“Yes mother,” I hiss tossing the laundry from the line, into a basket with the scent of rain on the horizon. Slowly I drag my calloused hands down still moist cheeks, surprisingly smooth as always, to add under my breath, “Mud pony bitch.”
In all eight years of my life never had I heard those words from mother, and since I had never known nor seen anypony else, it’s never been clear where such words come from. The stars? Mother has always said I came from “The night the stars danced, in the seafoam.” Whatever that means, she named me for it.
“Star-dance?!” She calls again.
The visions? I’ve had them all my life. Delusions mother calls them. Nothing more than daydreams, a distraction she says.
“Star-dance Seafoam?! Where are you, come to mother!”
“Yes mother,” I call back.
I pluck the basket from the ground, stumble, find balance and rush to mother.
“Kill her.” “Get out!” “Rapunzel Rapunzel.”
“Stop it,” I beg dropping the basket and clutch my head.
“Night falls.” “Listen.” “Let down your hair small girl.”
*Splash
I slap my face with water from the bird bath before picking up my things and heading in.
Clarity, I wish I had that. It hasn’t always been this way, at least mother tells me. As a foal I’d hardly cry, a blessing she’d called me, calls me even still. A blessing she says. Does a blessing cry itself to sleep once you’re gone? Does a blessing look like this?
“There you are dear,” The mare looks past me. “I seem to have lost my glasses could you find them for me?”
“Again mother?”
“Dumb Pony.” “Can’t see, can’t see.” “Night falls, get out, dumb child.”
“Ah, thank you,” she says but pauses.
“Your chance.” “Hehe hehe.” “Night falls, get out, dumb child.”
“Have you been crying, are you having delusions again?” She asks with those aged sunken eyes.
“No, it’s been what four years?” Four years since I’ve admitted to it, had she heard me?
“Will you sing for me, dear?”
“Mère Gothel, When have I ever said no?”
“Bonne fille,” she strokes a hoof through my never cut dark-auburn mane.
I run up the tower stairs to my room ahead of her and began to brew the special tea from the leaves I had found in the lake. Mother’s Tea I called it, as I’d never had it myself, nor would I, forever avoiding it as did the fish.
“Kill her.” “Bonne fille.” “Night falls, well done, brew death.”
The same they always say.
Mother’s hooves on the stairs, the door opens.
“Ready mother,” I put her chair and my stool in place handing her the brush.
My ever-growing billowed mane glows in golden light becoming straight and calm as mother brushes, I sing, and rain begins to fall. I imagine the swelling lake as the song goes on.
Luna, the name that came to mind with the “memory” of that tall blue pony with wings and a horn. An Alicorn the “memories” had called her and the others. Four years since last I’d told mother of them, far from the last I’d had them. Underwater like this, when I swim to the bottom of the only water I’d ever known, Is when my mind is the clearest. The voices 2,2,6 are silent, and visions of other places come in hazes. Rarely, but sometimes with voices, though sometimes not their own.
“Twilight, whatever are you talking about? Cadence is an absolute gem!” The white-coated unicorn mare with a purple mane that curls flamboyantly at its end and tail styled to match said, after which the scene returns to silence, and only the sound of the water bubbling around my gills meets my ears.
It was always like this I’d watch the same scenes over and over only gleaming tidbits of information each time, but not only of this fantasy world of ponies that could live outside the sanctuary I had been raised in. Often I’d see scenes depicting beings much more like myself, bipedal as I am. These were often nightmares, though other times they were just boring. The weird thing was, these beings I saw, they didn’t have gills and their ears were on the sides of their heads.
She tells me the world outside is frightful, and that the weather is far from delightful. What should I believe, my delusions or the mare I’ve trusted all my life?
Asking is pointless. My decision was made four years ago when I first dived deep enough to find the special tea leaves.
In three days it will be my birthday, and the vision of the White Alicorn with the candy mane where she rises above the crowd as the sun rises behind her will come and fade with the actual rise of the sun. Whoever that pony is, if she is, I want to meet her someday.
Finally stealing myself I go to my room to sing from the window a simple tune. A bird comes and sits on the windowsill next to me. I pass on a letter to the bird and direct it to take the letter to the castle I had seen so many times. The bird nods and takes off, reassuring me that my delusions were to be believed. With that done, I brew one last pot of mother’s tea. That night I went to her room and took the glasses from her nightstand.
She called me down once again as she had so many times.
Turning I frown over my naked body with its blue-gray fur-less skin in the mirror. In all my years of life as far back as I can remember, really remember, I’ve never been the biggest fan of clothes, and always hated winter for it, but mother has gone to all the trouble to sew them for me, I ought not to be without them for her last moments.
