//------------------------------//
// 1. In the Beginning, There was a Story 
// Story: My Life 
// by Golden Script 
//------------------------------//

‘His hat down and a wilt in his walk, Private Eye traversed the alleyway where the poor mare laid still. He’d failed to catch the killer once more, allowing the demented soul to take another life. He looked over his shoulder to chance a glance at the most recent mare-made-victim. The stallion shut his eyes—much like he’d done when he’d first discovered her—and took a moment to hold back the bile rising in his throat before releasing a sigh.’

My brow furrowed as I struggled to decide on the next stanza. A few seconds passed before I shook my head, clearing my thoughts, and I brought my hooves to slide the paper aside, which revealed a new paper. I readjusted the quill in my wing.

‘The high seas! My dream realized! I finally owned a ship of my own! Of course, it wasn’t mine until a short while ago—when me and some cohorts stole it from the docks—but once we were off the coast of Puerto Caballo my crew hoisted our own flag: the soon-to-be-infamous skull and crossbones. I pulled a rope free from its tether and wrapped it around my hoof a few times before pulling a mighty swing from the higher deck.’

My mind went blank and my head fell to the table I'd been working on. An exasperated groan escaped my lips. I lifted my head and began writing on a new paper that… now that I think about it, seemed to appear out of nowhere. I didn’t think much of it at the time as I lowered the feather to the paper again.

‘He came towards me with a predatory look in his eye. A deep growl emanated from his throat. Words—probably obscenities about the state of my cleanliness and social status in comparison to him—flowed from his lips. He stopped speaking before whispering something hot under his breath, an excruciating tickle on my neck that I silently begged to change to a bite. A quick whip of motion and he had a paddle in his hoof. It traced its way down my body, stopping and teasing all the right places. I awaited the hard smack on my cutie mark with bated brea’

I shouted in frustration as my hooves pushed everything from the wooden surface. Usually, if I couldn’t think of anything for my usual stories, I could pump out a raunchy chapter, if only to satiate my editor.

Not in that way!

I mean, I don’t think in that way… I never asked what she did with those chapters, but I don’t think they’re for publishing. Hardly my best work, you see.

Either way, I was in a serious rut this morning.

“Having trouble?” I heard from behind me.

“No,” I responded, chuckling a little, even just from the sound of sarcasm in my voice. “What gave you that idea?”

I felt a weight on my wings as another pony’s head rested on my own, a stem of grapes floated next to me with a pink glow around the sturdy stem.

“Have you eaten anything today?” she asked as a grape pulled itself from the stem and floated towards my mouth.

It bumped against my lips a few times, begging entry. I rolled my eyes and opened my mouth to take the sweet morsel in my teeth. I chewed, extracting the juice, and mashed the remains in my mouth. When I was finished, all that remained of the single grape was some skin. I swallowed the remaining fruit before looking up to the hoof that feeds—or horn, in this case.

“What’ve you been working on?” She pulled a piece of paper from my forehead and began reading in a soft mumble.

I realized too late that this was the seafarer's story, apparently lifted from the table by the drying ink and my fur.

“No!” I lunged, hooves outstretched.

She was a step ahead, for she pulled the paper from my reach and walked away, back to the bedroom. She began humming a familiar tune as she reached the door frame. The paper lowered itself, allowing our eyes to meet.

“Is this based on that one song by Molly?” Then she ducked into the room, giggling like the madmare she was.

“Well, based on it, but not just a retelling,” I said as I stood up, placing the quill on my desk and following her to the bedroom.

She regarded me in my disheveled state. I couldn’t sleep the night before, so I stayed up trying to put quill to parchment. “Looks like my little sailor's been working hard these past few hours," she teased. "You know what I do when I can’t get anywhere with my paintings....” There was a… sexy quality to her voice, now—something I hadn’t heard for a few weeks.

“Yeah,” I answered as I rounded the doorway. “You tie me up and do as you will with me.” Though the sarcasm once again dripped from my lips, it was true. Even so, those nights were arguably the best of my life, barring a few experiences here and there.

“uh-huh!” she said, her bit and bridle already draped lazily over her shoulder and her forelegs up against the wall.

I froze in the doorway to let my brain process exactly what she meant.




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“Oh, I love you,” I chuckled as I moved up right behind her, my teeth nibbling at her neck as my wings fastened the straps and buckles.





Alright, back to the start. I think I forgot to introduce myself—damn, I always do that—but here we are… just… uh, I mean… well….

My name’s Golden Script. If you’re reading this, go to the mailbox across the street and take the cart out back. There, you’ll find your mission, should you choose-

Sorry, another time. All you need to know is that they’re after us. We don’t have time. Also, I’m a writer—in case you somehow hadn’t gotten that, yet.

Nothing I’ve said thus far is true. You needn’t worry about any secret agents, mafia or aliens coming to kill us all as life as we know it decides to rip itself apart.

