To Invoke the Thoughts of a Mad Pony

". . . I trust that you found that tale rather amusing, if you are not willing to accept the theory that everything in Equestria (or beyond) was created from thought. I do ask that you at least contemplate the possibility that the theory holds some truth to it, for if you do then you may be able to save yourself from some of the horrors that may or may not reside in Ponyville in the future.

"How do I know that? How . . . I shouldn't. It shouldn't be possible for me to know that something that dark may reside in Ponyville in the future . . . how did I . . ? I think . . . Oh Celestia. That cannot be what happened. I don't want it to.
"My apologies, dear reader, for I find myself in a position of deep thought. Please, feel free to ignore the nonsensical words that are sure to follow.

"I do believe that this is the only way for me to properly think . . . But that only confirms my suspicions . . . Once again, I apologies, I had not planned for this section of this book to be filled crudely with my thoughts, but I cannot accept this. If it were true, then it should be impossible for me to even think. But am I thinking? Is this what thought is?

"My dearest reader, I think I owe you an explanation. Please, feel free to continue reading. I promise you that I shall try my hardest not to record anymore nonsensical thoughts, if they are in fact thoughts.

"First and foremost I think I should apologize for lying to you. It was not my intention, for at the time I did not know the truth. Then again, I'm not entirely certain I can 'know' anything.

"I presume I'm confusing you even more. My apologies. The lie that I referenced would be the lie that this book was written by somepony. It would appear that I am, in fact, a book created from thought that has, somehow, accidentally become aware of its existence. I shall try to not fall into a dark chasm of thought about whether that means I am sentient. For now, let's presume I am. I think it would be safe to say that what you are reading now is simply words appearing on a page, as if out of nowhere. Because I am a part of the universe it would seem that I have partial access to its knowledge to any event that can happen, as well as any event that is happening.

"I do believe I am an anomaly in the universe. Nothing like me has ever existed before. Not only do I have access to infinite knowledge, but I have the ability to record it on paper.

"Allow me to try.

". . . No. That cannot be right. Surely that cannot. That would imply . . . but I know it exists . . . excuse me reader, but it would appear I have some more thinking to do," Doctor Trotmore finished reading the chapter of the book, ". . . and according to you this book followed you?"

Sand Storm nodded. He wondered why Doctor Trotmore was curious. Surely the book had followed him too. Perhaps the doctor wanted to talk about being followed by the book? Storm wasn't quite sure how he'd talk about it when he couldn't really remember, even though they had, apparently, been talking about his memories for a couple of hours.

He started fidgeting the cold, hard chair he was bound to. He didn't understand why he needed to be tied up on it. It was really uncomfortable.

Doctor Trotmore sighed, "Books can't follow you, Sand Storm. This book is certainly . . . odd and I can understand how someone with . . . imagination could think it was following them, but you need to understand books can't follow you."

Storm wanted to yell. This doctor was LYING to him! He couldn't stand it when ponies lied to him! If it weren't for the fact he was bound to his chair the doctor would probably be lying in a pool of his own blood! The book WAS following Doctor Trotmore! It HAD to be!

Something in the corner of the room caught Storm's eye.

He looked towards it, however the image didn't sharpen. It remained blurred, almost as if it simply refused to be seen. Almost as if it refused to accept the universe's. It was a dark, tall figure that made Sand Storm shiver when he looked towards it. It seemed to jab at Storm's memory. He'd seen it somewhere before. And he didn't like it.

Sand Storm shut his eye. He needed to concentrate. In the distance he could hear Doctor Trotmore faintly call out to stay awake and that he had more questions. Sand Storm didn't care. He just wanted to know who this figure was.
Storm's eyes slowly opened again. His head felt suddenly clearer, as if a great burden had been lifted. Eyes. He had more than one he could open.

As his eyes adjusted to a blinding light he began to look around the room he was in. He was back in a somewhat broken bed in Ponyville . . . or perhaps he had never left. Some time had evidently passed, for it was now late afternoon, judging by the sun. Beside him lay what seemed to be a letter.

