Early in the morning. The birds haven’t even awoken yet to sing their lovely melodies. A downpour of rain thunders down upon the quaint town of Ponyville, but nopony is awake to witness the torrential inundation. Nopony, except one. In fact, she’s quite awake. She’s been up all night.
Twilight Sparkle paces around her home, clearly unnerved by something. Dozens of books float around the room, papers lay askew on the floor, crumpled, ripped and torn.
“No. No. it can’t be happening.” Twilight rushes to her telescope, focusing it on the constellation Bronius Helveticus. It’s almost the exact same as it was the night before, except for one detail. The star BH-200735 is out of place. Where it should normally be, in the ‘eye’ of the constellation, it now resides near the ‘hoof’.
More books begin floating around, faster and fiercer. Scraps of paper join the books. Almost impossible mathematical equations are etched into the papers, each passing by Twilight’s eyes, each invigorating, multiplying her terrors.
“NO! NO! NO!” She shrieks, desperately tossing book after book into a chaotic heap in the corner of the room.
“Twilight? What’s going on?...” Her shrieks have awoken Spike. He rubs his eyes and gazes vaguely at Twilight.
“Spike! Run while you still can!” Dark bags have molded under her eyes and her mane is a terribly frazzled.
“Wha- Why?” Spike snaps fully awake, alert and terrified. He's never seen her this afraid since the time her future self visited.
“It… Is… About to happen… No… You must stop it… Please… Spike…” Twilight curls into a fetal in the corner of the room, rocking back and forth.
“What? What, Twilight?” Spike rushes to her aid.
“I-It’s too late. It’s about to happen,” Twilight moans.
“What?!? What is it?” Spike probes, fearing for his life.
Twilight opens her mouth, about to speak the most perturbing words of her life. The words come out as a hoarse whisper, but they send a horrible chill down Spike’s spine as they enter his ears.
“SwissBrony is writing another story.”
###########THAT-WAS-NOT-THE-REAL-STORY’S-BEGINNING
You pack your frayed saddlebag with some bits you find on the kitchen counter. You then slip on your slate-gray hoodie and open your creaky apartment door and trot out into the night.
The nocturnal winds whip gently, yet coldly at your face. You pull your hood closer around your face and walk down the dark street. After taking a series of left and right turns, you arrive at the bakery. The heated air warms you as you go inside.
The smell of freshly-baked breads and pastries passes into your nostril, making you inhale deeply, holding it for a second, and then exhaling with a loud, solaced sigh. As you approach the counter, a cerulean mare acknowledges you with a subtle nod.
"What can I do ya for?" she asks wearily, fatigued from a long day of work.
"Do you have any flour? Just bare flour, not bread." You beg. She gives you a pissed-off look, but walks to the kitchen anyways. After a moment, she returns, a bag of white flour in her mouth.
"Troo Brits." she demands sharply with the bag in her mouth. After fishing through your tattered saddlebag, you succeed at scavenging out a bit and a half. She looks at you irritably, and you reply with a sheepish, crooked smile.
She sighs resentfully and drops the heavy bag onto the counter. "Fine. One and a half." she nudges the bag to you with her nose and you set the money on the counter. You put the flour in your saddlebag and begin trotting home, head down looking at the ground. Others walk by you. You can hear them talking about you, how you look. Atrocious, filthy and disgusting. You lower your head even more to avoid their condemning glares.
When you reach your apartment, you fill a tarnished pan with tap water and go to grab the flour out of your saddlebag. Your teeth clamp around nothing. Confused, you remove your saddlebag and check the contents. Empty. In your saddlebag, a large gaping hole is all that is left of the bottom of the bag. Your heart sinks as you realize you must go another night without food. You lie down on your tattered couch which serves as a bed and try falling asleep. But the constant rumbling of your stomach keeps you awake. Slowly, however, your eyesight begins to blur and then fade to a black.