Or do you?

It’s really up to you what you do or don’t believe. I can’t say anything to convince you either way. Probably because, as you’re reading this, I’m dead.

Maybe…

Probably...

Regardless! I don’t have time to tell you all the specifics, but this is a story about me—my story. Not all of it’s true… well, all of it is… for me, anyway—but that’s not what I want you to believe! I’m not a perverted freak because I want to be, the events that lead me here made me into what I am today.

Shit, I haven’t explained fate, yet…

So, in the beginning there was a thing, and things happened, and now those things lead to everything that happens—but not because anyone tells it to, it just does!

You must look at it as if you’re in the far future. As if everything that will happen already has. Like a time traveler seeing his future self; he knows he won’t die until he has seen himself—or lets himself be seen by himself.

In short, everything is the past. “History,” if you will.

…

Well, while this isn’t a story about my philosophical beliefs, we’ll probably broach that topic at some point.

Anyway, I’m making this documentary in case I don’t make it through. I don’t want to die, but we all must, eventually—it’s part of our fate. The only things guaranteed by existence is that all things that begin eventually end and… Well, I haven’t quite figured out the second thing. Probably something to do with Peanuts.

Now, back to what I was saying! Wait… what was I saying? Blast! All of the tangents! Ah! Right, the whole… thing.





A long time ago in a town not so far from- well, it was actually quite cl- but it’s not for you, who- but we’re…

In a town called Ponyville, our story begins. Two ponies, a mare and a stallion, meet for the first time.

Golden Harvest, a yellow earth pony with a curly orange mane and three carrots for a cutie mark, was supposed to be home twenty minutes ago—her father would be furious if she didn’t get up early enough to pick the carrots while they were ripe. In fact, she wondered if she would be told to clean the house. She didn’t want to clean the house. Her father always needed things perfect, and no matter what she did, it was never perfect.

That’s when she bumped into Written Script, a light gray unicorn with a purple mane and a scroll with writing on it for a cutie mark, the writer with a deadline coming up. He was rushing so much that he didn’t notice the little mare in his way, stumbled right over her and faceplanted on his face.

Smooth, dude. Real smooth.

Written got up, dusted himself off and made sure his papers were in order, before… helping the lady up? Apologizing for running into her? Asking her out on a date that would ultimately lead to the creation of their beautiful children, one who would eventually write this brilliant piece about their first meeting and subsequent falling in love and probably the lovemaking and possibly some other stuff?

Nope.

He runs off, knocking several other ponies out of his way as he moves swiftly through the crowds.

Smooth.

Golden (Harvest, Golden Harvest) stood, dusted herself off, and continued on her way home.

Suffice it to say, neither got to their destination on time. Written mere seconds late—probably as much time as faceplanting on his face had taken—forcing his editor to go with another piece at the last minute, and Golden (Harvest) by… twenty minutes, give or take.

Now, that wasn’t the last time they met, and each was more disastrous than the last. Written’s papers got wet—ruining them—as Golden’s (Golden Harvest! Not Script!) carrots were muddied… again… after being freshly cleaned. Golden’s (once again, Harvest, not Script (me)) cart’s wheel was broken—costing a small fortune to the carrot farmer and her family—as it rolled over Written’s typewriter, forcing him to use hoofwriting for the next few months (a much more difficult and time-consuming endeavor) as he worked up the money to buy a new one.

Now, did they ever get together and figure out exactly why their “being together” always evoked such a volatile reaction? Nope, they just tried to turn the other way when they did see each other. They avoided each other like the plague.

Of course, fate is a cruel mistress; and, one day, they were trapped together in an inescapable situation…

A wedding.

Well, not their wedding—yet. That was still a few years off. No, this was a friend’s wedding. The groom a friend of Written, and the bride a friend of Golden (Harvest). Specifically, Golden’s (Harvest) father’s main buyer’s daughter and Written’s editor’s brother.

Upon arriving at the party the two went to their friends—Golden to the bride, Written to the groom—and wished their respective participants well.

It was only during the ceremony that they realized the problematic situation they were both forced into.

Their stealthy, mouthed conversation went a little like this:

‘what are you doing here?’ asked Written with an alert look on his face—the look of someone ready for a disaster to strike at any moment.

‘I’m the best mare! What about you?’ Golden looked around to make sure their secret conversation wasn’t being noticed.

‘I’m one of the groomstallions.’ Though Written was already watching for potential calamity, he also took a stealthy glance about.

The other guests were none the wiser.

‘What do we do?’ Golden asked, her anxiety rising by the second.

‘It’ll be fine,’ Written tried to comfort her.

‘We can’t ruin this, I couldn’t-’ Golden’s panic attack was cut off as Written gave a confident, warm smile.

‘It’ll all be fine,’ he said with his eyes.

