Lost in Perception

by Key Tapper

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Sad
Length: 5808

For me, the most rudimentary conversations are incredibly difficult, and I always end up making a complete fool of myself in public. Even if I can't have a happy and successful future, I'll see to it that my daughter can.

I see it in her eyes—a quality of character unlike anything I've encountered before. Yes, she’s smart and well-behaved, as every proud parent would say, but there’s more to her than that. At the tender age of eleven, her overall attitude towards life is even more developed than most adults I've seen.

For as long as I can remember, I haven’t been able to talk to others on an intellectual level. When an interaction becomes necessary, my mind draws a blank, and the knowledge I've accrued over the years inexplicably vanishes from my grasp. Even the most rudimentary conversations become difficult, and I always end up making a complete fool of myself.

Though it has significantly hindered my success in life, I won’t allow it to trouble me any longer. All that matters to me now is ensuring a safe, happy future for my daughter. I’d sacrifice everything to help realize her potential.

Still, it would be a pleasant change if I were one day recognized for who I am.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-01-23 16:10:03 UTC

Perceiving the Imperceptible

To understand the depth of one’s psyche is to understand the infinite expanse of the universe itself. Unfathomable by nature, the endless cosmos known as “the mind” simply cannot be fully grasped by anyone, mortal and immortal alike. Studied? Yes. Predicted? Sometimes. Read? Perhaps…

It wouldn't matter, though. Even if someone were to read another’s mind, they would only scratch the surface of an indefinable world. There are far too many different factors in play to absorb a substantial amount of information.

I wish somepony could understand my psyche. I wish they could fathom it, grasp it… study, predict, and read it. If only they could do more than merely scratch the surface, and instead define the entirety of my character.

If they could just absorb everything about me, maybe they wouldn't see me the way they do. However, that’s not how ponies work, and this is nothing more than wishful thinking on my part.

----------

A bell sounded throughout the classroom. Shrill and abrupt though it may have been, the foals welcomed this particular interruption. Without hesitation, they started to leave their desks.

“Just a moment, class,” spoke a naturally cheerful voice from the front of the room.

The congregation of children let out sighs of displeasure. The lecture today had been exhausting, and they were ready for the day to be over.

“Before you all leave, I’d like for those of you who finished the extra credit assignment to bring it to my desk. Remember, it was just a completion grade; you didn't need to get the correct answer.”

About half of the class approached the front of the room, while the other half frantically scribbled last-minute answers onto their papers.

Cheerilee frowned. “I’m very disappointed at how many of you didn't even try to find somepony to help you with it.”

“Hey!” Snips looked up from his paper. “It’s not my fault I ain't friends with no brainiac ponies!”

“I’m not friends with any brainiac ponies,” Cheerilee corrected. “Also, why didn't you ask somepony like Princess Twilight?”

“But, Miss Cheerilee,” Snails chimed in, “Princess Twilight is too darn busy all the time!”

“Hah! Well all three of us asked her, and she helped us, no problem!” exclaimed Scootaloo from the line forming at Cheerilee’s desk.

“Yeah! Quit makin' excuses for yerselves. Everypony knows you two’re just too lazy to walk all the way over to Twilight’s castle.”

“Apple Bloom! It’s not your job to criticize your fellow classmates,” scolded Cheerilee, who then turned to Snips and Snails. “However, I will have to agree. I asked you to find an older pony to help you. I think we all know that Princess Twilight would have been happy to help each and every one of you. I’m afraid I can’t give you credit if you didn't follow the assignment. That goes for the rest of you writing down answers as we speak.”

Groans of annoyance and disappointment erupted from the class.

“Ugh, pony feathers!” Snips crumpled up his assignment in frustration.

“And you should watch your mouth,” Cheerilee said in a stern tone.

The young colt blushed in embarrassment, and several of his classmates chuckled.

The minutes rolled by until only two of the students were still waiting in line, while the rest of them had hastily made their way to the door. Cheerilee, of course, was more than happy to stay as long as she needed to make sure she gave them the credit they deserved.

“Very good attempt, Rumble. If I may ask, who did you receive help from? This answer is very close to being right.”

