My Muffin
By Moderation
I’ve heard stories of other ponies that have found deep meaning in their lives. Never ones I’ve met, but that’s understandable. Most ponies are too worried with their own day-to-day lives to bother with much deep thinking. This isn’t a condemnation. It’s simply their way, and they’re happier for it.
My wings beat harder against the stinging snow and winds. I entered the dark clouds, and the roar of the storm brought a strange silence. Not a lack of sound, but rather a lack of anything other than noise.
Sometimes I wish that was myself. To so easily find happiness in the simple things. But I haven’t felt that since I was younger. Nothing seems to give me that flutter in my chest that came so rarely as a child.
I am not content.
My chest is hollow, and the winds pick up as I try to leave the cloud. I pump my wings faster, but a gust rips me from my position and hurls me out of the funnel. I fly around like a ragdoll, but make no noise. I silently correct my flight and level out.
I’ve tried so many times to find some kind of fulfillment. Something to make me feel accomplished. Like I was special. And happy.
College in Manehatten was a waste of money. When I graduated with honors in my classes, I collected my degree and left without a word. Years of work and no emotional reward. The degree sits in my closet, and the only reason I haven’t thrown it away is because I might need it later.
Taking a moment to wrap my scarlet scarf tighter around my neck and muzzle, I shot higher into the sky, altitude soaring alongside me. My goggles are coated with ice again.
Joining the police force helped, but not in the way I expected. The exercise was soothing. Nothing that helped with the actual problem, but it calmed my nerves and kept me strong. I was discharged after the sixth criminal with broken legs came in. I’m still not sure if it was justified. I didn’t do anything worse than what they did to those kids.
I guess I just didn’t know my own strength.
With one more powerful stroke, I exploded out of the cloud cover like a cork from a bottle. The winds were far gentler over the storm, and I leveled out. The sun coated my fur, and I felt the melting ice trickle through my mane. I shiver.
After the police job fell through, I tried my hoof at inventing. That was a complete and utter failure. Far too many ponies wanted things that look pretty and sweet. There wasn’t a great market for pragmatic tools in Equestria, and what little demand there was went to griffin and minotaur manufacturers. That summer, I learnt the hard way what the Canterlot slang for “starving artist” meant in entirety.
In the same fashion, I’ve worked each and every market and job imaginable. I’ve stumbled into and lost at least half a dozen small fortunes, and each time I’ve given them up to move onto something new to fill that irritating void.
My wings pumped faster and faster as I worked against the funnel from above. Winds roared in protest, and waves of frost and hail slammed against my wings and chest.
Pain tore across my body like a whip. A detached part of my mind wondered why I was allowing myself to deviate from my course.
My latest job was courier, and probably my last.
Why was I doing this?
My eyes rebelled against me, and glanced at the small village on the outskirts of Equestria. It was small, tiny, and utterly insignificant.
And if I did nothing, if I stood by as apathetically as I’d been my whole life, it would be destroyed.
My wings beat harder. The push of the wind increased, and the whips of cold cut deeper. As I continued to circle, a smaller funnel formed above the cyclone. Slowly, ever so slowly, it picked up speed, and the tail of the cyclone began to lift off the ground below.
The pain was gone now, my body too cold and numb to feel anything more than a prickle of discomfort.
Still, my wings pumped harder against my back.
By now, the cyclone had deformed and merged with the funnel above it, forming a twisted sphere that tried to absorb everything around it.
It would soon claim me.
But not before the rest of the storm.
The chaotic orb of ice and wind began to suck up the surrounding storm, and I pulled away. My orbit continued around the condensing sphere as the pressure of the winds increased and tried to claim me.
Not yet.
My orbit widened, and I worked with the winds now to pull me farther and farther away.
Why was I doing this?
I gave into the storm, and I used the winds to slingshot myself back towards the cluster of clouds. A slight twist to my wings set me into a corkscrew and at the last moment I pulled my wings in as I breached the singularity.
For a moment, there was nothing but the peaceful sound of angry chaos.
And the sky exploded.
I left the site dazed and slipping into an uncontrolled descent. I spun and spun, but somehow managed to slow down enough to begin a shaky flight to the ground below.
I had survived, somehow.
I glanced back to look at the destabilized remains of the storm.
Hail the size of my head impacted an inch above my eye.
And I fell.
When I woke up, I was in a hospital. The nurses and doctors were moving about and trying to take care of the sudden influx of patients. My actions prevented the destruction of the town, but still there were casualties.
I remained silent.
Why did I do it?
They would have died.
I nearly did.
Why did I do it?
