Rocks. Maud skipped them across the pond outside of the farm.
Rocks were what Maud knew, really knew, and what she had been surrounded by the entirety of her young life. A drab grey accented by pointy edges and specks of gemstones never to fully grow, things hard enough to be smashed to the ground without breaking or shattering most times. Stubborn things difficult to move, unable to communicate with or even stare at for periods of time longer than an hour before falling asleep. Though some ponies suspected that, through magic, they were somehow living, they showed no indication of it. They didn't sell well at all, and the farm was more about labor than money for that particular reason; they just sat and ruled their spot. Completely emotionless, they showed nothing, were happy about nothing, did nothing-- no. They did something. There was more. More varieties. Maud knew what they were.
Rocks. They were the color of the water. They were the color of her and her friend. Some rocks were her friends.
Certain rocks, if given just enough shine, could jump outwards against the gray desert-like wasteland surrounding them at all sides. By shining brightly after the wind and rain chipped away all of the dust and grime on them, it was almost like they felt something special or joyful. Shining things, unigue things which were beautifully simple and almost crazy compared to the others, at a quick glance or no. They were usually a sparkling white, and found in clumps of the duller variety. And they always sold better, people wanting them for decoration and for good luck charms -- they were appealing, beautiful. Wild and bright, though they never really tried to be so, just were in their own quirky ways. But only some. Others were different.
Rocks. She had tried to teach her friend how to skip them too, once. They hadn't gone far.
Some rocks weren't rocks at all really, though uninformed ponies sometimes had a habit of calling them so -- either through an untrained eye or them not very much caring, they didn't notice the specks of minerals or the shines to them. They were elements and gemstones, and even without knowing exactly what they were, ponies always wanted them the most. They were beautiful, and possesed special properties that Maud had studied for years without end, attempting to wrap her head around the arcane and strictly unicorn; fabulous. Some were sewn to expensive clothing, others used in magical studies. Sold the most, these types did, stallions taking them home for gifts or even just to flaunt that they could afford them to try to woo the mares -- mares which Maud had found much too often to fall for the temptation of wealth and leave the beauty of the gem struggling in the dust. They were fragile, usually, and found on their lonesome, buried in the wasteland, and when found bringing a joy with them out of nothing but materialistic value. When you dug them out of the ground some even glowed, almost as if they were happy to not be so dirty anymore -- or showing off the fact they were special and no longer stuck to the ground. Maud didn't really like those rocks; they were too likely to break, and they didn't give the others a chance. She liked others better.
Rocks. They hadn't gone far because they had hit Maud in the face when her friend threw them. Her friend laughed a mean laugh afterwards.
Many rocks were crumbled and broken over the years, gray edges chipped off in jagged edges and turning to dust. They had been big once, as most rocks are through the help of an exprienced farmer -- but the harsh winds and storms were just too much for them. At some points they would sparkle with the promise of a young, budding gemstone, and at other times the sparkle would disappear and die with a quick spark and sag of arcane energies, leaving the rocks duller and grayer than ever before, life and magic drained out of them. These were the rocks that farmers would give up on and cast aside after a while of nurturing with no results, and never did they sell. Maud would stumble upon them in pairs. Always groups of two, to not be lonely -- when Maud poked them into her pocket to store later, she made sure each pair was kept together. They were twins. They couldn't be apart. But Maud liked that they were nice to each other, unlike other kinds.
Rocks. Maud's voice sounded like there were some inside of it whe she yelled at her friend. Her friend didn't care and laughed some more. He even called more friends and they laughed too.
Giants were what rocks sometimes remained as, no matter just how much effort went to trying to break them down or at least splinter the side to ensure no brighter edges or gemstones could be found hidden inside. They stayed in one spot, through magic that farmers couldn't find the source of got bigger and pushed the other rocks around. Their spots always fell to a perfect circle, every adjacent boulder turning to spheres and shimmering the white of a valuable pearl. If everything wasn't perfection the magics inside the rock would make it so, breaking the others, hitting the others until it happened and the area was terraformed. They couldn't be sold -- they couldn't be moved, with their large sizes and magnetation magic -- and farmers just had to hope that they wouldn't overrun the farm over the years. They were bossy rocks, hateful rocks, and Maud wished that they were at least smaller so they couldn't be so much of a threat to the others. But they weren't even the ones she hated the most.
Rocks. They filled her stomach as her friend talked about her family. Her friend said bad things. It felt like Maud had rocks in her mouth as she ground her teeth together.
Rocks. Maud cried, and it felt like there were rocks in her tummy it hurt so bad. But her friend and his other friends laughed more.
Rocks. Rocks. Rocks.
Some kinds were found far out by the hills of the farm, where Maud wasn't even allowed to travel to until she was old enough to be responsible for herself -- the day which she got her Cutie Mark (a rock, and a gray one). The rocks out there were sharp, jagged, covered in dangerous teeth as deadly as sharpened and burning metal. From afar they looked like normal old rocks, and they acted that way, just sitting and appreciating the grayness of the wastes. It wasn't until you got closer, took a sharp eye to them, maybe even accidentally touched one, that you saw your mistake. Blood would draw, dust and dirt getting in the cut. Some sold, just for ambience for Nightmare Night parties, or maybe plays, but moving them for sales was difficult for a farmer. They were stubborn, and grey, just a normal rock -- they just hurt. They were found everywhere, in every way any other rock could dream of in the wild, though most usually stuck to a pattern in the Pie's fields, at least a foot in between each rock nearby. No communication, no terraforming, just distance, loneliness, and independence. The rocks didn't mind, their colors never dulling or their sides chipping in response to weather, their attitudes positive and happy most times. They just hurt -- or, more like -- could hurt. More than any other type. And Maud hated it--
Rocks. She picked some of the old ones up and threw them back. Boulder helped. And then when they threw more and hurt her really bad, her hooves felt like rocks. They were as heavy and as hard as them too, and she hurt her friend and his friends with them. She hurt them really bad, and she didn't tell anypony or feel bad for a long time.
Rocks. She found out she could scare ponies with them. And she did. Sometimes she hurt ponies with them because she found out that she couldn't be friends with a pony and they were all mean and deserved it. Rocks were her only friends, and they helped when Maud got really angry.
Rocks. She got angry a lot. She hurt ponies a lot.
Rocks. Daddy found out from the teacher.
Rocks. Daddy didn't like that. Daddy did things about it.
Rocks. Maud acted like one and never got angry again.
--No. Rocks were boring. Bland. They weren't alive. They didn't have feelings. They couldn't hurt ponies. They couldn't get angry. That's how it should have been and was and is. Always. Forever. They were just rocks.
Rocks.
Rocks.
Rocks. Rocks. Rocks.
Pies.
Author's Note
This isn't really a story, but more of an attempt at characterization through symbolism. It isn't really meant to be enjoyed, just to BE. If you do like... whatever this is... though, I'm glad. That being said this was written in about an hour, so if you see any mistakes please tell me.
