• Published 25th May 2012
  • 9,465 Views, 215 Comments

Lament of a Spoon - Zytharros



Silver Spoon questions why she participates in the destruction of the Cutie Mark Crusaders.

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Oops

I screwed up I screwed up I screwed up I screwed up… I can’t be-LIEVE how badly I screwed up… I am so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO sorry!!

The same filly, in the same room, with the same furniture. Only this time, instead of regal composure, she is awash in agony and pain. Her room shows the after-effects of a panicked temper tantrum. Her bed is ruffled badly and drenched with sweat, her pillow stained with tears, her silverware projects scattered on the floor, except the two stalwart statuettes on her night table. As she writes, she occasionally leaves to pace and think.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this… Sweet Celestia, this is NOT how it was supposed to be… They’ll never forgive me now. They’ll never see past… this.

The filly lets out a piercing scream as another wave of agony takes over her form. She throws herself on her bed, tossing and turning, writhing in unknown terror and fear. She slams her hooves into her bedspread repeatedly, kicking herself inwardly. She returns to her journal after wearing herself out.

Diamond Tiara came back to school. She saw me hanging with them. I wanted her to see me… but then… then… then…
She taunted me and the Cutie Mark Crusaders; that was expected… But when they began defending themselves and me against her tirade… I…

A scream.

I defended her!

Another scream. “No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no… NO!”

Scootaloo won’t speak to me now. Apple Bloom won’t even look at me, Sweetie Belle glares at me with disdain… even Diamond Tiara doesn’t give me the time of day anymore - THAT was out of the blue. The only one I can talk to about this is Rarity. I spent all day yesterday hiding out at her boutique as she worked, telling her all about it, quickly disappearing when Sweetie Belle appeared and slipping out the front door when I got the chance.

I may as well not show my face in school anymore… I am completely ruined…

I had worked so hard to earn Scootaloo’s trust, too. I had designed some new silver decals for her scooter, plating the edges with the metal. I had carried her homework home for her. I had basically tried to become a servant, hoping I would be able to get back in her good books with a little bit of hoof grease, but that one action had erased all my hard work…


You. Spoon. Brained. Silversmith!


Finishing a doodle of a certain yellow pony with a pink mane screaming, the silver pony leans back in her chair, her frustration beginning to ebb. She gets up and looks out the window. She smiles sadly as she watches the Cutie Mark Crusaders playing in the sunny town square, remembering all the times in the past two weeks since her last entry how she had played with them, happier than she had ever been in her life. She sighs, letting some of the tension go, and crosses out the last line in her journal.

It does no good to call yourself names, Silver Spoon. Remember that!

Finishing an oft-repeated quote from her mother, she looks over at a new item on her desk, taken four days ago. It’s a family photo of her mother and father, with her at the centre of the picture. She smiles, and yet on the inside she cringes.

Maybe it wasn’t quite so simple. My daddy’s off in Manehattan right now for a business trip. He left three days ago and won’t be back for another thirteen days. I didn’t want him to go. We had scheduled a wonderful father-daughter day at the Canterlot Royal Father Daughter Dance-Off for today. We had developed quite a reputation for our choreogr cartogra

She pauses and looks around, annoyed… “Oh, where is that thesaurus?” She spends several minutes tossing random books and objects around her room, leaving it in an even worse state of disorganization than before. She also discovers she has misplaced her copy of “The Early-Equestrian Language Guide: How to Write like a Settler”… Failing to find them, she frowns and throws up her hooves briefly as if to give up. Perturbed she couldn’t find the right way to spell a word and also that her journal will not be the same in style all the way through, she continues writing.

dances. We even won third last year! I was really looking forward to it, hoping to get first. I was heartbroken, but I understood. I guess I wanted some comfort… Good job with that, Silver… maybe you should get a medal for finishing first place in idiocy instead…

When I brought my problem to my tiara-flanked former friend, she just laughed and said, “You wouldn’t have won anyway” before walking off, her nose in the air.

I’m glad I don’t see her much anymore.

Rarity, although understanding of my initial problem, told me to get petty and basically turn myself into Diamond Tiara to get revenge against all four. But wouldn’t that just make me worse off than I already am?

She pauses again, holding the silver quill up to her lips. An idea slowly begins to form in her mind. Her face slowly becomes brighter.

Maybe a party would help… Yes. I shall go talk to Pinkie Pie today. I shall hold a… oh, how would she say it… a “Silver Spoon is Super-Duper Sorry Party”… and get her to invite the Cutie Mark Crusaders to come to my place and say my piece here tomorrow. My daddy won’t mind if I spend a few extra bits to hire the premier party planner of Ponyville to hopefully patch up my new friendships. I hope they will forgive me… especially Apple Bloom. I really don’t want her staying mad at me forever.

First, though, I have to go give Diamond Tiara a piece of my mind. She’s messed with me, my friends, and my plans for the last time.

The thick book closes with a sharp slap. The silver filly looks around, shocked and disturbed by the mess she’s made. She groans and gingerly steps around the clutter now present on the floor, intent on moving on with her day without wrecking any of her hard work. She leaves the room and shuts the door, trotting down the hallway. She freezes, closes her eyes and groans once again.

A few seconds later, she bursts back through the door and begins tidying up.

“I can’t ever leave a mess untouched, can I?” she mumbles, “Especially in my own creative space.”