The Perfect Ponyby TheSadisticJudgeChaptersBe the Most Perfect Pony in Existence.Get Started on To-Do ListStop To Smell The All Familiar FlowersReach the For All Too Familiar FlowersPluck The Awfully Familiar FlowersBe the Most Perfect Pony in Existence.Author's Note edit 11/14/16 6:22 PM EST. BEFORE YOU DOWN VOTE and CRITICIZE, WAIT FOR ONE HOUR The story isn't all like this, I absolutely promise. I say, for the record, I purposefully made the beginning bad to reflect on such terrible writing, but I guess being meta ain't gonna cut it with today's critics. Perhaps it's really as bad as I wanted it to be, great, but with this being all there is I'm absolutely caught with my pants down and I look like a moronic twelve year old writer. Crikey, I don't have the luxury of being purposefully vague anymore. I need to post this new chapter that flips everything upside-down. Pronto. Be the Most Perfect Pony in Existence. Reader => Be the Most Perfect Pony in Existence. You are now the most perfect pony in existence. If you are a male, now you are now a female, the most perfect pony in existence. If you were female, then you stay a female—the most perfect pony in existence. If you refuse to classify yourself as either male or female, which there is nothing wrong with doing, you are now female—the most perfect pony in existence. You are loved by all, everything and everyone wants to be you. While that sounds preposterous, you ARE the hidden seventh element! The elusive Element of Love, an element formed only when the six elements are destroyed and then fused together. But that's a story for another day. Your name is Cobalt Fabric and your primary job is to make sheets of fabric from shaved sheep and goats to sell to your best of best friends, and possible lover to, Rarity. You're an absolute expert at this, there hasn't been a workplace accident since you've been born. Perhaps it was the stars and planets aligning at the specific and oddly precise moment of your birth, you still have no idea where you came from—maybe from a different universe. Although you are the best at making sheets of fabric, you are also an absolute expert at mining. Hence the 'Cobalt' in your name. You are the richest person in Equestria, from your impeccable luck and down right absurd amount of strength to carry all of those diamonds away from the Diamond Dogs—err, I mean absolutely you mined those jewels out of the ground. There are no stolen goods in your possession, you're an absolute good Samaritan! Loved by all – the perfect model for all to aspire to be, no flaws and total perfection in everything you do and accomplish. Even the Element of Magic, Twilight Sparkle, sometimes get jealous at your ability to bend the weaves of magic. It must be because you are a alicorn. You are an alicorn but not descendant to royal blood, although this notion is extremely arguable with all of the scientists in the world. You are smarter than all of them, more charismatic than all of them, so you single-highhandedly prevented a culling of non-royal alicorns but that's a story for another day. Your mane is remarkably similar to Rainbow Dash's mane, rainbow color and all, yet your tail has the odd length of Fluttershy's. Your fur color is neon pink with cyan irises, you wear black rimmed glasses although you don't need them to look sexier—although you can't get any more sexier than you already are, you sexable beast. Upon hearing the narrator, you do a shy little bow. Pinkie Pie has taught you the ways of breaking the fourth wall well. You are in your small little shop, it resides next to the Everfree Forest. You are unconcerned with the idea of living next to literal hell in the shape of a forest, everything that ever had the absolute audacity to enter your private property is instantly vaporized with your magical prowess. It is still unstable, and you require tutoring from none other than Celestia herself less The Princess risks the destruction of the world. Inside of your small little shop is you, slaving away at repainting and restoring the Pony Lisa – simultaneously of course. You are ambidextrous, you can do both at the same time with absolutely no problem at all. Your work place is a pig house! A mess! An absolute nuclear bomb of disasters dropped on your small little shop and created the clean-free wasteland that is your workplace! How do you explain such mess to yourself? You are a master a creating messes, but are you a master at fixing these said messes?! I hope so, your parents ought to be ashamed of you! Your nose crinkles in distress, your heart hurts at the thought of your dead parents being disappoint in you. Oh right, your parents are dead. And it's your fault, you and your unstable magic vaporized them. You had to raise yourself. You are now too sad to continue on your Magnum Opus. You manage to tear yourself away from your masterpiece: the repainting and restoration the Pony Lisa, both being done simultaneously, to look at your To-Do List, your list is very detailed and decorated with diamonds that you have acquired from your mining trips and totally not stolen from Diamond Dogs. Maybe some tasks can take your mind off of your incredibly horrifying backstory, the edge will probably fade when you do some good for your friends. You have to do some grocery shopping, you should have plenty of bits and not-stolen-diamonds to accomplish this task easily. Next, you have to deliver the sheets of pure gold fabric to Rarity. You're still unsure how you managed to turn precious metal into literal cloth as if it was sheered from a golden sheep itself, but with your ability of magic you can do anything. No biggie. Thirdly, you have to help tutor Twilight Sparkle in the art of secret forbidden magic! Oh how fun it will be, maybe you and Twilight Sparkle can go on a totally gnarly adventure in different universes – maybe you can find a universe where genders are reversed? The possibilities are literally limitless and you're absolutely excited to embark on this! You just nothing goes wrong. Fourthly, you have to help Pinkie Pie bake some sweets for a party! You're unsure what party it is today, but you shrug it off knowing that you're happy to help a fellow friend! You just hope you're not walking into a really bad situation, one where Pinkie turns YOU into cupcakes! Nah, that's stupid. Pinkie is you're best of bests of friends! She would never harm you. Finally, you have to help Rainbow Dash clear the skies for the aforementioned party! Oh, you can't wait! Wow! Today's gonna be a long day ahead of you! It's a hard work, being you, you have so much do and so little time to do it. Twenty-four hours can't cut it! You can do it, you tell yourself, although it is hard to try to assure yourself. You have such low self-esteem and you're not very sociable, you absolutely refuse to ask for help. Oh who are you kidding? You are the light of the party, the absolute talk and love monster in conversations! You have so much esteem and confidence, you can take down a dragon like you did last week! But that's a story for another day. Get Started on To-Do ListCobalt Fabric => Get Prepared to Get Started on To-Do List. You decide to do some grocery shopping, as your To-Do list dictates. You're absolutely sure you just need the necessities such as food, the harvest of quality cotton and wool, and maybe a few snacks, but you're sure your wallet can survive a donation to Sweet Apple Acres. Maybe Apple Jack will send you basket of goodies! Maybe you can chat up a couple of friends on your way to the market, a quick stop to Sugar Cube Corner never hurt anyone, especially if it's to cross two bullets on your To-Do list at the same time; nobody ever said that you had to complete your To-Do list in order, you just feel better doing it in order. There's no perfect way to do it, that's why you're perfect at it! You reach over to grab your wallet of bits, it's bigger in the inside to hold your massive wealth, but you end up tripping over your own hooves! You're so clumsy, but it's a quirky sort of clumsy. It reminds you of your mail mare, Ditzy, she's so silly! After picking yourself up, you remember that you're an alicorn and you have no need to use your hooves! How silly of yourself, Cobalt Fabric, you forgot you uncannily excel at magic and levitation of objects! You light up your horn, the aura was sparkles and hearts and the color deep purple. The bag of bits that's bigger on the inside to hide your massive wealth flies through the air and into your hoof as if you were catching a baseball, you also levitate your saddle bag onto your body, your haunches more like. It fits perfectly. Inside of the saddle bag is the delivery of pure gold fabrics to Rarity. Speaking of hindquarters, your cutie mark is a cobalt rock being held in what seems to be a blanket made of blue hearts. It's absolutely beautiful, you couldn't ask for a better cutie mark if you tried! It's amazing the luck you have, it's like you have all the luck in the world! Hell, who are you kidding? You DO have all the luck in the world! You are ready to go outside and do some grocery shopping! Reader => Be Cobalt Fabric, Whom is Currently Outside, and Get Started on To-Do List. You are now Cobalt Fabric, whom is currently outside of her small little shop, also known as her humble abode. You are heading northwards to town so you may reach the market section of town, which happened to be at the north entrance of town which happens to be on the other side of town. You lived on the southern outskirts of town next to The Everfree Forest, as previously told, so you must walk long distances to and from your house. No, thankfully, you haven't forgotten you're an alicorn. You just aren't very good at flying, by your standards, and you don't want to exert all of your stamina carrying all this stuff around! That would be a complete waste of your energy and there's nothing kawaii about a heavily puffing alicorn that's breathing like she forgot her inhaler! You have an image to upkeep, as the perfect model that all ponies must aspire to be and anything less just won't do! It just won't do! Instead of all of that energy wasting, but time saving, flying, you decide to get a little exercise and briefly trot your way down to the market place. You don't need to exercise, fortunately. You are blessed with the ability of having such a high basal metabolic rate, you almost rarely get fat no matter how much you eat! You don't eat all the time, you mostly spend that time working to earn your pay – even with your massive wealth, you still have to occupy your time. You are quite the fast trotter, because you make it to town in little to no time at all. All those years of moving between Rarity's shop and your small little shop has made you quite the fast courier, although it would make sense to trust the movement of goods to your Mail Mare—pure gold fabric is something that most would try to steal. It's not that you don't trust Ditzy, quite the opposite! You don't trust the security of the package; Ditzy is a lover, not a fighter, and that makes her prone to being robbed of your valued package! You have no enemies, thankfully, but it's better to not test Murphy's Law at all. After walking through what seemed to be a paparazzi of ponies trying to be your friend, which they all pretty much are, you finally reach Rarity's house. You mustered up the courage to meet your crush, you go to open the door to find that it is locked. This is an outrage! You can't meet your true love and you can't deliver this package! This is absolute anarchy on your To-Do List, how are you supposed to do your job if the pony who does the rest of your job is out doing whatever said pony does!? You can't just leave the package by her doorstep, what if some random bloke decides to up and take it? You come up with a solution just as the problem arrived. Poof, the package along with the saddle bag was gone. It is now inside of her house, invasion of privacy aside, you have completed a bullet of your To-Do List! You have gotten started on your To-Do list, well done you! Author's Note 11/13/2016 This is the first story I have done on this site, please may I have a little leniency? Haha, nah, go ahead and red-bomb it if you want. It's your choice. That 'kawaii' bit was a joke on how all OC creators that I've seen always have to use 'Japanese' words to make them more validated as cute and 'sugoi desu' and 'lol so random rawr xD'. I actually have a few friends who do it and it's just annoying, so yeah. I am preparing for sports related events and preparing to travel to be with family during Thanksgiving Break, meaning that the remaining chapters hang in limbo for a couple of days or two. Hopefully I can return soon to start working in a timely manner. I will eventually conclude the remainder of the story, trust me - the climax of the story will be quite the kicker. If the events confuse you or you don't enjoy the story so far because of it's idea and/or execution, just give me time to fully narrate the finishing story. If not, then lay it in to me; I'm stronk enough to handle it. Stop To Smell The All Familiar FlowersAuthor's Note i apologize if this seems rushed, it probably was, but i needed this chapter to happen now. I'll worry about fixing the problems later. Stop To Smell The All Familiar Flowers Cobalt Fabric => Stop to Smell the All Familiar Flowers. You managed to have time to look over and appear at the Flower Mare’s flowers. Daisy and Roseluck were out tending their flowers, meaning they had to close their stalls momentarily, but they seem to have forgotten two flowers on each of their vendors. One a withered, deceased, and decaying white rose on one stall counter; a pitiful, lonely, and weltering tulip on the other stall counter. Reader => Be Cobalt Fabric and Have a (not so) Close Call on Your Life. You are now Cobalt Fabric, whom is currently having a not so close call on her life after the completion of getting started on your To-Do list. You are unsure what have hit you, but you are definitely feeling the pain from your hidden assailant. The world is a darker blur of itself, yet you see flashes of light that you would call ‘seeing stars’. You know for a certain you are in the