//------------------------------//
// Tuesday 
// Story: Seven Self-Portraits 
// by CrackedInkWell 
//------------------------------//

I always love days in which I get the chance to sleep in, and that I don’t have anything major to do first thing in the morning. If anything, that morning, all I wanted for a while is to keep my eyes closed while being wrapped in a cocoon of warmth. Of course, I would have preferred it to be a little quieter as I heard my family up. The voices of my parents discussing what needs to be done for today, Chewy wasn’t barking so much and the banging of cabinets that came from the wall where my head was pointed at. Still, I dare not open my eyes as I prefer for sleep to drag me back into the comforting darkness.

However, I did have to open them while feeling for the clock on the nightstand to be held up close to my face. It was almost nine in the morning, but I let my head drain off that sleeplessness before the house became quiet again. After pushing the covers off and making a trip to the bathroom, I went into the kitchen to find Grandma there at the dining table.

“Morning Grandma,” I said getting a glass down. “Has everypony left already?”

“It’s just you, me and Pepper, only I haven’t seen him up yet.” She told me, peeling an orange. “Your dad has gone to work like your mother, but she’s dropping off Crystal at school. Oh, and your mom has taken Chewy to have his fur be washed and cut. So any plans today?”

“Other than going to school at one? I think I’ll go check on the Real Estate school just to see if it needs to be restocked. Speaking of which, while I’m out, is there anything I need to get?”

“I don’t really know,” she replied. “However, I’m waiting to receive a letter from your Uncle Sky, so as soon as you get back, would you bring it in?”

“Of course,” I nodded, after gulping down some water. Then getting the toaster out, I heard her saying how that she’s been looking forward to seeing what updates that my uncle was making down in Salt Lick City. On the outside, I appear to be stoic, listening to her while giving a couple of “Ah-huh,” and “Oh really?” But on the inside, I wanted to lay out the truth to her.

Now… I won’t give too much away since, I confess, I only know bits and pieces of it myself. Grandma Brae is here because of my Uncle Sky. In the past, he was practically living with the already retired mare, who lives off of social security like I have (only difference is that I get it because of my disability while she of old age). And as far as I could make out from what arguments have been made, apparently, my Uncle had convinced her to use up all of her bits to finance some project or other to the point that he said would help her get a new cart. However, something happened that my parents had to step in to prevent her from going to jail. All I know that it involves a contract and she came up short in paying it or some other. About a year later, as bills piled up and she was evicted from her apartment, she and my uncle moved into a cheaply rented place until their bits ran out.

Of course, my parents are frustrated with Uncle Sky (my dad most of all) because he’s so much of a dreamer who makes such grand promises from turning his stories into movies for this company that he still wouldn’t get a job. We don’t know if he’s a liar or mentally ill, but we all concluded that she must move away from Sky until we find a place for her. So several months ago, I along with my mom and Crystal went down to basically help her move to our house. (That was mom’s idea anyway because dad and my brother probably won’t be able to remain calm when near Uncle Sky.) I’m told that this is temporary, but I have my doubts.

Anyway, after a quick breakfast of peanut butter toast, getting my things and the house purse together, I was out once more towards the Real Estate school. Fortunately, there wasn’t a lot to do other than straighten out the chairs, clear out the garbage, and taking note that I just need to get a box of crackers and water bottles. This meant that by the time I locked up, went to the market, unlocked the doors and put those two items into the school, I was able to accomplish all this in forty-five minutes. All the while as I returned home, I ready knew what I wanted for lunch.

“Let’s see…” I opened up the fridge, “Cheddar… milk… butter… eggs… lemon juice…” then to the cabinets. “Flour… salt and pepper… Herbes de Provence… paper napkins… saucepan… a metal bowl… electric mixer… plastic spatula, whisk, spoon measuring things, cup measurements… and some ramekins,” nodding in satisfaction through my mental checklist, I went to go find grandma and my brother to see if they would want to have the same lunch as I’m having. Luckily, they didn’t.

