//------------------------------// // Chapter 1: Do You Believe in Magic? // Story: Rag Doll // by No one is home //------------------------------// Gloomy Sonnet stared intently at the plush toy sitting on the edge of the stage as she choked back bile born of stage fright.  She swallowed heavily as her hoof connected with the drum.  This wasn’t an audition, the young adolescent pony told herself.  She was just reciting one of her poems for Mr. Alphabittle.  He was a nice stallion.  But he wasn’t really the audience that made her nervous.  He wasn’t really the pony she wrote this for. The beats flowed like a runoff stream.  Like water that knew it would never reach the river, but just flowed because it had to move.  Just like the water had to move down hill, the beats had to flow, and the words had to be said. “There’s a hole in my heart, where my soul’s supposed to start,”  the young mare droned seemingly without emotion, her gaze locked on the unseeing button eyes of the only audience that mattered, “like a seed that feels more like a need.” Mr. Alphabittle watched passively, perhaps knowingly that these words were never written for him, but still the words insisted to flow, “Despite all that I see, Is this still all I can be? just a ragdoll that can’t even bleed?” There was a hitch of a breath in the back of her mind, a gasp that had no lungs to make a sound, and yet the words still flowed with the beats.  “Am I more than a voice? Was I given a choice? With the scales between anger and greed?” “With the scales between anger and greed,”  She repeated, her rhythm ending it’s flow into the stagnant pond that was the destiny of the stream.  If Alphabittle noticed it wasn’t him she was performing for him, he pretended not to notice as he brought his hooves together in a slow, respectful clap. “I k-know it’s not traditional music…”  Gloomy quickly took a defensive stance against the older unicorn. “Nonsense,” the old greybeard chuckled, “What is a song, really?  It’s just words, and rhythm, and music.  You have those things.  You and Charlie have been coming into my arcade for years.  The job was yours before I even made it a job.  When I’m doing a competition, can you do tht beat… thing?” “You mean like freestyle?” A ghost of a smile crossed the fillies face like a shadow.  A quick rhythm played across he drum. “Best out of three, who will it be.  One has to lose, so how will you chose?” “Perfect!”  The massive unicorn laughed heartily.  “Why don’t you take Charlie to the soda bar and get you a cool drink.  On the house.” “You don’t think it’s weird, Mr. Alphabittle?  Charlie, I mean,”  she asked tucking her tail and ears back defensively . “Of course it’s weird,” his words contrasted his friendly smile, “But even a blind steed could see that whatever you have going on with that doll, it’s real to you.  It’s real in here…” He tapped his hoof to the filly’s chest.  He heaved a heavy sigh, “I think what’s wrong now is that somehow we lost that.  We lost touch with what was important… what made things real, and not just a list of taboo words.  Bah, I shouldn’t be bothering you with my old pony ramblings.  Free soda bar!  The sky is the limit, Gloomy.” -=-=-=-=- She cared.  She didn’t have to.  She could have left me in the dark, silent place and walked away.  She could have put me in a box with the other toys she had long outgrew.  It started as a desperate, selfish attempt to keep the attention of a child, because that was the only way I could exist.  But she chose to listen to me. When I had a voice, I thought being heard was the most important thing in the world.  I never realized that it never mattered how many people heard the noise I made.  Until one person listened, that’s all it was: just noise.  I never understood how important it was to listen until I lost my voice.  I had never seen myself through someone else’s eyes. =-=-=-=-= “Stop talking in circles, Charlie!”  The young mare snapped, perhaps with more venom than she truly felt, staring into a mirror with her earth pony plush doll in clear view.  “I know you can see me, just answer the question!  Am. I. A. Pretty. Pony?” “Dammit, I KNOW you’re an old doll,” the filly argued angrily against silent rebukes, “maybe you missed the part where I was here the whole time!” “Okay… I see your point… yes, I know it’s weird.” Gloomy argued at the mirror. “We made it weird years ago.  It always was and always will be weird!” “You’re… not wrong Charlie,” the filly smiled sadly sudden;y scrunching her face at an unheard rebuke, “Mr. Alphabittle?  Eww!  No!  He's old!” The mare settled into a pout, “Okay, I see your point, but you should still answer the question, Am I a pretty pony?” -=-=-=-=- It’s hard to say when it changed.  When did tea parties turn into dates?  I should have shut that down.  I was selfish.  I needed her attention to survive.  It was a selfish choice, but also the most natural thing in the world.  It was weird.  I was a plush doll.  I was an old man.  I was her most trusted childhood friend. A memory filtered back from the before times.  I had asked for this.  I had asked for a fresh start.  My starting point had been as a broken toy in a trash heap.  Then she found me.  She cleaned me.  She sewed up the tears in my velveteen body.  She had hugged me close to keep the nightmares away.  It had been so long, I really only had a ghost of a memory of being the old man who made that deal. And deep in the core of my fluff, where my heart should be, I knew it was already too late.  It was already real.  The magic was already there...