A Unicorn's Tale, Epilogue

13.

Epilogue

     I stayed on with Mikey’s organization for three years. I ran candy across the oceans, helped Spartacus with erasing human memories concerning our kind, and placed bets for Mikey as he trained new superstars. He succeeded in gaining back half of his lost fortune by the time that I left his employment.
     You see, I had a feeling that something was here for me in Los Angeles County. In two years of soul-searching I guess I have discovered some of what I was looking for. I go places I used to frequent as a foal and try to look for lost or orphaned unicorns. If they want, I steer them to Mikey in his new Dubai headquarters, the Monte Carlo of the unicorn economy. Sometimes I teach them how to bounce, like Larry first taught me – well, similarly. I stay away from the bars and concerts. It’s just too painful.
      But here’s why I approached you: I need to find Larry. He probably has his horn back by now, or he will sometime soon. I need your help to find him.
     Do you remember how I said I could find lost things? Well, I found the bride’s wedding cake because she asked me, as a non-riding rider. It is possible to be a non-rider. The mathematics are, again, imaginary, but are coherent within their own system. Don’t believe me? Ask for Larry. Tell me to find my best mentor. I’ll be back in a minute.
    I reiterate: Larry is not my father. He never was and he never will be.
    I don’t know where my father is. I suppose you could ask for Octavian Silverhorn, Senior, but I wouldn’t, if I were you. I’ve asked around and no one knows where he is. Maybe he never existed. Maybe he was fully imaginary.
     You want me to take you to Morocco instead, to see if that kid is still there? She’s been adopted into a nice Moroccan family and in turn has become a nice girl herself. I went back to make her forget me. I am not about to destroy her new situation. She’s scheduled to be married to one of the royal cousins. The story’s in the media. It might be a tabloid local to that particular region, but you can probably find it online. You can find almost anything online. But the point is that the facts of her story are available to the public.
     An ideal rider knows I am only partly imaginary. They should see that I do not lie. Not that it is impossible for my kind to lie, but we usually do not. We know that someone always gets hurt.
     If you don’t want anything to do with me, I understand. I will make sure that you will not remember me, just like the new Moroccan girl now wearing jeweled slippers in the place of ragged combat boots. But since you can see me, sort of, I thought I would try to see why. You are not a child; you are not intoxicated, either. I was hoping you would come to a decision to ride or not.
     Well, and I wanted to see if humans knew how to imagine anymore. I have not found too many passengers in the last year who could. I have not found many, period.
    If you aren’t going to ride, well, maybe you can at least tell me why. Maybe I can help you figure out where you need to go, even if you don’t want my help.
     I'd be glad for the company.

The End