Equinox

by Aponypocalypse

Rating: teen
Tags: Random
Length: 2625

Uhh...

Twilight Sparkle wakes up to face the fresh morning in a warm and wet diaper.

So, uh, contains diapers, I guess, but that's probably not the biggest problem here.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-03-19 05:56:45 UTC

In The Flames

Everything clamped shut around her, but it was okay, that was what Mister Smarty Pants would have wanted.

Twilight Sparkle awoke from a dream of dreams, a congregation of nightmares that threatened to tear her very soul away. A bright morning light shines through the window, bringing forth the beam that everypony wanted, but she sought nothing but to fly, and then to plunge down into the darkness of the unmoving earth that had been there since the beginning of time. Silently, she stretched, and yawned, then back again, her darkly yellow soaked diaper rustling underneath her ears. She played with her blankets for a while, white swans playing and dancing in the pond of imagination, then giggled, sneezing a troubled life from her breath, adding yet another layer of wetness to her already flooded diaper. She crumpled out of bed, weaving a pattern of miasmic eternity as she did so, and fell to the floor, laughing and crying at her own misfortune. She crawled away, like the good filly she was, moving four hooves at a time to the door, but then stopping when she remembered what her mommy said, the disapproval in her voice, the dissatisfacti

There is nothing behind that door, Twilight Sparkle. Remember that, when you face the sun.

She didn’t think it, but understood. There was a rubber ducky on the floor, and she was supposed to play with it. Wheezing happily, she moved over and bounced on its entirety, watching as the little ducky leaped and hopped across the white room, as limp and lifeless as the puppet she had made it out to be. Chuckling, she spun and spun and allowed herself to fall through the ground, the wastelands of a thousand worlds being snuffed out in that moment, and she began again, in a different time, a different era of age. This one was a lot better. There was a crib (though she didn’t know how to get in, she would ask mommy) and a playing mat and all sorts of assorted toys scattered across its surface. Crawling over, she picked up a robot and slammed its head against the floor, smashing it with the vengeance and cynicism of a young child. Satisfied with her wrath, she left the battered bot on the ground and went to repeat the process with a dozen other toys across the room. Her diaper was still wet and getting increasingly cold to sit in.

A place we once knew, a castle of remembered lives and crystal dreams. Do you still want that, Twilight Sparkle? How much has been lost already, to this endless sweltering you created?

A playground, that’s what it was, things were so simple when she could smell them. Twilight beamed. Mommy would be really proud, all the pictures on her diaper had faded away, melted into unfeeling paint as the liquid spread across it’s absorbent plastic surface. Bouncing up, she scooted over to the side of the wall, where there was a shiny new instrument waiting for her, a sort of golden tube with one end bigger than the other and had little knobs attached to its stick-like body. She picked it up, and played a few notes, the chaotic cacophony ricocheting across the white room with ease, like a herd of elephants conducting a funeral for their lost lives. It was amazing then; a magnificent performance, and Mommy would be so proud, and she looked forward to being whipped and hit and burned and struck and cut and beaten and scalded and fucked by Mommy when she came home. Rocking over, she made a happy noise, and lay with her belly-up, counting the butterfli

No more, Twilgiht Sparkle, no more. The heat is waiting for you, a microwave of gargantuan porportions awaits you in a distant land with mountains and trees, why speak with assonance when you know the prose of the world to be gone, unremembered, flaling in the whirlwind like so many

A tale, a story! Twilight did love stories. She was a fantastical filly, one who could see beyond the mundanity of wood burning and travel to lands untouched by pony civilization and greed. Today, she would be in a castle, a great burning land surrounded by the most fearsome of dragons and the teeth that would plunge through even the strongest of armor and magic. She would be a princess, she was always the princess; the damsel waiting eternally for rescue, but to be sorely disappointed, for in her world there was no knight in shining armor, no hero to save her, and she would wait, ever with the crushing weight of hope for her eyes to be alight again. She liked that feeling, that feeling of being utterly helpless, of the despair slowing draining her heart and motivation away from the coarsest of veins, coughing and vomiting the sickness that made her face green and her forehead throbbing, prickling at her stomach and devouring her from inside like a sack of tubeworms, writhing and wriggling inside-out, gorging their way to her nostrils

