Tarnish
*
The screams are kinda annoying, but, you know – they’re part of the whole deal.
How could you do such a thing ?
You’re the most horrible pony ever!
My scootaboard! They broke my scootaboard!
It’s always the same. You get used to it after a while. You learn how to ignore it. You learn how to turn away when the babies start crying. Only good ones get the candy – the silent ones who know their place.
Nopony likes a noisy child!
Diamond nods. She agrees with me. That’s how I know I’m right. That’s how I’m sure we didn’t do anything wrong.
These three losers in a bunch over a broken toy – I mean, big deal. Just buy another one! Why are you getting so worked up over nothing, you dumb chicken?
I mean… just buy another one. Right? Not like it’s such a big loss or anything.
Yeah, Diamond says so. I guess it’s right.
I guess.
Anyway, we’re done. There’s no reason to hang around here anymore; you’d just get more of the same old stuff if you did. Screaming and yelling in my direction as if that’s the only thing anyone has to say to me.
So you know what? You deserve it, Scootaloo. You and your stupid broken scootaboard or whatever you call it.
Stupid name.
Stupid.
We take ourselves away from the babies, and we say our goodbyes as we part for home. Well, Diamond never really says ‘goodbye’. She says ‘be here tomorrow, got it?’ but I know what she means.
She’ll have another plan. She’ll have some sort of thing to do to make sure the babies of the world get what they deserve for yelling at us.
Same thing, every day.
The road is chilly. It always is, walking home. Plod, plod, plod; the leaves underhoof make funny crunching noises as I walk. I jump around sometimes to step on them on purpose – it’s something to do on the way home. I like the sounds they make.
They fill the spaces in my head.
Usually a brain is full of thoughts. That’s what it’s for, right? A brain’s there to have things floating around just like pockets are there to be filled with money.
Daddy taught me that, about the pockets. But it was Diamond who taught me about the other.
Turned out that Diamond had it too. She said hers bothered her, like mine did. And she said not to worry. She said just to do what she said and it’d go away.
We started doing stuff. Some kids like to build. Some kids… I don’t know, burn things behind the schoolyard. We never cared for that. We found something of our own to do.
We did them together and we’d laugh. We’d enjoy it because it filled the spaces.
But they never really go forever; they always come back. I hate them. They’re uncomfortable. Diamond said that’s just how it is. She’s got it all figured out.
See, some kinds of thoughts make them meaner. And some things help keep them away for a while, like stepping on leaves. That’s what hobbies are for, she said. When her dad is feeling weird he goes fishing, and it makes him happy. I guess I can’t argue with that.
I guess.
We just have a hobby.
* * *
My house is warm when I enter. The maid put the fireplace on. She does everything around here. She’s the one who brings the warmth to the house. Food would be waiting in my room, too, just like it always has. I don’t know why we have such a big dining hall. We never seem to use it for anything.
I can’t avoid the mantel in the main foyer on the way to my room. It’s the same as always. Perfectly clean, like a hospital. Three frames line the top. Photos of the family. One for Daddy, one for Mommy, and one for me.
I used to move them around, and pretend they were real. I’d shift them closer together, but Mommy would always move them back, and tell me not to upset them. They were good where they were.
I haven’t touched them in years.
Then there were the stairs that wound up to my room. Wide and curvy, you could never bump into anyone else going the opposite direction.
My room is the far one on the left. It’s big. Nice. Comfortable, I guess. It has everything that Daddy can buy, and Daddy buys a lot of things, even when I don’t want anything. He likes buying stuff for me.
A lot of stuffed toys, usually – ursas and rabbits that sit along the wall like an army.
Mommy never buys me anything. That’s Daddy’s job, she says. Mommy says she doesn’t want to be a slave to consumerism. I asked her what that meant. She said it was a joke. I didn’t get it.
But that’s all I can say about Mommy and Daddy. If there were anything else I needed to know, I could always read one of dad’s autobiographies. He has three. I want at least three myself, when I grow up. Three or four is a nice number of biographies to have, from what I can see. All of Daddy’s friends have at least two, and he never pays attention to anypony who doesn’t have at least that many.