With an arid taste in your mouth, you roll off the couch, onto the ground with a thud. Slim beams of light shed through the torn, musty curtains of the room's only window. You stumble into the bathroom to brush your teeth and shower. As you start up the shower, a shiny object catches your eye. Your attention turns to the object. As you approach it, you realize it’s a razor. With a glimmer of a tear in your eye, you pick it up in your teeth and bring it towards your hoof. You immediately stop. This isn’t like you! But then again, it couldn’t get any worse, could it? You begin to slide it down your carbon-black foreleg, lightly, carefully. A small trickle of blood seeps from the wound, flowing across your hoof, a warm, beautiful red that seems to be enhanced by inky blackness of your skin. It hurts, yet feels so good. You close your eyes and bask in the peculiar nirvana.
When you open your eyes, the blood has dried into a dark brown blemish and the shower is still running. You curse under your breath; the water bill is going to seriously chew into your already sparse bank account. When you step into the shower, the bloodstain begins to wash away, leaving only an inflamed scratch from where the razor broke your skin. You close your eyes. The warm water surging onto your back relieves your aching muscles. Slowly, you begin slouching down onto the floor of the shower. Your tranquility is broken by the sound of a toilet flushing above you, then a flood of scalding-hot water. With a yelp, you leap out of the shower at a speed that would have dazzled the Wonderbolts.
Disappointed, you dry off and collapse onto the couch, burying your head into the pillow. When you look up, your eyes fixate on the clock. Through the smudged glass, you can barely make out the time, 6:42.
In a panicked rush, you attempt to put on your saddlebag but remember the hole and hesitantly decide not to bring it, probably a bad choice. You burst through your apartment's dingy door and gallop down the hall and outside. Wasting no time, you hurry down to the train station to board the IR train to Canterlot. You can hear a clock ticking in your brain, counting down the seconds until 6:45, when the train was designated to leave the station. The train station comes into sight, making you increase your pace.
"All aboard!" the conductor calls at the top of his voice, just loud enough for you to hear.
This spikes your adrenaline as you plow through the crowds of ponies, eager to make it to work on time for once in many months. Just as you make to the front of the crowd, the train whistle blows twice and the muscular earth ponies pulling it take off sprinting down the track.
You screech to a halt, trying to catch your breath. Late for work again, not that anypony there would give a rat’s ass.
"Oh, um, excuse me. Was that the train to Canterlot?" a feminine voice timidly inquires from beside you, barely audible over the ruckus of the other commuters.
Without looking, you reply, "Yes it was. Now I'm late for work. Again." and stomp your hoof aggressively on the ground.
"Oh, um... What do you do for work?" the voice asks even softer now, as if frightened by your manner.
"I'm... Um... an engineer." you reply, still avoiding eye contact with her. Of course, you're lying. You were an engineer up until a year ago, but now you're just a janitor at a boarding school for the 'talented' unicorns of Equestria.
She seems to detect this lie, but doesn't react to it. Instead, she tries to eradicate the question. "Well, I’m going to see a friend in Canterlot. She teaches at the school for gifted unicorns."
This irks you even more and you finally spare a glimpse in her direction. She has a salmon-pink mane and bisque-yellow skin color. She seems a bit repulsed by your physical, tarnished features in general, but her eyes focus on an old scar that runs along your right cheek. She gapes at it with wide eyes until you turn away.
"Oh! Um, I’m sorry. I didn't mean to stare..." she squeaks and backs away.
"It's okay. I've gotten used to it." you sigh. Just then, the next train pulls in, heading to Canterlot. "Here, you sit with me." you beckon to her. She follows meekly.
You both take seats next to an elderly grandmare and an obese colt.
“So what’s your name?” you ask just a bit too loudly.
“SHHH!” The ancient mare hushes you ferociously.
“Sorry…” you docilely murmur, and then look at the bisque pony for an answer.
“My name is Fluttershy.” The pony responds soundlessly.
“Well, I’m Crimson Dusk.” You say too loud, again.
“…And I’m gonna slap the smack outta you if ya keep talkin’ so loud, sonny.” The grandmare raises her hoof hostilely to you. But the plump colt swiftly dives in. “Stop, Granny Bacon. They’re just kids having fun.”
