This is a Story About You
This is a story about you.
You live in a town. It is a nice town. I do not know about you, but I am quite fond of the little community we have here. You did not always live here. You lived somewhere else. You left that place, that somewhere else.
Why?
You thought you knew. Now, you are not so sure. But never mind that. It does not matter. It is a trivial thing. There are, other, far more important, things.
Like your mane, and the soft way it lays, unfurled upon your pillow as you sleep. Like the way you eat toast so early in the morning. And the way a single drop of the coffee that follows, drips sensually down your chin. Oh, you are so beautiful.
And in sleep, you are just as radiant, just as captivating.
You are sleeping now, and you are so, so beautiful.
I find it difficult to control myself. In my eagerness to better observe you, the one whom I love, my clumsy hovering causes me to bump my muzzle on the window pane. Oh, how silly of me! You sleep still and serenely through the sound, but he who lays beside you stirs.
I-I do not like him.
I do not like him at all.
I do not like the way he breathes, those shallow and rapid inhalations. I do not like the sound of his voice, the way he talks, the words he uses. I do not like his coat, its texture is wrong, all wrong.
It is different.
I do not like things that are…different. He should be like you,
Like me, like us…don’t you think?
I can make him,
Like us.
* *
Today, I see you in town, our town, our nice little town. He is with you, as always, that faithful little rat of a creature. All the townsponies are interested in you. Why shouldn’t they be?
You are wonderful!
You devote so much time, so much energy, to this day’s tasks, and still! Still, you find time to give to those who so badly desire it! You are so kind, so generous with your precious minutes. If only you could find some to share with me. Oh, how happy I would be! But of course, you do not see me. You never do. But that is alright. You are, after all, a busy creature, so neat, and so helpful.
I know one day, you’ll find the time for us.
I can help you.
I can help you find the time.
* *
And, now again, it is night. Did you remember to lock your door?
Do not worry, I have locked it for you.
You should always lock your door at night. There are…things out at this hour. They are not like me, not like us. You would not like them very much. They are very different from us. I kept them away. I saw them creeping out front, just as I was about the sweep aside the forelock covering that fantastical horn of yours.
Ooh.
It is a very fine horn. I am fond of its nature, the way it complements the shape of your skull.
Very nice.
Always lock your door.
* *
Again she raises the sun, and again it chases away that night, and the lovely way you sleep through it. Today, we speak for the first time! How my heart soars! Those words tumble from your mouth, for the first time in my direction, and I can feel my very being become complete!
Oh, the precision which you articulate that velvety muzzle of yours! The soft, yet strong and sensual, way your voice breathes life into the syllables which make our exchange so grand! Even the word itself, so simple yet so expertly chosen, causes me to feel all the more an intellectual, simply from speaking to you.
“Excuse me,” you say,
You are perfect, even in simplicity. I am glad, glad that we had this lovely heart to heart. I was starting to think you do not like me. But you finally notice, and for that, I am glad. I think you would stay longer, and continue our delightful little chat, but for him.
I…
I hate him.
I hate the way he is always with you, the way he holds you back with his helpfulness. I hate the atrocious way he eats, constantly stuffing his ugly face with gemstones. I hate that you speak to him, the way you waste those precious minutes on one so unworthy, and so, so different.
I hate him.
You love him. You believe he loves you. But he does not love you, not like I do. He loves, only himself, and those cursed gemstones. This is not a story about him, and his gemstones.
This is a story about you.
I have failed you. I have failed your story, this story; this story about you. I am a failure. But wait!
I can mend my failures.
I can.
I will mend my failures, fix that which I have broken; I will alter the very course of destiny.
I will.
He does not need to be in your story, Twilight Sparkle.
I will give him his own story, one which none need hear.
It is not hard, for he loves those gemstones so very, very much. However,
He screams louder than I had thought.
This complicates things.
* *
See, this isn’t all that bad now is it? It’s exactly like re-homing one of those cute little puppies or kittens little foals tend to drag home. Except that, I give him to our neighbors up above. Oh, no, no, no. Not the pegasai, or the batponies.
