A Very Happy and Sunny Life

by Wearin Hat

Goodbye

Look at it, Booky, a whole town sleeping peacefully. I don’t think I’ve ever stopped to do this before. It’s an odd kind of feeling, you know? Not a single one of them knows that this is even happening. They wouldn’t care anyway, but the fact that my leaving is so poetic hurts me in a way that I’m embarrassed to admit.

Yes, I said poetic.

I’ve lived my entire life in that town (Barring that little trip to Canterlot.) walking the darkened streets unnoticed, existing separate from the rest. I haven’t mattered to anypony in something like twenty years or something (Again, stopped counting.). I’d get up in the mevening and go to work before coming home in the evenoring and go to bed with the townsfolk basically unaware that the night even happened. In fact, if not for that fucking fire then I’m pretty sure I could’ve lived to old age and remained an urban legend.

I’m leaving the same way I lived; unseen and unnoticed.

It’s not like I’m complaining, though. I think it was better that way. I don’t care for any of them and they don’t care for me. So living a social, public life (No matter how much I may have wanted it at times.) would have been a mistake.

Not that it makes this any easier. As happy as I claim to have been in that thing I’ve called a life, I never imagined any exit from my situation would hurt nearly this much. Just a year ago I could’ve done this with no pain in my heart. I would have Shirley and whatever junk I could grab. Now it’s different. Sure, I have you and whatever junk I could grab, but I’ve actually managed to forge some attachments that I have to admit it hurts to sever.

Don’t look at me like that. Just because I feel these things doesn’t mean I’ve given into any changes or anything. I’m still the same old Ipsa Unica who loved his mother with every fiber of his being. That won’t change.

I know I’ve never said anything to it in the past, but as I sit here saying my goodbyes I feel the need to address this thing I have with the Lesbian. It’s a strange thing, I must admit. Ever since I beat the crap out of her she has been a mystifying presence. I’m aware that I didn’t burn that bridge on purpose so as to have access to a potential ally but that doesn’t mean that I hated whatever the crap existed between us. She made for interesting company. I know it seems weird for me to say, but look at it from my point of view. Of the two of us, the Lesbian is the one who contributed to the relationship. I hardly had to do anything. I barely paid attention and it worked fine.

Perhaps worth mentioning is that without her this would’ve been my first time leaving Ponyville. She talked my ear off nonstop on the way to Canterlot, distracting me from the fear that I wasn’t aware was present until much later. Leaving home wasn’t easy, especially with the hindsight that I was within the same city as my father at the time. Imagine what would’ve happened had that whore of his run into me. There’s no way she would’ve allowed me to peacefully be about my own way without seeing that bastard. Had I known he was up there I never would’ve gone. And I suppose a part of me feared that very thing when I sat in the castle unable to sleep. What if somepony recognized me? What if he found out where I was and found me? However, if that truly is the case then why did I wander around aimlessly? After all, wouldn’t that have made me that much easier to find?

I didn’t tell you about that, did I? I know I mentioned roaming the castle at night and seeing Loopty Paratroopa bathing (I mean, honestly, who bathes right next to an open window?). I guess it’s a hard thing to admit when I’m terrified. Especially when I’m talking to somepony I didn’t trust at the time.

Yes, I implicitly trust you now, Booky. Can we please not dwell on it?

As I was saying, the Lesbian made that trip a lot easier than it would have been otherwise. Her presence was hardly pleasing, but I can’t help but feel grateful that she was by my side for the majority of the time.

It is with that sober admission that I feel I will miss having such a presence in the future.

Unlike the vague absence of the Lesbian’s presence, I genuinely feel my heart tug at the knowledge that I will never get to see Rarity again. Though the foal machine herself is a poor example of a female I am willing to tolerate, it is not the pony I will miss. As I’ve stated before, Rarity has a very strong resemblance to Mom, one that I’ve dwelt on at length. Looking at her is almost like looking through a window in time. Her mane, her fur, and even her freaking name are similar. Enough so that being around Rarity almost brought a feeling of complete ease and soothing joy to my very tired heart.

