Prologue: Where it All Starts
Inside Paparazzi Pony
Prologue
The tip of a quill can dip deeper and deeper into a pony with every word it writes.
That’s a direct quote from my last boss. That was the last thing he said to me before he left. At the time, I was wondering why in Tartarus he was talking about quills. I didn’t get it until much later.
Sorry about that, I can tell it didn’t make a lot of sense (or else just sounded kind of pretentious). It’s just that most stories that turn out successful start out with some deep philosophical quote that in some way sums up the overall theme of the story, yet is only given an in-depth analysis at the end or towards the end of the last chapter even when the audience has already figured it out long in advance. Writers typically do this to catch their readers by making them think the story is deeper than it may initially seem, and thus making them want to keep reading to experience the intellectual depths this story will provide, and the emotional journey it will take them through (Well, that wouldn’t apply to idiots, but why would an idiot pick up an intelligent book in the first place? They’re way too caught up in making crayon drawings in their coloring books.) regardless of whether or not it actually provides it.
Sorry if this has been sounding too smart for you, but if it has, you should probably close this right now, no matter what form you’re reading it in.
Oh, and by the way, speaking of that, what form are you reading this in in the first place? Are you reading in the original format I’m publishing it in, posting each chapter in the latest issue of a magazine that you just so happened to pick up off the rack because of the picture of the cute mare on the front that you wanted to ogle (which is me, by the way, you pervert)? Or are you from some distinguished future where this has all been collected into a print edition (If so, what’s it like? Have they landed a pony on the moon yet?)? Or, are you in some other category of reader?
If you picked ‘other’, you are probably an alien. Go away! I don’t like aliens! They abduct ponies and perform invasive probings! Eh!
Anyway, getting back on the topic, I suppose I better throw up a few disclaimers to throw the idiots of the world out of my distinguished ‘gets to read this story’ club for all the cool ponies in the world. Hmmm…I can’t think of anything. Give me a second! Imagine elevator music in you head or a game show theme song or something while I think of disclaimers! Ready, go!
……………………………………
Well, okay, here’s one. If you like a story that keeps the action flowing constantly and fluidly (those two may be the same word), then you should probably stop reading this story. As this is a story told from a first-person perspective, it is almost professionally obligated to meander on for several paragraphs describing what I thought about whatever is happening at that point in the story. Not helping is the fact that I have been told on multiple occasions that I have a bad tendency to write a novel where only a few lines were needed. I mean, send me to Tartarus, I’ve already gotten to over 500 words on something that could be described in only a couple sentences.
Okay, what should I put for a second one… Oh! Here’s one. If you like your stories to keep a consistent tone, you should probably stop reading too. I have a tendency to alternate between the moods of morose cynicism, when the story is more professional and tight, and ecstatic mania, when the writing style is a bit more… well, completely insane. And while at the moment I’m writing in the former category, I feel more motivation to keep writing stories like this when in the latter of the two moods.
Thirdly, if you like your stories peppered with insane amounts of drama, this is also not the story for you. Drama is, after all, when a problem clings to you and leaves all who are involved depressed for many chapters. It’s watching the little problems that nibble at the character’s ankles grow into the much bigger problems that crush them and break them down into angsty whiners.
And I’m sorry, I’m just not enough of an idiot to have real drama in my life. Drama is usually created when the character doesn’t realize what’s causing a problem until it’s too late, but I’m not like that at all. With me, I see a problem, and then brush it off my to-do list as quickly as possible. Sure, I might act stupid for a little bit, but I always figure it out pretty quickly. In fact, I guarantee you that every problem I have will be resolved by the end of the chapter. Well, except for the big problems in my life, but I consider those a part of me. I have no interest in getting rid of them. I know this is going to sound super arrogant, but when you factor in knowing I have a problem, knowing what caused that problem, and knowing why this problem is bad, I’m probably the most self-aware mare in the world.
Oh, and one final thing, if you want coherency in your stories, this is also not a story for you. I have no idea where this story is going. Being that I intend it to be a comedy story, I mainly focus on jokes. It’s my own distinct brand of humor that I like, but whatever. This story could go on for at least 65 chapters, and I would still be thinking of new material. You know why? Because whenever I sit down to write a story, I have so many ideas. I come up with thousands of ideas every day. You could give me a totally random series of words completely out of context, I could still find a way to make a full story out of it. And when I write, I always get to a place where a scene I had written in my head earlier, but then I forget to write it the way I had originally conceived. And then I’m crushed because the story didn’t turn out as good as I wanted it, and I never want to look at it again.
So, to keep that from happening in this story, I’ve just cut it all out. I have no idea how long this story is going to be, how I’m going to write it, what I’m going to put in and what I’m going to leave out, where I’m going to put some of the jokes I’ve come up with, and no ending in mind. No idea at all. In fact, I don’t even care.
And you have no idea how liberating it feels.
Right then! Now that I’ve substantially limited my audience and alienated many of my potential readers, it’s time to get on to the prologue part of the actual prologue! I mean sure, I’ve already reached the 1200-word mark on nothing but complete absent-minded rambling, but I can’t have my readers thinking this chapter is entirely optional! I need to put something in here that will give purpose to all the time I’ve spent writing so far!
