Two Wrongs
Once there was a man of limited means whose only possessions were his cottage, the tiny garden outside, and a small pony he dearly loved. Each morning, he would wash and brush her until she gleamed, exercise her thoroughly, and carefully inspect her entire body for parasites and scratches. She was his confidante and closest companion, sharing the small rations he could scrounge and sleeping in his cottage with him at night.
One evening, as the poor man was visiting the village well, he came across a weary traveler who had nothing but the clothes on his back. Seeing an echo of himself in the other man, he invited the traveler to his home to pass the night in peace and warmth. Together, they returned to the cottage and spent the evening joyously, eating what they could find and talking of wonderful things long into the night until the pauper fell asleep smiling.
Late the next morning, the poor man woke to an empty cottage. The traveler had left in the early morning, taking the poor man’s prized pony with him. Anger and bitterness surged in his chest, and he tore out of the cottage in a rage to track the man. On the road, he muttered to himself that a swift death was not enough for the man who stole his pony and vowed in his heart to have his revenge along with his justice.
The poor man arrived in town and to his astonishment, he saw his pony, gleaming as always, walking alongside the cobbler.
“Where did you get that pony?” he asked.
The cobbler answered, “I purchased her from a traveler for two gold pieces; I won’t part with her for fewer than four.”
The poor man tried to explain his plight, but the only sympathetic gesture from the cobbler was to point him towards the tavern where the traveler was last seen. The pauper nearly smiled though his heart was sinking; if he could not have his horse, he would at least have his revenge! With this sentiment in his heart, he charged into the tavern and immediately located the thief, playing cards and laughing. After pausing only long enough for a swift prayer, he grabbed the thief by his collar and pulled him to his feet.
The barman instantly forced the two outside, where the poor man called, “A gun! Please lend me a gun so I may rid the world of this heinous thief! I showed him kindness, and he returned it with mutiny! A gun!” From the crowd, the weapon was produced. The traveler cowered before the pauper, begging and pleading, calling for sympathy from the gathered villagers and protesting his own poverty, but no one listened to him.
Finally, and with shaking hands, the poor man raised the gun, screwed his eyes shut, and fired.
The bullet found a place to land, but instead of the cries of a dying man, a piercing whinny silenced the village. The thud of a pony crashing into the dirt resounded through the air, echoed by the thump of her master’s knees crumbling next to her.
The traveler, unharmed by the errant bullet, scuffled to his feet and ran through the crowd. The gold pieces jingled in his pocket as he went.
The poor man knelt by his dying pony, sobbing for the loss of his companion and for the horrible truth that repaying wrong for wrong makes nothing right.
This reads like a traditional fable- really neat! I like this kind of streamlined and clear writing style for stories :D
