Let Me Start by Saying...
My life story, to put quite bluntly, is one of little significance. After all who am I but a socially awkward and sarcastic pegasus pony; living on his cloud, hovering above the village Ponyville? I hold very little signifigance, so why should you care? Why should my life story bring forth even the slightest spark of interest?
Regardless of my unimportance, I ask you to open your mind, so you may see the world as I have. Not only this, but I ask you to look through my eyes as well, so you may see the beauty and tragedy of the many ponies I have crossed paths with in my lifetime of travel. We, the ponies, are the exclamation of Equestria and though it may not be prevalent to many of us, there are ponies in this country that are, in the most basic word I can recollect, evil.
I feel as if there is a large part of Equestria that is not often seen; as if it is purposely hidden by a veil, so to speak. I’m not implying that each of us live our lives sheltered and shrouded by some false truth, and I’m certainly not about to tear this imaginary veil apart with a statement such as: Celestia doesn’t really raise the sun, it’s all lie! (As much as I would love to present this, I lack proof to make that statement.)
I have nothing to say that will be earth shattering; I’m not planning on giving you a thesis. However what I do have is a story that spotlights a side of Equestria, which many of you may not be fully aware of, through my experiences with a specific two or three of the more daunting ponies that reside amongst us, as well as the kind ones who were oppressed by such ponies.
My reason for writing this story, the very reason I hold a pencil within my mouth; is that I wish to share with you, the stories of these ponies: the good and the bad. For in each of my travels I was but a conscientious observer that became caught up in the confusion of the world around me; in my young ignorance, I was unable to question the rights and wrongs of the ponies I met.
Please, humor this mint colored pegasus.
My name is Sea Foam, and I have traversed across this land we call Equestria countless times. After all, my line of work calls for the escapades I set out on, every month or so, to collect valuable and foreign resources and materials to either: sell at the Ponyville market, or utilize for my own alchemic and engineering endeavors. It’s simply who I am; my livelihood and passion is the world itself. I’m fascinated with how it works, how it intertwines with itself, and everything it has to teach us. The inner workings of the land infatuate me.
In my conquest to learn everything I can about the world we live in, I have scoured it. But I was traveling far before I chose my own self employed profession. Since the day that I left the literal desert that I had loved and called home, to the day I set up my shop in Ponyville, I was a drifter; a proverbial rolling stone on a journey who sought nothing at all but the world I was told so much about, but could never be a part of, due to my isolated foal-hood.
I wish only to share my findings with the all those who will listen, so that everypony can see the world for its brilliance and wonder. Spreading such ideals is the motivation for the business I run; not money. I could care less for bits and, in all honesty, I’m quite poor and live day by day without a literal house.
My home is not a house, but a cloud; easily recognizable from the propeller that extends from the bottom of its fluffy exterior, to the incense smoke that normally arises from the top; dissipating in the air above me. This cloud is also my peculiar mode of transport, hence the mention of the propeller, that allows me to travel across the land with relative simplicity, and what provides a decent carrier to transport the plants, resources, and the like back to Ponyville.
Obviously clouds can move on their own with the wind, that is to say, they don’t require a propeller to move. But the propeller allows me to travel in any direction, opposing the conflicting wind no matter how much it disputes. You could argue that I might as well push the cloud, but then why use a cloud at all; I might as well fly with a rope around my waist, pulling a cart across the uneven landscape. It has its flaws; on many occasions it’s dissolved on me, but a new cloud is never more than a good wing flap away.
It’s something of an invention of mine, the cloud I call home. It was the first show of how I could use the materials around me to create something with my own hooves, and was what allowed me to cross the threshold of my imagination into the vast, endless spectrum of everything that lay beyond the desert. Truthfully it’s more of a modification than an invention but, apples and oranges I suppose.
Before I begin, there is one more curious thing about myself that I feel you should know. I have previously referred to myself as a pegasus, but that is not entirely true. Yes I have wings, which technically makes me a pegasus, but I have stripes as well. Stripes that run across my entire body, decorating my coat in a design like pattern. I am half pegasus pony and half zebra. For most of my life it was a mystery to me. The stripes I have now were concealed nearly all my life, almost as if they weren’t there. The only thing indicating any type of markings were these small, almost unnoticeable black lines at the bottom corner of each of my eyes. From my time in the desert to when I met another zebra in Canterlot, my zebra heritage was completely unknown to me.
But, I believe I’m getting ahead of myself. I tend to ramble when my mind isn’t centered on one specific thought. All the questions that may have arisen now, will be answered in due time.
Unfortunately I’m racking my brain for a way to initiate this tale of mine, so let’s try this, shall we? I’ll just start this as generically as possible in third pony for an added cheesy effect:
Thus begins my story, A pegasus pony zebra, (even though he didn’t know it yet) raised in the desert; traveling on a cloud to the landmark towns of Equestria, narrated in a way that would make it seem as if that zebra pegasus pony were speaking to you directly. Why? Well, to add some personality, my good pony, zebra, griffon, dragon, or whoever may get their hands/hooves on this.
