Prologue: A Wish Upon a Star
Edited by SilentBelle
I couldn’t sleep. Simple as that. Not after what happened today. I’m supposed to be the leader of my species, and what do I do? I blew the one chance we had at survival. I’m not sure what’ll happen to us now, but whatever it is, it’ll be long, painful, and most likely end with our extinction.
I’m the Queen of the Changelings, and as I write this, I weep. I weep from the agonizing injuries I’ve acquired from being flung from the top of a mountain, but those are nothing compared to the guilt I feel, swelling in my chest. I told them that we would win, that we wouldn’t have to starve out here any longer. Everyone was counting on me, and now, even in the aftermath, they still look to me for guidance. The only problem is, I can’t guide them through this. I’m lost myself, and I know that I have to be strong for them, but I just can’t. I’ve failed them as a leader, a mother, a protector...
I looked out the window just now, and saw a shooting star. I typically scoff at old pony myths, but I am weak, desperate for even a sliver of hope, so I make my wish. What else do I have to lose, anyway? I closed my eyes, and wished for a savior. Someone that can help us in our darkest hour, someone who can save my people.
I know that the star won’t actually do anything for me, but it does give me a small comfort. Weary, I crawl under the covers, and cry myself to sleep.
Ah, college. The wonderful feeling of having no parents to tell you what to do, living on your own, earning your keep instead of having everything served up to you on a silver platter. Truthfully, everything is perfect when it comes to your college days. Except the tests.
What a day, I thought to myself as I trudged down the path to the dorms. Seven fucking tests. What were they trying to do, bore us to death? I was exhausted, having spent the entire night studying for those damned things. I swear, if exams are somehow worse, I may just kill myself.
But, on the bright side, my roommate had recorded the latest episode of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic for us to watch tonight.
Now, before you immediately start raving and shouting countless obscenities or whatever petty insults you tend to use to describe a brony, let me ask you this: Have you ever seen fanart made by bronies? Have you ever read a fanfic (no, not one of those pitiful 500 word scribbles that isn’t worthy to be my toilet paper)? More importantly, have you ever sat down and watched a full episode? No? Well then, congratulations! You’re making uneducated statements about a large group of people! Just like all the whites before the Civil Rights Movement, or many of the Germans in Nazi Germany... sigh... Now, where was I? Oh yeah, reminiscing.
I’m a pretty lucky guy. Not every brony gets to have a fellow brony as a roommate in college. His name’s Keith. He’s a pretty nice guy, with brown hair and blue eyes that seem to pierce right into your soul. He doesn’t try to stare daggers at you, just comes naturally to him.
There was this one time where I brought my dog to a beach where we sometimes go to hang out and catch up during the summer. Keith took one look at him, and two seconds later my dog refused to come out from behind me for the rest of the time we’re there! Anyway, enough reminiscing, time to get back to the story. Now, where was I? Oh, yeah, heading back to the dorm.
I walked through the front entrance after digging my ID card out of my bag, and called the elevator. Normally, I’d take the stairs, but I was so brain dead that the last thing I wanted to do was actually put some effort into something. I didn’t have any classes until one o’clock in the afternoon, and no homework (gotta love free periods), so the rest of my night was free!
Oh, how rude of me, I just realized that I haven’t really told you anything about myself! My name is Randy. I’m a freshmen in the University of Michigan (fuq dem spahtans!), and my interests include, but are not limited to, Creepypasta, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Portal 2, TF2, Memes, and YouTube. I get decent grades, and I see myself as a fairly nice guy. But if someone gets on my nerves, well... That’s another story. Crud, I’m getting off topic again. Celestia condemn my insufferable ADHD to the bowels of Tartarus. Not really. I love my ADHD, and if you try to take it away, I will seriously kill you.
Once I got to my floor, I walked down the hall and into my dorm. Keith was already there, browsing Equestria Daily for decent fanfics. I threw my stuff on my bunk, and flopped onto the couch.
“Well, hello there, Mr. Sunshine,” Keith remarked, turning around with a smirk. “How’d the tests go?” I responded by picking up an empty can of Red Bull and chucking it at his head. He dodged, of course. The day I actually manage to hit the guy is the day I win the lottery. “Not good, then?”
“Let me put it this way: You know what that song, Awoken, by Glaze and H8_Seed, is based on? If not, get the hell off of EQD and look it up. I’d rather go through THAT a million times, with a few thousand instances of Cupcakes thrown in there for good measure, than relive the day I’ve had today.” Getting up, I walked over to his chair, and leaned in, whispering “In short, I’d rather be put through brony hell and back for all of eternity than relive today.” Being me, it’s my job to be as funny and/or disturbing whenever I can. Sometimes I’m good at it, sometimes I’m bad at it. But what’s important is for you to think that I belong in the psych ward. Which I probably do.