After getting out the ingredients and tools out, I clicked on the oven to 360 before turning my attention towards the two ramekins to coat the insides with a melted layer of butter before tossing them into the fridge. Next, I prepped the metal bowl by cleaning it, the metal beaters for the mixer and the spatula with lemon juice. Setting them aside, I put in a small cup a tablespoon-and-a-half of flour, sprinkled some salt, pepper and the herbs. With the saucepan, I stuck in a tablespoon-and-a-half of butter to melt over medium heat before tossing the flour mixture in to be whisked for two minutes before pouring one splash at a time of a cup of milk until it together. Once the pan reached a simmer, I took it off the heat to dump and mix in hooful of grated cheese while setting the rest aside for now.

Now over towards the metal bowl, I separated the two egg whites from the yokes but only using a single yoke to quickly mix into the saucepan as fast as I could in order to prevent it from curdling. Setting the saucepan aside, I turned to the whites in which I put in a pinch of salt in before turning on the electric mixer on the lowest setting as possible at first. All the while, I stir the whites around, gradually turning up the speed as it turns into a foamy substance, and then into what looks like thick frosting. Every so often I would stop to pull out to see if on the ends of the mixers that there were two firm peaks, but eventually, I got it just the way I wanted it.

The next step I had to be extra careful over as now I had to combine both of these. So, using the spatula and scooping up just a little bit of the whites, I folded it into the creamy mixture until it was well combined. Next, I slowly mixed in a splash at a time into the whites, folding, not mixing it together until all of it turns into a frothy like substance. All I needed to do now was to get out the ramekins from the fridge, coat it in another layer of butter once more while dusting it with flour all over the insides. Next, I placed them onto a cooking sheet so that they’ll remain even, pour in the mixture about three-fourths of the way and sprinkle them with the remaining grated cheese before putting them into the oven. After which I place a large plate in the fridge while it bakes for twenty minutes.

If you haven’t figured it out by now, what I have described to you was the process of making a personal cheese soufflé. Yes, I know that making such a meal takes time, but I do tend to obey my cravings. Many ponies when I tell them that I’ve learned how to make a cheese or chocolate soufflé seemed rather surprised by this fact, considering how “complicated” and “difficult” it is to make one. But to my point of view, cooking/baking is like a skill like say… mathematics. Once you’ve learned about the rules and how it works, it’s rather easy to do – and just as easy to mess it up. After all, a soufflé, when one thinks about it, is just a glorified omelet.

Eighteen minutes of standing in the kitchen to guard the oven in order to prevent it from anyone from opening it, I fetched for some soda and taking the plate out of the fridge. Waiting for the timer to go off, I had hot pads ready to be taken out. After it rang, I opened the oven door and gently took out the soufflés, with two heads peaking an inch out of the ramekins. Another success as I transfer them onto the cooled plate, taking them into my room to eat my lunch. (The reason for the plate in the fridge: a soufflé is meant to be eaten right out of the oven; however they can burn your mouth. So a way I figured to counter it is to chill your plate so after taking a forkful, you could put it on the sides of the plate, let it rest for a moment before eating. That way, you can still chew this airy meal without burning.)

By the time my lunch was over, my clock on the desk said that it was nearly 12:05. Getting up, I trot over to the door of my brother’s room. “Hey Pepper,” I called out. “Have you eaten yet?”

The sounds of a video game were instantly put on pause, “No. I’m just gonna go get a sandwich.”

“Okay, it’s just past twelve,” I told him as I went back into my room. With about forty minutes to spare, I lay on the bed with the Free Word magazine. Last night there was a story that caught my attention. It was the one about Princess Luna that before her banishment, told about her interaction with a knight of hers that was injured in a jousting match.

Sometimes when I get my hooves on a good story in which the time period was so fascinating; the characters so believable; the conflict so intriguing; dialogue so realistic; and comedy so amusing – that I have forgotten my sense of time.

“Inkwell,” I heard my brother’s voice through the door. “I’m about to head out.”

I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “Whoops,” I instantly got up as I realized that it was nearly 12:50, which meant that classes start in ten minutes. So after quickly gathering my textbook, notebook, and a pencil, I headed out the door with my brother already ahead.

Quickly trotting through the chilled air, I followed Pepper close behind through the streets and familiar landmarks to get to what is essentially the temporary local college in Ponyville: a short, ground floor building that has a total of four classrooms, a student and teacher’s lounge, a set of bathrooms, a broom closet, a lobby and a council’s office. Yes, I know it’s small, with each classroom filling up at most of thirty students give-or-take, but at least it’s a little more affordable to come. That, and I do like the teachers here.

