//------------------------------// // What is Eggbread, and Why are Trees Better than Me on a Normal Day? // Story: Lyra in the Sky with Diamonds // by CrispySparrow //------------------------------// It was a nice day. Lyra looked out her window. The sky was its typical vibrant, ever shifting shades. The wisps of cloud would intertwine with their neighbors, and their different shades converged, so that the colors of the sky were ever rippling and changing. A disembodied head floated by. It did not seem to be uncomfortable, so Lyra did not feel bad waving at it. "Hello there!" she said. In fact, it was grinning wildly, and seemed rather pleased with itself. She wondered if it was floating around for long. She wondered why it would be pleased with itself. It was not doing anything that normally deserves any kind of praise, or was it? It? She? She wondered what pronoun you would use, for a disembodied head. However, her thoughts on this were cut short, as the body whose head had been disembodied came floating along a couple seconds later. She thought about how much of themselves pony has to possess, to still be called a pony. Is it a body attached to a head? Or a head attached to a body? She then decided to not think about it any longer, because clearly it was getting nowhere. A typical day, it was. She made her breakfast, a simple eggbread. Now before you get upset with me for making things up, I will have you know that an eggbread is what occurs when you are far too lazy to cook eggs in a basket. So instead of putting in the effort to make a hole in your bread, and undergoing the complex process of flipping your egg basket without breaking the yolk and ruining it, you simply fry the egg, and place it on top of your bread. The egg cooking bit is the best cooking bit, for one only need place the egg into the pan, and for the most part just watch. Lyra liked this because it was fun to watch. But lo, your eggbread is not a sandwich, for there is only one bread, because you do not have a lot of bits for groceries, and you are trying to conserve for the dark decrepit days that lie ahead, for you and your bread. Dark days for you, and dark days especially for your bread. Your bread will never before have seen a time filled with such discord and strife. I suppose you may toast your bread if you wish, but putting in additional effort into the constitution of your bread defeats the other purpose of eggbread, because the whole reason you made eggbread in the first place is because you did not give a flying fuck about what you were eating that morning, because if you really cared you would have just make eggs in a basket or blanket or whatever the fuck its called, you know what I mean. Not to mention that, besides that sack of tea leaves in the cupboard, eggs and bread were the two things that happened to remain in your kitchen. This is exactly why Lyra made eggbread. She made some tea too, while she made her eggbread. Lyra liked tea. She liked green tea the most. This is why she had a whole sack of it in her cupboard. She slowly bit into her eggbread. She savored that wonderful golden yolk, as the occasional dribble oozed down her chin. She drank her green tea that she liked in between bites of her eggbread which she made. She was happy with her eggbread. She liked eggbread. Although, she couldn’t help but dream of the wonderfully decadent breakfasts she might have made, if not for all the reasons listed previously. But that’s why she had tea. Tea made the eggbread breakfast better. Whenever the dry bread made her mouth…well…dry, she drank some tea. Whenever those stray tears dropped from her chin, as she thought of all those extravagant breakfasts she might have had, she drank some tea. Whenever she felt that terrible unrelenting shame for not being entirely grateful to have eggbread, while so many ponies go without a breakfast, She drank some tea. Now that she was finished with her eggbread, she went outside with her tea, the tea smoke trailed from her nostrils. She sat on her porch. What a time to be alive! Neither the sun, or the moon, or the stars were out. The vibrant sky was covered with its vibrant clouds, which were once upon a time grey. The light of those clouds, shown off her lovely bicycle, as it leaned against the porch rails. She thought that it would be a wonderful day, or night, or day, or night, on which to ride her bicycle. Oh, how she loved her bicycle. But she did not yet rise from where she was seated, to go on adventures with her bicycle (whom she loves very much). Something odd drew her attention. Many townsponies were shouting, and slipping and sliding down roads of soap. No, the roads of soap was not the odd part of that, or this, nor the next, sentence. The roads have always been made of soap, where have you been all this time? No what was odd, was that they were all shouting something about diamonds, while flapping their hoofs and waggling their tongues in the direction which they perceived as up. There was also quite a few of them on the road. So many, that they were more like one entity, as opposed to individuals. Kind of like a beach of sleeping elephant seals. They had ceased to be ponies, and were just a swarming, shouting, flailing mass. Like some kind of long, expressively vocal blood clot, being pushed down the arteries of Ponyville by some unseen heart, with its muscles woven of bad gossip and misinformation. When words ran away screaming from their muzzles, bits of spittle would gallop freely from their lips. Lyra's eyes zeroed in on the moist rain. Ew, It was really gross looking actually. The whole parade was just an uncomfortable thing to witness. It was too loud, and I can't really think of a time where I would want to observe a sweaty mass of flesh while riding a bicycle. The edges of the ponies met