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I received another splendid gift from those splendid little fillies the other day.

It was unexpected, as usual... but then, just as usual, not as unexpected. One of those pleasant series of occurrences which have the courtesy to announce their general injection into your life, but fail to tell you a little secret: they'll always drop by unannounced, with the sublime instinct of knowing precisely when to do so, in order to ensure every happenstance is ever more felt, and equally remembered.

The little surprise was an early New Years gift, I suppose. Though now that I think on it, it was perhaps a late Hearth's Warming present. It's hard to tell with fillies, you know. Always doing things willy-nilly, on the most sudden of whims, and yet expressing the sincerest sense of purpose and devotion, as if they had been planning for weeks.

Perhaps they had in my case? It's hard to tell with fillies, you know.

My little gift was right there, gloriously out in the open, pinned to my front door. The painfully bright morning sun caught the edges of the paper in just the right way, making it seem as if it floated in front of me. I squinted at it, more from the sudden flare in my throbbing headache than from a need to discern what the lovely gift was.

Like all the others, a beautiful piece of artwork lay before me - a true showcase of brilliancy. Not gift wrapped of course - fillies, as you know.

And behold, I was the lucky star of the picture. In vivid detail I was carefully painted in front of a small, red shop, through whose window you could see many varying kinds of cider - the hard kind, of course. A lovingly executed six pack sat next to a large set of bottles, one of them a greenish hue. How disturbingly accurate, I thought, and I shifted my weighted, withered saddle bags hanging on my back.

Alas, the store was closed for the holidays, and yours truly stood flabbergasted, mouth agape, her world threatening to collapse around her without her source of strength in life. The artwork expressed a potent mixture of sarcasm and wit, and it conveyed a strong feeling of mockery. Anypony I imagine would have a great laugh at it, it's true, no doubt because they would think it's subject true.

But I, on the other hoof, felt a stab of pity for that pony in the picture - how couldn't you? The holidays had chosen to be cruel to her. Why couldn't she have her enjoyment like the rest? Everypony got drunk during the season; their choice of wine was simply different. Why did she have to look like the fool?

That's what made it such a powerful work of art, really. I could relate to it; I knew that pony's pained expression. As if painted by the author of my soul, it reached out and gripped my gut fiercely with powerful fore hooves.

The little, roughly scrawled note attached to it only added to the lovely present.

LOOKS LIKE LONELY BERRY PUNCH CAN'T BE SO "BERRY" DRUNK THIS HOLIDAY

Such a nice gift.

I ripped it down.

I stomped on it with a low, guttural neigh, my ears twitching at the sound of filly laughter coming from the nearby bushes. Turning, I saw the little artists flee in victory, their faces gleaming with wide, self-satisfied grins, their wicked eyes full of smugness.

I suppose you want me to describe them to you. Well, I won’t. It's how I return the favor, really. They spend their free time making a nice holiday present for me, and I'm careful I make no mention of who they are in my writing. It's in the sincerest hope of not preserving the memory of their identities. Record one tale of the dreaded Nightmare Moon and she becomes immortal - such is the power of written words. I refuse to grant that to those sweet little fillies.

Except for one.

A new member to the usual cast of tyrants, this one altogether stood out from her fellow co-conspirators. She was a light orange filly with a purplish mane, and no cutie mark. She stood oddly dejected, looking back over her shoulder at me, ears flat against her head, a deep frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. I remember her because, unlike all the others, she looked so... guilty.

I glared at her, and she wilted further, before blinking rapidly and running off.

Fillies.

Picking up the picture in my mouth, I pushed open my door. Perhaps it was my pulsing head, but the thing seemed to have an added screechiness to its creaking, as if it too was trying to add to the pleasantries of that morning. Though it isn't fair of me to say that. My door guards me, after all - or rather, the house - well, me all the same. It was always good to me. He was like a pony, I suppose; good on the inside, but still imperfect, with his own little ticks and subtleties. He had moods, too.

No... he was complaining about my patrons.

Sqeeeerrrrreeeeeaaaa-ee-ee-ee-eek-eek

Thanks for the support Mac (I call him Mac), I thought so too.