“I got Thunderlane to help me. He said he wasn't very good at math in high school, but he remembered a couple things from el-je-bra.”

“It’s pronounced ‘algebra’, and I thank you for putting in the effort.”

Rumble nodded, before gathering his things and leaving the class.

Dinky stepped forward, being the last pony in line. It always warmed Cheerilee's heart when a student worked hard, and so far this little filly had been reliably consistent in doing so. It left little doubt as to why she held the best grades in the class.

“I’m so glad I can always count on you to finish your work on time, Dinky.” The teacher smiled gratefully as she received the assignment from the unicorn.

Glancing over the paper, Cheerilee did a double-take when she noticed something unusual about it.

Dinky had shown her work, step by step. On top of that, she had done it perfectly.

“Dinky… this is your hoofwriting. How…” The teacher trailed off as she continued to scan the paper. “You came up with the correct answer.”

Dinky smiled and looked down. “Thank you, Miss Cheerilee.”

“Well, color me impressed. How did you do this?”

“Oh! My mommy helped me. Actually, she just taught me how to do it. You said it’s called ‘algebra’, right? That’s what Mommy called it, too.”

Cheerilee's eyes widened. “Your… mother helped you with this? As in—” She stopped herself and looked up from the assignment to the filly standing before her desk. “As in, Miss Hooves?”

“Yeah!” Dinky exclaimed proudly. “She always helps me with my homework! She never tells me the answers, though—just shows me how to find them myself.”

Cheerilee’s mouth gaped in disbelief. “I, uh…”

“So, did I get the points?” Dinky asked with innocent eyes.

The teacher shook herself out of her stupor. “Of course, dear. Have a wonderful day.”

“You too, Miss Cheerilee!” The filly grabbed her saddlebags and rushed out the door gleefully, oblivious to the fact that her teacher remained behind her desk, motionless and bewildered.

Cheerilee knew what other ponies thought about Dinky's mother, yet many of the rumors were not without merit. Nopony hated her, or anything of the sort. They just always knew she was… different.

Derpy was a delightful pony to be around, at least when she wasn't accidentally destroying things. Though she had a great deal of difficulty, she did her best at everything she tried. Sure, she needed help with simple tasks on more than one occasion, but she was a good, honest, hard-working mare at heart, and everyone knew that.

She could be described in many ways, but one word that had never come to anyone’s mind was “clever”.

----------

The schoolyard bustled with children as they rushed home, or to the waiting arms of their caretakers. As the guardians left the school grounds with their foals, many of them offered me nods, grins, and even waves of greeting as my distinct cross-eyed appearance momentarily caught their attention. Despite my chronic dizziness, I always made an effort to return the gesture.

After all, it would have been rude not to.

Every moment I stood there, I feared the possibility of a verbal interaction with someone. It’s generally something I try to avoid, but unfortunately it’s not exactly plausible to spend one’s entire life without talking to others. This is simply how the world operates.

Fortunately for me, today didn't need to be one of those days—at least, not yet.

I waited patiently for Dinky to emerge from the schoolhouse. Gazing around, I noticed that the only other ponies in my line-of-sight were Thunderlane and his younger brother, Rumble, flying off into the distance. Other than that, I now sat alone.

Gradually, I felt my vision start to clear. As my dizziness subsided, I could see straight once again.

I sighed in relief. Much better.

Only a few moments passed before Dinky stepped outside. Our eyes met, and she lit up with excitement as she bolted towards me.

“Hi, Mommy!” she practically shouted before wrapping me in a hug.

Returning the embrace, I planted a kiss on her forehead. “Hello, Muffin. How was school today?”

She looked up at me and beamed. “Great! I got the points for that extra credit assignment you helped me with!”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Miss Cheerilee acted kinda weird when I told her that you helped me with it, though.”

I tensed up. “Did she, now?”

“Yeah. I wonder what was up with that.”

This tends to happen more often than I’d prefer. When ponies hear my name and “mathematics”, “science”, or “intelligent” in the same sentence, they automatically become skeptical. Then again, I don’t have the best reputation in town when it comes to academia.

For the sake of brevity, I decided to brush it aside. “Let’s go home, Dinky.”

“Okay!”

