Albert leads a boring life. What happens when it suddenly gets much, much more interesting?
Albert leads a normal, boring life. He meets a strange man who claims to be a writer, with nigh supreme power over Albert's world. All the writer needs to do is write something down on paper and it happens. So what happens when the Writer asks for help Albert's life story?
Albert was a normal pony. Normal brown mane, normal yellow coat, normal brown eyes. He had a normal job, lived in a normal house, and certainly never did anything adventurous. He did just about the same thing every day. He woke up, he took a bath, he went to work, he baked bread, he came home again, and then he slept. He did that every single day. Day in and day out, all he did was sleep, eat, and bake bread. There was only one day where he didn’t do this. This story is about that day.
“Good morning, Albert.” Rising said, her bright orange hooves deep in a bowl of bread dough. She was his boss at the bakery, and she was a very nice pony. But as cheery as Rising tried to be, Albert always had trouble with mornings because he never really wanted to wake up.
“Uurrgshhh.” Albert replied, not opening his eyes. Rising smiled and kneaded some more. Albert, eyes still shut, grabbed his apron off of a peg on the wall. The strap slid over his ears and down his neck, the rest of the apron dragging on the floor. His mane was sticking up in all directions, clearly not having been combed meticulously as it was almost every other morning. Rising was very worried about Albert. He never came into work without combing his mane. She kept an eye on him as he trudged to the ovens.
Albert is in charge of placing trays of uncooked rolls into the ovens and then taking those rolls out before they turn into black, smoky lumps. He doesn’t often make black smoky lumps. Usually, the rolls he makes are crisp, golden, and wonderful. When the rolls bake, Albert always thinks about his life. He wonders how his life could be different. What if Albert weren’t such a normal pony? What if things actually happened to Albert? Albert would sit and watch the rolls rise slowly, thinking: What if I was a rich pony? What if I went on adventures? What if I fought monsters? What if? Albert always thought that his life could be better, but he never really did anything to make it happen. He thought that fun and adventure would just fall out of the sky one day. It did.
Albert was walking home from work when adventure fell from the sky. The night was a little bit chilly, and Albert was walking quickly because he hated the cold. The full moon made the night somewhat bright, and it was easy to see. The cobblestones on the ground glistened lightly in the moonlight. Albert stopped walking for a moment, shivering. It’s never this cold this time of year thought Albert. He stood for a moment and looked at the now-shiny cobblestones, pondering the day. It rained earlier, he thought. He had to make extra rolls because it was rainy. Rain sells bread. Especially warm bread. Albert zipped his coat up a little bit more with a shiver. It was far too cold for this time of year. Albert’s teeth started to chatter and he started to walk faster down the cobblestone street.
He could hear a faint whisper of something, like a crackling fire or the crunch of dry leaves underhoof. It was so different that it made him investigate. He looked around for the noise, and it sounded like it was coming from a narrow, dark alleyway. He peered around the seeing nothing. He gulped, knowing that he would have to go in to know what it was that was making the noise. Steeling himself, he broke routine and walked down the alleyway. It was spooky. The bright moon cast a strange shadow in the alleyway, only leaving a sliver of wall illuminated. The alleyway turned a corner a few meters down from Albert, and he could see a flickering glow coming from around the corner. The crackling noise was louder now. He hesitated, not sure if he should look. Maybe if he turned back now, his transgression against the Routine would be forgiven. No, the inner Albert said. Turning back now just means more rolls in the morning it reasoned flawlessly. Albert gulped and took the final few steps to peek around the corner.
There was a sudden flash- Albert was blinded! He stumbled, blinking, trying to find out what was happening. He finally fell over, unable to keep his balance. He crossed his hooves over his face, trying to hide from the monster that guarded the Routine.
“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!” Albert sobbed, trying to appease the routine monster. There was a laugh.
“What are you talking about?”
“I promise I’ll make the rolls in the morning I promise oh please don’t eat me!” Albert pleaded, cringing away from the monster.
“What?” The monster asked. Albert sneaked a peek at the monster from inbetween his hooves. He just looked like a bright white rectangle.
“Y-Y-You’re the Routine monster?” Albert asked. The square laughed.