Even while I searched, I never doubted for a moment that my life was worth living.
And I nearly died.
Why?
I lifted my hoof up to look at it. It seemed… flat. I pulled it closer and felt the rough fabric covering my right eye.
Why did I do it?
I nearly died.
Almost doesn’t count.
It was suicidal.
But I lived.
But I lost an eye. And the ability to speak.
Well, no. I could still talk. But I had to focus, and go slow. Otherwise, what comes out doesn’t match what I meant. If I tried to speak at regular speed, I confused words with others that sounded nothing like them.
And my voice. I sound like an idiot.
Despite the hollowness in my chest, I still feel emotion. Even if it isn’t fulfillment.
I feel bitter.
By now, I’m strong enough to walk around the hospital without help. All the casualties from the storm besides myself had healed long ago. The doctors were curious as to what I was doing here when the storm hit.
I still haven’t told them what happened. They would eventually ask why I did it, and I still don’t have the answer myself.
Why did I do it?
At least I’ll be out of here soon.
There was some emergency today. A home burnt down in town. No one knows why. The only survivor was a small lavender filly.
But they didn’t have the supplies or funds necessary to help her. The next town was miles away, and most of the town’s funds were in reconstruction.
Perhaps a pegasus could reach the town quickly enough, but the village only had earth ponies and unicorns, and any pegasi were only children.
Three hours later, the supplies were restocked, my account’s balance was significantly lower, and I was stuck potentially another three months in the hospital for aggravating my injuries.
Why?
The little filly woke up today. She doesn’t seem to remember much about her life before the fire. All she seems to know is her name, her favorite color, and the fact that fire terrifies her.
I leave her my scarf after we talk.
She likes red.
Why?
I’ll be leaving the hospital soon, but when I think about it, my throat closes up on me and my eyes get blurry.
Why?
I decide to visit the filly as often as I can.
The filly’s entire family died in the fire.
I don’t know why it took so long to realize that. No one visits her besides me. The hospital is paying for her treatment out of their own pocket.
A hundred other signs, but I only realized this when she called me “mommy”.
I’m well enough to leave now. I’ll never be as great of a flyer as before. My depth perception is gone. I have one glass eye. I can only communicate at a snail’s pace.
All of this is at the back of my mind when I realize that leaving means never seeing that little lavender unicorn.
I decide to stay in town for a while longer. Just to be safe.
The hospital is on its last legs. The storm drained most of the money from the city coffers, and coin from the crown only lasts so long. With an influx of new injured ponies, the hospital is going to be forced to shut down soon. The town will follow. Too much of its workforce has died, left, or gone inactive.
The town was drying up. The hospital closing.
The filly would soon be sent to another hospital. Another town. Another orphanage.
The filly was released from the hospital with a clean bill of health.
I adopted her before she cleared the door.
I care for her, which is strange. Not that I care for her, but rather that I care for her.
I have a sister, and a mother. I used to have a father. But I’ve never felt this much for another pony in my life. Every time I look at her, I feel an overwhelming rush of emotion coming from everywhere at once. My chest. My ears. My hooves.
When we leave the dying town, I realize that my hollow chest feels not as hollow as it had always been. And I smile, because I realize the emotion is love.
After months of moving around funds and the necessary paperwork, Dinky and I are moving to Ponyville. It’s a small town near the center of Equestria, and an equal distance away from all the major cities.
I had to sell my home in Cloudsdale, and my apartment in Manehatten was no place to raise a filly. I could take a job as a mailmare while I lived there, which would allow me to keep a schedule that allows me as much time as possible to spend with my filly.
My filly. That is still such a weird phrase.
I’m not worried about money. As I’ve mentioned, I’ve come across and lost many small fortunes; however I had always been frugal, and I’ve come across more than I lost.
I still have a void that is begging to be filled. But it’s not as large as before.
I realize that its better this way. I have meaning in my life, but the void is still there.
I am happy. I am not content.
I have a meaningful life, and I still dream for greater horizons.
I was seeing Dinky off to school today, and a sudden compulsion came over me.
I told her that she was my meaning in life. I told her that I loved her.
It came out sounding more like, “I love the muffin of life”, but I think she understood anyway.
Because she hugged me tight. She told me, “I love you too, mommy”. And then she laughed. A pure little tinkling sound like bells. I laughed too.
We sat there for a while, just holding each other as we laughed and laughed. She held me, and I held her.
My Meaning.
My Muffin.
Author's Note
So, this is my first published story on the site. Hope it measures up. I plan to try and write more for my resolution. Let's see how long that lasts.