Golden calmed down just as the bells began to chime. Her best friend for many years, and more to come, walked through. She wore in a beautiful white dress with frills and lace sewn about in abundance. Whoever crafted such a fine dress must have had quite the eye for fashion. There were gasps of awe at the bride’s beauty all around, but the most amazed was the groom. He’d been staring at the mare since she moved beyond the doors that once hid her from him, each second dragged out to a millennium for the awestruck stallion—and he certainly wasn’t admiring the craftsponyship of the dress. Once the mare took a deep breath she looked up to the room full of ponies that cared for her and her beloved. The two made eye contact and held it until she reached the steps that would finally bring the two together. She took them slowly, holding her smile and only glancing down to make sure she didn’t trip.

Written and Golden watched as she finally stopped next to him, in just as much awe as the rest of the room. They were so in awe, in fact, that the anxiety of possibly ruining the wedding was momentarily thrust from their mind. There were several seconds of silence before the pony standing behind them spoke up.

“We gather here, today…”

As he droned on, the attention slowly drifted from him to the two betrothed, who were still entrapped in each other’s eyes. The smiles they wore radiated to the gathered ponies, bringing a pleasant atmosphere to the chamber.

Of course, there were two ponies whose attention snapped back to the potential tragedy forming before them.

Golden and Written were nervously glancing back and forth from each other, to the groom and bride, to the room itself—doing their best to make their paranoid examination of their surroundings seem natural.

“If any of you have reasons why these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace.” There was a moment of silence in the entire hall.

But, of course, it wouldn’t last.

One of the flower fillies chose that moment (or the moment before, really) to sniff a flower—having been thoroughly bored by the entire ordeal—and found her snout tickled by the blossom.

A sharp inhale and…

“Ahchoo!”

Golden Harvest, in her tense fear of wrong-goings, flinched. Her hooves, once solidly rooted to the marble stage, slipped quite freely from their places. She crashed into the bride, sending them both forward.

Written Script, being on the edge of the tension, himself, was more than ready for something like this to happen. Of course, he wasn’t ready for this specific anomaly, but his muscles were wound and his eyes were sharp. He heard the sneeze and jumped as well, but instead of tripping or slipping, he dove forward, shoving the groom, and caught Golden, saving her from landing on her face—much like he had when they first met, he realized just before gravity seemed to take hold of him.

There was a loud gasp as everything happened. Horns were lit, wings were splayed, legs were brought to a ready position… and then everypony took a closer look.

The bride and groom, who had been shoved by the best mare and the closest of the groomstallions, were embracing each other closely, having caught each other before they could fall. The stallion presiding over the ceremony righted his glasses and examined the predicament. Everypony took a moment to calm down as he looked from the couple on the ground to the couple holding each other.

“Well, it seems somepony’s impatient, forcing our lovely couple closer!” he chuckled, the rest of the room following suit. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Written and Golden sighed, thankful that something had turned out fine for once.

The groom kissed the bride and the room was filled with the sound of stamping hooves, the crowd of family and friends showing their approval. Shortly thereafter, the mass of ponies moved to a large ball room for dancing and cake. Written and Golden kept towards the back of the group, trying to avoid attention.

“That was a bold move, Written! Dad wouldn’t’ve been happy if that had turned out much different!” A loud stallion wrapped his hoof around Written’s neck, making him gag.

“Brother… breathe… can’t…” Written choked out, struggling to pull in sweet, sweet oxygen.

“Heh, you always were a lightweight.” Written's brother, standing a good head taller than him, dropped the poor younger brother. “So, who’s this beautiful filly you've brought with you?” he asked as his eyes moved to Golden Harvest, who was chuckling at Written’s expense.

“Who?” Though Written’s voice squeaked, nopony present—not even Written, himself—knew if it was from his windpipe expanding again or his surprise.

“This beautiful mare you’ve been hiding from your family!” The larger stallion’s hoof raised Golden’s. He placed a light kiss on her fetlocks. “Since he’s so reluctant to perform his duty as a gentlecolt and introduce his fair maiden, would you be so kind, miss…?” Though his words were those of high society, his gaze was anything but—animalistic, Golden would later swear to those who asked.

“Golden Harvest,” she said simply as she pulled her hoof from his grasp.

“Miss Harvest…” Written’s brother let the name roll around his mouth for a moment, causing the mare in question to cringe slightly. “Is my dear brother your special somepony?” his gaze grew continually more lecherous, as if he would jump her, then and there, to make her his own.

“Yes!” Written’s voice broke their eye contact, surprising both Golden and Written’s brother. “I’ve been putting off introducing her to my family because I'm embarrassed by the way they treat mares.” Written moved between the two, a challenging look in his eye and a finality to his step as he backed his brother away from Golden Harvest.