“No, you silly goose. I’m Mark.” The rectangle said. Alfred frowned, looking at the thing. His eyes started to adjust, and the rectangle became infinitely more complex. There was a little black window inside of the rectangle, along with other tinier windows on the right side of it. There were words written all over the screen that weren’t windows.
“You don’t look like much.” Albert commented. Mark laughed.
“That’s not me. That’s my laptop” Mark remarked. Albert frowned.
“What’s a you tubes?” Albert asked, reading the screen. An arm dropped down and closed the rectangle shut. The arm was attached to a body that stood tall, a good two feet taller than Albert. It was gangly and thin, and Albert couldn’t see much of him in the dark light. “Who are you?” Albert asked. Mark, the thing, laughed.
“We can get to that later. I’ll explain everything over dinner.” He explained, rushing past Albert and out of the alleyway. Albert, stuttering, had no other choice but to follow him.
Mark was a very strange pony indeed.
He barely had any fur. All he had was a black mess of it on his head. His skin was so extremely pale that Albert thought that Mark was dead. Mark had to fend off Albert with a doormat while he explained how suntans work. He wore a green t-shirt and a black hoodie. It had funny little metal aglets. He was also wearing faded blue jeans and penny loafers. He had spectacles. Perfectly round lenses with a delicate silver wire holding them together. His Lap Top was actually an amazing machine capable of doing almost anything. It lived in a large green bag with an “OK-GO” sticker on it. Mark tried to explain the sticker, but Albert couldn’t understand any of it. Albert ended up making tea for Mark and himself.
“So Albert-” Mark started, fiddling with his glasses, “What do you want to do tomorrow?” He asked. Albert snorted, looking at the teakettle.
“I have to go to work tomorrow.” Albert replied, annoyed. The teakettle started to whistle low. Mark laughed.
“That’s not what I asked. What do you want to do tomorrow?” Mark re-iterated. Albert frowned. The teakettle started to whistle in earnest now. Albert got a mouth mit out of a drawer to pick it up with.
“That doesn’t really matter, does it? I’ve got to make bread.” Albert explained. He put the mit over his mouth so he could grab the kettle without burning his mouth. He carried the kettle over to the low wooden table Mark was hunched over. Albert set the kettle down on a little cozy and plopped himself down. Mark picked up the kettle and poured himself a cup. Albert looked at Mark with a skeptical frown. Mark noticed, and then shrugged.
“What?” He asked.
“So what exactly are you?”
“I’m the Writer.” Mark said simply, like it was an obvious fact. He set down the kettle and Albert leaned forward.
“That’s what you do- It’s not what you are.” Albert sniped. Mark smiled.
“It’s both. Here-” Mark said, ducking down to his bag. Albert got on his tippy-hooves and watched Mark rummage through his bag. Mark pulled out a notebook and a stick.
“What’s that?” Albert asked, looking at the stick. Mark pulled a section off of the stick and set it on the table. Mark frowned, waving his hands in little circles, trying to figure out how to explain.
“It’s like a quill, but you don’t have to use an ink well. Kinda like magic.” He said. He placed the pen on the paper and jotted out a paragraph. He ripped the section of writing out of the notebook and set it in front of Albert on the table. Albert looked at the note, and then up to Mark.
“What is this?”
“Read it.” Mark said.
“But-”
“Read it” Mark insisted. Albert sighed and looked down at the paper.
Albert sighed and looked down at the paper. He didn’t believe what Mark
had to say about anything, really. The only evidence he had was the ‘Lap Top’ and
the funny shoes. Other than that, there was nothing to anything that he said.
“Oh come on, what’s this?” Albert asked, holding a hoof up at the paper. Mark gestured for him to read on.
While Albert was doubting Mark, the teakettle started to rattle.
Albert looked up at the teakettle. It was still for a moment, but then it started to shake gently. He looked up at Mark incredulously. Mark held his hands up, as if to display his innocence. Albert eyed the shaking kettle and looked back down at the paper.
The kettle was rattling faster now, faster, faster! Tea was sloshing out,
spilling all over the table. Albert backed away, afraid of the kettle.
