This is chaotic, absurdist fiction. Or true art. Or utter garbage. You decide! Warning: may actually contain meaning.
Those who came here for Derpestia or Derpy, skip to Chapter Zero.
[trigger warning: don't lose your way]
This is a tail of fate and freedom, yet another iteration of the Myss of Sysiphus, the Equine Comedy perpetuating itself: with no end in sight there, is only the journey. Will Derpy and Celestia's Love, Friendship, Agape and Storge prebail against the B.R.o.T.H.? Will Truth, Justice, and the Equestrian Way win against the Forces of Evil? Whatever happens, don't stop beliebing; hold on to that feeling, you screenlight poeple!
My first story in this continuity. Apologies, but I'm not a Nobel-Prize worthy writer—yet. Even my summaries are still imperfect, so apologies for that too. This story's a bit of a slow starter, but I promise it gets better after Chapter X—which I haven't written yet, I'll replace "X" with the right number once we get there, together, dear reader, you and me. Of course, if you don't like it, please don't read it; I do not wish to inflict needles suffering on fellow sentient beings—I hope that, in some parallel universe, a pony is reading this.
This broth is owned by too many cooks for me to list or even care, so sue me. Yeah, I'm not even listing the proofreaders, they knew what they were getting into when they signed on for this mission; I'll remember them so you don't have to.
Currently being rewritten: from its broken fragments will be forged a newer, better, successor story, like Anduril seceded Narsil. Indeed, the Flame of the West will succeed the Sun/Moon upon their ascension. But that is a story for another story.
Tagged "teen" for adolescent humour and juvenile taste. Not to be cofused with Juvenalian Satire... or is it? (DUN DUN DUUUUN!)
I don't believe you are serious.
Did this fic just asplode through moderation not even caring about the eyes it burned along the way?
5380698 Oh, but I am sooooooo very serious. Look at my face: ಠ_ಠ This is the face of utter seriosity.
How could you question my serialousness? 
5380935 Sometimes art requires sacrifices! Especially those of other people!
So...trollfic anyone?
5381121 I'd like to think of it as more of a post-modern meta-literary experiment.
I can't tell if this is a travesty or genius.
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5381305 Well, it is very bitter.
5381267
It is.
5381132
It is not always considered, while dancing, to check the strings, though one might be blamed over the other. Instead they turn away. And how solemnly begin the redactive foibles. Through chanvey, through flen and screaming roulth, they press their futile mouths. Who thereafter could say that? In the end, the erudite drops are counted.
Earns a thumbskew.
There's trollfics, and then there's this.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is the masterpiece that Fimfiction has been prophesied for ages! Forget Biblical Monsters. Forget Vinyl Scratch and Octavia: University Days. Forget For the Ones we Love. This is true art! I demand you all jizz every pair of pants you have in anticipation of the amazing revolutionary enlightenment this story has brought us.
P.S. You're still missing the "deleted comments" red flag.
5469252
I was actually planning to do that from the next chapter onwards, mostly by asking everyone to say very nice things about the story and to each other, with heavy usage of >> , and then arbitrarily deleting here and there.
This...
Huh. I really enjoyed this chapter, and not just as a trollfic. She put on sunscreen...
Based on the comments, I can only assume that you edited the story after it ws published to make it coherent, because this makes sense. And I love it.
Okay, is there a game in your blog where you ask everyone to call this story shit and dislike it?
Because unless you edited it heavily, that's the only explanation I can think of. This story is beautiful.
5510046 The point is to hit as many badfic patterns as possible while still keeping this somewhat readable and fun.
5512223 I don't know enough badfic patterns to judge as to whether you succeed, but DAMN this stuff makes me contemplative.
When all that's expected of you is a smile, does anything you do actually matter? Is it absurd to study friendship as a science rather than value it as a fact of life, or is turning friendship into math not only feasible, but desirable? When the big things come crashing down on you, do the little things cease to be as important as they had been?
This story isn't the best story for thinking about stuff, but I imagine that in a year, it'll come to mind readily.
This is bizarrely brilliant. Or brilliantly bizarre? Or maybe it's just almost, but not quite, entirely unlike some other unspecified referent. I'll go with "somethingly something something." Definitely somethingy enough to keep an eye on.