I suppose it all started when I was zero years old. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed being so young and free, but even back then it still happened. I remember getting my first real good look at the world and being awed by the beauty of it all. Everything was so very white, so very clean. It was almost like the room had never even seen a speck of dust before. You can say I was amazed, but inspired is probably the better term. No, it wasn’t the seeming sterility of this new world that had me so affected, it was that I was surrounded by giant versions of me, although some of them had white rectangles where their mouths should’ve been. It was so incredible. For those few seconds of true naivety I wanted to become a giant just like them, that way I could live and reproduce, which was a thought that just felt natural. All seemed so right.
That was when one of the giants brought their hoof across my plot.
Perhaps it’s fitting that my very first breath was accompanied by a scream of pain. Then again, isn’t that the point of me telling you this dreary tale?
Hay if I know.
Now, I bet you’re wondering a few things. How do I know you’re doing so? Well, your binding always cringes whenever you have something on your mind and right now it’s convulsing. Let me go ahead and address your concerns in order of their occurrence over my nightday.
As you’ll recall, I had to meet with SB for our date at midnight, which -given that I didn’t want to ruin the smell of the olive bathwater by picking crap up- put my work off until the later part of the nightday. That wasn’t gonna be an issue from the start; I’m more than capable of moving through the town at twice my normal speed, I simply choose not to so that I can spend as much time picking up as little crap as I can. No, the issue was that I spent the entirety of the time leading up to that doing absolutely nothing.
Yeah, I bet you know where this is going.
When I am given time to do nothing and simply sit idle, my mind tends to drift towards unpleasant thoughts. Thoughts such as how my mom never knew my favorite color. I cried for a good two or so hours. Wasn’t anything too bad, I mean, I’ve done worse. However, where it got bad was when I realized that I didn’t know HER favorite color.
Haha, yeah, I threw a ‘small’ tantrum over that one.
Imagine not knowing something like that. She is probably the most important pony in my mind and yet I don’t know such an inconsequential yet such a personal detail like that. What kind of son am I?
She loved me so damn much, more than you -being such a simple book- can ever understand. Every day was something special with us. Whether that be playing my favorite game, playing her favorite game -she loved bingo-, gardening, going to town together -she tolerated it better than I did, can, or ever will-, mixing chocolate milk, her reading books to me, me trying -and failing- to read books to her, or just simply spending time together.
It would always be just another normal day in the thriving city of Ipsapolis with the Ipsalites going about their day as usual. Then the great and terrifying Mombeast would come to abduct the highly treasured magazines of the pillow fortress. Never to let such a fiend get away with her treachery, the hero with the ever changing name would meet her before she could make her escape. The Hero would demand she yield, she would declare that she would only do so if she could have a kiss on the cheek from her most precious colt, a trap the Hero would always see coming -especially since he had given in once and had to endure a nigh endless barrage of tickling-. Her plan failed, the Mombeast would make a break for it, but the Hero would never let her get away. Before she could respond, the majestic Hero would set upon her with eye-beams. She would fall and the Hero would have to go and hug her back to health, as a hero never kills. Plus, she liked my hugs, they made her smile.
Sure, bingo was boring as all holy crap; it still had a charm that not even I could deny. A monotonous voice would call out number and letter after number and letter after number and letter. Whenever she would take me to bingo with her, time would pass so quickly and smoothly. In a way, it was kind of soothing to just do something and then stop doing it. That’s what it was like. Also, whenever she did win, she would get this smile that just made everything melt away. You can’t put a price on that.
Though I fucking hate gardening -despite being boring and repetitive, it forces me to be out in the open where other ponies might try to talk to me-, with her it was different. We would prod and dig around the dirt and make sure to do everything just right and in such a precise way. Sure, when we gardened, she would invite her best friend and her daughter to visit. I never really liked Petunia and her small as crap daughter Roseluck -mental note, make sure that Rose the Ally is not her-. However, my disliking of those two was easily ignored because it made her smile that smile. I loved that smile. I still do.
I mostly paid attention to myself rather than everypony else when she wanted to go to town. Sure, I loved spending time with her, but that didn’t mean that all those ponies made me feel comfortable. In fact, it was quite the opposite; I hated talking to them all -I’ve grown up so very much since those days-. She made it fun, though. I can’t count the number of times she would be talking with somepony and then turn to me and ask me about something she knew I was obsessed with at the time. I would tell her and anypony listening all about it. She liked it when I did that. It made her smile.