As he read, Albert felt a sharp rush of fear, hearing the kettle rattling even louder, hearing the hiss of scalding tea on hot porcelain. He couldn't tear his eyes off of the little note, so he grabbed it and took it away with him. He managed to look away from the note to see the kettle sloshing all of the tea out. The lid tumbled off of the kettle and shattered on the floor. Albert turned back to the note.
Albert turned back to the note as the lid split into pieces on the ground. He
couldn't understand what was happening. Suddenly, the kettle stopped shaking.
Silence permeated the room. Albert looked at the kettle for a moment before a
split second of instinct told him to cover his face.
Albert read the note in shock, hiding his face with his hooves at the last second. There was a sharp explosion, tinkling and sharp. Shards of hot porcelain rained down on Albert, but none of the pieces harmed him. They just tumbled off of his coat like they were bouncy balls. Albert got up after a moment of the ground, looking back at the table. Albert walked up to the table and a smiling Mark. There was a brilliantly bright golden bar, about an inch and a half wide at the top and four inches long, resting on the cozy that the kettle was on. There was an eagle, wings spread at the top of the bar, holding a bauble with a weird design on it. Underneath the eagle were some funny words and a combination of letters and numbers. Mark picked the bar up.
“Point nine nine nine carat gold, this stuff. Pretty expensive. This much gold would be worth about, oh, nine thousand bits.” Mark said, slipping the bar into one of his pockets. Mark patted his pocket and turned back to Albert.
“Wh-Wha-W-”
“I told you, Albert. I’m the Writer. Do you want to know why your life is so boring?” Mark asked, resting an elbow on the table and leaning forward. Albert gulped.
“S-Sh-Sure” He whispered. Mark smiled, explaining.
“It's because I don’t know what to do with you. I’ve been sitting on your story for a while now, and I think it’s about time something happened with your life. So what do you say?”
Albert sat there, watching Mark finish the rest of his tea.
“What?” Albert asked finally. Mark finished his cup and set it down gently. He coughed.
“Well, I’m kinda stuck with your story. I’ve got you a job and all at the Bakery, but nothing exciting really happens in bakeries. Nobody really likes stories where nothing exciting happens.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. So, I’m not too sure where your story is going to go. So I thought to myself, why not ask the guy in the middle of it all?”
“How am I supposed to know that you are what you say you are?” Albert asked.
“Did you not see the kettle explode into a bar of gold?” Mark asked sarcastically. Alfred frowned.
“So what do you want from me?” Albert asked quietly. Mark thought for a moment, squinting his dull grey eyes.
“I’m going to hang out with you for a few days. See what you do and how you do it, first hand. We get to do whatever you want.” Mark said, spreading his hands wide as if to encompass all possible activities.
“Whatever I want?” Albert asked, perking up.
“Not that.” Mark childed, pointing at Albert. Albert frowned again.
“How did you know?” Albert asked innocently. Mark scoffed.
“Buddy, I know you better than your mother does. I know that you’ve never been to another town,” Mark says, pulling out a finger to count the reason. “I know you’ve never been awake past nine thirty,” Mark counts off another finger. “You’ve never eaten an orange. You’ve never been swimming because you’re afraid that you’d get water in your ears. You’re allergic to sheep. You’ve never even had a filly friend. And, to be horribly honest... it’s all my fault. I’ve written most of your entire life.” He finished quietly. Albert’s retorts and arguments all fell away when Mark admitted guilt.
“You mean that you’re the reason why I’m boring?” Albert asked, defenseless. Mark nodded. “When Sharp Tongue tried to drown me in third grade- That was you?” Albert asked. Mark nodded. “When Amelia turned me down for the Prom when I sang for her in the Talent show, That was you too?” Albert accused. Mark just sat there, nodding. Albert stood up now, insulted. He looked over his shoulder before he spoke again. “So when my application to Canterlot University was denied, That was you!?” Albert shouted, enraged. While he was speaking, Albert got on top of the table. Mark put his hands up.
“You had to have had a fall from grace! You were so good in school, your future had so much hope! That’s what made it interesting! That’s what made it fresh! You had to be denied! That way, you would have never started up working at the bakery! You would never have met-” Mark explained hurriedly, but realized what he was saying and stopped quickly. Albert leaned over, towering over Mark
“Who? Wouldn't meet who?” Albert demanded. Mark shook his head.
