Short stories

by Bumdiddlyumptious

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Other
Length: 5087

Short stories about characters that explore different situations in strange, detailed, or funny manners

A collection of completed shorts that i write based off of concepts that i get throughout my day, and are either too small or are unstructured or random for them to stand on their own.

All the chapters are short stories, and all the stories upon uploading are complete.

Published 2016-07-08 22:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2016-08-19 23:34:08 UTC

Rainbow Dashes First Drag Race

Rainbow dash had always wanted to try drag racing.

Originally by Bumdiddlyumptious

She pulled up with a 409 cubic inch, fuel injected coupe, with a bright blue paint-job that smelled faintly Of fruit, she got ready with two blinks, and a coping mechanism that included and was entirely limited to making direct and uncomfortable eye contact with anypony and everypony through her darker than dark aviator sunglasses.

She took a long, drawn out deep breath that, truth be told… Did absolutely nothing to stifle her growing anticipation.

"Okay, I trust me." Rainbow dash said in a blocky, rumbly tone- reassuring herself and shifting in her seat to show proudly that she is above freezing at the line. And as if on cue… her wings had expanded in furious glory as a response to her growing adrenaline. She had arrived earlier than her opponent, whom had come to the line with a eastern made, supercharged, gray sedan. This one smelled faintly of the ink and paper which marks the cars musk with the smell that is unmistakably like an office.

The pony driving that vehicle, however, was not from the office… she reeked of brake cleaner and oil and transmission fluid and leather and all the other things you'd find in a car, except the smell of gasoline, which seemed to have been taking the day off portraying itself on her rough polyester jacket. And even though she smelled of imported engine, she also reeked of confidence. Like as if she was way out of Rainbow's weight class for this sport. But alas, she knew in her heart that driving straight requires a fast car, and she was certain she had her hooves on something much more than an office sedan.

The stoplight in front of her had lit up, which meant to Rainbow dash what waking up in the morning means for most of Equestria, at this point… Rainbow dash felt strangely calm, as if all the racing she did without a car was preparing her for the quarter mile'd adventure ahead of her.

The light had cycled to green, and she took off in a light cloud of smoke, careful to not have much tire-spin upon her smelly takeoff. She bolted down the road in mind-numbing acceleration which to Rainbow dash, was comparable to sexual stimulation at that point. She slammed her left rear hoof down on the clutch of the vehicle, and with surgical precision she jammed the coupe into second. The opponent had gotten off the line much better than rainbow, and was a car length away, but by the time she shifted into third, the gap was no more, and they stood neck and neck for two full gear shifts, with Rainbow's heart pummeling to the speed of the combustion of her V8 engine. Her opponent's car had flipped a switch, and Rainbow Dash heart suddenly stopped and the air grew thick, with time seemingly slowing as she saw her opponent's sedan blast off to two full car lengths in front of her own coupe, getting over the line before Rainbow had even began to realize that there was a weight class in drag racing, and the mare in the office sedan was way above her own.

Author's Note

Little contrived, but this is okay.

A Baker's Tale.

Dark. Everything is dark. Why is everything dark?

Short by Bumdiddlyumptious

These questions haunted the small town baker.
She thinks these thoughts to herself as she pulls yet another sponge cake from the one small area of warmth in the building.
Placing the cake on the table, she looks up through the glass window placed in the ceiling.
The stars are beautiful, night is beautiful. But, this is too much.
It's been nearly four years since she's seen daylight, and things were starting to get intense.
The guards wouldn't do anything about the night crawlers, or the raiders whom utilize the night for their own corrupt lusts.
She huffs and grabs her frosting from a bin full of decorations for pastries.
Putting little flowers on the cake, she silently sobs and sighs to herself.
She missed flowers.
Flowers.
The word itself sounded alien in nature, like they never even existed in the first place.
All she see's now is the gloom of the night, looming like an everlasting plague over all of equestria.
Decorating cakes we're fun at one point, but now that she's forced to make all these cakes, hollow, flavorless, depressing.
Like equestria, in its current state.
The small town baker needs more eggs if she's going to make more pastries.