Anyway, my brother and I went into one of the two entrances that were closest to our first class of the day: Equestrian History. Once we entered the classroom that has long rows of three tables, chairs with some of the students there, a projector on the ceiling and a large wooden desk in a corner, we took our regular places at the front of the class on opposite ends.

With time to spare, I opened my notebook to a blank page to write at the top: “Day 23,” and then that day’s date. Soon enough, our teacher entered in a good mood that day. Our history teacher is a favorite of mine, Mr. Hindsight – a somewhat overweight red guy with a gray mane and a smile. I had him three times during my time at this college in which had to deal with world history, Equinities, and this one, Equestrian history. Not only does he have the ability to tell any point in time and keep it fresh and in a way that we all would easily understand – but he has a passion for telling fun stories about any time period.

“Hey guys,” was the first thing he said as he walked in. “How’s everypony?”

Most of us responded that we were doing fine.

“Well I’m really looking forward to today’s lesson,” he said as he plopped his levitated notes drop onto the thick desk.

“Speaking of which,” said I as I flipped open the textbook. “When are we again?”

“We’re into the nine-twenties. And oh, do I have a couple of really good stories for today that I’m dying to tell you guys. But first,” he went over to the switch on the wall. “Let me get the projector warmed up.” Other students drifted into the classroom while my brother went over by the door to switch off the lights as soon something came up on the screen.

At one o’clock exactly, our lesson began. “Okay, let’s get started.” He walked up to the chalkboard that was right next to the screen. “Today class we’ve gotten through the horrors of the First World War and trench warfare, Germainia was forced to sign the Treaty of Versailles so for now there’s peace. So to move on, we’re going to take a look at what Equestria was doing now that the war was finally over.”

Ah, the nine-twenties. A time of Prohibition of hard drinks was illegal for about ten years, of the jazz age, the public use of credit until it nearly crashed the economy and the advertisements in which he showed us through the projector.

“I’ll gotta tell ya folks,” he said as he showed us a new slide. “When it came to the art of advertisements, these guys were ruthless. And I mean that by every sense of the word. For example, this is a real add for a magazine, targeting at mares.” He pointed at the screen, “Look at this mare, she’s in a white dress like she’s at a wedding, and yet she’s absolutely miserable. Why? Read what the heading says: ‘Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.’ And why? Because her breath stinks with something called halitosis. A rare disease that very few ponies have, and the ‘cure’ was to take Clorox, originally used for scrubbing floors, can freshen up your breath so that you can finally get that special somepony.”

In the darkness, I saw a few ponies with their jaws hanging. “Are you kidding?” one of them asked.

“No. At the time, Clorox was really used for floor cleaning, but when sales were dropping, they had to come up with something so that they could really sell their product. And it turns out, it can make your breath smell minty fresh. So what do they do? They convinced their customers of a condition in which a tiny portion of the population had,” he pointed at the screen. “So that it’ll help them out with their relationship problems because their breaths apparently stink. And this actually worked. So well, in fact, those sales for the company went up dramatically.”

After showing a few more examples from soap to soy oil, he brought the point that. “These guys in the twenties were so good at manipulating through their advertisements that these rat bastards had scared everypony into buying their product, regardless if they needed it or not.”

Oh, and I have forgotten that he sometimes swears while he’s teaching – an excellent sign of a good teacher in my personal opinion.

Every so often, he would jot down on the chalkboard in which I would copy it into my notebook. After all, I have learned that if the teacher feels the need to write something on the board, chances are that it could be on the test.

Near the end at two-fifteen, he concluded his lecture by showing us a song near the end of the period. A song in which I have heard it before when he was teaching Equinities; it was called, “Blue Skies.”

“So why am I letting you guys listening to this?” he asked the obvious as he turned on the speakers in the classroom and ready to put the needle on the record. “It’s because, in the remarkable irony in history, this one hit wonder has illustrated the upbeat attitude before the crash of the Great Depression. Pay attention to not only at the style of the singing, but the lyrics themselves.”

