//------------------------------// // Perfection Marred // Story: Perfect Green // by Glen Gorewood //------------------------------// The town of Ponyville The day is wonderful and bright, and across Ponyville everyone is filled with joy. Vendors sell their wares in the marketplace as foals play in the streets and yards of the small town. Older ponies rest in rocking chairs, reminiscing on days of yore. Couples walk down the streets hand in hand or giggle over a snack at the local bakery, some stare into each other’s eyes over tea at the Daisy cafe. The bookish folks of the town, or those behind on schoolwork, spend the day reading books in the castle library. The sun filtering through the great replica oak tree windows, ensuring even those inside do not miss out on Celestia’s gift to her ponies. Not a cloud is in the sight, minus a small one with a rainbow tail visible as it drapes over the edge. This is a perfect sunny day, and everypony is happy. But today is also a very special day, for you see it is the day of The Ponyville Annual Lawn competition qualifying round. A local custom where the town’s garden club goes to participating homes and judges their lawns. The winner gets a year of free of lawn and garden care supplies, and a hefty bag of bits. It’s a fierce competition indeed, however for three years now one lawn in particular has won that coveted title of “Ponyville’s Most Perfect Lawn”. The someone who owns and cares for that lawn is noted to have declared they will “defend their title no matter the cost. None are worthy of this honor but me!”, in a recent interview from Equestria Garden and Lawn. This particular creature was also noted to be rather ornery, his wife making an effort to keep him calm and preventing him from chasing the interviewer away. The article had mentioned that as they left the three year winner of the title had shouted at them, “Don’t you dare so much as brush a blade of my perfect green lawn on your way out!”. That someone lives on the edge of town, in a well cared for and quaint little home. Not a tree exists within the lawn proper, no ornaments mar the green perfection that stretches from one end of the property to the other. The lawn is clipped perfectly up to the fence line, and manicured in such a way that the only a single line of free blades of grass shoots are hugging the wooden barrier. Keeping the bottom of the fence perfectly hidden under the lush hues of the grassy waves. Not a single weed, nor flower, or anything of the like blemish this glorious glen. Indeed, it is almost unnaturally perfect, as if not a single hoof has stepped foot upon the trimmed field in years. The only thing not green that is visible is a brick foundation porch in the back, with a stone trail that leads to a shed with two doors. And a perfectly designed stone pathway leading from the gate by the road to the front door. It is intentionally crafted in such a way that even the largest of visitors can make it to the door and not disturb a single blade of grass. It is surreal, an almost impossible feat for any pony. However the owner of the perfect scene knows better, for he is no pony. As he stares out the window at his perfect lawn, frown lines adjust as his muzzle turns upwards into a smile. The only thing that makes him smile wider is his lovely wife Matilda. An angel on four hooves is she, and such an understanding loving soul. When he declared his intent to have a perfectly uniform grass lawn four years ago, she had acquiesced so long as she be given a place to garden. The owner of the home did more than merely give her a space in the yard for. garden. He had purchased the adjoining lot and built his beloved a greenhouse and a sectioned garden with his own achy hooves. Her joy had been undisguised that day, and ever since she had allowed him his perfect green lawn to craft as he saw fit. And craft it he had, every day he would look out upon his lawn and search for imperfections. Each week he layered a grass special feed upon it, and twice a week he mowed it to exactly 1/4 of an inch from the ground. He also mulched it five times a year, and only allowed his hooves to touch the grass as he trimmed and pruned the odd wild blade that sought freedom from his perfection. The owner was a lord of his lush green domain, and it had paid off. Upon his wall hung three awards for “Ponyville’s Most Perfect Lawn”, and his bank account had been well bolstered by three years worth of bits from defending his title. Cranky Doodle Donkey loved his lawn almost as much as he loved his wife. This year he would add a fourth award to his wall, and with the bits he had decided to do something extra special. Matilda had always wanted to go on a vacation to the legendary Blue Hills Of Western Equestria after all. The bits that would come with his fourth title, for no silly pony could possibly beat his ideal perfection of a lawn; would go to buying tickets for his wife’s dream vacation. It would be the perfect way to celebrate, he could just imagine the look on Matilda’s face as she looked upon the legendary blue hills. Her mane tucked neatly under her hat, and her hoof holding onto his as they gazed upon the natural grassy perfection