She notices, for a moment, that she's not in that bad of a situation, at least, relative to others
At least, these are made for eating.
There are ponies in the capitol who's sole purpose is to make weapon-pastries.
Used to keep the city's in line, she supposes.
Nightmare Moon's been a pretty kind ruler, treating them like subjects of her night.
But the dark.
She breaks down, and puts her hooves in her face.

"Sweet Celestia the dark."
The baker utters the first words in a couple of days.
She puts the pastry on the table on a delivery rack, and heads into the designated bakery supply store.
Everything's treated like its part of the royal guard.
Militant, utilitarian.
She opens the door of her hobble, and steps down the steps and into the street

Her hooves feel good on the polished cobble.
It's been half a week since she's had to leave the bakery for anything.
It's refreshing.
Her doldrums are broken for a moment as she see's the beauty of the world around her.
Since the nightfall, she's thought a lot more, and spoke a lot less.
And sometimes, when she gets out, she breaks out of her state of manic depression, and see's things in a different light.
Like, if the sun were still there.
She stops in her tracks, and does a three sixty, taking in the area of Ponyville like it was the first time she was here.
Everything was dark, yet, the softer shades were comforting.
She notices a pony laying in the street, obviously in a stage of grief or doldrums similar to her own state.
He's sobbing. But its obvious he hasn't slept in a while, 5 days at least.
In equestria, they call these ponies 'trancers'.
Ponies who were unable to cope with the hostile takeover of nightmare moon, and so they sort of, broke.
Which was sad, there is beauty to be had with sanity.
'Any life is worth living.' the baker thinks to herself. 'but a lot of ponies don't believe that concept.'

She truly believes that at heart, but, she can't help but feel gloomy and depressed as she looks at the moon, taking the place of the sun.

She forgot why she was outside in the first place.
Right, eggs.
Two blocks later, she see's the storehouse in the distance.
Trotting up the crystal stairs, she opens to the old castle of friendship.
There's nobody here, but that is to be expected…
She see's her old throne, and trots over to it.
Bringing her hoof to her old life, she traces the blue and yellow gems set into the looming throne.
She remembers comforting her friends, all the things she's taught and learned.
And, as if for a moment, her current situation fades out of existence.
She brushes her hair out of her face, and places it behind her ear.
…
She forgets why she came here again.
Right, eggs.
She walks over to her old friends throne, and scoops up three dozen eggs and puts them on a cart.
She grabs the cart and goes to the fresh egg room.
One, two, three.
Wing 6, Room 4562
…
Uhh.

"Eggs. Right." she reminds herself, speaking out loud for the first time in months.
She opens the door.
She grabs another 60 dozen eggs, and heads to the front door.
Bringing the cart down the steps carefully, she steps into the street, Which is empty, save for that one trancer.
Four blocks later. She's standing once again outside the bakery.
There's a notice on the door. Its mandatory to be read.
Like she's going to read that.
She goes inside and sits on one of the old stools of the bakery where ponies used to have pastries.
A little necklace sits on it.
Or is it a bracelet?
She doesn't know.
The darkness has made her memory very, very fuzzy.
The little lapses of manic happiness are helpful, but they're preventing the inevitable.
Its at times like these that its so easy to just, sleep, forever.
But, then again, any life Is worth living, right?
A weak smile creeps up on her face as her hair goes a little curly, but then resorts to just deflating to flat again.
As is life, she supposes.

