My parents gave me this really large Pony doll, just a short while ago. It is something parents are known to do, and they need no justification for doing so. If they had explained it to me, back then; it would just have ruined the moment and made me worry. What’s the point in doing that?
She looks like a regular plastic doll, with the fiber hair that feels almost real. While she may be darker than the common Pony of her kind, I still do love her to bits; if you accept the unintended pun, there.
She gave me this apprehensive excitement, right away. She did feel slightly warmer than I had been expecting, but that may just be my imagination. I also have the feeling, she is watching me. It is not as if her eyes move, to follow me everywhere I go. That would just have been silly.
I may be a little girl, and I do play with my dolls; but I am not that little. I gave up on all these silly ideas about the stories I was told. I do not believe the dolls are real and alive, but they still are fun to play with. I do not rip their heads off of them, or pull their hair off; just because they are not real or alive. Maybe the head could be put back, but why do I have to pull it off of her in the first place?
I am a nice girl, who enjoys playing with my friends and my toys. What’s up with that? Does this make me into a freak, or a Monster?
I do not know if other girls are writing in their diaries, but I still do it. I imagine some kids do, while others do not. Who am I to care? I do it, because I can and because I enjoy it. Do I need another reason?
This doll is huge, even for a Pony; yet, she is still heavy.
“What is the wight of a Soul? Why do I have that impression, right now?” I ponder.
Of course, I could not ask my parents. Who was I to ask, if I was to ask anyone? I do not know. Maybe it is for the better, if I kept these questions to myself? At least, until I know there is a reason to ask? Just that I do not know, how could I possibly know?
“The package is beautiful! I just can’t throw it away!” I ponder, as I place it in my wardrobe.
I had to place her by the side of my bed, the room is not very big. I placed her by the side, facing towards me. It just feels right.
“I swear, sometimes she is actually smiling at me. As if she is happy, enjoying to see me safely sleeping!” I ponder.
I know she is a doll, a toy; yet I am compelled to refer to her by her given name. Midnight Sparks. Though I make due with her first name, Midnight.
Familiarity, the familiarity of a friend. Shouldn’t it be? Should there be no friendship?
A friend, the one friend you know will not turn around and abandon you; for anything, or anyone. This is the offer, I simply could not refuse. How could I? This is no joke. Just one honest truth I have to face.
Had they known what she was, would they have bought her and given her to me? I dare not ask. I barely dare considering the question, in brief moments at a time.
Of course, I could not ask her. Would she even know the answer? Do I want to know, if she knew and answered me? Do I even want to contemplate this?
She may be a Pony, but she still is my friend. She will not turn away. Neither could I.
This had been nothing more than a strange, eerie feeling, at first.
From there, I started to feel; as if she is not standing in the exact position, where I had left her the night before. Or, she is standing in a different pose. Silly? Impossible? It should have been. Even the fantasy of a girl, could not make a doll move in the slightest. She was never that kind of doll, in the first place.
I had told my diary, because I trust in it. I know it can’t betray me. A mere book can’t act on its own, no matter what.
Of course, the Diary had been the perfect place to put these notions and thoughts. I write it down, leaving the image in the book; then I could leave it at that, forgetting the entire affair. No need, or point; in worrying, or ask others. What good would that have made me, anyway?
A diary is safe. It is suposed to, since it never judges you for anything. No matter what.
I never needed to have a lock on my diary, I knew none ever were to read it. None, other than possibly me. I am the only one even casting it a second glance. Until now.
I guess, technically speaking; no-one has opened the book. While one Pony has been taking a peek, into the book. I do not know how, or why. Why? How does one even take a peek into a book, without even cracking the covers open? The book had never been touched by another hand.
It is late, and I open my diary. I flip through the pages, page by page; just as I use to. I always did this. Not so much as a reminder, I have no reason to fear I have forgotten anything.
There it is, the last entry I wrote; just the other day, but now something is different. A new entry has been written.
“Daisies!” I read.
If I had not known better, I would have screamed, I would have been screaming right now. I am not screaming, obviously. If I had been my parents would have been scrambled, knocking on my door just an instant later. It is the way parents are wired. They care, and thus they will make sure you are all right.
If you are screaming, something is wrong. The time of day, or night is irrelevant in this case.
On a second glance, there is a drawing of the daisies in a vase under the written word.
“Oh, Daisies!” I ponder.
“Someone would like for me to have a few daisies in a vase, just like that one!” I ponder.
“Daisies!” I mouth, without realizing it.
“Yes, Daisies! Daisies are pretty, and tasty!” a voice responds.
I pick up the pen, associated to the diary; only to notice a strange, faint star-like glow to the page upon which I am about to write the new entry.
“That is curious!” I ponder, as I realize that the pen is tinted slightly towards the hue of my Pony.
I may, or may not have a few regular Pony dolls or figurines. This changes nothing, in this situation.
I feel excited, to the point where I almost forget just how tired I am. I put pen, to paper.
“Dear Diary!
This just proved to be a very interesting day, right now!
I may need to acquire a few Daisies, and fill a vase with water and place it on my nightstand!”
Should I pick a few in the garden, or could I buy them in the shop in town?”
“Oh, well; that was the oddest entry I ever written in my diary!" I ponder.
"Good thing, none will ever read this!” I continue.
Just as I look up, I think I see the Pony wink at me. She then nods, in confirmation.
“I am seeing things, or I am already dreaming!” I ponder, humoring myself.
“I really do need my sleep, I should go to bed!” I tell myself.
“Yes, you should!” I hear a voice answering.
“Yes! Thanks!” I respond.
She nods.
“You may be more comfortable, if you slip out of these clothes; before you go to bed!” she then adds.
“Probably!” I mumble, as I slip out of my bed and raise to my feet.
Now I just need a pair of fresh panties, before I can go to sleep!” I point out.
I manage to slip the shirt of, before I slip the skirt down. I manage to toss the used clothes into the bucket.
“Fresh panties, yes!” I hear her respond, stifling a faint giggle.
I pull my socks off of my feet and slip my old and used panties down, leaving them to be washed.
I extract a pair of clean, fresh and white panties. Only returning to my bed, once I had managed to slip the panties on.
“There, ready for bed!” she points out.
“Did I actually hear her voice? Or, am I imagining everything?” I ponder.
But, there is no response.
Maybe I had been imagining it, because a hallucination could have responded to my thoughts as easily as it is responding to what I say.
Then again; I am tired, and it is indeed late. Very late. At least, it is for me.
I notice a faint glow, on or around her horn; she lifts up the quilt for me, just before I slip down onto my bed.
I notice that the quilt slowly slips down over me in an exaggeratedly gentle motion. I just do not react upon it, almost as if it had been expected. Though I could have been ignorant, to the effect.
“Sleep tight, and sweet dreams!” she exclaims, just as I lay my head on the newly fluffed up pillow.
“Sleep tight, and sweet dreams!” I respond,, just as I close my eyes.
“See you tomorrow!” I ponder, just as I am slipping of and floating off into sleep.
As I am falling asleep, she steps forwards and muzzle me; not sure if I am noticing it: She is just doing it, because it felt right to her at the time.
Indeed, maybe it was.
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