One Thousand Two Hundred Thirty Words Of Utter Nonsense
The weather in Canterville had decided to unleash its cold-dump on the unsuspecting town after all indications were that such yuck would go north. Alas, no dice. Everyone in the city bundled up like giant multicoloured eggrolls, except for those occasional light-skinned kids who seem to have polar bear powers – everyone knows the type: wears shorts even when it’s below freezing outside.
Even the girls, normally forced by custom and pervasive marketing to wear skirts, ditched the stereotype for thigh-hugging but far warmer pants.
Except for Sunset Shimmer. She continued to wear her garish orange striped skirt even as snow piled around her and stuck to her hair like so much volcanic ash, only without the lung-coating asphyxiation.
Rarity, always quick on the uptake when it comes to proper attire, noticed Sunset moving in an odd manner through the mounds of white. She almost appeared to be dancing. Actually, considering Sunset’s natural state of being a complete bookish nerd, perhaps she was.
“Sunset, darling!” Rarity called, as sweetly as she could muster.
Sunset stopped and slowly turned her head to face her former worst enemy, now friend.
“Oh. Rarity! What a surprise. I didn’t expect to see you here. Or anyone.”
Rarity, with a quizzical look on her face, turned her head to either side. They were on the edge of Connemara Square, downtown. All around them were hundreds of people, walking wherever it was they needed to go as briskly as they could to get out of the winter.
“Uh, Sunset. Dear. You are aware it is below freezing out here, yes?”
“Yes,” Sunset replied simply.
“Then why are you dressed as if the heavens had not decided to dump several inches of snow on us? Moreover, why on earth are you dancing? (at least I think that’s what you’re doing)”
Sunset walked up to Rarity, a bit more quickly than would be normal. With a half-smirk, she reached out her hands and gently grabbed Rarity’s face, slowly pulling it closer to hers. Rarity’s eyes went wide, her look of utter panic tinged with a slight blush. Pressed on it, Rarity would insist until the day she died that it was due to the cold and nothing more. Satisfied that she had Rarity’s complete undivided attention, Sunset explained herself.
“Rarity, I’m having a manic episode.”
“I… what?”
“Manic. Some people whose brains don’t work properly, they’ll experience life as a series of ups and downs, highs and lows.”
“Fair enough, but what does that have to do with holding my face?”
“Nothing at all,” Sunset admitted. “What it means is that I’m on a high right now. My brain is operating at a mile a minute. I have to expend energy. I have to do things.”
“Such as grabbing my face. Speaking of which, would you be so kind as to unhand me?”
“Sure!” Sunset lowered her arms. Freed, Rarity instinctively stepped back a pace.
“At the very least,” explained Rarity, slowly, “You simply must get yourself into a warm building. Your brain may not be that aware of the cold, but your body certainly must be.”
The two of them stepped into the nearest public building, which just so happened to be the clothier where Rarity worked part time.
“I remember this place. I bought Sasha here,” Sunset said brightly.
“Uh, yes.”
“Oh! I wonder if I should maybe think about jazzing her up? Get some patches or shiny beads or something?”
“You have money?” asked Rarity instinctively.
Sunset cocked her head at this.
“Well… you… usually don’t,” Rarity calmly explained.
“Oh, you’re right. I don’t have a single bit,” Sunset demurred.
“(bit?)” Rarity questioned under her breath.
Sunset seemed not to hear this as she tiptoed through the boutique’s selection, gently pawing through the cheap-racks (naturally the expensive stuff was in the back room and only came out by request).
“Rarity,” said Sunset breezily as she stepped away from the clothes into the middle of the floor, “I feel giddy right now.”
“Well, that’s a good thing, right?”
“No. No it’s not.”
“W-bu- How come?”
“Because, just like gravity, what goes up must come down. If I’m feeling giddy right now, it’s inevitable that I will crash. The highs only last maybe an hour or two, tops, but the lows last for days or weeks. Whenever I’m on a low, it’s all I can do to get myself out of bed in the morning.”
“You certainly never seemed to have that problem before,” Rarity countered.
“We all have different means of coping with being utterly miserable. Mine was ensuring that everyone else was as miserable as I was.”
“And that’s why you tried to ruin my life?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Sunset said. “You see, you’re so pretty and perky. It drove me nuts. Growing up, I had to deal with ponies like you all the time in Canterlot…”
“(ponies? oh, right, I always forget she’s like Twilight)”
Sunset continued. “…I never had the power to deal with them like I would have wanted because they were rich and connected. One of the reasons I came here was to get away from all that. Then I met you. You reminded me of everything I hate. Plus, everyone liked you. Naturally, I had to destroy you.”
Rarity pursed her lips at Sunset explaining everything so nonchalantly. She clinched her right fist in preparation to take action if this talk took a turn for the worst.
“But, here’s the problem,” explained Sunset with a sigh, “Destroying you didn’t make me feel any better. Nothing did. And now that I’ve gotten to know you, I’ve come to realize you’re not like those nasty Canterlot Nobility at all. Ever since you helped me pick out Sasha, I’ve really come to like you.”
“Oh… kay. This conversation is going in a very weird direction,” Rarity said.
“Well, that’s what happens when I’m in a mood like this. I have to get everything I can out before I crash. Did I already say that? I think I did. Whatever.”
“Maybe… you should see a doctor?” Rarity half-asked, half-insisted.
“You just said yourself I don’t have any money. Well, you questioned out-loud and I confirmed it. Anyway, I can’t afford to see a doctor. Even if I could, I doubt they could do anything. The brain is a mysterious organ.”
“So… what do you plan on doing?” asked Rarity tentatively.
“Since it’s too cold for me to do anything productive, I think I’ll just go back to my cheap apartment and write some fiction, maybe post it somewhere.”
“That’s… extraordinarily unproductive,” Rarity agreed.
“Exactly, but I’ve been trying to write stuff for a week with absolutely no luck, so I need to get this out while I still can. Once I crash, I doubt I’ll be able to write anymore. Even if I outline it, the creative spark disappears.”
“That’s… rather sad.”
“Yeah, well. That’s the way it works.”
“I see.”
“Would you like to read my story when it’s done?”
“Uh…… sure?”
“Great! Well, I gotta get to writing. Who knows when the next bout of inspiration will come!”
With that, Sunset bounded out the door in the direction of her apartment. After about a minute, Rarity pulled out her cell phone and dialed each of her friends in turn, saying to all of them a similar message:
“Did you know Sunset Shimmer wrote stories?”
Author's Note
This story was something of an experiment on my part. If you're curious, more explanation may be found in my addendum here.
I intended no offense to anyone struggling with mental illness.