A thought creeps into her mind.
The castle.
When she was there. Something…
…
eh, never mind. She forgot.
…
She forgets what she's doing.
Right, she has to bake.
She gets up, and heads to the kitchen for another round of sponge cakes.
She goes into the kitchen, and see's that the last round of sponge cakes have been taken by the bat-guard.
Two eggs, three cups of flower, four cups of protein, milk, peanut butter.
She makes another sponge cake batter, and plops it in the oven.
…
Eh?
Right, baking
Two eggs, three cups of flower, four cups of protein, milk, peanut butter.
She makes another sponge cake batter, and plops it in the oven.
…
Eh?
Right, baking
Two eggs, three cups of flower, four cups of protein, milk, peanut butter.
She makes another sponge cake batter, and plops it in the oven.
…
Eh?
Right, baking
Two eggs, three cups of flower, four cups of protein, milk, peanut butter.
She makes another sponge cake batter, and plops it in the oven.
…
Eh?
This happens over and over again for 18 hours straight, and soon, she has nearly 600 cakes stocked up.
They need to be put on the rack now.
Its at this point she notices something.
One of the cakes is still on the rack, never being taken.
She think's its an important one, maybe.
It has little white frosted flowers on it, and smells of vanilla.
None of these should have vanilla or frosting.
Is it a gift from the guard, or moon herself?
She studies the cake.
It has flowers.
She missed flowers.
Flowers.
The word itself sounded alien in nature, like they never even existed in the first place.
She needs flower.

She needs to put these cakes on the racks.
Then she…

Then she needs to get the flower.

She stacks the six hundred cakes, as they're ready for delivery to the guard.
Now.
Uh…
She need's flower.
Right.
She walks out the door, and feels the cold rush of air on her face.
It's been the first time in months since she's stepped outside.
The feeling of the wind is refreshing on her mane and fur.
A weak smile creeps from her face.
Any life is worth living.
Since the nightfall, she's thought a lot more, and spoke a lot less.
And sometimes, when she gets out, she breaks out of her state of manic depression, and see's things in a different light.
Like, if the sun were still there.
…
Right, to the store house.
Two blocks later, she sees the storehouse in the distance.
Trotting up the crystal stairs, she opens to the old castle of friendship.
There's nobody here, but that is to be expected…

Breathing in, she smells the dust.
This place always smells like dust.
Well, it didn't back when twilight lived here.
She kept things spotless.
Twilight, she was such a good friend.
Friend.
The baker's hair slowly inflates.
It becomes curly, and slowly works its way into a cotton candy shape.
She notices the smile on her face.
She was here for a reason, right?
Yeah, she needs something…

"Yeah! Flower, need the good stuff, too."
She spoke for the first time in months.
She happily bounces around the empty castle.
In a moment, she finds herself surrounded by flower.

Oh fun!

She dives in, and covers herself in white, playing in the stuff.
She gets up, and shakes off the flower.
The smile on her face is something equestria hasn't seen for years.
She finishes her reveling, and gets some flower for the bakery.
Trotting down the steps of the castle, she decides to go and see what rarity is up to.
She walks a few steps.
…
Uhh, rarity.
Her, uh, her…
Rarity.

"Where do I know that name?" the baker questions, uttering the first words Ponyville has heard in years, sans the sobbing from the trancers
She was always bad with names.
Maybe a higher up?
She doesn't know, the only higher up she can remember is nightmare moon.
Nightmare Moon…
Nightmare Moon's been a pretty kind ruler, treating them like subjects of her night.
But the dark.
She movers her hair out of her face and puts it behind her ear.
…
What was she doing?
Right, the, flower?
She needs to do more baking.

Four blocks later. She's standing once again outside the bakery.
There's a notice on the door. Its mandatory to be read.
Like she's going to read that.
She goes inside and sits on one of the old stools of the bakery where ponies used to have pastries.
A little necklace sits on it.
Or is it a bracelet?
She doesn't know.
The darkness has made her memory very, very fuzzy.

She walks into the kitchen and places the flower on the table

She needs to-
…
She needs to make more sponge cakes.
Two eggs, three cups of flower, four cups of protein, milk, peanut butter.
…
30 hours later, she's must've made a solid 700 sponge cakes.
They need to be put on the rack.
There's still a cake on the rack.
She think's its an important one, maybe.
It has little white frosted flowers on it, and smells of vanilla.
None of these should have vanilla or frosting.

Something clicks in her head.
She remembers.
Her hair inflates, curly and full. Her eyes light up and shine bright colors, juxtaposing on the dark, gloomy kitchen.
She looks around the bakery.
She goes to the basement, and flips a switch.
When she come's back up the stairs the lights are on, illuminating a dusty, cobweb ridden sugarcube corner.
The necklace.
She knows what that is.
She walks over to the gold necklace with a blue balloon sunk into the middle.
One of the elements of harmony.
But, how did it get out of the tree of harmony?
She remembers.
It was a last ditch effort to stop Luna from becoming nightmare moon again.
But it just wasn't enough.