market, laying in the middle of the street from the surrounding ponies that are your best friends. As you sit yourself up, you are suddenly very angry. Who dares have the bloody audacity to attack you, the most perfect pony in existence!? You don’t like this situation that has reared its ugly head to its literal god; therefore, you must take action, like the powerful being you are, and vaporize this threat to your health. You regain your bearings; the world starts to correct itself as the vertigo starts to fade, the spiraling headache you did not even notice because of your godly powers of pain tolerance leaves your head along with the pools of rainbow fluid from your nostrils. You are fine, you wipe away the rainbow fluid and stand back up on your hooves assessing the situation. What have hit you was a runaway cart carrying what you guessed were… cabbages? Who in the world could let such a wooden cart of vegetables run you over, don’t they know that you are literally a god among ponies as an alicorn?! In a moment’s notice, you can decimate all of those worthless vermin you call ponies into nothing but paste because they allowed you to get hit with something such as a cabbage cart! You are livid, but as the model for all ponies should—must aspire to be, you decide to let it slide and continue on your way. You’re not even limping, that’s to show how awesomely spectacular you are at this pain management thing—! You have spoken way too soon on the matter, because a sharp pain has risen up your hind right leg as you put a miniscule amount of pressure on it. Limping away from the scene and all of your best friends who worriedly came to check up on you, you duck into an alley way to reassess the situation at hand. Or hoof, rather. You are okay, you are fine, you are absolutely perfect in every sense in form but oh buck does your leg hurt. So does your wings, speaking of pain. You look at your wings to find them mangled and twisted, this has happened before and it can be fixed in a moment’s notice. You wince as you try to straighten them out, a searing not only existing in your body but also your head. The pain in your head is throbbing rightly horrible, and to the right. Exactly where the source of the sound is coming from a crying filly out in the streets! Reader => Be Cobalt Fabric, somehow in Canterlot and Reconnoiter You are now Cobalt Fabric, somehow in Canterlot, and you recognize the change in scenery as the most infamous alleyway of Canterlot’s seedy underbelly. Where the rich never even thinks twice of disregarding the poor populace as little more than vermin. You are in the ‘L’ shaped alleyway on Fahkeet St. and Wall Rd, you look on the brick walls to find a multitude of rather beautifully made graffiti that was created by hooligan gangs of unfortunate and lost youth – poor souls, you sympathize with synthetic emotion. You didn’t know whether or not to care about the wasted potential and the refusal of the acknowledgement of the slums. You are unsure how you recognize this very specific location. The last time you have checked, or at least remember, you have never visited Canterlot a day in your life. Canterlot is rarely spoken about in Ponyville, and especially not about the slums of the town. You grit your beautiful teeth in agony. The burning sensation in your head didn’t subside and, in fact, probably have gotten worse. It felt like pure ‘melt your brain’ lava was coursing through your blood vessels. Your brain hurts overall, as if the fluid suspending your brain was made of sulfuric acid. Not to mention the pounding of your temples, especially the right temple. You hear the filly’s cry of abandonment and you quickly disregard your own wellbeing to hurry out to the streets of Canterlot to reconnoiter. In the middle of the cobblestone street, a mossy and cracked street, there is a bluish-gray foal with navy blue mane and tail. Her iris is as green emeralds and her eyeballs were as white as opals. The filly’s eyes were bloodshot, dark bags under her eyes were also present. The filly is sitting in the middle of the road of Canterlot, blank-flanked and grayed-out monochrome passerby ponies ranging in different fashion and races. They were ignoring the filly. Why? Why were they avoiding her, the Pegasus filly, like she carried the plague? Ponies walked around her, not daring to inch past three meters towards her. None of them looked at her, none of them seemed to care about the ribs poking out of the filly’s ribs. Why weren’t they caring? Was it something the filly did? How? How were they ignoring the shrill cries of the Pegasus filly, as she wept for all eyes to see? Malnourished and alone, they can’t just leave the baby filly alone like this! You don’t understand how anyone could just abandon this precious foal and you have no idea how these… flank holes can allow this foal to continue! You would not allow this foal’s suffering to continue any longer! Cobalt Fabric => Become Conscious. You awake from the alleyway, the pain in your body gone. You were blinking the blurriness out of your eyes before sitting on your haunches, you were trying to make sense of what had just happened. You’re sure you didn’t follow the events of that, you aren’t sure if it was a memory or a hallucination. It is nightfall already, you have already missed out on today’s events and the ability to complete your To-Do list. Although you are crestfallen to have come this far and to be let down, your heart hurts even worse than your body ever did. You reach around in your inventory to be relieved that you have not been robbed of your bag of bits, that’s bigger on the inside to hide your massive wealth. Or of anything, to be that matter. Usually, scoundrels would’ve robbed you but you guess that your magical and unbreakable shield have protected you from unfavorable! Not that anyone would ever try to harm you, of course not! Who would ever harm everyone’s best friend, Cobalt Fabric? I mean, look at yourself you non-royal alicorn sexy thing, you can bounce back from this! I take it a step further, you WILL bounce back from this! You’re Cobalt mother bucking Fabric and you can do anything you set your mind to! You pick yourself off of the cold ground, this time with no hallucinations to throw you off of your groove, and you briskly trot yourself back to your small little shop on the edge of the Everfree Forest. You open the door to your absolute pig house of a clean-free nuclear apocalypse that is your workplace! How do you explain this mess, young lady?! You lit up your horn and straightened up the mess up rightly, trash that was trash flew into the rubbish bins. The clumps of raw sheep and goat wool became rolled back on its organized rolls and shoved onto a shelf. The entire small little shop was finally clean, it was spotless. Well done you! You feel like you deserve some rest, and you do after the events of today! You part your jaws and yawned a big, chest expanding yawn until you rubbed your eyes. You walk past your boiler, then your counter, which your register sits on, and then past your spindle that you use to turn boiled wool and cotton into cloths. A doorway with red curtains, embodied with gold designs at the tips, sits next to the beautifully crafted wood. You built everything with your blood, sweat, and perfect abilities. You keep strolling until you reach the back of your small little shop, past the curtains that allowed you privacy in your own home. You reach a small room that acted as a storage house for your wool and cotton (for them to cool off after being boiled) and walk out of the room through a stairwell upstairs. After ascending to the second floor, you are now in a small flat that reminds you of your old apartment in Birmingmare. You are in a living room with shag carpeting, a coffee table sits in front of an old, well used sofa. On the table were two flowers. One a withered, deceased, and decaying white rose; a pitiful, lonely, and weltering tulip Reader => Be Cobalt Fabric, somehow in Canterlot, and Reconcile with the memory of The Two Roses. “But Mum!” .̸.̷.̸.̶.̸ whined. The foal fluttered her tiny wings steadily as she tugs on your tail feebly, you look down at your daughter with an annoyed look once more. “I want it as bad as I want to breathe! It’s so pretty!” “I'm not getting you flowers that you can’t take care of,” You denied flatly. “Besides, what about those on the coffee table back at the shop? You told me you wouldn’t be able to live without them.” “I’m alive, right mum?!” .̸.̷.̸.̶.̸ gave you the biggest puppy dog look her face could muster. To add along with it, she started to flutter her small little wings. You pursed your lips tightly, you could never say no to your sweet little filly. “Pleeeease?” Cobalt Fabric => Realize You Were a Mother You refuse to accept this realization and suppress it into the back of your mind. Reach the For All Too Familiar FlowersCobalt Fabric => Reach for the All Too Familiar Flowers. You are taken aback, however, by the existence of these flowers. How did they get here? Where did they come from? Has somebody so vile and so malicious to prank you breaking and entering your shop—your home by putting two dead flowers on your coffee table as you were unconscious in the alleyway? How dare they! You reach for the flowers only to find them non-existent and you stumble over your coffee table and land on your old, worn out sofa. The old, worn out sofa has the scent of you – but not exactly you – and dried tears… and crayons? You can recognize your own scent but it didn’t exactly smell like you, it smelled… different, like sniffing crayons when you are baking cookies—that complicated of a smell. The dried tears bit rattled you a little bit, nothing can rattle you but this scent stunned you. You have not been crying, at all. You don’t know why some prankster would come into your home, plant dead flowers, and then cry on your sofa. You pick yourself up off the old, worn out sofa and catch a glimpse of a small figure running out of the corner of your eye. You whip around in the direction, horn glowing brightly, and ready to instantly vaporize this intruder— You catch nothing but dust clump in the shape of a bunny being blown away from the vent. You cautiously stroll over to the thermostat and turn it off, your nerves were keeping you on edge. Your home, your humble abode, felt like a ghost town. It gave you the heebie-jeebies just standing in one place for too long, and you keep walking as if you were pacing back and forth. In fact, you were pacing. Back and forth. Nervously. The clock strikes twelve o’clock PM. Reader => Egress ‘Faux’ Reality. You are no longer The Perfect Pony and are your own entity in a void that The Author has created to suspend your synthetic involvement. Suspension of Disbelief is broken along with your artificial immersion. Reader => Ingress ‘Rejected’ Reality. You have ented the ‘rejected’ reality, whether or not this reality is the ‘real’ reality is irrelevant at this point because the difference between the two are mere words and the definition of perception, along with the reliability of narrators and characters’ psyche. Now Reader => Be The Daughter You are now The Daughter. If you are a male, now you are now a female, The Daughter in this faux existence. If you were female, then you stay a female—The Daughter in this faux existence. If you refuse to classify yourself as either male or female, which there is nothing wrong with doing, you are now female—The Daughter in this faux existence. Today is your birthday, and you are very excited to spend the day with your wonderful, smart, and beautiful mother in this very new town! You look up and glance at your surroundings for the sake of context, which is a flawless argument to look around your room like you were tripping on bath salts. The room is very well lit and bright; the window is open to welcome the radiant rays of the early morning sun to reflect off of your neon pink painted walls. Your carpet is shag, colored a bright shade of baby blue cyan. On your ceiling, there are glow-in-the-dark stars stickered up there. They run off of magic, your mother’s magic. Unfortunately for you and your artistic eyes, the rest of the house doesn’t look like this no matter the amount of times you protest this crime against fashion! As Mum is unconcerned with a little style to the shop, you are very religious to the lifestyle of expression! That’s okay, you tell yourself, more creativity to yourself! Your mother is very tired, you noticed from her rather droopy and irritated facial expression (and the fact she hasn’t wished you a happy birthday). You infer that she is exhausted from moving from Canterlot to your new home in Ponyville. The sound of her slaving away downstairs with the spindle concerns you about her physical health, she told you that everyone needs to sleep, but every time you bring it up she will dismiss your very concerned daughterly advice. She is such a hard worker, even if it might eventually kill her! You are currently in your room, coloring the pictures of your perfect creation, your Pony Lisa (You have no idea what a ‘Pony Lisa’ is, but that’s what your Mum called your last drawing of Princess Celestia!), your hardest drawing yet! You have drawn what you believe is to be the perfect pony, using none other than the Princess herself as a reference! You beam at your drawing, the excitement of showing Mum this is almost breathtakingly exhilarating! Mum is always so proud of your raw artistic talent, and she have pinned every one of your creations on the fridge door! You were sad that your drawings had to be put away when Mum packed up the apartment in Birmingmare, but Mum told you a clean slate is always great to have! Mum is so smart; you think to yourself as you pick up the pink crayon. Although you know you have a lot to improve on, when it comes to your artistic lifestyle, you can’t wait to please Mum with your newest drawing, hot off the oven that is your doodling pad! Finishing it is the hard part, you don’t know what Celestia actually looks like so you had to do some imprecision to get exactly what you want. Ah, at last, your magnum opus is complete and ready to show Mum so she may put it on the fridge for you