----------

As we walked along the outskirts of Ponyville, I couldn't help but notice how the trees around us swayed, their leaves softly rustling as they were caressed by the gentle afternoon wind.

I inhaled deeply, letting the pure air fill my lungs. This is how things should always be.

As I slowly released the air in my body, I glanced around us. There wasn't a soul in sight. This type of setting pleased me, which was probably one of the biggest things that set me apart from other ponies.

My worldly appreciation was interrupted, however, when my daughter spoke up.

“Mommy?”

I looked down to meet her gaze. “Yes, Muffin?”

“Why do we always go this way?”

I stumbled on the question. “What do you mean?”

“Why do we always go around town? Wouldn't it be faster to go through it?”

I hadn't prepared an answer to this question, primarily because I hadn't expected her to ask it in the first place. She’s more observant than I give her credit for, sometimes.

I closed my eyes. “Not necessarily.”

“How come?”

“If you came across a huge area of fog, would it be faster to go through it, or around it?”

“Um, through it, I think. It’s not that hard to just walk in a straight line, is it?”

“True, but maybe for some ponies, the fog could cause them to lose their bearings.”

She seemed to think on this for a bit, but ultimately came up blank. “I don’t get it.”

“Dinky.” I smiled. “There are a lot of ponies in town at this time of the day.”

She quickly turned her head towards the town, back to me, and then looked down with sad eyes. “Oh… I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“For what?”

“I should've realized what you were telling me sooner. I know you don’t like talking about that.”

“This is just an aspect of my life that I've come to accept. You should never be worried about hurting my feelings.”

That seemed to lift her spirits somewhat, but not as much as I’d hoped, so I did the one thing I knew that wouldn't fail.

I wrapped my wing around her.

The slight tickly feeling of my feathers against her back made her giggle and look up at me with a bright expression, which I knew to be genuine.

“Wanna know what’s great about us?” I asked. “We never have to keep secrets from one another.”

She beamed and nodded in agreement.

“Besides,” I continued, “I’d rather you ask me every question you can think of than nothing at all.” I grinned slyly. “‘Cause you know what you’d be if you didn’t ask questions?”

Her mouth started to scrunch up in the early stages of a laugh. I knew I had her on the ropes.

“Well, what would that make you?” I playfully teased, shifting my feathers in a way that I knew would set her off.

She couldn't hold it in any longer, and burst into a fit of laughter. “Mommy!” she struggled to say. “That’s cheating! No tickling allowed!”

“C'mon, what would that make you?” I pried, chuckling a bit myself. “I know you know.”

Her laughter continued unabated until she finally managed to say, “Okay, okay! I give up! Heehee! A simple filly. A simple filly!”

I stopped tickling her and instead pulled her closer. “And you’re not a simple filly, are you?”

“Nope!” she stated matter-of-factly.

“That’s right,” I said with pride. “That’s because you’re special. Most kids just go to school because their parents make them, but not you. I know how much you look forward to learning every day. You’re always asking questions about the things you absorb. Your thirst for knowledge is simply unquenchable.”

“You’re just saying that!”

“Am not!” I stuck my tongue out at her.

The two of us giggled with each other for the rest of the walk home. At that point in time, I was grateful for the interruption. Enjoying nature is great sometimes, but moments like this are priceless.

----------

Pretty soon, we approached our home—nestled on the very edge of Ponyville. A humble abode, to be sure, but I managed to keep it clean and safe for both of us.

As I fumbled around for the key, I heard a familiar voice, and my heart immediately sank.

“Hey, Derpy!” greeted a young mare nearby.

I let out a slight groan of agitation. So close.

I could already feel my vision becoming lopsided. I had found my key at this point, but quickly dropped it upon hearing the other pony’s voice. I looked down at the ground, but found myself unable to pinpoint its exact location. I had the nagging feeling that it was right in my front of my face, but I couldn't keep my eyes straight long enough to find it.

“Oh, here. Lemme help!” said the mare, rushing forward to help me. Effortlessly, she picked the key up off of the ground and gave it back to me.

“Heh, thanks Rose.” I forced myself to smile politely, but it probably appeared much goofier than I intended.

“So how was the mail rush today?” she asked with a chipper tone to her voice.

