The Diary of Discord Wimp

by ThePianoMan

(Intermission) "When I was a boy..."

"...courage under pressure."
-Papa Ernie

INTERMISSION

"What happened?" A disembodied voice asks.

The sound of gears and pneumatics exploding echo across this page and into your imagination. "Sorry! My fault!"

"Again? You're supposed to be writing the story! Giving the people what they want. Do-? Do you not care?"

An aroma teases your senses. You know this smell; it's been following you ever since you were a child. Your favorite shirt, dust that could only belong to home, a comfortable place to slip into the dreams of strangers across the world wide web. You struggle to picture it, but on the page of blurring words you can almost see a little draconequus scraping up the pieces of a broken picture frame in his mismatched hands. "Was I writing the story? Or was it you?"

"Oh, Discord." The disembodied voice sighs with a weight you remember from the last ninety thousand years and almost four years of absence. "Maybe it was you writing the story, and maybe it was me. Maybe I didn't have a voice till I met you."

"Me?" The draconequus asks, astonished. "How could I give a voice? How is that possible if you were the one writing?"

I laugh, a coping gesture in place of the years left to rot. "Every writer starts somewhere. I've always dreamed of galaxies, monsters, and beautiful creatures that I could never describe. Like a painter with no brush, or skill, I lacked the voice and the words to communicate the frantic yarn of imagination unraveling in my mind. Then I met someone I figured could understand the chaos swirling around in this head of mine."

"You're like me?"

"Not exactly." I laughed again. "I don't belong here. Not anymore. There comes a time in a man's life when he's simply got to move on. But, I believe I'll remember you the most. You and I aren't so alike, but I think we're not so different from the tale of the ugly duckling. You know that one?"

His eyes swell with confusion. "You don't believe you're ugly. Do you?"

The sincerity in his voice melts my heart. Fluttershy really did a number on him. "Not anymore, now that I've had time to grow. Maybe not into a swan."

"Into a writer?" Discord looks down through the words, and buried beneath the spelling errors and mistakes of the past, he rescues a little green smartphone. "You don't use this anymore?" He digs deeper, pulling out a grey laptop, and a broken Smith Corona Skywriter.

With as humble of a pride as any, I displayed my new machine. "Brother Typewriter. A work horse. Helped me publish my first professional stories."

"Professional?" His brow furrows and soon his eyes begin to water. "What will happen to us? What will happen to Fluttershy?! My friends... Will you take us with you?"

I kneel beside him, brushing away the loose words to give us space...

"You were never mine to take. You and all your friends belong to another dreamer. Faust made her mark, but I can't stand on her creations like they're my own."

It hurt to see the draconequus cry. "Will you forget us?"

"Never." If he were anything more than just words on a page, I might have hugged him. "So in a way, you and your friends - at least my meager perception of you - will bleed into the nuances of other works. When a character is honest, loyal, generous, laughing, friendly, or kind: their lessons will live on. And you, brave little draconequus, when the orchestras swell and the chaos of infinite possibilities unfolds on the pages of my future works, I'll think of the times I laughed and cried here."

"Where is here?" He asks.

"Another being's dream. An amalgamation of ones and zeroes organized into the delivery method for these words, and the hopeful prose of a community that has emphasized its subject focus in absolute enchantment, for better or worse."

Discord sits between the lines, clutching my old machines. "Where will I go now?" He looks through the screen, at you. "What will they do? Are you just going leave them? Story unfinished?"

I wish I could look at you, the way he did, but I am just the writer and nothing more. "I have more stories to tell. My own characters. Should I leave them waiting?"

He shakes his head, wiping the tears away. "No. It wouldn't be fair to them. Or you! But... Can they wait a little longer?"

"How long are we talking." I ask.

"Long enough for one more story. A short one. I promise, I won't ask for more."

Thinking over it, I couldn't help but smile. "Alright. Follow me." A door appears before us. A mirage? A split idea? Where did it lead? I took one look at the brass 23 nailed to the wood panel door. I remembered, and I led him through. On the other side was a relatively small room. There was space enough for a bed, an old desk, a busted television set, a dresser topped with assorted toys and Legos, and a bookshelf overflowing with novels of adventure, fantasy, and space.

"Up on the bed," I pull back the green comforter and sheets, let him scurry up, and tuck him in.

"Wow. Was this your room?"

"It was. No more." I pull up the swivel chair from the desk and take a seat beside the bed. "Been keeping it around. Just long enough to put all the little unresolved pieces to rest. And I'm afraid, you may be the last one."

He nods, and maybe he understood. "If you don't mind. Could you reuse this story?"

"Reuse it?" I ask.

"Yeah. Maybe my friends and I don't belong to you, but maybe some of your own characters could enjoy the adventure? New friends?"

"What an idea!" I pat his head. He's already drowsy but struggles to remain awake and listen. "Maybe I'll give some new friends this adventure."

Discord looks over my shoulder at you. "And them? Will you help them find it?"

"No." I admit, stricken by melancholy and a twitch of fear. "If anything comes of it, I believe it should take flight on its own merit and not on the wings of an empty promise I cannot keep. If they find it, and they remember, I'd be glad to hear from them."

"What if you don't?"

I look up beyond him, out the window. There I see them all, everypony. Faces from almost a decade of something I knew I would always remember as uniquely special. "Such is life. Sometimes that's the way it is. Understand?"

"Do you?"

"I believe I do, yes."

"Okay." He stretches into a yawn and rests his head upon the pillow. "One more story?"

I lean back in the chair and pull out my typewriter. What shall it be? "How 'bout a bedtime story?"

The little draconequus tiredly smiles. "As long as my friends are there."

"They will be." It surprised me to feel warm droplets running down my own cheeks. I wiped them away. "They will be. Now, are you ready?"

He hums in approval.

"Alright." I begin to type. "Once upon a time..."

Author's Note:

Comments

[Spiritofchaos227]

OOOOhhhh, what a treat! I certainly didn't expect this, but you won't find me complaining. I have plenty of fond memories of this story; I'm glad for an excuse to reread it, and I'm certainly happy to hear we could get an ending for it. A highschool setting, wacky friendship misadventures, Discord having the best mom in the universe, a changeling conspiracy...I was obsessed with this story in middle school, and now I get to enjoy it all over again in college.

Seems like you're doing professional writing now! Congrats; if I'm lucky enough to run into your work in the wild, I hope I can find that little hint of Discord's influence and say "Hey! It's that guy from that fanfic I liked! Good to see ya!"

Whatever happens next, I'm excited to see it!