Mother

My hooves tapped the earth, the soft pounding of drums could be heard overhead. The soft breeze gently waving through my hair, softly, kindly tangling the coalish strands. I sighed. I didn't want to meet her. I didn't want to hear the name that mocked me of a life that I would never have. A life I had stolen from me. The potential I could never fufill. Slowly, and gently I feel the beginnings of a storm rising, tapping my back with small raindrops of water.

It stings.

I have no choice. The thick, tall grass is not shelter enough from the drizzle of water falling. I need to find a canopy, a tree, before the assault from above becomes too much for my shadow to bear. The dark, grey drops fall around me, forming puddles along the pavement so eagerly placed to purgatory. The town is an assault on my eyes, the houses built from bricks and oddly enough, hay. The thick roofs are not thick enough for me. Perhaps I could last an hour under their protection, but not long enough.

Not long enough to live.

I look away, hesitant to even think of the thought that is protruding the back of my mind. I know it is there, looming and mocking my morals like the silent bully it is. I know my fate. It doesn't have to mock me, like it does. Tauntingly tapping its hooves, jokingly watching its wrist as if it wore a watch. A small, coy smile but definitely there. I frown in disgust, bidding my time, stalling, perhaps passing around the thought of letting the water kill me. Silently wondering how long until the water would melt me as it washes away like the filth I am.

Unfortunately my mind doesn't think that is an option. Both it and my body team up against my will. Instinctively galloping towards Ponyville.

Ugh... Ponyville. The name feels like acid on my tongue. It sends shivers down my spine, and I feel bile rising up in my throat. I try to swallow them, shove the emptiness down into the chasm that is my stomach. No, instead it is sitting in my abdomen like the waste of space it is, threatening to send waves and waves of nothing out into the fresh air. It is simply the remnants of a being that I am no longer.

My hooves beat against the ground, threatening the earth of attack if it doesn't move. The earth knows better and moves, but begrudgingly, sending waves of pain up my leg. I silently beg myself to stop, but my body could care less. I feel the full extent of the splashes against the pavement, the water seeping into my being, sending spikes of pain into my spine.

Spike.

To say it is torture would be an understatement.

I will myself to think of something else, anything else than the searing pain that threatens to rip every single nerve out of my legs. Unfortunately, my mind accepts, forcing another unwilling thought into my mind. It smiles coyly, the thought a gift but a shallow one, full of schadenfreude and laughter.

Twilight.

I know it is coming, our meeting is definite, and no matter how much I wish it couldn't be, I know I have to meet her. I know that if I ever want to make it out of the town alive, I'm going to have to enter her dreaded tree house, her despicable library that she calls a home. Even the beautiful books, the collections of knowledge and vast amounts of irreplaceable history, cannot help the shear disgusting amount of vileness that leaks from the very building.

All because she lives there. All because of the horrible murderer that lives there.

The rain begins to pour harder, but the pain subsides, ignored, over-shadowed by the thought.

I hate her.

Internally I laugh at myself. How useless, as if describing air. "I hate her?" It almost seems childish, the understatement almost laughable. Almost. Although I wish I could laugh, I wouldn't dare. I wouldn't dare let myself laugh at the silliness of such a gruesome subject.

To do so would be freakish.

I allow myself a laugh here. Freak? Ha, as if anypony would dare call me a freak to my face.

Call me a freak?!? It's a death sentence!

FREAK!?! HOW CREDIBLY SILLY!!!!

WHAT AN ABSURD THING TO SAY! HAHAHA!!! THE VERY THOUGHT!!!

stop.

Calm down. Remain logical.
Take deep breaths of air you don't need, and count numbers you don't know.

Rehearse the lines a play you never read,
and think of a color you never saw.

There you go.

Remain logical.
All this water is making you feel funny isn't it?

uh huh.

Now calm down, and find some shelter.

You will be better in no time.

colors wizz past my head i see pretty blues, and greens and yellows. lots of them i see. soon, a pretty tree appears.
i like the way the leaves move. i guess the wind is pretty windy to make them move so fast. the rain makes everything alive
it reflects all the colors and light. the green of the leaves captivates me

i wonder who lives here.
i wonder who doesnt live here.

i wonder if i live here
i wonder if i live...

~*{-------------}*~

I have bad water damage.

Briefly I ponder if "water damage" is accurate enough- the connotations different, I guess from what one would normally assume from looking at me- stop, it doesn't matter.

I'm not a doctor, but I can tell by the large, black holes in my legs that it is severe. I'm not normally a changeling, so... that can't be good. I behold the sight. Never in my many years of living have I had such an intense reaction. Especially to rain water. Perhaps the weather ponies in Ponyville use a different blend of water then the rest of Eques-

I'm in Ponyville

I take in the familiar sight of a unicorn bust, carved out of the wood of the floor. The shelves lined with books, carefully divided and sorted.

Figures. She is an obsessive snob who probably couldn't take it if one was switched with another. She...

Twilight.

I rush to the door, swinging it open only to find puddles and puddles along every road and every house. I look up and hear the the pitter patter of rain on the leaves that are the roof.

I'm doomed.

There is nowhere to go, no where to hide. She can sense me, I know. I am a being all to familiar to forget. I panic. My hooves clatter against the floor, the metal striking the wood in the loudest possible manner. I don't notice it, it is merely a background noise in the flurry of overwhelming thoughts that bounce about my head. I am trapped. I feel claustrophobic. The walls seem to close in around me. They are so close, I can't possibly move. I try to calm down, but my 'friend' has left me in a hurry.