and the air to see! Perhaps she might put your drawing in the shop, so other people may view your masterpiece and be amazed by the amount of effort you have inserted into this love baby your brain, this doodle pad, and crayons have made! Wait! You notice a crucial flaw to your artwork! You forgot to name the piece! You shouldn’t use your real name, your privacy is to be respected, but you want to be known so you use the next best thing: An alias! The Daughter => Enter Penname Strange Tamer 69 This is not your penname. You are amused by the amount of immature creative humor that went into this surprisingly (now) insulting name, which is no creativity and all immature humor; you instead focus on actually giving your correct and valid penname that is not an immature explicit denotation of the word ‘strange’ and not in any way insulting to yourself. Vivid Palette Your penname is Vivid Palette and you are nine years old, turning ten years old today! You have been living with Mum in such small cramped apartment buildings all your life and now that you’re beautifully hardworking mother have saved up to buy this house. You know that this is also a fabric making shop, because your mother seems to only be doing that instead of watching you create your epic characters! You hold your art piece in between your lips, careful not to slobber over the page, and you turn the shiny brass doorknob to your door and push open the door. You race out of your room and past the living room, your little wings fluttering all while doing so, until you reach the stairs where you halt your racing to calmly walk down the stairs. You trot briskly past the storage room, which is empty, to duck underneath the velvety red curtains. You are now behind the spindle, where your mother currently isn’t. You are too short to see over the counter so you circle it to reach the main part of the small little shop. There’s your mother, carrying boiled wool and cotton by the boxes in suspension with her magic. You are fascinated with this wizardry that Mum possessed, as you are merely a Pegasus, but your mother will be amazed even more when you show her your latest creation! Your wings flutter like a dog’s tail as you near close to her, you are literally frothing excitement through your expressions. As soon as you think you’re within Mum’s vision, you sit on your haunches and present the picture. You are absolutely, positively, one hundred and twenty percent sure that will be amazed at your hard work and drop literally everything she is doing to be amazed with your artwork and you! You hold your artwork between your hooves, gripping each side of the picture, and grinned expectantly; you were patiently waiting for her response She trudges right past you. Nnnnhhh, you are a little annoyed at Mum for ignoring you right now as you present your best work yet! Maybe she didn’t notice this sheer awesomeness that resides in your picture, but then there’s no way she couldn’t have! Maybe she just didn’t see you, you ARE a rather short filly. You are not going to let this prevent you from being showered in praises again! You are filled with determination as you bite down on your (masterfully crafted) work and quickly dart in front of Mum, where she cannot avoid (or be ignorant of) such divine art any longer! Mum looks down at you with an exasperated look, it almost drops you off of your confident metaphorical pedestal. Almost. “Look, Mum, look!” You beam at your mother but Mum does not look amused, or even looking at your drawing at all. “Cool,” Mum says as she dismisses you by enveloping you with her ticklish magical aura and scooting you to the side, she then shambles past you. She slowly heaves the boxes down next to the spindle as she takes a seat next to it. “Go play, upstairs preferably. Mommy is very busy.” She didn’t even look at it and you are very unsatisfied with the results of You grit your teeth in annoyance, you will not be cheated out of your hard work this easily! More importantly, you will please mother and raise her spirits with this masterpiece, even if it kills you! Insistently, you flutter your wings as you take a seat next to her chair. This action of insistence causes her right ear to twitch and flicker a bit. “.̸.̷.̸.̶.̸,” warned Mum, “Go upstairs, now, I am very busy…” “But I made you a drawing!” You insisted, accidentally cutting off Mum – which only further ignited a flame that your Mum’s purplish-magenta eyes held in indignation and probable fury. You try to explain the importance of this picture of this picture and its priority over your mother’s slave labor. “You see, it’s my masterpiece! My hardest work yet! My Pony Lisa, it’s—” You were interrupted by your incensed mother. “You have to be kidding me!” Mum stood up from her spindle chair, towering over you in a threatening way. “Do you have any idea of how much money we owe to those rich flank-hole posers in Canterlot to afford a shop like this!? Do you have any thought outside of your little bubble!?” You back away, bumping over a pile of spun red wool. Your eyes widening like saucers, you have never seen this side of Mum and you don’t like it one bit. You feel your ears flip down and press flatly to your skull. “I am up to HERE in this mess, and every single time I finally have enough – THEY RAISE THE INTEREST RATES!” Your mother lights up her horn and aggressively takes your paper away from your hooves before you have a chance to defend your precious. “I can’t afford a lawyer, so I have to work this out by myself! “No—Mum…” “NO!? – you want to waste the precious time I have, the time I can be using to do my job and dig us out of this hole, with pictures of flowers and suns – like this bloody thing?!” Your drawing, along with your emotions, is now crumbled within the magical grips of your mother’s blue-grey aura. Mum then throws it in your chest. You stumble onto your haunches as you didn’t catch it, the paper’s been thrown with a bit of force behind it. “I can’t afford supper for me tonight, because of your constant begging for attention! Since you want to waste my time trying to pay for your dessert – there won’t be any dessert for you for a month. Go upstairs!” But that’s not fair! You weren’t trying to take food or bits out of her mouth! You just wanted to show her a drawing! You try to argue the severity of the punishment but that notion is struck down with physical contact of the back of Mum’s left hoof to your cheek. It wasn’t hard, not enough force to harm or leave a mark, but it was enough to sting to sufficiently tell you to shut your mouth. As soon as your mother realized what she had done, you are already trotting into the back. Reader => Be The Mother. You are now The Mother. You are writing a letter to Ponyville’s representative to see about having help reducing some of your debts to the banks. You need to write your name on the letter. The Mother => Enter Name Cobalt Fabric Your name is Cobalt Fabric and you are a hard working pony trying to provide for you and your daughter. Being a single mother is very hard work and you must work even harder to keep yourself and your daughter’s finances afloat. Before you can float, you must first stop sinking to the bottom of your debts to the bank and those rich pompous jerks who prey on small business owners such as yourself. All in all, you are stressed to kingdom come and back. You don’t think you’ve slept or ate anything in two – or more – days. This has deteriorated your mental health and has made you more receptacle to acting out of character. This neglect has benefited your financial situation a little bit, one of your many invest… no… loan sharks has been paid, interest and all, but the rest of the loaners keep hiking up their interest rates each week you work to pay such interest! You owe more in interest rates than you do the original amount borrowed! The debt keeps rising the more you spend time working to pay off the bloody debt! You have lashed out your daughter for wasting your precious time to show you her childish drawing of chicken scratch in the shape of an alicorn with an impossible, eye bleeding color scheme. In the heat of the moment, you crushed her drawing in your magical vice grip and sent her on her way, she was punished for wasting your time and back-talking. You did not mean to strike her, it just happened like reflex. Besides, what could be so bloody great in this piece in regards to all of the suns and flowers she drew for you? What made this so important that she prioritized it above, all else, you working to keep the roof over her ungrateful head and food in that stomach? You pick up the piece and unscramble it, the creases made it almost impossible to look at comfortably. You turn it around to see writing, her writing. A letter directed at you. It was also dated with a familiar date. That date is today. Eight, now nine, years ago, today, you found a starving filly weeping in the streets of Canterlot. It’s her birthday. Reader => Be The Daughter. You are now The Daughter, who is sulking her way upstairs without your magnum opus and your metaphorical heart. that was your masterpiece in your grasp and now it's rubbish on the floor of the shop for literally none to see. You ascend the stairs, dragging your hooves all the way upstairs. You feel scorned, disgraced, but more importantly: you feel disappointed in yourself for taking up Mum’s time. You are guilty because you’re at fault for Mum being stressed out. Your face, especially the upper part of your right cheek, is strained as they hold back the waterworks. Your chest is heavy, your heart is crushed, and your confidence is pretty much gone. You think nasty, negative thoughts about the picture and all the other pictures you have drawn. You are selfish for wanting to take up mother’s time like that, all for the sake of validation and praise! Selfish, selfish, selfish! How dare you become so spoiled, intoxicated in such pride, have you lost all the cents in your pocket or do you need them knocked into you?! You reach the living room and leap onto the sofa, pressing your face into the old, worn out sofa. You wet the sofa with your face, you didn’t even feel the on-barrage of salty and burning tears that stains your face and matted up the fur on your face. Continuously face-hogging and soaking the seat with your bodily salt eye water for ten whole minutes, you run out of tears to constantly leak out of your face holes. You get off the couch to walk to your room, you feel numb and voided in the head, yet so many thoughts gurgle itself in your head. The Daughter => Ingress into Your Room and Vent Through Art. You enter your room and you sit on the floor, you pick up your sketchbook and decide the best place to express yourself is to draw properly on the study in the corner of your bed until your hoof falls right off the joint. The Daughter => Evince your Inner Struggle and Misunderstanding by Mum by Using Music. You are not the sufficient age to feel like Mum doesn’t understand that this is the real you, nor are you the correct age to blast Panic!cal Romance as loud as your nonexistent speakers will allow you too. That, and you don’t even know what Panic!cal Romance is. You sit at your study and place your sketchbook on the study, you disregard the crayons for pencils. You don’t feel colorful right about now, nor do you feel like you can express yourself sufficiently using mere stupid colors. Mum don’t deserve color. The clock strikes twelve o’clock PM. Reader => Egress Rejected Reality and Forget Any of it Happened. You are no longer The Daughter and now you exist within the blurred line of irrelevant perspectives. What is and isn’t real life is undisguisable between these two realities and pondering the meaning of either is pointless and will lead to more headaches than answers. What is a fantasy when reality is either nonexistent or tantamount to fantasy, is the fantasy rendered meaningless? Fantasy is not all too different from reality. No matter how convivial, quixotic, and alluring it is. Something that is considered to be nonsensical and unworkable is identic to the pragmatic and reasonable. Let that soak in, dear Reader, that your understanding of ‘real’ may or may not be ‘fake’ and you’ll never know the difference between the two. You can think of the fragile idea of what reality really is sort of like a deity, a god if you will. You can believe that a monotheistic deity or that polytheistic deities exist, the religion is truly irrelevant. Either you believe in it or you don’t or you just don’t know, either way, you cannot find out and the truth is there will never be any way to know. Dreams are realities and there is no way to disprove this infallible thought because none of us can know what I am currently seeing is the same thing as the person next to me is seeing just as I can’t know what you are currently seeing is perceived as the same thing the person next to you sees. Perspectives are irrelevant because even the most intelligent species has a large margin of error, because we only determine what is real and what is fake by what we see on a consistent basis. Here’s another shocker: you are going to die. No, I do not mean that you are going to perish in the story – that’s impossible as you are not a character – but you will die just as I will and the rest of all that lives. Every motion eventually slows, everything that is hot will eventually become cold, and everything that lives will inevitably die. There is no realistic means of immortality and the romance behind such a reachy feat is an oversaturated nonsense. Try to imagine, no longer existing and the world carries on without you. What will you see? Blackness? Whiteness? Both answers are impossible as there is no you to recognize such colors or process the information in your deceased brain, so what will there be? You may never really know, to know the unknowable. Our brains are hardwired to come up with logical and reasonable solutions that will eventually comfort and ease our minds with the answer. But, there is no answer that logically explains what happens when Death eventually does come to take you from this world. Does this render life meaningless, as death is slowly approaching all of us at