Heart is Where the Home is
* * *
Heart is Where the Home is
Jeffrey C. Wells
www.scrivnarium.net
* * *
I didn't expect to find myself back here at the wreckage so soon.
Then again, I didn't expect a lot of things that happened today. Weathering the assault of a giant, bellowing creature who towered over the rooftops of Ponyville annihilating everything in his path remains high on the list.
I've never been a grieving sort of mare. The world has closed any number of doors on my past; and I know, both in my heart and my brain, that the only solution that ever works is to not give up, to build again. To laugh in the face of a sometimes-cruel world. To never let them see that falter.
I'll get there. I will.
The certain-sure knowledge that there are bigger and better things waiting for me just over the horizon is its own sort of comfort, too. I know that I am a mare of destiny, marked for great things. Maybe, in the eyes of the universe, it simply was not right for me to occupy such a humble home. Maybe the universe is slowly trying to mold me into the mare I am meant to be by, as the famous sculptor once said, chipping away every part of me that is not great. My home was small and cozy and safe, but in the end, not exactly grand. Perhaps, in the larger scheme of things, it had to go. An inevitability. Sure as water flowing downhill. Sometimes it is beyond the power of one little pony to fight a current that strong.
I tell myself a lot of things to make myself feel better. It doesn't make the hurt go away.
So here I am, standing before a mass of splintered and sundered wood. I shouldn't even be awake at this hour, but I don't exactly know how the public works division operates in this town. Efficient, I'll bet. It'll probably be cleared away soon, like the worthless ruin that it is. And this is why I awoke and made my way back here tonight. By tomorrow, it might be gone, and I couldn't stand the thought of leaving it forever without one last goodbye. For years this pile of rubble was my castle, my sanctum, my home. A warm retreat to hunker down in on a cold winter's night; and in the heat of summer, a bright open space in which to practice my craft. Whenever despair hobbled my steps, this was the place I would return to, to seek comfort in memories of obstacles surpassed and triumphs achieved. It was the first home I ever really had, and, other than the clothes on my back, it literally housed every object that I ever called my own.
I know what you're thinking. You're just like the rest of them, aren't you? Everypony will tell you that they're just things. "Things can be replaced. Ponies can't." It's one of those aggravating reflexive pleasantries that ponies will always offer whenever this sort of tragedy strikes somepony else (not themselves). Do you have a photo album? Of course you do. Why not just rip it up? Put something with a little functional utility in its place! It's just things, right?
In your heart, you know it isn't true. Experience and memory transform simple trinkets into artifacts and totems. They're not just "mementos." They are the moorings to which our memories are hitched so that they do not float away and become nothing more than lost flotsam on the foggy ocean of time. Costumes. Books. A single dried rose. These aren't just globs of cotton and silk and wood pulp and decaying vegetable matter. In a very real (albeit metaphysical) sense, they are my experiences. They're my past. They are who I am, everything that made me the great mare I am today.
And now, they are nothing but garbage. Fodder for a street sanitation crew.
I kick listlessly with one hoof at my entire old life.
So, this is it. The close of another chapter. A season ends, a season begins. "Change is good," they tell me (usually the same ponies who earlier trotted out the "they're just things" chestnut). "Change is not to be feared, but embraced." And I grudgingly must admit that this time, they do have a point. It's hard when change seems to fly in the face of everything you thought your Creator intended for you, when you worry that the future looks like nothing more than a long, slow slide toward mediocrity and oblivion. But I'm better than that. I've endured worse, and I will probably endure worse than this. In the end, this will be remembered as nothing more than a short, tragic setback, a tiny illegible footnote of despair in a long, illustrious life filled with amazing accomplishments. I draw myself up to my full height, taking warmth and strength from the greatness that is to come, and turn my back on my former home for the last time. The brightest of all possible tomorrows awaits me.
I just wish I had some, you know, friends or something. A couch to crash on, at least.
I shake away the treacherous thoughts. Friends are for the weak. Twilight Sparkle needs friends. The Great and Powerful Trixie does not. I have a cloak. I have a hat. The night is not so cold, the woods are full of edible pine nuts, and the pegasus ponies high above have promised us no rain for the entire rest of the week. It is a comfort to know that my immediate physical needs will be taken care of, so that my mind will be free to think about the important things. A new town. A new act. A new wagon.
Revenge.
It's good to have a plan. And it's good to have a refreshed perspective on life. The show must go on, even if for no other reason than that you have to give the bits back otherwise.
Still and all, I really do hate giant monsters.
"Stupid Ursa Minor," I mutter to myself.
I wheel about and gallop off toward the future.
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So... many... Golden Oaks stories...
4394390
Mmmaybe you should actually read it.
4394398 Man I like your profile pic.
Damn, I bought that hook, line, and sinker, and got a swift yet delightful left hook for my gullibility.,, and yet I remain wistful. Fancy that.
Well done, sir.
4394409
Why thank you! Here it is all big.
I have to say, this particular take of the subject I hadn't seen yet, nor expected. Well done, well done indeed.
