WhiteView OnlineLily WaitsWhite "Nothing Makes Sense Until It Does" Lily LILY WAITS ~ A Melancholic Story about Life, Love, Friends, Family... and the *Universe** ~* White It sat there – a crumpled, wrinkled fold of plastic, discarded and lonely at the bottom of a basin. The basin held water, once, but was now nothing more than a shadow of its former self – a glass receptacle used merely for the retention of items so cruelly deemed as trash by the lofty standards of this heavily entitled world. At least Lily could make her dustbin something more than a mere container. She could give it a life of its own – give it flavour and colour and texture, give the little things in life a proper home. The slip of crinkled plastic had performed its one true purpose and lacked another, and what was once the wrapper of a solitary hygiene product was now ‘useless’ simply because of that. And it had been with great sorrow and guilt did Lily drop the piece of refuse into the glass vessel, knowing well that she had condemned the lonely wrapper to an eternal life of solitude, there in the bottom of the makeshift trash can. I wonder what’s for dinner tonight, Lily thought, glancing at the wrapper, as the light of a ceiling lamp danced off its moderately reflective surface. It was the sort of wrapper that was slightly shiny and had a smooth texture – sort of light, sort of ephemeral. It smelt of lavender, but, much to Lily’s disappointment, the product within smelled nothing more than cotton that had been appropriately tempered to be sterile and clean. These hygiene products were just so convenient in every way. It was nice that there were ponies out there somewhere thinking enough about the needs of complete strangers that they would go through all the trouble to make a simple, disposable product like this, with all its various uses. It was a warm feeling to believe that you didn’t have to meet someone for them to love you so. It was like the fine stallions who worked at the hygiene product companies gave Lily a pat on the head and said, ‘Here. Take these hygiene products with our blessing. And...’ with a small, gentle tilt of the head that betrayed their utmost love, ‘... take care of yourself.’ It was like getting a hug from a very long way away. But today, her world was cold. No amount of phantom hugs from distant entrepreneurs would change that. The lack of customers made the flower shop a desolate, distant place. It was a world bereft of kindness and heart and the tinklings of the bell that hung above the door – the one that rang out soft and loud and all the volumes in between when someone walked into the hallowed grounds of her private sanctuary, which also doubled as the storefront. Roseluck had long since departed from the world, having left the shop that morning to catch a matinee recital at Canterlot. Her note was the first thing that Lily found, tacked up upon the fridge door with a magnet that looked like a smiling cat. It only looked like a smiling cat – it most assuredly wasn’t a real one, and Lily had to make sure to remind herself of this lest the two be confused. It sat above another magnet that looked like a can of baked beans. The note said not to worry, that worry should not be had, that she would be back to the world by the end of the day, and that if she needed any help, Daisy was always there. But Daisy had left as soon as she could that morning, and that left Lily alone in a store that could not be opened until she returned. For the moment, Lily’s life would have to be a barren arctic wasteland, devoid of the warmth of companionship and customers to wait on. But a store must never be opened until everything was ready, and that was up to Daisy. There was a table in the middle of the shop. It was a small, round wooden one where Lily had her breakfast and lunch every day. She insisted on sitting in the middle of the store to do so. Despite her peculiar location, it made her feel like she was enjoying a beautiful meal in the middle of a glen. The walls of her shop, already made of wood, extended themselves into a forest, and the roof overhead peeled away to reveal a midday shower that was both cooling and serene. She had to turn on the fan and run the taps for that, but it was sometimes worth it. The clock on the wall told her that it was 10:14 in the morning, a good forty-two minutes after she had started breakfast at 9:32. She remembered the time; she had checked, after all. But the dry bowl of cereal stood by itself, uneaten, unmoistened, on the far edge of the table, tiny flaky golden chips of oats and bran and dices of dried fruit sitting in a porcelain oval that had been decorated by little swirls of flowers, painted in by a masterful hoof. It reminded her of her little stand-in waste-bowl. The sun attempted to seep its way past the closed shutters, but was unable to break through the simple resistance of a few wooden slats. Lily turned her head to the ceiling, listening to it as she had done many times before. Each crack told a story. Each splinter in the well-worn wood giving her whispers of the glowing secrets that lay behind. Were she tall enough, she would pick at the knots, finding golden treasures that she knew lay beyond the rafters, but she was unable to and thusly had to satisfy herself with their constant taunts and beckoning calls. That morning, she had run to Daisy and explained the situation. She had told her that Roseluck was gone. Daisy was concerned as well. Daisy expressed concern. Daisy showed concern. Lily had told Daisy to go to the shops to buy more. Many. Daisy was an understanding pony. A very patient and very kind pony, one with a very kind name. Kind and normal. It was in that normalcy that Daisy was in fact, definitively strange. It was her other friend Roseluck’s name that was the properly strange one. Why were roses lucky? Could they even be? Did flora understand the basic concepts of chance or misfortune? No, roses were never lucky in the world of flowers. If there was anything to be taken away from what they had to say for themselves, it was the constant fights that occurred amongst historians and sociologists regarding their meaning. This had led Lily to do some research of her own by reading the first book she came across in the library about the Language of Flowers. She had spent a good four and a half minutes leafing through as quickly as she could, finally absorbing enough random information that would allow her to come across as an expert. Of all the many dozen definitions of roses that could be inferred, ‘luck’ was not one found in that book. The theory of flower language was something of a curiosity to Lily. She had always felt that it was something that botanists and poets made up one day just to be able to push the product, rather than being a tradition steeped in ancient history. But it didn’t matter to Lily what the true origins of the Language of Flowers was – she liked both explanations equally – and decided that there was no reason why they could not both be simultaneously true. Nevertheless, roses were not lucky. Lily frowned, her rhythmic tabletop hoof-tapping getting faster and faster as her leg shook, victim to a mild anxiety. Roseluck was, therefore, an abomination of nomenclatures. So was Lily, to be fair, but Lily did not enjoy thinking about her own full name, and so she wouldn’t. But the truth lent itself to the eventual realisation that out of three of them, only one had a regular name, and that made her the minority. That made her different. Being that Roseluck was an abomination and Daisy was oddly regular, that made Lily herself the only normal pony of the three. Lily nodded. She was happy with her conclusion. All things could be seen as normal if viewed from