Please notice how I said almost. Though pleasant to an extent, that foal machine certainly had a way of shattering the illusion she unknowingly cast. When Mom would’ve been serene and soft, this blowhard would bemoan something and overstate something else. Where Mom would acknowledge my presence and simply join me in my moment Rarity felt almost compelled to string together piece after piece of flimsy dialogue in attempt to have some horrid form of conversation.

Their likenesses aside, however, it is worth mentioning that, independent of my desire for something I will never have again (Yeah, that old as smoopy-poo dictionary is still paying off!), the time I did spend with that foal machine wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Rather than simply annoy me or attempt to burn me to death like the other foal machines, Rarity actually showed a level of consideration towards me that surprised the crap out of me at first. I mean, she didn’t make trouble, she didn’t make overt judgments, and she kept her opinion to herself. On top of that she strived to be socially acceptable in a way that the Lesbian simply didn’t, displaying her flagrant homosexuality for all to see (Have you seen her mane and tail? Celestia knows I have…likely both as a figure of speech and literally.). To make efforts towards self betterment, no matter the result, is something I find worth acknowledging.

Forgive me, Booky, it seems I’m rambling. Normally I’d stop and…well, if we’re being honest, I typically spend a good deal of time ranting in you. In fact, I can recall a number of times where I’ve simply gone on and on about something simply to make your pages look more impressive upon completion of the entry. However, this isn’t one of those times. This is my final goodbye to a place that has always been my home and to the ponies that I’ve seemingly become somewhat close to. Also, a little bit of padding here and there couldn’t hurt, could it?

The Apple family of Sweet Apple Acres (Y’know, the one with the apples.) is a good example of ponies I admit will leave voids in my life. I should take this moment to mention that each member of the Apple family of Sweet Apple Acres will be leaving their own hole that differs in size to those left by the others of the Apple family of Sweet Apple Acres. And it isn’t like they’ve become like family to me or anything retarded like that. Each Apple has affected me in ways varying from slight to unnoticeable.

Apple Bloom perhaps exemplifies this trait better than the rest of her brood. A filly who has mattered to me no more than the broken pieces of wood that I invariably find every time I step outside my door (Seriously, what is it about being awake during the day that turns the citizens of this town into destructive lunatics?), which, of course, means that she does indeed hold status equal to the monetary value of scrap. I’ve utilized her in the past for my own personal gain and for the purposes of revenge. Though I admit that I’ve done the same for just about everypony in town, this filly does indeed signify something meaningful to me; she was the first of the foals to befriend V.

Allow me to elaborate. While the three idiots that make up the core members of the Cutie Mark Crusaders act as though in unison, I believe I have noted in the past that Apple Bloom is the clear leader of the faction. She is levelheaded (In comparison to Sweetie Belle and Scootapoop.), determined, and realistic (In a way that Sweetie Belle and Scootatoot could learn from.) yet imaginative (In a way that Sweetie Belle and Scootaflute are likely responsible for.) enough to spearhead their activities. Thus it was she who, though not likely the originator of the thought of being friendly, took the initiative and befriended V.

In case you can’t follow that to why this stupid little filly has had any impact on me when all she did was be friends with V, allow me to clarify. You see, while I am indeed the genius who got V into Blossom’s class and set her up for future successes, I am not the one who expanded her social horizons. If anything, I was just as overwhelmed as V (Though for vastly different reasons.). Apple Bloom was the one who proved to both V and me that there were indeed ponies to be trusted.

While Apple Bloom’s impact is quite clear, Applejack’s role isn’t so defined. At different times she has stood across from me as an adversary just to shift into the background and become bystander to my pains only for her to wind up saving me when no other’s would. You being a book and all, you may believe I think highly of the farmer due to her services towards Carty. I do not, however, think such of Applejack as I am firmly under the belief that it is her brother that fixes my dear friend. That being such, you may find yourself asking (Y’know, if you had a mouth, which you don’t.) what exactly has endeared this bitch to me in the slight way she has? To that I’m afraid my answer is unclear.