I don’t want to be here anymore.
I always end up feeling like this everytime I come home. I don’t know where it comes from, but it makes everything terrible. The food on my tables tastes like dirt. Dirt and corn. And I hate corn. The room gets chilly again, even with the fire on. My toys and games are dumb. What’s the point of all these games, anyway?
I have to leave. I have to get out. I’ll go take a walk. At least I can do whatever I want. No one ever stops me from going anywhere, or doing anything, and that’s good, I guess.
I guess.
* * *
Most of the time I end up here, at Sugar Cube Corner. I want something sweet. Something nice. Maybe a milkshake. Maybe a brownie.
The place is the same as always. A lot of smiling faces. A lot of happy ponies gathered around. It’s bright here, much brighter than it is outside, and I always come here to stare. I always find myself doing so – staring at the other kids, staring at faces, thinking about other families.
Not thinking about anything in particular. Just… thinking.
I don’t think so much if Diamond is around. Usually, we’d just sit silently and eat our food and be on our way as fast as possible, but when I am alone, it’s different.
It’s a bit scary, actually, without Diamond, because I know some of these ponies stare back. They think I’m trying to start something, by looking. They think I’m being rude for watching their families and friends.
They come to me and sneer sometimes, asking me what I was going to do to them today.
I don’t see why they can’t just leave me alone. I wasn’t going to do anything. Sometimes I just want to come here and enjoy a treat just like them, alright? So why do they always think I’m planning stuff?
I move to the corner because it’s quieter there. That space allows me to watch and think, and the other kids like it better that way, too.
In the end, everypony’s happy with that arrangement, I guess.
I guess.
Pinkie’s coming over. She’s sort of in charge of this place. She’s got that look again.
Nothing new. I’ve been given that talk. I just get up and leave, usually. Others don’t need to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. I don’t care. What I do helps me, and I don’t care.
I’m about to leave. It’s obvious that Scootaloo’s been around, whining and getting others to pick on me.
But I stay because Pinkie sounds different as she calls my name. The other adults – they usually sound mad or stern. Pinkie sounds happy. But she definitely has that look.
I don’t understand. I’m confused. I’m confused, and so I stay.
“I want to give you something,” she says. She’s cheerful. She’s hiding something behind her back, and it’s quickly revealed as one of her special parfaits, the one with three different flavours of ice cream and nuts and fruits of all sorts and wafers and chocolate malt balls.
But why?
I ask her.
“No reason. Just wanted to give you a gift, and to tell you a story,” she says.
A story? I didn’t understand.
“I won’t lie,” she says. “This is because of what you did to Scootaloo earlier.”
I frown, looking away.
“But I’m not going to tell you off like the others. I just want to show you something!” she says again.
I’d be a fool to turn down a Pinkie Parfait, so I stick around. If she isn’t going to scold me, then I guess I don’t mind listening.
I guess.
I reach for the spoon that isn’t there. But just like magic, Pinkie’s got one in hoof to present to me. I rear back immediately.
It’s disgusting. It’s oily and gunky and covered with a funny sheen of black. It’s spotchy and looks like sick ponies. It’s a sick spoon.
Pinkie moves to put it right into the parfait.
“Hey! Stop!” I yell. “What are you doing? That’s gross!”
She does, and waves it in front of my face, still with that smile.
“I know, right?” she agrees. “That’s the common response. Disgusting spoon covered with tarnish, who’d want to use it, right? So what should I do?”
“Get me a clean one?” I say. I mean, duh, right?
“Yeah, that’s what everypony else would say, too. So you get a clean one…”
She takes one out and puts both spoons on the table.
“... and everypony’s happy! Well, except for the dirty spoon, but no one cares about that spoon, do they?”
I look at the two spoons on the table. The ice cream melts a bit, and I look up to her.
“What are you trying to say?” I ask.
Her smile changes. It’s still a smile, but it’s… different. “I’m trying to say that we all feel like a tarnished spoon sometimes.”
She picks up the splotchy utensil.
“No one wants to use it. No one likes to look at it. Everypony just puts it aside and talks about it as if there was something wrong with it. And no one wants to keep the tarnished spoon with the good ones either, because they don’t want its gunk to get on them,” she says, quietly, softly, as she plays with the thing.