the right direction. A box of tissues lay on the other side of the table and, like the cereal bowl, straddled the edge of the surface like a slightly upset pony peering off the side of a bridge. It had a little, crumpled corner from when Lily dropped it once, by accident, the cardboard smashing in and wrinkling in an unpleasant way. The functionality of the box was unimpeded, thankfully, and she had decided that it should be kept to be used as was intended. She had decided to give the box a chance. But the mildly injured box sat there, all by its lonesome self, its last tissue pulled from its lapels. The fluffy, white, imperfect rectangle of cotton – two-ply – had been folded up neat as could be and placed back on top of the upper face of the cardboard container. It had remained there on the table for the past two days. She wasgoing to use it, honestly, but a sudden change of heart swept over her as she stared down at the flimsy piece of processed wood pulp in her fumbly hooves, her emotions suddenly running soft for this one last sheet pulled free. It told her a story as she listened intently to it, about the great things that it had wished to do – things that existed in potentia. Wasting it on a current event might deny it some future use for something much more fulfilling, tissue-wise, and Lily could never be the pony to do that. There were no more spare boxes to be found all around the house. She had spent a good three minutes searching for one in all the right places. Daisy had helped her confirm this fact. Roseluck would have, too, had she been around. But she was no longer with them. The shutters still denied the sun any entry. Lily tapped away at the tabletop, worry in her eyes and a dryness upon her lips. It was at these moments when she really wished she knew what was for dinner – it would help her take her mind off the present. It would help her take her mind off breakfast. Perhaps a bit of carrot. She loved carrots. Carrots were long and orange. They thusly reminded her of orange umbrellas, except that, perhaps, carrots were not quite so long; could not be opened; had no efficient ability to keep one sheltered from the rain, and was really only similar to an orange umbrella due to the relatively similar colours that they both held, were they to be both found in the same shade and hue. Lily wondered why there were so many orange things in her life. She wondered if there was a specialist reference book, perhaps, that spoke of the Language of Orange Things. Perhaps she would spend four, or maybe more, minutes reading it and learning that the colour orange was found primarily in the lives of ponies who suffered from a lot of stress anxiety in their lives. It seemed that it did not make much sense. But most things rarely did. This was why Lily was always happy to have more than one explanation for everything – if something didn’t make sense, other things would do in a pinch. Lily looked at breakfast. There was a bottle of milk that lay next to the dry cereal and the empty box of tissues. It lay there because it was not standing. It wasn’t standing because Lily had knocked it over. There were now three things on the table that were testament to her general life condition. There was a tissue box that she mangled by fumbling the simplest of transportations. There was a bottle of milk that had toppled thanks to a carelessly misplaced hoof. And there was a bowl of cereal that would never find itself bathed in the the missing component that would make it evolve into a complete meal. All this just made Lily feel just a bit more miserable. The plastic dam on the top of the bottle, try as it might, could not hold back the rushing tide. And having already been opened part-way by an over-eager pony, could not stop the surge of milk from within a bottle upturned. From the dripping top of the bottle came a trickle of milk that had eventually collected in the form of a small pond in the middle of the table. It was a glorious white lake upon which the lights above played a sparkling melody. It glistened and glimmered, quivered in the winds of a pony’s sigh, and shook from the tapping of a hoof upon the table. There was an island in the middle of the lake – an island of wood and a bare table-surface. On the shore of the island lay a small pontoon boat, one made of cotton, sporting a long, thread-like tail. Lily read the description again as her eyes fell upon the packet in the trash. Extra absorbent. Some things in this world were like a hug from an invisible pony. Some things in this world were lies of venom spat by a silver-tongued demon. It all evened out, eventually. The bell tinkled in all its volumes as the door opened. Daisy walked through, full saddle bags slung across her back and a smile slung across her face. She always had a smile on her face, because she was always quite happy. “Oh!” Lily exclaimed, pushing herself away from the table with a scraping of a stool against a hardwood floor, rushing forward to greet her friend who had started to move to the rather humble cabin-like kitchen of their shophouse. “I’m sorry I took so long,” Daisy apologized, wiping her brow from a smattering of perspiration. “Early morning queues. You know how it is.” “Did you get it?” Lily asked, a hopeful smile crossing her face. “Well, I got a whole five-pack of tissue boxes here,” Daisy said cheerfully, pulling the items out from her saddlebags as she named them, “and more milk, of course.” “And? And?” Lily asked with a tinge of discombobulation. “Yes, Lily,” Daisy said softly, her expression changing tones from a smile to a smile. “I have them right here.” Daisy pulled out two boxes of the hygiene products, setting them on the kitchen counter. Lily nodded at them with full reverence and understanding. “But, you know,” Daisy said, sliding the stack of tissue boxes over. She turned her head to the table where Lily had used the soft cotton bud to soak up a mere modicum of the spilt milk. “You could always use these. Then you wouldn’t have to use the last one. Also, it’d probably be a little bit easier. And then we can open the shop. Can’t keep our customers waiting, you know!” “No, of course not! Well, it’s great you’re back, then!” Lily agreed, wholeheartedly. “And yes, you are right, of course. I’ll open a box of the tissues right now... but... Daisy...” “Yes?” “What do we do with these, then?” Lily picked up a box of the hygiene products, reading the back panel, as if the answers were writ thereupon. Daisy looked down at the other box she had bought on Lily’s command then up toward Lily herself as her eyebrows tilted back, and she looked upon her friend with a slow, waxing sadness. “We’ll think of something, Lily,” she said emphatically. “We’ll think of something.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~And Lily Continues To Wait----> Haiku #19b They say I’m someone but I only want to be Lily of the Vale