“Well, I wish they’d stop.” Granny Bacon pouts.
“It’s our stop anyways, Granny. Let’s go.” The colt thrusts himself out of the seat and helps the grandmare up. She looks at you with intense disgust and spats on your face. You brush the saliva off nonchalantly, wave a mocking ‘goodbye’ to the sour lady, and finally refocus on Fluttershy. She looks a bit upset.
“It’s alright. It’s just an uptight grandmare. They’re bitter, but harmless.” You comfort her.
Then you realize her attention wasn’t on the elderly mare, but rather the slash on your foreleg. It’s begun bleeding again.
“Oh… That… Um… I… Accident…” You awkwardly grin at her. She clearly isn’t impressed with your inept lying skills.
“So… Um… What's your occupation?” you ask, wiping the blood off onto the plush seat cushion, trying to change the subject. She glares at you crossly, but doesn’t question the slash on your hoof. She already knows the answer.
“I take care of animals.” She doesn’t sound so shy or quiet anymore, rather more angry or frustrated.
“Next stop: Canterlot.” The voice on the loudspeakers chimes. You both get up out of the seats and wait for the doors to open, without saying a word to one another. When they finally open, you both get off and walk in opposite directions. You saunter to the boarding school, into the building, then to the janitorial closet.
“Buck,” you whisper to yourself, “buck buck buck!" you stare at your hoof. A scab has begun to grow over the slash, but an evident scar still marks where the razor cut.
“Is everything alright in there?” One of the teachers opens the door. It’s that nerdy lavender unicorn, Twilight or something like that.
“Yeah. Just… Leave me alone.” You sulk.
“Alright, just please don’t cuss. There are young colts and fillies in this building, you know.” She warns and closes the door gently.
You gather your supplies: a radio, a mop, a bucket of soapy water and a push-trolley full of miscellaneous wares and head out the room.
The first call comes almost immediately as you leave the room.
“Vomit in hall, Sector niner, Delta, Golf. Request immediate assistance.” The voice buzzed.
“9DG?” You mutter under your breath. That was all the way on the top floor, ‘What a great way to start a morning.’
When you reach the top floor, the vomit’s smell is already beginning to diffuse in the air. You take one large whiff of the putrid air, and then get to work. Holding your breath, you spray air freshener all around trying to eliminate the horrible stench. This makes it smell a bit better, so you take another deep breath and mop up the rancid filth that coats the wooden flooring.
“Now, Noonlight, Was ist dein Lieblingfarbe?” You hear from a classroom. Curiously, you investigate.
“Um… Ich bin durstig?” Noonlight, a yellowish-black filly responds, hesitantly.
“You didn’t study last night, did you, Noonlight?” The teacher sighs somberly.
“No. I didn’t, Frau Pferd.” Noonlight sighed.
“Go into the hall and study, and then come back when you know the answer,” Frau Pferd points to the door with her hoof, “Crimson Dusk, make sure she studies.” She waves to you. You give her a wink and hoofs-up in response.
Noonlight solemnly trots out of the classroom.
Suddenly, you’re in a strange, trollerific mood. The world is yours to mess with. You are the king of the trolls!
“Hey, the answer was “Ich bin sehr geil.”’ You whisper to her, restraining a giggle.
“Really? Gee thanks, Mr. Janitor, you’re smart! Why aren’t you our German teacher?” Noonlight thanks you and reenters the classroom.
“Ich bin geil!” Noonlight exclaims, “Ich bin sehr, sehr geil!"
With a look of sheer surprise, Frau Pferd's mouth gapes open, flustered by this filly’s foul language.
"Detention! Immediately after the schooldays is done. No exceptions." She is completely distraught that a young filly would ever even speak like that.
"But..." Noonlight begins, but just skulks down to her desk and holds her head in her hooves.
Just then, the radio sparks to life. "Gas leak in the science lab. Sector four. November. Juliet."