breakneck speed, or does this render death meaningless as life is spent doing all you can to avoid such? Even if you die, you are part of the world as you decompose and become nutrients for the ground to soak up. Death is beneficial to society and the world just as living is. Death is as important as life. If you are alive, it was inevitable that you were once not. If somebody is dead, it was inevitable that you were once not. Almost so that the difference and similarities between the two starts blurring a little bit. I promise you, dear reader, that these two topics of fantasy, reality, life, and death are important to understanding why there is two ‘realities’ in play when regarding Cobalt Fabric and The Perfect Pony. Recognize that I have separated them in the previous statement, I have separated The Mother and The Perfect Pony using one or two lines of text. The Mother is Cobalt Fabric Cobalt Fabric is The Mother Cobalt Fabric is The Perfect Pony The Perfect Pony is Cobalt Fabric What is the difference between Cobalt Fabric and The Perfect Pony? Is it that one is real and the other is a mere fantasy? What about The Mother and The Perfect Pony, Cobalt Fabric surely cannot be both at the same time? Here’s a better question, what is the difference between the reasonable real and the quixotic fantasy to those with a questionable psyche? The creation of realities and those twisted enough to perceive them are always different. Even in the sanest person, they always will see two flowers differently. One may be beautiful and the other is a weltered mess, but the difference between the two lies within the perception. Not one person sees the same world as the person next to you – they are lying if they say otherwise, because not one person thinks exactly the same way as you. Reader => Ingress in ‘Faux’ Reality You have entered the ‘faux’ reality, whether or not this reality is the ‘fake’ reality is irrelevant at this point because the difference between the two are mere words and the definition of perception, along with the reliability of narrators and/or/nor characters’ psyche. The reason these reality is labeled is because the lines of scrimmage don’t exist between these two means of perception. In fact, calling these two things ‘reality’ is incorrect on its own and calling one of them ‘fake’ and the other ‘real’ or ‘rejected’ is all for the means of context. In the world of a madman, there is no context nor is there the lines of scrimmage that is the separation of dreams and realities. As said previously, dreams are realities. Life and death are counter-actives of its own ironic twists. Reader => Retcon the Events So Far and Be The Perfect Pony. You are now the most perfect pony in existence. If you are a male, now you are now a female, the most perfect pony in existence. If you were female, then you stay a female—the most perfect pony in existence. If you refuse to classify yourself as either male or female, which there is nothing wrong with doing, you are now female—the most perfect pony in existence. You are loved by most, everything and everyone notices your existence as a cherished member of society. What is the name of this modest, cherished member of society – The Perfect Pony? The Perfect Pony => Enter Name Cobalt Fabric Your name is Cobalt Fabric and your primary job is to make sheets of fabric from cotton and wool from shaved sheep and goats to sell to your best of business partners, and possible friend, Rarity. You're an absolute expert at this, although you’d have to admit there has been many accidents in the past but you learned from them, those blasted mistakes! Although you are the not best at making sheets of fabric, you are experience in the ancient earth pony arts of mining. Hence the 'Cobalt' in your name. You far from the richest person in Equestria, from your unlucky trips to and from the mines! There are no stolen goods in your possession, you're a decent Samaritan! Loved by some and noticed by all – a great model for all to aspire to be! Flawed, yes, but graceful in everything you do and accomplish. Even the Element of Magic herself has praised you for your accomplishments, you are jealous of her ability to bend the weaves of magic for you are a unicorn just like her... No, that's not correct. You're an alicorn... right? You don't know. But you do know. How can you not know?! You're The Perfect Pony for Goddess sake! But a part of you doubts. No, a part of you does not doubt! You are conflicted. You can never be conflicted because you are The Perfect Pony You are not The Perfect Pony You are The Perfect Pony You cannot be The Perfect Pony You ARE The Perfect Pony How can you be the The Perfect Pony and doubt yourself so much! You, The Perfect Pony, doesn't doubt yourself! The Perfect Pony => Express your Conflictions There is nothing to be conflicted about, because you are The Perfect Pony The Perfect Pony => Be Assured. You are already assured because you are The Perfect Pony The Perfect Pony => Wake Up You are not asleep. The Perfect Pony => Wake Up You were never asleep. The Perfect Pony => Wake Up You can't be asleep. The Perfect Pony => Wake Up You are not asleep! The Perfect Pony => Be The Perfect Pony You don't know what The Perfect Pony is. Author's Note There is no 'realities' without 'fantasy' and there is no 'fantasy' without 'reality'. There is no 'life' without 'death' and there is not 'death' without 'life'. There is no such thing as a 'faux reality' just as there is no 'real reality' and the difference is merely matters of perception. Pluck The Awfully Familiar FlowersCobalt Fabric => Pluck The Awfully Familiar Flowers You are now Cobalt Fabric and you don’t know where or who you are. You are in your house, but you don’t recognize it. Everything in this house is so perfect, nothing like the way you remember it. You look at your hooves and recognize hooves that are not yours. They were unrealistically pink, along with your forelegs and the rest of your body. Even the nose on your snout – as far as you can tell, is pink as well. You retch as you fall onto your haunches, a tearing-like feeling happening inside of your brain causes the pain you felt before the Retcon to come back. Suddenly, your fall onto your sides as nausea erupts inside of you. The agony inside of your head is strong, so strong that you begin leaking rainbow fluid out of your nose. You roll onto your front forelegs but your hind legs won’t let you stand all the way up. Rainbow fluid is stringing out of your nose, it stains the carpet as you cough up more thick, metallic – yet, candy tasting – liquid rainbow colors onto the shag carpet. The carpets are stained red. You remember the Retcon. You shouldn’t remember what didn’t happen. Your head becomes tight; your body feels like a leather skin suit and you can’t breathe, you’re struggling to take a breath with this forbidden knowledge. Your head is so tight, it hurts, it’s cracking your skull from the inside out whatever this pain is. You scream, but you have no mouth to scream with. Your futile attempt to alleviate the severity of the agonizing affliction is just what it is, futile. You scramble to your feet as you grasp at your face, smearing rainbow fluid across your snout, and you grasp for the neon pink furred flesh covering of your mouth. You throw yourself up onto your hooves and slam your head against the closest wall you can find in your house. You flip onto your back and you arch yourself, the tip of your hind hoof-toes and the back of your head is the only part touching the carpet. You scramble back up and charge back into the same wall, head first, but you keep slamming your head onto your wall, hoping that the blunt forces of trauma will eventually knock yourself out to stop the brain splitting pain in your head. You slammed your head over, and over, and over, and over again until you’re leaking rainbow fluid from your forehead. You fall to the ground, wriggling, rolling, and squiggling around to physically try to reduce the overwhelming flood dam. It was like water is being pumped inside of your head and any moment it was going to burst. You wish you were dead right about now. Numbness is the only thing that matters, no matter how you achieve it, it has to come to you now. You shakily pull yourself together and look at the wings on your back, the wings that shouldn’t be on your back. You reach back and pluck a feather, seeing if it was indeed real. The feather turned white and shortened itself out, resembling a dead white rose petal. You reach further into your right wing and tear out clumps of feathers, quickly, fast, as if you were a ravenous dog tearing into a pigeon. All of the feathers turn into white rose petals, they all fall off of your now defeathered wing. This wing does not exist. You grip the wing and it turns to stone. You pull the stone wing off of your body with force, and it snaps right off of your body. You don’t feel pain at all, just numbness over taking the area where the wing used to be. You turn to your left wing and repeat the process. You rush to the bathroom and retch until you make sick in the toilet. You look up into the mirror, the cracked mirror that was broken years before you bought the small little shop and moved into the home. You look in the crack; it went down from the top of the rectangle mirror until it reached the center of the mirror – right where your eyes are. On each side of the mirror are two ponies you don’t recognize, yet, they both are familiar. One of them was a young, beautiful, smiling alicorn, pink fur with a rainbow mane. The other was a sad, disheveled, broken unicorn with a deep violet, unkempt fur with dark blue, matted, graying mane. The pain in your head is too much to bear, like a balloon that’s been overfilled – past the point of acceptability – your head pops like a balloon. Cobalt Fabric => Be The Mares in The Mirror You are now the mares in the mirror, but you cannot be both of them. You must choose to be either or and lost in the skins of your own broken and manifested psyche and inability to let go of the far past or be free and bury the The Perfect Pony or The Mother to let yourself recover! You are neither, you are no longer The Mother and you were never The Perfect Pony! You must wake up and focus the blurred line between your insane and twisted perspective and come to the conclusion before it is too late, until you are so hopeless in your pathetic attempts of regression by hiding in your mind to punish yourself by denying yourself of the truth. This is nobodies bloody fault but your own, and you suffered the dire consequences of your sins. Your time in hell is over, your debts – both to the banks and her – has been long paid and it is time to let go of your remorse, your remorse is killing your mind past the point of recovery. The truth is, there’s nothing you can do to fix this and your wallowing is preventing you from recovering! Cobalt Fabric => Shed The Skins of your Manifested Broken Psyche You look down into the sink to find a plucked rose stem with one petal remaining. You are now wingless, but you are not done. This skin is the last petal. Your hooves dig into the gash in your forehead and tear, pulling the pink skin, only to prove it’s elastic like a rubber suit. You stand up on your hind legs to offer extra support as you arch your back and exert all of your strength in pulling the wound left and right. You stretch the elastic break in the faux skin as wide as your forehead. You go even further, using all of your mustered energy to split apart this snake skin. Your head is free from the clasped grip that is the pink rubbery skin, you continue to split the pink furred body apart – down your chest and down your abdominal region. All the while, the skin’s rainbow colored blood falls down off of you and drops onto the bathroom floor—it doesn’t appear on the bathroom floor at all, as if it doesn’t exist. If it doesn’t exist, why is it on you, why can you taste it, why can you feel it, why can you smell it? You knew this is impossible but it’s happening anyways. Your brain is denying the events that is taking place, yet your brain is still processing the information… however muddied it is. Cobalt Fabric => Shed The Skin. You have shed the fake skin and as soon as it was off of you, you collapse into a state of conscious paralysis. You are cold and you are alone, you’re so alone and so cold. You wish you could shiver but there is no feeling in your body. You would cry, but you are too mentally exhausted to weep any tears. “Mum?” You hear from the bathtub and you force yourself to look to your right to peer at bubbles on the floor and the smell of green apples to waft over you. “Mum! I can’t find Charlotte!” Charlotte, the rubber ducky… You have to get the rubber duck for her, you struggle to pick yourself up but you manage to do so. Cobalt Fabric => Retrieve the Charlotte, The Rubber Ducky You retrieve Charlotte from her room, on her study, and you trot back to the bathroom to give her Charlotte. You notice Charlotte is dusty, but you wash her in the empty sink. You turn back to the bathtub to find it empty, dry, and the smell of green apples gone. “Mum!” A voice is calling you from the living room. “Mum!” Cobalt Fabric => Go into The Living Room. It’s empty. “Mum, is lunch almost ready?” Of course, it’s lunch time! Cobalt Fabric => Make Lunch For Her You made her favorite: peanut butter and white rose sandwich. White roses are great for the brain. You place it on a plate, humming her favorite tune from her favorite T.V Show. You smile exhaustedly, it’s hard work but you do it all for her. You go to the living room again to find it void of her. She’s always playing hide and seek, that silly filly! “Mum! I have something to show you~!” You hear her from her room, you place the plate down on the coffee table, next to the healthy tulip flower and the blackened dead – once white now black and bent over rose. “It’s on my bed!” Cobalt Fabric => Reconnoiter What Your Silly Filly Has To Show You. You go into her room to find it empty again but you find a hand, or hoof, held mirror on her bed. You picked it up and peered into it. It’s you, Cobalt Fabric. But you are so delusional by the past that you are now forever trapped in the endless loop off your memories of being The Mother. The clock strikes twelve PM.
