His pony
A sudden storm of dust blew towards me and coalesced into Discord's face. I could see the blood-red dust-eclipsed sun shining through him as he hovered above me, grinning gleefully. That's right, he said. You hate her. You hate all of them. Not because they're beautiful and scorn you, or privileged intellectual snobs, or idiotic party animals, or narcissistic fools, or stupid idealistic do-gooders, or small-minded rednecks. Not that those aren't good reasons. But that's not why, is it?
I struggled to my feet and shook my fist at him. "You're worse than any of them!" I shouted, then broke into a coughing fit from the dust.
Oh, I don't mind if you hate me. But you don't.
It was true. I could shake my fists at him, but I didn't know how to hate him. Hate needs something more than a reason. I fell to my hands and knees. The sand still burned, but I was too tired to stand. I closed my eyes, willing the vision to disappear. But I could still feel his thoughts boring into my brain.
Because I'm just like you. I hate them too. They're so damnably happy. Not a false, painted-on happy. Not a shallow, glittery happy like the sparkle ponies. A deep-down, full-body, self-assured happy. You'll never know happiness like that. You'll never have friends like that. He raised the insides of both eyebrows and pouted. And it isn't fair, is it?
I opened my eyes and looked up, straight at Discord, willing myself to see reality, focusing on him in a way that I knew would force him to vanish.
He didn't.
He raised one impossibly-long eyebrow impossibly high. Poor little brony. You thought you could be like them, just by watching their show? Thought you could become likeable? Thought a bunch of phony names on websites could be your friends? Thought you could become good? After what you've done? That's so pathetically stupid, I think I feel tears coming to my eyes. Any moment now. Oh, wait; dragons can't cry. Thank goodness; that would have been embarrassing.
But look at me, going on and on when you still have one more pony to see. You've saved the worst for last!
Dammit.
Oh yes. Toodaloo! But don't worry. I've got a feeling we'll meet again. He faded back into the everpresent blowing dust.
Why do I hate Pinkie Pie so much?
Think back to your first years of college. At night, at the bars, there's always a group of girls, 18, 19, maybe early 20s, staying together in a bunch, dancing, shouting, smiling at each other, cutting down any boys who approach them, not out of meanness, just for fun. Picture one of them now, slamming back a $12 sex on the beach bought for her by some nerd she'll never speak to again. If she wants male company, she lets her eyes roam around the room, and picks one out (not you), and sometime after midnight she'll touch his chest and smile at him and let him know he's the lucky one tonight. If she doesn't want that tonight, there's always tomorrow night. She giggles and raves about shoes and screams and whines if the DJ doesn't play her very bad bubblegum-pop loud enough that she doesn't have to hear herself think. She never thinks about anything, because she never has to. There will always be another party, she'll always be invited, and there will always be a hand reaching out to fill her glass.
That's the real-world Pinkie Pie.
So I looked at the dust swirling in front of me, again, and—
"SURPRISE!" A pink face jumped up from—out of frame? I don't even know. I screamed and stumbled back.
"Well I guess it's not really much of a surprise since you knew I was coming, but we can try again if you come to Ponyville and we throw you a surprise party!"
I stood and stared open-mouthed at the pony grinning back at me from two feet away, very real except for being a Burning-Man-bright pink. This trip had gotten way out of hand.
"Out of hand? Oh, I get it! Like out of hoof! That's funny! See, you're not just a boring McBoring pants. You can be fun if you try! But you just walked by about a gazillion different really good parties to come out here and be by yourself in the desert and you don't even like it here and that's just silly!"
I backed off another step. "Pinkie," I said, "I hate parties. I hate parties more than I hate standing alone in the desert."
Pinkie stopped hopping up and down and peered at me. "Are we in bizarro world? Do you hate ice cream and sunsets and love paper-cuts and the sound of a hoof scraping on a chalkboard?"
"No, Pinkie. I just hate parties. They're fun for you because you're fun. A party is just a competition to see who's the most fun according to the universal funness and coolness standards set by a panel of cheerleaders, frat boys, and stoned high-school students. And, guess what, I always lose, so I don't want to play anymore."