Spoiler-texting this comment, just so people don't come looking at it before reading the story this early in its run:
Well, that was unexpected. I liked the twist at the end, and it made the lack of action and specificity earlier in the piece a lot more logical. There are some nice bits of description in here, as usual. Unfortunately, I really found myself wanting something different about halfway through—and depending on how much time I have today, I may try to go write it myself. The lack of activity and visible emotion here really nerfs the story's effect for me, and while I enjoy the prose and I think the piece is well put together from a character perspective, I just can't find it especially engaging. What I found I wanted, amid all the descriptions, was more of an extended meditation on disaster. Losing your home is something that happens to a lot of people for a lot of reasons, and I don't know if I've seen anyone really tap into that yet, even though it feels like low-hanging fruit the more I think about it. In any case...
It's a good piece, with (as I said) some nice prose work and some good evocative description. I'm happy to upvote it.
You forgot something: #MournEverything. I understand your feelings of loss, but I'm still willing to give the Rainbow Friendship Crystal Caravan a chance next season. Just needs to be introduced for legit story reasons. #InMerchWeTrust
mylittlefacewhen.com/media/f/rsz/mlfw1705_small.jpg
But it was fun!
You clever bastard.
Ooh, that was good
You sneaky, sneaky thing.
Puts a new spin on it, eh, Twily? 
One of those stories you read and then immediately reread.
Oh, that was clever.
That was particularly clever.
Clever.
Oh, you sneaky bastard. I was all ready to start a rant about how this was the 8th damn tree story I have read, but it isn't.
Well done.
And there I was thinking that Twilight's inner voice was off.... I just love a story that I have to read twice!
I started suspecting it wasn't Twilight on the "clothes on my back" line but still it was a great payoff.
I'm on the camp that thinks Trixie did nothing wrong on her first appearance and the mane 3/6 were acting like heckler hicks, so having your house destroyed because you stumbled into a town where a apparently no one knows what a performance is actually seems sadder to mr than having the library blown up. At least Twilight got a weird looking castle out of it.
Ah see what ya did there.
Beautifully done, though really I expect nothing else from you.
I thought the voice was a bit off in the beginning but then you pulled out the twist - bravo.
Okay that is a good plot twist. you i like.
That was cute... I was a bit concerned the character's voice in the early part wasn't really jiving well with the header implied picture. A well played twist.
Nicely done! I thought to myself "Twilight is surprisingly full of herself" once or twice while reading it, but it's not like she hadn't had reason to be. By the end it fit perfectly, of course.
Yeah, I was like "this is a little off" but, you know, kept reading and should have known better than to think that. I totes got trolled.
Well played good sir.
I was going to say that Twilight had only been in Golden Oaks for a year and the span of season four, but...
Jeez, Skywriter. Nice, clever story.
Goddamn it, you magnificent bastard.
I want to see Trixie outside the Crystal Castle of Friendship screaming:
Trixie: Where's my castle, Sparkle? I'm going to sue you to the highest court in the land!
Twilight: You mean Princess Celestia, my former teacher?
Trixie: Right! (pause) Do you mind if I bed down in the old library tonight? There may be some cover, and there's a storm scheduled...
14/10, crie evrytiem.
Truly though, a clever twist. I did begin to smell the fuse when specifics and concrete terms kept being avoided, leaving everything in the realm of hasty judgement. Still, I did not expect Trixie, of all ponies, to show up. So kudos for keeping the reader in the dark even if they start to grow suspicious.
Now, about that Cadance...
Excellently done!
You, my good sir, win.
I thought something was up when she said "clothes on her back" and I went "Twilight doesn't normally wear clothes..."
4395023
You magnificent bastard. Well done.
At first I was like:
Then I was like:
And finally I was like:
While the author was like:
That was clever.
Oh, Mr. J.:
You're always such a kidder!
Mike
Well played, good sir. Well played.
Oh, well done, sir. You played my expectations like a master - bravo.
Aww. The poor caravan.
#feelsbadman
...
I'm, simply not in the right state of mind to give you a proper response right now. Dashie, cover for me.
Thank you.
One thing I don't get, though. No character tag? I know it's important to the story, but dude, how did the mods let you get away with that?
4395734
Dunno! I guess it's not mandatory?
4395782
I don't think character tags are mandatory; I've seen other stories without them.
Your blog post and John Perry made me wary, keeping an eye out for vague pronoun references and carefully crafted ambiguities. But it was the line "I don't exactly know how the public works division operates in this town" that threw a warning flag. "Twilight's probably reorganized the entire Ponyville bureaucracy by now," I thought to myself. "This can't be her. But then who? It would have to be someone new to Ponyville, who managed to lose her home just after arriving.
"Oh."
Part of me regrets that I wasn't able to appreciate the reveal when you intended it. Part of me is proud of itself for needing so few hints. All aspects, however, are grateful for a beautifully written meditation on the nature of possessions and sentimental value. Thank you for it.
As many others have said, well played, Skywriter, well played.
mlpforums.com/uploads/post_images/img-2548447-1-FANMADE_Luna_I_see_what_you_did_there.jpg
Well played Skywriter, once again very well played.
I can see I'm going to have to get in line in order to offer "well played" #22.
You got me. You nailed me, sir. Halfway through I was seeing the references to "One season ends, one season begins" and I was rereading through it and picking up what looked like other meta-references and expecting a Hoardsmiths swerve. Then you took it in an entirely different direction, you magnificent bastard.
Ok, another story about..... wait... WHAT!?!?!?!
Oh, well played.
Wow what a
.I actually thought it was Twilight.
*slow clap* nicely done