The colt looked across the room at the board with a glum expression. The beginning of the school day meant one thing to him: absolute, genuine boredom. That didn't help given the fact the first class for him is math.
The door to class room number 418 swung open with a mighty gust of wind as the math teacher,
Mr. Ratio ran in as fast as he could, obviously pepped up on coffee.
“Good morning class.” He stated in his thick appleloosan accent as he walked towards the chalkboard, writing today's lesson he planned on teaching.
“Good morning Mr. Ratio.” The class said back to the teacher, most of them having their eyes open, ready to learn; except for the colt, who's eyes were becoming increasingly heavy.
“Sorry I'm late class, but without delay, let's start with today's lesson which you can see on the board.” He pointed his hoof on the board which read “Adding and Subtracting Negative and Positive Numbers.”
The colt groaned, his face planted on his desk. He just wanted to go home and sleep, maybe even work on getting his Cutie Mark. He started to slowly zone out of the lesson only hearing, “Now, before you can add or subtract negative numbers you should know some things, so take notes. First..."
The explosions rattled the battlefield, now plagued with equations and expressions, bearing almost no survivors. It was an all-out war with the Negatives and the Positives with no sign of stopping. The battle had been going on for problems this being the fifteenth battle against the Negatives. The Positives had one goal; to rescue the neutral known as Major Zero.
The Positive base, known as The Plus, had almost no sign of deterioration. Inside, there was an entire army of numbers ready to die for their solution. The control room was the busiest part of The Plus, with the biggest numbers there planning their next attack.
“All right, what do you propose we do?” asked Major Number Seven, lighting a cigar looking at the map before him and Colonial Number Five.
Number Five stroked his beard, “I don't know Seven. Surely the Negatives would've left some sort of weak point this time, but now they're armed with Negative Eleven, the strongest number in their army!”
Just then, the door to the control room slid open and a lone number walked into the room with a serious expression. It was General Number One, the greatest Positive that has ever lived. He was there at the beginning of the question, and he will sure be there at the end. The two numbers rose and saluted the General who ordered them to aides with a wave.
“What's the status of the battle Major?” Number One asked, taking a seat next to the other Numbers.
“Not good,” replied Number Seven, “The Negatives are advancing to Zero.”
“I guess we'll have to send in Number Gazillion,” said Number One calmly getting up from his seat and trotted to the door.
“But sir!” yelled Number Five, “Number Gazillion doesn't exist!”
“Exactly.”
Number Gazillion looked out of the chariot he was in with an expression of curiosity. This was his first mission in this problem, and he was thinking of the possibilities that awaited him. He looked to his right and saw General Number One looking at him
“Gazillion, your orders are to obtain Major Zero and to report back to base. If you succeed, we are one step closer to solving this problem.”
Gazillion nodded as he jumped out of the airborne chariot and landed onto the pavement next to the building where Major Zero was located, perfectly intact with no scratches whatsoever. He advanced toward the building and opened the door but stopped frozen when he saw what was in front of him.
Negative Number Eleven. He was about to attack Major Zero. Thinking fast on his hooves, he brought out a +20 Sniper Rifle. One Bullet. One Shot. He pulled the trigger, nearly missing as it scratched Eleven turning him into a Negative One. Major Zero pulled out a +1 knife and stabbed him, effectively getting rid of the negative.
“Good job Gazillion,” the General said, “Your Homework is to do page twenty in your textbook and solve questions ten through twenty even. I hope you have a great rest of the day.”
The ring of the bell awakened the colt from his deep dream as he gathered his stuff and began to leave the room.
“Don't forget the homework!” Mr. Ratio called out as the colt left the class.
If Math was bad, than Social Studies was the ninth circle of hell for the colt. He hated anything that had to do with maps, and he hated the teacher, Coach Atlas of room 307, even more. He had a dull, monotone voice that made insomniacs fall asleep, and made heavy sleepers wake up.
“All right class,” Coach Atlas said as bland as possible, “Today we're learning about The Equestrian Revolution, the battle of Yoketown that dethroned Discord and throned Princess Celestia and Luna. It all started when...” That was all the colt heard as he made the loudest smash on his desk ever conceived, fogginess in his mind clouding his perception of the lesson.