But what should I start at? I mean, most prologues usually start with a vague foreshadowing lasting about a couple hundred words or so showing the story’s villain escaping from some place anywhere up to 50 years before the main events of the story, but this story doesn’t even have a villain! (Well, unless you count my tendency to ramble on and hold on scenes where absolutely nothing is happening, which commits the heinous crime of making the readers bored)
Well, there are also the prologues that show the main character arriving for the first time in the town where the story takes place and stares at it for a long time while saying something along the lines of ‘And that was when my life changed forever.' (Imagine me reading that line in a rather insulting, dismissive voice) but I doubt that would really be interesting in my case, because I had my head down the entire time that first time I came to the place where this particular story takes place (And no, I’m still not telling you where it is. I want to keep building up some kind of suspense)
Hmm, then where do I start at? If I can’t get the story started soon, I’ll have to scrap the whole thing! I’ve already got the pacing of an ant dragging a brick across a desert, and I doubt I’ll be able to keep the reader’s attention much longer! In fact, I’m pretty sure that if anyone is still reading at this point, they’re either asleep or have some kind of superpower for patience!
I had meant to just erase this all and type over it, but I ran out of whiteout ages ago.
So what am I supposed to do then! Damn it, it took me an hour to get this point! Well, it looks like I have to get rid of it all…Oh woe is me…
WAIT A SECOND! I KNOW WHERE TO START!
Okay, first, let me introduce myself. Ah heh heh, I can’t believe I haven’t even done that already! Ahem! *cough, cough, sheepish chuckle sheepish chuckle*
My name is Action Shot. I’m a photographer and writer for the Ponyville Express. You know, that newspaper that gets less respect than a school newspaper in Ponyville? Yeah, that one! I live in Canterlot, and I originally worked in a newspaper there too, but they weren’t happy with my performance, so they kicked me out and transferred me to the one in Ponyville. *bitter grumble*
Anyway, I figure I should start this off by telling you about the first job I had as a Ponyville photographer, the first time I properly did my job.
Do you want to know what it was?
I’m certain you do. I know I’ve finally grabbed your attention.
Do you really want to know what it was?
I know you do. For real. I’m practically inside you head right now. I’ve been vague enough that it’s put you on edge, and you’re desperate to know the solution to this mystery to relieve the tension.
Do you really, really want to know what it was?
I stood in a bakery, taking pictures of a pony bragging about themselves.
Fun times for all.
Okay, let me guide you through this most exciting scene. Picture a large crowd of both fillies and adults (mostly fillies). Then, in that crowd, picture a mare. No, not the purple mare. The other mare, standing next to her. NO, not the mare with the orange mane, the other mare, standing next to HER!
Yes, that one. The one with he tan coat, a blonde mane, and blue eyes. That right there is me.
A Ponyville mare named Rainbow Dash (and apparently member of the Elements of Harmony, but I didn’t care about that) had recently gone on a string of saving ponies in a variety of clichéd superhero styles. As a result, she had gotten a swollen head so massive I could almost imagine the ceiling of the building we were in cracking apart. So, she had gathered her fan club in the bakery Sugarcube Corner, and had begun to give a long talk about how awesome she was. And let me tell you, it is a good thing it wasn’t my job to write anything yet, because she was being so arrogant that every word she said filled me with rage, and I if I had to write down what she was saying, I would’ve made my own translated version, and I don’t think any of it would have been nice.
So, luckily enough, a small dragon wearing a stereotypical reporter’s outfit was being her ghost writer. And, to my astonishment, he actually seemed to be taking what she was saying seriously. I say astonishment because I couldn’t take it seriously in the least. I had to fight back bursting into laughter the whole time.
Over the years, I have managed to create a fake smile whenever I’m on a job to hide my distaste with whatever is going on at the time. It actually looks sincere. It’s nearly indistinguishable from the wide smiles that the ponies that absently wander about the streets of Ponyville wear everyday (which makes me think that they’re all putting on a face too, but that’s just me.) I once looked into the mirror while wearing my smile face, and I nearly fell over in shock. Seeing myself smile absently is just so… different. No me. It’s weird to see, to be honest.
I sighed and thought about when my career could be taken seriously. Just to make that point especially clear, I looked distastefully around the crowd that had gathered in the room. They were almost all foals. It nearly made me want to scream out for the mare giving her speech to shut up about how great she was already, because nopony thought she was great except for foals, for buck’s sake.
Yeah, I don’t have the highest opinion of foals, as you might be able to tell. I also have a tendency to get a bit extreme in my thoughts, either in a good way or a bad way.
The foals were all wearing rainbow-colored wigs in a small time monument to their idol (although how long she would remain their idol is open to debate, as I have more than once compared foals to magpies, but whatever). Oh yeah, I forgot to mention. True to her name, Rainbow Dash had a rainbow colored mane and tail (I’ll leave all the jokes I could make about that for later, there’ll be plenty of opportunities), so they decided the best way to idolize this was through mimicry. Emulation, or imitation. Replication. Reproduction. Impersonation. Copying. Wasn’t sure why it bugged me so much. Must have been because I thought it looked stupid. I didn’t say so, of course, because that would be rude.
So I stood there, taking picture after picture, hoping both at the same time that one of the pictures would turn out good and that none of them would turn out good, trying to soak up the enthusiastic vibe I got from everything around me. I swear, it seems like everything in Ponyville is tested to get the precision feeling of happiness and enthusiasm from literally square inch. Even the coat colors of all the ponies that wandered the streets looked as if they were bred to look happier than everywhere else in the world.
Which is probably why I hated it all the more in those first few months.
