This small collection of stories has been gathered to read, the stories of everyday ponies– by ponies, for all those both big and small. While many believe that their everyday life is boring, or that not every pony is special, I have endeavored to collect stories and anecdotes both seemingly mundane and normal, to prove that through the passion of those whose stories are told, the right lens for viewing our life can turn that which is dull and dreary into a priceless, polished gem of a memory.
For as one who has seen the darkness that comes from bottling up your feelings and fears, I have written these compositions. With the aid of my dearest friend Twilight Sparkle (to whom many thanks are given for invaluable advice and my personal inspiration), these vignettes have been compiled so that all who may read shall hopefully find that no matter what happens and no matter how dark, or private, or seemingly worthless one’s story may seem, you have the choice to enlighten fellow ponies and maybe even save them from those tribulations which you persevered through.
In the best wishes of Myself and my friends and family, I bid thee to read with an open heart and open mind, perchance to read the laid-open lives where experience has written across ponies’ souls. Though time and fate are the ink and parchment of the soul, the hearts and minds of the ponies that led these lives were the authors—the pens who wrote their destinies. And just possibly through doing this, I shall feel repentance for what I have done, to open up my soul to you. To tell you that even when there is darkness, there must be a light to shine.
Your light.
Without further ado, please contemplate these windows into the lives of ordinary ponies to find that although you yourself might feel ordinary, to those around you, you are extraordinary.
Foreword by Princess Luna, for all those to wish to see.
Lightning.
Flashes in the dark.
Crystal shards.
Bitter sweetness.
Waves of an empty shore.
I put quill to paper as my world crumbled into a sharp crystalline shard of dark and light. Duality. From this quirk of life, I have begun to ask myself, ‘what’s in a memory?’ Lightning, crystal— is it all just flashes in the dark? Or is memory a reality? A hope, a dream, a quiet whisper caressing your ear? Or maybe our very reality is a memory, just fleeting dreams of a passing world of sunlight and shadow– magic and void. It doesn’t matter, really. Maybe reality is just a dream, for as we make our dreams reality, the world itself is molded into our vision.
If so, then what happens when the reverse is true? What happens when the world decides to make its dreams coalesce? It stands firm in my belief, whether inspired by the turn of fate, or possibly just the delusional fever dream of a crying mind… A single instance of a slip of fate can alter the physical course of ones’ life. The corporeal itself becomes a dream: real and unreal, imagined yet impeccably physical.
It doesn’t matter in the grand scope of things, does it? Real or imaginary, life or death, dark and light. We must follow the tracks of fate, whilst deciding where the tracks shall lead. If you think about it, we are all dreams in the end. At least… that is what I have been shown to believe. Here, penned in the gentle glow of moonrise, lies my story. My memories.
~Shining Armor, dictated to Twilight Sparkle.
Lightning.
Flashes in the dark.
The booming sky of soot and plum writhed and roiled, a bruised eternity of staccato flashes and icy glass needles, cold shards of crystal that rained down in a tumultuous downpour from greasy, billowing clouds. The searing heat of the furiously lancing slashes burnt my legs, and made my entire being reverberate as the force of nature slammed into me—an incandescent, immutable wall of power. My eyelids twitched, yearning for that vast expanse of golden sands, that carpet of clear blue and a benevolent sun radiating the love from her face. If only I was there, and not here… wherever here is. Here. There. Her. Cadence?
Us.
The soft white and mellow sunny sand ground under and around my hooves as we slowly trotted down the beach, the warm feeling not like the tiny shards of silica I knew they were (and have been told)—glass-sand—but more like grass-sand, for it was so soft. How I yearned for her to kick off her shoes and crown and join me, so we could run and swim in those crystalline waters. Waters of the mind… Lost in the oceans of my mind. I can’t get out… I…
I NEED HELP!
The droplets glimmered on the blades of grass and every verdant leaf, turning water to diamond and blade to emerald, the roses to ruby and her eyes to stars. The berries we were picking to take on our trip to the beach were ripe garnets for the picking, the plump raspberries sparkling as if made of blown glass or sunshine. So bright. Such a perfect day. I could stay here with her forever… The world then jolted, as a faint scream seemed to fracture the picturesque countryside, like the stained glass up in the castle. Something wasn’t right with this picture. It was real. Was it too real? What is happening?
