I saw Fleur de Lis in the bread line tonight. That’s right, the supermodel. The last time I saw her face was on some magazine cover, forelegs around her crazy-rich hubby; it’d been late afternoon, I think, at a newstand on my way back to home from the library. Or maybe I was going to see Princess Celestia.
I miss afternoons.
I don’t even know how I recognized her. Fleur de Lis I mean. She looked like a skeleton with a dirty mane stuck to it. I wonder if ponies still ask her for autographs? Maybe I should’ve. I can just picture it: “Ms. Fleur? I’m a really big fan! Could you sign my journal? Sorry it’s all tattered and gross. Or how about signing this book on the Elements of Harmony that I lifted from the royal library? What? It’s not like the princess is around to miss it. It’s not like we’re ever going to find the Elements of Harmony again or see sunshine either. Just sign on the inside front cover, and make it out to Moon Dancer, Worst Personal Student of Celestia Ever.”
I should’ve said something like that; something bold, and confident, and… different. That’s me in a nutshell: I should’ve done a lot of things differently.
- Moon Dancer