Sturnidae: The Starling

by Naught Important

Rating: teen
Tags: Romance
Length: 1795

A young and introverted colt is warped unexpectedly to a seperate universe, where his inside personality was brought out

Star Scribe, being a sort of natural introvert, hasn't had much of a social life. Rather, he focuses on writing about unusual or unlikely events that may never happen in his life, isolated in his own universe. While fiction is his major concern, his first ever interaction with true love, trial, and emotion will be his first nonfiction story, even though the situation seems nowhere near realistic.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-02-02 04:06:57 UTC

Prologue

Upon my eyes slightly opening to the beams of sunlight passing between the shutters of my bedroom window, a sort of slow and lazy-sounding tune sang throughout my ears, keeping me hypnotized on the little mattress I refer to as my bed. Being almost as asleep as I was awake, I couldn’t move, but rather just listen carelessly to the lovely and mystic tune.

Even though I could not feel time passing by me, possibly a few hours passed, as the silky smooth tune went from soft to an obnoxious beeping sound sort of similar to a fire alarm. Thankfully, it wasn’t exactly that, but rather the signal that the music player I slept listening to ran out of battery power.

Fully awake and aware, I slowly slid off the headphones that rest tilted onto my horn. The faint memory of being in such a trance was invigorating, since I consider it to be interesting when I experience a new or unusual feeling. Although I hate the feeling of being so weak that I could not be able to lift a limb, it feels much better when I am not completely conscious.

Unlike my siblings who always wake up feeling like a slug has slept between their eyes, I almost skipped while exiting my room. Of course, with the sight of my flamboyant mother, who ever-so fittingly named Fiesta Forever, I returned to my usual, dry expression, as I don’t like coming out as the jolly type around most others.

“Hi, Star Scribe!” she said, lifting a wing to greet me. I did not respond with anything but a little inaudible grumble, making sure neither she nor I dispose of my great mood with any words. Her pink eyes still sparkled with the sense of glee that I don’t like seeing. Her mane and tail, alternating between a pink that was literally identical to that of her eyes and a more pale version of said pink, seemed well-groomed, and the mane tied behind her head in a ponytail. The quality of her sandy-colored coat was just about the same. It seems that all the bright colors of herself seem to display her personality perfectly, as well with the Cutie Mark of the two iconic masks used to symbolize drama or acting.

Continuing on my internally merry way through bee-lining to our spacious back yard, I checked the placement of the sun, estimating the time to be just before noon. With my mouth feeling like I drank from an oil slick, I was urged to eat and/or drink something. The best choice for such a demand would be an apple; plain and simple, yet juicy and convenient. It is only convenient because of a small apple tree our family is trying to maintain, as we all aren’t very skilled when it comes to botany. Although, the tree does produce enough for it to not be cut down and used for timber.

From afar I was able to telekinetically capture an apple from the tree, just as it was about to fall.

Bringing it closer, I couldn’t help but marvel at the attractive coloring and appearance of the apple. It’s something about the look that makes it my favorite food; a dark-ish, glossy red. Although, as I am a very fast eater, neither the look nor the taste was appreciated.

A gentle breeze wafted through the air, bringing a sweet scent with it. It seems so calm and relaxing today; although, they always say that there is a calm before the storm. Hopefully such is just a saying, not a valid prediction.

Although, I do love thunderstorms.

Looking around, I realize that I am not really willing to do anything today. Not only did that breeze make me realize that I am not wearing my signature violet sweatshirt, but it also makes me just want to stand still and just take in the feelings.

Although, I can’t stay idle in one area and not do anything for a short period of time.

There is one thing I could do: creating a hodge-podge character defining all properties I would see in a perfect love interest for me, but without a story wandering in my mind, that is too much to ask for. There aren’t any wandering ideas, so I guess I’m stuck with writer’s block.

Speaking of love interests, here comes the only mare I’ve ever met who lands fairly close to perfect according to my standards: My sister, Sacred Dreams. While incest is frowned upon, I still think that if I were to marry anypony, she would be my only consensual choice. I always say I am strange, but she does fit the bill more than anypony else has. She has a pale yellow coat with a black, yellow, and white mane tied beside her head in a teal bowtie; her eyes having the same color. Her wings fluttered over our chicken coop, where a duo of chickens squabbled about. She gathered the eggs of the chickens in a basket, and continued on her way back inside the house.

