Teaser for story :o · 10:11am Sep 13th, 2013
Dude, who wants to read a little bit of the shit that I've written for my next story? Probably nobody, but I'm on a roll so fuck it. If you're observant you'll probably figure out something that's an important aspect of the story.
The room was a veritable mess.
Berry Punch sat squarely in the doorjamb, her head inclined in such a way that it would be impossible for her to not gawk at the clutter which covered the floor. Every possible point of everywhere was obscured by an object or two, stretching from corner to nook to hern to crook, from wall to wall and all in-between. Toys of every description, including a curious few she couldn't recall purchasing at all, vied with one another for the meagre floorspace available under the waver and flicker of magical candlelight. Hoof-made dolls fought with molehills of wooden blocks for every square inch. Tiny wooden carriages, a miniaturised oven, shrunken chairs and other down-scaled aspects of mundane living struggled valiantly for a place of their own in the wild wooden landscape. And she, the interloper, the uninvited witness to the tail-end of the cyclonic influx of activity which had crept into her house like a thief in the night and laid out the mess before her with little regard for consequence, was rather flabbergasted by it all.
She was still for a while, silently assessing the complexity of the mess. She wasn't angry; not really. Just very much confused. It seemed like every toy in the room, rather than being boxed away neatly in the corner as they should have been at such a late hour, had been evicted from their designated place of storage, and even a few which had been packed away elsewhere in the house -- some of the toys she hadn't seen for years -- had been dredged up to fill in any remaining gaps where the floor showed through. There was little doubt in her mind, given that there was a clearly concerted effort evident in the mess, that it was a puzzle that went deeper than appearances. Dwelling on this, she slowly lifted her head, full of revelations as it was, from its state of stunned inclination and scanned the area for the little cerise filly who was undoubtedly and uncharacteristically responsible for the scattershot distribution of underhoof hazards. The girl was still in the room: the sudden conflagration of guilt certainly gave that much away. The where posed an entirely different problem altogether.
Her eyes started rightward at the corner where the dollhouse leaned against the wall at an impressive gradient and all the furniture which remained within pooled together in the most earthward crook of the joinery. They moved onwards, leftwards, examining a homework-strewn flat-topped desk made of mahogany, upon which a lick of magical flame danced atop its enchanted wick. They then momentarily diverted downwards, a detour which led them to the crawlspace formed by the desk's underside and the floor, but nothing resided there other than a darksome nothingness.
Her ocular circumnavigation of the room soon brought her to the room's lone window. It held a slice of night sky, a void of pitch upon which the unblinking stars were scattered like salt through a mill. A fragment of the moon hung from the top, struck off from the whole by the chord of the windowpane; the ghostly curvature of a tombstone's head. Berry's attention lingered there for a moment, as it often would, and she would inevitably puzzle over why that was later on. For now, though, she found it a comforting sight in a strange sort of way, and she allowed herself a few seconds' worth of repose to enjoy it.
Unfortunately, a shuffling off to the side interrupted her quiet moment of thoughtless relaxation. Her head snapped to the side, fixing her attention onto the bed which lay tucked into the leftmost corner from the room furthest from her. It wasn't a big bed, just about the right size for a filly, or a mare if she were particularly small, and upon it were bright red cotton blankets and a comfortable pegasus-feather pillow sitting plump at the bed's head. As was befitting the room, it too was rather in a state of disarray, and a rather conspicuous lump formed underneath the bunching blankets shifted and scrunched with a nervous sort of irregularity. Berry raised an eyebrow in askance and cleared her throat.
Now that is some pretty awesome, if perhaps a little purple, writing
1461502 I probably read too many fairy tales and other such things. It colours my writing and I end up using ten words where five would do.