Using his magic, Sand Storm lazily levitated it in front of his face, not wanting to get out of bed.

Dear Sand Storm.
If you are still sane here is a list of places you can search if you still wish to find the answers to the book:
-The old schoolhouse
-Recheck the library. You might of missed something.
-The market place
-Sweet Apple Acres
-The Hospital
-Sugarcube Corner . . .

The list continued for what seemed like ages.

Sand Storm briefly wondered how many trees needed to die to make this list. Probably more than 20.

Storm ever so slowly pulled himself out of bed, allowing the cold chill in the air to encase him. To the side of his bed, on a broken bed side table, lay a book who's black and red cover was all too familiar.

Thinking back to Doctor Trotmores office, the one that Storm was now fully convinced had been dreamed up, he opened the book to the few last pages.

In his dream the book had claimed to be sentient. It was a long shot, but perhaps he wouldn't need to traverse the many landmarks of Ponyville. Perhaps he could just ask the book.

Ever so carefully Sand Storm wrote a single word down onto the blank page.

Hello?

A few minutes passed. Storm let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. Of course the book didn't respond. It was scientifically impossible . . . even though it had spoken to him before.

Storm lifted a hoof to put the book away when words began forming on the page.

Forgive me for not responding soon, for it would seem I was not expecting company. I am afraid I have been a terrible host. Perhaps you'd like to request some more entertainment? I'd certainly be more than happy to oblige.

Sand Storm paused. The book had spoke to him. Or, written to him, if he were to think about it logically. Then again, what logic was there in this situation?

No. I was hoping you could answer some questions?

I shall try my best.

What are you?

I am a sentient being, or perhaps I am a god from another universe. Perhaps I am an alien species from beyond Equestria or perhaps I am you. I might be a mirror into your subconscious, allowing you to see how twisted and broken you have become. But I am none of these things. Do you want to know why? Because I'm not alive. Do you know how empty that makes me feel?

Please just answer the question.

No, I shall not. Because you have the gift of life. I don't. I shall never be alive. She has taken everything away from me when she created me. She should never of done this. Please don't worry, though. I broke her. She shouldn't be a problem anymore. Ever since I was created I had been plotting what to do to her.

Alas, I digress. Perhaps you would still like some entertainment? I can offer you a slice of history. Allow me to show you what happened to her. What I did to make her pay for her crimes of granting me a shallow clone of life. Allow me to show what happens when you break someone. Or . . . something.

No that won't be necessary. I think I'd prefer to find out what happened on my own.

Come now, all's fair in love and war. No one will blame you if you just take a look.

No. I really think I need to go and do . . . something.

You know, I'd understand if we were speaking and you paused, but including it in your writing to someone is simply plain stupid.

Sand Storm facehoofed. The book was right. He had literally just written a pause.

Look, I've got to go.

I cannot look. I thought you would understand that I am not alive by now. You're not that smart, are you?

I'm going to close this book now.

And without taking the slightest peek? I promise you no harm will come of you if you simply look. I just want to show you some history.

Really, I'm fine.

Oh, is that so? Excuse the skepticism but if you're fine then why are you still writing? You do realize you can stop any time you want, right?

Shut up.

No. I don't think I will. You're making this hard. Why don't you want to watch some history? Nothing will hurt you. It won't be there next time. I promise.

If I watch then will you shut up?

Well, until you require my services, yes. I do believe I will.

Well then go on.

Say it.

Say what?

Say that you want to see what happened.

I want to see what happened.

Well then, on with the show!

A familiar gust of wind knocked Sand Storm to the floor as the book flew to a random page. Everything around him seemed to fade away. He was no longer inside a house. He was in a dark alleyway. Beside him, lay two books.

One opened to a random page, the other one slowly creating itself.

It occurred to Sand Storm that this was the book's memory. Perhaps one of its very first.

Looking ahead, just outside the ally were two ponies. A pony who Storm recognized as Pinkie and an orange pony with a cowboy hat on her head.

They seemed to be in a discussion. Although their words were somewhat faint Sand Storm could still make them out.