Be the Most Perfect Pony in Existence.Author's Note edit 11/14/16 6:22 PM EST. BEFORE YOU DOWN VOTE and CRITICIZE, WAIT FOR ONE HOUR The story isn't all like this, I absolutely promise. I say, for the record, I purposefully made the beginning bad to reflect on such terrible writing, but I guess being meta ain't gonna cut it with today's critics. Perhaps it's really as bad as I wanted it to be, great, but with this being all there is I'm absolutely caught with my pants down and I look like a moronic twelve year old writer. Crikey, I don't have the luxury of being purposefully vague anymore. I need to post this new chapter that flips everything upside-down. Pronto. Be the Most Perfect Pony in Existence. Reader => Be the Most Perfect Pony in Existence. You are now the most perfect pony in existence. If you are a male, now you are now a female, the most perfect pony in existence. If you were female, then you stay a female—the most perfect pony in existence. If you refuse to classify yourself as either male or female, which there is nothing wrong with doing, you are now female—the most perfect pony in existence. You are loved by all, everything and everyone wants to be you. While that sounds preposterous, you ARE the hidden seventh element! The elusive Element of Love, an element formed only when the six elements are destroyed and then fused together. But that's a story for another day. Your name is Cobalt Fabric and your primary job is to make sheets of fabric from shaved sheep and goats to sell to your best of best friends, and possible lover to, Rarity. You're an absolute expert at this, there hasn't been a workplace accident since you've been born. Perhaps it was the stars and planets aligning at the specific and oddly precise moment of your birth, you still have no idea where you came from—maybe from a different universe. Although you are the best at making sheets of fabric, you are also an absolute expert at mining. Hence the 'Cobalt' in your name. You are the richest person in Equestria, from your impeccable luck and down right absurd amount of strength to carry all of those diamonds away from the Diamond Dogs—err, I mean absolutely you mined those jewels out of the ground. There are no stolen goods in your possession, you're an absolute good Samaritan! Loved by all – the perfect model for all to aspire to be, no flaws and total perfection in everything you do and accomplish. Even the Element of Magic, Twilight Sparkle, sometimes get jealous at your ability to bend the weaves of magic. It must be because you are a alicorn. You are an alicorn but not descendant to royal blood, although this notion is extremely arguable with all of the scientists in the world. You are smarter than all of them, more charismatic than all of them, so you single-highhandedly prevented a culling of non-royal alicorns but that's a story for another day. Your mane is remarkably similar to Rainbow Dash's mane, rainbow color and all, yet your tail has the odd length of Fluttershy's. Your fur color is neon pink with cyan irises, you wear black rimmed glasses although you don't need them to look sexier—although you can't get any more sexier than you already are, you sexable beast. Upon hearing the narrator, you do a shy little bow. Pinkie Pie has taught you the ways of breaking the fourth wall well. You are in your small little shop, it resides next to the Everfree Forest. You are unconcerned with the idea of living next to literal hell in the shape of a forest, everything that ever had the absolute audacity to enter your private property is instantly vaporized with your magical prowess. It is still unstable, and you require tutoring from none other than Celestia herself less The Princess risks the destruction of the world. Inside of your small little shop is you, slaving away at repainting and restoring the Pony Lisa – simultaneously of course. You are ambidextrous, you can do both at the same time with absolutely no problem at all. Your work place is a pig house! A mess! An absolute nuclear bomb of disasters dropped on your small little shop and created the clean-free wasteland that is your workplace! How do you explain such mess to yourself? You are a master a creating messes, but are you a master at fixing these said messes?! I hope so, your parents ought to be ashamed of you! Your nose crinkles in distress, your heart hurts at the thought of your dead parents being disappoint in you. Oh right, your parents are dead. And it's your fault, you and your unstable magic vaporized them. You had to raise yourself. You are now too sad to continue on your Magnum Opus. You manage to tear yourself away from your masterpiece: the repainting and restoration the Pony Lisa, both being done simultaneously, to look at your To-Do List, your list is very detailed and decorated with diamonds that you have acquired from your mining trips and totally not stolen from Diamond Dogs. Maybe some tasks can take your mind off of your incredibly horrifying backstory, the edge will probably fade when you do some good for your friends. You have to do some grocery shopping, you should have plenty of bits and not-stolen-diamonds to accomplish this task easily. Next, you have to deliver the sheets of pure gold fabric to Rarity. You're still unsure how you managed to turn precious metal into literal cloth as if it was sheered from a golden sheep itself, but with your ability of magic you can do anything. No biggie. Thirdly, you have to help tutor Twilight Sparkle in the art of secret forbidden magic! Oh how fun it will be, maybe you and Twilight Sparkle can go on a totally gnarly adventure in different universes – maybe you can find a universe where genders are reversed? The possibilities are literally limitless and you're absolutely excited to embark on this! You just nothing goes wrong. Fourthly, you have to help Pinkie Pie bake some sweets for a party! You're unsure what party it is today, but you shrug it off knowing that you're happy to help a fellow friend! You just hope you're not walking into a really bad situation, one where Pinkie turns YOU into cupcakes! Nah, that's stupid. Pinkie is you're best of bests of friends! She would never harm you. Finally, you have to help Rainbow Dash clear the skies for the aforementioned party! Oh, you can't wait! Wow! Today's gonna be a long day ahead of you! It's a hard work, being you, you have so much do and so little time to do it. Twenty-four hours can't cut it! You can do it, you tell yourself, although it is hard to try to assure yourself. You have such low self-esteem and you're not very sociable, you absolutely refuse to ask for help. Oh who are you kidding? You are the light of the party, the absolute talk and love monster in conversations! You have so much esteem and confidence, you can take down a dragon like you did last week! But that's a story for another day.
Get Started on To-Do ListCobalt Fabric => Get Prepared to Get Started on To-Do List. You decide to do some grocery shopping, as your To-Do list dictates. You're absolutely sure you just need the necessities such as food, the harvest of quality cotton and wool, and maybe a few snacks, but you're sure your wallet can survive a donation to Sweet Apple Acres. Maybe Apple Jack will send you basket of goodies! Maybe you can chat up a couple of friends on your way to the market, a quick stop to Sugar Cube Corner never hurt anyone, especially if it's to cross two bullets on your To-Do list at the same time; nobody ever said that you had to complete your To-Do list in order, you just feel better doing it in order. There's no perfect way to do it, that's why you're perfect at it! You reach over to grab your wallet of bits, it's bigger in the inside to hold your massive wealth, but you end up tripping over your own hooves! You're so clumsy, but it's a quirky sort of clumsy. It reminds you of your mail mare, Ditzy, she's so silly! After picking yourself up, you remember that you're an alicorn and you have no need to use your hooves! How silly of yourself, Cobalt Fabric, you forgot you uncannily excel at magic and levitation of objects! You light up your horn, the aura was sparkles and hearts and the color deep purple. The bag of bits that's bigger on the inside to hide your massive wealth flies through the air and into your hoof as if you were catching a baseball, you also levitate your saddle bag onto your body, your haunches more like. It fits perfectly. Inside of the saddle bag is the delivery of pure gold fabrics to Rarity. Speaking of hindquarters, your cutie mark is a cobalt rock being held in what seems to be a blanket made of blue hearts. It's absolutely beautiful, you couldn't ask for a better cutie mark if you tried! It's amazing the luck you have, it's like you have all the luck in the world! Hell, who are you kidding? You DO have all the luck in the world! You are ready to go outside and do some grocery shopping! Reader => Be Cobalt Fabric, Whom is Currently Outside, and Get Started on To-Do List. You are now Cobalt Fabric, whom is currently outside of her small little shop, also known as her humble abode. You are heading northwards to town so you may reach the market section of town, which happened to be at the north entrance of town which happens to be on the other side of town. You lived on the southern outskirts of town next to The Everfree Forest, as previously told, so you must walk long distances to and from your house. No, thankfully, you haven't forgotten you're an alicorn. You just aren't very good at flying, by your standards, and you don't want to exert all of your stamina carrying all this stuff around! That would be a complete waste of your energy and there's nothing kawaii about a heavily puffing alicorn that's breathing like she forgot her inhaler! You have an image to upkeep, as the perfect model that all ponies must aspire to be and anything less just won't do! It just won't do! Instead of all of that energy wasting, but time saving, flying, you decide to get a little exercise and briefly trot your way down to the market place. You don't need to exercise, fortunately. You are blessed with the ability of having such a high basal metabolic rate, you almost rarely get fat no matter how much you eat! You don't eat all the time, you mostly spend that time working to earn your pay – even with your massive wealth, you still have to occupy your time. You are quite the fast trotter, because you make it to town in little to no time at all. All those years of moving between Rarity's shop and your small little shop has made you quite the fast courier, although it would make sense to trust the movement of goods to your Mail Mare—pure gold fabric is something that most would try to steal. It's not that you don't trust Ditzy, quite the opposite! You don't trust the security of the package; Ditzy is a lover, not a fighter, and that makes her prone to being robbed of your valued package! You have no enemies, thankfully, but it's better to not test Murphy's Law at all. After walking through what seemed to be a paparazzi of ponies trying to be your friend, which they all pretty much are, you finally reach Rarity's house. You mustered up the courage to meet your crush, you go to open the door to find that it is locked. This is an outrage! You can't meet your true love and you can't deliver this package! This is absolute anarchy on your To-Do List, how are you supposed to do your job if the pony who does the rest of your job is out doing whatever said pony does!? You can't just leave the package by her doorstep, what if some random bloke decides to up and take it? You come up with a solution just as the problem arrived. Poof, the package along with the saddle bag was gone. It is now inside of her house, invasion of privacy aside, you have completed a bullet of your To-Do List! You have gotten started on your To-Do list, well done you! Author's Note 11/13/2016 This is the first story I have done on this site, please may I have a little leniency? Haha, nah, go ahead and red-bomb it if you want. It's your choice. That 'kawaii' bit was a joke on how all OC creators that I've seen always have to use 'Japanese' words to make them more validated as cute and 'sugoi desu' and 'lol so random rawr xD'. I actually have a few friends who do it and it's just annoying, so yeah. I am preparing for sports related events and preparing to travel to be with family during Thanksgiving Break, meaning that the remaining chapters hang in limbo for a couple of days or two. Hopefully I can return soon to start working in a timely manner. I will eventually conclude the remainder of the story, trust me - the climax of the story will be quite the kicker. If the events confuse you or you don't enjoy the story so far because of it's idea and/or execution, just give me time to fully narrate the finishing story. If not, then lay it in to me; I'm stronk enough to handle it.