I observed the faces of a group of mares closer to my age sitting on the tables off to the side of the crowd. They were watching Rainbow Dash continue boasting with concerned looks on their faces. I guess they realized the same thing I did: This mare was crazy.
Suddenly, a small speck in the sky screamed out. I looked up. A hot air balloon was falling from the sky. After 10 seconds, Rainbow Dash was able to look up from her oh-so-precious autographs that she was signing, and flew up into the air. I breathed I sigh of relief that I wouldn’t have to listen to that mare talk anymore. My ears perked up. I realized that something even more worthy of being photographed was happening, and turned my camera to the sky.
That was the extent of what I did for my first 3 months as a reporter: Take pictures. Repeatedly. That was it. After that, I was moved up a bit. Now I took pictures repeatedly and wrote minor articles that would never be read by anypony! Oh joy!
But just in case that last paragraph didn’t give you an idea of how desperate I was getting in those months, let me give you a walkthrough of an average day in my life back then:
The incessant beeping of my alarm clock woke me up in the morning. Feeling extremely tired and angry from being cut off from a peaceful night, I turn off the alarm clock and get out of bed. Slowly. You see, I’m still half-asleep(in fact, probably closer to 75% asleep) and my eyes are barely open. I get off my bed and make for the shower. Because you’d have to be really perverted to want me to describe myself in the shower, I’ll just skip that section, although I will say I feel a lot more tired once I get in the shower.
I’m infamous among my family for taking 10-minute showers at the very least, and most of that comes from trying to rub the sleep out of my eyes. Luckily, I make enough to pay the water bill. After I pull myself out, I dry myself off. Let me tell you, it is a nightmare to get all the water out of my mane and tail. After I can consider myself dry enough, I get back to my bedroom and get my signature hat on. I’m never seen without it. I head for the living room and eat breakfast.
By the way, try to imagine me doing all of this really fast.
Once this is done, I decide to get all my energy together by going to the window and getting a breath of fresh air for just a minute. Staring out at something other than the extremely dull insides of my apartment does help my morning stress somewhat.
But that’s when the stallion who lives in he apartment building directly across from mine appears at the window. Big Shot. Big Shot is a Pegasus with a brown coat and a blonde mane. Whenever you see him, he’s usually wearing a flat cap backwards(or at least I think that’s what it is). However, whenever he’s at the window, he’s not wearing his hat and his mane is disheveled. He hasn’t even started getting ready for work, and he’s smug about it. That’s because he can fly to his work whenever he wants, and I can’t because I’m an earth pony. I think the only reason he gets up as early as I do because he loves to argue with me. I suppose that’s fair enough, because I take pleasure from being insulting towards him too. And, much to my chagrin, I have to work with him.
“Hey Action Shot! Fancy seeing you this early in the morning!” he said, grinning smugly.
“I should say the same to you. Why do you get up this early? You’re starting to resemble the things they dig up in tombs.” I said bitterly.
“I should really be asking the same thing! You look worse than I do! I’m almost surprised we’re not running your obituary!” he replied.
And thus, it began.
“Why do you have to keep insulting me, Big Shot?” I asked, not expecting an answer. “If you keep it up, I’ll be seeing your obituary!”
“When will that be?” he asked, doing a barely even decent job of feigning confusion. I knew he was setting me up for a joke, but I willingly walked into it.
“Oh, I’d say it could be any day now.”
The look on Big Shot’s face said he expected me to say ‘Tomorrow’ whereupon he would say ‘Well it’s a date then’. I smirked at having destroyed his beautiful punchline. He was not going to let the momentum die though, and promptly did his best to salvage it.
“Just any old day? I don’t wanna die any old day! Let me pick the date. I can get my tux on, arrange a party! Maybe I’ll just settle for buying a can of pepper spray!” he said.
I smirked. That was kind of funny. I managed to resist chuckling, though. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing I was on board with him… But then again, speaking of that…
“Hey Big Shot! Would you care to take the train to work with me today? We can look out the window and see the scenery! Or rather I can look at the scenery as you go flying under the wheels!” I was a lot more open about my insults than when I was 13.
Big Shot took the opportunity and ran with it, going back into smug mode. “Why would I need to be flying under the wheels when I could be flying under the clouds?” He outstretched his wings just for good measure.
I, in turn, went into bitter mode. “Well we don’t all have wings you know. We can’t all fly.” I said, putting emphasis on the word all. I lifted my head up to the air, severely annoyed. I decided to take it further. “Not all of us have those useless hunks of flesh and feathers you call wings, you know.”
Disclaimer: Action Shot means no offense to pegasi around the world. Any complaints you may have will not be accepted by the writer at her home. No, I am no racist.
Before Big Shot could react, I closed the window in a huff. “See you at work, Big Shot.” I spat out that last sentence as bitterly as I could. Knowing I would I would miss my train if I waited any longer, I headed for my front door, grabbing my work bag along the way.
The reason I was so bitter was because I’m sort of envious of ponies who could fly. I admire their freedom. It’s bad enough seeing birds flying around. They have no thoughts other than migrating. But seeing something that can talk to me and looks like me fly around the sky is just frustrating, and what I especially hate is that none of them seem to notice my pain.(Just imagine that being said in a really melodramatic way. ‘My most horrible pain I feel at not being able to fly free through the air!’)
Indignant, I decided to head to the train station. I knew that I would beat Big Shot to my office, because he always walks through the front door half an hour after I do, regardless of whether or not he has wings.