Pinkie frowned and cocked her head to one side, trying to take this in. She smiled again almost immediately. "I'll throw you a practice party! It won't be a competition, because it's just a practice!"
"Pinkie," I said, "I don't sing, I don't dance, and I don't party. Just leave me alone. You wouldn't like me."
She leaned forward with a challenging glare. "Bet I would!"
"Pinkie, I don't like you."
She drew her head back sharply and froze. Her mane went a little bit flatter, and so did her eyes. Then her mane bounced back, and she smiled yet again. "Ohh! So that's your problem!"
"What do you mean, my problem?"
"I'm sorry you don't like me. But if you'll come to Ponyville with me, I'm sure we'll find somepony you like! Maybe even two or three! That will make everything different. It always does!"
I was about to object that I couldn't possibly go to Ponyville, when I saw something behind her—a little bubble of Equestria, with a refracted view of fields and forests and shingled chalets, shimmering in the desert before me like a snow-globe.
Equestria.
Pinkie turned and galloped toward it, and the bubble wrapped around her somehow and I could see her just inside, her outline wavering a little, like I was looking down into clear waters being stirred by the wind. I followed her, slowly, and reached out to touch the border in the air before me.
Pinkie hopped up and down between her front and back hooves, and her voice came through, a little warbly but still clear. "Fluttershy will introduce you to her animals and Twilight will find a book to help you and Rainbow Dash will fly circles around you and I'll throw you a party and it'll be like the first book and the first flight and the first party ever because you've never ever been there before!"
I tore off the goggles, felt a cool, moist wind blow on my face, fell to my knees, reached out, and touched grass.
"Come on!" Pinkie said, her voice turning more urgent. "Hurry!"
I drew my hand back. "I can't," I said. I tried to wipe the tears from my eye with the least-dusty part of my handkerchief, but the desert had dried me past being able to cry, and my face was dry. "I can't do it, Pinkie. I'm not fun. They won't like me."
Pinkie shouted something at me, but I couldn't hear it over the wind, and as the scene faded and the bubble shrank I saw she was crying, and I wondered, for a moment, whether maybe she had really meant everything she said after all.
I put the goggles back on and licked my lips. I felt Discord's presence returning. I was sure I was going to die. I just wanted to be away from that face when it happened. I turned away and started walking, but it was too late. I tried to stand, but collapsed back to my knees. I turned and saw Discord's face close behind me, leering. It was a terrible face, just skin and scales stretched taut over seething hatred. I would rather be alone for the rest of my life than have to look at that face.
He placed one claw under his chin and looked up at the sky thoughtfully. Given the circumstances, that could easily be arranged.... But you're not dying yet, my little pony. You failed all my tests with flying colors. I have plans for you.
There was a roaring in my ears, and an enormous black shape loomed up suddenly through the dark spinning dust cloud in front of me, charging at me like a buffalo, like a train. It came to a stop inches from me, and I fell over backward. Only when I started laughing did I realize I was wearing the same mad grin as Discord.
Because you're my pony now.
"Hey, man," somebody called out very far away. "You better get on board."
I don't know whether I stood and climbed on, or whether someone carried me. I remember guzzling down an entire bottle of water. I was riding inside the giant mutant vehicle that had nearly run me down, sitting next to the driver. Enormous loudspeakers above us blared Led Zeppelin's Kashmir into the desert, the first real music I'd heard in the continual synth-pop assault I'd endured since coming here. The sun beat down on us as mercilessly as if the dust storm had never been.
All I see turns to brown, as the sun burns the ground
And my eyes fill with sand, as I scan this wasted land
He dropped me off at Esplanade and 3:30. I made a beeline for the nearest bar, asked for some water in my canteen, and guzzled that too. A couple of the patrons looked at me sideways, so I dug around in my robe's pockets until I miraculously found an unused glowstick and dropped it in the gift jar. One of them smiled and gave me the thumbs-up. Fuck them.
Then I walked back to camp, took down my tent and threw everything into the rental car and drove back to Reno, where I took a room at the Circus Circus and crashed for twelve hours. I had no business being with the burners. All I could do was poison them with my bitterness. I have no business being here, either. I just can't quit it.
