//------------------------------// // Act 8: Welcome to my Nightmare // Story: Friendship is Failure #19: Write in the Head (Hour long special) // by DakariKingMykan //------------------------------// ACT EIGHT Stone explained that in order to understand why he caused all the nightmares, they first have to understand his background and how it came to all this. *Stone Heart’s POV* Equestria: A place where Friendship was the main source of belief, ideas, and even considered a way of life for all who lived there… but not for all of us. As a young colt, my parents were rather pushy and demanding. Nothing I ever did seemed good enough for them. They always would tell me that I would have to “Improve” how I did things, even when there was little to nothing wrong with what I had at all. Drawing pictures… Folding laundry… What I would eat… Or how I would spend my free time; reading and practicing writing, instead of being practical and learning how to do heavy lifting, and concentrate on numbers to be a bank-teller or a marketer. They always criticized me, and never once said anything encouraging. Even when I tried my best to do things to their specification, they still showed little to no regard at all for my efforts. It was as if they felt they were “so perfect” it gave them the right to look down on anyone they chose, and they demonstrated this by acted as cold and as callous to other ponies they felt were not up to their standards. They little to no interest or time for what they deemed “Frivolities” such as imagination, fantasy, or anything of the sort, believing that everything that ever went on HAD to be improved, HAD to be better… even it was already as fine as it could be, they still remained dissatisfied. School was no better, I tried to open up and make friends with other ponies, but my efforts were in vain. I was teased and bullied relentlessly for such pitiful reasons. “You’re too short.” “You’re the wrong color of blue.” “I already have friends. I don’t need anymore.” “That’s what you eat for lunch? You’re pathetic!” They wouldn’t let me play with them, wouldn’t pair up with me for simple projects or reports; I began to feel that Friendship wasn’t all it was cracked up to be-- so much bigotry, spoiled and rotten behaviour. The worst of it all was Pager. He would push me in the mud, he would steal my drawings and put paint all over them, why he would even make up lies and stories about me and tell them to all the students making them laugh at me and taunt me further. “I heard that kid’s a pervert.” “I heard he wants to look up girls’ tails.” “I heard he’s gay.” “What a dork!” “He should rot in the gutter like the toxic worthlessness he is.” I finally couldn’t take it anymore, so I finally complained to the headmaster of the school, and for the first time I got the first taste of kindness. Someone finally listened to me and we managed to prove Pager was a lowly bully which resulted in his suspension, and being held back a grade. The other students didn’t take kindly to it, viewing Pager as popular and cool, and now that he was gone and going to be held back… I suddenly went from the ranks from just another bullied kid to Public Enemy Number-One! The students were all relentless and pushed me harder all the time. -Mud thrown in my face -tripped as I walked along -Stealing my homework and passing it off as their own -Sabotaging my lunch with worms and bugs… There was no way I could force the headmaster to stop all of them, he refused to help me anymore anyway, saying he couldn’t help me every time I had a problem. “You must learn to fit in.” he said “You must help the children see you in a different way, but you’ll need a little self-improvement.” “Self-Improvement…?” that was all he could say? You’d think he was saying it was my fault that all the people around me were acting like such bigoted snubs! So it was impossible for me to make friends. As I got older, I tried to lose my troubles by taking up reading novels and fiction. At least I was able to keep to myself and keep my anger quiet… …Except… so many stories that I read all seemed to follow the same plots. Plots where characters would grow and develop, which was natural in most characters, but the way they developed sickened me…! All characters would learn from friendship, and use it to self-improve themselves to becoming different, even better than what they were before. I couldn’t relate to these characters at all, not the way I was treated. Worse than that, whatever adversity these characters, no matter how severe the situation, they managed to overcome it with ease and earn a happy-ever-after… almost as if it was simply handed to them on a silver tray. I found it all ridiculous. From my experiences, I knew friendship couldn’t solve everything, and not all endings were good, happy, or even made to be! So I decided to maybe try and become a writer myself. Make stories with different plots and endings, where friendship didn’t always work, and endings were not always happy. But all my school reports and story ideas only earned me more taunts and bullying, and not just from the students, but the teachers as well. “This is the worst thing I’ve ever read.” “You want to write something, and then write it good!” “This belongs in the trash, and so do you!” Even my parents were as unsupportive and uncaring as ever, and that was when I reached