As if on cue, my sinuses seemed to immediately fill up with air, to the point that I could barely breathe through my nose. In all honesty, I've never managed to figure out the reason for that particular quirk.

“Oh… y’know. Same old, same old,” I answered in an irritating, nasally voice, chuckling like a moron for no actual reason.

My idiotic laughing seemed to elicit a brief confused glance from Roseluck, but quickly vanished as she resumed her unbearably-sincere expression. “Well, I hope the rest of your day is splendid.” She looked down. “Yours too, Dinky!”

Dinky looked down abashedly. “Thank you, Ms. Rose.”

“I'll see you two later!” She nodded at the both of us and trotted off, humming a simple tune.

In my hooves, I held the keys to my home, and yet I found myself wondering what to do with them. As I stared off into the direction Roseluck had gone, it didn't even occur to me that Dinky had been trying to recapture my attention.

“Mommy?” she asked innocently. “You okay?”

I shook myself out of my temporary stupor and looked to her with a renewed smile. “Yes, dear. I’m fine.”

Already, my sinuses had cleared up, and my vision quickly returned to normal. I looked at the keys in my hoof, and then to the front door of our house and immediately made the connection between the two.

I slipped the key into the lock and turned it, carefully listening to the sound of the tumbler rotating, until it finally let out a satisfying click. How odd that I found such appreciation in a menial task like this.

As we made our way inside, Dinky routinely made a beeline for the kitchen to fill herself a glass of water. After quickly drinking all of it, she filled it again and went to her room so she could study without any distractions.

“Remember: if you don’t understand something, feel free to ask for help,” I called out. “Don’t be afraid of interrupting me, either. You know how I can get sometimes.”

“I know, Mommy. Thanks,” she called back, gently closing the door behind her.

For a moment, I stood motionless in the middle of our living room, until my eyes wandered over to my saddlebags, which lay untouched on top of the coffee table. My expression lit up, and I sat down on the couch.

I fumbled around with the straps on my bag. “I wonder what will catch my fancy,” I mumbled to myself.

Flipping open the flap of the saddlebag, I rummaged through its contents until I found the book I’d checked out mere hours earlier. I glanced at the cover.

The Sacred Vestibule, by Post Script

First of The Shadow War

“What in the world?” I asked myself. “This isn't what I wanted...”

I traced my recollection of the day’s events to a few hours ago, where I stood awkwardly—peeking through the contents of Twilight’s bookshelves.

In the last several months, Princess Twilight had slowly but surely begun to shelve her new library with books. Shipments from Canterlot arrived almost every day. It wasn't long before the crystalline shelves were adorned with a rather impressive collection, and it only continued to grow in size.

Spike had been helping someone else at the moment, and Twilight was busy doing other things, which was to be expected. When I finally came across the book I thought I was looking for, I located Spike in the middle of the grand halls so that I could check it out.

At first, he gave me a funny look upon showing him the book I wanted. He even went so far as to ask “Are you sure?” at least once. I found it odd, to say the least, considering it was something as simple and common as a dessert cookbook. Nevertheless, he allowed me to check it out without any indication of refusal or hesitance.

Well, at least now I knew the reason behind the strange looks he’d given me. Clearly, I'd checked out the wrong book.

Idiot. Is it so difficult to do something correctly for a change?

I let out a heavy sigh. I suppose I’ll have to surprise Dinky some other time. Maybe I’ll try again this weekend.

I took another look at the novel in my hooves. I had heard of this series—bad things, mostly, though I believe the critique most often given to it had been that it was “boring”. Not to mention, the ponies I’d heard this from were far from professional or scholarly. Therefore, I reserved all judgement until I had traversed its pages myself.

The thickness of the novel was nothing to sneeze at, but I immediately found myself impressed by the elegance of its cover and spine. Quite a bit of work had gone into producing this.

I took a deep breath, let it all out, and opened to the prologue.

----------

The resplendent light—which did so pour forth into the grand antechamber in such a manner, that no force, above or below, could quell its magnificent brilliance—renewed our spirits of pain and injury. I gazed upon my once-broken comrades, witnessing their re-emergence from oblivion. Their eyes, previously dull and pained, lit up with a glow akin to that which had saved us from our despair.