I know I’m being difficult, Booky, but you have to understand that this crap isn’t what I’m used to writing. Or used to general.

I do not hate Applejack as I do certain other ponies and yet I do not think as fondly of her as I do certain others. In fact, I have cause for both. She dared to stand with her friends when they came to steal that necklace thing away from me and yet she is the one who saved my life. This farmer has straddled the line between friend and foe.

You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her treat any citizen truly favorably. I mean, yeah, she most certainly has her favorites, but Applejack treats half of the town as she does the other half. Not necessarily neutral and yet not manipulative. If I had to label her then I’d have to go with equal opportunity. Yeah, that works. Everypony seems to get more or less the same treatment. Something I respect.

Yes, you read that right. It isn’t easy to be objective yet warm. For her to give me the same hearty greeting she would the Lesbian is something to admire. In fact, she very well may be the ideal example of the kind of foal machine V needs to aim for.

My admiration and respect being noted, the mysterious impact this farmer has left on me is nothing compared to the polarizing affects her brother inspires. He was the first pony in a very long time to earn my respect for the way he handled my business dealings with him. Short, concise, professional, and cautious. Despite what has occurred between us there has never been even a single moment of misunderstanding or confusion between he and I. Big Macintosh knows exactly how to deal with me and in turn is clearly attempting to pass such knowledge onto his more feminine sister.

Believe it or not, Booky, but I don’t want to get into why I almost went gay for him that one time that never happened. Not even a little bit. Although I must commend the big lug for how he handled that situation. He didn’t panic, he didn’t freak out, and he didn’t lose his cool, he simply saw me home and left. I don’t think there’s a word for the kind of pony it takes to do something like that. Even further, if Big Mac really understands me as much as I claim, then he is well aware that my heart holds absolutely no harmony for certain ponies.

As a book you may not understand exactly what that means to us ponies, but allow me to try. Harmony isn’t just an ideal, Booky; it’s a belief, a religion that we all follow in one way or another. Where there are light and fluffy ponies there must also be dark and spiky ponies. To have one without the other is kind of a simplified example of chaos. Day must have night, fire must have water, pain must have pleasure, and smiles must have frowns. Harmony surrounds us, penetrates us, being the source of all that is, was, and will be.

So, you see, my bookish companion, for Macintosh to know that I lack harmonious thoughts and feelings towards a few individuals must make him very brave and courageous. Such a thing makes me dangerous. I freely admit that the scales within me are in no way balanced. It’s why V can’t be allowed to become like me. I’m a threat to anypony who doesn’t get it. Big Mac seems to understand that and acts accordingly. I admire such conviction and yet I hate that he watches me so closely. No action I take is one that isn’t considered. To him I’m like a dangerous insect, thus bringing about the polarity of his affects on me. He treats me the exact way I need and despise to be treated.

Less confusing is Granny Smith. She’s old, withered, likely mythical in nature, and ancient in age. Have I mentioned she’s old? I never made much conversation with this old bitch, but she did mention that, ahem, ”Idn’t he the feller with the strange name and nice ma?” And anypony willing to compliment my mother (Insult to her naming conventions aside.) deserves at least an acknowledgement upon my exit.

Only now do I realize that it’s highly unlikely that I will ever come across a pony that was lucky enough to know my mother ever again. It’s a loss I haven’t even considered. When I speak of her in the future, anypony around to hear will have no clue about who I’m talking about. Difficille Invenies, a stranger’s name in the middle of the depressed ramblings of a despair ridden stallion who has long since given up.

Who am I kidding, Booky? Where I’m going there won’t be anypony around to hear anything. It’s kind of the point.