“It’s never fun being brushed away just because of how we look on the outside. But in the end, if we stop to think about it, there’s still a spoon there. It just needs a bit of polish, and it’s as good as any other.”
She puts the spoon back next to the other one.
“Sometimes it’s difficult. I understand. Any spoon left alone for long enough becomes like this eventually. And you know what? Spoons can’t polish themselves. It’s not their fault they became this way. All they can do is sit aside and hope and wish that somepony will come by and think about them.”
I slowly look up at Pinkie. I didn’t want to.
“But the funny thing is, all we have to do is try to remind others that it’s still a spoon. And the old…”
She taps the dirty spoon.
“... becomes the new…”
She picks the clean one up and drops it into the parfait, where it sits, now allowing anyone to enjoy it.
“... and everypony can have a good time together.”
She pushes the dessert toward me.
“I want you to know it’s not your fault, and it’s not too late. We all feel like a tarnished spoon sometimes. But we don’t have to. You just need to allow yourself to shine.” She smiles, beaming. She looks happy. Glad about something.
I get angry. Angry at her words. Angry at her story. I leave immediately. I ignore her smile as I step out.
I’m angry. I don’t want to step on the leaves now. I don’t want her stupid parfait. I don’t care about anything.
I’m angry.
What does she know?
What does anypony know?
Who asked you to pretend to care? To pretend to understand how I feel? Why can’t you let me solve my own problems my way?
The spaces fill my mind, and they push everything else out. All I can think of now is a jumbled mishmash of images, words, thoughts, and none of it makes sense or forms a complete idea.
I am angry. Confused.
Scared.
I don’t even know why I’d be scared.
Is there something to be worried about? Is there something I’m afraid of?
Maybe you’re wrong, Pinkie. Maybe the dirty spoon likes being dirty. Have you thought of that? Maybe the dirty spoon has a friend. Maybe the dirty spoon’s fine being in the drawer!
Or maybe the dirty spoon can’t ever be clean! Have you not thought of that either? Like you said, spoons can’t clean themselves, so what do you expect it to do?
I throw my hooves against the walls of my room. I reached home some time ago. Didn’t look at the pictures on the mantle. Didn’t look at the stairs.
It’s not fair.
The space in my head feels so large that I feel it might burst. I feel it coursing down to the rest of my body like hot water, filling every crack, weighing me down, making it hard to breathe.
It grows so large that I have no place else to go. I have no place else to run. I have nothing left to plug it up, to shut it out, to tell it to go away, to force myself to ignore it.
It’s not fair.
It drags me in.
I don’t want to be here.
Please.
It’s not fair!
They come now, a swirl of thoughts, feelings, memories, and wishes. They push me over and stab at my chest, and wrench me from inside out. It reduces me to weakness, and for the evening I am unable to talk, to eat, to rest calmly.
And the last thing I remember is pushing my face into a pillow, hoping to drown out the noise, the hissing and buzzing in my ears, and the pain in my throat.
* * *
I don’t know why I’m here today.
I told Diamond Tiara I didn’t want to join her with her things. I said I was busy, but honestly, I just don’t feel like it.
I find myself walking through the path that I was on the day before. Familiar road and familiar ponies.
Those three look up. They’re trying to fix the scootaboard. The one that I…
They’re on guard.
Of course they are. All they see is a tarnished spoon.
I sit down – the first thing I did – on the dirt floor. I’ve never done that before, but I didn’t care this time. I wanted to sit.
“Hey,” I say. Cautiously. To test the waters.
The waters bite back with ferocity.
They tell me to go away. They tell me to shut up. They tell me I’m gonna get it.
I tell them I’m sorry.
All of a sudden, the waters calm. They say they don’t believe me, but say nothing more as I just sit there with my head bent over by a strange heaviness.
It takes a while, but slowly they talk again. First amongst themselves, and then to me. They ask me what I was there for, really. I say I want to help. I show them the nails and hammers I stole from Daddy’s shed. They’re brand new. I tell them they can have it.
