//------------------------------// // The Party Cannon Goes Off // Story: Apple Potpourri // by bookplayer //------------------------------// The party cannon goes off. BOOM! Raining confetti on everypony: color, sparkle, rainbow, fun in everypony’s face like a crazy race to nowhere where it’s done and the fun is falling with no more reason than a season of joy that ends up on the ground. Until the sound Again. And who are we? Confetti? Spinning, winning, losing, surrounding somepony suddenly with songs, fun, noise, joys, and sorrows. We enter and exit, bit and bit held together with string like bunting, balloons, bursting with energy or hot air. They’re there, my friends. They’re my friends. My friends sometimes slip. Friendship, laughter, kindness, nice but not too nice. Clever but not too smart, art needs contrast, a blast of trouble, bubbles to burst, a thirst to cure for more to learn, to burn like a comet to earth with a burst of life and it’s here! Crazy care and love that’s trying, dying, reborn each morn and fights each night against monsters under the bed and in the forest before us and behind us to remind us in our memories who we are: honestly loyal generous magic ponies who only live to love and laugh and try, to fly, to run and rerun, repeat, a feat of magic nopony’s done before for the grand Finale. Finally. So who are they, away? From here, Owlowiscious says "who," to the moon, to the stars he flies, eyes, Surprise, out there somewhere. Where? Do you see them? Do they see you? The stars outside, wide open, waiting for the next play day to watch and love. Even the sun is a star from afar, zooming in close so the Princess can lift it, drift it along until another Princess places, replaces it with the moon and soon it starts Again. What does this mean? Everything, nothing? Everything means something to somepony seeing, learning, being us for us and ours and hours and stars and stares and eyes, never lies, always true to you, to the end, to my friends, to the fun and confetti and noise and glitter until the bitter end, when the party and canon goes off Finally. Finale. How do I know? Who am I? I forgot the why, the try to make sense, since I was a filly. A silly. A brain that twists and bumps and dings off things like a pinball game with holes to roll into and out of, above, below, never slow or it falls away and play is done, the fun is done. No fun. No fun! So I speed through the places you don’t see, where they see me but don’t hear me, because pranks are jokes are riddles and the end of the riddle is truth, but sleuthing the answer is no way to know so I just go and see and be the punchline, the rhyme, the question with no answer that everypony asks: Does she ever stop? Pop the balloon and all you get is BOOM! The party cannon goes off.