There’s a very funny thing about trains that go between Canterlot and Ponyville. For one thing, there appear to be two separate tracks from Ponyville: the normal tracks and the idiot tracks. I take the one that goes on the normal tracks and gets there in like 48 minutes, but one train that is commonly referred to as ‘The Friendship Express” due to its extremely abstentious ‘bright and happy’ look that it sports must take the idiot track, because when it was carrying the contestants for some baking contest in Canterlot it took 48 whole hours. I don’t get why anyone do that. I mean, I suppose you could say that they had to go to separate stops to pick up all the contestants, but I know for a fact that they all got on at the exact same stop: Ponyville Station. I mean, that’s just insane! Why would someone purposefully send what has got to be the worst train in existence to pick up the contestants for an extremely distinguished backing contest when there are trains that can get you there in under an hour?
Wait a sec, I just thought of something: It’s to make Canterlot look cooler.
Think about it! These distinguished bakers all headed to one of the top 10 biggest events in their life, and I suppose it wouldn’t hurt Canterlot’s image to have them all in suspense, waiting to have the greatest experience of their lives, and letting it be built up. No wonder the place has the reputation it does! I mean, I live there, and I don’t think it’s all that great! I guess it could also be because the only thing you can see when you look up at it is the castle, which is built in just the right position so that it glimmers in the sunlight no matter what time it is, and that includes at night.
Anyway, I’m on the train. No much to say about that. I usually just pull something to read out of my bag and completely tone out everything around me, so I couldn’t really describe any of it without really straining my bran, which I really don’t feel like doing.
When the train gets off at the station, there is always about 15 more minutes before I’m late. The problem? My desk is on the other side of town. So I can’t really describe what walking through Ponyville is like either, because I’m always going to fast to see anything. By the time I make it to my desk, I’m completely worn out, and ready to collapse. It’s a horrible feeling. My legs are nearly ready to give out on me at pretty much any time without so much as a moment’s notice, and the worst part is that no matter how many times I do it, I never get used to the feeling.
Still, it’s good exercise.
That particular day, I’m stunned to see Big Shot has beaten me to the building and is now standing smugly in front of me, grinning. He must have taken my unspoken words as a challenge and flown ahead, beating me by a mile. I hated that. Still, I got comfort out of the fact that he seemed to be even more tired than I was.
“I…win.” He said. That was when his legs gave out and he collapsed to the floor. “…Little help?” he said, sounding defeated. I just walked right past him.
I sat down at my desk, bracing myself for another day of nothing interesting happening. Nothing exciting was going to happen today. Anything remotely stimulating would not happen while I was at work. I was bored. I had been bored since I walked in. I would be bored until I walked out.
If you think that something exciting happened at that exact moment, you’ve been watching too many sitcoms.
After 5 minutes of getting situated, one of my coworkers came over to my desk.
Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you about my little team. I’m the newest member, but I consider myself a sort of leader among them. Okay, we technically don’t have a real leader, but I do the best job of getting directions around the building, so that puts me above the rest of them. Anyway, the mare who came up to my desk is one of them. Film Reel. Orange mane, cool hat, kinda shy, but not to an unreasonable extent. In out team, I snap the pictures, she takes notes on what’s going on, and our other teammate in our little team does the interviews. I’ll introduce you to her later.
Film Reel set a small notebook on my desk and gave a small smile. “Hi Action Shot. I brought the notes. The editor wants the story as soon as you can get it to him.” She walked off.
"See you later.”
Ah, I just thought of another reason why I must be the leader of our team: I’m the only one who actually does writing for the paper, and that’s pretty much the most important part. Whenever my little team goes out to report something(not often enough to make this job less boring though) I’m the one who turns it into a story. Much to my chagrin, though, whatever it is we’re reporting on is never interesting enough to make my job less boring. And it was a side effect of this horrific crushing boredom that led to me…well, you’ll see. We’ll get to that sooner or later.
I’m not the type to seek power(although glory is good, I like glory), but I really wanted a better position. I’ve read stories about reporters who were of a higher status than me who wound up smack dab in the middle of some of the most intriguing and important stories I’ve ever had the pleasure to read in my lifetime, and made their mark on history. I’ve always desired to make a significant mark on history. But that’s not why I wanted to have a higher status among my coworkers at the paper. It was so… boring. I hate being bored. I can’t stand it. I knew that is I got a higher status, I could be put on better stories. And those better stories, whatever they are, whenever they are, are guaranteed to be more interesting than what I was doing then.
Then again, going into a war and getting my legs torn off would be more interesting than what I’m doing now. Plus, there’s the added advantage of that I won’t have to worry about when I go for a walk anymore.
After a few hours of tying away at my typewriter, at some point of which during that time I turned in the aforementioned story that Film Reel asked me to write, I took a lunch break. On that particular day, I went into town to buy something. I’m going to tell you about that, because it was kind of interesting, and the purpose of this section is to let you know just how boring my life was back then. I usually spend my lunch breaks chatting with my best friend, but I didn’t feel like it that day. The depression from realizing just how sad and empty my life felt was really bearing down on me.
Usually I ignore that sad, empty feeling. The back aches that my stress gives me distracts me from it for a while.(Just so you know, I’m 19, just in case you thought I was old.)