I have a habit of imagining myself either being cuddled or cuddling others, and the most common victim to these daydreams is her. Of course, my sexual appetite is directed elsewhere, as I’ve heard that intercourse with a sibling will result in a mutated offspring, which isn’t worth the trouble; to produce a deformed foal that may not even be able to survive. Still, I’m a sucker for a good cuddling with some.

With her out of sight, and another craving for an apple seized, I left through the garden gates to the dusty roads of the town. Some ponies were strolling along with saddlebags; either going to or coming from the shopping center of the town, while some were probably just doing so for pleasure.

I would be joining the latter, as I don’t have anything to do at the moment. Even without my wonderfully comfortable sweater, it is not socially awkward to walk around unclothed.

While moving along the road without a real target, I hope that no one comes up to me and starts a conversation out of the blue. If it isn’t about an obvious situation we would be in, then I don’t want to really talk.

The clear skies and high sun reflected on the ground. Its heat wasn’t very welcoming to me, and the shaded areas underneath the small forests lining the roads looked very nice, as they were strewn across the floor, occasionally being broken by the sunlight breaking through the tree leaves.

From my distracted state of mind came a voice. “Hey, Star Scribe! Fancy seeing you here,” spoke Shots Fired; a name to be taken literally. Shots Fired, commonly just called “Shots” was a ballistics enthusiast, as demonstrated by his bullet belt cutie mark. The recent inventions involving compact projectiles being launched out of a small barrel, as I’ve heard it been called, has interested him a lot. While I don’t directly share the same interest, he is in fact one of the few friends I have. He was a slightly pale blue, and wore his short, dark brown hair loosely. He had bright green eyes shaded by glasses, and wore a bowtie under a collar under his neck, that signifying that it was Tuesday. He settled to the floor from flying down from a flight, and began to walk next to me. Even though, he can be called a “friend,” I do not usually work well with him when we are not with our other friends.

“Hello” I said plainly, as I don’t feel like talking at all at the moment.

“What’re you out here for? Writer’s block?”

“Exactly.” Part of me wanted to dismiss him, however I tend to hold back my rude side.

“Oh, is it anything I can help with?” He offered.

“There’s always a chance.” I can’t think of any way how he could help. In my opinion, the ideas for my stories are seemingly unique, while his seem fairly lackluster. He only writes as a temporary hobby, while I intend to make it my life’s work. Even when he does write, he still can’t help but write about ballistics and the such. I don’t know if he had anything else in mind, so he may catch me off guard.

“What do you want the story to be about?” He asked.

“Love story with a strange twist, as per usual,”

“Oh, come on. Why not step out of your boundaries and write something else?”

“I would write about something else if I had the idea for one, but I enjoy writing unusual love stories.”

“What about…” He paused, “Zombies?” he said in a very strange voice.

“Already done.”

“Ah… Bullies?”

“Done about three times now”

“Vamponies?”

“Sure, let’s just write a love story about vamponies. That is assured to get the Most Original Story award.”

“Eheh, Yeah… Uhm…”

He paused again.

“You’ve already done aliens, so I’ve got nothing”

I groaned, and summoned a silence so that he would lose interest and leave. There are times where I don’t want even my friends to be around, that time being now. It seems the more angry I think, the more angry I actually become. Unfortunately, there is nothing I know of at the moment that will drastically increase my mood. If this day plays out normally, then I won’t ever get out of this mood. But, anything is possible.

We went but a few paces before he said his goodbyes and left, leaving me as I want to be at the moment; alone.

This period of time where I transition from a school year into being classified as an adult hasn’t been very successful, even though it has just started. I feel like I should actually be doing something productive, or something to assist in the kick-starting of my true life.  Every idea I have forged before now has yet to be finished; which isn’t the best way to produce funds for my future. At least transportation from this area isn’t costly, nor is the basic needs, but I would rather feel sure about my fate than have it be in the dark. From here to Ponyville; the most sought after location in all of Equestria, that’s where I intend to go. Wonderfully balanced weather, interesting landscape, and easy access to the Everfree forest. It is practically the best it can get, assuming I still live on Earth. Many of this world’s history is concentrated in the place, and every slice of history is a story of it’s own; and hopefully a story I can take part in.

Till then, I’ll have to stay here, under the warm weather that melts down my attitude.