at the speed of a slow ooze, and mushed into each other, each pony absorbing his neighbor until they were but one large blob of a creature. But diamonds? Diamonds? thought Lyra. This could be interesting, She thought that maybe the seat of a bicycle would be a good place, from which to view the commotion. She thought wrong. She did not yet know, that she has thought wrong, until much later. But I did not hear about all this till after the fact, so she did not have me in her head, narrating her life for her, so she did not know that this would be a bad idea, until it became a bad idea. It would be weird, if I was narrating stuff in her head. But I am narrating stuff in your head, funny enough! -Insert maniacal laughter here- If you hear voices at any time, which do not belong to you, you are very sick. This includes voices in your head, but also not in your head. Hearing voices outside your head, or inside your head, which are not your own is a very dangerous thing. If this is happening to you, seek help. Although, I do not know if you even can be helped. I do not know if any of us can be. I personally have past the point of help. She decided that she would ride her bicycle to where ever the shouting ponies were sliding to, to see just what all the fuss was about. She got on her bicycle, and followed the shouting townsponies down the road of soap. Now, she did not ride her bicycle upon the road of soap. That would be dumb. Why would you even think that? God. You weirdo. They now know that you know that you didn't know! My god. Whatever shall you do now! ? ALL YOUR FRIENDS KNOW THAT YOU KNOW THAT THEY KNOW THAT YOU DID NOT KNOW WHAT YOU NOW KNOW WHICH IS WHAT THEY HAVE KNOWN BUT MOST LIKELY THEY HAVE NOT KNOWN. WHY DID YOU SAY ANYTHING? WILL THEY JUDGE YOU WILL YOUR THOUGHTS BE SAFE NOW? MY GOD THE TIME IS UPON US OUR THOUGHTS ARE NOW VIRAL THE WORLD AS WE HAVE ALWAYS KNOWN IT IS COMING TO AN END. NOW IS THE TIME FOR PANIC! Just stop. Its ok. She rode just to the side of the road, on the grass. She did not slip and slide, but just calmly pedaled along. This made her feel very smart. It feels good to feel smart. Lyra, like most ponies, liked to feel good about herself, and thus liked to feel smart. She looked at the mass of townsponies still slipping and sliding on the roads of soap. Keep in mind that at this point, they are still all shouting about diamonds, and flapping their hooves, and waggling their tongues. They are all still doing all this at the sky. There is also quite a lot of them. And they are all sort of piled on top of one another, so they are more of a giant moaning Trojan slug than anything else. Also their voiced did that thing that trains do when they go by where the noise is higher as it comes to you and then is slower later. I cannot recall what it is called, but they did that thing and it really just accentuated the whole unpleasantness of the situation. As Lyra was riding her bicycle down the side of the road, there was not one moment where she rode by an empty patch of soap road. They looked very ridiculous. She noticed that its edges were beginning to emit almost an aura, kind of a light blue trail, so the thing was like a grotesque comet. They looked very beautiful. Lyra did not know how to cope with the mixing of disgust and awe and admiration. It was a lot of emotion to feel at once. Lyra looked at them for a moment, until she could keep a straight face no longer, and was trembling with wonderful belly shaking laughter. Now, she was not laughing at them. That would be mean. No, she was laughing because the whole situation was so very very funny. In fact, laughter was the only form of expression which made sense to her. It was the only form of expression that could express this, or anything really. Words were useless to her, but will they be useless to me? Lyra was feeling this kind of vague melancholy, tinged with the grey frustration at a world so infinite and futile, doomed repeat history in a loop that would only end when everything else did. But all was still painted with the same shades of pink and silver as the grass, which left her feeling like all this couldn't possibly be so pointless and stupid, if it contained such beautiful silver grass. These words too are but the tiniest fraction, a grain of sand in the desert, one tiny star lost in a great and sparkling universe. She so longed to express this emotion in words, but every path her thoughts took led her to the same end. She laughed. But the grass was beautiful. As she pedaled her bicycle through it, the strands rose to greet her and brush against her hind legs. She felt as if she could have been riding up the back of some great earthen creature, slumbering and buried beneath earth, the grass that was its fur forever growing upward, yet not past her knees. The creature below her breathed and so did she, and the hills all around. Within her belly, it was as if she had swallowed a bright light, or perhaps a small sun. Like there was something within her that longed to spread its wings, but was still content to enjoy the ground for a little while longer. It filled her with a warmth that gradually spread its tendrils and crept out through her limbs. She wind brought to her a thing that was like deja vu, but not really. It was more like a smell from one's childhood, that for a single moment brushes the dream that was your youth across your muzzle and mind and you remember so clearly and so truely! But as quickly as it comes it is gone, and gone too are those memories. You are then left with nothing more than the fading memory of a memory in the morning, and perhaps a strange feeling for the rest of the day. You feel like you have been there before. You have been there before. Funny how you forget such important things like, where you have been, and