Mum's Diner

by Golden Tassel

Once upon a time . . .

Author's Note:

With apologies to Hans Christian Andersen.

". . . there was a mother duck on a farm who was tending to her brood. One by one, all of her eggs hatched into pretty little ducklings except for one. It was larger than the rest and when it finally hatched, what came out was very ugly for a duckling.

"He was teased and picked on by the other ducklings and farm animals. Eventually he was unable to bear it any longer, and he ran away and lived alone in hiding as the seasons passed. So ashamed he was of his ugliness, he never looked upon himself reflected in the water.

"One day, a flock of beautiful swans happened upon him. They remarked to him how beautiful he was, and for the first time he looked at his reflection and saw that he looked just like them—that he had grown into a swan.

"But he soon learned that the other swans were all jerks to other animals, and he returned to the farm where everyone was stunned by his beauty. And he was nothing but kind and generous to them, not wanting to be like those other swans."

Chrysanthemum smiled down at the young boy she had taken in. He was resting comfortably on the booth seat next to her. Though wrapped in blankets, he was still shivering slightly, but he was awake and stared up at Chrysanthemum with eyes wide and curious.

"That's not how I remember that story ending," said Lucky Day, having entered the diner just as Chrysanthemum was finishing her story.

She shrugged. "I like my version. Are you feeling better?"

"I think so." He noticed the boy for the first time. "I thought all the kids went with Starry on the salvage team."

"They did. I found this one collapsed in the road when you ran off. I suppose it's lucky that you woke up or he might have been out there all night." Chrysanthemum stepped out of the booth. "Will you stay with him for few minutes while I fix something to eat?" She sensed Day's hesitation. "He likes listening to stories."

Lucky Day sat down on the opposite side of the table. "I'm not much of a storyteller."

"Then just talk to him. See if you can get him to tell you his name or where he's from. I won't be long." And with that, Chrysanthemum slipped behind the counter and into the back which doubled as both the stock room and her bedroom."

Lucky Day sat silently for a moment. His ears swiveled around, expecting to hear Rake's whispers, but there was nothing.

"Chrysanthemum is nice. You can trust her," he said finally, not looking directly at the boy. "I came here with nowhere else to go and she helped me. She helps everyone." After a quiet pause he brought himself to look at the boy's face; he was a small earth pony colt whose coat was stained in mud with only a few tufts of gray peeking through the caked-on grime. "Um. My name's Day. What's yours? How did you get here?"

The boy said nothing.

"I came from a big underground shelter. There were a lot of ponies living there. We had all the food and water we needed, and an entire mountain on top of us to keep the rest of the world out. Or . . . was it to keep us in?" Day shook his head to knock the stray thought loose. "I did something bad and I had to leave. Or . . . did I do something bad because I left?" Again he shook his head. "It was a long time ago. But after a while, I realized how terrible life there was. Not just for me but for everyone. It was all we ever knew so we were used to it." There was a spark in the boy's eyes. It was there for less than a second, but Day saw it. He knew that spark because he had seen it before in Rake's eyes. Day sat up straight. "You . . . you know what I'm talking about. Oh. I'm so sorry. Look, whatever you've been through . . ." He clenched his teeth. "I can't promise that life here is any easier. In a lot of ways, it's harder—for me it is anyway. But considering most of the other places I could be right now, I'm glad I'm here."

No longer shivering, the boy sat up straight. His forehooves reached out over the table and made some kind of gesture. Seeing the confused look on Lucky Day's face, he repeated the gesture. After a third attempt, the boy slammed his hooves on the table, slumped back into his blankets and started to cry silently.

Chrysanthemum returned from the back room to see this, and she hurried over to the table. "What happened?" she asked while comforting the boy with a hoof on his shoulders and a gentle shush.

"I don't know," said Lucky Day as he extracted himself from the booth. "I think he was trying to say something, but—" His eyes widened in realization. "He's mute. I remember something I read in the stable once; sometimes ponies are born who never learn to speak." He ducked behind the counter and rummaged through the supply of scrap materials until he came out with a piece of chalk. Day made a mark on the table in front of the boy. He set down the chalk and asked, "Can you draw a picture?"

The boy looked up at ponies who had taken him in then down at the chalk. He picked it up and hesitated for a moment, staring at the canvas in front of him. He began to draw.