As I said before, I’ve lived in the desert for the majority of my life, but I wasn’t born there. Truth is I haven’t a clue where I was born. I might as well run this off now, as it’s such an amusing and heartwarming story, that I’m only too proud to tell.
Basically, my parents abandoned me. That, or they were absolute morons and wanted to know what would happen if you put a baby pony on a small wooden boat to send it down the river. If you didn’t guess by now, the boat finds its way to the ocean, and the foal dies. Or at least, it was supposed to. Maybe they thought it would be funny, as I said before, I haven’t got a clue.
I try not to think about my parents too much. But I want to ask you to think about times when you’re laying on your back, looking up at the stars without a care in the world. Your brain decides that you’re a bit too content, and finds it to be a loving gesture to involuntarily think the most cringing or depressing thoughts from the deepest confines of your memory.
Why didn’t my parents want me? Not only that, but why would they feel the need to throw me to the ocean? Did I fall short of some wild expectations, or did I just come out a substandard bastard?
Sometimes I think about how I would react if I happened to meet my so called, ‘parents.’ Would I ask them why they sent me away, or just pretend like they didn’t exist? But maybe, just maybe, I should be thanking them, for could I truly have led the life I feel so lucky to have if I were kept under the care of ponies who would throw a foal to the ocean with barely more than a second thought? This is how I choose to think, because I feel that holding a grudge against them serves no productive purpose other than the stress relieving excretion of tears that stream down and drips off the tip of my muzzle if I dwell on the subject for too long.
Well, that’s the end of that glorious chapter of my life, wasn’t it all I said it would be. Amusing? Heartwarming? Sarcasm aside, there is a positive notion to my exile.
The river will inevitably lead to the ocean, and I shouldn’t have to tell you that you can’t just strand an infant pony on a boat, in the middle of the sea, and expect it to be fine. Even if the boat found its way to land, I was utterly helpless. Throw a
foal on an island, alone, and tell me what happens.
(With my luck it would probably start some highly developed civilization, rendering the previous statement void of any truth whatsoever.)
So in light of everything I’ve just written, I should have died long ago. Drowned and forgotten in the cold, misty wasteland that is the ocean.
But I was saved. Saved by the greatest pony to ever grace the earth with his hoof prints. I owe my life to that pony. I owe every breath I take, every laugh, every tear, every drop of blood in my veins to that one, single pony.
It’s my earliest memory; looking up to see the shocked expression on his face from the boat I was confined in. I was afraid when he reached for me. As I scampered to the far side of the boat in fear of the unfamiliarity, he spoke in the most comforting voice I had ever heard.
“It’s alright little pegasus, I won’t hurt you. Looks like you need somepony to take care of you.” He said, smiling at me as his face obstructed the blue, canvas like sky and white, subtle brush stroke clouds that spread across the canvas.
He put his head down in the boat, so I could look in his dark purple eyes. The mystifying orbs looked down at me as I gazed into the mixed swirl of purple and maroon vortexes. I remember reaching out with my hoof; trying to touch the dark green coat of his face, and falling over on my front. After I recovered myself from the failure of my undeveloped motor skills, I reached for his face again. This time my hoof touched the tip of his muzzle. He gave me a warm smile as I let out a yawn and curled up in a ball, falling asleep as I lost interest in investigating the anomaly.
“Ha-ha,” He laughed, “Come-on, you can come live with me.”
Next thing I knew, he had picked me up from the skin on the back of my neck with his mouth, and swung me over to rest on his back. I can’t explain why, but I felt secure as the motion of his trotting bounced me up and down on his back as I watched the brown and cream red of his short tail bounce in front of me. I didn’t know where the strange being was taking me, but I didn’t feel afraid of him anymore.
We traveled until the sky grew dark and small, white stars began to dot the gloomy blue heavens above us. The being took me off his back and put me on the ground. I examined my new surroundings; digging at the ground with my hoof, putting my face close to a plant, of which there was very little, so I could smell it. I looked back up at the pony to see that, while I was investigating the foliage, he had created a whipping, radiant shape of light that illuminated the radius of our makeshift campsite. He sat in front of the fire and smiled back at me. I don’t know whether it was the warmth of the fire or his smile that brought me to sit next to him, but when I did he began to talk to me.
“Are you hungry?” He asked as he pulled a ball of cheese out from a bag around his back. “I wasn’t expecting to find a foal my way back home, but you can have half of my food if you’d like.” He tore the ball of cheese down the middle, and gave half to me. Bringing the milky white semi-circle to my muzzle, I sniffed it and, after determining that it was safe to eat, I violently wolfed the food down.
“Wow, I guess you were hungry.” He said as he bit into his own ration of cheese. As he stared into the fire, eating his food, I looked to my right at the strange design on his flank. The design was in the shape of, what looked like an ordinary, brown satchel. I looked down at my own flank to see if I had anything that resembled the bag, and was disappointed to see that it was blank.