Leaning back, I slap a grin upside my head and prance over to the couch once more.
Ah, Keith. He knows me so well. I can’t ever tell if he means it or not, but nevertheless he shook his head at me and produced one of his world famous facepalms. Which sounds just like a gunshot, only about 20% quieter. Go ahead, ask the cops that came by yesterday.
Deciding to let gravity have some fun, Keith drops his hand back onto the armrest of his chair, before looking up at me and grinning. “I swear dude, your analogies are getting more and more disturbing by the day.”
Well, what does he expect? He knew that I was sociophobic during high school, and still am today. The end result was me spending all of my time on the Internet.
Now, if you ask the average person how disturbing the Internet can be, they’ll probably give you an odd look, before saying that it isn’t. Those people are morons. Don’t question it, they’re morons. They’ve barely ever been online if they don’t think that the Internet can cause psychological trauma quite easily. Hell, thanks to Creepypasta, every time I hear “Pop Goes the Weasel”, I jump out of my skin!
“Whatever,” I said. “You wanna watch the new episode or not?” Sighing, he got up, grabbed the remote, and began the laborious task of retrieving the recording from the little crate of irritation known as a Comcast cable box. Yes, it is that bad. Try recording more than two shows at once, and you’ll see what I mean.
The latest episode was the Season 2 Finale. I’d been hearing all sorts of rumors about these creatures called “Changelings” around the Internet. I’ll spare you all the details of the episode, as you’ve probably already seen it. If not, stop what you’re doing, and catch up on MLP. Then come back, and continue reading this story. Don’t you dare lie about watching it. I’ll know.
Now, while I shall spare my opinions on the episode, I’m still saying what I thought of the Changelings themselves. In short, they couldn’t be 20% cooler even if you tried to make them 20% cooler. I mean, they could communicate telepathically, shapeshift, and they didn’t even have to eat physical food to sustain themselves. I don’t know about you, but that honestly sounds pretty epic. Despite the fact that they’re the bad guys, I wouldn’t mind having those powers myself! Not to mention they can fucking divebomb concrete, and get up without a scratch! “Man, I know they’re the villains, but seriously, I want those powers.”
“Tell me about it.” Keith replied. “Being able to look like anyone you pleased! Now that’d be fun. Imagine if we walked around here as, say, Justin Beiber and-” I immediately shut his face with a dirty sock. Still not sure whose it was, nor do I care. You don’t ever say you want to look like Justin Beiber. Do you hear me? Never. If you have to choose between looking like that walking, talking bundle of unstoppable agony, and having to listen to-... This sounded so much better in my head... Well, you get the idea!
He spat out the sock and just about punched me in the face, but for once, I was the one that dodged! I would’ve celebrated, but I had an angry warthog (yes, warthog. His acne makes him worthy of the insult) of a roommate to deal with. “Shh!” I scolded him, waggling a finger for emphasis. Oh gawd, it took all my strength to keep a straight face. “Before you punch me, know this: You were talking about looking like Justin Beiber. Justin. Fucking. Beiber. The one thing that’s hated on the Internetz more than MLP.” FINALLY, he gets it! Big Mac looks pink compared to Keith right about now. I’m fucking serious, I didn’t even think that there was a red as deep as Keith’s blush right now. It’s a little scary, to be honest.
After sputtering incoherently for around a minute, can’t tell if it was from the sock or the fact he was talking about looking like the Antichrist, he managed to form a sentence! Bravo, Keith, your brain survived the humiliation! “Let us never speak of this again.”
You know how I said I’m typically a nice guy? That’s only if I think you’re a good person. You see, there’s two sides of me. One of them is the rational side of me, thinking before I act. The other half I have named Adam DeHerpDerper, also known as ADHD. And yes, I’m allowed to make that joke, because I actually have ADHD. I’m not joking. I have the pill bottle to prove it.
Grinning a grin that would do Trollestia proud, I held up my necklace. It’s nothing special on the outside. However, push the button on the back like I do, and it plays back whatever sound you were just recording. I made it myself when I was obsessed with programming in middle school. I don’t have hobbies, you see. I have obsessions. The only “real” hobbies I have, so sayith my elders, are swimming, and gaming.
Anyway, I played back the whole conversation, before sprinting over to my desk with the angry warthog of death hot on my heels, and somehow managed to keep him back long enough to lock it in a drawer. We wrestled for the key for an hour before he finally got the thing. But I didn’t care. I was too tired to protest, much less care. I crawled over to my bed, and flopped down. Keith seemed to have the same idea; what else could be the creaking above me? Anyway, it had been a long day, so I did what everyone else that had a long day would do whilst lying in bed. Yawning, I closed my eyes, and began to fall asleep. And that’s when all hell broke loose.