The stallion came in on a train from nowhere yesterday; a stranger in their town. Strangers were not welcome there; the community was tight-knit, and modeled their mindset like Canterlot. Canterlot had a ‘Closed Door Policy’, and didn’t like foreigners. The stranger who came in on the bus was a foreigner, and his presence was not appreciated in the small town; secluded in mind and body from the outside world, yet still reflecting the outside world as a whole subconsciously.

The colt saw the stallion come into town. The colt was a wolf among sheep. The colt was a pebble in the stream. He searched for the hidden truths and saw the false illusion of seclusion the little town convinced itself of.

The stallion’s mane was emerald green, a color rarely seen in the deserts around the colt’s small town. His eyes were sapphire blue, and they reminded the colt of a cloudless summer sky. Around the stallions tree-trunk neck was a white gold locket heart; its color reminded the colt of peace…this detail fascinated him the most.

It was on a cloudy day that the colt finally willed himself to visit the stallion; he left his house and cantered up to the stallion on the bench.

“Hello?” the colt said with an inquiring glance. “What brings you to these parts, stranger?” The stallion did not move. After a while, the colt sat down beside the stallion. “Are you shy, stranger?” Silence. “So am I! We should be friends.” Still no response; the colt smiled. “So you like silence then- that’s fine. If you ever get cold though, or need a place to rest your head, you can come over to my house. It’s just there, see?” The colt pointed a hoof at his house; it was a simple structure, with a single floor, a shingled roof and a weedy lawn.

The stallion did not respond or move; the colt continued to sit. The colt sighed in contentment; he liked the silence. At home, at school-anywhere else-it was noisy, but here, sitting beside the stallion, the colt could bask in it. After hours of sitting the colt finally got up and after a merry ‘goodbye!’ moved silently back to his house.

And then a few days went by.

The colt was cantering alone along the dusty roads of his town, reflecting on his thoughts. It was very hot out. He was thinking of the stallion with the White-Gold Heart, and the Sapphire Eyes and the Emerald Mane. He decided that it would be befitting to call him Rock. With Rock in mind, the colt decided to pay him a visit.

On his way to visit Rock, the colt ran into a pup. Emaciation gave away the fact that the pup was starving; it whined pitifully, and the colt leaned down to pet him. The colt wanted to keep the poor pup, for he’d be dead by the night, but he also knew that his mother wouldn’t want a stray animal in the house. As he cantered away, the pups whimpering faded off into the distance.

Passing by a ditch on his way to visit Rock, the colt stumbled upon a bull. The three ragged puncture wounds at its majestic neck-still slick with sweat and blood-gave away that the bull had been murdered. The bull had been born with a mutation, a lack of horns, and the owners liked horns. The bull was killed because it was not like the others. It’s glazed and blistered eyes looked blindly at the colt; who gave it a wide berth as he passed.

On the final stretch now, on his way to visit Rock, the colt crossed a field. Amongst the field like some horrid flowers, a mass of birds lay dead and festering. The stench made the colt gag, and he covered his mouth and nose with a dirty hoof. In each feathered body a bullet lay… the specie had been hunted for fun into extinction; the colt grimaced in disgust, and quickly made it through the rot-laden meadow.

The colt visited Rock. Again, like that day before, the colt sat in silence.

After a while he looked at Rock and said:

“There is abandonment everywhere.”

To his surprise, Rock spoke; not to his ear, but instead to his mind:

“Colt, my choice is rock.” It began to rain and thunder. That night, while the colt looked out his window, he noticed a change in Rock: His once green mane had turned brown and dead.

And then a few days went by.

The colt was again cantering about his town, on his way to visit Rock. Ever since it began to rain, it had not stopped. The streets were slick with the tears of Celestia; the rains moistness did little to wash away the emotion. The streets were slick with the tears of Luna; its moistness did little to wash away the pollution.