PullView OnlineLily WaitsPullPull The wait was not long at all – the queue dwindled with each purchase – and by the time she reached the counter, the last customer of the hour had left with their daily hoard. There wouldn’t be another customer coming. Lily was quite certain of that. Even if a customer did arrive to break the serentiy of the shop, all Lily would have to do was get in line behind them. Lily was never one to push toward the front of anything when the back would do. It was sometimes nice in the back. She’d heard something about that on the news once – some sort of tensions about the fairness of being forced to sit at the back of a trolley or something like that. She would have gladly taken the back seat of the trolley, had she been given the choice. It was cozy in the back. Warm. Comforting. You could spread out a little, because the seats were wider, and if you sat right in the middle, you had some room to stretch out. No one would bother you walking by, and you would get to look and smile at every new pony boarding the vehicle. No, she wasn’t trying to downgrade equality or fairness or the rights of all living ponies, no. Equality was very important in all situations. She was merely standing up for the rights of the back seat itself, which had since gotten quite a bad reputation indeed, and if she didn’t stand up for their rights, who would? Only she could, because she was the only one quiet enough to listen. “Do you know something?” Lily asked the clerk who was staffing the counter. Quickly now. Observations. Earth persuasion. Blue coat. White mane. Straight. Dark eyes. Cutie mark? Sales till. Name? Tally. Says so on the name tag. Done. “What?” Tally asked. “You know, the back seat of the trolley really isn’t that bad,” Lily said gently, giving him a smile. “It has a bad reputation.” “Oh, yes. Of course.” He smiled back. “Ah... would you like to make a purchase?” There were many items for purchase at the store, for it was the kind of store that sold goods rather than services. This was the type of store that sold a rather wide variety of things and not one of those types of stores that sold a wide variety of things of theone sort. There was a subtle, yet important, difference between them. The former – stores that sold a wide variety of things – tended to be like the one she stood in right now, in which the exact nature of products sold was fairly non-specific. This was, perhaps, because it was a general store. The items one needed for day-to-day operations or common convenience could be found here, but you would be sorely disappointed if you had to find something that required more than two adjectives to describe it, because more than two adjectives made any object specific, and that was The Rule. The latter – stores that sold a wide variety of thingsof the one sort – tended to be like the store from which she bought most of her orange-coloured paraphernalias. It was aptly named the orange-coloured store, and did not exist. If she had the choice, she would certainly prefer to buy an orange-coloured item from the orange-coloured store rather than make a snap purchase as she passed an orange-coloured item by at the markets or wherever, and she most certainly could take the back seat of the cart to get there. “Would you care to make a purchase, miss?” Tally asked again, having waited patiently for the three minutes that Lily took to complete her thoughts, the smile on his face as courteous as it was professional. “Oh, no,” Lily replied, shaking her head, her voice like luxury. “I would very much like to use your washrooms, please.” “Of course, miss,” Tally stated with cheerful indulgence. “Right over there.” He pointed toward a door to the back. It was a door that had a sign on it. The sign read ‘Washrooms’. It had another sign under it that read ‘Please Wash Hooves’. Lily needed to be reminded of it. She might forget to, otherwise. It was important to be reminded of the little things, because it is always the little things that everyone takes for granted. In fact, most of the ponies who used that washroom saw that sign and, not even more than a few moments after doing so, would completely forget to wash their hooves and stroll out with a slightly guilty look upon their faces. Everyone forgets the little things. But not Lily. She had signs to remind her. And if the signs didn’t exist, she would simply remember to pretend there was one. It was much simpler to remember just that one thing than everything else in the whole universe. And in that way she could remember everything there ever was. Unless she forgot, which happened every so often for various reasons. Lily returned to the counter. There were still no other customers. “Yes, miss?” Tally asked, regarding her re-arrival with a nod and a perky, yet welcoming, grin. “Oh, I’m ever so sorry. I was actually looking for the other washroom. You know. The one that sold things from the little box on the wall.” “Oh, yes, of course, of course!” Tally smacked a hoof against the other in sudden realization. “I should have known! I really should have. I did peg you as one of those.” “One of those?” “Yes. One of those.” “Oh! Yes. I am,” Reaffirmed Lily, for she was, in fact, one of those. “The washroom, though...?” “Right next to the other one!” Tally gestured toward a door that was right next to the one he had indicated earlier. This door had a sign on it that read ‘Washrooms’. Underneath it was another sign which had a little drawing of a tomato plant on it. Under that was another sign that reminded everypony to wash their hooves. This was the right one. Lily pushed through the door, pressing forward into the deepest bastions of The Store. She rushed up to the box on the wall – a little machine thing with three choices of product and a slot for inserting one’s coin. She inserted one coin. And waited. The washroom had a lovely motif that could only be described as ‘sterile’. Square, white tiles bound the floor together, and smaller versions of them ran up and down the walls like an endless conga line of square, white mice which danced so slowly that they almost looked like they were standing still in uniform rows. The sinks were white and were laid into white counters. Cubical cubicles wedged themselves against the wall, all dressed in their best light grey. Lily always wondered why the toilet stalls had gaps along the top and the bottom. They allowed other ponies to peek in if they were feeling a bit cheeky or if, perhaps, they happened to be incredibly lost. She reckoned that maybe some ponies would prefer facilities that lacked such a wonderful opportunity to get to play spot-the-pony. Though this also meant having to sit in a hot box of stenches and vaguely unidentifiable growths. There were many reasons to not have the gaps. But gaps had their place in society. Gaps were surely important – too important even for a closed-off toilet stall in which one could do a zen-like pony poo in total sensory deprivation. For without gaps there would be no bridges. Without gaps there would be nothing to mind at the train station. Without gaps there would be much less for dentists to do. And all these were wonderful and beautiful things. Tally stuck his head around the corner of the door frame, poking into the washroom as he watched Lily stand there, peering at the box on the wall. “Do you require some assistance, miss?” he asked, patiently, kindly. Lily turned back – just enough to look over her shoulder and make sure that Tally saw her understanding smile. “I don’t think so.” She motioned to the machine. “I’m just waiting.” “Oh… for?” “For everything to come together.” “Oh. Well, let me know if you need anything! We’re always here to help at The Store.” “Is the staff here always this kind?” Lily asked, tilting her head. “Oh, yes indeed, miss!” Tally nodded with reaffirmation. “We pride ourselves in our work. Even if it’s just about visiting the facilities, we want to make sure that your stay here with us is as comfortable as possible!” Lily agreed. This was most definitely the right way to go about things. “But if I may be so bold...” Tally asked, holding up a hoof. Lily thought about it for a while. She needed to consider this carefully. “Yes,” she responded, finally. “Yes, I do believe you may.” “Ah, very good, miss!” Tally bubbled, overjoyed at his chance to provide even more assistance. “You need to pull.” Lily looked back toward the machine. She had inserted her one bit. She had made a choice. The machine had said, in small writing, to make a choice. And she had. She knew exactly which one she