They say they don’t want it. They say it wouldn’t help.
But, they say, I could stick around if I wanted.
For the next few hours we work, restoring the scootaboard back to… well, it would never be the same. Some things break forever, it seems.
I hadn’t realised.
But through it all, they slowly begin to talk. I don’t have much to say. I don’t know how to feel. The others chatter on. They’re quite funny, actually. They’re… nice. And for once, they don’t mind when I stare.
And the hours end, just like that. I didn’t laugh. Didn’t play. Didn’t talk much. Just helped. I helped and now I leave.
Scootaloo comes up to me on her board as I’m walking away. It’s working again. She’s happy again.
“Thanks for the help,” she says to me, adding: “We like you better this way.”
We say nothing more, and I go back home, looking up at the sky, trotting back to my room.
The room is as cold as ever. Lonely as ever. The games that Daddy bought – the ones for ‘two players or more’ – still sit unused.
I’m not sure if anything’s really changed. Maybe nothing did.
I would crawl back in bed and think about it more, but there’s no time for that right now.
I’m busy thinking of other things. Maybe I could bring one of my games down, I think. Maybe we could do something with it, and give them some use, I think.
That would be nice.
The thought tickles me. It makes me feel something different. It chases away the emptiness in my mind.
And for the first time in a long time, and for the first time in this room, I do something that changes my day.
I give myself a smile.
I allow myself to shine.
The End
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0/10. Super gay.
Fuck it. It goes on the read later list. It's short enough that it won't take long to get to.
3980451
lol
thanks for making the first comment so positive, you nutbar.
EDIT: Note to everyone else who's thumbing down DannyJ up there. He's not serious. He's a good friend, and we're just joking around. Don't thumb him down, and don't hate him. He's a really nice guy. =)
3980459
I've also contributed a view, a like, a favourite and a comment (two now) to generate heat for the story and push it closer to featured, despite having not actually read it, purely because I know your writing style and know that I'll like it, which is something I never do because I believe in judging everything on its own merits. But I compromised my morals, for you, because I know that it'd make you slightly happier, so, you're fucking welcome. Jackass.
I'm just kidding. I could never stay mad at you.
3980470
Yeah, well, I'm mad at YOU, you... you DAFT PUNK.
3980473
th05.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/f/2012/117/1/6/angry_ed_by_zcoogerchannel-d4xqtdy.png
Well at least I actually read the story. Silver Spoon redemption stories are always good for a read. Even if this one is only a small step on the long road Spoon would have to be fully "redeemed" as far as the characters in your story go. You've got a good style, and I really like the example Pinkie provides to show what she means. Yay metaphors! Like'd, Fave'd, commented, READ. Take that 3980479 !
I enjoyed this story, even if it had a simple plot behind it. Not much else to say except keep up the interestingly good work that we call your stories kitsune, well done!
-frost
3980500
3980479
Come on, guys.... .... carpark fight! carpark fight!
(Thanks, adenbadens! Glad you enjoyed it. And yeah, long way to go, but the road to redemption is ALWAYS long, and... well... 3000 words isn't.
)
(No thanks to you DannyJ you smell like fish.)
3980520
Hey! And thanks to you too for always coming around. It's always lovely to see a familiar face. =)
And thanks as always for the support.
Also... 'interestingly good work'
That wouldn't be said in the same way as we say, for example, 'this pie has a... curiously interesting flavour', would it? 
I kid. Thank you for reading. =)
Ah a nice story to wake up to.
3980500 3980548
Well I was reading it before you guys interrupted me. GAWD.
(I was gonna leave it for the read later list because I had a thing to go to, but then I realised it wasn't actually for another half-hour or so, and all I was doing was watching all the funny bits from Avengers on YouTube, so I decided to get this out of the way first instead.)
3980561
fc08.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/266/c/d/sweetie_belle___i_really_like_her___mane__by_samuel039-d5fo7kw.png
How I imagined your face reading your comment.
And good! I'm glad we made you read it!
3980582
That was exactly my face.