Anyway, I get back, and what do I do? More writing! I take writing seriously, it being a passion of mine and all, and I put copious amounts of effort in detail even into the shortest of stories. But being a writer for a newspaper turns off that inhibition somewhat, as instead of writing something personal to me that I can get fully immersed in like I am right now, I’m writing stories that will get buried in the paper when most only look at the front page. In fact, I only really look at the front page.(Well, and the cartoons, but that’s more of a nostalgia thing)
It seems impossible to believe that so much is going on in just the small town of Ponyville when so little happens to me. And, to be honest, it’s rare that I get a day totally devoted to writing. Usually my little team will spend most of the work day collecting stories for tomorrow’s edition.
But writing is a lot more boring than reporting is, and this is supposed to be the story of how bored I was back then.
Anyway, every day has to end eventually, and after hours of just obsessively clicking away at my typewriter to pound out the stories with the endless fear of failing to finish one on time in the back of my head, I’m allowed to return home. I say good bye to my friends at work(and even those I don’t like for the sake of being polite) and head across town again. I don’t take the train home like I did going there. I get on a bus. The bus takes longer, but I like that because it gives me longer to think.
When I get to the bus stop, there are always thousands(not really) of ponies standing there. Even though I’m always standing in the front, I can never get the front seat because everypony around me goes around me and files into the bus before I can. It’s insanely frustrating for the pure reason that I got there first so logically I should get front seat(which is the best seat), but the ponies at the only bus stop in Ponyville only care about themselves. I feel like I’m in a race where everypony there has been told that they get whatever they want in the world if they win. Actually, that analogy is pretty good. Not great, but good. I’m going to keep that and use it whenever it’s appropriate.
As I stood there, I tensed up. I prepared for the race of a lifetime to get onto that bus first, and even if nopony was running, it would be hectic to say the least. After all, every bus that came to the stop only had a limited number of seats, and I was certain that it was going to start raining any minute now(how appropriate). Nopony wanted to be caught out in that. It was just no fun at all to be caught out in that.
The ponies that carried the bus could be heard clopping away in the distance, getting louder progressively like. That meant the bus was coming. I needed to be ready. I leaned forward, ready to race-walk forward to the door the second it opened. It was very important that I was ready. One slip and it would be over for me. I needed to take every opportunity that presented itself and might have a sliver of a chance to get through those doors first. I made the battle plan. A few leaps and bounds here, a sudden dash there, and I could do it. Celestia, for something so trivial, the suspense was really killing me.
The bus pulled up to where it normally was and slowly came to a halt. I put my plan into action, and by that I mean I carefully walked to the door, as did everypony else. After a tense…3 seconds give or take, I was at the door. I was shocked. I had made it there first! Nopony else had gotten there before me! This was a shocking occurrence. ‘Yes!’ I thought triumphantly. ‘I did i-‘
And then I was nearly trampled to death.
I pulled myself off the ground, hoofprints left all over my coat. Angered at this turn of events, I went onto the bus before the doors closed. Sure enough, the front seat was occupied already. I grumbled and pulled myself to near the back, where I found an empty seat. I sat down.
Over the next hour that I was riding the bus, not only did I reflect on the day I had been having, but the me that is currently writing this story realized that I hadn’t given enough depth to my day while writing and it wasn’t dramatic enough now to justify the time put into it. So I reminisced about what it all meant for me.
I thought about my desk. It was a simple desk. It wasn’t decorated with much, because I didn’t have or want much. It wasn’t in a very good place. I don’t feel claustrophobic when I’m in actual small spaces, but I feel incredibly claustrophobic when I’m enclosed by large crowds of people. So I don’t like it very much when I’m forced onto a desk right in the very center of all the other desks. It gives me the dizzying feeling that everypony is watching me, which I find horrendously distracting when trying to do my job as best I can. That isn’t the only thing standing in my way though.
I thought about my coworkers. I didn’t have the best social skills, and outside of like 10 of them, I don’t know any of their names. And the ones I don’t know just seem like…well I don’t know how to describe them. Calling them things or little annoyances just seems too cruel. The truth is that they’re just sort of there. I don’t interact with them, and they don’t interact with me. I just waltz along doing my things that I have to finish every day, and don’t look up to see what’s going on around me. How could I? There’s no time to stop. There’s no time to do everything. There’s not even enough time to do anything. That’s a sad thought, isn’t it? I don’t even think about them. There were the things I did everyday, and everything else was on the other side of a wall.
I thought about my boss. Well, I thought about the editor in chief of our paper. He always claimed that the editor in chief and the pony who owned the newspaper were on and the same. I don’t know if that’s true. I didn’t go to college for this job or anything, and my job is extremely minor, but I don’t know if you can get to even the minor point I’ve reached without a degree in journalism. I was always too caught up in things to look into it. For all I know, me doing the work I’m doing could be completely illegal, and I wouldn’t know. For all I know, I should only be allowed to work as a paper mare, and I wouldn’t know. Who knows, me being put on the position I’m in might be illegal after all, but I was still put on it because I’m just a good enough writer. It might explain a few things, and it would certainly be flattering. But I have my doubts about the idea, so I think I’m going to drop it. Anyway, I suppose it doesn’t matter. The editor gave me a job, and he’s nice enough, so I guess I’ll just leave it until it harms somepony. He’s a very secretive pony though, and I suspect he could resign and nopony would even notice until the day after.
