The Tools of My Trade

by ChaoticHarmony

Rating: everyone
Tags: Original Character, Comedy, Random, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 1158

A small self-insertion story. Written on a spur-of-the-moment idea. First-Pony-View

Every craft requires a tool of some kind, whether it be heavy or light, precise or broad, expensive or cheap. Sometimes these tools run out, sometimes they break, sometimes they just don't do the job right anymore. This is the story of me, Chaotic Harmony, a simple pegasus with a simple craft. Writing.

[This is fic is a self-insert within a self-insert story. NOT A HiE]

Published 2012-08-04 23:14:02 UTC
Last updated 2012-08-04 23:14:02 UTC

Tale of the Teller

Tales of the Teller

Oh, hello there! I didn't see you just now. Wait, are you part of my imagination or are you real? Bah, I'll talk to you regardless. If you're real, enjoy the story but, if you're fake...well, I already talk to myself anyway so I suppose it doesn't matter. I suppose I should introduce myself, though if you were an apparition you'd already know my name. Well, I am Chaotic Harmony, a pegasus of a midnight blue color, though you should already be able to tell that eh? I tend to be a bit on the sarcastic side, if you couldn't tell, but I know when to take things seriously. I suffer from distractions a lot, but my name kind of gives that away doesn't it?

Chaos, and Harmony. Strange really. What were my parents thinking? However strange it is, the name they bestowed on me's fitting, so I can't complain. My special talent is writing, mostly questions and deep stories, but sometimes I can deviate from it in other things. But that's not important; you're here for a reason aren't you? Only reason ponies come around here is to read something, so I assume you're the same? Let me just slide it over to you *hnng* Oh Celestia, all this paper is pretty heavy… Ah, there we go! Enjoy the story mate; I've got others to write though, so I can’t watch your reaction. Don't mind me.

Breaking Quills

By: Chaotic Harmony

Based on a True Story

Scritch. The sound of the quill marking a map of words on parchment filled the writer’s ears and nourished his soul. Each stroke of the utensil brought about another piece of the world he had lodged inside his mind, locked away with flimsy locks that were waiting to be broken. Each letter formed a piece of a larger word, and each word formed a piece of the sentence, and each sentence formed a part of the story, and…well, you get the point.

The midnight-blue muzzle, edged with a beard of silver, cracked open in a gleeful smile. “I’ve done it, I’ve found what I needed to keep this story alive!” The glee in his voice intermixed with the furious scratching that filled the air. His smile grew as he created, breathing new life into his book that he had thought was sure to be dead. Of course, he was never one to abandon a story once it had begun, forever determined to see them to their end. His smile faded a little as he continued, his brow furrowing in concentration before relaxing suddenly.

Only a slight falter in the quill’s noisy movement along to parchment gave any indication as to the author’s frustration and relief. Pause. Mark. Pause again. The sun began to sink below the horizon, its light slowly fading, as the cycle continued. Taking but a moment to light a candle, the author never ceased his vigil, every so often reaching over to dip his quill into the inkwell, or to sprinkle sand over the partially dry words from the paragraph before. Hours passed without pause, the moon seemingly leaping across the sky. The white wax of the candle drooped, the heat of the flickering flame melting the smooth surface and making it fall into the dish below.

The quill paused in its quest as the golden light of the sun glared in through the window, the sounds of the world waking following quickly. “Have I been at it for that long all ready? Oh dear Goddesses, I didn’t even know. Hm, no point in sleeping now… I should eat something though.” The quill was set down upon the half-finished story as the pony jumped from his chair on a quest of his own. “Food.” He mumbled the word to himself as he walked from room to room of his home, searching the desks and cabinets for any morsel that he could devour. Eventually his search yielded something, a can of beans that were only slightly covered in dust. With a snort, he picked up the can in his mouth, gagging at the dry taste of the particles of dirt.

As quickly as possible, he set the can onto the stovetop, turning on the heat to the appropriate temperature. Satisfied and bored, he sat on the floor for a few moments before returning to his tale. “An idle writer is a poor writer after all.” He leapt onto the wooden stool, balancing his hooves in a practiced motion that stopped him from toppling over. “Let’s get this story on the way to completion.” He bent down to pick up his quill, a lovely piece of feather that was plucked from a phoenix’s wing.

Snap.

The hollow sound reverberated throughout the small cottage, it’s finality echoing through every corner, not to mention every fiber of the author’s being. The pieces of the quill fell onto the parchment, which contained a half-finished story. As usual of the writer’s work, it was a rather grim story involving a princess and her woes. The hero of the story, a brave soldier who slays those who would bar his path, was in the midst of the enemy castle at the moment, surrounded by foes in what seemed to be the final battle he would face. Of course, that was how the pony had planned it. A final battle for a tragic hero, what better ending is there? He had asked himself that multiple times, smiling at the other voice inside his head that answered. Always the best kind of ending.

But now the story couldn’t be completed. In the writer’s mind, the fighter still dodged whistling steel and stabbed back at those who were attacking, but soon the images faded away from his thoughts. Wasted scenes! Other paths that I could have written about, a different jab, a different wound that throbbed. Wasted! The writer pulled away from the story, tears filling his eyes at the loss. “No, I will not give up.” Sparing not a moment, the midnight-blue pony jumped up and drew a cape over his body. He walked to the door, slamming it open with a hoof and stepping out into the bright sunlight.

Without a dou-

So, how are you enjoying it so far? Oh, did I say something too early, cuz you look a little um.... angry. Oh well, I'll let you get back to it, and myself back to writing. Have fun.

Snap.

OH FOR THE LOVE OF CELESTIA! WHERE AM I EVEN GOING TO GET A QUILL AT THIS HOUR?!

Author's Note: Now, I know this isn't the most interesting or even GOOD pieces of writing that I've done. Don't worry, I'm not losing my edge here.... just wanted to write this and get it out of my head. Something that needed to be done. Hope you enjoyed this random piece of...whatever the hay this is.