Despite how ultimately amazing I am, the mixing of chocolate milk was never something I counted as a skill of mine. My grip was always so shaky cause I knew that if I messed up then I would have ruined something that I could share with her. Typically she’d let me stir the mixture after she put it all together. Shortly after she started doing that she learned to hold the glass for me so I wouldn’t go tipping it over every time I tried to stir it. However, my failings aside, there were few things mom enjoyed more than sharing chocolate milk with me. Hay, she even said that the mixing was her favorite part. We both loved chocolate milk. You should’ve seen it, Booky. Even when I’d screw up and knock the glass over, she’d have that smile of hers, that heavenly smile.
My favorite series of books when I was younger were called, “The Adventures of Happy Trails”. Those stupid tales, I hate them so very much nowadays. They tell the story of an Earth pony colt going on adventures to find his cutie mark. Each story would drive home how special he was despite his lack of mark and that it wasn’t a mark that made a pony special. I hate that lesson. However, at the time I could connect with the main character due to my lack of overt talent and obvious lack of cutie mark. Mom would curl up with me under a blanket and read to me from those books. She always made it so special. Each character had a specific voice and accent and every scene was perfectly narrated. We would laugh at his foalish antics, we would cry as he would try and fail to find what it was that made him special -never quite realizing that it was his heart of gold that made him stand out-, we would sit in silent trepidation of what would come next as he ventured forth on his quest, and she would smile as I enjoyed every aspect of those stories. I think I liked those books more for her smile than the story told within their pages.
Even more than reading to me from my favorite books, she liked it when I would try to read to her with her favorite books. Being as obsessed with language as she was those books often had a good deal of verbiage. Something I’m sure entertained her to no end when her colt son would stumble through those complicated words with the earnest attempt to gain a smile from her. In a way, that made these interactions the absolute most special. She would lay there, her attention completely focused on the colt cuddled next to her, and simply watch as I did my very best to read her books in the same manner she did. I think my grandmother still has those books. They were left to me in her will, but I’ve never had the willpower to actually go and get them. They made her smile so much.
That’s what hurt me the most. Not that she died to those damn bees, not that my dad had to be the hero and get me away from those damn bees, and not that I no longer had her around. No, what has always hurt the most is that I’m responsible for turning that smile into an eternal frown. Such a beautiful, angelic smile; I’m a monster for destroying it. I hate myself more than words can express. That smile alone could fix every single problem I have right now.
So yeah…you can see why I hate having time to think.
All of that thinking put me into a mood that shouldn’t require imagination to consider how conflicting it was with the task ahead of me. Luckily I had until midnight to get my crap together, which gave me roughly thirty minutes.
Yep.
Though my pain was still very fresh, I managed to force it to subside as I approached the gazebo. Let me go ahead and say that seeing that thing in the moonlight gave me a confidence I wasn’t aware I was lacking. It was as if I was staring down my destiny and I didn’t fear the final judgment at all.
Yeah, deep stuff.
I held my head high as I entered the gazebo and stood proudly in the empty structure. Sure, her not being on time was like an oozing irritation on my anger-nub, but I was willing to be patient. After all, one must act strange to acquire strange. So, rather than destroy the gazebo -I like writing that word for some reason- I waited in the magical setting.
Beams of light came down from the moon and were revealed by the few reeds around the pond. Dots of light would occasionally blip in and out of existence as bugs tried to acquire strange of their own. There was even the reoccurring noise of some frogs simply enjoying their nightday.
My reflection stared back at me from the pond as the moon caught my beautiful face perfectly. I blinked in slight disbelief as gusts of weak wind wisped through my mane and created the utter definition of sex appeal. The entire scene was made perfect by the feint scent of olives that I had soaked in for this very nightday. Everything was perfect. Rarity knows her craft.
The serenity of the scene was shattered by the telltale sound of a pony approaching the gazebo.
My heart fluttered and my mouth ran dry, the signs of true nervousness rearing their heads. The fur under my bowtie-thingy -which Rarity told me, is called a collar and bowtie combo- bristled in anticipation of the soon-to-be arrived pony. An ache began to resonate through my body as my heart raced with the increasing volume of the pony’s hooffalls. The need to abandon my plan and crawl back into my shell became very clear and reasonable to me at that moment; however, Rarity’s words steeled my confidence. And with that confidence I turned to face the newly arrived pony.
Only to find Rarity’s little sister Sweetie Belle.
Read that sentence. Fucking read it.
Now, I’m going to go ahead and guess that you’re wondering why it was her who had approached me. Well, my bookish companion, I wondered the exact same fucking thing.