my breaking point. I dropped out of school, and I ran away from home! I felt that any place was better than living with those who didn’t care about me, appreciated me, and concerned only for themselves and what they wanted more. Friendship, love, trust… it was all a big lie! To fit in you had be like everyone else-- like what they liked, hated what they hated, and let them tell you when you were happy, or proper, or anything they said you were! Of course, without a proper plan I had no other place to go, but I wasn’t in the streets for very long. Fate began to smile on me… I came upon an old abandoned cottage that had seen better days. It once belonged to writer and inventor who made a vast fortune in his amazing novels, but died tragically and mysteriously. He had no family, and as for what happened to his vast fortune was a mystery… …Until I discovered the secret, hidden under a rotted stair case, with a box containing a map, and clues which lead me to the spot where he had buried the remains of his fortune. It wasn’t all that much, but it was more than enough to help me get back on my feet. Using this load of money, I managed to buy myself my home in the outskirts and furnish it, and provide myself with food. As for the remains of my education, being a drop out and all, I merely went to the local library and read for free all day. I never earned a diploma, but that was the least of my concerns. Even after buying and furnishing my home, the money was dwindling, and I knew it wouldn’t last forever, so I’d have to get a job and make money myself, but I was still considered a dropout, and I knew most places wouldn’t let me in if I tried. That’s when it hit me: I would try and be a writer myself, but not just any… I wanted to try and help everyone realize the errors in their ways, and that life was not as simple they thought it would be. That’s when I began to write up dark stories, filled with tragedies and hardships, inspired by my own life of betrayal and harsh treatment, not to mention the stories I had read before I felt could had been different without all the happy endings. Alas: All the publishers laughed at me, and simply insulted me and chucked me out. “Your characters are just being selfish pricks” “Either write it good, or don’t write all.” “This stinks, and you suck.” “Wow! Someone’s egotistical!” Even Sandy Beam and her Publisher father were not as understanding, even when I explained to them my reasons. “Look, kid… nobody likes downers. The people want characters THEY can relate to, without wannabes or moping losers holding them back.” Worse than that, one of the prized authors they published for was none other than Pager! He was just as bullying, just as obnoxious, and pushy as ever, having written several successful stories--mostly about all the friendship and nonsensical notions of how to overcome adversity, and all that. “Well, what have we here? I thought you were gone for good. I know a lot of us were happy when you split, especially your parents!” I didn’t want to believe him, but it was true, even my own parents were never the least bit concerned after I abandoned them, or rather it was they whom pushed me away. They never bothered to look for me-- deeming me only a disgrace since the day I was born-- simply not up to their standards. They had moved away from Canterlot to live in Las Pegasus, to become richer and better than they ever felt they could be, as way of improving their lives with me out of the picture. At that point, there was only last thing for me to do; test everyone’s morality. So I gave into to all their flaming, all their insults and criticisms, and I wrote The Strength of Friendship, which contained all that one-sided development, friendship, and all the things I couldn’t stand and that never happened to me. Surely enough, that story became a hit. All those who rejected me began to accept me as one of them. …One of Them-- The very creatures that crushed my spirits all my life? The ignorant and arrogant bigots who forced me to against my pride and my own honor, and now they were only accepting me because I was doing what they demanded of me, and giving into all the ridiculousness that I was against? Worse than that: My cutiemark finally materialized for writing these stories, but the way it appeared, it was as if even my own cutiemark was mocking me-- a broken pencil with torn out pages!! …I couldn’t stand for it! I wouldn’t stand for it!! I could see that I would never get through to these ponies, so I gave up writing, and I refused all payment, praise, and any offers given to me. The others were all flabbergasted, as to be expected, and yet they tried to insist that I reconsider… …Especially Sandy and her Father. “You can’t do this! I’m willing to publish your story and pay you well, and you’re just throwing it all away?!” “…The story is garbage, and so are you!” Sandy was horrified that I said such things to her father. “Stop this! You’re being unreasonable.” “I’M… being unreasonable? Yes, I suppose I am… after all, it’s the only language you ponies know, because you were always pushing me around, and you’ve just proven it all right. You wouldn’t accept my other stories as they were, or my way of thinking when all I was trying to do was open everyone’s eyes and get them to see the errors of their ways and that there’s more to life than just friendship! Yet