“I don’t know who! I never ended up writing past your job at the bakery. It could be anypony!” Mark explained hurriedly. Albert huffed, still not satisfied. He turned away from Mark, jumping off of the table. Albert couldn't think straight. Half of himself wanted to kick Mark out of his house and never see him again, but the other half wanted to grovel on the ground and pray to Mark for an interesting, rich life. But he didn't. He stomped to his bedroom, slammed the door, and collapsed onto his bed. He started to cry. Everything in his life was designed to be interesting. Every moment of pain, every single invalidated love, every disappointment, each was written to make Albert a more lovable character. Am I even real? Albert thought to himself, wallowing in sadness. Albert cried himself to sleep, hoping that the morning would bring a better grasp on his situation.
Albert slammed the door to his room. Mark sighed. He wiped his forehead with the back of his bony, pale hand.
“I didn’t think he’d hate me.” He whispered to himself. He dug through his bag, digging out his laptop and another pen. He set both of them flat on the table. He flipped open his laptop and turned it on, pinching the bridge of his nose. The laptop booted, eliciting a beep when it was ready. Working quickly, Mark started a word processor and started to type. His fingers flew fast over the keyboard, writing entire pages in no time at all. His hands blurred and a smile spread on his face. No sooner had sweat beaded on his forehead that an icy glass of water suddenly appeared on his right. He took the glass, still typing with his free hand, and drank the water in one go. He set the glass back down and devoted his full attention to the writing. He wrote pages and pages, not stopping for anything.
Albert opened his eyes. The sunlight was shining bright in his eyes, and he could faintly smell fresh bread baking. He blinked, trying to remember the night before. His eyes opened wider and his mouth dropped when he did. He rolled out of bed about as gracefully as he could. With the sinuousness of a dead cat, he clomped to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. His glinting yellow coat was matted and unbrushed. His dull brown mane was no better, clumped together and sticking out in all directions. His hazel eyes were shot through with red, evidence of his sleepless, sorrowful night. Albert had a splitting headache. He frowned, leaning closer to the mirror. There was a bump on his forehead. He rubbed it, and it was sore. He frowned even deeper. Suddenly, the bump grew taller. Albert’s headache grew horrifyingly worse. Albert stormed out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, which experienced a complete renovation in the night. A shining silver refrigerator replaced Albert’s dull white model, and an entire oven somehow made it under the counter in the middle of the night. Mark had left the stove unattended for a moment, probably to get the paper from outside. Albert walked a little bit closer to get a better look. Sizzling strips of meat were cooking in a cast iron pan. Albert looked away quickly before he was sick. Albert looked down at the floor. There was a single, furled piece of paper. Albert spread it flat with his hooves and read it. Mark’s indistinct scrawl was barely legible, but it seemed to be Mark trying to get ready for breakfast.
Mark held his hand open, aloft to the sky, waiting for the blessing he knew to be
waiting for him. He closed his eyes tightly, waiting in anticipation. Suddenly, there
was a flash of heat. Mark felt a weight in his hands that wasn’t there before. He
brought the hand down to see what was there, and was extremely pleased to find
three fresh eggs clutched in his fingers.
There were many paragraphs similar to that one, where Mark summoned tomatoes, bacon, and butter from the sky. Not all of these were so creative. Some of them were just a few words long.
There is a spatula in my hand
I found the apron in the closet
The refrigerator was full of carrots
The last one confused Albert. He abandoned the scrap of paper and pulled the refrigerator open. Confusion transformed into enraptured awe as Albert beheld the ungodly mountain of carrots inside of the new refrigerator. From floor to ceiling, every shelf, drawer, nook, and cranny was filled to bursting with carrots. Albert couldn’t decide where to start first.
“Oh my God.” Mark exclaimed, seeing a bloated, moaning Albert on the sofa. Half-eaten carrots were strewn all around him. Albert had both his forehooves clutching his stomach, moaning in pain. Albert groaned loudly.
“Too many carrots.” He panted out, trying not to throw up. Mark smiled.
“I probably shouldn’t have put those there.” Mark admitted, but Albert still groaned.