I thought about my friends. I considered Film Reel and Snappy Scoop(that’s the other one, but as I said, I’ll give you a proper introduction to her later) to be acquaintances, but I hadn’t really interacted with them enough to consider them full-on friends(at the time). Still, I did have one good friend in my workplace. You see, what I look for in a friend is somepony who I can just sit down and talk to in order to alleviate my stress, and say whatever I want with out sounding weird and alienating yet another pony. That’s also what I’d look for in a coltfriend, but I don’t want to raise the implications that gives off. Anyway, my friend fits that perfectly, and I personally think we get along really well. So, she’s the layout artist for our paper (wait, is that the right word? Whatever. She’s the one who decides the position of the articles on the paper.) Anyway, I won’t mention hr name for now in some futile effort to make this seem suspenseful, and I’ll just tell you that we get along well, and hope that I can leave it at that without being hounded by questions about the finer details. Don’t worry, we’ll get into those eventually. I need to save some things for after the prologue, after all.
But then I thought about doing work. It was boring. It was monotonous. I just typed on, writing whatever was required of me for the paper to get out on time. I even gave up on putting in my best effort(a HUGE task for somepony like me to accomplish) a while ago, because I didn’t think my work would remain intact. I was uncertain that I even got proper credit. I don’t know. I didn’t even read the newspaper. My job drained so much of my energy that I just didn’t feel like getting around to it. I didn’t have the energy to give the job my all. Because my job was just not engaging enough to make me want to continue working. But I couldn’t quit, I needed the bits(pardon the rhyming). I know that might make me sound incredibly lazy and stupid, and that’s a distinct possibility. But…you’re right. I should’ve given the job my all. I chose it, so I should want to do it. And I did want to do it. I wanted to achieve something more than anything. It’s always been my biggest dream to accomplish something important, but the thing is that I didn’t feel like I was doing anything important in the job I had. And that was he worst thought I had ever had.
Wow, this is starting to get depressing. For a story that I plan to tag ‘Comedy’, I haven’t made this very funny. Still, it’s probably necessary to tell you about the more not funny parts of my life to make the funny parts seem more potent.
Anyway, this thought didn’t make me very happy. The overwhelming feeling of emptiness that feeling like I hadn’t accomplished anything brought to me nearly drove me tears, and it probably would have if I ever cried. I honestly had to really exert a lot of energy to getting off the bus once it pulled in at my stop. It felt hollow. I knew that the only thing I had to look forward to of I got off the bus was going back to work the day after, so why should I get off? I could’ve ridden on forever and ever and I wouldn’t have to do anything ever again, and I still wouldn’t feel better.
I got the feeling that this wasn’t the type of problem that could be solved by eating ice cream.
Anyway, I went up the stairs and into my apartment, opened the door, and locked it behind me. Unless I work late, I usually have a few hours between getting home and going to bed. I didn’t feel like doing much, so I just spent the time doing whatever was there in order to distract me from my problem.
After a while, I started feeling bad about myself. You know why. I spent quite a while hammering into your head that I wasn’t at my happiest in that period of my life, so you should know why by now. But then something strange happened. Not only did I get self-pitying, but that feeling became mixed in with determination. It’s a combination that really lights the fire inside you.
“Something has to change.” I said to nopony in particular. “If things are ever going to get better for me, then things have gotta change, and they’ve gotta change soon.” And I searched through my head for a truly grand idea of how to accomplish this great change my determined side was proposing, and found…nothing at all.
“Oh, who am I kidding!” I yelled out into the empty air. I don’t often talk to myself like this, but ponies do weird things when they’re miserable. “I don’t have the credentials to change anything! I don’t have the talent! I don’t have the skills! I don’t have anything to make anypony look at me twice! Not enough ponies care about me to help me! I don’t have anypony! Nopony would take me because I’ve never done anything and never will do anything!” After this very small display that only chipped at the surface of my psyche, I blushed in embarrassment. I hoped nopony heard me. I have too much pride to let ponies hear the things was saying.
I had composed myself by the time I had gotten into my bed, but I still sighed unhappily. “Nothing’s going to change…” I moaned. Then I just accepted it. I knew it was true, and I just accepted it. “Nothing’s going to change…"
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….........................................................................................................................................
Three moths later, I was at a ceremony accepting a photography award.
Yeah, I know. I actually used that kind of transition. Still, I think it makes an effective contrast, don’t you?
And you’ll never believe the story of how I got it. So, the royal wedding between Captain Shining Armor and Princess Cadence was that day, and I was preparing my camera to head down there and get the scoop on it (Celestia, ‘get the scoop is such a lame phrase), as was just about every other newspaper in the entire country. I was looking out the window, as I usually do. Specifically, this time I was looking upwards into the pink-colored force field that surrounded Canterlot. I grumbled every day at how much this inconvenienced my travel time. I hoped that if all went well during the wedding, the shield could go down and I wouldn’t have to deal with it any more.
It was at that exact second that a large crack appeared on the shield directly above me.
“Of course.” I moaned. Then I saw what had caused the crack. Some strange black creatures were outside the field, barely visible from where I was. They were slamming themselves against the dome, slowly weakening its defenses.
Even though I was terrified out of my mind, I was less easily scared than I was as a young filly (Okay that’s a lie) and never one to miss an opportunity, I readied my camera a prepared to start taking pictures. I knew this was going to be important. I knew somepony needed to get pictures of it before the real chaos started.
And then the real chaos started.
The shield shattered, and those black things swarmed into the city. Horrified, I closed the window and then the curtains, hoping those things wouldn’t see me and I would be safe. Knowing that even greater material would soon present itself, I ventured out of my apartment. After about ten minutes.