And over the crackling sound that sounded from the speakers all around the room, a smooth trumpet played out the signature descending scale of jazz. A few seconds later, with the phantom of a mare’s voice adding on top of that relaxed tempo, she began to sing.

“Blue skies, smilin’ at me, nothin’ but blue skies, do I see. Blue birds, singing a song, nothin’ but blue birds, all day long. Never saw the sun shining so bright, never seen things goin’ so right. Noticin’ the days hurrin’ by, when you’re in love, my how they fly! Blue days, all of them gone, nothin’ but blue skies, from now on.” From there, the singer improvised with her voice in a fun, upbeat way that I’ve noticed that even a few hooves from the class were taping to the beat.

“I’ve never saw the sun shining so bright, never seen things goin’ oh so right. Noticin’ the days hurrin’ by, when you’re in love, my how they fly! Blue, blue days, all of them gone, nothin’ but blue skies, from now on!”

When the song finished playing, Mr. Hindsight took the needle off the record. “But the truth was,” he said. “Those blue skies didn’t last forever as many ponies would have hoped. Off in the horizon, a dark storm was brewing that threatened to turn their lives upside down. And that’s where we’ll pick up on Thursday, into the Great Depression.” He glanced at the clock over the door. “There’s no homework assigned, so see ya guys, have a nice day.”

That was our cue for us to be dismissed. Since my brother didn’t have his next class until later tonight, he went home while I went to the door across from Mr. Hindsight’s. After setting my books down and a quick trip to the bathroom later, I waited in my seat for my next class at two-thirty: health. Students flow in, oftentimes making small talk while I idly listen from time to time if they have something worth listening to.

Our teacher came in five minutes early, Mr. Gym, the same Pegasus who happens to be the councilor of this temporary school. The only way I could describe him is if you took the model of a later thirty-year-old lumberjack with a dark beard, take away the plaid hat and ax, give him a layback yet fun personality, a surgeon for a wife plus kids, put him into a teaching position, and you end up with Mr. Gym.

“Hey how’s it goin’?” he asked as he walked right in. “Inkwell, how’s it been?”

I shrugged, “Alright I guess.”

“Good, good,” he flipped on the switch for the projector to turn on. “Um, just a reminder everypony that since this is our last semester here in this building some of you probably need to speak with me about transferring to the new college as soon as you can.”

“I have a question,” one of the students raised her hoof. “Since this school is closing down, what are you going to do after this?”

“Besides being unemployed?” he joked. “I’m not exactly sure. Ever since the vote back in June, I and the teachers here have been trying to figure that out for a while – some of us like Mr. Hindsight most likely would try to see if they can get a job there. Me on the other hoof… I might end up retiring, become a stay at home dad. I don’t know yet, but obviously, I’d need to figure something out soon.”

“Are you really going to retire?” I asked.

“Like I said, I’d need to do some things first before I figure that out. But for now, let’s wait a bit before we get started.”

“What are we learning today?” another student asked.

“You’ll find out.”

By the time class started at two-thirty up til’ three-fifty, he lectured about cardio health. Or to put it in plain Equestrian: about the heart, what sort of preventable diseases to avoid, and how to take care of it. To be honest, between listening and taking down some notes, it was rather uneventful to the point that I couldn’t wait to go home. If anything, part of the time I was letting my mind wonder of ideas of how to improve a bowl of Ramen noodles. Maybe with some chopped carrots for some crunch in the bowl or probably try some of that tofu stuff? Should I have my bowl with just one soft boil egg or two? Maybe I should mix in with sesame oil in with the butter-

“Okay, see you guys Thursday,” I blinked at what the teacher said. Glancing at the clock I found that it was already 3:52. While I didn’t exactly notice the time, it was certainly welcoming as I picked up my books and a pencil with me to head out the door.

Before I went home, however, I had stepped into the post office to see if there was anything new in my box. While I was disappointed that there were no new letters, at least I did get a copy of the latest magazine. Sure enough, my latest chapter was indeed published along with the approval has gone up by a few points.

So returning home with the magazine tucked between my note and textbook, I walked in to find that Crystal was cuddling Chewy while mom is in her usual spot on the loveseat with a typewriter. “Uh, Pepper has gone out to get some mustard and barbecue sauce.”