“Please fix it?” Albert pleaded, but Mark shook his head.
“You need to deal with it. I need to finish making my breakfast. I don’t have time right now to write away your carrot woes.” Mark explained, walking past Albert’s carrot orgy and into the kitchen. Mark and Albert were silent for a long while. Albert, in his carrot-induced stupor, and Mark, cooking his breakfast. Eventually, Mark was done cooking and carried a plate into the living room to eat. Mark snapped his fingers and a plain chair appeared out of thin air in front of Albert. Mark sat down in it, looking at Albert. Mark’s face was pensive, cautious. Albert tried to sit up and look at him, but he couldn’t muster the energy.
“I’m sorry about last night, Albert. I shouldn’t have been so... blunt. You need to be eased into this. But, you do need to know what I am and why I’m here. Do you want to know?” Mark asked. Albert waved a hoof in the air for Mark to continue.
“I am the Writer. You already know that when I write things, they always happen in this world. Always. There’s nothing that I type or put on paper that doesn’t happen here. Now, that being said, I don’t write everything that happens here. That would take so much time, I couldn’t even begin to tell you. I only write you. But I don’t write everything you do. There are little bits and pieces that I can’t. I didn’t plan out that carrot escapade. That was all you.” Mark said. Albert interrupted him, sobered out of his carrot binge.
“So if you’re the person who writes my entire life, does that mean I’m not real?” Albert asked. Mark frowned at the question, thinking for a moment. Suddenly, Mark took his fork and poked Albert in the stomach with it, hard. Albert yelped.
“Did that hurt?” Mark asked.
“Of course it did!” Albert shouted. Mark smiled.
“You’re real.” Mark assured Albert. Albert was surprised.
“You mean... So if I can feel pain, I’m real?”
“Pain’s the only way most of us can feel alive. It’s good writing if you can take a personal experience that most people may have had and put it into the character. Makes the guy more human, more lovable. He’s easier to sympathize with. But If you can feel pain on your own, without me writing it, you’re probably real.” Mark reasoned. Albert sighed.
“Okay. So what else can you do?”
“Anything.” Mark said quickly.
“Really? Like what?” Albert asked. Mark grinned, pulling a folded piece of paper out of one of his hoodie pockets. He unfolded it slowly, and flattened it out when it was completely unfurled. Albert sat up, watching Mark read from the paper. Mark didn't actually say anything, but read silently. Albert’s surroundings faded away, replaced with scenery made entirely out of fire. There was fire absolutely everywhere, unbelievably hot and everywhere. Albert felt the skin and muscle melt and burn away from his bones. The fires around him consumed his body with their intense heat, but at the same time he felt perfectly cool, unharmed, and safe. He tried to scream in pain, but nothing happened. Mark was standing calmly in front of him, reading the unfolded piece of paper.
“We can stand on the surface on the sun and not be burned.” Mark said. No sooner had he finished his sentence that the surroundings dissolved again, resolving into a long room with many stained glass windows. A mauve carpet led away from Albert to a pair of doors. He was sitting down on something. He felt taller. A look down at his body confirmed his feelings. His long, slender legs were capped with gold. He felt a weight on his forehead. He reached up with his hooves and pulled the thing off of his head. A golden tiara, unusually large, inset with a large purple gem. Princess Celestia’s crown! And Albert was wearing it! He threw it away from himself before he was caught. Panicking, he noticed that he was wearing a golden collar inset with a nearly identical purple gem. Albert quickly turned around and looked at his back, finding a set of wondrous yellow wings. Eyes wide and hooves shaking, he slowly raised his hooves to feel. Paralysed with fear, he found the long horn that he knew was there. He looked around the room to find Mark where Albert tossed the crown. Mark leaned down to pick up the crown, placing it in one of his hoodie pockets. He looked down at his paper and started to speak.