"not at our old age" she says with a hint of reminiscence, talking for the first time in a week.
She puts on the pendant, and walks over to the mirror.
she follows the wrinkles on her face, with her aged cataract ridden eyes.
It hasn't been 4 years.
Its been much, much longer.
She, needs to find the other elements.
Twilight.
No, we can't win without twilight.
We couldn't win.
We'd never win without magic.
She was turned to a statue when the elements backfired.
That was a dark day…

"heh, literally. Right Twilight?"
She turns away from the mirror.
She can't continue making cakes for nightmare moon.
She can't enable her tyranny.
She has to go, go find the other elements of harmony.
The baker decides to leave the element on the table, it should be safe there.
Can't be caught. She decides, and turns off the lights in sugarcube corner.
She taps her way down the steps, and looks left, then looks right, trying to focus on a direction.
…
Which direction does she go?

"Where do I need to go…"
…
She chooses a direction, and starts running
…
Uhh.
She forgot what she was doing.
…
Her hooves feel good on the polished cobble.
…
It's been half a week since she's had to leave the bakery for anything.
…
It's refreshing.
…
Her doldrums are broken for a moment as she see's the beauty of the world around her.
Since the nightfall, she's thought a lot more, and spoke a lot less.
And sometimes, when she gets out, she breaks out of her state of manic depression, and see's things in a different light.
Like, if the sun were still there.
She stops in her tracks, and does a three sixty, taking in the area of Ponyville like it was the first time she was here.
Everything was dark, yet, the softer shades were comforting.
She notices a pony laying in the street, obviously in a stage of grief or doldrums similar to her own state.
He's sobbing. But its obvious he hasn't slept in a while, 5 days at least.
In equestria, they call these ponies 'trancers'.
Ponies who were unable to cope with the hostile takeover of nightmare moon, and so they sort of, broke.
Which was sad, there is beauty to be had with sanity.
'Any life is worth living.' the baker thinks to herself. 'but a lot of ponies don't believe that concept.'

She must've just been taking a break.
Four blocks later. She's standing once again outside the bakery.
There's a notice on the door. Its mandatory to be read.
Like she's going to read that.
She goes inside and sits on one of the old stools of the bakery where ponies used to have pastries.
A little necklace sits on it.
Or is it a bracelet?
She doesn't know.

The darkness has made her memory very, very fuzzy.
FIN

Author's Note

My take on a scripted, styled radio-show thing went with stream of thought style instead of prose because i have a better time writing a narration when it is that way, like the weirdness of it all, i enjoyed writing this very much.

Realized that as i continue to add stories, i'll have to change the overall rating because i can't change the rating on a chapter basis, just a thought, don't think much of this.

Appplejack Makes a Pie

Applejack had waited all day for the north-northeast portion of the apple ranch to be harvested enough for her to be in good regard with herself when she announced exactly how done she was with the day. She blasted open the door to the Apple family abode, believing that in front of her would stand her sister and brother and grandmother… But instead stood an entirely empty extra space, she stood there for just a moment, taking in the empty, solemn beauty that was brought fourth on sale days.

Sale days were a pretty common thing around the house, but it wrought with itself a very eerie and alien feeling every time the family- excluding Applejack, of course; had run off to sell the apples. At first they would stay out before sundown, and they would usually be back home, making dinner before the certain section of apple crop had her beat for the day. But soon the whole family- once again, without applejack; would stay out longer and longer, for whatever reason… Until they got to the point that Applejack would have to make her own dinner.

With a sigh, she wiped the sweat off her brow and decided that, even though she ached more than she'd like to admit, she deserved to give herself some fraction of a reward. She thought, that at this point, it was her obligation to herself. So while in the heat of the buffalo styled fall they were receiving, she tried to find some flour, and some other things she can use to throw together in a half assed effort to make a delicious pie.