Finding a better window to shoot out of and utilizing the ‘zoom’ feature on my camera, I got some shots of these black creatures wrapping ponies in green cocoons. This made me even more terrified but even more resolute that what was going on out there was big and needed to be photographed by yours truly because there was no way I could pass it up.
This was all so real. I’m usually too terrified to move if I see a door open unexpectedly, but being in an actual life-threatening crisis with monsters around every corner ironically made me feel braver. It was the adrenalin rush the whole situation gave me that pushed me forward. After studying the way the things were attacking from several windows, I discovered the safest way out of the building. Going out, I snapped pictures of the swarm from wherever I could, and then made for another hiding spot as quickly as I good. This situation continued until the problem sorted itself without me.
I got some of the best pictures ever. Seriously, I’ve never even seen anything that looked that good. Some of my favorites, though, were the ones I took after it was all over and I felt safe. I used my safety to get some much better angles that made ruined building look just as good as all-out war. Everypony agreed that these pictures were the best, so they made the front page. I’d never been happier. I’m not really obsessed with winning, but I will admit that it feels good when I do win. That much is certain.
I told this story about 20 times during the ceremony.
I couldn’t help it. I was really excited about my accomplishment. This was the biggest achievement I had ever made in my life, so of course I’d want to tell somepony about it. It just so happens that I told everypony about it as I giddily walked circles around the large fancy dinner hall where the ceremony was being held. I had invited my closest friends from the paper, and a few other fancy-looking ponies that I had never met and had no interest in talking to were also there. Also, Big Shot had snuck in somehow, presumably to get some kind of credit because he was in Canterlot when I was taking pictures, so obviously this is all thanks to him.
I couldn’t believe I was here. I was giddy. This was indescribably great. I almost couldn’t take it in. Not just where I was and why I had gotten here, but the fact that they had chosen me, of all ponies. It felt really good. Just for the fun of it, I flashed back to when I had gotten the letter informing me of my achievement.
I was at my desk like usual. It was about a week before the ceremony. The editor walked up to my desk and dropped an envelope on the desk. “a letter came in for you, Action Shot.”
I wasn’t in a good mood that day, as an extended conversation with my most annoying coworkers had left my hope-in-our-species tank drained a bit. “What is it?” I asked bitterly. “Why didn’t they just send it to my house?”
The editor shrugged about as well you could walking on all fours and walked back to his office. Then a mare approached my desk.
“Hi Action Shot, I just wanted to tell you-Ooh! You got a letter! What’s it say?” she asked brightly.
Ah, I knew I’d get to her eventually. Didn’t I tell you? That’s Snappy Scoop, the other member of my team. She’s got a light purple coat, slightly darker purple mane, also had a cool hat, is the most charismatic pony at the paper (that’s why she conducts the interviews in our little group), and somewhat hyper, but not to an unreasonable extent. Not very hyper at all, in fact, when you compare her to other ponies in this town. Although, she is a bit less enthusiastic around lunch time, because that’s when her medication kicks in. (She’s not seriously ill or anything, but she had ADHD, and I really shouldn’t have given away such a personal detail in something that tons of ponies are going to see. Whatever, she’ll get over it.) I don’t think I‘ve ever seen her frown. Or at least, I hadn’t at the time. It was actually kind of weird. No offense to her, though. I guess I just don’t understand ponies who walk on the sunny side of the road, because the street lamps on my side are rather flicker-y.
“I haven’t read it yet, Snappy.” I told her.
“Well then open it and read it! You’ve never gotten a letter at your desk before! Those kinds of letters are usually exciting! I’ll bet you anything that it’s going to be really cool!” She said enthusiastically.
I gave a small smile. “Have you ever gotten a letter like this, Snappy?”
“Once or twice.” She said simply. “Now open that letter and make it snappy!”
Yeah, ever since she figured out the nuances of that joke, she’s been making it at least once a day. For years apparently, according to Film Reel, who was there the first time she made the joke.
I chuckled, my spirits lifted a bit. “Fine.” I opened the envelope and let the letter fall out onto the desk. Then I used my mouth to prop it up on my typewriter so I could read the letter. I scanned my eyes over it.
“Read it out loud! I’m intrigued! I want to hear what it says!” Snappy said snappily in a very snappy way. (No! End Joke!)
“I’m not the reading aloud type.” I said truthfully. I was never comfortable reading things aloud. I was more content reading them silently.
“Fine, then let me read it. She plucked the letter off my desk and held it against the edge of my desk with one hoof while reading it.
“Hey! Put that letter back on my desk right now! I want to read it first!” I said. I didn’t try to grab it away from her though. That just would’ve looked stupid and unprofessional.
“Why should I? This makes for good reading.” Snappy said calmly, trying to hide that she had an incredibly difficult time focusing on the small and official text of the letter.
“Just give it back. It’s my letter. I want to hear the news first.” I said.
“What if it says your dad died or something like that?” Snappy suggested, clearly not thinking.
“…Please do not speak again until I’ve finished this letter.” I said angrily, snatching the letter back.
“Sorry.”
I read the letter until I reached the end and realized what it was saying.
“YES!” I yelled out. “YES! YES! WOOHOO!”
“What? What did it say?” Snappy asked, more curious than ever.
Being way too excited to form a proper response, I simply continued shouting out things like “YES!” and “I DID IT! WOOHOO! YAY!” although mostly that second one.
“What is it? It want to know! Either tell me, or stop making me curious!” Snappy snapped (Oh Celestia that was terrible).