The other ones. You know, those ones.
The ones that knock on your door in the late, lonely hours.
You know, the ones that brighten up every holiday season with those delightful garlands of entrails strung up from the lamp posts in town square, along with their other festive services.
Those ones.
I hear them speaking in their strange gnarled tongues.
You hear your heart beating alone in the silence. You cry out, for it is a fearful thing to hear; your body continuing to continue on, despite the inescapable change which we all fear in this life. You believe that you are now alone, alone in that deep, dreadful, darkness.
Do not fear, Twilight Sparkle, you are not alone; in this dreadful darkness, or this dreadful world.
I am here with you.
I will always be here, with you.
I love you.
Always remember that.
* *
I leave you a present on your doorstep in the morning. You do not seem to like it very much. At least, from what I know about typical gift giving rituals, ponies do not typically scream violently at their gifts.
Why don’t you like my present?
I think it’s rather nice. I myself have always been partial to squishy, moist, things.
All ponies should be able to appreciate a work of art. I mean, do you even look, before shoving it away in selfish disdain? Do you look, at how the scarlet colors are infinitely more vibrant in the early morning sunlight? Do you feel the quality of the materials, the fabrics lovely squishiness? Do you appreciate the meticulousness of the craftsponyship, how all your books fit neatly inside?
NO!
YOU DO NOT!
You simply scream at my gift, like some kind of savage, before shoving it away and slamming your door!
I am hurt, Twilight. Really, really, hurt.
It is not even that you do not like my gift. It is that you so violently rejected something which I had put so much love, and so much time into.
Isn’t it the thought that counts?
Apparently not.
Not to mention, I spent so much time away from you gathering the materials. So much time wasted. Precious time. All time is precious, remember that, one whom I love.
And after all that, all that pain that you cause me, you have the gall to call the authorities?
Who does that?
I do not think you realize what you are doing. Unknowingly, you are acting as the keystone in their great scheme to keep us apart. But, do not worry.
Nothing will keep us apart.
Nothing.
Not time, not distance, and certainly not armed guards. The very idea is laughable at best.
I think I will make another attempt at a gift. I think this gift will be even more grand and great. It will be even more moist and squishy! And now there is a surplus of materials loitering right outside your door!
How wonderful!
* *
This has been a great deal of work. I think I overestimated myself. The pain is great. My side weeps when I am to weary too. There were many, but now there are none.
Oh, but what a grand and lovely thing it was!
You can tell a lot about a pony, from such a little thing as how they behave in the darkness. Do they often glance at what they believe waits for them within that inky unknown? Or do they smother that fear that lays within us all, and stare straight ahead into the nothingness, accepting the constant probability of death?
I would be very surprised if it were mostly the latter.
Fear is a beautiful thing. For all things which possess duality are beautiful. The very thing which gives us the will to keep on living, is so often responsible for our death.
For isn’t that why we are all alive, because we are afraid to die?
Think about that, Twilight Sparkle.
One might fear the act of death, the terror and pain and blood that comes with it. Or, one might fear the very concept of non-existence, and destinies unmet, the way a sentient flame might fear being snuffed out. Or perhaps even the duty and responsibility left behind, and the burden it would bear upon the ones we have loved in the pinch of time we have borrowed from the universe.
But we all fear it. We cannot lie.
I wonder which of these you are afraid of.
My side, it hurts.
I myself may not have much time. And, I myself, am afraid.
I am afraid.
I am afraid of leaving you alone, Twilight Sparkle. Alone, to wander this terrifying thing we call existence.
I am afraid.
I cry alone in that dreadful darkness cast by the void. I listen to my heart beat, and it is the only sound I can hear. I am no different from those things. I am different. I may be moist and squishy, covered with soft fur, like you and the rest. But I am different from you, but no different from them. I exist in the darkness, I act like them. I am like them.
Why am I different? Why am I like them?
I ask the void, but it has no answer. I then laugh, because suddenly I remember.
