Squeak, squeak, squeak, went the little wheels of the small wooden trolley. It was a smooth, rectangular polished board made of oak, with four little wheels set into axles. At one end was attached a clean, white rope, lovingly tied through a neatly drilled hole. I held the end of the rope in my hand as I moved slowly down the sidewalk.
I didn’t want to pull her very quickly, my little Dashie. She was there, on the board, her wings neatly folded at her sides, blue and lovely as ever. I had asked him to put them that way, and use the finest wires and stuffing inside, so that she would seem calm and safe and relaxed as she stood on the trolley.
The taxidermist had done his best, and she looked more alive now than when I had first found her, the dear little thing, inside that cardboard box. I wiped a tear from my eye, as I walked, my little Dashie trundling after. It was our daily ritual, our daily walk.
I think she really liked it, to be out in the open air. I tried to show her glass eyes the best views. Sometimes I like to pause and lift her up, and hold her so that she can see the sky. I point her eyes at the clouds, so that she can see them. I know she loves the big, white, fluffy ones the best.
We reach the park, Dashie and I. We move onto the thick, green grass so carefully, so that the little cart does not tip over. One time it did, for I was pulling her with such excitement, ready to show her all the wonders of the world, and she had come unattached from her little trolley, the tiny nails sticking up, little bits of fluff and stuffing still clinging to them. But the taxidermist fixed her. He always fixes her. Unlike that veterinarian.
At the park, I talk to her, and explain all the wonderful things, in case her glass eyes cannot see far enough. I hold my little blue pegasus, and rock her in my arms. Sometimes it is too much, and I begin to cry. I want her to move, to leap up and fly around, but she is still, nailed to her trolley.
I cannot help myself. I pick some long, tasty-looking grass from the lawn of the park, and hold it to her mouth. Here, little Dashie, some lovely grass. The tears stream down my cheeks. Please, my little love, my little pony, maybe the grass will help you. Maybe the grass will make you strong again.
Then I am sobbing in the grass, but Dashie is so brave for me. She just stands there, her wings at her side, waiting. She always waits for me. She is so much stronger than I am. Her eyes always look upon me with kindness, always being strong for me. My Dashie, my little blue pegasus.
Maybe some flowers would be better. I pick the best dandelions I can find, succulent and golden yellow, and press them to her insensate muzzle. I keep pushing them into her mouth, but it does not open, the stitches tight and strong. Please Dashie, oh god, please, just eat. Eat for me. I want her to grow strong so much.
Blinded by tears, I pull the little trolley, with my Dashie, my darling Dashie, over to where happy children play, with their little dog. Friends! That is what my little Dashie needs, friends to cheer her, to give her a reason to come back to me. Loving children, and their cute little doggie. That will surely help her.
I am stumbling now, the tears raining down my face, my mouth agape in sorrow. My little Dashie, oh my best friend, she trundles after me, always standing proud. The children don’t understand my crying. How could they. They can’t know the sorrow I felt when the vet injected my sweet blue friend and her eyes closed as she gasped her last farewell.
The dog is barking, poor little thing. It must be frightened by the rolling, squeeking sound of the wheels of the little cart that Dashie stands upon. I stop my approach, as the children run off, I don’t know why. But their dog remains, barking. How loyal, I think, loyal like my darling Dashie, standing there growling and barking, its ears low, trying to protect the children now long since fled.
As I stop, the cart has hit a bump in the grass, and my little Dashie topples over, to land on her side in the grass. Before I can reach down to lift her up and carefully, lovingly straighten her feathers and smooth her coat the dog is upon her, worrying her like a bone.
My tears burst forth, a broken dam of emotion as bright, robin’s-egg-blue feathers fly up into the air, and the stuffing pops out from the torn seams. The little doggie is running now. my Dashie’s head in it’s jaws, the lawn covered in a white snow of kapok and cotton.
I bend down to pick up a single, glass eye, and a small blue feather.
I hold the feather high, above my head, and let the wind catch it.
Fly, my little Dashie, fly.
What. The. FUCK. No really, I couldn't stop laughing. I'm a horrible person.
...Beautiful...
images.mylittlefacewhen.com/media/f/img/mlfw2882-Rainbow_Dash_light_switch_flip.gif
...squeak squeak squeak
That was........ different and beautiful at the same time
Fly my Dashie fly
Wonderful, beautiful, awesome. Truly a gripping tale that speaks to us all.
You're a goddamned genius, author. I couldn't stop laughing.
I have never cried so much before. I find this hard to type as the tears cascade out, obscuring my vision. Truly a work of literary genius.
Oh god, this story is just so touching. Truly, this is a marvel of our generation, destined to god down through the ages.
Just...thank you.
O lawd.
I salute you.
That is all.
My life has been forever changed by this wonderful piece of fanfiction. Thank you so much.
So much better than the original.
And people say the original was sad. This is much a much better story. It even has soul-crushing depression and mental illness!
Rainbow Dash, Pegasus Pony Foal (Tame) has been put down.
Urist McUslessMigrant has gone berserk!
Urist McAnimalCaretaker has been struck down!
Wow, this was just...wow.
I'm not ever sure how to describe it, but it felt much more emotional to me than the original ever did. It's just sad for so many reasons, the biggest being that the person is clearly delusional to the point of him not even realizing it. We as the readers know he's clearly delusional, but he doesn't, and that's what makes it so crushing. It's like some bizarro satire of the original and I love it.
Some can find it funny for being over the top and some, like me, can see it as a bit depressing for it's theme. Really, it was short, but at least I actually felt a ping of actual emotion unlike the original, which was bloated and sappy to an obnoxious extreme.
I am going straight to hell for laughing so hard. Just so, so funny. Black humour doesn't even begin to cover it. Just so funny.
I'm crying from laughter!
There aren't enough words in the world to describe this fanfic. I'll try to find the most appropriate...
...Okay, found it.
wut
images.mylittlefacewhen.com/media/f/img/mlfw377_1304842434298.gif
I'm just gonna be completely honest about this fic. It just makes the guy seem really creepy. I mean a taxidermist, really? It just reminded me of taxidermy grandma from Jackass. It's just some sick twisted joke. Don't get me wrong, you have a great writing style, just a weak story writing trait. This story for me just made me think it was an injustice to the original. In the original, the man had gotten stronger with Dashie whether she was real or a figment of his imagination. This story made him digress into some lonely soul, whose only source of comfort is a stuffed pegasus.
I can't decide between crying, laughing and falling into a pit of despair. I don't think I've ever felt this... confused about a story before. It's horrible. It's touching. It's sad. It's comical.
My brain is full of fuck.
225395 In the sequel Spike becomes the new Rainbow Dash. And dies too
271749 THIS
the tears are raining down my face
because I can't stop laughing
SUCH POETIC STORYTELLING
I CAN'T TAKE IT
Always excellent to see someone take a shot at the fandom's second most overrated fic, though, in all seriousness.
255265 Are you sure? I didn't read the comments before that so whatever if this is like another.
FLY EAGLE FLY
Still less horrifying than the implications of the original.