The unrelenting forces continued to hammer at the doors to our place of refuge. With newfound strength in both mind and body, we formed a taut barrier around the civilians we were sworn to protect.

I glanced to them—mothers clung tightly to their children, who in their innocence knew not what evils stood at our very doorsteps. With voices as gentle as a kiss of rain, the mares comforted their foals with words of reassurance.

With the scene before me only proving to strengthen my already-steadfast determination, I swiftly averted my gaze back to the door, which had begun to splinter and crack.

At last, I realized with fevered anticipation, that my family—no longer with me, but forever within me—had meant everything to me, but that this war, this… abominationon our very existence, needed to mean more. They desiredfor it to mean more, at least for the time being.

My story—my tragic tale of woe—did not envelop the whole of ponykind, nor was it the most abhorrent of them all. Our greatest weakness until now had been that very mindset which I, too, had allowed to engulf the entirety of my being.

With this light—this shimmering, radiant light of undeniable and unspeakable glory—now bathing my soul and the souls of the warriors around me, we were suddenly overcome by the feeling of might and unity that we had lacked for so long.

It is with this incredible sensation of power that we—

“Mommy!”

I jumped back to reality with a start, almost dropping the book in the process.

How long had I been immersed in this novel? Glancing at the clock, I realized it had been several hours. Dinnertime had arrived.

“Hey, Mommy! Anypony in there?” Dinky teasingly called from her room.

Still trying to process the sudden transition back to the real world, I called back to her. “Yes, Muffin?”

“What are we having for dinner? I'm starved!”

My eyes darted back and forth between the kitchen and my daughter's bedroom. Admittedly, I had completely forgotten about making dinner. Goodness, I hadn't even decided what to make.

I had to think of something quickly. Every night since the day she was born, I hadn't failed to put dinner on the table for Dinky, and I had no intention of making this the first.

Suddenly, it came to me. How did I not think of this sooner?

“How does pasta sound?” I called out to her.

After a moment of hesitation on her end, she called back. “What kind?”

“What kind do you think?” I imagined the smile on Dinky's face as I spoke those words, and I, too, smiled.

“Yes!” she exclaimed with about as much enthusiasm as I had expected.

“We'll be eating a little later than usual tonight. I, um... got a bit distracted,” I said apologetically, staring at the book in my hooves.

"No no, that's fine!” she insisted. “Take all the time you need. Like, seriously, please don't rush this one.”

I chuckled. “I'll try not to.”

With that, I got up and started to rummage through the kitchen pantry and the fridge, gathering the ingredients in preparation for the meal to come.

----------

I took my last bite, reveling in the distinct flavor of plum tomatoes, cream, and various spices—melded together into an ultimately delectable pasta sauce.

It was my mother’s recipe, and she regularly made it for me growing up. I’m quite thankful for the fact that it was written down, but at this point I knew the ingredients and quantities like the back of my hoof. One of the best parts about it was the wonderful simplicity of the recipe; it required almost no effort to prepare, and I almost always had the ingredients available.

I looked to Dinky, who seemed to enjoy the meal just as much as I did, if not more. We had both agreed on multiple occasions that this, without a shred of doubt, was our favorite meal. The recipe had supposedly been designed to serve three to five, but the two of us usually managed to finish it off ourselves that same night. We rarely had leftovers, and on the rare occasion that we did, they wouldn't make it through the next day.

As she cleared her last dish, I took this opportunity to express something I’d been rather hesitant to bring up.

“I have a confession to make, Dinky.”

She looked up, an inquisitive stare now adorning her face. “What’s that?”

“I had… originally planned on making us dessert tonight. I know I don’t let you have sweets that often, so I thought it’d be something special for the two of us.”

Her eyes lit up, which I’d been dreading. “Really?” she asked, excitement evident in her voice.

“Well, yes. My intention had been to visit the library so that I could check out a great dessert cookbook, which I'd heard of recently.”

“Wow, that sounds fancy!”

“That was the hope,” I admitted, pausing momentarily before I arrived at the crux of the point. “I can at least assure you that I managed to complete that task… partially.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

“This is a bit embarrassing, but… you know how I get in public. My eyes must've played tricks on me or something, because I ended up checking out a completely different book by mistake.”