For reasons I can only assume relating to the dampness on my cheeks I find myself thinking of Rose, Blossom, and that traitorous whore. Bear in mind, please, that I do not spend my time willfully dwelling on any of those three foal machines (Well, to be honest, I do dwell on certain parts of Blossom.). The connection between my tears and those particular ponies is one I am ashamed of and silently mournful over. They were my – no, not mine, they were friends to a colt with a promising future and a happy life.

Before I begin sobbing over these next goodbyes let me make something very clear; past this point I will not speak of, write of, or in any way mention or bring reference to that whore of a deserter. If I have my way then that will be the last I ever think of that accursed bitch.

Moving on, I will start with Rose (Is it Rose or Roseluck? I still haven’t figured that one out.) as we shared less of a connection than Blossom and I. As I’ve mentioned before, she and I ‘bonded’ over the gardening sessions between her mother and my own. Reluctance hardly conveys the way I handled the first few meetings. She was so excited to garden and didn’t care with whom she was gardening. I, on the other hoof, was ecstatic about sharing in one of my dear mother’s favorite activities and couldn’t have cared less about the actual plants. Needless to say she and I didn’t become fast friends, something that changed at the behest of our mothers.

Rose was kind enough for a pony who didn’t really want to speak to me and I must admit that made it just a bit easier in being in her presence. After all, I wasn’t there to hang out with her so I couldn’t have given a flying feather (An expression I find little use for.) about talking to her either. Our ‘connection’ stemmed (See what I did there? Cause if not then this exile is gonna be a long one.) from the interactions that occurred when assisting each other (And by that I mean her assisting me.) with the finer points of gardening. It started with plant related puns, observational humor, and the odd question or two before blossoming (I’m serious, Booky, if you don’t start catching onto these then we’re gonna be miserable.) into a casual friendship.

Mom’s death put a quick stop to our time together. Rose and her mother stopped trying to contact me about two weeks after the funeral. I only ever thought once of her after that and I cannot recall that memory. All I can say is that my mind drifted so far from her that when I started interacting with her flower stand some time ago (Not too long, right around when I was working on winning the Lesbian’s favor, although I must admit that I have continued to not pay attention to passage of time.), it hardly registered with me that this foal machine I was dealing with was one of the very few outside of my mother that brought a smile to that foolish colt’s happy face.

If there’s something notable I must admit will leave a void in me in regards to Rose is the intrigue her status as a double agent of the ever present conspiracy has provided. I mean, I’ve always known about that poorly kept secret. Singular entities cannot command celestial bodies without having some sort of control over fate or some element of divinity to them allowing the prevention or allowance of tragedies and misfortunes that plague lesser creatures. You could say I figured that one out pretty quick. Rose, however, gave new life to that old knowledge. For once in my life that truth stood there, actively working before me. Add on Rose being a double agent and it makes for quite the meal for the mind. Something I have spent many a silent hour brooding upon. So, if nothing more than for entertainment value, she provided something I find disheartened to know my future will lack.

The loss of Blossom is one that quite simply and plainly hurts. I can live without her, that much I believe is clear. It is something I have accomplished my whole life and will continue to do so until the day I drop. Nor is it like I have sought her company like a thirsty pony has a glass of water. In all honesty, my recent dealings with that foal machine have done little to endear her to me. The pain I feel in leaving her behind stems entirely from the filly the undamaged colt once knew. A smile that encouraged one in return, a tempting target for friendly teasing, a true lack of dancing talent if ever there was any, and a true friend to the end that colt took immeasurable value in (Oh, if only that poor kid knew the amazing lumps that particular pony would acquire in her adulthood.). That is the open wound this agony flows from.

Blossom made up a very important part of those three foals that found so much comfort in each other that being inseparable was an understatement. Where the unmentionable one took the lead in their adventures and often sought something to provoke her direction while the happy colt followed closely behind the other two, openly enjoying the passing seconds, the filly that would be schoolteacher provided a brain that separated the bad ideas from the worst while taking great care to make sure that something was learned from every misstep. Both were a part of a tapestry of importance that the colt weaved intricately so that his dreams would come easily and the fears would leave just as swift. In short, they were his best friends. Good friends, friends that defined the term for him. Two parts of a heart made of three.