wanted. It was the one on the left, with the little polka dots. But, as was just pointed out, she needed to reaffirm her choice to the machine by pulling a little lever that was under each picture. It was a lever that allowed her to communicate with the machine a single step further than mere contemplation. She wondered why contemplation was not enough. “No,” Lily said, returning her attention to the store clerk. “I will wait. It is no problem.” “If miss so desires.” Tally said. “But it is my solemn duty to suggest that you use the tiny little levers, miss. Look, they have little dimples in them in the shape of a hoof, for a better grip.” “Oh! Yes. Why, they do! They do indeed!” Lily exclaimed, shocked at the revelation. “Oh, but... I will wait. I quite like it here. I am just enjoying the ambiance. It is so rare do I get to take the time out and just immerse myself in such a peaceful, serene atmosphere. I’m in the forest all the time, and all that expanse and rolling trees get quite monotonous indeed. It’s refreshing to get away, and I would very much like to enjoy myself while I have the opportunity.” “As you say,” Tally allowed. “But... ah! Yes. Of course. One moment, miss. I’ve just realised something.” The youngish stallion pulled away from the door all of a sudden, leaving on his epiphany. Epiphanies were always a good time to leave. One must never leave a scene abruptly before reaching an epiphany; it would be rather strange and unexplainable, and cause everypony to scratch their heads at the sudden departure. But no. If one had an epiphany, then one had a reason to go. This is why Lily was not offended when Tally had made his dire escape. She turned back to the machine, looking at the three options. There was one item with the lovely pink stripes that ran up and down the white cotton shaft, making it look like a grapefruit popsicle. It, no doubt, would be chosen by the sporty and peppy types, the kind of pony that led active lifestyles and wore their manes up in folds for the explicit purpose of being able to let it down at appropriate moments. There was another one that had the purple stars on it. Tiny, little purple stars. They were the denizens of the night showing up on the pale, white day. It made Lily’s brain hurt to look at it, a little, but she supposed that must have been the point. Why would they have decided to make a design of stars upon a background that was clearly day? Stars weren’t to be seen during the day – that was the nature of things – but yet, this design proved to be a calming and pleasant one to the eyes and the mind. Thusly, this design was meant to cause cognitive dissonance, and that was the beauty of it. It subtly hid a deep psychological evil in the mask of an innocent and not-too-completely-thought-out design. The final one was the one with the orange-flavoured polka dots on it. This was, undoubtedly, the one that she chose, because even Lily had to have regularity in some things. It would have been, by far, the most disquieting thing if she had chosen one of the other designs, especially when she had established to herself since she came to this place a long time ago that she would like the colour orange to be one of her many obsessions. It was a conscious choice to be so, and she would stick to it. So, as the machine had said, she made her choice. And she was waiting for it to drop. Tally returned. He pushed the stool to Lily. “Here, miss...” he muttered, expression guilty at the complete and total affront that he was committing. “Please forgive me for the intrusion into your privacy, but I did think that you might want something to sit on. Look. It has a cushion.” It had a cushion. “Why, thank you!” Lily cried, running a gentle hoof over the finely polished wood. It was of expert craftswork. “And... what about you?” “Me, miss?” “Why yes, of course! Won’t you join me?” “Ah, no miss. I would never be so forward as to assume that...” “Don’t be silly. Sit.” “But I have to tend to the customers, miss.” “There won’t be another customer until I am done, Tally. You know that.” “O-oh, of course. You are right...” “Look,” Lily said, sliding the stool over. “I brought you a stool to sit on.” Tally’s eyes welled up slightly, although not quite enough to spill over. A low whimper escaped his throat as his heart softened at the generous offer; it was the nicest thing that anypony had ever done for him in all his years working there at The Store. But he struggled to regain composure, and managed to eventually achieve it. Lily watched him, nodding a little to herself, and regarded his outpouring of feelings with a stoic expression. His was a true emotion. A stark emotion. It was the impact of the heart. “T-thank you, miss,” Tally said, coughing slightly to clear his tightened throat, “but I shall sit on the floor. It is the only place for a pony such as I.” “Then we both shall sit on the floor,” Lily declared, lowering herself onto the stainless, white tiles. Tally followed suit. They both sat there, under the machine, waiting – both watching the walls as their tiles did their dance, both enjoying the ambiance of a semi-lit room devoid of colour. “Let us talk,” Lily stated. “What shall we talk about, miss?” Tally said, to the wall across from where he was sitting. It was alright. His voice would echo off the wall and reach Lily eventually. “My sister,” Lily replied. “Ah, your sister?” “Yes. Her name is Roseluck. But she is neither a rose, nor lucky. She is an abomination.” “I think I do see,” Tally replied, nodding. “It makes perfect sense.” “I love her dearly.” “As you should.” “She is no longer with us, though.” “Oh?” “Yes, she is somewhere else, now. Somewhere far away.” “Oh. I see.” Lily nodded. “I am sorry.” Tally said. “For what?” “For your lost Sister.” “Oh, she’s not lost. She’s just not here.” Lily smiled, turning over to look at Tally for just a moment. He was staring straight on, with a perfectly blank expression, legs wrapped around legs as he huddled against the wall. He looked like a child that way – a child defending himself against the world in a cocoon of his own thoughts. “She will be back, someday, maybe. Can’t be sure when.” Lily continued, looking at the ceiling. She would want to talk to that next. “It’s hard to tell with Roseluck. But rest assured, she most definitely knows where she is. So... she is not lost. We all know where we may go if we wished to join her. It’s just about the journey.” “Do you think the journey is worth it?” “It depends on how much the ticket is.” “Of course, miss. You’ll have to save up for that, I reckon. Quite the pretty bit, I dare say!” “Perhaps it will cost all the money in the world,” mused Lily. The minute flew by on the back of that statement, and only when the last echoes of it had left the room did Tally dare to speak up again. “You mentioned that you were waiting, miss?” he asked. “Yes, Tally. We are wating.” “May I ask... what for, miss?” “As I said, Tally. For everything to come together.” “In what way, miss?” “Well.” Lily thought about it. “You will have a customer soon. As I said, he – or she – will come when I am finished here. And the machine has yet to yield, accept my coin, and spit out my choice.” “Did you not pull the lever, miss?” “No.” “Very well, miss.” “What do you call those things, anyway?” “What things, miss?” “Those things.” Lily pointed upward, toward the machine, toward the slot at the bottom of the machine where the products ended up after purchase. Normally, in the larger vending machines, or the smaller ones that spat out candy, they had a flap over. This one didn’t. “The little... compartment, miss?” “Yes. Does it have a name?” “Not that I know of, miss.” “Well, that’s silly. Everything has a name. Everything