And I was always gonna read it. I read most things that my bro Rissie makes. I just take longer to get to some of it. I still need to read the rest of Romancing the Clouds and chapter three of Heart of Storms. I had originally planned to read this after I got back from my thing, but I had the times wrong and could manage it now.
Speaking of, actual comment related to the story (omg what?!) in just a second.
And DONE.
Brief summary of my thoughts:
-Minimalist style I see. I was confused by your approach until I saw that it was for a competition.
-Much less verbose than your usual prose, but it works considering the perspective character you've taken. Silver Spoon's language would be a lot more simple. It shows a good consideration towards character voicing.
-Though it's no fault of your own due to the constraints that you were under, I did feel that Silver Spoon's relationship with her family and Diamond Tiara was underdeveloped, and we didn't really see enough of either. Were you allowed to write a longer story, I'd have liked to see these elements expanded.
-Not much actual dialogue except when Pinkie was involved. I like that. It gives the piece its own recognisable feel and puts more focus on Pinkie's part.
-Speaking of Pinkie, good use of her character here. Just like with Dreamflow, I think you really understand how to use her effectively, and she was a good addition to the fic.
-Considering I already favourited this, I'm glad that my gamble paid off and it was mostly good. Never doing that again. Only for you, Rissie. Only for you.
Final thoughts:
9/10 - It's shit.
3980459
Also I am not a nice guy at all you lying fuck.
My thoughts on the story? This: 3980598
3980603
I don't believe that for a second.
3980598
No shit. Neither does Silver Spoon. There's even a point where Silver tried to move the pictures on the mantle closer and pretend they were the actual ponies because she doesn't spend a lot of time with her family and she's lonely. And DT is the reason Silver is "tarnished" in the first place.
3980603 Well not with that attitude!
3980699
Heya! Thanks for the... agreement! Haha. But thank you for reading. =)
3980598
3980703
Yeah, pretty much it was impossible to hammer in a scene, so I had to make everything very contextual. Honestly, if I had more space to play with, I'd have expanded the home scene and added another home scene near the end. I wouldn't have actually shown the parents, because the distance needs to be maintained, but I would have given more longwinded descriptions of shit.
Can't be helped, though. I really wanted to write a story that wasn't just 'shit happens and people walk away friends'. I actually wanted to show the transition within the text, which... man. It was hard. But I think I got most of my classic style down.
Curing badness with kindness, check.
Over elaborate analogy/metaphor, check.
Inventing stupid words like 'Scootaboard', check.
However, to Adenbadens' credit, I'm glad that the message was sent across very clearly that her family sucks and Diamond is Silver's enabler. So it worked fine in the end.
Shaddup, I hate pinkie and I casent' wroted Piknkee well. Pinkee is wuertst pone.
I gotta say, I love the cover image. That is a nice cover image.
3980770
In all seriousness; I have to say that this is one of those fics that I had no idea how it'd be coming in, and was just blown away by how it was written. Very... I hesitate to say 'simple,' because it really wasn't. I guess the easiest way to say it is how DannyJ did, 'minimalistic.' Which I honestly really enjoy when a writer can pull that off, while still getting their point across.
Before I end up babbling on, and senselessly repeating what others have said prior, let me just cut myself off.
I loved it. One of the best stories I've read in quite a while, and one that I will probably read multiple times. Keep up the amazing writing, Kitsune.
The last line of that comment...
quickmeme.com/img/a9/a99176f17f98d40c567bce80a2707a2090dddb5e93468bca673bcc1b69c4ecf8.jpg
3980817 Yea, I actually had to re-read it several times before I figured out what it said.
Well.. actually, just what "casent'" was.
I'm still not....entirely sure
3980783
Thanks for the support, Else. 
Glad it was good enough for a fave
3980817
Oh no! I'm so sorry. I really hope my comment didn't come across as mean or anything. I wasn't fishing for a comment, honestly! I just try to respond to everyone who comments as a personal philosophy, and I sometimes like making little jokes here and there. I really hope I didn't sound like I was expecting anything more!
I am genuinely very happy for each and every read, and... honestly, now I feel bad because I feel like you had come back and write that lovely, lovely comment for my sake.
But I will gladly accept it because it's a beautiful comment. Thank you so much for reading! And thanks for your continued support!