“Oh crap!” I facedhoof, “I’m so sorry, I’ve completely spaced it.”

She waved it off, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve figured that since he’s out getting those, how does sloppy oats sound for dinner?”

“We do have chips, right?”

“There should be,” she said as she adjusted the paper in the machine on her lap. “I think there’s at least a couple different kinds and at least four bags of tortilla chips for some reason.” Before I could head into the hallway into my room, she added, “Oh, and by-the-way, since you’ve left all those dishes for me to put in the dishwasher, as soon as dinner is over, you get to load them.”

“Yes mom,” I said as I opened the door to my sanctuary. Normally, I would prefer to write in the afternoons, like sometime after one o’clock. However, being past four, it just makes me feel like I’m continually late to the work that I genuinely like to do. Still, it was rather nice that I have at least a couple of hours to tackle a new chapter with me, my background music, and a typewriter to challenge the mind.

If anything, I had been looking forward to this all day as I knew this time where I want to take the story. In this case, Tchaicoltsky’s betrayal from his lover to compose his first ballet: “Swan Lake.” To set the mood of it, I let my music player echo out the emotional introduction of the piece be heard as I focused on the next chapter, lying down on my bed.



Chapter 14: Dreams of Swan Lake

Tchaicoltsky didn’t know how long he spent in his room crying alone. The vodka was useless, as he knew that so-called, “liquid comfort” won’t console what has been broken. His heart was still bruised at what he had learned last night, and as much as all he wanted to do was cry, he had no more tears to shed, and his hunger was rioting for substance.

Finally unlocking the door, he walked over into the kitchen to first, make some bitter coffee and perhaps fix some scrambled eggs on the stove to satisfy his appetite for now. However, his soul was tired of walking across the shards of his heart – he didn’t want to go anywhere nor meet anypony – he needed to rest above all else. More than just needed sleep, but time to come to grips of what he had to confront.

“Mama,” he sighed his hooves on the edge of the stove, staring at the pot slowly boiling. “I wish that you were here. I wish I knew what to do.”

After taking a few minutes to brew his batch of black coffee, he got out a cup and the serving spoons for the cream and sugar to stir in. In the silence, he prepared his cup the way he preferred it, all the while pondering to himself of what would his mother do in such a dark situation as this. Slowly, he recalled of the days when at the end of the day that he came to her with a problem that he couldn’t solve on his own, she would sit next to him and tell him a bedtime story.

‘She was always good at that,’ he thought as he slowly sipped the nectar of life. ‘Every time I get into trouble, or I’m faced with a decision that I don’t know what to do, she somehow knew what story to tell me to help me. Mama was brilliant in that regard and she hardly had to use the books on the shelves since she told me those of her own. Like the talking, dancing animals, of wizards, angles, and heroes that were like me.’

With every sip, an idea formed in his mind: what if the best way to confront such an ugly break up, would be to pen his feelings into a story format that he knows, but never tried before. An opera, or maybe… a ballet perhaps? No story that he knows could ever fit what was forming in his head… so would it hurt then, to create a stor-



“Inkwell!” my mother called out, derailing my train of thought. “Did you bring in the trash cans?”

Ah great, another thing that stupid me has forgotten to do today. After giving myself a good slap to the head as a reminder of how dumb I was, I went out to get the trash cans to be hulled back to their place. And by the time I returned to my room, that line of thought in which it made so easy to write came to me slowly thanks to that interruption.

But at least on the upside that I’ve managed to get a good eight hundred words in, and just in time before five o’clock as dad came in. “Can I get some help?” As expected as I got into the kitchen, he was there were bags of groceries. “Inkwell, could you go get the rest of the stuff that’s over at the door?”

I did so, but not without taking a peek at what was in the bags. I spied the noodles, unshelled peanuts and other bottles in which could only be one thing: “Thinking of a stir-fry tonight?”

“Yes actually,” he said as he placed the other bags on the cabinet. “How does pad thai sound?”

“Are we talking about the peanut version?”

“Well, I did get some of that spicy peanut sauce somewhere in these bags. So if you could help me set this up and throw stuff away, I’ll take care of the rest.”