must. That’s how things work.” “Does it?” “Yes.” “Oh.” “So what is the little slot called?” “I... I suppose you could just call it a little slot, then, couldn’t you?” Lily nodded. She nodded with a furious agreement. She nodded with full absorption of the idea. “Yes! Why... why yes. Yes, it is a little slot. Why, Tally, you have talents beyond your namesake. And you are ever so kind.” “T-thank you, miss,” he said softly, looking down at the floor. She turned to the stool next to her. “You know,” Lily said, to the stool, but also to Tally. “He is very grateful as well.” “Who is?” “Gaspard here,” Lily motioned to the chair. “He likes that you put a cushion on him. He finds it very comfortable indeed.” “Oh. Well. I do try my best.” Tally blushed, playing with his hooves. “I mean, I always liked that stool. We’ve been together for...” “... one and half years,” Lily finished. “Yes.” “Oh, how did you know?” “Gaspard told me, of course!” “Oh, of course,” Tally agreed, leaning forward slightly so that he could see the stool. “So you do that... then?” “Hmm?” “You talk... talk to stools?” “No, of course not. Don’t be silly. Nopony can talk to inanimate objects.” Lily chuckled, holding a hoof up to her face to be a bit more polite about it. “Oh. Of course.” “Take good care of Gaspard, Mister Tally,” Lily said, getting to her legs, giving her back a little stretch. “Why do you say that with such an air of finality, miss?” Tally asked, looking up at her. He had not moved from his position. He had not wanted to. “Because everything is coming together.” “Well. I ought to... I must thank you, then.” Tally scrambled to his hooves as well, dusting himself off and getting himself presentable once again for the lands outside the washroom. “It has been nothing short of a pleasure. I do... I do hope you will come back soon.” “I might,” Lily responded, nudging the stool over to Tally. Tally grabbed it, deftly placing it onto his back, and carried it out, only lingering at the door for one final moment so that he could give Lily a forlorn look. The washroom echoed once again with nothingness. A doorbell outside tinkled. A hygiene product dropped into the little slot of the machine. Lily smiled. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~And Lily Continues To Wait----> Haiku #24.58 Memory – failing Hooves – clammy and unpleasant Forgot to wash them
DaubView OnlineLily WaitsDaubDaub There was only a single stroke left – one streak of paint that drew the line between a finished project and a hazy concept. And then could they go home. But, as it was, she was seated on a stool in the middle of the museum with a thin stick of wood balanced precariously on the tip of her hoof. With a slow but deliberate tilt of her leg, she sent it falling to the floor where it clattered on the marble tiles. Lily was surrounded by art, but she also longed to be part of it; it was in her opinion that art could never be considered as such without a viewer, and a viewer was part of what made it whole. She had spent enough time looking at the paintings and sculptures in this building that she now felt artistic enough to try to paint something of her own. ‘Art begets art begets art’ was something she had always said. Closing her eyes, she reaffirmed this to herself viciously with no fewer than eighteen rapid nods. It was a philosophy she had adopted since nine fifteen last Wednesday, and she lived by it. The canvas that was set up in front of her held a diluted mess of colours, shapes, and thoughts all running down the face of it in rivers of blue and wafts of green. No one understood it. Then again, no one could. At least, not yet. Lily looked down at the piece of wood on the floor – a brush handle. All its bristles had worn themselves down in the painting of her masterpiece, and the last traces of stubble had been rubbed away. All that was left now was a polished wand that asked nicely for a kind consideration. All across the museum floor, echoes reigned. They were the majority population of the building, outnumbering the ponies five to one. They lived in the cracks between the marble tiles, within the domed ceilings, and in the hoofsteps of every single guest. They called out even when no one made a sound, always whispering their intent to whoever would stand still enough to listen. Lily always stood still enough. She didn’t mind the ponies that passed her by, giving her curious looks. She didn’t mind the grumbles of the janitor as he complained for two days straight about not being able to clean the spot where Lily was. She didn’t mind that Daisy had sat by her for both these days, watching over her and putting a little thick-weave blanket over her head when Daisy deemed it necessary. It was never necessary; Daisy was just being silly, of course. Lily had always pulled the blanket off and thrown it aside. It was the right thing to do in the face of utter silliness. Lily gave the little wooden handle a kick, swinging her legs off the bottom rung of her stool. It rolled across the lavish floors and extravagant carpeting and finally hit the intricately gilded walls, where it came to an sudden rest. Two staff members of the museum swept over to the handle from the rooms far away, from beyond the marble arches that linked the wings of this magnificent palace, carrying a multitude of items and, as Lily and Daisy watched, affixed a small metal plaque to the wall with drills and glue and other such things. It was all over in a minute. One of them cleared his throat in a remarkably official manner as his colleague lay down a small section of red carpet that led from the center of the hallway to where they stood. It was clear that he was the one in charge – of their two official hats, his was larger. It was a bit difficult to compare their relative hat-sizes, however, since his colleague had left his hat at home that day, and was wearing a stand-in made out of a folded bit of looseleaf paper upon which was a crude drawing of the actual hat itself. But Lily was certain that it was larger. Two spotlights flickered on from somewhere above, casting a bright circle of light over the handle. The shade was ‘Bourgeoisie Lace’ – Lily recognized it from a tube of paint that she never used. “Ladies and Gentlestallions,” the curator announced, “we are proud to present our latest exhibit.” The crowd, as if appearing from the cracks behind the walls, gathered in droves, pouring through every entrance like ants ravaging a dying caterpillar. The heavy patter of hooves drowned out the Museum’s aforementioned echoes as they came running, excited to see this new and fantastic work of art. They brought their cameras with them, slung around their necks, in preparation of the elusive shot. The curator’s assistant hung up a little wooden sign. ‘No photography’, it read, inviting everyone around to remember. The curator and his assistant stepped out of the way, making sure they wouldn’t block anypony who was trying for that one elusive shot. Lily nodded in understanding. Daisy tilted her head and sat down on one of those plush, velvet-lined seats that all museums of a certain tier of wealth seemed to have. They both met with their eyes. Daisy patted the tower of thick-weave blankets that she had waiting on the bench with her. “Are you cold?” she asked. “Oh, yes. Very,” admitted Lily, huddling against herself to prove to Daisy that she was. “Here.” Daisy grabbed a blanket off the top of the stack, unfurling it with a flick of two practiced hooves. She threw it on top of a pile of other blankets that lay on the floor next to Lily, where they gathered in a pile that was similar to the one that Daisy had except that it was more mountain-shaped. “Thank you,” Lily told her, always polite. She liked this