I can't show you what happened; merely tell you of the events.
It was night in Ponyville, cold too, as well as some other third thing. Something was happening—something that I'm not allowed to show you, only that their were charters involved. Of course, I can't show you what these characters looked like, other than their names were Spike and Twilight.
They were in a place. It looked like something, something you will have to imagine on your own violation with very little clues. Where are the clues? I just told you about them, didn't I? So they are inside this place, a library to be exact, but I cannot be exact in its layout nor its design.
"Twilight," Spike said, doing something or other. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure Spike," she replied, sitting up on the couch—don't bother asking me its color. It has nothing to do with the story but still matters in setting up the scene, but I'm not allowed to show you anything. "What do you need?"
"Can we talk," he said, hoping, jumping, maybe even pulling himself onto the couch. He was unsure about its height as well. "Just you and me?"
She looked across the room, which at this current point, was just darkness that hindered on the edge of the reader's comprehension. It was a small detail, that was for sure, but the smaller things do build up in life.
"Well sure!" she said, closing the book and levitating it away to nowhere. "What exactly is it you want to talk about?"
"Well, there's nothing particular that I want to talk about, other than I want to talk." He fidgeted in his seat, his position on the couch still unknown even to myself. "It's just, that, you and I always need a reason to talk, and we never seem to talk just to talk like you and the girls do."
Twilight pondered this. Was it true?
"Well, if that's the case then," she said, "why don't you tell me about your day?"
"Nothing really happened," he replied. "I cleaned around our rooms and read some books, but other than that, the day just kinda passed by like any other. Say, Twilight, do you feel like the days are passing by faster?"
"They do as you get older," she replied, "it's just part of growing up. There's more science behind it, but your internal clock when you're a kid, and that of when you're an adult, is drastically different."
Spike thought about this for a moment; I can't tell you what his face looked like while in thought, other than that he was thinking. What was he thinking about? Some strange, vague thought to be sure. Something like that, or nothing like that, something or other, just like fried chips.
"It's not always like this," Spike said. "Sometimes, I feel more conscious about the day, like something is suddenly driving it—my feelings and my thoughts, and it causes me to go do stuff, like talking to you now."
"Well, that's certainly something," Twilight said, nodding her head. "It's perfectly natural to be focused when something is happening to you, Spike. If you have nothing going on, then your body just goes on auto-pilot, but when it comes to events that need to be dealt with, you become more alive to resolve them.'
"I guess that makes sense," he said, hoping down from the couch. No, I'm now going to tell you what the floor was like, the sound his feet made upon touching the said floor, or any of the finer details about their lives, or the scene that they are in, how the air smelled or if there was rain pelting against the window. "Something still feels off, Twilight, and I'm unsure of what."
Twilight looked down at him. "Maybe you're just feeling off? Get some sleep and see if you feel any better in the morning."
The drake nodded his head, turned around, and walked to wherever his bedroom was supposed to be. There was a door, and then a room, and then a bed, and then covers, and then snores, and then nothing else.
Twilight went back to reading her book, realizing that she had no idea what she had been reading before Spike had come in. She didn't even know how she got here, who she was, and while it felt as if everything was suddenly about to end. She felt tired, more so than the drake, yet she did not feel like sleeping.
No. I will not speak of the black bags under her eyes.
Twilight propped a hoof under her eyes, realizing that she, indeed, have bags. She looked around, everything black and nothing existing, and upon looking up, saw no light above. She was in an abyss, or rather, at the bottom of one, and had no idea how she had gotten down here.
"I-Is anyone there?!" her voiced echoed, forever, into the unknown. "Is this some sort of spell? A bad dream, perhaps? Luna, please come out!"
No such thing happened. And no such thing would ever happen. Things kept as they were, never changing, the abyss being an abyss an abyss and an abyss. Nothing made any sense because nothing was concrete, lingering forever in abstraction, existing yet not quite. It was the realm on the edge of comprehension, a mere blur that could be something greater.
It's been in the books she had read before, it was in the books she was reading now, it would be in the books she would come to read. Abstraction existed everywhere, to an extent which is beyond fathom, just there but not quite. Everything could exist in abstraction, in their own vague ways, yet never the same and never more a blur.
But it was okay. Because everything would always be okay. Okay was a word that meant something but what it meant wasn't what everyone thought it meant. A lot of words were like that, or maybe a lot of ponies were like that, but no pony could ever say for certain.
Twilight then rose up onto her hind legs, swung her forehooves up in the air, and smiled.
"Oh well. We'll get 'em next time!"