Stop To Smell The All Familiar FlowersAuthor's Note i apologize if this seems rushed, it probably was, but i needed this chapter to happen now. I'll worry about fixing the problems later. Stop To Smell The All Familiar Flowers Cobalt Fabric => Stop to Smell the All Familiar Flowers. You managed to have time to look over and appear at the Flower Mare’s flowers. Daisy and Roseluck were out tending their flowers, meaning they had to close their stalls momentarily, but they seem to have forgotten two flowers on each of their vendors. One a withered, deceased, and decaying white rose on one stall counter; a pitiful, lonely, and weltering tulip on the other stall counter. Reader => Be Cobalt Fabric and Have a (not so) Close Call on Your Life. You are now Cobalt Fabric, whom is currently having a not so close call on her life after the completion of getting started on your To-Do list. You are unsure what have hit you, but you are definitely feeling the pain from your hidden assailant. The world is a darker blur of itself, yet you see flashes of light that you would call ‘seeing stars’. You know for a certain you are in the market, laying in the middle of the street from the surrounding ponies that are your best friends. As you sit yourself up, you are suddenly very angry. Who dares have the bloody audacity to attack you, the most perfect pony in existence!? You don’t like this situation that has reared its ugly head to its literal god; therefore, you must take action, like the powerful being you are, and vaporize this threat to your health. You regain your bearings; the world starts to correct itself as the vertigo starts to fade, the spiraling headache you did not even notice because of your godly powers of pain tolerance leaves your head along with the pools of rainbow fluid from your nostrils. You are fine, you wipe away the rainbow fluid and stand back up on your hooves assessing the situation. What have hit you was a runaway cart carrying what you guessed were… cabbages? Who in the world could let such a wooden cart of vegetables run you over, don’t they know that you are literally a god among ponies as an alicorn?! In a moment’s notice, you can decimate all of those worthless vermin you call ponies into nothing but paste because they allowed you to get hit with something such as a cabbage cart! You are livid, but as the model for all ponies should—must aspire to be, you decide to let it slide and continue on your way. You’re not even limping, that’s to show how awesomely spectacular you are at this pain management thing—! You have spoken way too soon on the matter, because a sharp pain has risen up your hind right leg as you put a miniscule amount of pressure on it. Limping away from the scene and all of your best friends who worriedly came to check up on you, you duck into an alley way to reassess the situation at hand. Or hoof, rather. You are okay, you are fine, you are absolutely perfect in every sense in form but oh buck does your leg hurt. So does your wings, speaking of pain. You look at your wings to find them mangled and twisted, this has happened before and it can be fixed in a moment’s notice. You wince as you try to straighten them out, a searing not only existing in your body but also your head. The pain in your head is throbbing rightly horrible, and to the right. Exactly where the source of the sound is coming from a crying filly out in the streets! Reader => Be Cobalt Fabric, somehow in Canterlot and Reconnoiter You are now Cobalt Fabric, somehow in Canterlot, and you recognize the change in scenery as the most infamous alleyway of Canterlot’s seedy underbelly. Where the rich never even thinks twice of disregarding the poor populace as little more than vermin. You are in the ‘L’ shaped alleyway on Fahkeet St. and Wall Rd, you look on the brick walls to find a multitude of rather beautifully made graffiti that was created by hooligan gangs of unfortunate and lost youth – poor souls, you sympathize with synthetic emotion. You didn’t know whether or not to care about the wasted potential and the refusal of the acknowledgement of the slums. You are unsure how you recognize this very specific location. The last time you have checked, or at least remember, you have never visited Canterlot a day in your life. Canterlot is rarely spoken about in Ponyville, and especially not about the slums of the town. You grit your beautiful teeth in agony. The burning sensation in your head didn’t subside and, in fact, probably have gotten worse. It felt like pure ‘melt your brain’ lava was coursing through your blood vessels. Your brain hurts overall, as if the fluid suspending your brain was made of sulfuric acid. Not to mention the pounding of your temples, especially the right temple. You hear the filly’s cry of abandonment and you quickly disregard your own wellbeing to hurry out to the streets of Canterlot to reconnoiter. In the middle of the cobblestone street, a mossy and cracked street, there is a bluish-gray foal with navy blue mane and tail. Her iris is as green emeralds and her eyeballs were as white as opals. The filly’s eyes were bloodshot, dark bags under her eyes were also present. The filly is sitting in the middle of the road of Canterlot, blank-flanked and grayed-out monochrome passerby ponies ranging in different fashion and races. They were ignoring the filly. Why? Why were they avoiding her, the Pegasus filly, like she carried the plague? Ponies walked around her, not daring to inch past three meters towards her. None of them looked at her, none of them seemed to care about the ribs poking out of the filly’s ribs. Why weren’t they caring? Was it something the filly did? How? How were they ignoring the shrill cries of the Pegasus filly, as she wept for all eyes to see? Malnourished and alone, they can’t just leave the baby filly alone like this! You don’t understand how anyone could just abandon this precious foal and you have no idea how these… flank holes can allow this foal to continue! You would not allow this foal’s suffering to continue any longer! Cobalt Fabric => Become Conscious. You awake from the alleyway, the pain in your body gone. You were blinking the blurriness out of your eyes before sitting on your haunches, you were trying to make sense of what had just happened. You’re sure you didn’t follow the events of that, you aren’t sure if it was a memory or a hallucination. It is nightfall already, you have already missed out on today’s events and the ability to complete your To-Do list. Although you are crestfallen to have come this far and to be let down, your heart hurts even worse than your body ever did. You reach around in your inventory to be relieved that you have not been robbed of your bag of bits, that’s bigger on the inside to hide your massive wealth. Or of anything, to be that matter. Usually, scoundrels would’ve robbed you but you guess that your magical and unbreakable shield have protected you from unfavorable! Not that anyone would ever try to harm you, of course not! Who would ever harm everyone’s best friend, Cobalt Fabric? I mean, look at yourself you non-royal alicorn sexy thing, you can bounce back from this! I take it a step further, you WILL bounce back from this! You’re Cobalt mother bucking Fabric and you can do anything you set your mind to! You pick yourself off of the cold ground, this time with no hallucinations to throw you off of your groove, and you briskly trot yourself back to your small little shop on the edge of the Everfree Forest. You open the door to your absolute pig house of a clean-free nuclear apocalypse that is your workplace! How do you explain this mess, young lady?! You lit up your horn and straightened up the mess up rightly, trash that was trash flew into the rubbish bins. The clumps of raw sheep and goat wool became rolled back on its organized rolls and shoved onto a shelf. The entire small little shop was finally clean, it was spotless. Well done you! You feel like you deserve some rest, and you do after the events of today! You part your jaws and yawned a big, chest expanding yawn until you rubbed your eyes. You walk past your boiler, then your counter, which your register sits on, and then past your spindle that you use to turn boiled wool and cotton into cloths. A doorway with red curtains, embodied with gold designs at the tips, sits next to the beautifully crafted wood. You built everything with your blood, sweat, and perfect abilities. You keep strolling until you reach the back of your small little shop, past the curtains that allowed you privacy in your own home. You reach a small room that acted as a storage house for your wool and cotton (for them to cool off after being boiled) and walk out of the room through a stairwell upstairs. After ascending to the second floor, you are now in a small flat that reminds you of your old apartment in Birmingmare. You are in a living room with shag carpeting, a coffee table sits in front of an old, well used sofa. On the table were two flowers. One a withered, deceased, and decaying white rose; a pitiful, lonely, and weltering tulip Reader => Be Cobalt Fabric, somehow in Canterlot, and Reconcile with the memory of The Two Roses. “But Mum!” .̸.̷.̸.̶.̸ whined. The foal fluttered her tiny wings steadily as she tugs on your tail feebly, you look down at your daughter with an annoyed look once more. “I want it as bad as I want to breathe! It’s so pretty!” “I'm not getting you flowers that you can’t take care of,” You denied flatly. “Besides, what about those on the coffee table back at the shop? You told me you wouldn’t be able to live without them.” “I’m alive, right mum?!” .̸.̷.̸.̶.̸ gave you the biggest puppy dog look her face could muster. To add along with it, she started to flutter her small little wings. You pursed your lips tightly, you could never say no to your sweet little filly. “Pleeeease?” Cobalt Fabric => Realize You Were a Mother You refuse to accept this realization and suppress it into the back of your mind.
Reach the For All Too Familiar FlowersCobalt Fabric => Reach for the All Too Familiar Flowers. You are taken aback, however, by the existence of these flowers. How did they get here? Where did they come from? Has somebody so vile and so malicious to prank you breaking and entering your shop—your home by putting two dead flowers on your coffee table as you were unconscious in the alleyway? How dare they! You reach for the flowers only to find them non-existent and you stumble over your coffee table and land on your old, worn out sofa. The old, worn out sofa has the scent of you – but not exactly you – and dried tears… and crayons? You can recognize your own scent but it didn’t exactly smell like you, it smelled… different, like sniffing crayons when you are baking cookies—that complicated of a smell. The dried tears bit rattled you a little bit, nothing can rattle you but this scent stunned you. You have not been crying, at all. You don’t know why some prankster would come into your home, plant dead flowers, and then cry on your sofa. You pick yourself up off the old, worn out sofa and catch a glimpse of a small figure running out of the corner of your eye. You whip around in the direction, horn glowing brightly, and ready to instantly vaporize this intruder— You catch nothing but dust clump in the shape of a bunny being blown away from the vent. You cautiously stroll over to the thermostat and turn it off, your nerves were keeping you on edge. Your home, your humble abode, felt like a ghost town. It gave you the heebie-jeebies just standing in one place for too long, and you keep walking as if you were pacing back and forth. In fact, you were pacing. Back and forth. Nervously. The clock strikes twelve o’clock PM. Reader => Egress ‘Faux’ Reality. You are no longer The Perfect Pony and are your own entity in a void that The Author has created to suspend your synthetic involvement. Suspension of Disbelief is broken along with your artificial immersion. Reader => Ingress ‘Rejected’ Reality. You have ented the ‘rejected’ reality, whether or not this reality is the ‘real’ reality is irrelevant at this point because the difference between the two are mere words and the definition of perception, along with the reliability of narrators and characters’ psyche. Now Reader => Be The Daughter You are now The Daughter. If you are a male, now you are now a female, The Daughter in this faux existence. If you were female, then you stay a female—The Daughter in this faux existence. If you refuse to classify yourself as either male or female, which there is nothing wrong with doing, you are now female—The Daughter in this faux existence. Today is your birthday, and you are very excited to spend the day with your wonderful, smart, and beautiful mother in this very new town! You look up and glance at your surroundings for the sake of context, which is a flawless argument to look around your room like you were tripping on bath salts. The room is very well lit and bright; the window is open to welcome the radiant rays of the early morning sun to reflect off of your neon pink painted walls. Your carpet is shag, colored a bright shade of baby blue cyan. On your ceiling, there are glow-in-the-dark stars stickered up there. They run off of magic, your mother’s magic. Unfortunately for you and your artistic eyes, the rest of the house doesn’t look like this no matter the amount of times you protest this crime against fashion! As Mum is unconcerned with a little style to the shop, you are very religious to the lifestyle of expression! That’s okay, you tell yourself, more creativity to yourself! Your mother is very tired, you noticed from her rather droopy and irritated facial expression (and the fact she hasn’t wished you a happy birthday). You infer that she is exhausted from moving from Canterlot to your new home in Ponyville. The sound of her slaving away downstairs with the spindle concerns you about her physical health, she told you that everyone needs to sleep, but every time you bring it up she will dismiss your very concerned daughterly advice. She is such a hard worker, even if it might eventually kill her! You are currently in your room, coloring the pictures of your perfect creation, your Pony Lisa (You have no idea what a ‘Pony Lisa’ is, but that’s what your Mum called your last drawing of Princess Celestia!), your hardest drawing yet! You have drawn what you believe is to be the perfect pony, using none other than the Princess herself as a reference! You beam at your drawing, the excitement of showing Mum this is almost breathtakingly exhilarating! Mum is always so proud of your raw artistic talent, and she have pinned every one of your creations on the fridge door! You were sad that your drawings had to be put away when Mum packed up the apartment in Birmingmare, but Mum told you a clean slate is always great to have! Mum is so smart; you think to yourself as you pick up the pink crayon. Although you know you have a lot to improve on, when it comes to your artistic lifestyle, you can’t wait to please Mum with your newest drawing, hot off the oven that is your doodling pad! Finishing it is the hard part, you don’t know what Celestia actually looks like so you had to do some imprecision to get exactly what you want. Ah, at last, your magnum opus is complete and ready to show Mum so she may put it on the fridge for you and the air to see! Perhaps she might put your drawing in the shop, so other people may view your masterpiece