Gods and Magic

by TooLoud

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark, Sad, Romance, Adventure
Length: 1268

My father was killed by a spellcaster, and my mother detests all types magic whatsoever. My name is Radiant Timber, and I happen to be the unluckiest magician in the entirety of Equestria.

My father was killed by a bandit using magic, and my mother detests all types sorcery whatsoever. It just so happens that my special talent is highly magic related. In fact, it may just be magic itself. My name is Radiant Timber, and I think I might be the unluckiest magician in the entirety of Equestria.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-07-22 13:20:01 UTC

Memories

Chapter 1: Memories

Manehatten stood dead as the scheduled cleansing poured from the sky. The fresh influx of rain from the weather control team was a gratifying gift for the majority of Manehatten. Mares and colts and fillies all huddled together in their comfortable homes, oblivious to the world outside their own little bubbles of warmth.  The perfect day for milk and cookies was the general consensus of the few that traversed the cobblestone streets that evening. I listened closely to their small talk as they stood blissfully ignorant of the mare crouching under the awning with them, listening to every word, soaking it in just as she soaked in the rain water seeping through the crack in the middle of the old canopy.

Suddenly they went silent. They finally seemed to have noticed the now completely drenched mare sitting next to them. Within seconds, they were gone, and I was left alone. I looked up at the sky, at the gray covering of clouds and the rain that dripped almost fiercely from their depths.

It rained the day my life fell from under me as well. As I felt it pelt against my fur, matting it and washing out my hair, I became submerged in my own memories.  I remembered the little house next to the lake and the forest that surrounded it. I remembered the old dirt path that would take hours of travel to reach the nearest town. I distinctly remembered the night I was thrown out of my dream. As I stood in the filthy streets of urban Manehatten, I summoned my memories from the absolute worst day of my life.

I was taken back seven years ago. The homely little cottage stood in front of me. Time couldn't distort even the smallest of details, for my recollections of that place are far too precious to lose. I used to love my home. I loved the great blue lake that rippled against the wind of the mountain pass north of our cabin. I loved the way the pine trees smelled and the dirt squished beneath my hooves. I loved the way the cold, yet satisfying sun would shine over our cottage and wake me up at the break of dawn.  I loved the crisp sounds the leaves made when I trampled over them as a filly. Hues of gold, brown, orange, and yellow would fill my field of view along with the rustic look of the trees and the dirt path dividing them.

Every season was beautiful. I loved how the air smelled in the winter and the way the ground iced and became hard. The flowers on the trees would finally come to bloom each spring, revealing the beautiful multi-color petals and the fragrant aroma that they exhibited. Summer carried its own magical alluding aspect: memories of swimming in the lake in the heat of summer flashed before me, times of content, where nothing could have harmed us, and nothing could have ruined those perfect afternoons with my parents. I had really loved every aspect of my life, right up until the day I got my cutie mark. Since then, nothing has ever been the same.

I can still remember it as if it had just happened.

I was standing in the middle of my tiny living space, situated right next to the kitchen where my mother cooked up my favorite: tomato and lettuce salad with her special rainbow cream dressing. At that moment, however, I wasn’t thinking about dinner. I stood on all four hooves but it felt like I was balancing on each exclusively. My knees began to tremble under the weight of the realization that tonight was going to end horribly. I sneaked a peak back to my side just to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. On my flank, clear for everyone to see, there lied a cutie mark. Normally, I would have been ecstatic. But after processing exactly what I had there on my side, my heart started palpitating fiercely. My teeth started chattering. I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing like lead down my cheeks.

I had looked to my left and saw a mirror located next to the doorway. I stared into the figure that dominated the majority of the image. I followed her outline, reaching her hooves, then her body, then her neck and finally her face. I watched the figure stare back. I saw she was crying over something, but I was too distracted to go and comfort her. My mind was filled with a single phrase. I couldn’t begin to imagine the pain and struggle she must have been through. Instead, I could only express my feelings, fully encapsulated within the one sentence: I hate you.

I couldn’t look into her eyes anymore. Instead, I snuck one last glance at my cutie mark. On it was not the axe chopping wood or the pot cooking stew that I had hoped there was. What I saw in its stead made me tremble. Square on the side of my rump, there was a five pointed star with varying colors of blue emanating like electricity from it. The blue lights resembled the colors my horn emanated when I performed magic. Those blue jagged lines across my flank scared me. The fact that my mother could now see exactly what my guilty pleasure performed without her knowing was managed to absolutely shatter any residual piece of confidence or sense of content I had ever had.

I remember the joyous, the heart-wrenching and even the laziest moments of my past life. I can remember them as if I could really see them happening when I closed my eyes. But I can’t ever take back what’s been done.

As I contemplated my past, I couldn’t help but envision the most painful memories, especially the last I ever had with my mother. I saw her face as she yelled at me. It was twisted in anger and streaming with tears. She would tell me that magic was evil. She would tell me again how my father had died, murdered by a spellcaster. She would hit me across the face with her right hoof and a slight amount of blood would be spilled over the counter. I would crumple under her gaze.

I learned a valuable lesson that night. It was a lesson not easily forgotten. That is: you never know when all that you love will disappear in an instant.

“Just LEAVE!”

There is no anger.

“Take that thing with you!”

Because you aren’t really even given time to process what’s going on.

“Just GO!”

You don’t understand the reasoning behind it.

“I never want to see you again.”

But you feel empty after. Like the world doesn’t love you anymore.

“..no daughter of mine...”

There's only thing left to do for yourself.

“…you’re a disgrace…”

It’s to fill that empty void.

“...wish…never born...”

With the future that lies in front of you, no matter how bleak it may seem.

I was pulled out of my line of thought as the rain started to pour even harder around me. I continued to sit there, having just been lost in memory, and now lost in contemplation. I  shuddered as a wave of sadness overwhelmed me. Memory began to transition back into reality and rainwater splashing against the roof of the house became the water pounding upon the canopy above me. As I sat there on my hind legs, completely drenched, I began to do what I had resolved not to do since the day I left home; I crumpled into myself and cried deeply.