Ancient History

by Boopy Doopy

And My Scars Remind Me That The Past Is Real

Was it really that bad? Because Stepping Stone really didn’t seem to think so.

The colt, now going on stallion, couldn’t see how it could’ve been chalked up to anything, honestly. It was just something that happened years ago. It wasn’t relevant today.

Irrelevant, and yet Stone paced around his bedroom anyway, his heartbeat quickening its pace. He felt his breathing pick up, his breaths becoming heavier and heavier as the memory played in his head. He couldn’t see why. It really… it really wasn’t…

It was probably the fact that he still hadn’t started on his term paper. Yes, that was it. He closed his eyes and took a breath to let the tension leave his body, just as his therapist taught him. After a minute or so of this, he sat down at his desk to put his attention on more important things.

It was still before noon on a bright, sunny Sunday morning. A few clouds drifted across the sky, but for the most part, it was a beautiful, clear day in Baltimare. The air outside was warm, but not hot– perfect for enjoying once he finished his paper. It was a lovely city he lived in, the house he occupied still being his parents’ home despite his being almost nineteen. He would still be a colt in their eyes until he graduated and moved out.

He took another breath, then focused on his paper until the clock struck noon. Around that time, his father knocked on his bedroom door to let himself in. He was a large, stocky stallion, larger than most ponies, and certainly bigger than Stepping Stone. The two looked basically the same though– both were stallions with brown manes and coats, as well as brown eyes. Stepping Stone’s coat was more tan than his fathers, and his father had a face and coat that was more worn from years spent in landscaping. Beyond that though, there was no doubt that the two were father and son, even if his father wasn’t a pegasus like Stone was.

“I need some help, Stone,” his father said, not as gruffly as he might have when Stepping Stone was a young foal. It was a voice that was much kinder now, more respectful, one not filled with the slurred speech and sinister nature that it used to bring. Stepping Stone still tensed up anyway.

“I’ve got a big job,” his father explained. “Not anything difficult. I just need your help pushing a few wheelbarrows of cement and a couple barrows of wood to Mrs. Stilton’s home. You remember her, right?”

“Yeah, I do,” Stone replied, avoiding his father’s gaze. “But I’m kind of in the middle of something right now, Dad.”

“It’ll only take a minute,” the stallion pressed. “Just a few wheelbarrows there and back. Not more than an hour. You can get back to studying or whatever right after. I’d ask your mother, but you know she’s out of town right now.”

Why did you have to say it like that?

There was no reason to feel so tense like he did now. He wasn’t eight years old anymore. What was he nervous about?

He took a breath and rolled his shoulders, then finally looked up at his father. “Okay. Give me a minute to finish the thought I was on in this paper.”

It was only a minute before Stepping Stone was exiting his room and stepping outside, his father standing on the porch next to the several wheelbarrows he described. He didn’t waste any time hitching a strap onto his back to begin pulling it to where his father needed it, the two of them heading down the street a second later.

The sun on his coat helped Stone’s body to keep from shivering, and he tried to keep his breathing at a nice, slow pace. The wind blew in his mane softly, and the ponies in their neighborhood casually waved at the two of them politely. His father wore a grin as he waved back, but Stone didn’t do such, more focused on making sure there was a little distance between himself and the stallion. It didn’t matter anymore– especially not in a public place like this– but it helped to set him more at ease.

It wasn’t long before they reached Mrs. Stilton’s house and he and his father headed back home to make the trip again with more barrows, and then again and again. Stone tried to stay silent as he focused on keeping his eyes straight ahead aside from the occasional glance to keep distance. However, the oblivious stallion wanted to make conversation.

“You know, you’re eighteen now,” his father started. “I think it’d be great if we took a father-son trip someplace. Like Las Pegasus or Manehattan or something. What do you think about that?”

What was Stone supposed to say? No? He wished he could. The idea of spending any length of time alone with his father bothered him, even now with his mother on a business trip. He almost started to shake again at just the thought

“Haha, maybe,” he replied, Stone reminding himself that those days were long ago. “We could do that sometime this summer. I’d be down.”

His father smiled happily at the response. “I’m glad. We’ll try and plan something, okay, son?”

Yeah, okay, Dad… He hoped he would just forget.

Thankfully, it was only an hour before the job was done, and Stepping Stone finally left to go back home. He wasn’t able to get back to his paper though, not yet. He was shaking too hard by the time he sat on his bed, his eyes focused on nothing but his hooves. The past shouldn’t have felt so real, but it did. It brought tears to his eyes as the memories forced their way into his head.

A while later, he was fine again, and sat back at his desk to work on his paper. It was all ancient history.

Comments

[Forcalor]

Admittedly, the story becomes even more fun to read when you keep in mind that the father called him Stepping Stone

[Flora Blossom]

Pretty good.

[Starscribe]

Great exercise in subtly, implication, and telling rather than showing. You did great letting the dialogue do the heavy lifting. Don't be afraid to add a few more emotional cues in here or there for spice. Physical emotion, rather than felt mental descriptions of it. Overall, excellent work!

[Boopy Doopy]

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Thank you, I appreciate hearing the kind words and helpful criticism! c:

[Bicyclette]

His father wore a grin as he waved back, but Stone didn’t do such, more focused on making sure there was a little distance between himself and the stallion. It didn’t matter anymore– especially not in a public place like this– but it helped to set him more at ease.

oof, all these little things stitching together into an uneasy picture about what Stepping Stone’s relationship with his father was like when he was younger

A while later, he was fine again, and sat back at his desk to work on his paper. It was all ancient history.

and oof. it’s something that i count myself lucky to never have experienced, but i’ve seen my friends go through it, whose parents that were so awful to them when they were young mellowed out with age. and it’s so easy to just be thankful for that and let the past lie where it is, but that doesn’t change what happened in the past, and the scars from it. a reflection of something that is all too real, thank you for writing!

[FanOfMostEverything]

Is it still a wheelbarrow if it’s designed to be pulled rather than pushed? Far from the biggest question this story asks, but it still came to mind.

When you have so little text to work with, subtext has to do a lot of the heavy lifting, and it certainly did here. Wonderful work with all the horrible implications. Frankly, you could have submitted this in Horror and i wouldn’t have blinked an eye. (You also didn’t have to physically describe father and son quite so exhaustively.) Thank you for one of the more disquieting entries in the contest.