This chapter will bee disliked.
A long time ago in a universe far far away...
There was a bee.
This bee was a fairly ordinary bee. She minded her own bee-snuiss, gathered nectar, and did whatever it is bees do. Nothing particularly extrodinary happened to her in her short life, and it seemed nothing would. This particular bee happened to be on top of a dandilion that she had found, busy pollinating.
It was about then that the proantagonist of our story comes in. You see, this story was never really about the bee. If you want to know more about bees, go watch Animal Planet or something. No, this story is about a purple unicorn, one who is on a collision course with that bee.
You see, this particular purple unicorn was running to and fro almost the whole day. She had somewhere to bee at all times, and never had a moment to herself. This was typical proceedure for her most days, as she rarely took a day off, and when she did it was usually to plan whatever it is she would be doing the next few days. This particular day she was getting a bunch of flowers and things together for Rarity, who does not appear in this story, but is probably elsewhere doing non bee-related things.
But you see, Twilight was in a mighty hurry in gathering these flowers, probably because she had a lunch appointment with another one of her friends who is also not appearing in this story, and simply did not have time to inspect each and every flower for bees or any other undesireable hitchhikers. I suppose she should have brought her towel.
This bee was simply minding its own beeswax, as usual, when suddenly the entire flower turned a purple, shimmery color. This startled the bee, as she has never seen a flower change color before. This dandilion was suddenly floating, and purple, and worst of all, the bee was now stuck firmly to it.
This of course was a result of our hero spotting this particular dandilion, and thinking that while it would not in any means be suitable for a floral arrangement for her good friend, Miss Not-Appearing-in-this-fic, she figured it would make a delightful snack for until she could eat a proper lunch. It eludes me why she did not think to make sure there WERE NO FRIGGIN BEES ON OR IN THE DANG DANDILION, but thus is the way the idiot ball rolls.
This bee was simply terrified. Suddenly this now-purple dandilion was hurtaling its way toward a large, equally purple creature's mouth, but this suicidal flower was dragging her with it. The bee tried with all her might to escape the grasp of the hell-bent flower, bringing her and it closer to the end of their short, sad existaince. The bee saw its whole bee-life flash before its eyes, with nothing left out. This sudden bout of memory stunned our tragic bee, and she stopped fighting.
This was, of course, lost on our hero, as she brought the dandilion closer to her gaping maw. The plight of our little bee was completely lost on her, and none of the events that transpired were anywhere near her convoluted train of thought, instead being shut out by thoughts of how she hated the cliffhanger at the end of the Encyclepidia Ponica, D-E.
The moment the dandilion entered the mouth of our hero, the bee suddenly realized where she was and what dire straits she was in. It was evident that unless she acted fast she would be nothing more than a bit of extra protien. Suddenly, the purple... thing surrounding the poor thing broke, and she was free to buzz around as she pleased. Unfortunately, that event imedietely coencided with one similar event, that being the giant purple thing closing its mouth. It dawned on the insect that thouh it was now free to fly, the space was very limited, and were she to fly too far she could be caught in the shiny, slightly off-white deathtraps we commonly know as molars.
This, of course, transpired in the course of a few seconds. Twilight, having been taught well by her parents, who presumably didn't check for tiny hitchhikers either, was slowly and methodically chewing the dandilion while she walked, looking for more beautiful flowers. She pondered the irony of the phrase "never judge a book by its cover" because it was exactly the appearance of a flower that made it desirable for an arrangement or for a snack. It is quite ironic, really, that the sole reason she didn't keep the dandilion was because of its common appearance.
We wish she would have checked the cover more closely, because if she had she may have been more aware of the plight of the tiny insect, but what kind of a story would that be(e)?
Anyway, back to bee-sness.
The poor creature was left with two options.
1) Buzz around frantically in hope of something happening, or
2) hope that bee-god is merciful.
Understandanly, our insect chose to buzz around randomly inside its fleshy prison. Making as much noise as possible, our tiny bee buzzed and buzzed until her buzzer was sore. It buzzed with all its tiny might, and then some.
Twilight heard the buzzing, and it made her look around. She thought that maybe perhaps there was a bee nearby, though she could have never guessed HOW near it was. No, she looked left to right, then shrugged (or, the pony equivelant anyway).
The bee's situation was hopeless. This poor creature was left with only one option. She primed her stinger, stifeling the bee-sized tear in her eye. This is it. She prepared to sting, and...
Twilight saw a pink friend of hers, who should not be appearing in this story but apparently enjoys disregarding the narrator, walking down the road. She opened her mouth to salute her friend's ear with her fond "Hello", when...
A bee flew out of her mouth, unharmed.
You were hoping it would sting her, weren't you? You wanted her to be in pain, and the wretched thing to die as a result. How could you honestly wish harm on such a cute, adorable pony? Or an innocent, busy bee?
You sick, sick, brony.
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This chapter will be banned
The Song of the Sea
The night, the dark, oppresses me,
My story never told.
Someday, somehow, I'll be set free,
My story to unfold.
But at this time of dark and drear,
My love of life grows cold.
The seaponies, we live in fear,
Of, without friends, growing old.
Though the life of the others is spread abroad,
Our stories they withhold.
Our lives, our hopes, our friends, our fears,
Are left out in the cold.
If you seek to hear of us,
You never will, I'm told.
For we matter none to no-one,
us Seaponies of old.
The song of the Sea, it sings to me,
as I have often told.
The crashing of creatures, the thrashing of waves,
The darkness and the cold.
Telling me of lives not lead,
of chapters to unfold...
I am the song of the sea.
My story, dead and cold.