She came to the door with a damp mane and scrunchie around her hoof; she futilely tried to finish combing out her still wet hair, tie it up in a ribbon and pull me in for a tender kiss all at once. Would she like to go out to the gardens with me later and pick some strawberries for our upcoming trip to the beach? Or was it raspberries? Blueberries? Sirens? She laughed, her eyes kissing me with their gaze, soothing my troubled thoughts. Us. If my heart was a house, she would be home…
Waves crashing. The misty shore was beckoning gently; the cold, almost bitter breeze ruffled my feathers as I soared over the helicopters and hurricanes, the old wreck of that ship we had found when I went out diving with my sister last year. She said my eyes turned blue and green—that she would never leave– Wait, not my sister. I was a bird. No… Have I become the sea? The trees swayed under the onslaught of wind, howling and screaming in a cacophony of a thousand silent noises—the waves as screeching metal and the wind as maniacal laughter. No. This isn’t right… I remember… I am…
…Looking out across the path, I saw the berry patch up ahead. The bugs were lazily floating upon the zephyrs and eddies of the early summer breaths of wind. What a perfect place to bring her. She loved the outdoors. And berries. Faeries? The birds were sleepily drifting across the heavens, alighting on statues as they sang forgetful melodies. A sharp stab pierced my shoulder, the prick of a needle; the little wasp glared at me from the scene of the crime, the small red welt already swelling from the stinging attack. I shook my body—glaring back—watching the critter buzz into the sky… It might rain soon. Hope the weather’s better this afternoon. She was ecstatic to be going to the beach…
The train jerked along, crashing through the hallways of trees to hug the immutable walls of granite and diamond; the smell of honey wafting along with my tea as I sipped and watched from my window as the train rushed towards the tunnel. Green light, now grey. Bright flash, none. The trees ended and the looming mountain began. Darkness. Then— there is a fast approaching light, is it an oncoming train, or the End of the Tunnel? I rushed towards the light and—
The carriage swerved off of the narrow mountain road as an out-of-control tanker cart was struck by lightning on the switchback above the path, careening down from the washed out mountain pass above the oncoming tunnel, slamming into the two lovers. The booming sky roiled and writhed, a bruised eternity of staccato sparks and icy glass needles, cold shards of crystal were raining down in a tumultuous downpour from the shattered windows and the greasy, billowing clouds from the fire engulfing the tangled remains of the carriage and twisted cart to snake over and burn his forelegs. The windows, ground into a sandy dust, blasted the couple. The world jolted as a faint scream passed from his lips before he passed out.
“I NEED HELP!” she screamed, cradling his broken form as her wing, forgotten,was splayed unnaturally to the side.
Red garnets of blood painted a surreal picture as the guards and police lights and sirens reached the wreck. The screeching metal pealed out as he was cut from within the chaos of the hulks, and the two lovers were carefully lifted out of the sneering maw of the wreck up to an ambulance by a team of pegasi. A medic grabbed him, and with sharp stab pierced his shoulder, the prick of a needle sending him into the oblivion—and safety—of a small coma.
The stretcher jerked along, crashing through the hallways, the smell of antiseptic wafting along with charred flesh as he slipped from this world as they approached the operating room.
Darkness. Then— there is a fast approaching light, is it an oncoming train, or the End of the Tunnel? I rushed towards the light and—
The whine of a defibrillation spell arced through my arching body, lightning pulsing through every nerve as my eyes flew open. Cadence was huddled in a chair next to my bed—the smell of flowers—her tearful smile.
I was alive.
Memories Like Glass.
Author's Note
Hey all, Phoenix here!
Welcome to my humble first attempt of a story here on Fimfiction. Also, an admission about the chapter. Yes, there is the flouting of the rules of grammar for the sake of mental progression. And I love it! Besides, they're more like guidelines anyway.
Ta!