“I can make you the God of all Equestrian creation, with supreme power over all that you see.” Mark said. The Throne room slowly faded into a bright ballroom with a stained wooden floor and plain white walls. The room was filled with vaguely familiar ponies. Standing the closest to him was a light blue mare with a golden mane.. Her green eyes looked at Albert with unyielding love. Two foals were standing close to her. One of the foals, slightly taller than the other, had the same blue coat as the mare and a dark brown mane. The other foal, the smallest one, had a bright yellow coat and a shining golden mane to match. Memories of them flooded into his mind. Holding each one after they were born, their first steps, their first words, their first day of school. The breath caught in Albert’s throat and tears bubbled up in his eyes when he recognized his children. His wife stared at him with her bright green eyes and smiled. He choked on his words when he realized that all of the ponies in the room were his family. He looked behind him to see Mark, tears in his eyes, reading off of his paper.
“I can give you the family that you have never had.” Mark said. Albert felt a moment of panic when he turned to see his entire family dissolve into nothingness. Albert was back on his couch, belly full of carrots, and Mark sitting in front of him. Albert, full of crippling loss, looked at Mark with plaintive sadness.
“Why?” Albert asked, pouring all of his sadness into his one single word. Mark swallowed the last bite of omelette, setting his plate down on the ground.
“You asked me what I could do. I told you.”
“My- My family?” Albert asked, grasping at straws. Mark smiled.
“That’s the beauty of an unfinished story. Anything can happen.”
“But I need them!” Albert begged, jumping off of the couch to beg to Mark. Mark shook his head.
Albert got up from Mark’s feet and sat back on the couch, grudgingly. Albert was taken aback. He couldn’t understand why Mark would mess with his sympathies like that. He wiped the fresh tears from his eyes, starting to calm down. Mark picked up his plate and his fork and took them back to the kitchen, leaving Albert to his own devices. Albert pondered the The Writer’s presentation sullenly. There was something hauntingly familiar about the things that he saw, but he couldn’t quite place a hoof on it. It was something in the room where Albert saw his fake family, but he couldn’t quite figure it out. He frowned, puzzled to no end. Albert’s ponderings were interrupted by Mark coming back into the living room to sit down.
“So. You didn’t really answer me last night.”
“What?” Albert asked, still dazed slightly by sleep. Mark sighed.
“What do you want to do today?” Mark asked.
“Well...” Albert trailed off mentally, trying to rack his brain for anything to do today.
“Why don't we about we talk about it over breakfast.” Mark suggested, slightly impatient.
“Didn’t you just-” Albert started, but Mark cut him off by grabbing a hoof and pulling him out of the door.
“We can still make the Early Bird special if we hurry up.”
“But I have to go to work!” Albert objected, grabbing onto the doorframe to keep from going outside.
“No, you don’t.” Mark assured, yanking Albert out of the door. Mark was pulling Albert down the street, in full view of everypony.
“Don’t pull me like this! You have to hide!” Albert tried not to shout. Mark looked at Albert quizzically.
“What are you talking about?” Mark wondered. Albert looked around, trying to see which ponies were losing their minds. Surprisingly, many of the ponies didn’t even notice Mark, let alone Albert shouting.
“Why aren’t they-”
“I control this town. I created it as your foalhood home, so theoretically I also wrote the lives of all the ponies in this city at one point. If I don’t want them to freak out, they don’t freak out. Simple as that.” Mark explained offhandedly.
“So everything is a lie?”
“I didn’t say that, did I? Now hurry up, breakfast is getting cold.” Mark emphasized with a final yank.
At the Fancy Griddle, Albert and Mark received a booth in front of a window. The pair ordered their drinks and looked through the menus, some of them more happily than others.
“The sunrise special looks good. What do you want?” Mark asked, distracted. Albert was still fairly disgruntled from the false-alarm family.
“Out of here. I need to go to work!” Albert blurted out. Mark nodded, pulling a small notebook out of his ever-present green bag. He snapped his fingers and a pen appeared on the table in front of him. He picked it up and started writing. Alberty watched in thirsty shock as his water glass suddenly turned into a tower of bits that fell apart in a golden cascade, tinkling as some coins rolled off of the table and onto the tile floor.
"This should cover you for a while." Mark quipped. Albert's eyes widened as he comprehended the amount of money in front of him.
"Do you know how many bits this is?!"
"Enough." Mark understated, picking up his menu and paging through it.
"Enough? This would have gotten me through my first semester at Canterlot University with enough left over to bribe my way to a 4.0!" Albert freaked. Mark looked up from the menu for a moment, seeming pensive.