where you are going? She laughed. You would laugh too. Especially while riding a bicycle. Bicycles make every thing funnier. Don't believe me? Well see for yourself then. Go outside. Get on your bicycle. Ride it around. Laugh at some stuff. (Ponies need to see a pony/themselves go completely insane sometimes. Its very good for you, on occasion. It makes then uncomfortable and that's very good. It reminds them that we are all actually insane but we just hide it under layers of adopted maturity, false professionalism, and scorn for our own self wrapped up in a pretty package that is hate for our fellow mare.) You probably shouldn't laugh at other ponies. That would be mean. Instead, laugh at something that either has no feelings, or doesn't care what you lot think anyway. Like a tree. Trees don't care what you think. Trees are better than you anyway. Ponies you pass on the street, or in the park might look at you funny. But to be honest, most ponies look at everything funny, including themselves, so I wouldn't worry too much about that. Too busy for bicycles? You can never be too busy for bicycles. Scared of riding a bicycle? Then do not ride bicycles. Well that is pointless and stupid because life is terrifying, and to be honest you should be scared of EVERYTHING. No pony is safe. We are all going to die, again, and again and again, and again! Isn't that fascinating? YOU DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR ANYTHING BUT LABOR AND CONSUMPTION AND PROCREATION. BICYCLES ARE VERY DANGEROUS. EVERYTHING IS VERY DANGEROUS. DO NOT DO ANYTHING. DO NOT LIVE YOUR LIFE. YOU SHOULD BE TERRIFIED OF EVERYTHING AND ANYTHING. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR HOME. AVOID MAKING FRIENDS AND FAMILY BECAUSE HOW WELL DO YOU KNOW THOSE PONIES ANYWAY. DO NOT LOOK UP AT THE SKY, THE STARLIGHT MIGHT HARM YOUR EYES. KEEP YOUR EYES PRESSED TO YOUR GLOWING BOOKS FOR THE SAKE OF THE MOTHER COUNTRY! FOR THE SAKE OF THE CHILDREN! FOR IT IS YOU WHO IS THE CHILD. DO NOT DO ANYTHING. DO NOT LIVE YOUR LIFE. YOUR MOTHER AND FATHER AND YOUR LITTLE SISTER AND YOUR BIG BROTHER LOVE YOU SO MUCH. THEY WANT TO KEEP YOU SAFE! But anyway. Be like a tree. Trees don't care what you think anyway. But look! Now you are enjoying the fresh air, riding a bicycle (which you probably haven't done in a while, you lazy, you.), laughing at trees! And on top of all that, your shedding yourself of your prison, with its iron bars of opinions. Isn't that hilarious? Look at you! Why are you laughing at trees? Are you crazy? Get back in school! What are you doing, enjoying the fresh air and laughing at trees! You should be ashamed. Your grandfather must be turning in his grave! You're a disgrace to your whole family! Well anyway as I was saying earlier, this whole laughing business made the townsponies feel very bad. After all, for all they knew, Lyra was laughing at them. That would make anypony feel very bad. No pony likes to be laughed at. So naturally, the townsponies got a little upset. They stopped doing all their shouting, and limb waving, and tongue flapping at the sky. Now, the began doing it at Lyra. (When she looked away they had returned to the form of a pile of individuals. But now that she was looking at them, their edges again melted into each other. This happened every time she looked away.) Now, you probably have not ever seen a mob of ponies slipping and sliding and waving their arms and shouting at you, but as you can probably imagine it is very overwhelming. This was very overwhelming for Lyra. A lot of things are overwhelming. Especially while riding a bicycle. A lot of things are much more overwhelming while riding a bicycle. Think about it. Whenever anything happens while riding a bicycle, not only do you worry about the thing that is happening, you have to also not crash your bicycle. Do not crash your fucking bicycle. In your mind now, you are probably imagining a bicycle hitting a tree or something, and a pony being flung from it. No, that would be simple, and easy to deal with. No the problem is, when you crash your bicycle is not that you stop. It's that you keep going. Maybe crash isn't the best word for it. Probably not. But whatever. Also, you probably should not ride your bicycle dark places either. That is probably not wise. It is hard to ride bicycles in the dark. But Lyra did not think about this, because her only concern at the time was getting as far as possible from that terrifying shouting and flailing mob. That was really scary OK? I saw it too, and I hid in a tree for two hours. oR wAS iT tWO yEARS? Time means very little to me these days. But anyway, Lyra rode her bicycle into the Everfree forest. That was probably a bad move. I mean it ended up being OK, but still. It could have not been OK. It could have been very not OK. OK? Lyra had long since abandoned any kind of road or trail, and was now carving new paths through the dark, tall grass. The ground was rather rocky, and Lyra's bicycle went over a lot of stones, as she went on her way. This kind of hurt, as you may know, if you have ever ridden a bumpy bicycle through a dark place. Lyra heard strange bellows coming from behind the trees ahead. She had never before heard noises like these, like the guttural cries of wounded animal. She wondered what kind of terror lay behind the shady leaves. She thought about how she had not seen Bon Bon that day, and that perhaps it might be Bon Bon. After all, anything is possible in life. Lyra slowly pedaled her bicycle through the brush, and in the clearing before her was Bon Bon. She stopped her bicycle right in front of her. Lyra opened her mouth. She stared at her, mouth agape, for a few moments. "Bon Bon?" Bon Bon stopped her wailing for a moment, and looked at Lyra quizzically. "Bon Bon, what the fuck are you doing?"