Her curious look slowly lowered into a more flat expression upon hearing this, but she didn't say anything.

“I wish I knew some good recipes off the top of my head, but my mother never made me sweets. I’m not sure she even knew how to, herself.”

She continued to sit there, disturbingly silent.

“I’m really sorry about this, Muffin. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

A few more seconds passed, our house suddenly having become a place of utter stillness, and not a word was spoken between us. I couldn't tell if what I’d said upset her.

Then, to my surprise, her neutral lips gradually curved upwards into a smile, ever-increasing until eventually she let out a subtle giggle. From there, it escalated even more to the point that she was outright laughing.

Confused, I asked, “What?”

She struggled to regain her composure. “Oh, Mommy. You looked—heeheehee—so worried!”

I sat there, making no attempt to hide my current feelings of bewilderment, while Dinky’s laughter slowly died down until she wiped her eyes and let out a breath of relief.

“I’m… assuming you’re not upset?” I asked.

“Nope.”

“Not even the slightest bit disappointed?” I pressed.

“Um, I dunno. Kind of, I guess?” She gave me an indecisive look. “I mean, it’s just dessert, and I think I like the pasta better anyway.”

“Hmm.” I pondered the situation. I hadn't expected this kind of reaction.

“Why is this such a big deal, anyway?” she asked, clearly perplexed. “You looked so freaked out when you were about to tell me. I thought something super bad happened, but then it was just dessert.” She let out another small giggle. “Why’d you act so weird about it, Mommy?”

I hesitated. “Well, it’s just that I've seen kids throw temper tantrums over much… pettier things than that. While I have no doubts that you’re a good filly, you are still developing mentally, and I know how many times you've asked me to let you have sweets. I imagine having it so close to your grasp, only to find out you have to wait even longer, it’s just—well, I suppose I didn't expect you to be so indifferent about it.”

“What’s ‘undifferent’?”

I couldn't help but smile whenever Dinky asked me the meaning of a word. “It’s ‘indifferent’, Muffin, and it means to not express a particular concern about something. Not good, but not bad, either.”

“Ooh, okay. That makes more sense.” She stopped for a moment, and her expression changed. “Now that you mention it, though, I've seen my classmates get upset about the dumbest things.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Well, last week I heard Diamond Tiara telling her friend Silver Spoon about how mad she was that her dad didn't get her this dress she wanted. I bet she would've worn it, like, two times before getting bored of the thing.”

The prospect of that annoyed me a good bit.

“Oh, and today Snips was complaining to Miss Cheerilee about how he couldn't do the extra credit homework because… Oh wait, lemme see if I can do it.” Dinky seemed to deliberately push out her front teeth, and then started again. “It’s not my fault I ain't friends with no brainiac ponies!” she said in a very unusual accent, letting out another giggle as she finished.

“That's a double negative,” I noted.

“I know!” she laughed. “Miss Cheerilee gave him a hard time about it, too!”

I paused momentarily, trying to get a better grasp on the conversation. “So... it bothers you when ponies complain about things?”

“Not always. I only think it’s dumb when they complain about stuff that doesn't even matter. I mean, cake and sweet stuff tastes good, even though candy just makes my teeth hurt, but I already have pasta, which is probably my favorite food ever. Well, this recipe, anyway.”

“Maybe I’m just disappointed with my myself,” I started. “I’m glad you like the pasta so much—which makes two of us—but sometimes I wish I could give you more.”

“But Mommy, you gave me, um… well, me.”

That statement rendered me speechless.

“And even after that, you gave me a comfy bed to sleep in, and you give me food to eat when I’m hungry, and you teach me lots of stuff that Miss Cheerilee doesn't.” She looked at me, her eyes expressing something I could only describe as pure. “Do I really need more than that?”

I stared at my daughter, not knowing how to respond. I’m quite sure my mouth hung agape after everything she’d said.

Her words were so profound in what they communicated, and I’m not even sure she fully realized it. To think that an eleven-year-old can have such a perspective on her own life—and a more modest one, at that.

I find it truly remarkable.

