I don’t believe that anypony is without fault. I believe we all have the capacity to snap at any point, that any of our psyches could be distorted enough to send us reeling. I’ve read stories about it a million times over. The more I read, the more I feel more confident that there is, in fact, some bad blood in every mare and stallion you pass by on the street. It’s probably incredibly painful to carry on for all of my five friends, just as bad as it is for me, or Luna, or even Celestia herself.
And it frightens me.
The very thought that Rainbow Dash, Applejack, or even the innocent Fluttershy could go insane, rabid even, horrifies me. It keeps me up at night, and keeps me jittery during the day. Images, images of blood, of tearing, of the ripping of flesh from our bones, the images of my friends hovering over me and driving a knife into my lungs so I can’t scream, those are the things which jolt me awake, drenched in a cold sweat, whimpering to nopony, but to everypony at once.
Of course, I’ve known the fact that anyone could turn mad at any point for most of my life. My parents gave me Smarty Pants for the reason that they thought he’d make me feel better, since I’d been having horrible nightmares for weeks before. Of course, he didn’t work, though he was rather cute, so I had begun to show an interest in finding any book I could on the subject.
My parents were fascinated, perhaps pushed into a corner with curiosity, as I fled from home every morning to lose myself in mountains of horror stories. The Silence of the Lambs was one of my favorites. At my age, it had been quite odd to find a filly with her nose buried in the prose of authors with thoughts poured from their distorted minds onto paper like icing onto a cake of insecurity. I could bet on the fact that those who bit the ends of pencils and dragged them on paper, thusly letting their imaginations and emotions spill from their minds through the stick of graphite, were just as disturbed as I was. And it comforted me for some amount of time every time I scoured the roughened pages of books at the end of the shelves that seemed like if they had been hoofwritten, the ink would have smeared with the weight of insecure tears dripping from their hurt eyes.
I’ve grown out of it since my move to Ponyville. I haven’t lost my fear, but being surrounded by the more-or-less emotionally stable does give one a sense of security. And besides, confiding in my friends is becoming increasingly more simple a task as I mature. Of course, I’m positive it’ll never be an effortless endeavor, but emotions are healthy, so I’m sure it’s no big deal.
Of course, it’s still weight on my back to know I’m one of the ponies with irrational fears like one of the ones who cried into their books and sold it as a horror novella, but it’s much less weight knowing I can shed some of it when I’m around those who care.
“The book’s good.”
I blinked up at my blue companion, who was returning my copy of Misery, a book written by a prestigious author by the name of Stephen King. “Really? I honestly thought you’d have more input on it.”
“What do you want me to say? The book was really good. I enjoyed it. I’m just not into horror, that’s all.” She passed the book to me between the feathers of her blue wing. “I thought you’d be giving me a…well…less dated book. Like a mystery, or an adventure.”
“I see.” I took the book in my aura of magic, slipping it into a crystal bookshelf. “Still, I’d like you to tell me something about it. What did you find interesting, or particularly… horrifying?” I offered, trying feebly to wrench a comment out of Rainbow Dash, since I usually enjoyed watching and listening to her joyous rambles, the ones that usually came from finishing a book.
“I don’t know. I don’t like gore. I don’t like super-emotional stuff. It hurts a little too much, and sometimes it seems…well…like a cheap way to get rid of your own problems. Ponies who write based around whatever’s going on in their screwed-up minds are…Well, in my opinion, they’re in need of a therapist, not a word processor.”
I tried not to externally show my hurt, but felt my cheeks heat up anyway, so I turned away and pretended to be busy re-alphabetizing one shelf of thick books, even though they were already impeccably organized. “I see. So, is there any book you’d like to read? Have you, say, heard of anything that seemed interesting?”
“Not really, I mean, the next Daring Do book isn’t coming out for a year, so I’m out of ideas.”
“Would you like me to surprise you?” I asked, grateful for the cold draft that was quickly cooling my face. “I’ve got a whole mystery section that I updated just yesterday with fifty more books. One of them seems particularly juicy.” I pulled it out and passed it to her.
“When Forest Allure Left? Sure, I’ll give it a try. When do you need it back?”
“No deadline.” I smiled at her. “Just return it when you finish it.”
She tucked it under her arm and took flight. “Of course. See ya!” She blew out once more through the wooden-paned window, which sat above the bookcases.
I gave a soft sigh and strolled into the long, wide hall of my castle, letting the cold, dead crystal beneath my hooves cool me.
The castle was always cold, unlike my warm, soft, wooden library. I had planned to live in that library for my entire life. I’d found condolence in the softened wooden walls. I’d cried on its stairs when no one else could lend their shoulder. It had been my family away from home, but it had lost its life to what I’d consider a badly-written character translated into real life. So I searched it every day for something, anything that seemed like home. So far, my searching was for naught and I tired of the entire thing before long, so I’ve just settled for making my room cozy by padding the cold crystal walls with bits of newspaper and excerpts from novels, laying down a soft, earth-colored rug before my bed, and hanging dark red drapes in front of my huge window. It sufficed.
I let my cold hooves sink into the soft rug in my room, and I could instantly feel every muscle deactivate. I rocked forward and fell heavily into the fluffy carpet. I spun around a few times, giggling, enjoying the plush fibers for a moment before my eyelids felt too heavy to carry on. The day had been long and exhausting, yet boring. Everything I’d done was dreadfully involved, but busywork was particularly taxing on the day after the Solstice, when I had had to stay up all night and day.
The weight on my eyelids increased to the point that a simple blink seemed like I was lifting a hundred tons. Just when I felt blissful sleep creeping up on me—
“Heya Twilight.”
“uuuuuUUUUUGH. There’s this new thing called ‘knocking’, Spike.” I glared up at the unwelcome purple dragon.
“Oh, sorry. I was told to give you these as soon as possible.”
“What?” I lifted my head weakly and gave a distasteful look to a pile of papers. “Oh…yeah…the court case with that robber stallion. Can it wait?”
“Not really, the judge said—Hey, what exactly are you doing on the floor?”
“Pretending to be a dust bunny. Just make them wait, okay? I’ve gotten an hour of sleep in the past thirty-six hours.”
“Pretending to be a dust bunny?”
“Just shove the appointment back for me, Spike. And leave me alone for around twelve hours, okay?”
“Twelve? The judge—”
“I DON’T CARE ABOUT THE JUDGE, SPIKE!!”
He flinched at my remark and quickly scrabbled to the door. “Sorry. I-I’ll try my best, but I can’t guarantee—”
“This close to tossing you out a window, Spike.”
“Right.” He quickly exited.
Author's Note
So I'm not the best writer. Granted I'm not dedicated. But please, criticize, comment, give me all the support you can. I'll really try to finish the story, but if I don't, I'd be open to handing it over to one of my readers.