Shrooms don't lie, and they don't tell the truth. They just show you what you already believe.
Was my poison sweet?
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GhostOfHeraclitus did 3 pre-reads of this, and convinced me to completely rewrite the second half, which was originally nearly autobiographical, to instead make it a story. He also said the brony response may involve pitchforks and torches.
Well this was okay, I felt like being depressed today anyways.
Poor little hater. You don't have to be fun to have fun. Even Pinkie Pie can't have fun at all by herself, that's just creepy. But you have to take the hands (ot hoofs) that are reaching out to you and being an antisocial lonely hater-pants will not make you happy.
"Pleasantly surprised," as predicted. Although ... yikes, clearly "pleasant" was the wrong word. That was motherfucking creepy in a way that'll stick with me for a while. Quite a character study.
Now you've got me curious what the autobiographical draft looked like. I really hope, for your sake, that it wasn't as bad a trip as your character's.
Pitchforks and torches? Hah, shouldn't it be love and tolerance - wait, this is the Internet. Burning pitchfork love!
I can dig the pessimism. I rationalize mine away as needed by focusing on the outliers: somewhere out there, there are beautiful people. And if we can imagine paradise, are we not one step closer to finding a path there?
Wow. I... Wow.
I feel a lot better about myself having read this. I've made mistakes in my life, God knows, but at least I've never given up as utterly as this guy. It's a sweet poison indeed that is its own antidote. Thank you for this, Bad Horse.
Also, I find it utterly hilarious that this is apparently not the first time Applejack has been channeled by someone through the magic of psychotropics.
What? It is.
Very nice. Will read again
Will not do shrooms 
Is it normal that pinkie's text isn't pink ?
I find it a little worrying (and somewhat more worrying that it's not more than just a little worrying) how close I've been to being as bitter as this character.
I've "given up" a lot more thoroughly however, in a certain sense. Despite not believing in such things, I probably would have ran for nearly any escape-reality portalgate that presented itself. Even if it meant running into the desert and dying.
Not believing actual happiness is possible can kill your spirit. What do you live for if you don't think life's worth the living of it? I'd hate to think that way.
1257130 Is it normal for Pinkie Pie to be normal?
1258954 Self-destructive bitterness isn't your thing? Thanks for not down-voting anyway. BTW, the EqD rejection letter said the writing "does not quite meet Equestria Daily's standards."
That was.... uh............... hrm.
\=
I'll get back to you on that.
1200529
I think it's a damn good thing that you kept yourself out of this story. This way, the character isn't a person, and stays a character. The thing about characters in stories is that even though they're supposed to seem like a person, they really aren't. The character in the story is defined exclusively by his rejection of the mane 6. I know that there are many people who would find similarities between themselves and the character, but everyone who reads this is more than that character. This is like an inverse of the normal inspirational story- instead of reading about a character get over their flaws, here we're presented an example of flaws and we're shown how they can drag one down into pointless hate and isolate a person. The reader will feel the need to reject the character, and that's the point. As a person, you can choose to change.
1260122
The reason why you got that robo-response is because EqD has had problems telling everyone that their story was not accepted. Many people resent their entries multiple times because they just didn't know. With robo-emails, the pre-readers may not get around to giving explanations to everyone, but at least you're not in a twilight-zone of wondering if your story will be posted or not. As to why it was rejected, you can send them an e-mail asking why, but you're gonna be rolling the dice a bit. You might get a reasoned response, but sometimes the pre-readers just can't deal with all the stories they get and so they might send you a couple short sentences or nothing at all. Meh.
It's a shame, because I think this story deserves a bigger audience if for nothing other than the smack to the mind that the brilliant imagery is. I will be definitely recommending this story to others. Thank you for writing this.
Man, how on earth does this story have so few views? This stuff is great! I really, really, really want to see what happens next.
This was honestly brilliant and thought provoking. It deserves to be featured so much more then any of the other cookie-cutter crap that gets into the box oh so often.
1459657 I love graphs! Maybe that's the problem.
How far did you get, and what made it hard to read? The style, or the content?
You might also not like: Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson.