I walked into my home, closing ol' Mac behind me with another rusty, screeching profanity that made my head grind. Setting my old saddlebags on the square kitchen table, I walked over to the wall above the counter, next to the sink. It was a veritable shrine to the fillies, and I pinned up the latest entry, note included. Home sweet home.

My house, it might interest you, was unspeakably plain and not at all interesting, concerning the season.

It was, after all, three days till New Years Eve, and thrice since Hearth's Warming - smack dab in the middle of the most awkwardly blissful week of the entire year. Ponies were still stumbling pleasantly out of the swirl and stupor of one holiday while trying to grease the axels and stir the carriage off into another.

Why waste the time and effort in decorating my house? See, I was clever: I let others do it for me. Every evening, when the sun would set, and Ponyville flooded with a rush of luminous life, the inside of my home would become a beauteous mixture of red, green, and gold. Hang a few crystal shingles in the window and I could make those colors dance, almost as well as the times made ponies dance. All of Ponyville decorated my house every year. How could I, one pony, compete with that? No, I was happy with Ponyville's gift to me; and it was just for me.

Besides, decorating one's home was like trying to dress a full grown pony; you only did that for foals. My house was fine just the way he was. The kitchen blended un-seamlessly with the living room, in whose far corner a small staircase spiraled up to the second floor.

If I laid on the floor, by the trashcan next to the door, and looked at it, I could almost imagine it twisting onwards and upwards, forever; my own little staircase to the clouds, and then the stars beyond.

They say the Princess of the Night walks among the stars. Perhaps if I meet her someday I'll ask her to take me along.

I dumped out the contents of my bags onto the table, and the uneven thing wobbled a bit. Though my headache remained, I no longer felt woozy. I put the vegetables and fruit on my counter, and delicately set my green bottle in the center of the table.

My sink was dripping again - she had moods, too - and I could tell it was going to be stubborn today and not give me any peace. I considered (again) getting somepony to fix it. Like that farmer, Big Mac; I was sure he could fix it. His sister worked in the marketplace sometimes. I could ask her. When Big Mac visited, I could say hi. That would be nice.

I trotted into my living room and plomped on the sofa. It was one of those ones where you would sink real deep in it, the cushions nearly enveloping you. I liked it. I enjoyed the sensation; it felt like sinking into the hooves of a big stallion. I often slept there rather than my bed upstairs. In fact, I took a nap right then, though unintentionally.

I woke up eventually, headache gone, and ate a couple of the radishes I had bought earlier, sitting on a soft lump of hay at the table. I only ever ate there - it was the only spot in the house where my eating didn't echo. Nothing echoed there.

I munched away, observing my green bottle at the center of my wobbly table. Often I would wonder what it might be like to be inside of one. I wondered about living in a bottle - a green one - like one of those tiny ships that Feather Sails from down the street always built.

Ponies were simply fascinated by how she could fit such a thing into a bottle. They'd gape at her creations, and with eyes glowing and wide, beg her to tell them. Feather Sails would just smile demurely - a pretty smile, and a knowing one - she'd angle herself away, her eyes aimed back at her captivated audience, and with a barely discernable toss of her loose, curly locks, and a mischievous glint in her eye, she'd say:

"Oh, that's a secret for me to know, and you to pay to find out on your own."

But I never asked; I knew. I knew. Slipping something into a green bottle was a simple feat - not hard at all. Getting it back out again, well... I'd have to ask Feather Sails about that.

Later, after eating, I went out for a walk around town - no aim in particular. The air had a bite, and was in that state of stillness where you didn't feel its presence until you moved. The thing I always liked about the crisp winter air was how, unlike in summer, it didn't surround you, but made the world feel more spacious; as if you could stretch your hooves out into the far fields and beyond. It didn't envelope you. I always felt more free in the chilly winter air.

On my walk I saw our town librarian. I know her name, but I prefer to call her by that. It creates a nice effect. She's saved Equestria itself four times over; she's the personal student of the great Sun Princess herself; no unicorn matches her in magic; and she's the village librarian. See, that's the effect - amazing. And she's our librarian.