Let me transcribe for you the thoughts that went through my mind as I saw her standing there, a sheepish smile on her face framed by a blush.
‘The fuck is she doing here?’
‘Who the fuck is she?’
‘Oh, yeah, that’s Rarity’s little sister, Sweetie Spell.’
‘The fuck is Sweetie Spell doing here?’
‘Oh crap, did I leave something at Rarity’s?’
‘Nah, probably not, I don’t really own anything that could be left anywhere.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘Yeah, but still, the fuck?’
‘Is she blushing?’
‘Why is she blushing?’
‘She lost that damn tiara, didn’t she?’
‘Stupid fillies, always being stupid.’
‘Wait, isn’t her name Sweetie Belle?’
‘Oh yeah! That’s it! Sweetie Belle!’
‘The fuck is Sweetie…Belle…um…oh no…’
That’s right; I figured it out before she even had a chance to explain it.
Sweetie Belle was SB. Which, given the situation I was in at the time, made me look like a pedophile.
Well, facing the sexual attention of an underage -REALLY UNDERAGE- filly, I could do only one thing; facehoof.
She told me that she thanked me for coming to meet her and that she really did have something important to talk about with me and that her leaving that note and this whole situation was not what I thought it was.
Yep, you read that right. I’ve been preparing for a sexy romp with a foal machine only to find that it was never going to be anything even remotely sexual or even romantic. To make matters worse, it wasn’t even a damn foal machine that tricked me, it was a damned filly. However, being that Sweetie happens to be one of the two foals I don’t hate having around, I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.
That was, however, until she said she wanted to talk about V.
Yep, as you can now tell, my nightday was going to be one of THOSE nightdays. Oh, and don’t worry, it gets worse.
Before I could even begin to tell her off, Sweetie dropped some knowledge on me. According to her, Diamond Tiara had been bullying V and that it had culminated in that little bitch tricking my dear -never said this changing crap was going to be painless- V into showing up at the schoolhouse so that she and that other little bitch could try and get her to steal the tiara back from Sweetie. V, being trained to resist such evil temptations by her immortal master -me-, didn’t even give them a second to try and convince her. Yeah, get ready for this. V simply turned her back on those bitches and started walking away casually.
Celestia damn it I love that filly.
However, that turned out to be a bad idea, as it pissed Diamond Tiara off so much that she started chasing after her. Chasing after her for what, you would ask if you had a mouth? Not even a fucking clue. Perhaps that stupid bitch wanted to pin V down so that they could try and convince her again. I’m assuming that she didn’t plan that particular leg of her plan out so well.
V, being a sheltered mute, became terrified of the angry bitch behind her and rushed out blindly from behind the schoolhouse and right under an oncoming wagon’s wheel.
One moment please, the feels have found me again.
…
Alright, sorry about that, where was I? Oh, right, Diamond Tiara’s death sentence.
The wagon managed to crush V’s hind-legs, breaking them both.
Oh…it seems I’m gonna need another moment…
Ah, there we go. Nothing like swallowing the pain! I have to admit that the taste never gets old.
Now, where was I? Oh, right, ultimate sadness.
Sweetie Belle the Deceiver told me that V was put up into the hospital for those and other injuries. Apparently the owner and operator of that damn wagon realized he ran over a foal and made a hard stop, inadvertently making a crate of the dreaded potatoes fall onto V and give her a nice, big kiss on the face. Also apparent from Sweetie Belle the Tricker of Those Who Do Not Like Being Tricked was that Diamond Tiara was nowhere to be seen after the accident began.
Coward didn’t even own up to it.
The only reason she knew any of those details is because V was kind and conscience enough to write them out for her.
I tried to keep a cool, calm demeanor. I did not keep a cool, calm demeanor. I tried to keep my outrage contained. I did not keep my outrage contained. I tried to keep my verbiage clean. I did not keep my verbiage clean. I tried not to teach Sweetie Belle the Liar a list of new words and anatomical terms. I did indeed teach Sweetie Belle the Leaver of Misleading Notes a list of new words and anatomical terms.
Needless to say, she was rather dumbstruck when I finally managed to drag myself out of the pond I had somehow thrown myself into. And no, that’s not a metaphor. It was not a pond of feelings I was crawling out of. It was a pond of water. And no, that’s not a metaphor either. It was not emotion in the form of water. It was some good old AQUA in the form of water.
She calmed me down a bit after that little misstep. You know, the one that put me into the water. The step that made me practice being a scuba diver.