and be amazed by the amount of effort you have inserted into this love baby your brain, this doodle pad, and crayons have made! Wait! You notice a crucial flaw to your artwork! You forgot to name the piece! You shouldn’t use your real name, your privacy is to be respected, but you want to be known so you use the next best thing: An alias! The Daughter => Enter Penname Strange Tamer 69 This is not your penname. You are amused by the amount of immature creative humor that went into this surprisingly (now) insulting name, which is no creativity and all immature humor; you instead focus on actually giving your correct and valid penname that is not an immature explicit denotation of the word ‘strange’ and not in any way insulting to yourself. Vivid Palette Your penname is Vivid Palette and you are nine years old, turning ten years old today! You have been living with Mum in such small cramped apartment buildings all your life and now that you’re beautifully hardworking mother have saved up to buy this house. You know that this is also a fabric making shop, because your mother seems to only be doing that instead of watching you create your epic characters! You hold your art piece in between your lips, careful not to slobber over the page, and you turn the shiny brass doorknob to your door and push open the door. You race out of your room and past the living room, your little wings fluttering all while doing so, until you reach the stairs where you halt your racing to calmly walk down the stairs. You trot briskly past the storage room, which is empty, to duck underneath the velvety red curtains. You are now behind the spindle, where your mother currently isn’t. You are too short to see over the counter so you circle it to reach the main part of the small little shop. There’s your mother, carrying boiled wool and cotton by the boxes in suspension with her magic. You are fascinated with this wizardry that Mum possessed, as you are merely a Pegasus, but your mother will be amazed even more when you show her your latest creation! Your wings flutter like a dog’s tail as you near close to her, you are literally frothing excitement through your expressions. As soon as you think you’re within Mum’s vision, you sit on your haunches and present the picture. You are absolutely, positively, one hundred and twenty percent sure that will be amazed at your hard work and drop literally everything she is doing to be amazed with your artwork and you! You hold your artwork between your hooves, gripping each side of the picture, and grinned expectantly; you were patiently waiting for her response She trudges right past you. Nnnnhhh, you are a little annoyed at Mum for ignoring you right now as you present your best work yet! Maybe she didn’t notice this sheer awesomeness that resides in your picture, but then there’s no way she couldn’t have! Maybe she just didn’t see you, you ARE a rather short filly. You are not going to let this prevent you from being showered in praises again! You are filled with determination as you bite down on your (masterfully crafted) work and quickly dart in front of Mum, where she cannot avoid (or be ignorant of) such divine art any longer! Mum looks down at you with an exasperated look, it almost drops you off of your confident metaphorical pedestal. Almost. “Look, Mum, look!” You beam at your mother but Mum does not look amused, or even looking at your drawing at all. “Cool,” Mum says as she dismisses you by enveloping you with her ticklish magical aura and scooting you to the side, she then shambles past you. She slowly heaves the boxes down next to the spindle as she takes a seat next to it. “Go play, upstairs preferably. Mommy is very busy.” She didn’t even look at it and you are very unsatisfied with the results of You grit your teeth in annoyance, you will not be cheated out of your hard work this easily! More importantly, you will please mother and raise her spirits with this masterpiece, even if it kills you! Insistently, you flutter your wings as you take a seat next to her chair. This action of insistence causes her right ear to twitch and flicker a bit. “.̸.̷.̸.̶.̸,” warned Mum, “Go upstairs, now, I am very busy…” “But I made you a drawing!” You insisted, accidentally cutting off Mum – which only further ignited a flame that your Mum’s purplish-magenta eyes held in indignation and probable fury. You try to explain the importance of this picture of this picture and its priority over your mother’s slave labor. “You see, it’s my masterpiece! My hardest work yet! My Pony Lisa, it’s—” You were interrupted by your incensed mother. “You have to be kidding me!” Mum stood up from her spindle chair, towering over you in a threatening way. “Do you have any idea of how much money we owe to those rich flank-hole posers in Canterlot to afford a shop like this!? Do you have any thought outside of your little bubble!?” You back away, bumping over a pile of spun red wool. Your eyes widening like saucers, you have never seen this side of Mum and you don’t like it one bit. You feel your ears flip down and press flatly to your skull. “I am up to HERE in this mess, and every single time I finally have enough – THEY RAISE THE INTEREST RATES!” Your mother lights up her horn and aggressively takes your paper away from your hooves before you have a chance to defend your precious. “I can’t afford a lawyer, so I have to work this out by myself! “No—Mum…” “NO!? – you want to waste the precious time I have, the time I can be using to do my job and dig us out of this hole, with pictures of flowers and suns – like this bloody thing?!” Your drawing, along with your emotions, is now crumbled within the magical grips of your mother’s blue-grey aura. Mum then throws it in your chest. You stumble onto your haunches as you didn’t catch it, the paper’s been thrown with a bit of force behind it. “I can’t afford supper for me tonight, because of your constant begging for attention! Since you want to waste my time trying to pay for your dessert – there won’t be any dessert for you for a month. Go upstairs!” But that’s not fair! You weren’t trying to take food or bits out of her mouth! You just wanted to show her a drawing! You try to argue the severity of the punishment but that notion is struck down with physical contact of the back of Mum’s left hoof to your cheek. It wasn’t hard, not enough force to harm or leave a mark, but it was enough to sting to sufficiently tell you to shut your mouth. As soon as your mother realized what she had done, you are already trotting into the back. Reader => Be The Mother. You are now The Mother. You are writing a letter to Ponyville’s representative to see about having help reducing some of your debts to the banks. You need to write your name on the letter. The Mother => Enter Name Cobalt Fabric Your name is Cobalt Fabric and you are a hard working pony trying to provide for you and your daughter. Being a single mother is very hard work and you must work even harder to keep yourself and your daughter’s finances afloat. Before you can float, you must first stop sinking to the bottom of your debts to the bank and those rich pompous jerks who prey on small business owners such as yourself. All in all, you are stressed to kingdom come and back. You don’t think you’ve slept or ate anything in two – or more – days. This has deteriorated your mental health and has made you more receptacle to acting out of character. This neglect has benefited your financial situation a little bit, one of your many invest… no… loan sharks has been paid, interest and all, but the rest of the loaners keep hiking up their interest rates each week you work to pay such interest! You owe more in interest rates than you do the original amount borrowed! The debt keeps rising the more you spend time working to pay off the bloody debt! You have lashed out your daughter for wasting your precious time to show you her childish drawing of chicken scratch in the shape of an alicorn with an impossible, eye bleeding color scheme. In the heat of the moment, you crushed her drawing in your magical vice grip and sent her on her way, she was punished for wasting your time and back-talking. You did not mean to strike her, it just happened like reflex. Besides, what could be so bloody great in this piece in regards to all of the suns and flowers she drew for you? What made this so important that she prioritized it above, all else, you working to keep the roof over her ungrateful head and food in that stomach? You pick up the piece and unscramble it, the creases made it almost impossible to look at comfortably. You turn it around to see writing, her writing. A letter directed at you. It was also dated with a familiar date. That date is today. Eight, now nine, years ago, today, you found a starving filly weeping in the streets of Canterlot. It’s her birthday. Reader => Be The Daughter. You are now The Daughter, who is sulking her way upstairs without your magnum opus and your metaphorical heart. that was your masterpiece in your grasp and now it's rubbish on the floor of the shop for literally none to see. You ascend the stairs, dragging your hooves all the way upstairs. You feel scorned, disgraced, but more importantly: you feel disappointed in yourself for taking up Mum’s time. You are guilty because you’re at fault for Mum being stressed out. Your face, especially the upper part of your right cheek, is strained as they hold back the waterworks. Your chest is heavy, your heart is crushed, and your confidence is pretty much gone. You think nasty, negative thoughts about the picture and all the other pictures you have drawn. You are selfish for wanting to take up mother’s time like that, all for the sake of validation and praise! Selfish, selfish, selfish! How dare you become so spoiled, intoxicated in such pride, have you lost all the cents in your pocket or do you need them knocked into you?! You reach the living room and leap onto the sofa, pressing your face into the old, worn out sofa. You wet the sofa with your face, you didn’t even feel the on-barrage of salty and burning tears that stains your face and matted up the fur on your face. Continuously face-hogging and soaking the seat with your bodily salt eye water for ten whole minutes, you run out of tears to constantly leak out of your face holes. You get off the couch to walk to your room, you feel numb and voided in the head, yet so many thoughts gurgle itself in your head. The Daughter => Ingress into Your Room and Vent Through Art. You enter your room and you sit on the floor, you pick up your sketchbook and decide the best place to express yourself is to draw properly on the study in the corner of your bed until your hoof falls right off the joint. The Daughter => Evince your Inner Struggle and Misunderstanding by Mum by Using Music. You are not the sufficient age to feel like Mum doesn’t understand that this is the real you, nor are you the correct age to blast Panic!cal Romance as loud as your nonexistent speakers will allow you too. That, and you don’t even know what Panic!cal Romance is. You sit at your study and place your sketchbook on the study, you disregard the crayons for pencils. You don’t feel colorful right about now, nor do you feel like you can express yourself sufficiently using mere stupid colors. Mum don’t deserve color. The clock strikes twelve o’clock PM. Reader => Egress Rejected Reality and Forget Any of it Happened. You are no longer The Daughter and now you exist within the blurred line of irrelevant perspectives. What is and isn’t real life is undisguisable between these two realities and pondering the meaning of either is pointless and will lead to more headaches than answers. What is a fantasy when reality is either nonexistent or tantamount to fantasy, is the fantasy rendered meaningless? Fantasy is not all too different from reality. No matter how convivial, quixotic, and alluring it is. Something that is considered to be nonsensical and unworkable is identic to the pragmatic and reasonable. Let that soak in, dear Reader, that your understanding of ‘real’ may or may not be ‘fake’ and you’ll never know the difference between the two. You can think of the fragile idea of what reality really is sort of like a deity, a god if you will. You can believe that a monotheistic deity or that polytheistic deities exist, the religion is truly irrelevant. Either you believe in it or you don’t or you just don’t know, either way, you cannot find out and the truth is there will never be any way to know. Dreams are realities and there is no way to disprove this infallible thought because none of us can know what I am currently seeing is the same thing as the person next to me is seeing just as I can’t know what you are currently seeing is perceived as the same thing the person next to you sees. Perspectives are irrelevant because even the most intelligent species has a large margin of error, because we only determine what is real and what is fake by what we see on a consistent basis. Here’s another shocker: you are going to die. No, I do not mean that you are going to perish in the story – that’s impossible as you are not a character – but you will die just as I will and the rest of all that lives. Every motion eventually slows, everything that is hot will eventually become cold, and everything that lives will inevitably die. There is no realistic means of immortality and the romance behind such a reachy feat is an oversaturated nonsense. Try to imagine, no longer existing and the world carries on without you. What will you see? Blackness? Whiteness? Both answers are impossible as there is no you to recognize such colors or process the information in your deceased brain, so what will there be? You may never really know, to know the unknowable. Our brains are hardwired to come up with logical and reasonable solutions that will eventually comfort and ease our minds with the answer. But, there is no answer that logically explains what happens when Death eventually does come to take you from this world. Does this render life meaningless, as death is slowly approaching all of us at breakneck speed, or does this render death meaningless as life is spent doing all you can to avoid such? Even