Chapter 1-Incompetence

Pen.

Chapter 1- Incompetence.

Edward Bulwer-Lytton once said "The pen was mightier then the sword."
But everything that can be solved with writing can also be solved by fighting.
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I have never been good at writing. Never found it something I should set my mind to. I'd rather be reading. That is the only thing I bother to learn. Aside from a saddlebag riddled with holes and patched sewn together with an assortment of discolored strings, the only thing I have to my name is a single book. I almost know every word. Every syllable. The sad part about it is I don't even know it's title. The book is worn out, each page on the brink of turning to dust. The cover is long lost and the binding is about done for. But I still have it. It is my last tie to my family. My old life.
I did not leave any friends, as I had none. It was to be excepted living in the remote location as I. I've been told no pony ever ventured as far as we lived in the Everfree. It comes as no surprise, as to how evil it is. We rarely left the house other then in search for food, which I haven't had in a long time. Seeing as I am not sure what to eat, it makes sense.
How can one not know what he eats? Well, I have an explanation for that. You see, my mother fed me. I don't know how, as she forced me to close my eyes. It felt... Weird, for lack of a better term. She would go out then come back. I never left the house until be passed. Now I regret that decision. I've been traveling this forest for about a week, hunger taking it's toll.
I feel this seems very unlikely. This whole thing. I mean, how can a being not know what it eats, not know what the name of the book he has been reading for years on end is, and not even know the name of his own species. Yes, that's right. I do not know what I am. Not at all. When I asked my mother, she said not to worry about it. So I didn't. But now I can't help but worry.
I am just an incompetent moron, aren't I?
I know I'm going to die of hunger eventually. Why not just speed up my ultimate demise with a little help? There must be a sharp enough object somewhere around here. It is a forest. A stick that can penetrate skin shouldn't be hard to find. I mean, the forest that reals evil should have something.
I searched for a sharp enough one. It didn't have to be perfect. My mother always told me that when we strive to be perfect, we're only wasting our time. I picked up a bend stick. It was probably 2 feet in length. The end was as sharp as a butter knife. I could run it over my skin with no problem. But when propelled, it can be harmful.
I knew I had to be careful where I strike it. I was told never to leave a mess for others to clean up. I shouldn't do my head, as it would certainly cause one heck of a mess to clean up. Maybe my heart. Yes, there would be a mess. But it's less of one then through the neck.
So I aim the stick in my chest, ready to end it all. To see my mother again. To tell her a love her again. I use all my might to drive it through my chest. I felt contact.
But the stick broke.
I still took a breath.
My heart still pounded.
I felt the area were the stick had hit. There was but a dent. I hit it with my hoof to get a audible clank. I sighed. Clearly I am not meant to die now. That, or the great gods are punishing me for being... well, I don't know. All I know is I'm better off dead, laying face first in the dirt and gravel of this forsaken forest floor.
I was tired. I had used most of my energy today. Between sulking, walking, and trying to commit suicide, I think I deserved a well needed rest. My eyes grew heavy even before I lay down on the cold ground, which I find oddly comforting. I drifted asleep, staring put in the distance.
But I saw something. Lights, maybe. Figures. They began running towards me, a large object that had wheels in tow. I think it was a carriage. I'm pretty sure it matched the description of the one I read in this book. I tried to stay awake, but couldn't. The last thing I saw was a pony clad in iron. It seemed to be made from protecting. Armor, maybe. He had a horn, so he knew magic. I can faintly remember his face.
But just barely.
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I awoke having my side slammed into small bars that did not feel good when coming to contact with skin. It was dark, but faintly light shined. I was covered by a blanket, maybe. But I knew I was in a cage. Maybe in that carriage. It was bumpy. My head hit the top of the cage on every one we hit, which was often. I struggled to keep low to avoid this from happening. Instead, I slide around the cramped cage, my ribs digging into the metal bars. Either way I move, I would be hurt. Now it's just a matter of what hurts less.
The ride lasted for hours. I had to admit, I loved the darkness with just a hint of light this covered cage provided. It felt natural to me.
The ride suddenly came to a halt. I couldn't hear anything for some reason. I have a faint recollection of what my mother told me about magic. It can do close to everything. So I'm guessing they made this cage soundproof from both sides. I felt the cage along with myself being lifted up and moved. I felt me get harshly thrown into something. Maybe another carriage. Maybe one less bumpy. I felt motion again, and I was thrown back. I felt me gaining height. Flight. I was in a carriage, for sure. A Pegasus carriage. I was told by my mother I can fly when I'm older. That my puny wings with grown to support me. I don't believe her though. I think it's just a tale to help me ease up. I wish it to be trough. Oh how I wish it to be true.
I felt a rush. I knew I was flying. I couldn't see it, but I knew. I felt the motion, the speed, everything. Now I just have to paint the picture. Luckily for me, I have grown accustom to that. I imagined the sky zooming by me. The air rushing though what little fur I had. I felt the vapor clouds ingulf me for a split second before disintegrating like dust in the wind. I felt as though I could rule the world.
But I can't. Not me. Not the creature who doesn't even know what he is. Not the being that doesn't even know how to Fred itself. Not the incompetent moron.
Not me.
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The flight stopped and I felt myself being carried once more. This time it lasted a lot longer. It took a while to get to the destination, wherever it may be. But we made it. I was thrown even harder then before. Then I could hear again. I hard drops of water and an eerie defining silence. The blanket over me was pulled off, and I saw my surroundings. It was described exactly like something out of this book. It was where the character spent most of his time. A prison. A dungeon. What he describes a 'A pit of never ending despair. Where when your eyes bleed and your ears pop being the best things to happen to you.' there were two large unicorn ponies inferno of me, staring at me with zero emotion. They soon turned their backs to me, seemingly to guard me. There was nothing but silence.
Though this was a dungeon, it dis have a roof above my head. I was save from the wilderness, for now. I curled up into a little ball to try to get some rest.
But the silence was deafening. The forest was always louder then this. The birds, the bugs, crickets. They all made some noise. Peaceful. Soothing.
But here, there was nothing.
My eyes stayed open though I begged then to sleep. I yawned a bit, squeaking a little, breaking the silence only to have it return. I couldn't help but open my mouth to speak. To break the silence.
"Isn't it funny how silence can be the loudest sound ever?"

Author's Note

Alright, so I had an idea for a novel, but then I was like 'BAM! PONAH!'
So I'll be doing this as well as maybe the novel!
Tell me how I did!