And yes, that last line is a beaut, isn't it?
<- loak at dat shi tfcsace
3980831 'casent'' means exactly what it means, you dorks. It's noate thaeat harc to ernd wut I'm tyngn. But f444for smtreaosnn it gets bfad when AI strt to tlk aboujt Peeeeknie Peh. Wo84t pone EVAR.
3980860
You worry too much. I was originally going to comment with something along the lines of my second comment, and then I saw DannyJ's... well thought-out, and worded comment, (Which I agreed with for the most part.) The main reason I came back and commented was that I honestly feel this story is deserving of more than just my mediocre 'This.'
Was that end bit even language?
Or did you just mash your face into the keyboard and call it good?
This was a pretty nice read! I don't really have much I could add that DannyJ and everyone else haven't already said, though...
And I'm always happy to help; you were no bother, I promise you.
ITT: Lots of DannyJ.
3980703
Well, I get that. What I meant was that I would have wanted something more like... like...
3980770
Oh. Like this, actually. Basically what Rissie describes here.
(Also, no. YOU are worst pone.)
My particular (and peculiar) headcanon has always said: "Silver Spoon can be saved." (Diamond Tiara, maybe not so much.) I feel semi-vindicated.
Muh feels...
So now we see how twisted up on the inside Silver Spoon is, a spoiled but neglected child with a family that's too busy to even notice her really. She only feels some kind of emotion when she was bossed around by Tiara because she thought she was a 'actual' friend. Everyone else despised her because they know how she acts, she's so alone in the end. At least she has some sense left in her, to actually help the crusaders out and know she's not some lost cause.
This.
This is an awesome tale of redemption.
Could almost feel the pain she had.
Loved it, man. This was a keeper.
24.media.tumblr.com/a257ad5165644b1f79354634dfdee284/tumblr_mqo61uYbwk1rj6vd5o1_400.png
~Skeeter The Lurker
Oh wow, I've always wanted one of these stories to fall into my lap. Thanks, Skeeter!
I shall read after work.
3980900
I mashed my face into Pinkie and it was bad.
3981324
You butt. Stop being so nice, you butt. :c
3981627
>U R worst pone :O
>WHAT DO?!
3981689
I always felt the same way too. Mainly, because she has glasses. And no pony with glasses is truly evil (see: Twist; Fashion-Maven Rarity). This story is really about her glasses.
3982230
They cannot take Pinkie of this magnitude!
3983118
Yeah! You get it. Thanks for reading!
3983711
Awww, thanks for the badge, man! That's pretty damn awesome. I'll update my main page with it right now. =)
3984576
Haha, I do what I can!
Enjoyable fic, all the same.
~Skeeter The Lurker
3984581
It's the little things that make a writer feel like it's all worth it. Sometimes it's getting a badge. Sometimes it's people setting fire to a bunch of cars in madness caused by the reading of your fic.
This time... it was getting a badge, and that's probably the more preferable outcome to the two.
3984593
Badges are always awesome, right?
You're very welcome. This is so deserving of it.
~Skeeter The Lurker
3984576 No, you can't make me! neener-neener-neener!
Excellent story. Have a like and a fave.
Welp, I finally got to you. I finally read this.
You're quite the story-teller. Have three tokens of my esteem. And thank Skeeter, too. It's his fault.
You have my attention.
Time to set some cars on fire!
Seriously though, I loved it. For something so short it just.. Painted those empty spaces, in her family, in her head, in her life so beautifully.
And I'm a sucker for an ending with hope.
This mess gave me chills.
4038774
Yeah, I couldn't help it. It was 3000 words. I was a challenge to balance everything out. Guess it came out more wubbly than I thought! Would you mind telling me which bits you found too uneven so that I can consider stuff for the future?
Kinda glad I gave this a try, even though I uh, kinda hate SS and DT... but Silver Spoon is an alright character now...
I guess, all it took was a bit of elbow grease (this story) to make the spoon (Silver Spoon) shine. :D
4039656
wut
this was fucking brilliant, m8, wot r u on about
4039961
Haha! Shining puns. >_>;
No but I kid. I kinda disliked those too as well. So I wanted to write a story where... yeah. I guess it did its job.
