Told from the Third Person
A rock. That's all he was. Tom the Boulder, however, had an interesting personality. Say for example: have you ever had a lady fall for you so hard that you often had full-body contact? If you have, then Tom is jealous of you. "How is a rock jealous?" you may ask yourself.
Ssshhhh. Don't question it. Tom is jealous of you.
And since he feels that way, he doesn't think he'll tell his autobiography to you. Beside the fact that he can't tell you anyway, because he's a rock, his sheer size and mass and expression tells me that he doesn't want to tell you any more. His menacing figure can trample many ponies, and I don't want to be the first.
So, shoo. Go away.
What's this? You won't go away? Hmm... Tom has a lot on his mind that he has to speak soon, though the lingering fact he's still a rock. I'm greatly concerned that he'll roll off into simply undesirable places soon, like down steep hills ranging from seventy-five degrees steep to a whole one hundred eighty. So, I guess we both have a reason to have him talk. But first, you need to apologize.
... Apologize, dammit.
I guess since you're on the other side of an LED screen, you can't really reply. You could, in theory, comment in the comments below, but his reading ability is lacking, because HE IS A ROCK. But, I guess I can see if he forgives you... Hold on...
He says he's got nothing else to lose. So he forgives you. Don't be a dick, please.
So... where to begin...
The Straightforward (Yet Very Confusing) Biography of Tom the Boulder
Tom the Boulder was, for 99.99876% of his life, a lifeless vessel of stuff. He'd seen many days pass by in his seat on a nice hill on the side of a mountain, seeing the beautiful, red-sky sunsets as they passed.
Even though he was inanimate, he had plenty of dreams. Like participating in a triathlon. Tom would make sure to do his workouts every day, but the bulk he'd gained would be slowly eroded away from the pesky rain. Quite oddly, he enjoyed the rain, and the cold, whipping breeze that never seemed to best him. He felt proud of his mass, prouder than the mountain, because the mountain was glued to the earth and thus did not have a chance to move. Tom the Boulder scoffed at the mountain, because he was often quite bored.
Then he took it too far. He says he even regrets it today. He called the mountain many profanities and the earth started shaking like a rock with no sense of similes. He fell many feet from his perch, top over bottom until he landed on his side at the foot of the hill. He ended up splitting in half, graphic, rock gore spewing from the wound. Tom says he's surprised he's still alive today.
But he spent a long time on his side, which he was pretty sure turned into his bottom. He could no longer see the beautiful sunsets. He could no longer practice for the triathlon. He just existed, at the same rate he was before he wanted to become a triathlete. He no longer liked the rain, nor the breeze, because he now could feel it affecting him.
But, thousands and thousands of years later, he found his first love.
He was just existing a lowly existence, with a intimate relationship with the soil. One day, though, there came a white pony from the hill that was now a castle for some reason. She was lacking in color saturation, just the type of rocks Tom was secretly interested in. She had a curly mane, and lovely crystals (that quite honestly turned him on) on her butt. If rocks were capable of sweating, he would be. He tried thinking of pickup lines, something that no one could resist.
"Hey baby, you're lookin' chunky today," said the rock that couldn't speak.
That was when she noticed him. Her eyes widened, with a glimmer of something akin to lust. She trotted over to Tom and hugged him, her soft, luscious body squishing against his.
"Oh darling!" she exclaimed. "I love you so much!" She kissed him all over, doing some odd movements that somewhat intrigued Tom, but concerned him a the same time. But, because of the possibility young foals are reading, I will not go into deep detail in all that she did. But all Tom knew was this: he was loved, and he was in love.
With great labor, Rarity showed Tom the sunset, the beautiful sunset he'd missed for thousands of years on end. They told each other stories, though he was always interrupted by her, but that's all right, because he now had a girlfriend worth waiting for. They took a couple miles' stroll, and ended up in the very floaty town of Ponyville. They visited the ponies there, the conversation ending with Rarity being overprotective of Tom, which, to be honest, was getting annoying in his opinion.
But, only a couple hours later, which was only a few seconds in Tom time, things changed. Rarity didn't take a second glance at him, and he had his location moved out of the now-not-so-floaty town of Ponyville, and with great effort from the other ponies, got him back on the hill he was perched on.
Tom thought he had everything. A love, a view, and a name, but in the end, nothing came out as he expected. His girlfriend dumped him, but at least the view was nice. He remained there for a couple more years, sulking in his own pity.
That's where I showed up. The perfect, igneous rock sitting on a hill, its face reflecting the sunset. It looked odd and lonely up there; a sad sight to behold, in all honestly. I climbed up the hill to greet him, but he was not cheerful in return necessarily. I sat with him for a while, then things started looking up. I'd made a good friend out of him, and now, we are at this story, a story that was translated by me, Maud Pie, from Tom the Boulder.
"Now, Tom," I say, flicking my mane lightly, "Let's go watch the sunset, and maybe, just maybe, we'll get you to that triathlon."
Author's Note
I don't know where this story came from, to be honest. I just saw the Rarity and Tom pic in the cover, and said, "Hey, that reminds me of a fic," and started doing this fic. Now, as it is time to go to bed, I am extremely tired, in consequence, the writing may or may not suffer. I don't know, I'm too tired to figure that out. So, goodnight!
