Photo

by smakleapp

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life, Sad, Photo Finish, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 1096

Photo Finish contemplates returning to her young self

It’s been years since Photo felt inspired to do anything, and months since she has done anything at all. After she sees her first picture, she begins to reconsider.

Published 2021-05-17 18:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2021-05-17 18:30:01 UTC

Photo

The night fell over the Manehattan lights, which illuminated themselves like stars upon a black canvas. The rumble of the carriages and the shouts of the busy street was intoxicating to any visitor of this city.

If one journeyed to the center of the city, they would find a tall apartment building. Houston’s Housing. Despite that quite boring name, it housed only the most distinguished celebrities. Ones in the public’s good graces, ones that shined a light in the proverbial void that was public opinion. Out of these celebrities, one stood out. In fact, she stood out in Room 345. It was a massive room. All white as well. All sparkling. This was as the dweller intended.

At this time of night, the residing mare is found at her own personal bar. She would sometimes sit there, an empty glass never being filled. Tonight was not one of those nights. The mare in question downed a few whiskeys, one or two too many. A tv expectantly played a newscast earlier that morning. It would show stories of murders, robbery’s, fast food discounts, and budget cuts. The mare didn’t object to this subject matter. She only wished it could be shown in a better manner.

She stared at herself in the shot glass reflection. Blue coat, silver hair, thinning at this point, and old, sunken eyes. It was to the point of no reversal. The mare sighed at herself. This was often the only thing she could do. Anything else and she might cut off that proverbial string keeping her from falling. A chuckle arose, perhaps in reaction to these thoughts.

And finally, a story about Photo Finish! Her first breakout picture, Zebra Sunrise, now sold at 2 million bits! This picture was-

Click! The broadcast was turned off without warning, and just as spastic, the mare slammed her hoof down. The shot glass spilled over, followed by the very few amount of whisky droplets still present in that glass. The old pony quietly stared at the equally as silent tv. And without warning, tears streamed down the pony's face, pooling at her cheeks, then her chin, then eventually falling to the ground.

This couldn’t be repeated.

The mare quietly walked around her living room, tears still falling from her eyes. She felt herself longing for an explanation of her fall. She knew how much those greedy eyes took from her. It was all over though. She was out of the game, still was out for months.

So why do I want to go back?

Photo remembered her journey to Zebrica all those years ago. Many years. Around 40, she recalled. It was a bitterly hot trip. The sun was unrelenting, and the valleys offered no help at all. The rainforest gave humid an entirely new meaning. Photo was amazed by this, shocked beyond belief. Life was fully developed out here. Now the pictures were no good, she remembered taking hundreds, but the land brought a sense of hope to the aspiring photographer.

The travel guide instructed they would stop at the town of Guanson, a pleasant village filled with peaceful natives. Photo can almost hear the grumbling s of her fellow passengers. They all wanted to skip to Zecronica, their massive city. It was pollen that often attracted the bees, not the flower itself.

Photo looked at the bigger picture, a bigger story. She remembered adjusting her blonder mane in order to try and charm the natives. Perhaps they had some unfinished art, unfinished ideas. She was quite desperate at this point.

Guanson was a very small village. It was made up by about 50 huts, about 25 shopfronts, and 3 different inns. About 2 were angled toward tourists. A zebra with a forgetter name greeted the group, and told them to explore the town the rest of the afternoon, before making their way to their already booked place of slumber. The next mourning, they will be treated to a breakfast by their respective inns, and on they would go to the next city.

Photo walked throughout the small village, which seemed to only get bigger as she walked more. She saw many natives actively waving at her, smiles reaching out from cheek to cheek. Photo remembered the time she went from her small town of Hayville to Canterlot. When she first moved, snickers were the orchestra of her young life, rude comments and her dialogue. It was a bitter reminder that she did not belong.

This contrasted starkly with that image. Photo smiled at the suns glare, the way it reflected off the grassy ground. The trees no longer punished those with heat, but in fact gifted them with it. She lost track of time as she snapped pictures of young colts playing in the trees, storekeepers making barters with familiar locals. She revealed in this different atmosphere, unlike her fellow tourist travellers.

When she woke up, she found she was up hours before her given time. Despite what she began telling herself years later, this was not planned. However, Photo decided to go out into the town again. The reason was unknown, still is.

The night took away the necessary brightness she needed for pictures. She thought about the day before, if any of those pictures would be worth anything. They wouldn’t, that’s for sure. In fact, foreign pictures were a craze that she recently decided to join in on. These pictures would be worth 5 silver at most. Nothing more, perhaps less.

As she wandered around the still town, she came across its end. A large cliff hung there, product of earthly creation. Below stood grasses, bushes, trees. She heard the soft chirp of crickets, the light flap of a bird's wings. It all culminated with that sunlight, with that glow. Without a poet's sense, she snapped the perfect picture.

She sat outside on her porch, overlooking the city she called home. She knew why she wanted to go back. It made perfect sense. She wanted to snap a picture that meant something. Something she could define. Models, commission, all of this...the old eyes looked out into the distance, taking in the night. Taking in its loneliness. And for a second, all was quiet. Photo took a camera she did not know was there.

The air was silent, still, unmoving. The night stood as a monument to the broken dreams and ideas it’s residents had. It stood silently, illuminated by the stars of the buildings thats stood below it. All was quiet, except for the quiet clicks of a certain camera.