You rush down the stairs to the science corridors. One classroom is completely emptied and smells like propane. You guess this is the right one. You retrieve a gas mask from the science closet and slip it over your face. Controlling your breathing, you open all the windows, allowing the dangerous gas to escape and diffuse in the cold fall air. You remove the mask and take a deep breath. Already, the air is beginning to smell fresher.
Suddenly, the trollerific sensation takes over your mind. You begin writing on the chalkboard, Flourine + Unununium + Carbon + Potassium = {Formula} = ? You cackle to yourself as the science class begins filing into the room.
"Is the gas out?" the teacher asks, adjusting his wide-rimmed spectacles.
"Yeah. Be careful to turn the Bunsen burners off next time, please." you reply and skip merrily out of the room. You sit next to the door and listen to the lecture.
"So, as you all know, atoms can be bonded by what? Stargazer?" the teacher calls on a light-blue colt who also wears the dorky specs.
"Eh, covalence bonds, ionic bonds and chemical bonds." he says matter-of-factly.
"Well, that's basically correct, but covalence and ionic bonds are both types of chemical bonds. I'll give you that one, though. Bonds are very important. Without them, you wouldn’t be alive!” The teacher chuckles to himself, “The way the Elements of Harmony were created was a problematic task. It took many ancient chemists hundreds of years to create. Who knows the atoms that make up the Elements?” The teacher asks. One hoof raises. Stargazer again.
“Eh, hydrogen, argon, molybdenum, nitrogen and yttrium. H+Ar+Mo+N+Y. Stargazer astutely states.
“Very good, Stargazer. So, who else can solve this formula on the board?" He points to your formula and you nearly burst out laughing.
Six hooves raise simultaneously.
"Um... Longbow, you give it a shot." The teacher points to an athletic-build jade-green colt.
"But I wasn't raising my hand!" Longbow protests.
"Eh, just do it." Stargazer groans.
"Fine." Longbow trots defiantly up to the board and begins writing out the recipe. 'F+Uuu+C+K= FUuuCK' is now chalked onto the board.
The entire class begins laughing hysterically and you join them, rolling on the floor, gasping for breath between chuckles.
"Oh! Uh... Longbow, pardon that... I seem to not have been paying attention when I wrote this..." the teacher blushes embarrassedly.
Troll mission complete. You swag-walk down to the janitor's closet and store the cart, but keeping the radio at your side in case a call would come in. You walk down the spellcraft hallway and stop in front of a room. Inside, a teacher is demonstrating how to properly conduct the duplication spell safely and efficiently. You touch the top of your head lightly. Sadly, no unicorn horn. You look at your sides. No pegasus wings either. You're an earth pony. You've been for all your life. Although both your parents were pegasi, you didn't inherit the trait. You're just a plain old earth pony.
"So how have you been lately?" a familiar voice asks down the hall.
A familiar, quiet, tranquil voice responds, "Just fine. Although something has been bothering me all day."
"And what might it be?" the other voice inquires.
"Well, I met a stallion who I kind of like, in some sense..."
"aaannnddd?"
"Well, he seems nice and all, but he had a big cut on his hoof."
"So what's the big deal?"
"I think he did it to himself. It looked too precise and too deep to be natural."
Your blood runs cold. It can’t be Fluttershy. You walked in separate directions at the train station. But then again, she does have a friend who works at this school…
It feels like eons before you hear a response from the other pony.
"Well, I think you should at least try for him. Yeah, self-mutilation isn’t acceptable, but maybe you can fix him," you let out a deep sigh of relief, "What's his name, anyways?" this chills your blood once again.
"Crimson Dusk."
Yes. It is definitely Fluttershy. But why is she here? The two mares appear from the furthest end of the corridor. You identify both Fluttershy and that dorky teacher, Twilight.
"Who's that?" Fluttershy asks. You close your eyes and dread the imminent response.
"That's the janitor. I never remember his name." the mares take an abrupt turn into a desolate classroom just up the hall.
You collapse to the ground and let out a deep breath. That was too close.