1260122
What a shame EqD rejected this. I certainly learned more about myself reading this than I learned reading My Little Dashie (which struck me as not much more than wish fulfillment). The main character in your story strikes me as being bitter in a way similar to how the main character in Dostoyevsky's Notes from Underground was bitter. However, to my dismay, the main character is unable to find a solution to his woes in either story. Such a solution would be quite useful to me, as I find myself relating with such characters far more than I would like.
In any case, great story.
Very well written story. I can't say it is my favorite, but you certainly did a good job on it. Personally, i can't relate too well to the main character. We share some issues, but for the most part i've come to terms with any of the more severe issues he presented. Still, that doesn't make it a bad story; it was a good read.
Also, never, EVER eat about 13 grams of shrooms and then play any of the Slenderman games. ever. you will be scarred for life.
Um, hey Bad Horse. I'm a big fan of your work, getting turned onto your stuff by reading Mortality Report about a month-or-two back. I've read most (not all) of your stuff, slowly going through it; I really also enjoyed Big Mac Reads Something Purple and Fluttershy's Night Out (which I think is your best thing I've read so far), and I'll probably get around to commenting on those, eventually, too.
You've done some fantastic work here, which starts with some excellent characterization, drip-fed throughout the story at a perfect pace to give us a picture that always seems to feel complete enough, and then gets a little more detailed. Clean, concise, and easy-to-read while still feeling challenging, your story still makes the reader figure out just enough that they're the ones understanding and concluding, rather than just being told what's what, which leads to it hitting much harder. The kicker, though, is that I just love how you wrote a perfect tragedy without it being sad or melodramatic. I mean, you did an excellent job, from giving us a protagonist who is undone by his own character flaw, to using his suffering to provide your reader with the catharsis that your first-person protagonist never receives. Yes/no autobiographical hoo-haa aside, this story is fantastic, and definitely needs to be read.
That out of the way, what I really want to say that I'm glad I gave this story a shot. It's definitely one of your best, standing right up there with the other stories I've named above, and people who skip it are doing themselves a disservice. Like I did. Not really being a fan of "humans" stories, I totally skipped this, only begrudgingly giving it a read after reading your comment on bookplayer's blog post. And I'm really glad I did. Whether it was the "human" tag or the tiny number of views, I strongly encourage people not to skip over this one.
Anyways, Imma go read Twenty Minutes now
This is the ultimate antithesis of brony-in-Equestria. It's well-written, very much so, with a character so deeply set in his problems that he comes alive. The closest I can relate this little reading experience to is Lolita, sans the thick paragraphs of American countryside scenery.
In short, this wins my utter respect for being such a work of craft. Not quite art, which carries more expression, but craft.
I can't say I really enjoyed the story, since for the whole time I felt some kind of slow-burning hate for the main character. Not because he mistreated the ponies, but because he represents a certain stereotype of person that seems to define itself by its hatreds and so-called "superiority" to others. I can't feel sad for the miserable state he is in, for it seems to have been brought by his own actions (especially his inaction), only a certain pity.
Despite that, it was a great read. The mental images come as very strong and clear, and the overall character arc is interesting. It works as a character study of both the protagonist and, by contrasting him to them, the ponies he interacts with. Considering that nothing magical was happening, I guess you end up seeing the ponies as reflections of his own internal issues. I especially love the irony of how much he hates being criticized by the others, yet is the first to do so to the others. A pretty mentally engaging read, in the end.
Respect. I expected a silly story about ponies on acid from the title and got a fascinating introspective into the head of a seemingly very disaffected and disillusioned, tripping brony.
The description of the festival and the writing in general was very good, but that "Poor little brony..." passage was my favorite. To me it summarized perfectly whats wrong with parts of our little community. A motley crew of freaks lurking behind phony nicknames and "original" characters trying to fit in somewhere so very hard that it hurts. No own personality or individuality, just play your part, swim with the herd, you don't even have to think, you're already thought over. And if you have a different opinion, you're a hater. It doesn't even matter if you like the show or not, you're a hater. That turns me off so very much. No critique allowed in our happy rainbows-and-sunshine world. Be a bro, not your inconvenient self.