She was sitting outside of Sugercube Corner, with those five friends of hers. Those six were like the Three Musketeer Ponies... times two. Mischief was their motto. Ponyville didn't know the meaning of the word "trouble" until those six got together. It also didn't know the meaning of the words "hero" and "sacrifice." I'll let you in on a secret: ]everypony wanted to be them.

They were always galloping nose first into some wild adventure. Maybe someday I'll join them for one.

The librarian was in between her friends, a hurt look on her face. Her companions were talking to her with careful expressions and loving eyes, and there was a reassuring closeness about them all. They sat so near one another they were touching, and they hemmed the librarian in on both sides as she stared despairingly at an unfurled scroll lying on the ground, with a broken, yellow, wax seal. There were many gentle pats and nuzzles.

I walked on.

It wasn't long before the sun rolled down the side of the distant hills, and in a splash of red, dipped below the lip of Equestria. That was the time of day that the holiday season really came into its own, and Ponyville once more became a kaleidoscope of color and light, garlanded by a blanket of snow. Ponies here loved their Hearth's Warming decorations, and I witnessed a few still fussing over them with tenderness.

I said the season comes into its own at night in Ponyville, and I meant it. Ponies were coming out of their homes in droves, hoof in hoof, with little fillies and colts all bound up in plush, knitted scarves and small booties, riding on their parents' backs. Friends and loved ones greeted each other and exchanged pleasantries, and like a steadily growing tide they began flowing through town.

They were out to see the lights.

It was an unspoken tradition in Ponyville, really. Little fillies and colts begged their parents come sun down to go on a canter through town. A handful of young stallions would offer sleigh rides, and some businesses remained open to provide hot chocolate to the masses - and I mean masses. Mostly everypony in town would be out, and they moved like a great ocean wave. Ponies laughed and cheered, striking up choruses on the spot, not to mention the many carolers. Those who could play a tune did so, and dancing circles would form all over. The general level of chatter was like that of the market, but warmer despite the night air. Those who stayed inside kept their houses open to visitors, often calling out to the crowd when a new batch of cookies were done.

Ponies admired the lights, refracted a million ways from the tinsel and the garland and the snow; they admired each other, and they admired the night. I was once told that it would warm up five whole degrees from all the ponies talking and singing and laughing and dancing, their breath heating the air. They were wrong - it warmed up ten.

The whole village became as one, and though it was spread across town, a funny happenstance at one end would travel quick as lightening to the other, so that the entire town could end up in an uproar. Ever seen a village sing? I have.

I doubt even the city of Canterlot could top a night in Ponyville during the holidays. In fact, the Princess never visited during this time, until our librarian showed up. Since then, both Royal Sisters visit at night as many as seven to ten times in the season. Once, I overheard a snippet of chatter betwixt the royal pair.

"Sister, these ponies make me jealous of my own night."

- A laughing of golden bells -

"Were it only that I didn't have to raise the sun - we could go on forever. Perhaps we could move the palace here."

"Aye, or Ponyville to the palace."

There was nothing like Ponyville holidays at night.

....

I went home.

It was an uneventful evening.

---

I woke up the next morning in my bed, which was surprising because I thought I had last laid down on the sofa. My head was throbbing again; I felt woozy, and my eyes yelled in pain at anything other than pure darkness. But I got out of bed. A few splashes of water from my bathroom helped a bit, but nothing dramatic.

Carefully I made my way down the stairs and into the kitchen. I had closed all my blinds the night before, so it was pleasantly dark. My green bottle was sitting in the center of my wobbly table, and I wearily picked it up in my teeth and tossed it into the recycle bin, with all the others. It was full, so I decided to drag it outside so it could be picked up. But opening the door to reveal the blinding light on the other side made me choose to wait a bit. So I sat instead at the table and munched on an apple, observing with careful inspection the marks of my teeth on every bite.

With my light sensitivity appreciatively diminished, I dragged the clinking cart of recycles outside my front door, though I still had to squint in the brilliant light. The Princess spared nothing in the winter season; she didn't have to be afraid we would appreciate her sun less just because we didn't see as much of it.

