• Published 19th Oct 2014
  • 2,294 Views, 84 Comments

Bookworm's Delight - naturalbornderpy

Twilight Sparkle tries to pry herself from a book that she cannot stop reading. The author of such text would love nothing better than to watch her die.

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Interlude: That Disparaging Feeling

Author's Note:

Huzzah! Officially my most disliked story. (Okay, tied.) I'm not surprised; I had been expecting as much. But I said I would finish it, so for better or for worse I will. One chapter left after this one. Thankfully...




Excerpt from notebook:

It had only been a few days since Twilight had wronged me in the simplest of ways and for the briefest of times I had deliberated in which direction to go. I was not always evil, as I’m sure you’ll all come to call me when the dust settles and the bodies are removed. I still don’t consider myself some element of chaos; as good as I might wield it. It has been nothing more than a tool to me and I have changed the way I’ve used it, time and again. I have never been one to stick to basics.

In the several hours that had past since Twilight usurped me in one of the more precious moments of my life, I had consoled my overwhelming anguish with my colt friend from school. We had been friends. We had been such good friends and it would still take me time before I realized that our time together had been spent with each other and no one else. In my youthfulness I had thought nothing of it. The same level of concentration he must have spent deliberating what kind of cutie-mark was surely heading his way… and not the heavy wheel of some carriage rolling over his skull.

We can’t predict life, but we can prepare for it. Sure we can. Possibilities can be predicted. Possibilities can be planned to a tee. If you have the time, that is.


Days had floated by since my short time with Twilight and each hour spent with the only colt that would talk to me seemed to allow me to let go a single piece of my resentment. He had told me there were other things I could do—other avenues of life I could travel down. Since I had been born I had set my sights on one single thing. So knowing THAT IT COULD HAVE BEEN SO MUCH MORE THAN I COULD HAVE POSSIBLY DREAMED still hurt all the way into my bones. It was such deep-seeded hate—such rage. And yet my friend, with each reassuring word he spoke and with each small pat he gave me on the head, seemed to pull me away from that dark and bleak place.

“Why are you crying?” he had asked me that fateful day, in that lonely corner of the schoolyard. “You can’t still be sad about what happened. It wasn’t meant to be and that’s all. You’re still beyond talented—believe me.”

I shook my leaking head. My naïve little leaking head and told him they weren’t tears of sadness at all. They were of joy. And it was because of him that they were there.

When I told him this his cheeks flushed red and he awkwardly glanced around from side to side. I could tell he was touched as the edges of his mouth pulled up into a smile. The next thing I knew he was leaning down and nearly closing his eyes. I might have held most of my emotions in check even before I planned on what I would become, but at that time I still knew what a kiss looked like. My heart must have known it as well, for it came alive in my chest like the wings of a butterfly over fire.

I closed my eyes same as him and the next sound was not one of paradise but of laughter. Cruel, mocking, childish laughter. As I opened my eyes I found my childhood friend backed away a few paces—his flushed face now close to cherry red. His eyes darted from me to the trio of peers standing in a row in the yard. Small smiles tickled curious little faces. Mischievous eyes came alive as the intricate gears working away underneath began to turn.

Children have been known to speak their minds with little reason to care about the feelings of others. Perhaps that’s why I’ve always hated them with such a loathing resolve.

“You were about to kiss her?” the middle one said snidely. “She’s a loser! She’s nobody! She couldn’t even pass a single dumb test!”

My childhood friend debated which direction to go for all of ten seconds and in the years that had past since he’d been buried in the ground I think I’ve come to understand his decision. With just a few words he could have become stuck to me—everyone in our class regarding him the same way as me: weird, boorish, failure, loser. Or with even less words than that he could leave my side and deny everything between us. Join the rest of the normal world and forget about that odd mare that had been down on her luck during one of the most important moments in her life.

I have come to perceive the position I had placed him in and the relative ease it must have been to cast me aside. But at that tender age, I simply could not. It was merely another slight to add to my growing pile and my only feelings at that point were disparaging at best.

The next day in class, when my friend would not even grace the seat next to mine, I found a sudden interest in long and sharp objects in the room. I omitted the pen, the pencil as boring, before settling on the teacher’s thin utility knife she kept on the top of her desk. Ordinarily she only used it to cut large swatches of colored paper apart for arts and crafts, although that day I felt like cutting something else.

When I lodged the sharp end of the tool into my (old) friend’s ear with the use of my magical gifts he crumpled to the floor with blood already pouring down his face. I did not try and mask what I had done, so only moments later was I whisked away for proper punishment. Yet still, in even that short tenuous moment I had felt it. A feeling so great it overshadowed that disparaging one I’d been feeling for too long and brought something new into my body. Something warm. Something thrumming against my heart.

Maybe there actually were a few more things to do in this life, I had thought, as I watched the crimson pool of my own creation start to congeal on the classroom floor.

And to think it was only a taste.

Only a brief whiff of that wonderful feeling I would go on to crave.