In the air was a hazy fog; one created by industrialism; one created by factories. Its chemicals tickled the colt’s throat every time he tried to clear its dryness. To his left and right shrouded ponies trudged about, waterlogged and sodden. With gaping mouths the ponies grasped in vain for the freshness of air, but all that flooded in was the smog. It made them cough; the colt felt sick to his soul.

As the colt continued on he crossed paths with a wheezing stallion. The stallion had a moustache, and wore no raincoat. When the colt stopped to talk, the stallion turned.

“Aren’t you cold, sir?” the colt asked, and the Mustached Stallion replied with a nod. “Aren’t you soaked, sir?” Again, the Mustached Stallion replied with a nod. “Aren’t you sick?”

“With asthma,” he replied. “I will never be able to breathe right again. This damn pollution has finally caught me… you’ll get it soon as well.” From his Saddlepack, the stallion gave the colt a cigarette. The Mustached Stallion and the colt parted.

On a final bend in the road, on his way to visit Rock, the colt stopped. A mare with a mask clutched a foal not three years old. The infant was dead; suffocated. The colt stopped and stared.

“The pollution killed him, it was me or him,” the Mare with the Mask said without emotion, and the colt felt his heart grow heavy with sorrow.

The colt finally arrived to see Rock; again, the colt sat.

He turned to Rock.

“There is egotism everywhere,”

Rock said to the colt:

“Colt, my choice is rock.” The wind began to howl. That night while the colt looked out his window, he noticed another change in Rock: His once blue eyes had turned gray and lackluster.

And then a few days went by.

The colt-umbrella levitated above his head-cantered along the road in the darkness to visit Rock. The wind and lightning had struck the power grid, and the city had lost its light. The streets were desolate, and littered with bodies.

A spark in the streets, which had led to an inferno… an outbreak between neighbors, which had led to ponies picking sides.

The colt chose to remain neutral, the anger of his friends did not appeal to him. The road he traveled divided the two sides. On his way the colt ran into a stallion with a gun. On the Armed Stallion’s hoof, a blue bandanna was tied; the Armed Stallion had identified his side. The Armed Stallion spoke to the colt directly:

“Are you indecisive, colt?” The colt shook his head. “Have you been cast out from your side?” The colt again shook his head. “Then why are you neutral?”

“Because that is what I choose, sir,” the colt said. “My mind is still free, while yours is dead. Bias does that.” Before the Armed Stallion with the blue bandanna could speak, the colt had left.

The colt, with his dignity intact and his mind free, arrived at a deep crater. Inside the crater and surrounding its edge were Red Bandana Bodies. The Red Bandana Bodies were burnt and twisted; heads and legs were scattered about. A bomb had been dropped, and the Nation of Red had been extinguished; this was the horror of war-something he had gotten used to. Something he had to live with. Making his way around the crater and bodies, the colt cantered up to Rock, still on his bench, still unmoving, and sat down.

He turned to talk to Rock.

“There is brutality everywhere.”

Rock replied:

“Colt, my choice is rock.” The wind turned into a tornado, and the tornado wreaked havoc. That night while the colt looked out his shattered window, he noticed a change in Rock. The white-gold locket heart around his neck had turned black.

It was the next day the colt met Rock again.

“What has happened to the world?” To the colt’s surprise, Rock did not respond. He looked at Rock and saw cracks across his once lustrous fur. Rock had become rock. Then Rock began to crumble, and the colt shouted out in surprise.

The tornado raged as bad as ever; it sucked up the blood on the ground and the earth as well… it sucked up the colt and threw him about. Something struck the colt, and all was black.

When the colt awoke he was sitting on the bench. His eyes were sapphire blue, his mane was emerald green; around his neck was a white gold heart.

Inside the white gold heart was a note.

It said: ‘Redemption’.

“We all want to help one another. Human beings are like that. We want to live by each other's' happiness, not by each other's misery. We don't want to hate and despise one another. In this world there is room for everyone. And the good earth is rich and can provide for everyone. The way of life can be free and beautiful…” ~Charlie Chaplin: The Great Dictator

Special thanks to DancesWithBaglez for his preread!