The Diary of a Fool

My name, well what should my name be? Well what is in a name?

Names are often snapshots of one’s self. Their actions, their memories, their regrets. The name also represents their passions, their hatreds, their emotions.

So what is my name?

Back home

My name used to be Alex.

Well, Alex, Alexander, Alexander Douh, Alexander K. Douh, Alexander Kenskry Douh, and a variety of online monikers and usernames.

Who I was depended on who I was talking to. Not to say that I was living double lives, but subtle differences, minor changes in mannerisms, in formalities.

So, what is to be in my name? I am no longer who I was, and these ponies don’t know who I was…. So who am I?

Perhaps an explanation is required.

I was brought here though the ultimate agent of chaos, and am being forced to keep a journal. I was ignorantly happy with my life until a creature whom has since been identified as Discord, changed my life so drastically.

We actually had a conversation, via an, I guess an ‘interlocking network of synchronized letters is the easiest way to describe it. My people had managed to connect the far corners of the world is seconds using this system. And over time, this system was evolved, expanded, and repurposed. Letters became pictures, pictures became animated, eventually sound was added in. With letters, animated pictures and sounds, came a new field of entertainment, online gaming. It was though this field of entertainment I spoke with Discord.

        At the time, I had not realized his potent powers, and had merely treated him as a peer of sorts. We had talked about my view on long term effects of actions. For example, if I while walking home step on a flower, what could become of that action? Would some mare find inspiration in the ruined flower, or maybe she might lose hope, and wallow in despair? Maybe some animal will come along and eat the dead plant? That plant might make the animal sick, which could end up spreading a plague, or merely distracting a empathetic mare from something important. These events might spiral out of control, and from the most basic of actions, a vast chain of events may arise. Because of this, I felt that people cannot be judged on their action, and actions alone. Their intentions, are what I felt was important. Discord did not quite share my feelings on the matter, although a part of me wonders if that is because he always knew what would result of his, or anyone pony’s actions.

        Of course, I remained civil, as any sane creature should, just because your opinion is not shared by everyone pony, you can’t be mad. However, Discord had other thoughts, and could not agree, and in order to turn me to his beliefs, brought me here.

        So who does that make me?

        A fool who opposed Discord without the help of some powerful, magical artifacts.

        A fool, a fool who dared stand against a god for his own believes. I know who I am.

        I am Prometheus. I really hope I didn’t misspell my name.

        I am really glad that I haven't actually been formally introduced to anypony, well, beyond the immediate interrogation from suddenly dropping into the throne room.

I blame Discord. For some reason I think I’ll be saying that quite a lot.

        So what is the newly dubbed Prometheus, aka myself, to do in Equestria.

        The princesses said to move to Ponyville. I can’t really find it in myself to say no to more gods, well goddesses. So I am to move to Ponyville, move into an empty house, and find a way to keep on living. But what am I to do? Idle hands do not end well for humans. I guess that is why they suggested I keep this journal. Some way to keep me sane.

        But just writing a recollection of my days will not be enough. I know myself well enough to know that.

        Well, my chosen profession won’t really work. Being a game developer doesn’t work in a world without computers. Well, when you were trained with computer gaming in mind.

        Maybe I’ll become a writer. After all, Equestria’s inhabitants somehow read, write, and speak English. But what to write? Mystery? Nah, I can’t really do suspense. I’m much better at analysis, give me a book, give me context, and I can give you an essay. But analytic writing doesn’t really pay, until I become something along the lines of a professor. But what would I be a professor in?

        English? Humanity? Writing? All of that would just be an outside perspective looking in… hey, that might work. A class on perspective... Different cultures, different ideas, different experiences… all things that sum up who we are. The basis of anthropology. But do I really want to do all the work required to do something like that? Maybe I’d be some form of mail class?

        Like a group pen-pal thing?

        Maybe. But specifics!

        Class size? Grading? Required reading? Oh the details!

        Maybe I can use history books… No, they should all say the same general things. Maybe I’ll just research this in the Ponyville library.

        Well, while I’m on the topic of research, I should look around in the Canterlot public library, and see what it takes to become a professor.

        I just hope it isn’t something like having a ‘cutie mark’ in it… Hey, that could be my first topic.

‘Cutie Marks; What do different cultures think of them?’ How do ponies’ opinion of them in Ponyville, or Fillydelphia compare to Manehattan and Canterlot? Bonus points for researching different races’ opinion of them!

I could use the pen name ‘Professor P.‘ and let them all think that the ‘P’ is for perspective. I wonder if they would place betting poles of who I was, or maybe have a little competition to try and find out.

I shouldn’t make fantasies before I know enough of the potential pitfalls. I just don’t know what might happen. I just don’t know if my idea is even possible, I don’t even know that Equestria has universities, or mail classes. I should just cross out the last few what, four inches of text? But then I would have to replace it with something, just to fill the gaps… Well, I still have a while in Canterlot before my train leaves, and the library is right in front of me, time to see if librarians are as awesome here as there were back home my hometown.

Well, here is to hope, hope of a better future, hope of happiness and fulfillment. Wow I sound sappy. Well, my writing reads as sappy. I never really thought of myself as a romantic. Well I guess hindsight is that much clearer.