//------------------------------//
// 224: Wednesday 
// Story: Thirty-Minute Pony Stories 
// by Silvernis 
//------------------------------//


224: WEDNESDAY




The intern—a bright green earth pony in an even brighter yellow jumpsuit—read through the scroll eagerly.

“Ma’am, you’ve been invited to a gallery opening this afternoon! If we hurry—”

“No,” said Photo Finish, not looking up from the pictures on her desk.

“Oh, um, all right.” The intern deflated a bit, but quickly rallied and pulled another scroll from her satchel. “Um . . . you’ve also been asked to do an impromptu shoot at Fancy Pants’ manor—”

“No.”

Looking desperate now, the intern scrabbled in the satchel and yanked out the last scroll, this one bearing an elaborate seal. She broke it and unfurled the paper. Her eyes went wide, and she all but squealed as she waved it at Photo Finish.

“Ma’am, it’s an invitation for lunch—”

“No.”

“Lunch with Silver Stitch, ma’am!”

Photo Finish froze. A badly stifled gasp went through the office, and the other ponies glanced at each other and at their boss, waiting. Photo Finish snatched the scroll from the intern’s hooves and read it. She hesitated, looking at the silver-and-crystal clock on her desk, then, very slowly, almost reluctantly, pushed it back to the intern.

“No.”

The other ponies gave a brief sigh, then turned back to their work. The intern’s face was a rictus of disbelieving horror. She looked at Photo Finish, down at the invitation, back at the other ponies quietly working at their desks, then back at Photo Finish.

“Ma’am,” she said, “Silver Stitch is asking you to lunch! Silver Stitch, the undisputed queen of spring fashion! Just think of what this would mean for the studio! Ma’am, why don’t—”

She was interrupted by the chiming of the clock. Photo Finish immediately jumped to her hooves and walked around her desk, pausing for a moment next to the intern.

“It is Vednesday,” said the photographer. “Dat is vhy. Now, I go!”

The intern looked more than a little confused, but she dutifully raced after her boss.

Photo Finish noticed her following and stopped abruptly at the door. She reached up and patted the green pony on the head, almost affectionately. “No. Dis time, I go . . . alone.”





The streets were quiet, at least by Canterlot standards. Twenty minutes’ brisk trotting brought Photo Finish to an elegant wrought iron gate set in a brick wall. At her touch, the gate swung open with a quiet creak. She proceeded through into a small park thick with flowers and trees.

The flagstone path led her to a clearing at the back of the park. She walked slowly along a row of bright marble headstones, finally stopping at the last one. A bit larger than the others, it bore a stylized caring of a stallion flanked by two foals.

She sat on her haunches on the neatly trimmed patch of grass in front of the stone, careful not to dirty her dress. She removed her glasses, revealing one bright pink eye and one scarred, sightless, milk-white eye. Leaning forward, she rested her head against the stone, tracing the carving with a hoof.

“I, Photo Finish, have arrived,” she said softly. “How are you, my dahlings?”