Is it really fair to say any of that? I mean, it’s pretty obvious how much I’ll miss that filly but it isn’t like Blossom hasn’t been there since the fire. No, she hasn’t really done anything to truly alter my opinion of her, though her giving me a picture of my mother is something I will forever be thankful for. With that in mind, I suppose she hasn’t been utterly useless. She made it quite clear that she was there to support both V and I when school started. I would expect as much of a teacher to a student (Not that I’d know personally.). It’s the added on support she offered me that I probably should bring some attention to.

When V was eating all of my food, Blossom took the care to offer me some breakfast and some quiet company to share in. In fact, it was Blossom who slowed the Nerd to a stop when we were signing V up for school, made that stupid smart idiot question if I was really the one who needed to be involved in those shenanigans. In hindsight, of course, that wasn’t really necessary as V is one of the very best things to ever happen to me (I’d like to think she views me similarly.), but that isn’t the point. When the only other pony even remotely involved in my life was pushing the issue forward, Blossom worried if this was the kind of mess I needed to be a part of. Not for V’s sake; for mine.

I’m quite aware that nopony else will ever see these pages (They had better not, Booky.), but I need to do this, if only for symbolic meaning.

Thank you, Blossom, for bothering to befriend a colt who was terrified of others and for daring to offer that same kindness to a stallion who didn’t deserve it. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. I promise I will never forget that.

And since I’m taking this opportunity to be truly candid and open with my emotions (Horrid things.), I’d like to offer a goodbye to that stallion who gave me flowers that one time. I know it’s a bit overplayed but sometimes it’s the small things you don’t think ponies will even notice that they will always remember.

Wow, Booky, this entry is really getting sad and crap. And it’s only gonna get worse. If I’m going to be saying goodbye to the ponies I believe deserve it then there are two names left that you should’ve been expecting from the start; Octavia and V.

There are some things that just do ‘it’ for some ponies, the way they walk, stand, lie down, dance, flirt, or, in my case, talk, all of which bringing about the exact same emotion for all these different ponies. Just a brief lidded gaze and suddenly that pony’s entire day revolves around that image. They can fight it all they want, that memory, no matter how short or inconsequential drives them to drift off into daydreams and fantasies of those eyes being solely for them, eye contact reserved for them alone. Octavia’s voice does that for me.

You’re already aware of how often these entries make mention of her, but can you imagine that even when I’m not writing in you, I am thinking of that silken tone? I mean, there are rather obvious instances of when I’ve thought of it, but that’s not the point. Those are brought on by urges. What I’m talking about are just errant ideas, theoretical possibilities of what I would do if allowed to hear such a voice for even just a day.

In case this is going directly over your header, I’m trying to say that Octavia means more to me than just carnal sex. This is gonna sound sappy and entirely foreign since it comes from me, but it’s the truth. A truth I’m comfortable admitting to you now. Octavia is the conversation I’ve always dreamed of having. It sure as crap didn’t start out like that. Right after I heard her in the alley that night I simply just could not stop myself from hearing that delicious voice praise me for being a sexual god. She’d sing lofty songs that’d etch the story of my mighty thrusts into the history books, an intimate encounter that would shake the very foundations of society. However, the thing about lust is that you eventually run out of juices, become sore, or become numbed to what excited you before. It was when that happened that my dreams became more and more about what happened before and after the sex. Our dates became more than attempts at losing my virginity.

I find it sad that I realized this too late, after the dating had stopped.

Now, I know what you’re wondering. ‘How in the hay is that something Ipsa Unica legitimately thought?’ Well, my bookish companion, I confess to having asked that very question. I got the answer in the cold silence that followed it. Loneliness is a horrible thing to suddenly find yourself drowning in. In all these years I have ignored it. I had Shirley, Carty, my button collections, and you. Then V came along. She didn’t actually do a whole lot to get rid of the deafening silence (Oh irony, how I wish you’d go away.). V’s very presence is what made me realize just how quiet my house was. Not helping things at all was all the thinking I was doing about Octavia’s voice.