TRAITOR!!!

It can't hear me. I can't even hear me. The walls absorb the sounds. Nopony can hear me. Nopony to cry out for help.

I'm doomed. The world will go on and like a smudge the rain will wash me away and she will be the one that turns on the faucet.

I hear a groan, a yawn and the muffled rustling of covers upstairs.

She can tell I'm here! As much I want to revel in my accurate prediction, it is one that is constantly threatening me. I can't take the pressure.

Another muttering of sleepy pony gibberish.

Luna our beloved ruler and commander of the moon please please help me in my time of need. Please please please will this pony back to sleep that you should so gracefully ask her to resume slumber with your beautiful moon, oh please oh please oh please oh please.

The groaning of floorboards can be heard over head. Over my head, that is.

Oh Princess Luna, please let my death be quick.

I hear the stairs complaining under the weight of her.

SHE'S COMING DOWNSTAIRS!!!!

I'll take my chances outside thank you. It is the last option. I am left with no choice.

I just at the door, barely close enough to touch the handle when I feel a tendril of magic lick the base of my hooves.

It is a magic so familiar I can't help but whine and cry under my breath. I keep as silent as I can as she covers me in her magenta glow. My entire being is covered in her grasp now, her horn magically dragging me unwilling her to meet her face. It isn't fair, the beautiful outline of her face, her shining eyes and her well kept mane. She is stunning, another testament to the amount of magic made to her. She feels like the hand of Mother Magic, her radiant fur, her symmetrical smile, ready to flash at any moment. I can tell. You can see the stiffness and strength of the muscles in her face that she smiles. That she has a happy life, she doesn't feel guilt, she doesn't cry, or feel an overwhelming sense of knowing on her back.

I fear I will be dissolved, what is it called when two chemicals, an acid and base, combine? It will be like that except that I won't be in the product. I will disappear in the smoke of the reaction and burn up in the sun. I wanted to die quickly, I wanted to die with dignity but I cannot leave any remnants of myself for I am only a shadow. A quiet smudge on the world but the smudge is sentient and the smudge is never tardy and the smudge is stubborn but once wiped away the face of the world feels better, cleaner without-

"Don't I know you?" The words sound like butter across her lips, the question neither demanding., nor unimportant enough to not answer. It is the perfect blend, the true sound of a princess who has lived longer than any pony, any alicorn, and her age is only rivaled by Discord himself.

I nod. I cannot speak to her for I fear the words would freeze midway between me and her ears and it would fall the the floor, cracking the floorboards and the world would cave in and send us to Tartarus. Except she wouldn't fall she would drop me in the hole and fly away with her wings.

She stares for a moment, her perfect face held in a beautiful frown, carefully contemplating mine. I feel pitiful, filthy in the grips of her magic. She is a princess, the most regal among ponies. She is the humblest of the ponies, opting to live in a library than a castle. She bears no crown, her modesty a glorious trait only rivaled by her natural magic talent. I can feel the practiced restrain in the magic that caresses me. It's a blanket, a warm, comforting glow. I fear she will lose it.

Her eyes twitch for the faintest moment, and I know she recognizes me. Her magic gives, if only for a second, and I feel my tail brush against the floorboards, only to be brought up again. She stares, she is staring into my soul, and nothing I had done is safe. No flaw, no mistake is saved from her shining eyes. I feel ashamed that such sparkling eyes should happen to see the disgusting soul that is mine. I don't dare blink, as if it would wave her concentration.

"Do you have a name?" She asks tentatively.

I nod. I feel a small burst ofannoyance in her magic, barely perceptible. I shouldn't have been rebellious. I shouldn't have tested her patience like that. She has important things to do. She can't stand around wait for ponies like me to tell her their names. She is a princess, and it is her duty to know the names of the subjects of which she tends to.

I gather whatever bravery I could find in my puddle of a black heart. I take a deep, foreign, breath of air, and whisper out my name. It comes out incoherent, I can tell. I try again.

Her face drops, her eyes scrutinizing the floor boards. Her eyes follow me again, and I feel the waft of panic and confusion spring from her. I can't help but feel guilty for her pain, everything that is hurtful. I contaminated her with my being and my shadows and her face awaits at the edge of anger, but mostly depression. She releases me from her magic.

I don't think, don't hesitate, don't wait to turn and bolt out the door. I hear the satisfying sound of my flesh burning. A good death. Not a great one, not for me, not for me.

"No!"

I don't turn to her. I just let the rain fall on me like a shower of light. My skin burns with the scent of decay and smoke. I don't mind the pain. The cold overtakes the artificial warmth of my body. I feel like I'm melting. Maybe I am melting! Like an ice-cream cone in the sun. I look at my hooves in a daze. I am melting. I wonder if I am delicious, like an ice-cream cone. What flavor am I? I hope I'm not chocolate, or vanilla. Maybe I'm peppermint, or something cool like that.

The world is colors, and I'm grey. That's okay though, I get to be every colors friend. I get to be all of them, and none of them. Perhaps even at the same time.

Flowers.

I love flowers.

I just don't know what flower to be.

Daisy?

Lilac?

I chose daffodil.

Author's Note:

Guess who the narrator is to win a real(ly virtual) cookie! There are no wrong guesses, but there is only one right one. I think writing this has impaired by logical decision making, actually... small price to pay for the cool fifty cents though.

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