There was the sound of fluttering wings, and I turned to see the village mail mare dropping by. And I mean that literally. With a squeal - which didn't sound all too frightened to me - she careened headlong into my mailbox at the head of the walkway. It snapped in half, and the two sacks of mail, which the mare carried like a pair of saddlebags, erupted in a small explosion.

Derpy.

"Oooooooo hoo hoo hoooo..." Her gray furred head popped out of a pile of letters, and one was sticking out of her blonde mane. She was wearing a long golden scarf wrapped about her neck. I don't know why she bore lopsided grin as she rubbed the site of impact on her head, saying, "Not a bad landing Ditz, not bad at all. I should have it perfected by the time I get to Rose's."

She dug her hoof into the mountain of letters surrounding her, moving it around in search of something, as she looked up at the sky.

"Ooo, that's a pretty cloud. I'll have to tell that Rainbow Dash not to - aha!" She pulled out a single envelope, gave it a gentle pat, and went to place it in my mailbox. She stopped upon seeing the broken mast sticking out of the ground, and the smile slid from her face.

"Uh oh."

"Hi Derpy, need any help?"

"Ah!" Derpy jolted and dropped my letter, sinking into the pile up to her little nose.

"Derpy?" I called again, and began walking towards her. For the moment my pounding head was forgotten.

Derpy's eyes grew alarmed, and she aimlessly grabbed a few envelopes, calling out, "Oh, no thank you, Berry Punch!"

"You look like you need it - that was a nasty fall."

Her features scrunched in worry (an expression all of Ponyville knew as well as their own reflection), she quickly thrust her fore hooves into the pile, and shoved the whole thing over the ruins of my mailbox. As I came up to her, she was shifting through a few letters on the ground with her nose, and with a twitch of her wings she looked up at me with those bright eyes of hers, and a soft smile on her face.

It was a commonly held belief, and spoken of often by Cherilee, that Derpy could be an amazing actor, if only she could learn to hide those red hooves of hers.

"Good morning, Berry Punch!"

"That's quite a mess, Derpy."

The mare blew air through her nose, and she put on a wise smile. "Oh, you would think, but mail delivery is a strange business, trust me. I can't let you in on our secrets, of course, but I'll tell you that nothing's out of the ordinary here."

With careful attention, she began placing letters, one by one, back into the sacks, spending a second or two observing each one. She appeared completely raptured, as if the world or I didn't exist.

"Can I help you put these back?" I said with a smile, which felt like taking a stretch after three months of not doing so.

Derpy acted like she didn't hear me, and looked at another envelope - she had all the appearance of being very busy and caught up in her work. But thankfully she was able to spare a few seconds from her cramped schedule and look at me after a few seconds.

"Oh, that wont be necessary. Mail business, you know - very complicated. I'm afraid you might mix something up."

I looked at the pile.

"Really."

"Oh yes. Just leave me to my work, and I'll be out of here in no time. I'm sure you have a nice, hot breakfast waiting inside for you. Look at you, you're not even dressed properly. Go on inside before you catch a cold. Go on - shoo!" Derpy had all the tenderness of a loving mother as she pushed me towards my home.

"I'm fine, really, Derpy. I'd like to stay here and watch you work - mail business is so fascinating."

Derpy faltered, and I let small grin show.

"Um... okay." She sat down, and began putting letters back into the sacks, only going slower. I thought I could detect an added trembling to her movements.

"Hmm, if you don't mind, I'm just going to check my mailbox while I'm out here," I said, moving towards the pile.

"Not necessary!" Derpy replied quickly, thrusting a hoof into the pile and pulling out my letter from earlier in a flash. Surprised, I took it, and she returned to her work. Ever. So. Slowly.

My head was thundering with the hooves of a hundred stallions again, and my patience was up. With a loud "Oops!" I grabbed the pile and shoved it off my broken mailbox. Derpy yelled "No!" before being smothered in letters.

I stared down at the damage, and waited for the culprit to show herself - she didn't.

"Derpy."

