Dear Diary,
Still no sign of my friend at the dance. I followed Punelope around for a while-- she hit me in the snout. It hurt a lot; my friend would never hurt me like she did so it couldn't be her. Diary, I know you're just a book but, could you tell me what's meant by an order? I know it's when you put things in line but what does restraining order mean? Oo, maybe all the fillies want me to put them in line and choose who it was that way. That must be what that sheet of paper meant. Well, I'll do that tomorrow then. They'll have a surprise at break time when I come and tell them to move it and get in line so I can check them out.
Checking them out might be the only way to find out which one was the lovely pretty filly at the party. You know what I've started calling her? Well, she's a pretty mare who wore a pink dress, had glass slippers on her feet, ate lots of Pumpkin snacks and disappeared at mignight. So I call her--- Peter, peter, pumpkin eater. Clever, yes? Hehe, she'll love that one when I tell her. If I ever find her that is.
I don't know. I've been searching for a thousand-hundered weeks now and I still haven't been able to discover where she went (although she's certainly not under 'dis cover. Ha, I made a funny. I can tell her that one two. Diddy sure is clever, she'll say). Still I'm not going to give up. I will find her, if it's the first thing I do.
I'm in hot water with Blankety at the minute actually. I accused Lady Blankety of coming to life and being the filly-- or stealing the filly's soul and trapping it in her dolly body to feed on forever. Hay, it was only natural that she had to be punished by drowning in hot water-- to wash her sins away like Mother used to do with me all of the time. Anyway Blankety wasn't so happy with her new look so I've been locked out of his room forever and ever and ever. I miss playing with him. But he says that you have to respect a Lady's dignity, or something like that. Apparently I've been reading too many stories and got crazy ideas in my head. No! I don't read, I walk through words. That's what Daddy used to call it. If I say that now everypony just laughs. Daddy's always right.
Daddy. What would he do? How would he find the filly? Simple, he'd go out and do what I'm doing. He'd search high and low to find the mare; rescure her from a burning building or a high tower. Like a Princess, and he'd be the Prince. Only this time I'm the Prince. I have to be the brave one. I have to find her.
Oh that's an idea. The King knows everypony in the land because he's a King and that's what King's do. Y'know, King stuff. He should know where my pony is. I could-- I could sneak out in the night, heroically run to the palace (or jog, I'm not a good runner), and beg him to tell me her name. He'd be sure to know.
The only question is, do I have the bravery to do that? I told the filly that I was the bravest stallion ever, but am I? Well I must be. Because I'm my Daddy's son. I'm a Militant-- like a millipede only better, and with less legs. Yes, that's what I'm going to do.
Wish me luck Diary. Lights out time.