General Washinghoof looked through his spyglass, spotting Discord and his ponies approaching Yoketown. He quickly put it away and cantered towards a white alicorn with pink hair that was behind him.
“Are they approaching?” the alicorn asked with urgency.
“Yes Miss Celestia,” answered Washinghoof, “They are near the gate. Probably made it in too.”
“Then tell my sister to prepare for the ambush, and while you're at it could you please bring those six little trinkets we found last Hearth's Warming? Time to see if that zebra was telling the truth.”
Luna and her two elite soldiers, Nightwing and Shadowrunner, were looking down at Yoketown in separate clouds, watching the Spirit of Chaos make his way down the streets on his chariot, turning a house into a gingerbread house as he did. When Luna looked to her side, she saw a pegasus flying up to her, holding pendents of pink, rainbow, and purple coloring.
“Miss Luna, here's the three pendents you need for the battle,” the pegasus said as he gave them to her, which she accepted with gratitude, “and your sister says to begin the ambush with your two soldiers.”
“Thank you,” she responded as the pegasus flew back down to Washinghoof's side, and started preparing his pie for him.
“Get ready you two! We drop in three minutes!” ordered Luna as she and her two soldiers pulled out their pies.
When the longest three minutes of his life was up, Shadowrunner's eyes shot open and he dropped from his cloud, landing on a bale of hay. He quickly got out and pulled out his pie and aimed for the Discord officer and fired, bits of the banana cream pie hitting him as he flew off Discord's chariot landing with a thump. When Discord looked around to see his who his officer's assailant was, that gave Shadowrunner the perfect amount of time to tackle him off the chariot.
When he looked to the side he saw Discords soldiers being pelted with pies, barely having enough time to retaliate hitting only one of the rebels as they all fell, the tasty pastries covering their faces. When he saw the three leaders approach Discord, he quickly latched off of him and jumped to the nearest tree top.
“Any last words Discord?” Washinghoof spat, preparing his pie as the two alicorns prepared the six trinkets in a circle as they flew into the air.
“Yeah, three,” Discord replied, “Long live chaos!”
The six elements unleashed a rainbow of pure light against Discord as he screamed in pain, a gray casing appeared around him, turning him into stone.
“We're free!” yelled Celestia as she looked around seeing everyone around her, her sister and Washinghoof cheering loudly.
“This marks a new era!” Luna declared, “an era of 'wake up the bell has already rung!'”
The colt eye's snapped open from the monotone voice of Coach Atlas as he saw that he was the only one left in his classroom, save for the Coach. He quickly gathered his things and sprinted out of the room, hoping he wasn't late for his next class.
Art was the only class that the colt found fun, and he was pretty sure everybody else did too. Who doesn't like drawing for the entire class period? This day will surely increase his love for art since it's Miss Easel’s annual Draw-Off today.
The object of the Draw-Off is for two colts or fillies draw something and the better artist will advance. The colt started fantasizing about who he was going to draw against, and soon lost all sense of reality.
In the small town of Brush Valley, there is a bandit. A bandit who cheated, a bandit who was cruel, and a bandit who was a formidable drawer. At least, there was a bandit until the Artslinger galloped into town.
The citizens of Brush Valley were minding their own business, having a peaceful morning and saying, “Hello” to one another until they heard galloping. The ponies who were outside stopped and looked to the entrance of their fair town, seeing a trail of dust along with the source of the galloping. Once both the dust and galloping ceased, there stood a stallion clad in rags and a desperado hat. As he marched forward, the ponies noticed the pencil and sketchbook attached to his sides. He was armed, and the ponies both big and small knew his name; he was The Artslinger, the protector of the helpless, the guardian of the weak, and he’s here to take down a certain bandit.
Inside the milk bar known as The Lactose, there was terror to be had. The bandit was at it again, doing what he does best: cheating. He just won a game of poker by tricking the dopey people playing with him, saying the one with the lowest number wins. The bar was filled with angry chants and roars as the bandit chuckled to himself, he trotted to the barkeeper.
“Give me a milk!” he barked, placing his ill-earned winnings on the table, “Chocolate!”
The cool, refreshing drink slid to his hoof, and as he was about to drink it, the entire milk bar became silent.
Well, I haven’t killed anybody, so that can’t be it. The bandit thought to himself.