But you didn't. Disregarding the big grey mass of the screwheads with sparkles for brains, screaming loudly for attention that they only get from each other, because they're so devoid of anything remotely interesting except for their pipe dreams that all look alike after reading a few, you wrote your mind, and i admire that. Great story. I hope you gained something from your trip beside sand in every body orifice. ;)
Got here from Wanderer D's blog.
I really liked the story. It reminded me of my own enlightenment and escape attempt at Burning Man back in high school (Car camper). I really identified with your main character on his points of social alienation and his rebuttals of the Mane 6. Rationally speaking, it's not easy to have faith. Though I don't share his anger and passive hatred I can see how it lead him to do what he did.
The contrast and disconnect between each of the Mane 6 and your character was brilliant. Each a possible answer to his questions about his life problems, each with simple solutions (brilliant in and of itself. I'm trying to make an argument to criticize the simplicity of the answers, but I immediately think that that is precisely what the main character would have done to avoid seeking a perspective outside his own) that he rejects because he can't widen his perspective. How ironic, yet bitterly familiar, that he calls others shallow.
I've been getting the impression that there is supposed to be some hate for this fic. While I don't see that reflected too much in the comments, my personal bias tells me that that EqD snub isn't quite for the normal reasons. If accepting the "outcasts" is part of this fandom, I can understand why they wouldn't like a fic where all of their perceived reasons for unhappiness are trashed by cute pastel ponies whose opinion they respect, especially in a way that leaves little room for rebuttal.
In many a story, we see characters grow and change. This growth gives context for readers to derive meaning. As we've gotten better at trying to derive meaning from telling stories, we've asked ourselves to tell them in ways that call the reader into question, that challenge us to learn and grow, and do better.
Your story has no character growth, but his unwavering stance against changing his perspective has instead sparked some measure of change in myself. Thank you.
Now that...
Was a good story.
A wonderfully written examination of what some bronies very well could fear to admit to themselves.
I see a bit of myself in him, as I imagine anyone would. I love parties, and don't have problems mingling and mixing, but I'm definately guilty of letting friendship die a slow death, of not making that extra effort to keep them strong. I usually replace them with new friendships that last another 2-3 years, rinse and repeat.
I'll have a lot of people at my funeral, at least.
Like Truth_Seeker, I found my way here from Wanderer D's blog.
Unlike Truth_Seeker, I found this to be dry, uninteresting garbage, and find myself a little confused as to how anyone considered recommending it. While you seem to have gotten the (incredibly sparse) pony writing spot on, the story itself seems to be totally pointless, featuring zero character progression and a total lack of anything that would make the story worthwhile. I persevered to the end in the faint hope that there was going to be some sort of payoff, somehow, but there wasn't. All I got was gimmicky font use, uninteresting narrative, and a sour taste in my mouth from the lack of real arc.
Basically, my opinion boils down to "waste of time and effort to read".
2018361 I was going to think about your comment and take it seriously, but then I recognized your name. You're that rude guy who doesn't like me. The one who wrote an extended defense of banning metafiction but couldn't explain why he wanted to ban the stories on his favorites list. The one who wrote,
Just don't read my stories. We think differently.
It's a little sad, because I have an idea why you might not like this story.
It's a nicely-done character sketch, and I'm impressed that you managed to make me enjoy what's basically a BiE story. Still, I think you hit the same theme more powerfully and more concisely in No Regrets. This is the story of someone who's unhappy because he makes the wrong choices, and No Regrets is about someone who's unhappy because she makes the right choices. That one's a tragedy, whereas to paraphrase Applejack, this one's a story about someone who just needs a good smack in the head.
I'm confused by your decision to use Discord as the... I don't want to call him the villain because that's obviously the narrator's role, and I don't want to call him the antagonist because technically I think that would be the ponies. Anyway. Discord functions as the avatar of the narrator's self-destructive spite, but that's a strange role for a trickster figure. Nightmare Moon would've been my choice, since she's already an avatar of self-destructive spite.
This is coming out harsher than is probably warranted. Very little frustrates me more than stories that have a few glimmers of greatness, but don't quite pull it together. If this had merely been kind of good, it wouldn't bug me so much.