Finna sjálfur hvarf. How has this dimension treated you, to the speakers of the dead? Derrotar e desviar. I see people, passing you by, bringing you torches of great hatred, mutilating your body, bringing enticements to your heart. Twilight Sparkle, speak to me, would you, and together we may find out, how so many ponies lost their carcasses, how so many did not remember their skulls…

A prance, a jungle, a dance! She was most excited for the day’s great performance, and she was sure it would be perfect.  She patted her soaked diaper nervously, standing on her hooves to see the crowds of audiences coming to watch her, when she was suddenly thrown out, a flurry of curtains and sick blurs whipping her out into the middle of the stage, spotlights piercing, and the breaths expecting. Quietly, she did her routine, sweat forming on the surface of her hooves as she slid and waltzed across the stage, seeing the faces of so many family members she did not know as she moved, gracefully, weakly, and ended with an explosion. There were cheers and jeers, and she lived easy thinking she had done well, but the judges did not seem to think so, for they erupted into volcanoes, monstrous beings crouching to devour her, and she stood still, doing nothing, staring unemotionally back

Pastor, pastor! The soup is cold, shouted the waiter furiously. What am I supposed to do about it? What should I do about it? The executive asked, beads of sweat rolling down his temples. I am but a humble merchant, a great sunning of skin and delight, I cannot be expected to understand the simplicities of the the suburban classes or remember the names of prominent members in important societies!  I have a job to do, you should know, and you, Twilight Sparkle, should have

This margulating. Smilingly, Twilight spread margarine over her plain sandwich, humming under a kitchen apron before tumbling backwards and falling into the senseless oblivion, talking in circles and whispering threats that held no meaning in a realm that had no ghosts. Turning face downwards, Twilight saw that the light was the same as the darkness, that they both led to the same exit, the same place where the river met and the secrets were shared, and then suddenly she rolled out of the tunnel and landed even further down, where the ending and beginning came to the same entrance, and understanding was at its knots end. That was the day she learned the importance of always sleeping on time and teaching honesty and morals to the secularist of her peers, and she came out, growing wings, letting the feathers encircle her as she made further downwards

Afraid, afraid…what are you so afraid. Look, it is only a ribbon, a bouncing string of fabric and hopes that could never hurt you. Only the mice, the evil ones, could bear to lay a tooth on the precious angel you are, but those are the rare ones, and the Hearth’s Warming present they give make up for it. Look, there’s a reindeer, a veritable burning of debris and flesh, why don’t you make a wish, Twilight Sparkle, and I can make a wish, and we can find our way to a remembered love forever, and find the fault that lies in our capitalist economic system that exists today…

A simple love, a simple heart. Twilight stood high above it all, at the peak of self-perseverance, and looked uneasily down at the miniature arrangement of buildings and cars, buzzing with the polluted activity of city life. Plopping her squishy diaper down on the playmat, Twilight began to move things around, at first the cars and then the buildings and then the ponies themselves, spoiling and resurrecting their hopes and dreams with a shifting of a hoof and the turn of a thought. Then, when she was fully sure that she had all the control in the world, she swung her hooves joyfully, demolishing and tearing down buildings as she so wanted, for she was a god, and the ponies were toys, and she sang with the time, lunging into the fray, and swimming circles in their horror

Plead to me. Plead to me, and I may show you mercy, with the fires that scorch and strife will soon be one. Undermine it, take what was never yours, and soon it will never live, never remember the bowls it lay in sunset, at the temple of great despair, when they prayed to you, they opened their hearts to take your enlightenments, your sincere apologies, waning to the face they had. I see you, sitting in that place all alone, crying and coughing out the flannel and misery, for that it is all you’ve been able to do, Twilight Sparkle, since the day you were foaled, since you were the little filly crawling through the plastic arch in school, burbling froth at the tiniest of failures

