Author's Note
Dear Readers,
This was originally going to just sit and rot in my unused story box, mostly because I had made this for me and didn't think anyone else would care for it. However, I noticed a sudden interest in the characters and world made by Ms. kilala—who happens to have her own FIMFiction account, as it were—particularly that of Mr. LuminoZero, whose work I simply adore and to whom this story is dedicated. Because of this, I decided to throw my own hat in the next-gen ring and post this little piece up. I can only hope it's up to par with the rest of what's getting put up here.
Okay, that's all. Enjoy.
—NotARealPonydotcom
Up the Hill
Under the Stars
Starring Anthea and Turquoise Blitz
•
Anthea saw the world in blurs.
She didn't mind, not anymore. It had always been this way for her. In fact, she'd never even known she was different until the ponies she grew up with told her she was and that that was bad. No, wait, they hadn't called it bad. They'd said it was "unfortunate." They still said that, whenever she met somepony new. Introductions usually went something like this:
"Well, hello, dear," a new voice would say. "What's your name?"
When she didn't answer (for how could she know if they were talking to her? All she could see was another blur), they might tap her on the head, or clear their throat, or just keep repeating "Little filly?" until somepony else spoke up.
"That's Anthea," a familiar voice would say. "She's blind."
"Oh my," the new voice would reply, "that's awful."
And like clockwork, the familiar voice would say: "Yes, it's rather unfortunate."
She didn't consider it unfortunate at all. It only seemed that way to others, she reasoned, because they saw things differently from her. Apparently, there was more to the blurs than their colors. Details, they said: smaller specs of color that were invisible to her thanks to the bigger colors that swallowed them up; lines that were meant to show where one blur ended and the next began; and motion, which she actually could see, up to a point. At first, when she'd been told how much she was missing, she wanted more than anything to be able to see the way others did. By the time she was a teenager, however, she had no interest in getting a new pair of eyes. They cost piles of cash that she did not have, and besides, Turquoise Blitz told her that her eyes were perfect the way they were. That meant the world to her, hearing it come from Turquoise's mouth.
Turquoise was her favorite blur.
With Turquoise, things were always... perfect. Every time the big green blur came around, things seemed to get better. He was kind to her, he protected her, and best of all, he never acted like she was different. In fact, he occasionally forgot that she couldn't see what he could, and that usually led to some nervously mumbled (and undeniably cute) apologies. For example, where they were tonight:
"The sky looks gorgeous tonight," Turquoise said.
"I'm glad, T." That was the nickname everypony used for him. For whatever reason, she always said "T" and thought of him as "Turquoise."
"Yeah, we really got lucky. There aren't any clouds out, and you can see for miles up on this hill."
He'd taken her to a grassy area near the river (which she knew as "The Long, Winding, Blue Blur") where there were big slopes they'd climbed. They'd sat together and talked, had dinner (Turquoise's father made some very good chrysanthemum sandwiches), and now she was snuggled up next to him in the dark of night, covered up by what he told her was his wing. It was warm and leathery, and the gentle brushes it made against her coat soothed her, as did the feeling of the smooth scales under his thin coat. Despite being able to see absolutely nothing in the dark, she was happier now than she had been all day. Neither of them had said the word once, but Anthea considered this a date, and a very good one at that.
"It sounds wonderful, T," she said, leaning her head against his neck.
She felt his head turn, and he was silent for a moment. Somewhere, crickets were chirping and water was rushing by. The sounds that night made were her favorites.
"I-I'm sorry, Annie," he stuttered. (Annie was her nickname.) "I didn't mean—"
"It's okay, T. I know you didn't mean anything."
"You know I'd n-never make fun of your eyes..."
"I know." She moved her hoof until it found his claw. Her nose slid under his chin as she gave him a nuzzle. "That's why I like you so much."
"Y-Yeah..." he stammered. She could feel his cheeks heat up against her forehead, and she stifled a giggle. It was nice, making a colt nervous; it made her feel pretty.
She continued to nuzzle him, and said, "Tell me about the stars, Turquoise."
"S-Sure..." His head turned again. "There are millions of them out tonight. Millions and billions."
"What do they look like?"
"They look like... Do you remember when we had to present some arts and crafts projects, back in kindergarten?"
"Yes?"
"Do you remember what my sister did?"
"Remind me."