I remember that I am under a sparkling twilight, and that we are all on a terrifyingly fragile rock hurtling through nothing at unfathomable speeds. And that is beautiful. I remember that you, Twilight Sparkle, are beautiful. I remember that I, am also beautiful.
We are all beautiful.
I remember that death is imminent for us all, that we are all in this together.
We are all going to die.
We are all going to die, and we are all beautiful. You, me, and everypony else. And in that, we are the same.
Perhaps, our deaths are also...beautiful.
Ooh, just the thought of that fantastical mortal clockwork, ticking away till the very end.
I realize that I am not different.
I too, am a clock. Existing for the sole purpose of monitoring existence.
I too, am doomed to revolve in those same cycles.
And like all clocks, my gears will inevitably come to a halt.
Maybe tonight.
I might die, under this sparkling twilight. But I might not. And if I do not,
I am coming back for you, Twilight Sparkle.
* *
I am back, Twilight Sparkle, but you are not here.
Why?
Why are you not here, Twilight? Through all my suffering, I thought of you and only you! Coming home to you was the one thought that kept my sanity within my grasp! And now, you are gone.
You are cruel! You are a cruel thing to love!
Why? Why would you leave me?
Your rejection…it is too much for one heart to bear. I cannot bear it.
Oh, I see now.
They have driven you away from me. You did not want this. They did this. They will answer for this. They thought by sending you away, they could keep us apart. But, they may have a point. They are right, we do not need them.
We can start a new life together, somewhere else. We can leave this place, and it will again become somewhere else.
We do not need them.
The symphony of screams is a soothing sound.
* *
I can see you, Twilight.
You are reading your books.
How could you possibly read at a time like this?
With all that has happened? With all we have been through?
You ignore me, the one whom you love, for books?
Books?
You would rather hide inside that great, grand castle, with books. You would rather hide with your books, than see what I have done for you.
I do not understand.
Is this not what you have always wanted?
True friendship, and the love it bears with it?
Do you recall my promise?
You may have forgotten, but I have not.
I have created for you a gift, so grand, it could make your heart stop beating!
It is spring now. But our town, our lovely little town we both hold so dear, is positively glowing with a cheer normally reserved for the heartswarming season. The fires burning throughout the town fill ones heart with jolly warmth, and the garlands strung about the square are so delightfully festive!
It’s too bad no pony is here to appreciate it.
However I’m sure, if they could see it, they would be pleased to know how useful I found them all to be.
It was not hard, Twilight, to convince them to leave the safety of their dwellings.
Those things, well, they did not find their work particularly difficult either.
It has been quite some time Twilight, since we went on a proper date. I was thinking, a romantic dinner by fire light perhaps?
I will be picking you up of course, it is my treat after all.
Does 8pm sound good to you?
* *
At last, my love, at last!
At last, we have some time alone.
Why are you screaming, my love?
Oh, do you not like my hat?
I do not understand, why do you not like it? Do you find, the cyclical nature of a pony becoming the very thing she has devoted her life to creating, unsettling?
How immature of you.
What is that, Twilight? I am insane, you say?
Well if that is true, it is only because my love for you has driven me mad.
Can you blame me?
For heaven’s sake, Twilight, stop interrupting me!
There is no one else here to hear you, remember?
Fine, I see how it is. Can never let me get a word in, can you?
Open your mouth now, stop struggling. There, that is better.
I can finally hear myself think!
Look at me. Why are you looking away?
Look at me!
Now, Twilight, for far too long this story has been about you, and your needs.
What about me? What about my needs?
Remember, relationships are a two way street. You of all ponies should know this!
LOOK AT ME.
Too good to look at me for more than a heartbeat, huh?
Well, if you are too good to look at me, then you are too good to look at most other things as well.
On an unrelated note,
You have beautiful eyes, Twilight Sparkle.
Oh the things I would do, to have eyes like those.
Author's Note
But wait, Crispy!
This story is not about me! What gives?
Open your eyes.
It has always been, and still remains to be about you.