And so like that, we were taking out the frying pan, pot with water, the chopping boards, knives, and little glass bowls to prepare dinner. Mom came in and offered up to help as well to discuss a few things while I chopped up the nuts and vegetables as I listened. She told him of the three ponies that had signed up for his class next week and the events at work for the both of them. Noodles with payment, vegetables with court issues, ginger and mincing onion with local politics, and oils with meeting with stupid ponies tend to go hoof and hoof. Such things are familiar to me in the kitchen when both of my parents are helping with the cooking.

Soon enough, hot oil and frying vegetables perfumed the air as a dad now focused his attention on the frying pan. Next, to him, bowls of ingredients only arranged by him waited for the heat. With each bowl being tossed in, I stood by to set the bowl into the sink, or throw away what was essentially garbage. Once the tempting combination of sauces was put in to marinate whatever was in the pan, the air smelled like ginger, soy sauce, peanut and other combinations that I couldn’t pick up right away. With the noodles being the last to being thrown in, dinner was ready.

Grandma was already there setting plates at the table while mom set to get my brother and sister. With them and the dog at the table, we all sat down and began to pass out the food. “What is this?” Grandma Brae inquired as she dished her own peroration on her plate.

“Pad thai,” dad answered. “I was over at the Far Eastern store a couple of months ago in which they had cookbooks over there. While I was flipping through I happened to find this thing, it sounded so good that I bought it and I’ve been learning how to make stir-frys from it.”

“I like the sauce,” Crystal said as she slurped up a few noodles.

“Sad that I couldn’t find any Brussel sprouts,” he added. “Still for what we have, this is pretty good.”

Personally, I never liked the sprouts, so to have it out was rather a silent blessing for me.

“So are we doing anything for Hearth’s Warming?” my brother asked. “Like are we going to draw names to figure out who’s getting stuff for who?”

“That reminds me,” Mom got up from the table towards the counter where the stick notes were. She took out a pen to draw up a name before folding it up and moving over to the next one. After writing on four notes, she returned to the table and went up to me. “Pick one.”

“What?”

“If we’re going to figure out who we’re getting, we might as well do it now.”

So I chose one of the notes, unfolding it to have Crystal’s name on it. Mom went around to the rest of my siblings as they drew names from her hoof. When she sat down, she unfolded the last one, “And it looks like that Chem is doing Inkwell this year.”

Chem… I just realized that I’ve forgotten to mention her, didn’t I? Well, in the number of siblings I have, I’m pretty much the second oldest. Chem is my older sister by… six years I think? The reason why I haven’t mentioned about her up until now was that she had moved away some years ago. Currently, she moved south to Appaloosa where she works in the only pharmacy for miles. (Although I believe that’s because her coltfriend Nail happens to be there.) To be honest, while my older sis has, fortunately, become a good deal nicer now, back before she moved away, she terrified me and my brother. Sure, when your friends with her, she can be proved to be a fun, outgoing mare. But when you’re family (and more unfortunate) siblings to her… Well, it’s best that you don’t cross her path because she can be the complete opposite. Back then, she was a Power Ponies villain.

“Speaking of which,” I brought up. “Isn’t it true that Nail might purpose to her?”

“Last I’ve heard,” Mom replied, picking up her fork. “She said that she’d caught him looking over some rings, and there’s only one reason he’d be doing that. At this rate, I think that he’ll ask her at or around Hearth’s Warming.”

“It’s about time,” my little sister commented. “How long have they’ve been dating again?”

“Isn’t it five or six years?” Pepper asked.

“I thought it was seven,” Dad pointed out.

“Those two deserve each other,” Grandma said and eveypony at the table agreed. “It’ll be nice to have some grandkids of your own, eh Stage?”

She did agree.

Dad at up his meal and asked mom to bring up some new quizzes for him to take over to the school, but not before mom reminded me to load the dishes. So I did, scraping every little thing before placing them into the machine. By the time I started it up; dad was out the door with quizzes on his back.

Back in my room, I stared at the typewriter on my desk at the material that I have so far. And for several minutes, I found myself stumped. Tchaicoltsky in the story is beginning to compose for Swan Lake, so now what? From what I’ve read about him, there’s nothing much between that and the performance. I rubbed my head, “Ugh… What would he do at this point?” I asked myself.