Tossing on a simple purple dress I saunter down the stairs careful not to startle her with creaking boards.
The glasses, of course, were nowhere to be found. Stealing my nerves, I take a pillow from the extravagance she slept in and held it in place until she stopped struggling.
“She’s dead? Is- is it over?”
She takes a huge breath, and I quickly return the pillow to its place. The poison had done its job, she was weakened, and now she is dead.
After that, I spent all night in the lake. The visions came more clearly than ever, I finally knew who that mare was. “Princess Celestia,” I say over and over feeling like it was a familiar name I had said many times before today.
When the third day came and the vision had passed a white stallion made himself known at the base of the tower, a stallion dressed in the armor the royal guards had worn in my visions.
“Excuse me, are you the one who sent the … letter?”
This pause I knew was due to rather than a proper letter I had sent only the word [HELP] written on a piece of star chart depicting the sky I saw.
“I am,” I call. “I’ll be right down!”
Faster than ever before I bolt down the stairs and out the door, dress still loose over my shoulders as I tie the front.
“Are you with the royal guard?” I ask though from my delusions I already knew.
The stallion stepped back, looking me over. “I am, what are you?”
“My name is Star-dance Seafoam, as for what I am, I don’t know.” I know I’m not human, as last night’s delusion had told me they are called, nor am I a pony, something in between?
“Hmm,” He trots careful circles around me giving both me and my wet snaking mane a wide berth.
“So, is it true that there is a mare called Princess Celestia?”
“You don’t know about the Princess?”
“I’ve lived out here my whole life with mother. I only know what I’ve heard from her,” I say, cautious of giving away what I shouldn’t know.
“Your mother is she well?” He stood still before me as he had begun.
Donning the sadness in my expression I truly feel at the loss I say, “No,” and shake my head. “Not anymore.” I falter and throw my face into my hands pretending to sob. “She just- I don’t know, she just didn’t wake up one morning.”
“Oh.” The stallion took a half step forward and froze. “Well we will see to it you are taken care of,” He says stepping back and launching a green light from his horn. “The others should arrive shortly, then we can take you to the princess.”
“Really?” I lift my face from my wet hands.
“Really,” the guard appears to relax.
“Thank you, sir,” I bolt forward wrapping my arms around him and bury my face in his neck.
“Ouch!” I and the purple pony exclaim falling on our flanks spilling school books from our bags around the corner where we intersected.
“Sorry I wasn’t watching… whoa!” The filly goes wide-eyed and silent looking me over.
I do the same, but for a different reason. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen a filly before it wasn’t exactly my first rodeo after all; rather that I knew this one in particular from my delusions. It had been too long since I’d heard her name to remember clearly but I knew her.
“Oh, no I wasn’t looking either; guess we’re both a little too excited for the new school year,” I say.
“What are you; you’re not a pony?” She rather bluntly says.
“My name is Star-dance Seafoam,” I extend a hand to shake her hoof, a gesture which she reciprocates.
“Twilight Sparkle,” she says beginning to pick up her books in her shaky magic.
“Astronomy?” I ask handing back a textbook on my way to refill my own book bag. Astronomy was a subject I had decided to avoid since my delusions tend to disagree with the books, and I’m only allowed here on the condition I can keep my grades up. Given that my class choices are more liberal arts and law than hard science.
“The Political Artists of the 17th Century?” she asks passing a book with a library tag on its spine back to me.
“Fair enough, shall we call it a draw for today?” I ask.
“What was the contest?” she tilts her head.
I laugh. “Do you want to be my friend?”
“Yes,” she declares without a moment's hesitation. “But what are you?” She tilts again.
“I don't know, but as long as I study hard they've let me enroll as a student here.”
“Aren't you curious?”
“I haven't found an answer yet; that doesn't mean there isn't one. Is that what you’re saying?”
“I guess so? ... Um, there’s still time before classes start, would you walk with me to the library I still have a few books I’d like to pick up.”
“Sure that won’t be a problem.”
With that, I became friends with the unicorn Twilight sparkle on the first day of school at Celestia's school for gifted unicorns in the year I turned 8.
“Ponies are quick to trust.” The last thing 6 had said before all 3 went silent.
Author's Note
I actually wrote this way back in December last year, but never posted it.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=feauLPLX1Es This is the song she sings. I had actually modified it originally but all though it is better reading to include it, copyright rules even modified are a thing to avoid.
noun: hippocampus: late 16th century: via Latin from Greek hippokampos, from hippos ‘horse’ + kampos ‘sea monster.’
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