The curiosity finally gets the better of you. You have to know. “So... how do you know, know what colors look like?”

She actually smiles as she responds. That's better than you expected, honestly. “Colors are difficult. I guess I think of colors as attributes of things.” She pauses for a moment to collect her thoughts. “Like the sky. I know the sky is blue. So when I think of blue, I think of the sky. It's high above me, somewhere I can never reach.” Her eyes close, and she seems to be imagining something. “Light and airy. I can feel it sometimes when I'm outside and it reaches down to touch me. Maybe a cold breeze or gentle wind. Those things are blue to me.” Her eyes open, and she settles on her neutral face. “I also know the sky is pretty. It's beautiful, something that I will never be.” She seems a little distant when she talks about the color blue. Perhaps it's a secret dream of hers.

Her nose wrinkles up and she frowns. “Unlike Brown. Brown is my color. It's the color of my coat, and the color of my mane.” She seems sad and a little angry, but she keeps talking. “Brown is the color of dirt. I stand in dirt, and live in dirt.” She picks up her hoof and puts it in front of her face as though she's inspecting it with her nose. “Anything around my hooves is brown. Brown is hard and gritty. Sometimes it's squishy. Sometimes it smells bad. When I think of brown, I think of myself and mud. I'm dirt, so brown is all I will ever be.” You frown as well. She doesn’t seem to like brown.

“There are other colors, too. That's where everypony else lives. I live beneath the blue and in the brown. Everybody else live in between, above the brown. Some of them even in the blue.” She turns her head skyward, even though you’re indoors.

“Colors like red. Red means pain and suffering, blood is red. But that's life, pain and suffering, so life is red, too. Ponies I meet are mostly red. Some are red and pink. Pink is what our fur less parts are. Tongues, cocks, pussies, these are pink. Pink is… well, pink is when ponies touch me. It's when they make me feel sex. It’s squishing and groaning, pushing and happy sighs. Sometimes I like pink. Sometimes I want pink. Sometimes I don't, but pink is like red; it’s just another part of life. So most ponies I meet are some mix of pink and red.” She runs a hoof down her side, thinking with her body.

“There's more colors ponies can be though. Orange is the color of a fruit, oranges, and they're sweet and juicy. Orange things are nice things. They smell nice and taste nice. You feel orange to me. Orange, pink, and maybe a little red. You're... nice.” She leans in and sniffs you, just to be sure you’re still there. You’ve been holding your breath, and she seems content before she continues. “Anyways, I can't see colors, but I know colors. Everypony else is some mix of colors. I'm just brown. Dirty, and filthy.” She settles down again, lost in her own thoughts.

You’d never really considered this all before, but it does explain some of her behavior. And if that was what she knew, was it wrong? You suppose a little confusion is what you get for asking a blind mare about colors. At least now you can see yourself through her eyes, or her lack thereof.

A stray thought occurs to you. Maybe you should let her know about chocolate?

Author's Note

I found this in my files. It took me a while to remember what it was for. I was supposed to explain the cover art for this story at some point! Doh.

I guess it's not the update you want, but it's the update I found. This has only been lightly edited, and it's late. It wasn't 100% when I found it, and I doubt it is now. Let me know if you see anything too off with it.