"So... do you need more?” Mark tried to draw an answer out of Albert. Albert sighed, exasperated.
“No, I’m good.” Albert groaned. The waitress conveniently decided to show up to take their orders. She was a lovely pony, with a pale blue coat and bubblegum pink hair done up in a bun. She was wearing a neat little apron. with pockets, stuffed with straws and chocolates.
“Mah name’s Shinin’ and Ah’ll be takin’ yer order today. Soup a’ th’day is cream a cellery. What can I git y’all started with?” She asked us, looking extremely chipper. Mark decided to order first. The waitress turned to him without batting an eyelash.
“I’m sort of split.” Mark joked, getting a laugh out of the waitress. “I just can’t decide between the Sunrise Special or the Morning Delight. They both look pretty good.” He said, trying his best to be a good little pony. The waitress nodded.
“They’re mah favorites.” The Waitress admitted. Mark nodded.
“Tell you what... I’ll get the Sunrise Special, but instead of the hashbrowns, can I substitute a steak?” Mark asked politely. The waitress was about to write down the order, pen in mouth, when she realized what Mark said. She dropped the pen onto the table and blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“A steak. I really want the Sunrise Special, but I want a steak instead of hashbrowns."
“Mister, do y’know where y’are? Ah cain’t get y’ a steak! This is ’n upright e- stablishment, and we serve food here. If y’want a steak,” The waitress shuddered a little bit at the word, “Y’kin go down to th’ farm and chew on lil’ bessie yerself.” She burst out. Mark squinted at her for a moment, squinting, as if he was trying to figure out if she was crazy.
“Oh!” Mark exclaimed, hitting his head with the heel of his palm. “Sorry about that. Just a moment.” He implored the waitress, who was slightly annoyed and very confused. Albert was trying not to be seen by any of the ponies that he knew in the restaurant. As he was shrinking down into his seat, Mark pulled out his pen and a small notepad, and started scribbling. The Waitress’ face blanked for a moment, and her eyes glassed over. She blinked, and suddenly she was all smiles again.
“D’ya want some sauce with that steak, Mister?” She asked, reaching down to pick up the pen again. Mark laughed and held his belly.
“Don’t tempt me. I get enough salt as it is.” He laughed out. When the waitress was finished writing his order, she turned to me, brows raised.
“Um... Can I get some... Um...” I started, but I was extremely distracted by the absurd amount of money on the table, and how little attention anypony was paying to it.
"Why don't you pick the Eggy Peggy?" Mark helped. I frowned. That was my favorite and he knew it.
"Yeah, I'll take the Eggy Peggy." Albert said, crestfallen. The Writer knew his favorite breakfast, which probably meant that he was the one that wrote it. I might hate it if it was just me Albert thought to himself. The waitress nodded.
"Ah'll get that right out to ya." She assured us, taking our menus from us. I smiled awkwardly at her and handed my menu while Mark sipped his water. We were silent for a while after the waitress left. Albert stared out of the window, watching the hubbub outside. There was a pony haggling for apples at a nearby cart. Albert smiled a little bit. He loved to haggle for apples.
"She didn't have to argue with me." The Writer said out of the blue. Albert turned away from the window, confused.
"Excuse me?" Albert asked, annoyed. Mark was steering to get on his nerves.
"She didn't have to argue with me. I could have pre-written her to just bring me a steak. But I didn’t, because I wanted to show you what I can do.”
“Wait, wait, wait. You’re thinking that I don’t think you’re the Writer?”
“Yes.” Mark confirmed in between sips.
“You’ve given me wings. You’ve written me a family and a few thousand bits. You’ve even put me on the surface of the frickin’ sun. I’m pretty sure that you’re who you say you are. If you aren’t, you’re doing pretty good.” Albert said. Mark nodded.
“I really don’t think that you know what’s going on. I can do anything. Everything you can imagine, and then even the things that you can’t.” Mark bragged. Albert scoffed.
“I wouldn’t put it past you.”
“There’s something that you’ve always wanted, Albert. Something that you-” “Holy Celestia!” Albert shouted, cutting off Mark. He pressed his nose against the window glass and stared. Mark furrowed his eyebrows and looked over his shoulder..
