M.U.C.

The door was big. Old wood creaked before him, the smell of rotting timber reaching his nose. But this was where he was supposed to be. He looked down again at the letter he had received personally from Celestia. It said that he was to open the door to his cellar. Odd, but that was royalty for you. So he pushed open the portal, and was subsequently blinded for the rest of his short existence.

His nerves registered a tingling sensation. His coat bristled with electricity, and he couldn't feel anything below him. He felt as if he was hovering, but his wings hung limply at his sides.

They say that when you lose one sense, your other senses increase. For instance, you lose your sense of smell, your sense of hearing increases. This is partially true. The brain just has less to focus on. So while the pegasus could not see what was before -or below- him, he could hear it. Or rather them. The first voice was a rather nasally male, while the second one belonged to a female.

"No no no, it's all wrong! The proportions just don't fit. Heads aren't that large," the male said. "Just scrap it and show me your others."

"I'm afraid I can't do that Bill." The woman's voice had an oddly static feel to it.

"Excuse me, what are you doing in my cellar?" the pegasus inquired. The  voices ignored him and continued their debate.

"They want something blocky and ugly. Tradition," the male voice said sagely, "is one of our company's greatest policies." The female muttered something indecipherable in response. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"I said that if you really respected tradition you wouldn't need me."

"Just get rid of it." And the pegasus was gone. You could believe that maybe he went somewhere nice. Open skies stretching forever in any direction. Or possibly an infinite volume of rare stamps (despite its unusual ending, the pegasus' life as a whole was rather worth skipping over). Anything that helps you along if you've somehow become attached to an unnamed character in less than a thousand words.

But in all honesty he wound up in the bottom of the great cosmic trash bin otherwise known as the creative process.

"Let's try this again," the female said to herself.