if you die, you are part of the world as you decompose and become nutrients for the ground to soak up. Death is beneficial to society and the world just as living is. Death is as important as life. If you are alive, it was inevitable that you were once not. If somebody is dead, it was inevitable that you were once not. Almost so that the difference and similarities between the two starts blurring a little bit. I promise you, dear reader, that these two topics of fantasy, reality, life, and death are important to understanding why there is two ‘realities’ in play when regarding Cobalt Fabric and The Perfect Pony. Recognize that I have separated them in the previous statement, I have separated The Mother and The Perfect Pony using one or two lines of text. The Mother is Cobalt Fabric Cobalt Fabric is The Mother Cobalt Fabric is The Perfect Pony The Perfect Pony is Cobalt Fabric What is the difference between Cobalt Fabric and The Perfect Pony? Is it that one is real and the other is a mere fantasy? What about The Mother and The Perfect Pony, Cobalt Fabric surely cannot be both at the same time? Here’s a better question, what is the difference between the reasonable real and the quixotic fantasy to those with a questionable psyche? The creation of realities and those twisted enough to perceive them are always different. Even in the sanest person, they always will see two flowers differently. One may be beautiful and the other is a weltered mess, but the difference between the two lies within the perception. Not one person sees the same world as the person next to you – they are lying if they say otherwise, because not one person thinks exactly the same way as you. Reader => Ingress in ‘Faux’ Reality You have entered the ‘faux’ reality, whether or not this reality is the ‘fake’ reality is irrelevant at this point because the difference between the two are mere words and the definition of perception, along with the reliability of narrators and/or/nor characters’ psyche. The reason these reality is labeled is because the lines of scrimmage don’t exist between these two means of perception. In fact, calling these two things ‘reality’ is incorrect on its own and calling one of them ‘fake’ and the other ‘real’ or ‘rejected’ is all for the means of context. In the world of a madman, there is no context nor is there the lines of scrimmage that is the separation of dreams and realities. As said previously, dreams are realities. Life and death are counter-actives of its own ironic twists. Reader => Retcon the Events So Far and Be The Perfect Pony. You are now the most perfect pony in existence. If you are a male, now you are now a female, the most perfect pony in existence. If you were female, then you stay a female—the most perfect pony in existence. If you refuse to classify yourself as either male or female, which there is nothing wrong with doing, you are now female—the most perfect pony in existence. You are loved by most, everything and everyone notices your existence as a cherished member of society. What is the name of this modest, cherished member of society – The Perfect Pony? The Perfect Pony => Enter Name Cobalt Fabric Your name is Cobalt Fabric and your primary job is to make sheets of fabric from cotton and wool from shaved sheep and goats to sell to your best of business partners, and possible friend, Rarity. You're an absolute expert at this, although you’d have to admit there has been many accidents in the past but you learned from them, those blasted mistakes! Although you are the not best at making sheets of fabric, you are experience in the ancient earth pony arts of mining. Hence the 'Cobalt' in your name. You far from the richest person in Equestria, from your unlucky trips to and from the mines! There are no stolen goods in your possession, you're a decent Samaritan! Loved by some and noticed by all – a great model for all to aspire to be! Flawed, yes, but graceful in everything you do and accomplish. Even the Element of Magic herself has praised you for your accomplishments, you are jealous of her ability to bend the weaves of magic for you are a unicorn just like her... No, that's not correct. You're an alicorn... right? You don't know. But you do know. How can you not know?! You're The Perfect Pony for Goddess sake! But a part of you doubts. No, a part of you does not doubt! You are conflicted. You can never be conflicted because you are The Perfect Pony You are not The Perfect Pony You are The Perfect Pony You cannot be The Perfect Pony You ARE The Perfect Pony How can you be the The Perfect Pony and doubt yourself so much! You, The Perfect Pony, doesn't doubt yourself! The Perfect Pony => Express your Conflictions There is nothing to be conflicted about, because you are The Perfect Pony The Perfect Pony => Be Assured. You are already assured because you are The Perfect Pony The Perfect Pony => Wake Up You are not asleep. The Perfect Pony => Wake Up You were never asleep. The Perfect Pony => Wake Up You can't be asleep. The Perfect Pony => Wake Up You are not asleep! The Perfect Pony => Be The Perfect Pony You don't know what The Perfect Pony is. Author's Note There is no 'realities' without 'fantasy' and there is no 'fantasy' without 'reality'. There is no 'life' without 'death' and there is not 'death' without 'life'. There is no such thing as a 'faux reality' just as there is no 'real reality' and the difference is merely matters of perception.
Pluck The Awfully Familiar FlowersCobalt Fabric => Pluck The Awfully Familiar Flowers You are now Cobalt Fabric and you don’t know where or who you are. You are in your house, but you don’t recognize it. Everything in this house is so perfect, nothing like the way you remember it. You look at your hooves and recognize hooves that are not yours. They were unrealistically pink, along with your forelegs and the rest of your body. Even the nose on your snout – as far as you can tell, is pink as well. You retch as you fall onto your haunches, a tearing-like feeling happening inside of your brain causes the pain you felt before the Retcon to come back. Suddenly, your fall onto your sides as nausea erupts inside of you. The agony inside of your head is strong, so strong that you begin leaking rainbow fluid out of your nose. You roll onto your front forelegs but your hind legs won’t let you stand all the way up. Rainbow fluid is stringing out of your nose, it stains the carpet as you cough up more thick, metallic – yet, candy tasting – liquid rainbow colors onto the shag carpet. The carpets are stained red. You remember the Retcon. You shouldn’t remember what didn’t happen. Your head becomes tight; your body feels like a leather skin suit and you can’t breathe, you’re struggling to take a breath with this forbidden knowledge. Your head is so tight, it hurts, it’s cracking your skull from the inside out whatever this pain is. You scream, but you have no mouth to scream with. Your futile attempt to alleviate the severity of the agonizing affliction is just what it is, futile. You scramble to your feet as you grasp at your face, smearing rainbow fluid across your snout, and you grasp for the neon pink furred flesh covering of your mouth. You throw yourself up onto your hooves and slam your head against the closest wall you can find in your house. You flip onto your back and you arch yourself, the tip of your hind hoof-toes and the back of your head is the only part touching the carpet. You scramble back up and charge back into the same wall, head first, but you keep slamming your head onto your wall, hoping that the blunt forces of trauma will eventually knock yourself out to stop the brain splitting pain in your head. You slammed your head over, and over, and over, and over again until you’re leaking rainbow fluid from your forehead. You fall to the ground, wriggling, rolling, and squiggling around to physically try to reduce the overwhelming flood dam. It was like water is being pumped inside of your head and any moment it was going to burst. You wish you were dead right about now. Numbness is the only thing that matters, no matter how you achieve it, it has to come to you now. You shakily pull yourself together and look at the wings on your back, the wings that shouldn’t be on your back. You reach back and pluck a feather, seeing if it was indeed real. The feather turned white and shortened itself out, resembling a dead white rose petal. You reach further into your right wing and tear out clumps of feathers, quickly, fast, as if you were a ravenous dog tearing into a pigeon. All of the feathers turn into white rose petals, they all fall off of your now defeathered wing. This wing does not exist. You grip the wing and it turns to stone. You pull the stone wing off of your body with force, and it snaps right off of your body. You don’t feel pain at all, just numbness over taking the area where the wing used to be. You turn to your left wing and repeat the process. You rush to the bathroom and retch until you make sick in the toilet. You look up into the mirror, the cracked mirror that was broken years before you bought the small little shop and moved into the home. You look in the crack; it went down from the top of the rectangle mirror until it reached the center of the mirror – right where your eyes are. On each side of the mirror are two ponies you don’t recognize, yet, they both are familiar. One of them was a young, beautiful, smiling alicorn, pink fur with a rainbow mane. The other was a sad, disheveled, broken unicorn with a deep violet, unkempt fur with dark blue, matted, graying mane. The pain in your head is too much to bear, like a balloon that’s been overfilled – past the point of acceptability – your head pops like a balloon. Cobalt Fabric => Be The Mares in The Mirror You are now the mares in the mirror, but you cannot be both of them. You must choose to be either or and lost in the skins of your own broken and manifested psyche and inability to let go of the far past or be free and bury the The Perfect Pony or The Mother to let yourself recover! You are neither, you are no longer The Mother and you were never The Perfect Pony! You must wake up and focus the blurred line between your insane and twisted perspective and come to the conclusion before it is too late, until you are so hopeless in your pathetic attempts of regression by hiding in your mind to punish yourself by denying yourself of the truth. This is nobodies bloody fault but your own, and you suffered the dire consequences of your sins. Your time in hell is over, your debts – both to the banks and her – has been long paid and it is time to let go of your remorse, your remorse is killing your mind past the point of recovery. The truth is, there’s nothing you can do to fix this and your wallowing is preventing you from recovering! Cobalt Fabric => Shed The Skins of your Manifested Broken Psyche You look down into the sink to find a plucked rose stem with one petal remaining. You are now wingless, but you are not done. This skin is the last petal. Your hooves dig into the gash in your forehead and tear, pulling the pink skin, only to prove it’s elastic like a rubber suit. You stand up on your hind legs to offer extra support as you arch your back and exert all of your strength in pulling the wound left and right. You stretch the elastic break in the faux skin as wide as your forehead. You go even further, using all of your mustered energy to split apart this snake skin. Your head is free from the clasped grip that is the pink rubbery skin, you continue to split the pink furred body apart – down your chest and down your abdominal region. All the while, the skin’s rainbow colored blood falls down off of you and drops onto the bathroom floor—it doesn’t appear on the bathroom floor at all, as if it doesn’t exist. If it doesn’t exist, why is it on you, why can you taste it, why can you feel it, why can you smell it? You knew this is impossible but it’s happening anyways. Your brain is denying the events that is taking place, yet your brain is still processing the information… however muddied it is. Cobalt Fabric => Shed The Skin. You have shed the fake skin and as soon as it was off of you, you collapse into a state of conscious paralysis. You are cold and you are alone, you’re so alone and so cold. You wish you could shiver but there is no feeling in your body. You would cry, but you are too mentally exhausted to weep any tears. “Mum?” You hear from the bathtub and you force yourself to look to your right to peer at bubbles on the floor and the smell of green apples to waft over you. “Mum! I can’t find Charlotte!” Charlotte, the rubber ducky… You have to get the rubber duck for her, you struggle to pick yourself up but you manage to do so. Cobalt Fabric => Retrieve the Charlotte, The Rubber Ducky You retrieve Charlotte from her room, on her study, and you trot back to the bathroom to give her Charlotte. You notice Charlotte is dusty, but you wash her in the empty sink. You turn back to the bathtub to find it empty, dry, and the smell of green apples gone. “Mum!” A voice is calling you from the living room. “Mum!” Cobalt Fabric => Go into The Living Room. It’s empty. “Mum, is lunch almost ready?” Of course, it’s lunch time! Cobalt Fabric => Make Lunch For Her You made her favorite: peanut butter and white rose sandwich. White roses are great for the brain. You place it on a plate, humming her favorite tune from her favorite T.V Show. You smile exhaustedly, it’s hard work but you do it all for her. You go to the living room again to find it void of her. She’s always playing hide and seek, that silly filly! “Mum! I have something to show you~!” You hear her from her room, you place the plate down on the coffee table, next to the healthy tulip flower and the blackened dead – once white now black and bent over rose. “It’s on my bed!” Cobalt Fabric => Reconnoiter What Your Silly Filly Has To Show You. You go into her room to find it empty again but you find a hand, or hoof, held mirror on her bed. You picked it up and peered into it. It’s you, Cobalt Fabric. But you are so delusional by the past that you are now forever trapped in the endless loop off your memories of being The Mother. The clock strikes twelve PM.