arrangement with streamlining the blanket rejection process. It was more efficient. “What does it mean?” Daisy asked, curling up on the bench in traditional recline, settling in for another long day of waiting. “All this business with the photography?” “Oh, you really don’t know? I’m not going to tell you if you don’t know!” Lily sang playfully, her smile betraying her pretense. “But seriously, it’s pretty straightforward.” “To you, maybe. But this isn’t my museum.” “It’s nopony’s,” Lily clarified, frowning at her silly friend. “Then how do you make sense of it all?” “Because I take the time to listen,” Lily stated. “Nothing could be simpler!” “But do you really need to?” Daisy asked as she prodded the filigrees on the bench in distraction. “Yes. No. It helps. I think. I haven’t really decided yet.” The two of them remained silent for a while, the crowd swarming around them while on the way to the exhibit. Small burps of light exploded from the front of the wave with audible flashes, and the curator’s assistant hung up a second sign. ‘No Flash’, this one read. The curator and his assistant closed their eyes so they would not be blinded by the blight of illumination that infested their immediate vicinity. With all the commotion, everypony had forgotten to look at Lily and her painting, although that was precisely what she wanted. More than a work of art, it was an experiment – one that would show her a fundamental truth in the world. “Was that it, then?” Daisy asked, looking toward the crowd. “Was that what?” “What you came here to do.” “No, of course not,” Lily said with a chuckle. It was the most obvious thing in the world. Daisy frowned, throwing another blanket onto the pile. “I’m sorry.” Lily looked down. “Don’t be angry. I was only kidding, because you’re my friend.” “I’m just confused.” “It’s not.” “Pardon?” “It’s not what I came here to do,” Lily looked toward the crowd. “That’s just what happens when you throw a stick against a wall.” “Ponies watch?” “Ponies watch.” “Why?” “Because it makes a funny noise,” Lily explained. Daisy tilted her head curiously to one side and then to the other. “I don’t really understand,” she said. “That’s alright. I will explain later. Perhaps when we get home. Maybe when Roseluck comes home. When do you suppose that will be?” “Later.” Daisy nodded. “Surely it must be later.” “Seems like it. But she’s taking her time, isn’t she?” “I think she has to,” Daisy argued. “She’s quite far away, after all.” “I don’t think distance has anything to do with it.” “But it does.” Lily thought about this for a moment as she tapped the side of the canvas. “Yes.” She changed her mind. “That’s right.” “It is,” Daisy agreed sadly. The curator’s assistant hung up a third sign. ‘No eating and drinking’, this one said, as the curator himself passed around trays of refreshments in the meanwhile. “Can you tell me… why you need to listen?” Daisy asked, abruptly, eyeing the new sign. Lily thought about it for a moment, rubbing her chin while she considered what the answer could be. A moment later and she swung her painting around to face Daisy, pointing at it with a furious intensity. “Because of details!” she declared. “Details?” “Tell me, Daisy. Do you understand what you see?” Lily kept prodding her artistic endeavours. “No. I don’t think I get it. It’s just a mishmash of lines and colours and streaks.” “Exactly! It’s not done yet. But when it is, then you will understand. Everypony will understand.” “Is that… really so? “Absolutely!” Lily nodded. “Well… but how does this explain why you need to listen?” “It doesn’t, does it?” Lily surrendered, dropping her shoulders and sighing to herself. “I like listening.” “I know,” Daisy said with a tinge of sadness, pointing towards the incomplete painting. “So that’s what it’s all about then? The details?” “No, of course not.” Lily giggled, perking up again, turning back to her painting. “I just wanted to paint a picture.” The fourth sign went up onto the wall next to all the others, the combined lot now taking up more space than the exhibit itself. This time, it called for everyone not to touch. The curator passed the handle around so that everyone present could get a better look. “Okay, that’s quite enough. You can tell me what they’re up to,” Daisy demanded, eying the museum staff and their contrary antics. “I know you know. What are they doing?” “They’re just making things more exciting,” Lily explained as she, too, watched them with a soft smile. “That’s all there is to it. Rules make life… interesting. It doesn’t matter if we choose to follow them or choose to break them. It’s by their mere presence that life gets flavour.” “Oh. I see. That’s very…” “I agree, Daisy!” Lily nodded in the complete acknowledgement of what her friend had to say. “Sometimes it’s better to follow a rule than break one. But you’ll never know where it’ll end up until the deed is done.” “You know what they say, though.” “Who?” “They.” “Oh. They. What?” “It’s better to regret something you haven’t done,” Daisy recalled, “than something you have.” “There’s nothing truer,” Lily agreed, sadly. “But do you know what I regret the most right now?” “What?” “I regret not having known that until now.” Daisy nodded. “I suppose we both do,” she said, watching the crowd – half breaking the rules and half abiding by them. Despite that, however, they all managed to function as a whole. There weren’t two groups. There was only one. Lily jerked upright, her back going straight as she perched on her stool like an eagle – ever wary of her surroundings and alerted to the world. She stuck out her forehoof suddenly, thrusting it toward the crowd as a momentary look of shock on her face wore off. The one with the hat – the curator – pushed through the crowd and stood before Lily, grinning wildly and nodding his approval. “Thanks to you,” he said; grizzled, wizened voice, “our museum has had a three hundred percent increase in visitors over this last week! Look at the crowd! Is it not spectacular?” “It’s rather good,” Lily said. Daisy kept quiet. She knew better to talk when Lily was talking to others. But she watched with rapt attention, ready to throw a blanket or two. “Everypony from all around has come to see your magnificent work, Lily. Will you not be donating another?” the Curator continued. Lily shook her hoof haphazardly in midair, her forehoof still outstretched towards the curator. It nearly touched his chest, but waving it directly under his nose helped him get the message. “Oh! Of course. You were waiting for this, hm?” The curator cackled with glee, pulling up a small, brown package from the floor next to his spats. Gently hoisting it with his teeth, he dropped it into Lily’s outstretched hoof, which she pulled back to herself with due haste. The string that wrapped it came off, followed by the silky-smooth brown paper wrapping. Inside was a single hygiene product. “Begone,” Lily said. The curator left. Daisy nodded as Lily dipped the cotton bud into the thick blobs of paint that rested in wait upon her palette. She had chosen bright green. Sea-foam, perhaps, or maybe it wasJade, or Olive. “No, those are all wrong,” Lily responded to Daisy’s silent question. “The tube says ‘Upset Turtle’, but I disagree. We should call it… ‘Malachite’. It looks like a ‘Malachite’. Everypony should call it that from now on.” Daisy nodded again. With a final daub of paint upon the canvas, Lily added a single line of Malachite to her masterpiece, and it was finally complete. All the details were in place. “You two!” Lily called out suddenly, throwing her palette to the ground. Instantly, two ponies appeared out of the crowd. They were nothing more to Lily than the pony on the right and the pony on the left. “I must ask you both a question, for I am looking for an answer,” she stated. “You both must tell me if you understand.” She spun her easel around, showing her latest work to the two of them, who leaned closer and peered at it with the utmost reverence. They stared at the lines. They examined the random smears and blobs of paint. They analyzed the mess. And then both of them leaned back once again, judgement ready on their lips. “I understand it,” said the pony on the left. “I do not understand it,” said the pony on the right. “Did you get the answer you were looking for?” Daisy asked. Lily held up the puffy cylinder to the light, the wet paint glistening off its plush surface. She stared at it, wondering if there had been something wrong with her methodology, or if she had simply painted the wrong picture. She closed her eyes as she listened to the green. “No,” she finally said, shaking her head with due disappointment. “I did not.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~And Lily Continues To Wait----> Haiku #24.58 Meaningless detail Perhaps I should have chosen Different shade of green
