Celestia sits at a bar and drinks, stuck in a new routine, dreading the morning sun.
Big thanks to my editors Titanium Dragon, FloydienSlip, and prereader Vengeful Spirit.
Chapters (1)
- Member Since 21st Mar, 2012
- offline last seen Apr 2nd, 2016
RainbowBob
Are you ready, kids? Also a thingy so my pizza funds don't run out anytime soon.
RainbowBob
Joined 21st Mar, 2012 ·
Offline
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She just needed a clean, well-lit place to drink.
I liked it. +A
6238671
Oh man, so critical!
This isn't about Dim Sum. I am disappoint, son.
Rather sad. I wonder when this story takes place.
6238797
In a time in a place in a setting that eventually faded away to be replaced again and again and again.
...I've never seen you this grounded, Bob.
Are you all right?
6238987
My parents took away my video games and I'm stuck in my room. So no, I'm not alright. I'm grounded.
The needle returns to the start of the song, and we all sing along like before.
Awesome piece, Bobby-boy.
Bro... This was such a... I'm not sure what word I'm looking for, but it's definitely a take on immortality that you don't talk about.
That sentence alone made this story reach a whole new level of sad and sobriety. Because Celestia must have things eventually get stale for her after centuries of living... Maybe this is why she likes cake so much. Because she knows that one day she won't like it like she used to and she just wants to enjoy it before it's too late.
Well, I feel tone and prose were quite right for the story. Great job!
A strangely sober story from the great and often strange mind of RainbowBob. Very well done.
Damn. This makes me want to watch the sunset, or moonrise, or both, and think. Not too many stories do that.
Good job, Bob!
However, I noticed a few things:
Missed your period.
Missed your space.
Zero need for zero.
Have a fave anyhow.
6239392
Our little Boblet is preggers.
Routine. The worst thing that can happen indeed, as it sucks to joy out of everything after a time.
Kind of overdone. I loved Celestia personifying everything around her, but I think you did too good a job of capturing the atmosphere of toil and drudgery. Reading this felt like a slog, especially the philosophizing. Though going by the other reactions, maybe that's just me.
Bob, this reminds me of when I was a kid.
I was about fifteen or sixteen, and I wanted to be a sailor, but my dad kept telling me that I would get sick out in the ocean, so we stuck with fresh waters where we spent many days of the summer rowing our canoe upriver. We lived in a heavily forested area, somewhere between Mississippi and the fourth rock from the sun and would pass the time while on the river telling stories like this one, except we had to make them up as we went along because at that point in my life I had only done so much so I didn't have a lot of experiences to talk to my dad about, who was nice by lumberjack standards.
One day, sometime between four in the afternoon and seven in the evening, we took a detour while on our way from a small town to the north back home, and after awhile we came upon several minor settlements along the riverside, although many of these log cabins were abandoned at the turn of the millennium and were mostly nests and graveyards for mammals and birds at this point. The air around us was humid, heavy, almost blinding, as if the clouds had come down to earth to say hello. The trees were stretching their arms out which were covered in primitive clothe, supposedly what was once the skin of soldiers who committed atrocities while stationed in the Philippines, and my dad argued the skin was Spanish because they were holding what was rightfully ours and I argued back that there's no proof the trees were wearing skins that were from the Philippines, but more likely from Ireland.
As the sun was nearing its daily demise, which meant this must've been close to seven since the night didn't come around until late in the evening, I realized that my dad was no longer at the tail end of the boat, and his oar was gone too, and it had finally occurred to me that the boat had stopped moving while the river continues its slow crawl toward the sea that was way too distant to get to within a day. The canoe remained stationary while a nebulous body of water and bugs tried to choke me, and I had no choice but to lean over the side of the boat to puke out insects that made their way into my mouth and down my throat, making clicking sounds and an occasional crunch that should've killed me.
I looked down through the surface of the water, my vomit which had some unnerving black and brown mixed in with the green was piercing the water's depths like airborne torpedoes which had exploded on impact, and I saw that fish were swimming past my boat while I remained still like a heavy stone when faced with daring opposition. The fish were unnatural shades of blue and silver, making their way through a deathly black abyss, and I reached out through the surface to grab one of the fish but I became unbalanced and went over the side of the canoe, only to be stuck in a conversation with my fiancee's brother who was yammering about a particularly bad toothache he kept having and secretly ranting about how his sister decided to marry a bum like me and how 1914 couldn't get any worse.
What do you think happened to me?
Huh. Well, that was a thing.
This was depressing.
I reviewed this! Um, over a year ago. But since you left Fimfiction in 2016 anyway, I suppose that isn't a big deal.
Anyway, in short: it's nicely written and I like the bartender OC, but Celestia seems too far removed from her canon character for me to really enjoy this.