He started hearing hoofsteps getting louder and faster. It was applause! But for who? He quickly whipped his head towards the entrance and started laughing. The stallion these ponies were cheering for wore a desperado hat and what seemed to be hand-me-downs.
“Who is this joker?” he laughed harshly, causing everypony to glare at him.
“He’s the Artslinger!” one pony in the crowd cheered.
“Artslinger?” the bandit asked but shrugged, “Never heard of him.”
“The Artslinger is the greatest vigilante in the west!” another replied.
“I’m sure he’s here to stop your reign of terror!” a third pony from the crowd said, voice filled with hope.
“MY reign of terror?” the bandit asked with fake concern, “Oh my, I’m SO scared!” he burst out into unforgiving laughter, even more harsh than the last, even lasting longer too.
"Hold on, hold on," wheezed the bandit, "Let me get this straight; this dumb as nails stallion can best me?" The response the bandit got was an army of nods.
"If that's the case," he said, proceeding to point a hoof at The Artslinger, "I challenge you to a duel!"
All around the bar there was a legion of gasps followed by murmurs. The Artslinger just stayed silent, not even speaking a single word.
"If I win, I stay in the town and you leave forever!" he laughed, "But if you somehow by Celestia's name win, I'll leave the town. Deal?" he motioned his lie filled hoof towards The Artslinger, who shook it without a word.
"In the center of the town in ten minutes! Be there or be square!"
The bandit stood in the center of Brush Valley with a grin not unlike a kid during Christmas. He was going to beat The Artslinger, the apparent "best" vigilante in the west. He once met someone like him, but he's dead now. So much for best. He craned to The Lactose when he heard the saloon's door's slam open revealing The Artslinger as he took his position on the other side of the bandit. In mere minutes, the two duelers were surrounded by all most if not, all of the villagers of Brush Valley in a circle of different colors each one looking at them with eyes filled with intensity.
"You ready, you second-rate vigilante?" the bandit taunted, narrowing his eyes.
The Artslinger could do nothing but nod at his opponents question, his heart filled with righteousness.
"Alright," smirked the bandit before yelling, "DRAW!"
The makeshift battlefield for the two became silent as a graveyard as the two duelers took out their sketchbooks and pencils and began drawing. After what seemed like hours of hearing the sound of pencil against paper, the sounds ceased as the two began to reveal their creations.
The bandit's was nothing special, just "abstract art", although it was nothing but a simple stick with squiggles. The Artslingers', on the other hoof, was pure beauty; he could have drawn on the Sixteenth Chapel and nobody would be the wiser. It showed amazing architecture, beautiful shading, and most importantly, gorgeous style and flare. It was out of dream for the citizens, but for the bandit, it was a nightmare. He didn't want it to end like this, having only been in this town for mere days. If anyone was losing, it was The Artslinger. The bandit quickly sketched a pistol on his notebook and fired it, watching in terror as The Artslinger smoothly dodged it.
The bandit dropped the sketchbook to the sand, he fell onto his knees and began sobbing. When The Artslinger got closer, the bandit stood up and croaked, "F-fine, I-I'll leave Brush Valley!"
The booming sound of applause filled the air, but it silenced when the bandit put up a hoof, "BUT!" he stated, causing the citizens to go into murmurs, "I will require a re-match against The Artslinger! I wish to draw against him the next period I see him, not a strangers, but as acquaintances!" The roar of the town grew even louder after that announcement, and the colt awakened, finding himself face to face against one of his classmates having won the round of The Draw-Off.
Had he just did that while daydreaming? The colt wasn't sure, but he didn't care as he looked at his drawing. It had looked like what The Artslinger drew; A collection of math symbols and numbers, both positive and negative while explosions rocked the battlefield, while on the other side was Celestia, Luna, and Washinghoof along with Luna's fabled two elite guards, while Discord was quickly advancing on them, and in the center was the most magnificent sight of all. It featured a combination of classic western towns thrown together with splotches of paint with a pony clad in a desperado hat fighting a bandit with a red scarf hiding his face.
"Hey, look everybody!" the other colt cried, "He got his Cutie Mark!"
Soon everypony rushed over to the colt and looked at his flanks; adorned on them was a paint brush, paint can, and thinner. They started cheering and congratulating him on earning his Cutie Mark and on the painting he painted.
The colt smiled. Maybe school wasn't so bad after all.