Sweetie Belle the Author of Misdirection told me that it had actually happened a little while ago and that there were a few ponies trying to get in touch with me. Apparently -which is apparently the word of the evenoring- V had written several notes asking specifically for me. When asked why, V only kept replying that she was really scared and really hurt and that she needed “Mr. Ipsa” to tell her it was okay and the pain would go away.
Oh hey, look, feels…
I demanded to know which hospital room she was in. Sweetie Belle the Creator of the Note told me what room she was in. She then promptly got the fuck out of my way. I think I heard her pleading with me not to tell her sister she was out. I promised that I wouldn’t. I lied.
I must say that lugging Carty through the streets and up to the hospital took much longer than I thought it would. Hay, I even managed to pick some crap up on the way. Cause, you know, I was on the job.
The second I got to the hospital I barged in and was immediately met by quite the familiar sight.
Booky, remember when I said that the hospital staff hated me? Well, the leader of that brigade of hate was a particular Royal Guard wannabe who acted as the hospital’s security guard. I recognized him. He recognized me. I recognized him recognizing me. Yep, it was one of those moments.
I told him to show me where V was. He told me to get the fuck out of the hospital. I told him to suck the long and fat one. He told me to go to Tartarus. I told him to go get a real job as a male prostitute and let me by. He told me that he would be forced to remove me from the building if I would not leave. I told him that this nightday was not one on which he wanted to fuck with me on. He told my face SCRUNCH as his hoof met my face for the first time in a few years.
Yes, that’s why I have a black eye and my face looks like Mrs. Cake’s plot. However, what you cannot see is that his nuts are probably around the same size after I gave him a measured retaliatory strike to them.
I wish I could say that I got past him and found V. I wish I could say that I told her that it was going to be okay; that there was nothing to be afraid of and that the pain would go away. I wish I could say that I told her that she was a wuss for needing me to tell her something she knows I taught her already. I wish I could smile at her like my mom smiled at me. I wish it was all true. Reality, unfortunately, is not fond of wishes.
The rest of the hospital staff arrived right after I hopefully took from him the ability to reproduce. My bruised plot was outside faster than I thought a bunch of nerds could carry me -they must’ve done some working out after the last time they tried that on me-. Not deterred -and with an awesome mask of blood forming- I barged right back inside. They again put me outside without much trouble, though I heard a few nurses making mention of my bleeding nose, which was countered by the sound of a doctor telling me to go fuck myself. Real professional, dude.
I tried three times and it only ended in failure and gained me a small audience.
I’m just going to go ahead and skip ahead to the part where I took Carty off and got back to work with a new limp, black eye, and bloody nose. I’d have left a note on V’s window, but her window is on the third floor. Something that only fueled my pain.
Yep, you see where this is going.
I spent the rest of the daynight working silently with a bloody, swollen face and a newly ripped bowtie-thingy. Oh, did I mention I was in a bad mood? Cause I was. I REALLY was. You might be wondering if my work managed to distract me long enough for the pain to go away. Nope, something so much worse happened.
I was on my way back from leaving Carty at Sweet Apple Acres when I broke down and started crying. I’m not sure when I stopped. All I know is that the dark ice that was my world slowly became engulfed into a warm embrace. Oh how delirious I was from emotion that I gave in and returned that soothing hug, one that called out to me and told me that it was gonna be okay, that the pain was going to go away and that there was nothing to be scared of -funny how life comes full fucking circle-. That’s when I forced myself to look upon who it was that was now bringing me to peace; that’s when I saw that smile.
Oh Celestia, that smile. It was like mom’s…only…different…not as warm, no, more understanding that hers. Rather than saying that its owner loved me unconditionally and would accept any and all actions from me no matter their intent, this smile told me that it knew my pain and that there was peaceful sunlight just behind this dark cloud of agony.
I recall seeing that smile, looking at it in such a way so as to understand it. The way it naturally curled across those lips, the way it was in every way genuine, and the overall inviting thought that looking at them made me feel. There was only one second where I look at her slightly misaligned eyes before I gave into my pain and kissed her.
You read that right, I kissed her. I kissed Derpy Hooves. I kissed her and I knew I was doing it. If this path of change isn’t the right one then it’s far too late to do anything about it.
She was surprised at first, but accepted it after I pulled away in my own shock. I thought she would return the kiss, that we’d have a true kiss, a thought that burns my mind to admit to hoping and thinking of. Instead, she widened her smile and hugged me.
We stayed like that until my emotions stabilized enough for me to stand up. She helped me home. And now I’m here.
And no, I don’t have anything for the Break-It-Down game.