The older brother briefly looked as though he would retaliate, but then fell from an angry sneer to a soft smile as he spoke. “A-alright, sorry.... I thought… well, that doesn’t matter. I hope you’re happy.” He looked down on his brother and his supposed marefriend, an air of respect and pride flowing from him.

After a curt nod, he walked off, leaving the two to talk of such things as their own theoretical marriage.

“Uh… thanks? I think.” Golden shook her head in the hope that her thoughts would become more organized. “I’ve never had a stallion stand up for me before.” She walked over to Written, rubbing his side with her own comfortingly.

“I'm sorry, I'll tell them we broke up tomorrow. I just... I don't want to think about how tonight might have ended if he got a couple drinks in you..." Written said quickly before attempting to walk off, his head hung low.

“Wait! I have yet to thank you for saving my chastity,” she called quietly to him, pulling him back to her.

“Pay me back? What do you mean, any stallion worth their salt would do the same.” He, again, tried to remove himself from the conversation; but Golden had a firm grip on his foreleg.

A carrot farmer, while being nowhere near as strong as an apple farmer, was still stronger than a writer—even one that ran everywhere he went.

“I don’t think that’s necessarily true.” She pulled him closer, interlocking their hooves. “Let me buy you a drink.”

Written thought for a moment before he gazed into her eyes—which were much too close, for his comfort—an eyebrow raised. “but… the drinks are free.”

Golden blanched at that. “It’s… it’s just a social cue. Like, let’s go get to know each other—but not saying it that way.”

“Well, why not say it like that, then? It’s more straight forward.” Written took a step back, making the distance between them slightly more bearable.

“Because it doesn’t roll off the tongue as well! It just sounds better when you imply things!” she whisper-shouted exasperatedly.

“So, wait, are you… implying things?!” He seemed genuinely surprised.

“What?! No!” she actually shouted.

The whole room went silent. All of the guest's attention was on Golden and Written, eyes wide and curious, wondering what would elicit a reaction from the mare that nearly ruined the wedding.

Nearly…

“No, I just want to talk!” she whisper-screamed again, sending the room back into its idle murmur.

“Well… as long as that’s all,” he said, cautiously. “I don’t smooch on the first date.”

“You don’t what?” She looked at him incredulously.

“Y’know, smooch!” He looked down at her, then his eyes went wide in realization. “wait… have your mommy and daddy not had ‘The Talk’ with you, yet?”

Her confusion was mounting, coming to another screaming climax. Luckily, for both the room of ponies and Golden’s social identity, Written started chuckling to himself as he walked towards the bar.

“Why, you-” Golden growled at him as she quickly trotted after him.





The afterparty went swimmingly. Golden’s speech was long and comedic—proving the couple’s marriage to be a long and prosperous one—and when the bouquet throwing came around, the best mare happened to catch it. The entire room responded positively, proving fate was all too kind. It was a strange moment, but once she realized she was the “chosen” one she looked up—by chance—directly into Written Script’s eyes. There was a spark both only recognized later in life, when their romance was in full swing: an instant of inspiration shared between two souls.

From there the two went on dates, got each other gifts, and had fun. When they saw each other on the street, they wouldn’t turn around and walk the other way, they’d make a quick trot to the other. The two were happy, and they foresaw it would stay that way.

Of course, they weren’t counting on their first child.

Those were some crazy years—and I should know, I was there.

.

..

...

Oh, yes; I was the kid.

It sucked. I mean, you know how families joke about the first kid being a trial-run? Well, it was more than true for us. My early life was hard, what with the "learning how to be a parent" part. Also, the many dirty diapers and interrupted nap-times. Not to mention a unicorn and an earth pony having a pegasus baby.... Being the firstborn is difficult, no matter what family you grow up in. I can only imagine what it’s like for only-foals...

Either way, the first three years of my life were hectic. Then came my little sister. My baby sister. The little girl that took all the attention from me and let me begin developing independently. By the time I was eight and she was five I got my cutie mark. I started writing seriously, trying my hoof at different writing styles and genres. I wrote foal’s short stories, mostly, and I began submitting my work for publishing when I turned thirteen—and by that time my parents had another kid. A filly, again. I love her to death, and spoil her whenever I’m in town, but I sometimes get the feeling mom and dad don’t want me rubbing off on her. Maybe they think I’m a bad influence.

And who’s fault is that, do you think?

Either way, I still come by every once-in-a-while. I always bring a gift for my youngest sister and a couple bits for my older one. And, for my parents, I bring a hug and an update on my life. I’m the only one that doesn’t live in Ponyville, having moved to Manehattan to learn how to write good.

Eh? See what I did there? Writer puns! I’m sorry.

You see, I've had a fairly normal life. I have two loving parents, two adorable siblings, and a life I feel I’ve lived to the fullest—or, at the very least, one I don’t regret so far. I hope you’ll enjoy my story, because that’s what this story is.

My Life.