No response from the pile. I rubbed my temples.

"Derpy," I said again.

"...Yes?" came the muffled reply; for all the world it sounded like a filly.

"I see a broken mailbox here."

"You do?" The pile rustled a bit.

"Yes, Derpy."

"Well, um, that's a shame."

"Derpy, I do not have time for this. My head hurts, the sun is too bright, and I'm all wobbly on my hooves."

Suddenly, the pile of letters slid down, revealing a shrunken Derpy underneath. She wouldn't look at me.

"I'm sorry, Berry. I... I broke your mailbox. Surprising, I know. That's the third one this week. I don't know what's happened to me."

"It's the season, I'm sure. Messes with a lot of ponies."

Derpy looked past me, and I suddenly became very aware of my bin of recycles sitting by my door. I moved in front of her. She still wouldn't look at me. Derpy could be try a pony's patience, but seeing her depressed made me think of my green bottle.

"I'm not angry at you, okay? Just... get somepony to fix it."

"You're really not upset with me?" she said, her eyes seeking reassurance.

"No. Now come on, clean this up so you can finish delivering the mail."

Derpy smiled and gave me a lopsided salute. "Yes sir ma'am sir!" As she shoved the envelopes into the sacks, she said, "Don't worry, Berry Punch, I'll have that mailbox fixed up and looking better than all the others in town. It'll be a nice New Years gift!"

"I could always use more of those."

"Good! It'll be just in time for you to celebrate!"

I shrugged. "I don't celebrate the holidays. Ever."

Derpy stopped, and looked past me again, then met my gaze. Somehow, it didn't feel like only one eye was staring at me.

"Oh, well, that's a shame," she said, her nose scrunching up.

"I don't think so. Too much hassle, really. I'm fine seeing everypony else have a wonderfully amazing time."

"Okay!" Derpy continued to shovel in the mail. It still felt like she was looking at me.

"I'm sure you'll have a great time, celebrating the New Year and everything," I said, helping her a bit. Derpy smiled, but the glimmer in her eyes didn't match it. "Any special plans with your fiancé?"

Derpy, you might like to know, was engaged to a doctor; he wasn't from Ponyville - I don't know where he was from. I fact, I don't think anypony other than Derpy herself knew. Their relationship, and subsequent engagement, was the talk of the town. Derpy, with a doctor? But I didn't question. I knew how unexpected relationships could happen. I knew.

"Oh, um, actually, he isn't in town," Derpy said.

"Really?"

"No," she said, continuing to busy herself with a small smile, "he was called away a few weeks back to help the Princess - isn't that great?"

"So, you were alone for Hearth's Warming?" I asked intently.

She gave me a sweet smile, and with eyes closed, said, "No one is ever alone, silly."

"What did you do then?"

"Stayed at home, of course."

"What about New Years - will he be back for that?"

"No," she said, drawing the word out slightly. I sat down in the snow. She had finished packing her mail back up, and carefully she buckled the bags to her back. "Time to go finish business. Lot's of letters from ponies' families - don't want them to miss those. I know how important they are. I'm sorry again about your mailbox," she said with a frown. Before I could reply she heaved herself into the air and took off. I watched her as she disappeared from sight, and remained sitting. Then taking my letter, walked back inside the house. Ol' Mac creaked loudly in the cold - it was lower and shorter than usual. I ignored him.

I set the letter on the edge of my wobbly table, and sat on the lump of hay. I looked at it; guess I wasn't one of the many to get a letter from family or a friend. Oh well.

I continued to sit, and wobbled the table some. My sink began dripping again. I grabbed a radish from the counter, but instead of eating it right away, I let it role around on the table a bit. I began tapping my hoof; it didn't echo - nothing echoed from that spot. I glanced at the center of the table: it was empty - no bottle. I grabbed the radish to take a bite, but didn't.

Instead, I left it there, and it rolled towards the center. Getting up, I threw on a purple scarf and some worn out booties, and went out for a walk. I ignored the bin of glass bottles.