“What?”
“It’s her.” Albert whispered in awe.
“What?”
“The mare in the Ballroom. My... wife.” Albert’s mouth had trouble with the strange world. She was trotting past the window now, and Mark got a look at her.
“Ah. Her.” Mark sighed. Albert couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She was a beautiful mare, surely. Her blonde mane was just curly enough that it curled up on the ends. Her smooth blue coat shimmered slightly in the sun. Her trot had an unearthly grace to it, making her look like some kind of royalty. The knowledge that his wife, the mother of his foals, was an actual mare instead of one of the Writer’s artifices made Albert shake. He was hopelessly, irrevocably, wonderfully in love. Mark looked away from the mare to Albert.
“You wily bastard.” Mark accused. Albert didn’t look away from the mare, turning in his booth to watch her walk away.
“Yeah.” Albert swooned. Mark snapped, trying to draw Albert out of his reverie.
“Albert, don’t stare at that.” Mark childed. Albert kept his eyes on the mare, with a silly grin on his face. “You look like a dope.”
“Uh huh.” Albert agreed, still thinking about the mare. Mark frowned.
“You’re messing with the story.”
“Sure.” Albert said, obviously not caring. Mark leaned over the table slightly and prodded the table.
“You can’t screw with the storyline. It has to work one way, and that’s my way.”
“Okay.” Albert said complacently, still watching the mare sway away.
"Allright, Albert. Come on, let’s pay attention.” Mark childed. Albert nodded. Mark took off his glasses and rubbed his face with both hands
“I should have stayed at home.” Mark groaned. He put his glasses back on and picked up a pen. He scribbled a few words on the pad and waited. Albert watched as the mare collapsed onto the ground, falling face first. Ponies in the street rushed up to her and started screaming. Albert’s look of awe quickly changed to that of fear, disappointment, and surprise. He spun around to look at Mark.
“What did you do!?” Albert shouted.
“She’s dead.”
“What?!” Albert demanded an explanation. Mark scoffed.
“I mean, how many ways can you say it? She’s dead. Here, look.” Mark slid the note across the table. Albert read, clutching the note with his hooves.
And then the Mare died.
Albert read and re-read the sentence. He couldn’t understand.
“That’s it?” Albert demanded.
“Sometimes it needs to be short and sweet.” Mark quipped with a smile. Albert had to resist the urge to leap over the table and strangle Mark.
“Why?” Albert whispered.
“Because the story was getting ahead of me. That can’t happen.”
“So you killed her because she got ahead of you?”
“It wasn’t me. I mean, she has a family history of the stuff. Pulmonary edema sure is a bad way to go. She was lucky to live past her tenth birthday.” Mark reasoned. Albert was shaking by now.
“I swear to Celestia, I should come over this table and kill you.” Albert warbled. Mark grinned from ear to ear. He snapped and pointed at Albert.
“You’re just the guy. I knew I was right when I picked you. But Albert,” Mark emphasized, placing both of his hands on the table, palms facing, “Let’s get on the level. You need something from me. I don’t know if it’s some kind of life lesson, or some hair brained adventure, or what. I mean, the next few weeks could be action, adventure, romance, tragedy, comedy, anything. But I need you to pay attention a little bit and play ball with me.” Mark said. Albert sighed.
“Okay.”
“Great. Let me just...” Mark trailed off, getting the yellow notepad back from Albert’s side of the table. He jotted something down and placed the thing back into his bag. Albert looked back at the mare. She was getting back up with some help. Albert turned back to Mark.
“Narcolepsy.” Mark shrugged. Albert collapsed into his seat.
“Twin Sisters, Mark, I can’t do this for much longer.” Albert groaned. Mark smiled.
“Other writers must have it easy.” Mark complained.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I bet their characters do what they’re told.”
“Ha, ha.”
“But seriously, Albert, what do you want to do? The sky is literally the limit. You could be a mass murderer, you could switch over to the ‘other team’, you could die a few times, hell, you could even build the better mousetrap. I want to know what you want to do.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Mark affirmed. Albert looked over his shoulder and looked at the little blonde pony disappearing into town.
