Foreboding

by Crafty_Cloud

Rating: everyone
Tags: Dark, Sad, Tragedy
Length: 1073

A gothic horror inspired story featuring fluttershy and her confrontation with fear.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-08-06 09:57:14 UTC

Summer.

Fluttershy walked through the grass as though she were a graceful breeze, floating

through the meadows and fields leaving not a trace of her presence. It was as it should be, a sigh and nothing more. No creature hiding upon the weeds and rocks were disturbed, reptiles paid the young Filly no attention as they bathed in the suns glow and heat while she made her way from her small rustic cottage, to the town of Ponyville, As was her custom. Her path was always an enlightenment of the senses, as it was midway through the season and the flowers were in full bloom, lilies lined the stream, daisies were tossed about in the breeze joining the parade of other scents blowing in the wind. Every crest of each hill held a new species of flower to take in and meditate on. Too often she would find herself behind schedule from spending too much time admiring the brilliance and wonder of what this world had to hold. But this time she felt pressed not to tarry on the footpath, lest she disappoint her friend due to being tardy. It seemed like a little thing to be so concerned about, one should not be worrying about time at such a young age, they should be exploiting their youth and fascinations with reckless abandon sampling every scent, every sight, every experience. If only should could express these terms in a mathematical algorithm, perhaps then, she might be able to understand the futility of counting every second when she has so many years ahead of her. She shook her head of these thoughts, her mane flowing in rhythm of her sways, flinging the topic out of her mind clearing her concious, concentrating at the matter at hoof. She picked up her pace a little and made her way towards Ponyville entering upon the main road to the town.

Upon the artificial path, she spied box abodes crudely erected from the earth in an oblong fashion.  In comparison to the unsymmetrical perfection of nature, their juxtaposition made for an interesting sight she thought. The towns statue stood virtuous as always, watching over them day and night.  The fountain in the park flowed as the birds chirped and leaves rustled in the breeze, clinging to their branches, proudly gleaming their Spring colours. Bees busily made their way, fumbling between the flowers, collecting their pollen for the queen. The inhabitants of this place were altogether completely opposite to the calm state of nature; simple, yet impossible, wild and tame, brave and scared, warped masses of chaos aligned in harmony. Many revealed a true smile, guilty masks, weary eyes, happy hearts and good tidings. So many people and what an excitement they brought to the town! All of their experiences and ordeals creating millions of unique and individual situations. So many wonders were surely something to be frighted of. All of these ponies were so different to her she was sure the possibilities of something positive happening were slim and the mere thought of it made her quake. She was always the one to observe the going ons and merely enjoy the scene of the moment.

Of these ponies, a familiar face made her way towards her. It was one of her regular companions, greeting her with a warm smile, speaking of complex calculations and archaic alchemy, the ingredients to which the lavender pony needed her guidance. Respectfully, she aided in compliance.  Many days were like this, very much the same with enough disruptions not for it to become a crippling compulsive routine. Her friends were respectful for the most part, the weather was mostly perfect almost all the time nopony bothered her and her animals loved her. Every night she would sleep contempt and dream of the day she gained her Cutie Mark, how she met her friends and how they would all relax in the warm sun, bellies full, lives.... complete.

Then things began to, change. Almost as if someone or something had scratched the

record or bent the tracks, nothing felt right. Grass no longer moved around her, everything became very clumsy. Trodding over grass, unearthing flowers, disturbing sleeping creatures where they lay. This was not right at all, was she really awake? Had she hurt herself somehow? The sky was no longer it's brilliant blue, it seemed as though some of it's colour was lost, almost foreboding as the suns rays stretched tendrils of fire that seemed to threaten. Trees were crooked, gates creaked the roads were uneven, birds screeched in an orchestra of violence, the wind moaning decay. Her breathing getting heavier, the sense of doom growing nearer, the shape getting clearer the penny man coming to see her, his boat docks as the river of souls grows deeper waves crash as it gets wider the screams getting louder and louder those black eyes have found her darkness binds her, fear drags her as two walls of pink flesh grab and reef her going higher, getting brighter no more screams now only, Laughter?

The Pink pony pounced playfully preaching of her behaviour as humorous and a hoot.

But something was aloof, another accompanied the excited equine, thick was it's voice kind was her words, Applejack, concerned and unsure. She advised that perhaps Fluttershy should spend a night at a place where people would fit her needs. What were these 'needs' she spoke of? She never needed anything, she had everything she wanted, perhaps she was tired or dehydrated, yes this was the key. But to no avail, the others worries did not set sail, leaving her alone to ponder these events home. Instead suggestions of hospital beds, meds, time charts and supervision. What was this superstition? Why did this thought even come into fruition? Perhaps she was in bad condition. But she didn't want to be a bother, she said sorry and told her friend not to worry, she needs not a nurse she'll be on her way home and straight to bed first things first.

There was noise that did confuse, strange and new, never heard before, not the wind howling or the creaking of the door. This noise like a muse, tore her from her slumber as s she searched this eerie call. The night air was still, more so the town. It seemed as though, petrified, every mouse, cricket, bat. Moth and firefly were in hiding. Even the buildings seemed to slink away.