//------------------------------//
// Journal Entry Two 
// Story: Memoirs of a Blank Flank 
// by SakuraSama 
//------------------------------//

5th of Spring, 2AM

Damn. The nightmares woke me up again. Or rather, I awoke myself with my own screams and my mother gently but urgently prodding me with her magic. 

She had that sad, worried look that I hate so much as she headed back to bed. She wanted to call Dr. Helping Hoof right away, to take me to Canterlot General right there on the spot. It took about twenty minutes of arguing and the promise I would write in my journal to finally placate her, and send her back to bed. Her exhaustion was visible, her worries beginning to take its toll. I gave Mother the best smile I could manage, to show her I was better, or at least, okay. She gave me a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She reminded me of my promise to write and left, plodding slowly down the hallway of our home back to her own room..

To be honest, I had no intentions of keeping that promise, at least at first. I took a quick shower and even had a cup of warm milk, only lay in bed staring at my bedroom ceiling for an hour. I guess you could say I'm writing more out of desperation than anything else. 

How pathetic is that? At least no one but myself will actually read this.

Mother says I should try to write my night terrors on paper, since I have such a hard time discussing them with anypony. The last pony I want to have to confide in is my mother. I love her and I won't make her worry about me even more than I already have. It looks like I'm keeping my promise to write, whether I want to or not. Maybe Mother is right, I guess it can't hurt to try. It's not like I'm actually going to be sleeping anytime soon.

The nightmares usually start out the same, back in my room in the Canterlot School dorms. 

Things seem initially normal and nothing is amiss, that is until I try to turn on my desk lantern, which ordinarily acts my trusty source of studying light.

Now my faithful light is suddenly unresponsive and inert.  

I naturally began firing up an easy Light spell, only to feel a dull ache at the base of my horn. I only felt this sensation of couple of times back when I was a colt, but I knew quite well that this was a symptom of magical discharge.

I never liked the feeling of being powerless, and I never felt more powerless without being able to use my magic. 

Even though my room had two rather large windows, the room was pitch black, so much so that I couldn't see my hoof in front of my muzzle. It was as if I had been blinded, or sealed off from any source of light.

I nervously call out for help, for light, for anypony.  I don't hear anything, not even my own voice.  I try to get to the door of my bedroom, to get away from the encroaching darkness. 

For some reason, my foyer, usually hardly big enough for pony to stand in, now seems to go on forever. My only exit is suddenly miles away. 

Still I run on vainly, feeling my muscles quickly tire. I close my eyes, finally resigning myself to the dark abyss. 

But the end doesn't come. 

I slowly lift my head, able to see and hear again. I'm in Advanced Magical Theories class, one of my favorite school subjects. 

But something is wrong. 

Everypony is staring at me, some with abject disgust in their eyes, others with acute fear. But all eyes are on me.

I flinch, not wanting to make eye contact with anypony, but I can't look away from the mare standing in front of me, her lavender eyes strangely filled with a sort of motherly concern and locked squarely on me. 

Why does it always have to be her?

I started attending school at the same time as Twilight Sparkle, and we shared a few classes, one being Advanced Magical Theories. Every other day of the week I got to stare at the back of her lovely head and silently compete with her for top rankings on class exams. 

Not this day though. Today Twilight Sparkle was worried about me, worried because in the middle of class, I had attacked another student.

I stood there lost in her gaze, unable to speak up on my own behalf. So many things I want to say rush through my mind, but I never manage to force them past my lips. 

Before I can react, the Royal Canterlot Guard is upon me, trying to subdue me and block my magic with a dampening spell. I struggle against them for a few terrifying moments, using desks to make sure the Guards give me a wide berth. I drop the desks on their heads to buy myself enough time to summon some magic in order to teleport somewhere, anywhere, just away from here. 

Although I'm unable to think of a destination, I still manage to teleport. The teleportation feels like it's ripping me apart from the inside out. The pain is over as soon as it began, as my hooves come in contact with solid ground, my magical jump complete. 

I open my eyes this time to a cold, stone clad library. I shivered at the sudden chill in the air around me. The smell of molding paper and wet rotting wood permeate the air. 

I feel myself being helplessly pulled to a dark, silent area of the knowledge-filled tomb. 

And then I hear The Voice. 

That voice, that seemed to echo from the very pages of a certain dark book. The Voice offered me the thing I truly wanted most. The Voice offered me my Cutie Mark.

I quickly argued that such powerful magic did not exist, for what magic could conjure up one pony's very destiny?

The voice was confident that magicks such as these not only existed, but the words to the spell were on the very pages of that dark book. 

I heard a voice that wasn't mine ask, "What do I have to do?" The words left my lips, but weren't really my own. 

The voice was happy, or at least sounded happy. "Just read the words aloud, and use your power," it said. 

Everything good and sane in me wanted to run away, but I couldn't stop myself. The dark book opened on its own, even turning the page to the correct spell. I don't know how I knew it was the right one, I just knew. I could sense it in my horn. 

As soon as my eyes lit upon the pages, my mouth began to chant the incantations quickly and involuntarily. I finished, covered in sweat and starting to feel a burning sensation in my flanks. I look back feeling a small blossom of hope at the prospect of getting my Cutie Mark out of all of this, but my hopes are dashed as I see nothing but painful burned flesh where my flanks used to be. 

Pain drowns out all other thoughts and sounds, though I can clearly still hear The Voice over my torment. The Voice laughs merrily at my agony as I sink to the cold floor. 

This is usually the point I start screaming and wake myself up. 

Tonight I had been particularly caught off guard, considering I'd written in my journal yesterday. I was really hoping writing might help. 

It's not like that stuff ever happened, at least nothing but the classroom incident, of course. I'm pretty sure I would remember engaging with some dark, evil powers, or something like that. At least I think I would remember. 

I should write about the Classroom Incident as well, but that's WAY too long of a story to tell at five in the morning. I think I'll do a little scavenging around the kitchen and sneak a little of mom's hard cider. She's always holding out on me.

HIdden Talent

P.S: Hard Cider awlays does the trick. Goodnight

Drunk Happy pony