some other way to have fun besides kicking our sorry plots when we don’t get goin’ fast enough.

Despite the heat, dust and the chafing of the straps, I’m happy. I’m happy because my family is finally going to get paid for my work. I turned twelve this morning, old enough to be part of the official work detail for the first time. It’s not my first time hauling buckets. I’ve been working in the fields and orchards since I was six, just like all the other young ponies in Field district. Well, all except the ones whose families are wealthy enough they can afford to feed them without the few extra bits that are all an underage pony can make for their sweat. Most of those are the better trained craftsponies, bakers and blacksmiths and the like. Some, like the mayor’s family, get their money from bribes. They are universally despised by the craftsponies, field workers like my family, and even the officials from Canterlot Central (or C-Trolls as we district ponies call them when they aren’t around to overhear and have us beaten).

I’ve just finished watering my fifth row of the day when my pal Redneck catches up with me.
“Hey Dusty! Trying to get a bucket for a cutie mark? I thought you finally gave up on that.”

Redneck likes to tease me about still being a blank-flank. He’s a year older than me and thinks that means he knows everything about everything. He can be a pain in the neck, but he’s also the most honest and trustworthy pony I know. As he comes closer, I give myself a little shake to make a bit of the water in my buckets slosh out and splash him. The water hits him in the face and as he splutters in mock outrage I smile innocently at him.

“Oops, sorry Red, I thought that green spiky stuff on your head was some wilted alfalfa, but it’s just your mane.”
The C-Troll overseer notices us and hollers that we better get our lazy behinds moving or he’ll see our pay gets docked. Red rolls his eyes but takes out his spade and starts adding fertilizer from the baskets strapped to his back to the base of the plants I’ve just finished watering.

“It still amazes me that you’re on water patrol Dusty. I know you’re tougher than you look, but those buckets weigh almost as much as you do when they’re full.”

I catch the overseer giving us a dirty look, so I don’t answer. I do smile a little proudly as I start on my sixth row and Red follows behind. My first field job had been to bring drinking water to the other workers. Those buckets are a lot smaller than the ones used for watering the crops, but they had still been quite heavy for a six year old filly, particularly a runty little Pegasus like me. Usually, the older colts got the water-carrying jobs. However, when almost half the town went down with a fever at harvest time that year, anyone who was able to stand went out and filled in as best as we could. At first, the water buckets had been really hard for me to lift, but nearly a whole harvest season spent carrying them I got toughened up. I’ve been on the water crew ever since.

We work in amiable silence for the rest of our shift. Once the bell is rung to let us know we can stop, I trot over to the equipment barn to turn in my buckets while my rust-colored buddy goes to put the fertilizer in his baskets back in the big compost pile. The barn has seen better days, the thing is ancient, built with wood instead of the stone and mud we build houses and things with now. Even the C-Trolls build with concrete and steel, not wood. The few forests that survived the war are too far away or too tainted to harvest. Even my buckets are plastic, not wood like the ones I’ve seen in pictures of the old world in class.

I reach around and undo the buckle with my teeth and let the empty buckets slide down my side to the dirt floor. With them off, I can finally give my wings a little stretch. As I do, the equipment C-Troll gets a look at my feathers.
“Better get those clipped tonight filly, or the head overseer will do it for you in the morning.”

Ugh… I’ve been dreading this. By law, all district pegasi must have our wings clipped so as to render us incapable of flight. Usually though, foals under twelve are exempt from the clipping since our wings are too small for sustained flight up till then. I’ll miss my little nighttime flying practices. I just figured out how to hover last night.

As I leave the barn, an announcement blasts out over the central broadcast system.

*Gooooooooooood evening my little ponies! As you all know, the Choosing for the 1000th Harmony Games is tomorrow. All young ponies of choosing age are reminded that this is the last evening to request extra entries of your name into the drawing in exchange for extra ration allotments for your family. Sleep well and don’t forget to dress up pretty for the Choosing ceremony in the morning, and may Celestia ever show you her favor!*

The announcement wraps up with a cheerful little marching tune. I shiver as the happiness I’ve been feeling drains away. I’ve been trying not to think about the choosing, because not only will I have to have my first mandatory entry put in this year, I’ve already put in two extra entries. Dad’s leg is still giving him trouble, and with Ma having another foal on the way, we’re going to need those extra rations. Dad and Ma don’t know I’ve put in extra entries. They told me not to. They say it’s not worth the risk, but I don’t know how we’ll make it through winter without the extra. Red understands though. He’s the one who went with me and helped me with the paperwork.

I just hope… No, I won’t even think that. The Choosing will come and go as always and then Red and I will go home and watch the mandatory broadcast with our families and hope that maybe this year, one of our chosen will win. There hasn’t been a winner from Field district since Old Cider. We could sure use the winnings here.

Comments

[ponyhailey]

It's no durr that Dusty gonna be picked