No Such Thing

by Garbo

No Quarter

The first rays of white sunlight shone over the grassy
Hills as the stallion made his way into town. The soft
Earth under his hooves was almost therapeutic, not
Resembling what he was used to. In fact, nothing in
Equestria was familiar. He'd come from far across the
Sea, and had not welcome there or anywhere so far.

Notional was his name. As those went, it was a lousy
One. It did seem to sum up his life, though. If ponies

Saw him, they did a terrific job pretending they were
Unable to. Did a lone alicorn roaming around stir up
Controversy every once in a while? Surely, but only
Here and there. It wasn’t frequent enough for others

To notice, yet the nonstop scrutiny was too much for
Him. They would stare and then suddenly look away
In disgust. He could be Celestia’s son and they would
Never cease the ridicule. That was life; it was always
Going to be that way. He was a creep and he knew it.

As he crested the final hill, he looked up and he could
See the town, streets bustling with activity, he let out

A cry of excitement. Swiftly, he got to the downward

Slope of the hill, and thought things might be all right
This time. These ponies seemed as if they might not
Ostracize him as many others had. He only wanted to
Rejoice with them and share his ideas and his stories,
Yet he feared these ponies were the same as the rest.

Tentatively, he took his first steps into the small town,
Outwardly and inwardly scared. At first, nothing came
Out to confront him. The few ponies he passed didn’t

Bother to look up, paying attention only to what was
At hoof. If felt good to not be noticed, without all the
Demonization he often encountered. Now being free

To move without prejudice, he found himself smiling.
Oh how long it was since he’d worn a content simper.

Behind him, suddenly, he heard a blaring gasp which
Echoed through the town, soon reaching the market,

Town center, and far beyond the last cottages. The
Open expanses carried the wave to its finale, at long
Last dying into a whisper, which soon faded into the
Din. It froze him in his tracks, unable to move in fear.

Other cries of astonishment soon joined the first, the
Raucous cries coming from all over. They vilified the

Alicorn before them, his excrescence a horror they’d
Never soon forget, though not through lack of effort.

After the initial shock set in, there was silence. They
Uttered not a word for fear of what the monster of a
Thing before them might do. Notional was terrified.
How he would respond was as much a secret to the
Other ponies as it was to him. Now Notional started
Racking his brains for something—anything—to do.

Ultimately, a small filly was first to journey from the
Noose of ponies around him. Slowly, they started to
Draw in tighter, as if to choke he who found himself
Entrapped at the center. Despite the cold, iniquitous
Strength of the circle, it only took one filly’s fearless
Example to bring it to a halt. She spoke words to the
Ring in the native tongue, which he had become very,
Very familiar with by so long into his travels. But the
Important part of it was not known to him. He could
Not decipher the words, nor find their meaning. The
Ground wasn’t as soft as it had seemed to be at first.

Often during the speech, she was interrupted by the
Fierce cries from the others in the circle, seemingly

Ponies who disagreed with what she said. Soon, the
Reluctant silence she’d been given to speak became
A tumultuous outcry. He had no way to be sure, but
It seemed as though the crowd wanted her to move
Somewhere else, get out of their way and allow the
Events to unfold as they should. They wanted a war.

Why was this little filly doing this? One out of many,
Emphatically willing to listen without even passing

A premature judgement? He’d never know for sure,
Relying on his imagination to fill in the blanks. The
Enraged crowd did not give him the time, however,
Not so much of thinking of the filly as they cast her
To the side, ruthlessly, like a bag of rancid garbage.

As a small colt, his father had often told him that all
Life’s full of people with good intentions & now this
Lot seemed to think just the opposite, despicable in

Getting rid of the very young filly’s smart, innocent
Idea. With tears in his eyes, Notional lept stealthily
From the circle, flying away on his long, rose wings.
The townsfolk grew smaller and smaller as he sadly
Evacuated. He left to go to an unknown destination,
Destined to roam always, never finding acceptance.

With the fleeing alicorn to focus on, the equine mob,
In their apathy, had completely forgotten the young
Terrified filly they had left on the ground, without a
Hint of guilt or recognition. She stood up, shook the

The dust and dirt from her coat, and coughed quite
Hoarsely to free that which had gone down into her
Esophagus. Like Notional, she watched the ponies

Slowly fade into the horizon, blind in pointless hate
As they hopelessly ran after the stallion. The young
Mare could not comprehend the hatred and sadistic
Euphoria that had overtaken the group of what had

Seemed like reasonable ponies, who now showed a
Killer instinct she couldn’t place. How could recent
Innocents turn against the new equine in town over
Little more than his appearance? The mare walked,
Limped down the street, her body and soul feeling

Bruised, though the former made her smart deeper
Under her skin. It said a lot that ponies could be so
Torn up over the superficial. These issues haunted

And pursued her as the made her way about town,
Leaving her direction to chance. Why couldn’t they
Leave him alone? It wasn’t any of their business. If

He was a visitor to their town, they should’ve been
A welcoming bunch. The filly passed by the town’s
Very best bakery. The smell of fresh rolls, normally
Enticing, now seemed sour. It’s bright colors were

In stark contrast with her emotions and the realities
Deep in her soul which now surfaced. She looked up
Either side of the street and found a place that more
Accurately describes those feelings. She looked at a
Stone brick wall and pillars, as well as the inscribed

Words carved over the doorframe: Bank. She never,
Over her currently short life, had come to realize the
Reason why ponies ever go to the bank. She walked
Through this part of town on her way to school, and
Had often watched the ponies on their business. She

Saw them all go in with big smiles on their faces and
Hardly a care in the world, then return a week later,
Ailing from an empty heart and emptier saddlebags.
Really nothing more than tax-supported harassment.
It, and the harsh treatment of the pony, were normal
Nowadays. After all, it is much easier to shun these
Glaring stories than to change your way of thinking.

Author's Note:

No Quarter

Comments

[Blaze Spectrum]

Man, how long did this take?

[Garbo]

5089092
Not as long as you'd think, but a while.

[Howling Wolves]

This, my friend, is takes true talent.

Good job.

[Weeping Pony]

this is really good. The sad thing is that this is always happening. Shunning people because they are different. good job by the way!

[CartsBeforeHorses]

Very well crafted, but you do have a mistake that I caught...

"She stood up, shook the
The dust "

The the mistake might be small, but should be fixed.

[Garbo]

5089316
True. Probably didn't notice it in my rush to get all the lines to be about the same length. That was actually that hard part, not the acrostic. Also, I know you're not in charge of oneshotober, but where is this stuff all going? The same group?

[CartsBeforeHorses]

5089337 I honestly have no idea. I'll let you know if I hear anything.

[horizon]

5089337
I was going to say, that neat right-hand margin is bloody incredible. That the story meanders as it does is quite forgivable considering the constraints.

Now, make it rhyme too.

[Garbo]

5090043
That would be cruel and unusual punishment. Maybe something shorter than this, but certainly not 1200 words.

[Felicia Shawkross]

No words. This is just plain epic...

My god, I said epic and meant it. Time to use the poor man's amnesiac again!

[Oakeave]

THERES NO SUCH THING AS A STORY TOO BAD TO BE TOLD OR AN AUTHOR UNDESERVING OF PRAISE WE ARENT ALL GIFTED WITH THE SAME SKILL BUT ALL HAVE IDEAS WORTH SHARING

So True