2045718 Interesting contrast with No Regrets. Good point about NMM vs. Discord--but NMM comes with her own host of problems, mostly "What is Nightmare Moon doing here when I thought she was destroyed/banished/suppressed into Luna's psyche?" Another reason is that I can imagine Discord wanting to twist people to his purpose, while NMM doesn't strike me as the kind who's looking for converts.
1933752 1240382 1666909 1826037 Comments like these let me know that I got the point across and someone understood it. They mean a lot more than GIFs and Spikestaches. Thanks.
1824578 So what is the difference between craft and art? I'm not sure what art is. I just know that I want it.
2048621
Well, in my completely unfounded opinion, art is something that comes from what can be roughly called the soul. There's... either I'm too dense to pick it out 10/10, but it's just a feeling when I read something that this is coming from the deepest depths of the author's heart. There's this raw quality to the authorial choices that strike me as being very human to make. Black Beauty is something I'd call art, as well as Kino's Journey, The Water Babies, and Room.
Then there's craft, which achieves the above in every way by means of technique, but the thing achieved is so removed from the possibility of it being personal - like Lolita - that rather than just a resonance in the heart, I get a resonance in the mind (as well). I also refer to very vivid work as craft because of how well it constructs itself - all of Vladimir Nabokov's work and 1984.
So I guess it boils down to the degree of which the technique impresses me. Art kinda doesn't get that appreciation upfront, possibly because I'm occupied by its other elements, but craft does.
There's also all the other things in between like Terry Pratchett's stuff which I don't place in either category, but simply think of as "good reads", so my scale is far from objective.
That hits me right in the feels. I think another crack appeared in my mask of sanity and non-depression.
Damn fine story:
The only note I'd offer would be in the first section where you refer to the Greek god Dionysus as "Dionysius." Just an extra "i" is all...
Mike
2307287 Thanks. I've been spelling it that way for years.
Wow. This story can make people think. I'm glad to have read it.
It's a well-written story. I especially like the prose style: clean, terse, vivid and vigorous. Reminds me of the better genre writers of the mid-20th century, especially Roger Zelazny, one of my favorites and the writer I most wish I could be half as good as.
The story itself is a cautionary tale, which is fine, but I'm reminded of Spider Robinson's review of Peter S. Beagle's "Lila the Werewolf." He said it was good work but "it makes you want to send the author a 'Get Well' card."
Anyway, hope you're
not holding down glitter on a "school spirit" posternot on a Frenchman's platenot currently employed as "the lean red meat dogs love!"feeling better!3301525 And in none of them do the animals have sex.
And that is why they are no longer remembered.
I found the first chapter to be somewhat difficult to read through. It wasn't boring, I just couldn't really concentrate on it for some reason--perhaps a lack of context? I have little connection to the main character and even less connection the setting. I'm still unsure of whether I find the images to be useful for providing even a little bit of context or if they're simply a distraction (leaning towards the latter at the moment).
That said, I found the rest of the story to be really interesting. No complaints about the characterization of the Mane 6 and the protagonist's rebuttals to their advice feel completely natural. I think I'd have to do a little soul searching myself to get a sense of catharsis out of this story, but I imagine that's mostly because I don't seem to be the intended audience for this story.
Edit: I thought about it a little more. It certainly deserves a favorite.
Pure damn Gonzo man. Hunter would be impressed.
That was wild. That last sentence though, I'm not sure what it means.
Pretty incredible character piece. It reminds me a lot of Home by KitsuneRisu, and I loved that story as well. I especially like all the references to real world bits and pieces - it makes the character the story follows feel authentic. The scene where Pinkie gives him a glimpse of Equestria in his drug-addled mind and that "They wouldn't like me." line was pretty hard-hitting.
5515354 Thanks! That "They wouldn't like me" line is supposed to be the keystone, so I'm glad to hear it hit you.
And yet, there are people like me - those who never want to give up, never get angry and never believe that they can't be liked one way or another, I just can't find a reason to be angry.
Great story!
5567786
Fascinating. Can you send me a sample of your brain tissue? Or just your home address will do. The extraction is a little tricky.
Maybe you're just taking too much Zanec.
5571742
Oops, I dropped it!