But DT is beyond redemption, that little bitch.
4040543
What?
Oh sorry. I had just woken up at 6 am after 3 hours of sleep because, and I wish I was making this up, I had the conclusion dream of a series of nightmares in which I had to meet a mafia doctor to make up for a series of mistakes that I had committed, and it resulted in my mother having her legs cut off and placed into a gigantic specimen jar as means of punishment for getting involved with 'things I didn't understand', but it was going to be alright because 'they might reattach her legs later on' and she'd probably be fine.
Welcome to my world.
But anyway, I saw the comment and I thought you meant that this story was such a mess that you were shuddering throughout.
And then I went straight back to sleep.
4040824
you silly biscuit, I wouldn't say such things :|
get more sleep
4040854
I'M SLEEPING RIGHT NOW, PP.
4040862
OKAY I WILL BE QUIET NOW
This was an extremely well-written story that I thoroughly enjoyed reading, I guess.
I guess.
4044672
*furiously polishes you*
Thank you for the fave and all your support ^_^
And for calling it that, you deserve to have it broken.
So we're doing a stupid Spoon, then.
See? I'm influencing today's youth. I'm such a good role model.
Dear Celestia, I hope Tiara doesn't share that attitude. Because it doesn't really matter what Spoon thinks; she's just a follower. But an attitude like that on somepony who can actually make her own decisions . . . that would be somepony who's going to grow up to be a serial killer.
Born cult leader, that one. Born cult leader and budding threat to society. I fear this may be a bit of a problem in the future.
Alright, fine, I admit it. You've outpaced me. I'm not sure if we're talking voices or compulsions or what here. So I'm just going to have to call them both schizOCD for the moment.
Symbolism! Symbolism that makes use of the INTIMACY is WARMTH metaphor! Very fundamental metaphor, that one.
There's other stuff referenced too, of course, but it doesn't relate obviously to anything I've learned recently.
So much symbolism.
All the symbolism.
Thinking about the schitzOCD complex you have because your parents don't love you?
. . . I shouldn't be mocking this poor filly like that. But I really wanted to say "schitzOCD complex."
If nothing else, I hope that this story teaches you how to commit to a thought.
I don't think you could possibly delude yourself enough to believe that Pinkie has it in her to pick on anypony. I just don't think it's possible.
So I just learned something. There are certain sentences which trigger me to roll my eyes, get annoyed at the protagonist, and instantly enjoy the story less. That is rather unfortunate, I'm sure anybody would agree. I am judging this spoon for superficial features, and now I have nothing to eat my parfait with. And who doesn't want to eat parfait?
Just because something is a cliche does not mean I should instinctively react like it's a poorly handled cliche.
. . . I have a sneaking suspicion that normal people do not leave critiques of themselves in the comments. That's good. It would be terrible to be normal.
Ask for help. She was happy to ask for help, help from you for helping you, and you refused. That was pretty rude, really.
Symbolism.
I think this may be laying it on a teensy bit too thick. Not that I'm unwilling to believe that Spoon and Tiara never came back to Spoon's house and played games, mind you . . . it just feels like too much to me.
4046372
Hallo!
Yes, mainly, I had to resort to certain cliches for a few reasons. I don't particularly like them either, but I figured when you're writing in the voice of a what.. 10 year old kid, or however old SS is, they kind of think more in terms of cliches than others. I was in fact worried that some of the things I said was a bit TOO advanced for the thoughts of a child. Besides that, the other reason was this terribly nasty 3000 word limit. I was cutting corners everywhere, and as you can see from the other comments, a lot of people found this uncharacteristically minimalist of me. Still though, I did my best. That's all I can ask of from myself, and it seems to have been received well despite some of my... ahem... sleep-deprived self-esteem colouring one or two things >_>;
Yes. Symbolism. Yay! Hooray for breezies!
And as for the last bit about it being laid too thick? It's not that Tiara never had the opportunity to. It's that Spoon never wanted to play those games with her. It is a thought meant to reflect choices rather than a piteous circumstance.