Leafs and ferns, swollen with the freshness of a new morning. She didn’t know why the water spilled the way it did or the trees twisted and dodged between each other like wooden snakes but she knew that she loved the sharp tinge of the forest air, straight and flaring like a bucket of gas, Brandishing a call from deep inside her throat, she swung down on a vine, feeling the air rushing through her damp diaper as she did, moving with the agility of a monkey, the speed of a cockerel, the grace of a peacock, and landed on the opposite branch, feeling very much invigorated and alive. Running up, she gripped onto another vine, bracing herself for more wind, and swung…

Please, please listen to us. We are trying to talk to you and there’s not much time. The plants are shriveling and the burning is coming closer and the river is parched of the beautiful crystalline sustenance that one navigated its way through before and can you hear us, Twilight Sparkle? Can you see what we see, a pointless mare wasted on the shores of her own longing, a stranded isle of ponies all waiting to be saved, but to already be in utopia? Talk to us, please, remember the promises that we made, when we were schoolfillies and the cities were still so tall and not the wastelands that they have dwindled down to be today, and oh, why does it have to be this way? Find the map on the jagged shore, and leap eight steps to the right, where you’ll see a lighthouse, and the sand will part…

Where was mommy? She should have been here by now, and Twilight was getting hungry. She shifted uncomfortably in her saturated diaper, which had grown uncomfortably cold and restricting for the past hours. She wished that she was anywhere but here, with her schoolmates maybe, or in the living room, where she would be fed peas and other goodies to fill her stomach. How much she appreciated that now, having something to eat, not needing to live with this growing emptiness…

Understand, you must understand. The place you live in does not exist, this world you created is a dream, an escape from the fear lodged inside your heart. There was a freight train once, it brought ponies from their locked-in homes to a distant hill, where they would find the heart to sing and squander again, chasing butterflies like they had never seen one before. And perhaps they never had, a sparkling of light is all it takes for the winds to collapse in on themselves, for a well-behaved filly to suddenly become beserk, to revel and cackle in another’s despair, as is the way of the world, the seas spinning as the globe allows, placing your faith in some misguided trust, as is the shadows of this realness, dragging you down to their winter’s end, Twilight Sparkle. You must know, you must see, for when the place is gone and shattered, you will still have it to hang on

Mommy, mommy! Twilight groaned in disrepair, holding her stomach to her hooves to stop the painful stomachache that seemed to clench her very existence. She squeaked in curls, feeling something writhe inside, the diaper pressing heavily and stickily against her skin…

Do you want to know why you enjoy hurting other ponies so much, Twilight Sparkle? It is a simple thing, a lusting for greed and provenance, and that sickening feeling of watching everything smoulder down in ashes, the remnants of it melting into an unrealized molten cheese. It is easy, so unbelievably uncomplicated, to have morphed into a dinosaur, eating and chewing the little ponies below you as buildings to an ending structure, but to tumble, trip over yourself as you flail into the loving oblivion and see your friends, family, gorging out before you. To see through the glint of gold trapped among its walls, only to cry and tumble, through the rabbit hole, and end up in a kitchen with all the utensils lined up nicely and having a sandwich in front of you, chewing it nicely to taste the blandness. How long do you plan to stay here, to try to remember the climbing trunk, its bristles like pinecones, the wings swinging through jungle life...

Twilight Sparkle woke up. She felt no tiredness, getting up and blinking successively. Looking up, she felt herself floating, her diaper levitating to the lighted heavens...

Wake up, Shepard, wake up, oh please wake. Don’t you see the waves circulating around you, it only plunges you into the darkness of the vines hanging down, turning and speaking and defeat your buildings, take the cinders that exist and light up your hearth, the soul of the crux pleading to the portrait, the playmat laid down on the floor and the little fillies playing with. Caramel, caramel, why don’t you take your potatoes and chew on the forlornness, the saviors of bath calling, Twilight Sparkle. And so begin as the door shook and squeaked under the pressure of the growing monster, the volcano that had formed after years of sediment and dust gathered and breathed to its convulsing mind, the tubeworms celebrating their mournful death, the plaid lining the walls holding nothing but a sliding harp. And stared, none unmoving, as the shore flipped on itself, confusing the white birds that came, and the rocks and the key found shining under layers of gravel and metal. The armor fades in the glowing light as centuries died upon themselves, taking a remembrance of space, and to clutch true, as the dancer pirouettes through the curtains and off the stage.