Things got smooth sailing when she had found Granny Smith's pie recipe, the pie crust, mediocre, the apple filling, sugary, oven baking temperature, exact. At this point, the Pie was good enough to not be disrespectful to the Apple family brand. In addition, she cut corners, measuring less than exactly… But she's baked enough to not make anything really inedible.

After a bit of thinking to herself, she laughs at the time she had been so tired that she put worms in muffins. Then for just a moment she felt solemn with regret after seeing that she had no repercussions for what she's done.

With the scent of the sweet and slightly sickly pie profusely steaming throughout the kitchen that's diligently produced pies like the one she's pulled out of the oven. She swears that anything baked in this oven is good, and that the box is blessed, even though essentially it's just a metal box that produces heat. A smile creeps onto her face, moving her three symmetrical freckles closer to her ears. And with that little spot of joy, she places the pie in the windowsill, to allow it to cool.

Author's Note

Got a case of 'and that's it!' from this story, seeing as it has a very anticlimactic ending, which i find a bit of moronic joy from this story being as simply told as it is.

The Apple Family Brand

With a flick of your wrist, what was left of your Marlboro was tossed onto the pavement. Your friend next to you has been annoying your for one of the 'Apple Ranch IPAs' since you got them this afternoon, eager to pop one open and drink the supposedly organic cider. The drinks themselves did not come from a market, either- they came from a small orchard whom bottled them in low profile brown bottles with silver caps, which makes them quite sought after by your friends. Between your group, each friend could have about six and a half of these things, if they were to divide the entire stock up, which would mean you had 26 bottles, all about 12 ounces… more than enough to get all of you drunk enough to do karaoke in front of a bunch of women.

Soon enough your friends old turbocharged Cressida sedan pulled up to the curb, then the trunk was popped, and the wooden crate of cider was thrown into the back of the trunk- and with a thud the trunk was closed. You and your best friend were placed into the back seats of the car while your cousin was at the wheel with a retarded vape pen in his mouth. Your cousin enjoyed hockey and disliked women; for he believed that the road to happiness lies with friendship and friendship only, which made him asexual by nature. With a swift gearshift you flew off the curb and into second, barreling down the street to your place.
"Hey guys." Richard simply said, before sucking on his pen- blowing the subsequent water vapor out of the window.
"Howareyounow?" your friend replied.
"good, and you?" Richard and the passenger replied in unison.
"Not so bad." he said back quickly.

"Hey Rich." you said.
He looked you in the eyes through the mirror, making sure he could make eye contact.
"Hey Anon. You still smoking?" he says.
"Yeahp." you reply back.
"That's too bad. Hope you can still taste" the passenger says.
Richard looks at his friend, whom is a man you don't know.
"Oh! Anon, this is Will- he's my friend from work."
"Suh, my dude." he replies jokingly.
Welp, time for the test.
"You're a pretty big guy." you say.
He smiles, getting the joke- and replies "For you."
Well, that's good to hear. Another one goes on the internet as well… the only 'normie' was your cousin, whom knows about 4chan but has no idea how to fill out a captcha, your best friend on the other hand, has multiple horse scarfs. The real reason you and your friendo have been dying to drink the 'Apple family brand' is really in the pursuit of memes. Even the box has a white apple spray painted on the top with 'APPLE FAMILY CIDER' in big, beautiful impact font on the lid. Oh yes- this is the real reason for this particular cider, because you love indulging in these kind of happy coincidences, and your best friend's waifu was indeed applejack.

After a while of inside joke bants, you guys arrive at your place, which is a dark wood furnished upstairs loft with a large 4k tv and not much else. Well, there was your little Intel desktop, but that wasn't very impressive on the outside. It's hooked up to the TV with a little wireless keyboard and trackpad combo you use for streaming on your TV, seeing as you hated the OS that came with the 'smart' TV.

You walk into the door, set down the large wood crate, and head into the kitchen to grab the bag of ice out of your freezer. You place the bag onto the table, doing a double take of the position before you slam your elbow onto the bag, breaking apart the 'kind of' solid mass of ice chunks. Ripping the top of the bag, you pour the contents into a large punch bowl.