you accepted this ridiculous story I make without much thought simply because it gives in to your demanding and foolishness! Well, I want no part of it! Stay out of my life!” With my dream nothing more than a squashed hope, I did the only I could and got a job as a sanitation worker. At least they didn’t require a decent education and I could make plenty of money to keep myself going… …But I was constantly pestered by those who found my trash book amazing, and gave me the praise and honor that I didn’t want, so I let them all have it, the same way they always let me have it. “I don’t like this story, and therefore I don’t like you either.” “You think it’s a good story? Well I don’t! So there!” “I will never sign autographs for that slop!” “I told you to stay out of my way and stop sending me these checks!” Any and all money I received for the book, I destroyed it, preferring only to get by on my regular salary from my real job. You can believe, the bullying started up again, more intense than ever. Of course this time I was bringing it on myself by being harsh back to everyone, but at least I had a good reason. Pager especially had a ball with taunting me, and even confronted me about my decision. “You finally write a successful story, and you whine like a baby and you toss aside all money and offers? Good luck being in the streets; it’s exactly where twats like you belong!” “Look, it’s the wannabe writer too cowardly to take other ponies’ advice.” “You’re a miserable, selfish jerk, Stone Heart. Maybe if you’d improve your attitude and swallow your worthless pride--” He stopped when I pointed my sharp pointy-stick at him. “I’m warning you, Pager… give it a rest!” Pager actually looked afraid, but I chose a bad place to threaten him, in open public with so many ponies looking at me. Even I realized that this sort of violence was going too far, so from that moment I decided to try and keep my cool from wanting to physically injure someone, even if they deserved it. Instead I decided to start writing simple stories again-- tales about my enemies, those I didn’t like or trust and who wronged me by putting it harmlessly on paper and keeping them for myself. It helped a little, but deep down my hunger to get ever with every-pony was still as starving as ever. Then, one day, while I cleaning up my home, I was stowing away the chest containing the fortune I had found, when I dropped it by mistake, opening a hidden panel within the back of lid, which contained a map and a letter from the previous owner. The note read… “If you are reading this, and you have the map, you are on the verge of discovering my hidden secret invention, which was how I became an instant success. But be warned, if you find it; don’t let it consume you the way it did me.” “The secret to his success…?” Despite the warning on the note, I couldn’t resist. So I followed the map out into the Countryside, and dug up an old case which contained the typewriter, and no other instructions or warnings about it. At first I didn’t see what the big deal was, and wondered how a typewriter could be the secret of some-pony’s success. Nevertheless, I took it home, polished up, and it still worked. It was already late at night, but I figured I’d try it out anyway to see what the fuss was about in the note. So I wrote my first ever story on it. I wrote a simple nightmare about Pager, he was being hunted by large Timberwolves, chased into their den and they ate him alive. Then, the very next day, I overheard Pager talking to some of his fans about the very nightmare he had in the night, and it was exactly as the story I wrote. Was it a coincidence? I had to try again, so I wrote a second story about Pager. This time he was at my mercy, being tried and punished for his wicked ways, and not only was I judge and jury, I got to sentence him to be executed, and drop the blade on him. The very next day, Pager confronted me. “Who gave you the right to be part of my dreams?!” “What are you talking about?” “I had a nightmare about you last night, and I didn’t like it, just like I don’t like you. Stay out of my dreams!” He stormed off without any other word, and he didn’t have to… it had hit me! The typewriter! The famous novelist who owned it must’ve invested it, enchanting it with an incredible magic-- any story I would write on it, the pony was writing about would dream it. This was probably what he meant in his note by “Secret of my success.” but this machine… I could get into the heads of not only Pager, but every other pony I had scores with! I could make them suffer, and they’d never be able to trace it to me. Even Princess Luna’s magic could not work against this, and the machine itself protected me from anyone who dared to attack me as well. Besides, they were only dreams anyway; it wasn’t as if I was physically harming them in real life. So I went off on my new path, terrorizing them all. Some like Pager, I gave more than just one scare, and any pony who dared to make things difficult for me would also suffer. It became an obsession, and I enjoyed every moment of it. *POV ends* The remainders of the memories and flashbacks were of Stone using his dream machine to terrorize all the ponies, while singing a dreadful song to boot. “Welcome To My Nightmare!” The song ended with Stone laughing like an evil creep, enjoying all the horrors he was causing.