before... “Crunch” Snapped from his reverie of a romantic vacation Cranky’s ears rotate towards the source of the noise. The sound of something landing upon his perfectly manicured lush green bladed domain. Voices filter into his home as he slowly turns towards the front door. “Oh no, not our ball. Feather go get it!” Cranky Doodle slowly, one hoof at a time like a great mountain, moves across the room towards the door. “But that’s...” a young colts voice sounds hesitant within the donkey’s ears. His hooves barely make a sound on the plush carpet his wife had chosen to ease the burden on his aching legs as he hastens his steps slightly. A more feminine childish voice responds “Just get the ball Feather. The sooner you get it the sooner we can get back to playing.” Cranky Doodle Donkey can feel his old self rising to the front of his mind. He is ready to defeat those who would invade his home, deface his perfection, to drive them back to where they came and keep their projectile as a trophy of his victory. His pace picks up, and soon he is at the door. The colt’s young voice again, the one the other two called Feather, can be heard. “Fine, but if Cranky gets mad at me I’m telling him you made me do this.” As Cranky Doodle Donkey reaches a single hoof up and grasps the door handle, the most horrendous sound is heard from beyond it. The crunching and snapping sounds of four tiny hooves desecrating his glorious green even further. This will not be allowed to stand, and Cranky Doodle yanks the door open just as the sounds of the hooves stop. Before his eyes is a scene that comes from his worst nightmares. Three young ponies can be seen, two are on the walkway by the open gate like good little foals. One is a unicorn filly, with pale lavender pink fur while the other is a rather plump grey earth pony colt. Both are obvious good children, staying on the path as they should. But about one foot in from the walkway, mouth closed having just grabbed the projectile of canvas destruction; is a young Pegasus colt. His hooves having made a distinct and visible trail upon Cranky’s beloved lawn. The two by the gate begin backing away, as the colt with a feather cutie mark slowly begins to lift his neck up. Quickly twisting his head to toss the ball at the others, the filly of the group catching it in her magic; he stammers in horror as if to use words to try to assuage the pure fury visible on Cranky’s face. “I..I.. can explain.” Cranky places both hooves on the doormat, and takes a deep breath filling his lungs. The colt backs away carefully, continuing his vain attempts at parlay. “See Truffle kicked the ball too hard and it flew over the gate and landed in your yard while we were playing..” Cranky begins to see red as the silly colt wastes precious time yammering instead of moving off his beloved green field. Featherweight continues his explanation, speaking faster as he continues to back away; trying oh so very hard to only walk in the places his hooves had crunched and marked before. “Liza refused to get the ball with her magic, because she is not that good at levitating large round objects yet. I sprained my wings earlier, but I was the only one who had a chance of causing minimal damage and getting the ball and..” At that moment Featherweight slips, his rear right hoof having been on the walkway but his left having clipped the well polished edge. Time slows to a crawl as the Pegasus colt falls downwards, sprained wings flailing to try in vain to lift him up. In the end his body slams into the ground with a resounding “thump crunch”, the grass beneath his body collapsing under his weight. Their delicate perfectly pruned blades bending and flattening in the shape of a very small, and very terrified, Pegasus colt. As Featherweight scrambles to get up and move onto the pathway, his two friends turn and Liza flees through the gate without stopping. Truffle grabs him by the rear hoof and hauls him up onto the path, just in time to see a furious enraged donkey scream. “GET OFF MY PERFECT LAWN!” A beyond infuriated, beet red with anger Cranky screams at the two colts. As they both turn and run like two twin blurs down the pathway and onto the road, tails tucked between their legs in terror; the ornery old donkey’s rage fueled tirade follows them. “You horrible little monsters! What have you done to my beloved green! You have decimated my lush green lovingly tended blades of grass, bent them and flattened them! How dare you! How dare you call yourselves ponies! You are less than ponies, you are filthy rotten destroyers of innocent lawns! If I ever see you near my home again I will make sure you pay dearly for what you have done! You Tartarus damned fiends! I’ll have your tails for this!” The terrified colts and filly have long since left hearing range when Cranky finishes his shrieking screaming tirade. His throat hoarse, his hooves seem heavy as he walks down the stone path to survey the damage to his domain. A minute passes, and he reaches the epicenter of the destruction. Where grass once grew in perfect harmony on all sides, a uniform meadow of his own design; there is now a large very visible section of damaged grass in the shape of a small colt