Another layer of snow had fallen the night before, and it crunched loudly with every step. My headache and wooziness were surprisingly almost gone, and my pace quickened as I moved through the many streets. I decided to cut through the market as opposed to going around, and reached the town square more quickly that way.

I meandered around there for a bit, taking a look at the frozen fountains, and the many ice sculptures therein. There was always somepony at the spot, shaping great works of art, but not then. I often imagined myself as one of those sculptures. Ponies admired them; the things could express whatever their creators wanted, and ponies admired them. Strange that when a living pony expressed some of those same things, ponies reacted quite the opposite.

I heard a door open and close, and saw Derpy walking from the Post Office. She had an enjoyable smile on her face - I think she was one of those ponies who just generally enjoyed every day life. You didn't have to do something special to make her smile. She spotted me and waved.

"Hi Berry!"

"Fancy seeing you here," I said. "Where are you off to?"

"Oh," she began, roving her eyes about the town. "I was heading home to eat lunch. I had to rush to finish the mail on time after that, um, accident, heh heh - and now I'm hungry!"

"Yeah, I was thinking about going home and eating too."

Derpy looked at me and her eyes lit up.

"Would you like to grab lunch somewhere?"

I studied my fore hoof before saying, "Sure."

"Great!"

We went to a small cafe across the square called Sunny Side; Derpy apparently ate there often. It was a small place, capable of seating only about twenty ponies or so. Of course it was covered from doorstep to rafters in lights and garland and related fair, and a large fire billowed heat over us in waves. Derpy seemed very comfortable, removing her scarf and laying it beside her on the stack of hay. I kept mine on.

A young brown stallion with a slicked back mane suddenly popped up beside us. I jolted, but Derpy didn't flinch. His eyes were closed as he said with a pleasant smile, "Good evening, ladies. My sincerest thanks for choosing to honor us with your presence this fine wintery afternoon. I hope the season bears you well."

He opened his eyes, and upon seeing Derpy, smiled even brighter. "Miss Ditzy Do! A pleasure as always. How are you?"

"Oh I'm well, thank you!" she replied in her cheery tone.

"And what of the Doctor - he's doing just as well I hope? Off with the Princess saving the world, I'm sure - quite the honor."

Derpy blushed and answered, "Yes, he's good too, thank you for asking Whistler."

"I bet you're going to head straight home and write to him, so he can get a beautiful letter from his love, eh?" Derpy's blush grew crimson, and she simply nodded. Whistler lowered his head and drew nearer to her, and in a quieter tone, whipping his eyes back and forth, said slyly, "If I might make a suggestion, I think telling him about the simply amazing little lunch you had at the humble cafe of Sunny Side would cheer his day up wonderfully, so much so the Princess herself might even hear of it." Derpy just laughed.

"I see you brought a friend," he said, turning towards me, still grinning. I met his gaze, and he seemed to be expecting something of me.

"This is Berry Punch," Derpy chimed in without missing a beat. The stallion tilted his head and brought a fore hoof to his chin.

"Hmm, Berry Punch, eh? I'm sure I've heard of you before... oh well! Pleased to make your pretty acquaintance. Shall I take your orders?"

We both ordered simple daisy sandwiches, which was the usual for Derpy, and Whistler left.

"That crazy stallion," Derpy said, "sometimes I think he's only so nice to me because my eyes are all wonky. Sometimes I think that's why a lot of ponies are so nice to me."

"Why?"

Derpy gave a little shrug and smiled.

"The Doctor too?"

Her smile deepened, though she tried to hide it. "No," she answered quietly.

---

Author's Note: And I'm afraid that's it, dear reader. That's right - I wasn't able to finish before the deadline. Down vote me, if you wish, though there's nothing in the rules against submitting an unfinished fic. I'm really sorry I wasn't able to finish this - had quite the plan, I did. Ah well, I'll just finish it up on my own time now. Life happens. Still, I was determined to not let all that work go to waste.

So again, rate me how you will, though I'd like it if my score reflected the quality of my writing more so than my ability to finish. But then again, others churned out for times as much as this in the same amount of time.

Anyway, sorry again, and maybe you can tell me what your thoughts were, eh?