Common Song

I met this pony a while back.
Everyone had taken to calling him "General," from the last part of his name.
I didn't care for that.
So I started calling him "Canto" and it stuck.
I think he preferred it, too.

The first time I looked into his eyes, I saw something familiar there.
Seen it before.
In the eyes of rape victims.
In the eyes of abused children.
In the eyes of prisoners who'd been tortured.
And in the mirror.
He didn't trust anyone.
Couldn't afford to.
Too many betrayals from too many people.
Too much pain.
You'd have to be stupid to set yourself up for that again.

He wasn't stupid.

From what I pieced together about him from different sources, he'd had a hard time of it and had come close to being put down as dangerous.

So naturally, I liked him.

For a time, my own pony shared a pasture with him, and they eventually became pals. I made excuses to offer proximity to him if he wanted it, and poco a poco, he began to tolerate me.
Maybe my pony convinced him I wasn't such a bad guy.

I haven't seen him in a long time now.
Probably won't ever see him again.
But I can't help thinking about him from time to time.

I hope he's all right and has been able to let go of some of his anger, try for a little peace.


sj