Ponies started to come over to me desk area, attracted by the loud sound of my cheerful whooping.
“What is it?” Film Reel said, being the first to approach my desk.
But I was still too busy tap-dancing with excitement and glee to form any proper sentences, so Snappy took the letter off my hooves to find out what it said for herself. “Here, you read it. I can’t get through it.” She said, hoofing it over to Film Reel.
“Okay.” She said, skimming it over. Her eyes widened in admiration. “Oh wow! Congratulations Action Shot!” she said.
“What is it?” Snappy said, obviously about to crack under the anticipation, as evident by her grinding her teeth.
“Action Shot’s won an award!” Film Reel said. I think I might of squeed a bit.
“An award?” several members of the gathering crowd said simultaneously.
“An award!” I said. “I won an award! For my pictures of Canterlot. It’s great! And they said I was great! And I got it! And *squee*!” Yeah, I wasn’t doing all that good at forming complete sentences at the moment.
“Go you!” Snappy said, starting to become a little taken aback by my enthusiasm.
“I need to get rid of all this excess energy!” I yelled resolutely. I began running for the front door of the office.
“Where are you going?” Film Reel yelled after me.
“I’m taking a 5-mile jog!” I said. “Let the editor know where I’m going! When he realizes what I’ve accomplished for this paper, he’ll understand why!” I went out the door, nearly overwhelmed by the disbelief that something this good had happened to me.
I passed out from exhaustion about 2.5 miles down the road, and I’m really surprised I made it that far.
At the awards ceremony, I was still extremely happy, although I had calmed down somewhat. I couldn’t believe it. Although I didn’t get much when I walked up to the podium at the front of the large room to collect the award physically, I would always have the knowledge that I had been able to do something like this.
They gave a folder to me. I took it, walked away from the podium, and looked inside the folder. I whistled. It was a neatly fancy piece of paper with golden colored edges and cursive writing(and nopony uses cursive writing unless they want to look fancy). I’d get a frame for it later. I beamed. I almost felt like I never wanted to leave. To stay forever to savor this moment of accomplishment and never lose it.
“Okay, I’m outta here. I need to get out of this dress and into bed.” I said, making for the door. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention I was wearing a dress. Let me describe I for you: It was uncomfortable. The end.
So, that’s all you need to know going into my story. This is what got me to the point I was at by the time I got to where I want to start the next chapter. Chapter 1.
Chapter 1. We’ve reached that point, huh? We’re really there. I’ve pondered how I would bring myself to start this story for a while now, but now I’ve managed to get to the end of the prologue. We’re ready to start this story for real.
Man, did this prologue turn out long. I hadn’t meant it to be this long. It just sort of happened. I had planned for it to be half this length, but now look at it. That’s going to make writing this a lot harder for me. There’s an unspoken rule of writing that every chapter after the prologue needs to be longer than the prologue. Whoo, that’ll make this fun all right. Fun fun fun indeed. Ugh…
Well, I guess I’ll just spend the rest of the chapter making an outro of sorts for this. You know just wrap the whole chapter up and then get it published. This is the longest thing I’ve ever written, and I’m quite glad the end is in sight.
I hope all of you who made it this far without going into a narcoleptic coma enjoyed what you’ve read so far, because there’s certainly much more on the way.
I hope this story turns out to be good. I hope that soon, you’ll know me so well that you can hear the sound of me writing these very words at my typewriter. I hope that soon, you can imagine yourself standing next to me in the places I’ve gone in my life. I hope that soon, you will know who I am, why I am what I am, and what I did with who I was.
But then again, maybe I’m just not that good yet.
Oh well, whatever. I want to do it, so I’m going to do it. I don’t care what anypony thinks. I’m going to get to the end of this story no matter what, because I want to. I want this to be good. No, I want this to be better than good. I want this to be the best that I can make. No matter where it goes, I want this story to be important to me. I want it to mean something, all the hours it will take me to type. It has to be, or else I really have nothing to do except throw it all away.
So help me out here a little. I could certainly use it. I’m not going to go too far into what I need all he ponies out there to do to make this story successful, because they’ve heard it all before.
I had a lot of other things I had meant to say during the outro of this chapter, and I mean a TON. Unfortunately, I kinda forgot it all. Or fortunately, considering I want to end this before I start ripping my hair out of my head.
Anyway, I figure that’s about that. I could stall for 200 more words do this ends at 10, 000, but I figure I’m close enough already. So! I’m going to have to sign off. I think I’ve said all I need to say for this chapter to be complete. Bye! See ya! So long readers! See you in the next chapter! Zai jian! See you in the near future-
Okay, this is going too long. I’m driving myself nuts here because I can’t bring myself to end the chapter until we reach 10,000. I am stalling, and I can’t stop it. WE’RE ALL DOOMED! DOOMED TO SPEND THE REST OF THIS CHAPTER IN ABLACK HOLE OF EXTREMELY TEDIOUS USELESSNESS. NOPONY WANTS TO READ THIS! EVERYPONY STOPPED PAYING ATTENTION AGES AGO! I’M ALIENATING ALL POTENTIAL READERS BECAUSE I’M FILLING IN THE SPACE WITH UTTERLY INCONSEQUENTIAL WORDS THAT ONLY LOOK IMPORTANT BECAUSE THEY’RE CAPITALIZED!
Still, I suppose you could argue that this sequence reveals more of my character-
Wait, I’m stalling again aren’t I? Oh screw it. See you next chapter!