This is a Chapter of Gravity #1 :: PenanceView OnlineLily WaitsThis is a Chapter of Gravity #1 :: PenanceThis Is A Chapter of Gravity #1 :: Penance “It hurts,” Lily complained. “Yes, I know. But you wanted to do this,” Daisy replied, narrowing her eyes. “But it hurts,” Lily repeated. “This was your idea!” Daisy retorted. “But it hurts!” Lily whined. “Stop that, Lily. Why are you being a child?” Daisy exclaimed, exasperated. “Oh, I was just trying it out, to see what it’s like. Was it annoying?” “Very.” “Thought so! Just making sure.” Lily nodded to Daisy, who returned a nod of her own, the both of them then turning to face a heavy wooden cart that sat on the pavement next to a tall curb. She had been standing there on the corner, thinking, listening, and pondering. The complaints had been practice– there was nothing physically demanding being done yet – and she wanted to try out a whine or two in case she needed it during the activity that was to come. “Do you think I’ll get to use it today?” Lily asked as she circled the cart. “Use what?” “The whining.” “Well… I suppose so.” Daisy shrugged, giving the cart a weary look. “It depends, doesn’t it?” “On what?” “On if it hurts or not, I’d imagine.” “Do you think it will?” Lily asked, shocked. “That’s what the practice is for, isn’t it?” Daisy pointed out. “You wouldn’t be practicing if you weren’t preparing. And if you’re preparing it means you’re expecting something. So maybe this is a question that you have to answer for yourself.” Lily scratched her head. “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she admitted, poking the wooden slats on the side of the cart. The boards had been placed firmly along the sides of the cart. They were in place to prevent its cargo from spilling out – in this case, a whole slew of groceries and a couple of apples. The apples were just for them but had to ride in the cart along with all the other supplies. It was a solid, little wagon as open-aired transport vehicles went, this one built to be pulled by a pair. It differed from the ones meant to be pulled by a single pony in that only one pony was meant to pull those. This was a two-pony cart, and attempting to pull it by oneself was the most moonish thing ever, in Lily’s mind. More than ever was a team of two necessary to pull this particular cart. As was stated, the cart sat on the pavement next to a rather sizable curb. It would take their combined efforts to get the cart back onto the road. But it wasn’t due to a lack of physical ability. It was not something that Lily wantedto do by herself, which meant that in this very moment the cart was a two-pony one. “This whole thing about practice makes a lot of sense,” Lily said, inspecting the cobblestones. “We really do only practice for expectations.” She gestured to the cart. “For example, how many times have we done this before?” Lily asked. “Once, Lily. You know that.” Daisy said. “And that was practice. This time we’ll get it right!” Daisy nodded. “And… and we’ll drive the cart and groceries down the road!” Daisy nodded again. “And…” Lily trailed off. Daisy stopped nodding. Lily was looking at the sky now, staring at the clouds that made their lazy way overhead. The weather was quite fine. The sun was out, and it was shining. There wasn’t any rain. There was perhaps a bird or two flying overhead, but Lily couldn’t be sure what they really were. She could never be sure until she asked, and the clouds were too far away to tell her that they weren’t birds. “Where… where do we go from there?” Lily asked. “Don’t you know?” “I don’t usually think past the road,” Lily pointed at the street. “We’ll bring the groceries home and have an apple,” Daisy explained. “Oh.” Lily scuffed her hooves on the sidewalk. “What’s wrong, Lily?” Daisy asked. “Well… I was thinking… maybe we should have bought three apples. Because she’s at home, isn’t she?” “We can share.” “How?” “We’ll cut the apples in half. Each of us gets one slice.” “Then who gets the fourth half?” Lily asked, turning her face to the floor. “I don’t know. Whichever of us is still hungry, I suppose.” “I don’t like that plan,” Lily muttered. “Thirds, then,” Daisy said. “We’ll cut the apples into three pieces each.” “Then the pieces will be too small! I don’t like that plan!” “Then, we could-” “I don’t like that plan either,” Lily grumbled, cutting her off. “Lily!” “What?” Lily perked up suddenly, a shocked look on her face. “You’re focusing on the wrong thing again. Do you remember what we’re here to do?” Lily nodded. She did. “We’re here to see if we can get the cart off the pavement and back down onto the road,” Daisy summarized. “Yes.” “Because you want to see if it’s possible.” “The cart would like to see if it’s possible,” Lily clarified. “Then stop thinking of Roseluck for a moment. You always do, and you always get distracted.” “I can’t help it, Daisy. She’s my sister! You above all ponies should know that! We’ve been sisters for ages!” “Yes, but we have to be patient.” “I hate being patient.” Lily stamped her hoof. “Good things come to those who are patient, Lily.” “I love being patient.” Lily smiled. She trotted over to the edge and peered over the side. It was a good ten inches high, but it looked a lot taller from where she was standing. The cobblestones looked so tiny from up on the sidewalk, and Lily was so high up that the ants crawling below looked just like ants. The two ponies had to get the cart all the way down there. It was going to be a task. Daisy idled herself by, waiting for Lily to finish checking what was needed. “Do you think that’s why they’re called that?” Lily wondered out loud, mind jumping from thing to thing, gazing over the edge of the sidewalk, the strong winds mussing up her mane due to the high altitude. “Who?” “Patients.” “I don’t know, Lily.” “I reckon they are. I reckon they’re called that because they have to wait a lot. But you know what I think?” “What?” “I think the doctors should be called ‘patients’. They have to be far more patient than the actual patients, having to see sick ponies all day… having to tolerate their whining… having to eat cafeteria food… Aren’t doctors the most patient ponies in Equestria?” “Then what would you call the patients?” Daisy asked. “Oh, I suppose we could call them patients as well,” Lily determined. “So… everyone’s a patient?” “Yes. Except for the doctors, of course. You can’t be calling them patients as well or else everypony will get confused.” “Then what would you call the doctors?” Daisy asked. “I don’t know.” Lily shrugged. “I suppose they don’t really have a name, do they?” “You could just continue to call them doctors,” Daisy