• Published 26th Jun 2014
  • 1,020 Views, 16 Comments

Rocks and Other Breakable Things - KiroTalon

Pinkie writes poetry about her childhood. It turns out her life before Ponyville was a world best left in her past.

  • ...


"Sooo? What do you think?"

Twilight didn't immediately respond to Pinkie's question. She had finished the poem several minutes ago, and had been sitting in silence trying to process it ever since. The pick. The rocks. Surely...but no, that's crazy...isn't it?

"Twilight?" She glanced up to see Pinkie looking down at her with concern. "You okay?"

"Yeah! Yeah, I'm...fine." Twilight forced a smile onto her face. "You said you haven't read this at all, right?"

Pinkie shook her head. "Nope. Just let it flow from the pencil!" She grinned. "Why, is it good? Should I read it?"

"No, no!" Twilight said a touch too loudly. Pinkie stared at her in surprise. "I mean," she corrected herself more quietly, "no, you don't need to read it. It's...alright. Not great, but...you don't need to read it again. I mean, it made you happy again, right? There's no need to read about what made you sad in the first place if you're not sad anymore, is there?"

Pinkie pondered this while staring at the ceiling. "I guess not. It wasn't bad, though was it?"

"No, it wasn't bad, in fact...do you mind if I keep it?" Twilight asked hesitantly.

Pinkie raised an eyebrow at her. "Keep it? Why?"

"So I can read it again...you know, if I want to." Twilight tried to smile again, painfully aware of how disingenuous the expression felt on her face.

Pinkie shrugged. "Okie dokie lokie!" she quipped before bouncing back towards the door. "Thanks again for the advice, Twilight! I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Yeah, no problem," Twilight said absently, looking back at the scrawl on the paper again, furrowing her brow. "See you."

The door shut behind Pinkie, leaving Twilight alone with her thoughts. They're just rocks, right? It's a poem about the rock farm. Hard work. Breaking rocks. Nothing else.

"Of course not," Twilight told herself, forcing a smile. Pinkie was full of surprises, no doubt about it, but she doubted symbolic subtext was something she was particularly good at. Then again...

She shook her head one last time before floating the page over to the trash can. It was just a silly poem. An exercise in free association. No sense in pulling meaning out of gibberish. A second thought crossed her mind and she floated the poem out of the trash can and instead slid it into one of the larger, more tedious tomes on her library shelf, hoping to insure Spike wouldn't happen across it accidentally. With another shake of her head, she smiled again and made her way up to the second floor of the library, intent on going to bed before her imagination gave her anything else to worry about.

Just a poem about rocks and picks and nothing else.

Nothing else at all.


Comments ( 14 )

Wow. That was surprisingly powerful. Who knew, a poem about "rocks"? :unsuresweetie:

Well, we knew Pinkie was a bit... odd. Now we know she's even creepier than everyone thought. :pinkiecrazy:

Your writing never ceases to amaze me by the way.

Sorry if I sound stupid, but what could it be about besides rocks?

It was just a poem about rocks and picks nothing else, nothing else at all......... Right?

Nothing to feel stupid about. It's a poem. You may or may not read more into it than just the text. If you don't, then that's fine. Enjoy the poem for what it is. If you think there's more to be gleaned from it, then enjoy the subtle subtext as well.

For the general record, though, just so people don't think I'm trolling here, there are at least two layers of subtext here. There are subtle clues that can help you detect the deeper meanings, but if you don't catch them, don't worry about it. It's not intended to be obvious or easily caught.

(That said, if you think you have some idea of what I was going for, I'd be curious to hear about it in PM. I'd rather you didn't post in the comments, lest you ruin the search for someone else.)

I haven't read this yet, but I'm imagining the rest of the mane six reading pinkie's poem band being like:

I don't usually read much poetry other than the 'classics' - Byron, Shelley, Yeats, Eliot etc., and while I've read some pony poetry before, I don't usually get much out of it, even if it's by authors I usually like.
Which is why I am so surprised that I genuinely loved the poem. It's really, really, good, and more importantly it was fun to read (well, perhaps fun isn't the right word with a subject like that - enjoyable at least). I think I got at least one level of the subtext if not more, but I won't get into the analysis of it here. Suffice to say, I enjoyed it very much.

High praise. I appreciate you taking the time to comment on your enjoyment. It was a quick sort of off-the-cuff project, but I really am proud of it, and I'm glad you liked it. I would be curious to read your analysis, so if you find yourself with the time, please feel free to PM me what you thought.

You're very welcome - and I might just take you up on the analysis offer.

......I am really really scared to read this....I don't want to read this.....
*ten minutes later*
Wow...okay. *wipes tears out of my eyes* Shut up, I get sensitive when reading!

Anyway, that was really good. Honestly, it was not near as dark as I thought it'd be. The poem itself was nicely done and I really loved how you left everything up to symbolism. What happened? What's the poem about? This was not answered but our imaginations are left to wonder. I have several working theories myself, none of them pleasant o.O. I feel Twilight's reaction made since and her not allowing Pinkie to read the poem might be for the best.

Amazing short fic, one I think I'll even fav!

:twilightoops: Umm...

Wow. Just wow. I don't think I've been this disturbed since my last Dark fic reading. And that was weeks ago. I think I caught on what was going on in that poem (which was expertly written by the way) but only to a normal or possible single layer of subtle. At least, I hope what I came out with is right. It's probably much more Dark than what I'm getting, as you say you hid subtle themes in there which aren't easy to find, but then again, I don't exactly analyse poems in my spare time. Kind of glad I don't now too...

This deserves a fav. And when I think of this writing, more views too. But that won't happen anytime soon, which is a bit of a shame. Great job!


Thank you :twilightblush: Knowing my work has had an impact on someone is the sole reason I keep doing what I do here.

This is by far the darkest thing I'll probably ever publish here (at least for the far-foreseeable future), and even though I'm not usually a big fan of darkfics, I am genuinely pleased with the result of this particular experiment.

As I have said in other places, there are two intentional layers of subtext here, and some people have brought additional unintentional symbolism and potential to light in their PMs to be. I can't even begin to describe how happy I am to see people really digging into this story; I put a lot of effort and thought into it, and I'm getting roughly as much back out of it. As a writer, I can't think of anything I love more than that.

Also, as I mentioned to other people, if you are interested in further discussion, feel free to PM me (or don't, if you prefer to simply enjoy the poem as it is...or if you just don't want to talk to weirdos on the internet--who could blame you?). I love hearing what other people get out of my work.

Thanks again for your comment :raritystarry:

There's the obvious symbolism of the Pies grinding themselves away in the meat grinder of a rock field, but I hadn't noticed the child abuse undertones at all (outside of the whole bit about child labor).

One to denial, thorough and deep, a layer of
Lies too deep to believe and too shallow to cover neat.



I met a rock. My cracks were worn dull and hers
Filled with something strong. Too strong.
Harder than a rock, and I less than one.

I don't believe "less" is the right word, Pinkie. Try "more".

Wow, this was punch in the gut. :pinkiesad2:
The poem was really well made, and the fact everything is left purely to symbolism and our own imagination gives this a layer of depth that makes even better, culminating into a great open ending:

Just a poem about rocks and picks and nothing else.
Nothing else at all.

That's the million bit question, I managed to see three possibilities to the poem, each harder than the last.
Very good work. :pinkiesmile:

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