----------

Night had fallen, and Dinky lay fast asleep in her bed. I closed her door as gently as I could and made my way into the main room, which also served as a study, of sorts.

In the higher part of my bookshelf—among all the other works of literature—there stood a thick tome. Disguised as a generic encyclopedia, most eyes would pass over it without a second thought. As per usual, I reached up and removed it from its usual home on the shelf.

Nothing particularly interesting stood out about it. As one would expect from a typical encyclopedia or dictionary, it bore a very plain cover, which is precisely why it served as the perfect hiding place.

I turned my attention to the large, iron safe sitting next to my desk. As strange as it may sound, I almost considered this big hunk of metal to be the metaphorical equivalent of my soul.

Staring at the book in my grasp, I retrieved a small key from within. Not even Dinky knew its location, to my knowledge, and I intended to keep it that way for at least several more years.

I inserted this key into the safe’s lock, turned it gently, and once more found great satisfaction in the clicking of the tumbler as the pins aligned themselves in place.

I’d grown strangely accustomed to this process, not to the point of monotony, but in the sense that I found it rather therapeutic, especially considering the events that would immediately follow.

As I opened the door to the safe, I took a moment to gaze at my collection within; pages upon pages of journals—I had stopped counting at this point—stacked on top of one another, creating several layers from the back of the safe towards the front.

It occurred to me that there must have been thousands of pages in that safe—nearly my entire life, compressed into dozens of filled journals right in front of me.

Habitually, I pulled out the journal closest to the front. I had actually begun writing in this one somewhat recently, and so far it showed almost no signs of wear and tear.

Flipping to the latest blank page, I took a few minutes to gather my thoughts, and finally began jotting them down.

09/15/1004

I've spent most of my life wondering what went wrong during my creation. Did a strand of DNA misplace itself? Was I dropped on my head as a foal? What could have possibly occurred between my conception and the day I spoke my first words—what could have happened that causes my very mind to be ripped away from me at the mere presence of others?

Is it such a crime to want to share my intellect with the world? Is my consciousness so determined to keep me isolated from my peers, that it will go to such incredible lengths just to ensure that I remain in the shadows of our culture?

I may not be filled to the brim with as much sheer knowledge as Twilight Sparkle, but I feel as though I could still contribute, in some way. Inconsequential as that contribution may be, it would at least give my life a shred of substance.

I am fully aware that my intelligence is by no means the greatest in Equestria, and have thus accepted that I am still insignificant compared to the historical minds of our generation. Nevertheless, it does not diminish my desire to add something to the world.

My anxiety—whateverit is, has shown no signs of improvement since I was young. Quite the contrary, in fact. It has actually become increasingly more debilitating over the years. Will this maintain its path until I am no longer a functioning member of society? Will every remaining vestige of my social capabilities continue to erode until I am nothing more than a mute husk in public?

If not for these entries… and the existence of Dinky, I’m not sure my unwillingly secluded state-of-mind would have remained completely intact, as it has done.

Dinky…

What a wondrous individual—so eager and full of life. What she said during dinner tonight still amazes me, even now. It’s sometimes hard to believe that I can call her my own with unquestionable certainty.

I've had practically no effect on the world; I've never been able to. Dinky, however, does not share in my disability. She bears no semblance of my inability to interact with the ponies around me.

I feel as though her potential is unbridled by nature. Her unusually premature lust for knowledge will most definitely allow her to soar in ways that I could only dream of. I admit with some degree of shame—regrettably, my own selfishness does not elude me—that Dinky could perhaps be my preeminent mark upon the world.

My legacy, for lack of a better word; it is something… or someone, that I have always hoped could be conceived in this world, regardless of whether or not I am acknowledged in the process.

Goodness, though, I’m getting ahead of myself. I suppose this concept seemed completely out of my reach for such a long time, that the mere possibility of it excites me to no end.

For now, all I can do is continue to raise her in the way that I see fit. I feel as though I've done a decent enough job so far, so how difficult can it be?

Then again, I guess I’m not taking into account the inevitable—and rapidly approaching—transition into her adolescent years. That should be interesting, to say the least.

A child who, in absolute innocence, cannot help but be thankful for what little they have, is a pony who will one day shake the very foundations of what it truly means to be alive.