It’s a pure shame that things have happened the way they have, Booky. Octavia made it apparent that she’d be willing to give me another chance. And while I doubt I truly could’ve convinced that foal machine to come over to my side, the fact that I never got to try in earnest is a testament of how much V means to me. Even if it finally manages to kill me, the loneliness that’s crushed me my whole life is worth it if it means V gets to avoid winding up like me.

Still, I suppose I’ll never be able to shake the feeling that Octavia could’ve been the answer to a lot of my problems.

Anyflew, there’s one last pony I must acknowledge before this chapter of my life ends and the next begins.

What is there left to say about this filly that I haven’t already touched upon? She was the catalyst for all of this. I can safely say that my life would barely resemble what it is now if I had simply ignored the box she was hiding in. With me being fully aware of it all, V has changed me. Every step of this arduous journey has been a tortuous and painful experience, but it has altered me forever.

Stupid accidents, outright antagonism (Via everypony’s favorite conspiracy.), natural happenings beyond control, and my own self-destructive actions have left me with physical and emotional scars that will never heal. On top of all that life has seen fit to pepper those tortures with crap meant only to annoy me, depress me, or simply make the whole thing even more unpleasant. And that goes without mentioning the embarrassments I’ve had to suffer. All of that is why, much to my own surprise, I cannot help but admit that my life has been infinitely better thanks to my little friend.

I’ve suffered through my whole life, Booky, pitiable horribleness that has continued unabated to this very moment. Torments that have twisted me into whatever it is you call somepony like me. And I’d do it all again so long as I could have somepony else right there by my side. There is nothing comparable to the searing burn that comes from a cry for help being met by silence.

I know I have a slight tendency to undersell things and I never overdo anything, but I’m being completely honest when I say that being alone has been the absolute worst part of my life. A loving mother, a father who existed, friends that I cherished, a diary that promised tomorrow could be better, I’ve lost it all. Every connection I’ve ever made, gone like a candle in a hurricane. And here I am forsaking even more for the sake a single filly, a little pony who put a smile on a face too used to frowning.

Thank Celestia I have you.

Know that I’m doing this so that V can grow into a pony completely unlike me. I want her to be happy, to have more friends than she knows what to do with, an education that can put this scary world into perspective, and someday a family of her very own. All things I don’t have. I know you understand this, Booky, but I just need to make it as clear as I can. I have the chance to do something right for once. To save the only pony who cares about me from decaying into me.

Rather than bother with a tearful goodbye like I have the others (Minus the tears, for the most part.), I only have one thing to say to the memory of V as I leave forever; thank you for everything, you silly filly.

Alright, that’s it. That’s everypony I felt deserved a farewell. Though I suppose I should wish some more harm to come across that pink idiot at some point in the future. As for that retard with the broken eyes, well, hehe, I don’t really have anything to say in the heat of the moment.

Hehe, get it? Cause I set their house on fire? Aw, you’re no fun.

Well, we’ll have plenty of time to work on that sense of humor in Whitetail Woods, Booky. Onwards!

Comments

[Seether00]

What do you mean that you're leaving?!

V will miss you. Go back!

[Jack Kellar]

It's chapters like these that make you realize how fucked up in the head Ipsa is.

[AK47Productions]

Don't leave Ispa! You're needed to provide my supply of schadenfreude!

[MicNight]

Ispa has been trhough tuff shiy man to be honest who is going to love him for what he does. I dont wherw this might go but if being eaten or jumping off a cliff is like a mercy to thia guy.

[Quaver Ava]

Always those little bits at the end that make you want that next chapter.

[Aurum]

...He actually went and set Derpy's house on fire. I thought for sure something would happen and his plan wouldn't follow through, after all those failed ones.