One of the things that I’ve learned, that when one is working on a project, it’s best to give yourself a break by doing something else. And it didn’t take too long to figure that out as my taste buds were demanding for something sweet. But at the same time, easy to whip up so I wouldn’t waste much time on writing. And I knew just the thing.

Back in the kitchen, with the sound of the radio playing in the living room with mom’s typewriter going, I set out to get out the big bowl for the cereal and another for the chocolate. “What are you making in there?” I heard my mom ask.

“I’m in the mood for muddy buddies.”

“Ooh, that actually sounds good. Do we have all the stuff for it?”

“I think we should,” so I went about to be sure about the peanut butter, powder sugar, vanilla extract, butter, chocolate chips and an unopened box of Checker cereal. Immediately I set to work of pouring out the cereal in the large bowl. Setting it aside, I opened the bag of chocolate and dump it in another bowl with a half a cube of butter. I let it melt in the microwave, stirring it for thirty seconds at a time before it was completely melted for me to put in the peanut butter and vanilla to be mixed in. Now that all of it was melted in together, I poured the chocolate mixture over the cereal.

As I was doing this, a thought came to mind about my story. If anything, it was obvious where to take it from here. While Tchaicoltsky would be writing out the ballet, he would have to get in touch with the ballet master to describe his vision. In a way, it would make sense as Swan Lake had put ballet on the map. So by the time I poured in the amount of powder sugar into the muddy buddies, I already had a plan for my story before I could place that large bowl in the fridge.

Returning to my room, I composed the scene where Tchaicoltsky goes to the capital to seek a ballet company that would perform his new work. Easily I’ve managed to write out the last two hundred words, much to my satisfaction.

With everything accomplished, I lay on my bed, flipping through the magazine to see if there were anything interesting or new updates for the stories that I have been looking at. However, before I could find any, I heard a tap on my window to find a familiar looking bird with a little scroll attached. Since it was a blue jay, I instantly knew who this was from. After opening the door, I unravel the message.



Hey Brony, how’s it been? I was kinda hoping that you’re free tomorrow to hang out. Recently I got my hooves on a couple of comics that I think you’ll like to take a look at.

– Artie.



Ah Artie, my best and longest friend I’ve had. A blue pegasus that’s older than me by a couple of months. Lover of all things comics, manga, drawing, and movies – as well as being one of the few ponies that I could talk to without getting bored. Unlike the past where with the friends I had, Artie was the one who managed to keep in contact with me, even when we went up from one school to the next. Nowadays, we manage to hang out at my place, showing off the weird or funny stuff that we’ve managed to find and have a few good laughs out of it. Since he lives on nearly the other side of town, we found that the quickest ways to communicate were by messenger birds in which he got as a birthday present some time back.

So ripping a thin piece of paper from my desk, I wrote back a response.



Hey Artie, I’m doing alright. And I think that the best time for me tomorrow is at around six. Don’t worry, I’ll tell my parents that we have something for you to eat. Besides, I’m curious to see what you’ve found this time. I confess that I hadn’t any chance to find anything funny so hopefully, you did. See ya tomorrow.

 – Inkwell.



Sure, on most days I’m home by myself or running errands, studying or doing school work, I preferred to do that all by myself. However, that doesn’t mean that I want to completely isolate myself. Because if I’m going to interact with other ponies besides my family, then let it be with someone that I’ve got to know for the past several years. Artie fits the bill since he and I met when we were colts back in Elementary school. He, after all, taught me how to have a sense of humor, and is a walking encyclopedia of nearly all things nerdy. Just the way I like it.

After sending the reply through the bird, I read a while until about nine o’clock where I went to go check on that powdery dessert. To my delight, the chocolate was set, and I called out that if anyone wanted it, they can have some. I heard mom ask if I could bring her a bowl so I did.

“Aren’t you going to tell Pepper and Crystal you’ve made muddy buddies?” she asked, scooping a hooful of the treat into her mouth.

Turns out that I didn’t need to – my brother apparently heard it, and Crystal walked up the stairs. So now that they knew about it, I could take a bowl of that cold, crunchy, chocolate goodness into my room. From there I snacked on it as I read over a new one-shot that had caught my attention.