On a more serious note, I'm sorry, I should have been clearer - what I meant is that whilst I can feel negative emotions, I'm much less affected by them(or not at all, depending on the emotion) because I can't find a logical reason to be angry/sad/depressed/etc., logically taken, all of those emotions are counterproductive to most anything you are doing at any moment.
I have gotten rid of my shame however and to an extent, pride; if someone would pay me 20€ to walk naked on the street in the middle of a city, I'd do it, as long as it won't get me killed, hurt, or unless the weather conditions arent good for being naked outside, I'd do it for a day, or as long as I can until I get captured by the local law enforcement on that day, I won't do it if the fine for being naked outside is more than what was paid to me either.
Pride, removed from foresight and humility, is one of the stupidest things our brains have ever come up with, like, in forever.
Holy crap, I know I was late to the comment party, but SHIT I love this fic. It is SOOOOO good! A person that meets ponies in a shroom trip and do sent come back a happy go lucky bastard! This is a fic that deserves much more than just 100 likes. This is the best fic I have read in a while, good job bad horse, good job.
I wrote a review of this story; it can be found here.
There are 3 instances of this ^
Well. I read the first chapter... god at least 3 years ago. I have a vague rememberance of someone, probably you, recommending it to me. Alas, those memories are lost to the sands of time. Anyhow, I just now finally read the last 2 chapters. It was a good read, but it left a little something to be desired. Then again, I suppose that was kind of the point of it. It's like, he didn't really change at all, but he kind of learned something about himself... even if he kind of already knew it? Idk. Drugs, man.
6391461
MFW 3000 readers read 4 typos. Thanks. Fixed.
Can you be more specific?
6393312
Ikr?
Well, let's see now. The story reads well. The hallucinations are written and play out well, and we learn about the narrator and who he is, what his desires are. But really, did he change by the end? I suppose it isn't an absolute necessity for a protagonist to change by the end, but not doing that is generally reserved for slice-of-life-y stories. To me, it seems like he didn't change much, if at all.
So what did he get from his 'journey' or 'enlightenment' or whatever you want to call it? Is he going to be evil like Discord now? Or has he just discovered that he's kind of a jerk, always has been and always will be? Those are the two ways I see this going. And maybe that's the problem, that it hasn't gone yet. The story just ends, leaving very little for the reader to guage what's going to happen next. I could imagine all sorts of things on my own, but feel like you haven't given me a direction to think in...
6393844
He's discovered what kind of a jerk he is, and failed to take the opportunity to change. Discord implies that he will use him for bad purposes.
Do you really feel like the narrator needs to change, or have you been told that the narrator ought to change? I think the notion that characters in a story need to change comes from the Jack Bickham / Syd Field "how to write a bestseller without any ideas or talent" schools of writing. The main character learns something in most popular stories, but in most tragic stories, the main character fails to learn something, or learns too late, or learns something corrupting or cynical, or is crushed regardless of what he learned. Think Hamlet, Romeo & Juliet, Heart of Darkness (Apocalypse Now), 1984.
That's just modern stories. In medieval stories, the point of the story was usually that the main character didn't change despite pressures to change. Change was bad back then. Think Beowulf or King Arthur. In ancient Greek stories, heroes didn't change, but their circumstances changed; the point of the story was usually something subtle about the cost of virtue. Modern stories are karmic; ancient Greek culture was non-karmic.
6395166
As a writer myself, I prefer that the protagonist change.
I suppose you have a point about tragedies, but is this truly tragic? The protagonist started out suffering, and through the course of the story no real tragedy has befallen him. To even say that his life is tragic is a bit far fetched as well, because he has had friends and he has a normal office job. I don't think having a fairly normal - if antisocial - life counts as tragic. The only 'tragedy' to happen to him is that he discovered he's a jerk? That might be considered tragic, if he himself received it that way, and the story portrayed it that way, but he doesn't and it doesn't. He walks away happy that he's a jerk. It might, at worst, be a tragic character flaw, but again, that would only really count towards tragedy if he suffered because of it as the story progressed.
Either way, I'm starting to feel like the major concern here is not whether or not the protagonist has changed, it's just that you simply left the end too open ended for my tastes.