Dripping Ink

Short Sight wans't used to emotions. Not of this magnitute. He'd felt grateful when somepony blessed him after a sneeze, and happy when he bought a new sweet. He'd felt sad when his team lost at their games, and dissapointed when he had been refused a job at the local paper.

But these emotions, these were something else entirely. He felt his spirit and brain and heart doing a dance, or riding a rollercoaster, or having a cage fight. He wasn't sure which. He felt love, and triumph, and glory, and agony, and emotions there are no words for, none of which were directed at anypony in particular. He just felt them.

This was all becouse of a pony. A single pony. A mare to be particular. Every week, her amazing, wonderful stories were featured in the Lusitanoxxville Daily, his towns' newspaper. Each week, the subject would vary, drifting from a romance, to a survival, to, his favorite, a coming-of-age story. When sunday came around, he would charge out the door of his apartment, grab the paper, rip it open, and turn to page six, which was her house

. It was the domain of her, where she would swim around in the ink, coming up for air at the end of sentances. Where she would sleep in between paragraphs. Where she would sing every word, almost always pronouncing it correctly. Her words were not hers. They were her herself. And she had no name exept "Anonymous".

This was when he decided to write her a letter. He had the correct supplies, though he rarely used them. He was sitting at his cramped desk in the corner, words and emotions surging through his brain, but none were put down. He just sat there, ink dripping.

Short Sight was noticed about half the time, and for good reason. You could see right through him, in a litteral sense. No doctor could figure it out. His entire body was semi-transparent. You could shine a light right through him. He wasn't invisible, nothing like that, just clear. Like murky water. While he himself was an earth pony, his father was a unicorn, dark a night, and his mother was a pegasus, light as the sky. Several years prior, they had simply moved away, without so much as a goodbye, escaping from their unusual son. By then, he was learning to be semi-self-sufficiant. His cutie mark was hard to make out, but he suspected it was a book, or maybe a quill. He was on his way to becoming a stallion, but he considered himself one already, cringing at the word "colt".

It was at least twenty minutes before had written his first word, which happened to be "Creator", followed by a comment. He wasn't sure how he had come up with it, but she now had a name, and that was enough. "I have read all of your stories" he continued, "and all of them are my favorite. Please write more. I need the words. They are my blood, the air I breathe. Though, more than that, they are becomming me. And I need to be something". He finished it off with "Regards, Suomynona." another spur-of-the-moment thing.  He had suprised himself with what he wrote, and liked it, before throwing it into what he thought was the trashbin. In reality, it was the outgoing mail bin. And she got it.