"She took a bunch of pieces of paper and poked holes in them. Then she made her horns glow really brightly, and when she levitated the papers over them it looked like they were shining tiny beams of light through them."
Anthea did remember. It had been a black blur covering up the pink one that was Turquoise's sister, Crystal Clarity, and suddenly there had been a bunch of bright sparkles against the black.
"It's like that?"
"Yeah, only these go on forever and ever, and they're really far away, which is probably why you can't see them ever." He paused. "...Sorry."
This time she did giggle. "You don't have to apologize so much! It's fine, really." She scooted closer, pressing her whole body against him. "Tell me more."
"A-Alright... All the stars are white, except a few that are red and some that look kind of blue, like your eyes."
"My eyes look like stars?"
His head turned down again, and something warm bumped her muzzle. She felt breath against her chin, and the warm-something flinched away. Turquoise didn't speak for a moment. She felt a claw brush her cheek and turn her head for her, and she gripped the one in her hoof a little bit tighter.
"...Yeah," he finally said. "They look like stars. Really pretty stars."
There was something odd about the way he said it, something that made it... special. She felt herself blush. The claw on her cheek slid away, but that was all he did. He didn't turn back to look at the stars again—he was still looking at her eyes, as far as she could tell.
"They're really pretty," he said again.
"The sky sounds beautiful, T." Was he getting closer? She could feel movement, but she wasn't sure which way he was going. She felt his claw tighten around her hoof, and the one that had been on her cheek suddenly reappeared on the back of her neck. The unexpected touch made her shiver.
Turquoise whispered, "Not as beautiful as..." and then trailed off. Now she was certain he was coming closer; she could feel his breath again, and the claw on her neck was pushing her head forward. She meant to ask what was wrong, but before she could even open her mouth, the warm-something came back and pressed against her lips. This time it stayed there, and Anthea brought her hoof up to push it away so she could talk. Then the claw on the back of her neck stroked her coat, she heard a small hum coming from Turquoise, and she realized what she was feeling: a kiss.
Turquoise Blitz was kissing her.
She almost gasped, but managed to stifle it as Turquoise's claw stroked her neck again. Her hoof, travelling upwards to try and push him away, now slowed and moved carefully, finding the spot that she hoped was his cheek and cupping it. She'd heard about kissing, and she knew that ponies were supposed to close their eyes when they kissed, but she couldn't shut hers—they were wide with shock. She couldn't see anyway, and for a moment she was angry at her blindness for not letting her see the colt that was kissing her now. It was unfair—she was so close to him, and yet the dark made it impossible to see his wonderful green coat or his eyes, the eyes she'd dreamt of seeing ever since he'd told her they were the color he was named after (though she supposed they were closed, like hers were supposed to be), and even if they were still just blurs it would be worth it, so worth it, just to get a glimpse of them as close as she was right then—
He gave her neck another stroke, and all that melted away.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity to her, the warm-something—his lips, she now knew—pulled away. When they did, Anthea heard a small smacking sound, and realized it came from their separating mouths.
She decided that that was her new favorite sound.
She didn't pull her hoof away from his cheek, and Turquoise didn't pull his claw away from her neck. She could still feel his breath, and she was tempted to try and lean in herself and steal another kiss. She resisted, though, and focused on breathing deeply—she didn't know why, but it was harder to take in air now.
"Annie?" Turquoise was right in front of her, but he sounded like he was far away.
"Yes?"
"Your hoof is on my forehead."
"Oh." She knew it felt too bent to be on his cheek! Anthea brought her hoof down until she found another flat patch of skin. "Is this better?"
"That's my nose." His voice sounded blocked up.
"Oh." She was blushing and giggling at the same time. "Sorry. I'm trying to find your cheek."
"Here." His claw (regrettably) left her hoof on the ground and helped her hoof on his face find the spot she wanted it to be. "Is that better?"
It was. His cheek was softer and warmer than the other spot, and her hoof felt less bent.
"Thank you."
They were both silent for a moment. Then they both chuckled sheepishly. Neither of them moved their hooves or claws from where they were except Turquoise, who went back to holding Anthea's hoof again. Anthea wanted to tell him something, but there was something keeping her from saying it. So she said the next best thing:
"Turquoise?"
"Yeah?"
"Can we do that again? I really liked it."
"Sure."
And they did.
•
THE END