Curiously, I reached out my hoof and rubbed it against the picture on his flank, almost as if I was trying to peel it off.
(I suppose at one time or another during our foal-hood, assuming a pony is reading this, we all have that fascination with cutie marks. Even if we don’t know our talent; we all strive to have a cutie mark so we can have the privilege of feeling like we have a place in the world, or something we can contribute to and alongside our fellow pony.
It makes me wonder whether other species have a similar system in their genetics. Do dragons or griffons have an indication of their talent, or is it more of a do what you can thing? I just wonder why only certain equine species have this marking and what makes ponies, in particular, so special.)
This must have gotten his attention as he jumped a little from the sudden scratching, and peered down at me with a confused look. I stopped trying to rub his skin off, and looked down at my own flank again, trying in my own way, to get an explanation for my blank flank. He seemed to understand because he pointed to the bag on his flank and said,
“That’s a cutie mark; it’s not a sticker you can peel off. It appears once you find your special talent; something that only you, and nopony else can do. You’ll get yours someday; you just have to be patient.” He fell on to his back with a sigh. “Celestia knows I wasn’t patient.”
I climbed up on his stomach and curled into a ball, beginning to fall asleep at the soft motion of his breathing. His hoof pet me gently down the length of my mane as he said,
“You need a name, don’t you?”
The mention of a name cause me to lift my head up, expecting to see his dark purple eyes again, but all I saw was the bottom of his muzzle as he lay on the ground, gazing up at the stars. He sat up just as I was about to put my head back down, nearly launching me in the fire as he did. I lay upside down on the ground in front of him, slightly annoyed at the unexpected propulsion. Correcting myself, I looked up at him heatedly, as he laughed.
“Whoops, sorry there little guy.” He said as he brought his face closer to me. “I just wanted to find a fitting name for you.” The anger in my eyes was replaced by an awkward look from how he was now inspecting me. He moved his head around me, as if searching for a nameplate like I was a lost dog. His eyes rested at a spot on my face, just under the corner of my eye. He licked his hoof and rubbed the spot on my face that his eyes were fixated on.
“Huh? That’s not dirt?” He said in almost disbelief. “Those lines must be a birthmark or something.”
I strained my eyes to see what had made him so curious, but I quickly realized that I wouldn’t be able to see any part of my face.
Having enough of being examined, I stood up on all four hooves; which even surprised me, as it was something I didn’t even realize I had the power to accomplish. I smiled at my achievement, looking down at the four mint green colored pillars that suspended me in the air, away from the dirt that my flank had become so accustomed to being pressed against. I looked up at the being, to see if he was as awed as I was in my triumph, but he seemed almost lost in thought.
“So you can stand. You can’t be that young then.” He said, rubbing his hoof against his neck.
Knowing that it must take more than simply standing to impress him, I stuck my hoof out in front of me, trying to walk. My legs, obviously unprepared for such a persistent feat wobbled under me, and I fell to the ground again. The being watched me as I repeatedly fell over.
“Name….name.” He said, almost talking to himself now. “You’ve got a mint green color. I could call you minty… No, that’s awful.”
At this point I had given up trying to impress him so I sat at his side, unsatisfied with myself. For whatever reason I seemed to desire his admiration, but I failed in achieving it.
He looked behind me in a funny way. I turned my head over my shoulder to see what it was that caught his attention, but all I saw was my tail swishing across the ground. Without saying anything, he put his hoof down on my tail to stop it. After a few seconds he brought it back up, and my tail continued waving around.
“You’ve got one hyperactive tail there.” He said, looking almost amused. “Not to mention long.”
I looked back once more to examine my own tail. In comparison to his, it was long. I gave a proud smile at my tail; thinking that while he may be able to walk, I have the longer tail. Without really meaning to, I brought my tail up to my muzzle, and began to chew on it. The being laughed at this as he lay back on the ground, saying,
“You’re one weird little pony, you know that?”
Pony? Is that what I was? A pony? Then that must mean that he was a pony too. We looked about the same, with the exception that I had small wings and he didn’t; something I still had no explanation for. So we were ponies.
My tail dropped from my mouth as I gave a loud yawn. The events of the night caused me to become abruptly exhausted. Slowly, I moved myself to the base of the pony, and curled into a ball, burrowing myself in his side. He wrapped his forearm around me and said,
“Who would throw somepony as young as you to the ocean? You’re an amazing little pony… If only I had a name for you.”
I nestled closer to the pony, feeling comfortable and happy as his forearm secured me against him. Beginning to drift away to the crackling sound of the fire beside us, the pony’s voice rang through my ears one last time for the night.
“I think I want to call you Sea Foam; like the clouds of the ocean. Do you like that….Sea Foam?”
I flicked my tail over the two of us in response. He gave a small laugh and said,
“I’m glad you like it. Goodnight Sea Foam.”
With that, he held me tighter as the sound of the fire lulled us to sleep.