and a round ball. Cranky collapses onto his rear hooves. “No...” His voice still hoarse, the single word comes out sounding like cracking dry leaves under hoof. “Not today.. why did they have to wreak this destruction today?” The anger gives way to desperation and despair in the old Donkey as his eyes take in the brunt of the destruction. There is no way to repair the lawn before the qualifying round surveyors for the contest show up in two hours. He is finished, he will lose his title, Matilda won’t get to go on that vacation. Worst of all, the likely winner if not him will be those three panic stricken mares. Well two of them really, the third girl is new; it’s quite sad really what happened to the original third of their trio. But none of that matters to Cranky now, all that matters is that he is going to lose to the least qualified, most insane, and noisiest ponies possible. He can’t stand it, and as the wind blows leaves with no source around him he laments and begs to nopony in particular. “If only there was a way to save it, to make my lawn perfect again..” The wind and leaves seem to focus on him now, a pile settles next to the donkey on his walkway. Though in his grief Cranky is oblivious to the unusual green red veined leaves that now mar his polished stone pathway. “I would do anything, pay anything for that. Anything so that my meadow can once more be perfection.” The pile of leaves twitches. Cranky stares at the indent in his beloved green field, the remnant of those pint sized monster’s rampage. He bemoans his loss to what he thinks is nothing but the sky and his desecrated lawn. “But it’s impossible. No creature known to Equestria could manage that. But from the depths of my soul, I wish such a thing were possible.” A deep and very smooth voice comes from behind Cranky, one slick as oil and fresh as a newly trimmed lawn. It speaks in a dialect he does not recognize, startling him. “I wold noht be so hasty ta claim te likes of anytin to be thaht me lad.” Cranky spins around, looking about before spotting the pile of leaves from before. A rather peculiar creature no more than five hooves tall stands on two legs atop of the pile of foliage. A smile upon its face, its thin tail wrapped around its waist like a belt. It's mane is unusual, a perfect green like that of a wild meadow from the hills flow from under a rather large deep green bowler hat; with a deep red band wrapped around it held with a clip in the shape of two leaves crossed with the stems pointed and curled upwards. It’s green and red eyes are slanted, with bushy eyebrows akin to moss arching outwards into a manicured curl. A large beard of green with red streaks is fashioned into a leaf like shape, except at the ends where it splits in two and curls to rather side. It’s body is clothed in red striped vest over a deep grass green short, with matching green trousers. Around its neck is a red and gold chain, that falls under the vest proper. The edges of its long sleeved green dress shirt are embellished by a pair of small red and gold cuff links whose shape cannot be discerned. Its hooves are covered by odd pointed shoes, that look to be no more than green leaves with red veins woven together. A buckle belt of green and red vines can be seen under its tail, and the forelimbs of the creature split into five digits, each ending with well manicured nails the color of the red at sundown. Upon its face is a somewhat catlike nose, and it’s pearl white teeth are clearly visible as it continues to look right at Cranky Doodle Donkey from its perch. It’s ears, if it has any, are hidden beneath its well styled though seemingly wild mane. Truth be told it looks to be a rather dapper well groomed sort of fellow. Cranky merely stares at the creature for a moment linger, gathering his wits about him the donkey asks. “Where did you come from and why are you here?” The creature merely smiles wider, far wider than should be possible, and responds in that deep and smooth voice with the odd dialect. “Oh tis naht important howe ah came ta be haer me lad, nor wher be mah home an hearthe.” It reaches into its trousers with those odd digits and pulls out a rather large notebook that should not be able to for in so small a pair of pants. The notebook is deep green, with grass green patterns upon it and lined in red and gold. An odd foreign language is embossed in gold lined red upon the cover, and a sprig of a green branch is attached to the side like a pen. The creature tilts its head towards the book, its eyes sparkling in the morning sunlight. They seem to be smiling along with its mouth, grinning in unison as it finishes its answer. “As fer whye ah have com’e to this ere place, well tha is quie simple gud felloe,”. The creature open the book, flipping a few pages in before showing the presented page to Cranky. It reads in perfect Equestrian, P. B. Lugh’s Meadow Miracles, followed by a description of services offered and a guarantee of a lawn or garden worthy of the gods themselves for a bargain price. The page on full display the creature grins a little wider, it’s voice echoing into Cranky’s dumbstruck mind. “Cranky me boy, ah ave com’e ta offar ye thaht miracle ye ask’d fer.”