pointed out. “Yes. That’s for the best. These ponies… they’ve really thought of everything, haven’t they?” “They?” “The ones who get to decide what to name everything.” “There are… ponies who do that?” Daisy asked. She wasn’t sure. “They’re all squirreled away in the castle,” Lily explained. “Princess Celestia keeps them there on retainer. Every time there’s something the Princess needs to name, she pulls all of them out, and they have a think over a chocolate biscuit and a lovely cup of tea.” “That can’t possibly be true,” Daisy said incredulously. “They’re professionals.” Lily said. “Oh.” “And when they’re done, they go back right into the drawer.” “I see,” Daisy said, seeing it. Lily looked away from Daisy at that point, turning her attention back toward the curb. Fog had begun to roll over the sidewalk as the sun fell over the horizon. A slight chill dropped over the two ponies while the wind howled in Lily’s ears. Daisy remained unaffected by the incredibly localized weather patterns. “I’m going to drop something down there,” Lily said, “just to see how far it goes.” “Looks about ten inches,” Daisy said. “Still, it’s best to be safe, right? It’s best to be sure.” Lily circled around, eyeing the back of the cart like a shark would eye a walrus. With a flick of a powerful tail and a gleam of sharp, white teeth, Lily grabbed one of the two apples from its resting spot atop a mound of paper grocery bags with a hoof, clutching it to her chest as she cradled it like a baby swan. “This one’s mine,” she told Daisy. “Yours is still in the cart.” She would never use another’s apple for such horrible purposes – only her own. Lily bit down upon the stem, hard, carrying it to the edge where she stared past its blood-red skin to the ground below. The wind threatened to pull the apple from her grasp, but she held on tight with gritted teeth. With a determined focus she released it, letting the apple fall from where she stood, watching it as it plummeted to the ground. The wind howled its objection. A minute passed as Lily watched it get smaller and smaller as it fell further and further away. Lily looked straight. “It’s gone,” she said. “Has it hit the ground yet?” Daisy called out, peering over the cart, trying to get a better look at Lily. “I don’t know! I can’t see it anymore,” Lily cried back, staring at the street. “Well, come back here, then. It’s no matter. I’m sure it’s just ten inches to the ground. It’s a straight drop, but it shouldn’t take more than a second to reach the bottom. Perhaps the apple just rolled away?” Daisy offered, calling her friend back from the brink. “There should have been a splat. Or a crunch at the very least.” Lily frowned, walking back towards the cart. Daisy stared over at her. Lily stared back. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I’m not going to take your apple.” “It’s okay,” Daisy offered, astonished that this was what Lily had to say about it all. “You can have it.” “No. I don’t need it. One apple is enough. And now it is gone. Can you see it, Daisy?” “I’m afraid I can’t see anything from where I’m standing. The cart is in the way.” “Better move the cart, then,” Lily decided. Another minute passed with Lily looking at the sky. “You’ve been saying that,” Daisy stated. “And I mean it,” reassured Lily, “I just have to make sure I’ve not forgotten anything.” “You haven’t.” “I just want to make sure, alr-” “You haven’t.” “Now, listen,” Lily snapped, glaring at Daisy. She stomped up to her, moving round the cart once again and staring her straight in the eye. Daisy drew back a little but kept her composure. It was important to remain calm in the face of Lily. “I just want to make sure that everything is fine, alright? Is that so hard? Can we not just take a few minutes to do so?” Lily stomped around, throwing up her head to the sky in frustration. “It’s not that I’m afraid or scared or anything, so don’t accuse me of being so! And I don’t see why you’re rushing me like that! It’s not like we have anything to do after this! It’s not like you had anything to do!” Lily continued her barrage, pacing around, heading nowhere in particular. “In fact, I remember when I asked you to come with me on this, you were doing nothing at all! And even if you were, you’d probably drop everything to come help me anyway!” Lily screamed, her temper rising by the word. She stormed back to her friend, pushing her face against Daisy’s cheek. “Wouldn’t you? Because you’re kind and generous and helpful! Aren’t you?” Lily shook her mane furiously, and her anger fell off like water off the back of a particularly ill-tempered duck. “I really do appreciate you being here,” Lily said, softly and gently, almost a whisper. “Thank you.” “No problem.” Daisy smiled. “Have you had time to think?” “Yes!” Lily declared, rushing to the front of the cart, where the yokes were in place. “We should go. We’ll just have to tie ourselves onto these stick things.” “Tongues,” Daisy said, walking around. “Pardon?” “These things.” Daisy pointed to the two long sticks of wood that protruded from the front of the cart. “They’re called tongues.” “Really!” “Yes.” “Why ‘tongues’?” “I don’t know. That’s just what they’re called, aren’t they?” “Oh!” Lily exclaimed, stamping her hoof on the ground in sudden realisation. “What?” “The princesses’ naming team. They did it again, didn’t they? Given something a name.” “I suppose so, yes.” “I knew it. Totally professional.” Lily nodded intensely. “Yes,” replied Daisy, her patience overflowing. Lily took a deep breath. She shut her eyes, steeled herself against the wind. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s go.” The cart lurched forward, almost by its own volition. But still, it was Lily and Daisy providing all guidance and propulsion. The cart merely took over when the timing was right, and with minimal effort did they get it to the edge. Lily looked down. “Come on,” Daisy encouraged. “It’s only ten inches.” She stepped off, her hoof reaching the ground in under a second. “See?” Daisy looked back up to Lily, awaiting her next step. “I have to, don’t I?” Lily gasped, the height causing her to get dizzy. “I have to!” “Well, you don’t have to.” Daisy shrugged. “No! I have to!” Lily asserted, closing her eyes and taking the wild plunge off the side. Lily’s hoof clattered off the cobblestones in the street. “Oh, you were right,” Lily said, drawing her other front hoof down to join the first. “It is rath- Oh! There’s my apple!” Lily smilled gleefully, pointing toward the fruit, which had rolled off a little and now lay against the curb a short distance away. “Aren’t you going to get it?” Daisy asked. “Mmm… no. It’s served its purpose,” Lily replied. “Besides, we’re nearly at the bottom now.” The pair plunged ahead, pulling the cart slowly, dragging it by the wheels. As it reached the curb, it fell past the border, toppling down and hitting the street with a bump. None of the groceries were upended. Nothing on the cart was broken. The two ponies were left staring at it, one in deeper contemplation than the other. “Darn,” Lily said. “Yeah. I’m sorry,” Daisy mumbled. “It’s possible, huh?” “Seems that way.” “It hurts.” “Yes, I know. But you wanted to do this.” “But it hurts.” “This was your idea.” “But it hurts.” Daisy paused, words lingering on her lips. “Yes, it does. I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I want to go home now.” Lily turned to face Daisy, eyes welling up like an overburdened cloud. Daisy reached to the cart, pulling out a soft cotton bud from one of the bags. “Alright,” she whispered. “Alright.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~And Lily Continues To Wait----> Haiku #XXX(u) I never wanted I never asked for all this But yet it happened