While you were doing that, however- your friends had grabbed a pocket knife and popped the lid to the case, revealing the sweet twenty six brown bottles.
"Larson, do you mind grabbing me four of those so we can chill them?"
He looks up at you, and replies "There's literally nothing wrongs with just have them warm."
"Oh yes there is, if you were to open them, the cider would go everywhere; it's to carbonated. it needs to be chill so you can actually open them."
With a harrumph- he brings you the cider. You take them in-between your fingers and place them into the ice. The rest, however- are packed firmly into your empty fridge before you and your three buddies retire to the couch.

After a bit of watching the 10 o'clock news you decide that it's cool to open the bottles. Your friends take great pleasure in popping off the caps, and toasting to the dude who just died from a stabbing. After the 'after toast swig' your friends smile and start commenting on this taste. After treading through the holy shit and waving to the Jesus Christs you guys finsih your first bottle, putting it back in the now empty wooden crate.
"To the next bottle!" Larson proudly shouts.
For context, 'Larson' is your friends nick name, given to him because his black curtains hang down like the MLP writers' hair. He resembles him quite a bit, actually.

"DICKS OUT FOR HARAMBE!" Richard shouts while holding up his second bottle, revealing to you that he might actually use the internet.
You join in, actually liking the normie meme. Shouting "FOR HARAMBE" as your clank your second set of drinks. After the second bottle goes about half way down your guys begin watching 'The Joy of Painting' on Netflix, making comments as you do so.
"You paint those happy fucking trees, Bob." you would shout.
"They're so fucking happy!" Richard would then shout.
"We're all just a bunch of happy fucking accidents!" Will would then shout out.
You realize how alcoholic these might actually be, looking at the bottle. Looking at your friends, you notice that they seem about three cocktails in rather than one and a half ciders' in. Despite their booze like alcohol levels, you pound that one down and head up for thirds- and by the time that you pop the caps on the next four, William had switched it to Game Grumps, which you didn't watch- but was pretty good anyways. The comment's had died down after game grumps went on, morphing into spots of laughter at points of comedic value… You come back with the four drinks and you guys cheer, with Larson this time calling the toast.
"For Applejack! Great cider, great lifestyle!"

And surprisingly, everyone cheered 'FOR APPLEJACK!' back at him. Richard knew ponies, and he enjoyed watching them when you had it on, but he had never gotten into real heavy fandom, he enjoys MLP, no more, no less. And, surprisingly, after game grumps- MLP went on, with Will of all people choosing the episodes he thought 'looked alright'. The fourth went down, and when you got up, you stumbled a bit… marveling at the potency of the cider. After you stabilized yourself, you headed down the one hallway and into the bathroom located in the master bedroom. You let off a furious yellow stream, and flushed the toilet. When you walked back into the living room, you saw something you couldn't comprehend. Richard, Will, And Larson had turned into Waifus.
"Okay, Jesus, guys- what the fuck was in this?"
"Darlinnn-" a drunken Larson responded, "It's just Alcohol and magic, it's Apple Brand after all."
"Yeah, Anon- Of coursss it's magic and alcohol, what did you expect out of something called 'twilights' IPA?" Will turned, flipping his golden ponytail around his shoulders, sending his 10 gallon hat onto the floor.
"Right! But, I wash wrong about the names- Applejah, IPAa aren' juss ANYTHIN made independently! It STAHNDS for Inedpendent, uhh- something! BUT BUT BUT BUT! Appleja, Cider! It's No IPA!"
"Rih Sugarcuub, I knew! I Knew all the time!"
You watched in horror as three drunken Waifus went at it talking about assorted ciders on the couch. You also watched in horror as violet glows manifested around you, and with a blink of the eye, you were Bright blue, and about three times as drunk.
You tried to walk forward, but your wings poofed out to either side, setting you off balance and making you slam your temple on an old coffee table from your grand mother's old building, making you black out. By the time you wake up, Larson is preparing hangover medication while cooking Denver omelets and pancakes for the group. Richard's out on the floor with Will in the other room taking a shower. You got up, and noticed something with a smirk.

You still have two bottles left.

Author's Note

little slpergy, but this is how my friends are, so this is not unrealistic in my eye