A Pony's Diary and the Other Stories

by Twily Brony

A Pony's Diary

Prologue

This story has no title, it's just a diary, so I write that. I don't even know what does this diary really want to express or tell. Sometimes, no title would be the best title, just like classic musics, they just have codes. Most time, people cannot tell by words, any language can hardly tell the feelings and experiences of one pony. Just like I can hardly tell my feelings about this story.

I am a writter pony, my name doesn't matter (Well, Fury it is, actually), for I'm just a teller but not the main character in this story. It is a friend of mine, if he would call me a friend too. I am not even the writter of this story. It's a journal of his, what I do is simply sort it, turn the horrible hoofwriting into readable typed words, and I may add some new contents, using my mords, for continuity. And there are a lot of misspellings in his manuscript, I have corrected them all. The tense is confusing sometimes, but most time it's present tense, readable and understandable, so I will leave it be. There is no dates marked in the it, so I added titles such as "day one", "day two"... personally, please allow me, but that's just for being more readable, to let you know they are from different days. I can only recognize that by his hoofwritings. Be sure to know this.

About his story, I know only a few, not more than this journal. First time I met him, it was in a fine day. And the last time, I cannot remember when and where. One day I recieved a journal without dates, and I knew it was him once I opened it, it was a fine day too. He once told me his name, but I didn't hear clearly. Inky Book, i think. I have no idea where he lives, what is he doing. His name was all I know, until I read his story. I have no idea why did he send his journal to me, I was never close to him. Or maybe I was the only one who'd been close to him, I think, he had nopony else except me.

---

Day One

I have no idea where am I, or who am I. I've lost everything, I've lost the quanlity of being a pony. I live in shadows whether I'm sleeping or not. Oh right, speaking of that, sleeping, that is a worthless thing and I have to bear that. Waste of time, sleeping is, also eating is. Is there anything not waste of time in the life?

Life itself is a waste of time. We live in this world, that means we gotta waste our time. Waste or spend, whatever you wanna call it. We spend time doing this and that without a rest, until dust to dust.

We are too busy now. The world is too busy. We no longer have time to listen to the others, the people close to us, or maybe we actually don't want to. Everything is attracting our attentions, and we cannot control them. We more like to accept it, could be anything, but not think. Everything can be sold, even freedom or friendship. It is true that we can not buy freedom using money, but we may sold our freedom cuz of it. And friendship? Now we can buy it, also we can sell it. I feel hopeless about this. I wonder if there are anypony who's struggling, I see none, or I don't know any. They are comfortable, so they woule like to remain the same rather that changing it. No one understand this, and I don't understand people. They say I've read too much, but only I know that's not enough.

Tell me, if I am imagining all of this, tell me I am not the only pony.

The more books I've read, the less I know. The more kind I want to be, the more misunderstanding. Or are you gonna tell me that I am crazy? Hmm... makes sense, cuz I think so, too... After all, I've been locked myself in this cabin for weeks, forgive me (why should I forgive myself? I mean, this is my journal and why am I saying this in MY journal... Oh right, ponies do need forgive themselves sometimes, I wish that could be easier for me, forgiveness... Darn, I waste too much ink in those rubbish words, I should make it brief... ), I can't remember how many weeks exactly, my brain is in a confusion... And I've taken too much black coffee, I hate sugar, it feels like my head is going to blow up. My head is too heavy to take, maybe I should take a mane cut.

I open my window. Sunshine sneaks in, gently caresses me. Ponies now have no appreciate for that any more, or at least the ponies from where I live. It is not a small town as Ponyville, but also not a big city like Manehattan. So this city is fast, growing rapidly, also there are so many ponies who still are kind. That's where I love it. But kind doesn't mean see further, or think deeper. Kind doesn't mean smart. I am not smart, I am just egar to know.

Ponies pay for their promotions, using their money. Their lives is hard too, they gotta raise a family. But I feel confused, and I feer that. What if, poines tell you not to do something, so they can do that? Crowd scares me, their words scare me. I feel like Faust, the famous doctor existed in an old tale, sold his soul to the devil, I want nothing but get drunk, but alchohol will ruin my brain. Eating, drinking, sleeping, talking... they are slow my brain down (but yes, I have to keep this diary), but they never see it. Ponies only ask what, but never ask how and why, until they get a lesson to tell them, how bad friends they were. When they leave me be, when they are busying their own stuffs, as if I've never come to their lives. When they don't share their happiness or sadness to me any more, when they are totally gone from my memory... Tell me what should I do? Tell me, do you have friends who message you couples times a day? Or at least, for days? I haven't get one for weeks, not from my friends. I eagar to tell somepony, but no one there listening. And even if there are, I always want more, that is I want somepony who can get what I mean, who can understand me, not just listen.

That is impossible. A friend told me so. How ironic. She understood, and she didn't.

---

Day Two

Last night, or tonight, I haven't closed my eyes for two or three days, so I can't tell the exact time. Or maybe that's just because of the caffeine, I have no idea. Anyway I've finished a book that night. It's a story about an ancient magician. I kinda like him before the reading, but I've changed my mind. He wants to abandon all the poems, or songs, any kind of verses. He wants to kill all the music. What, do you really think you are a censorship? If you are, then you are too sensitive. And he says that makes us weak. Bah!

Ok, it is night now, confirmed. I rised the curtain. I always keep my curtain drawn when I am... reading or something, to make the room darker. Am I hiding myself? What am I hiding?

Gaint bloody moon, as if there is an evil pony prisoned in it, moaning every night. Maybe he or she is the only pony who can understand me. A dog's barking towards the moon, I have no idea what it's taking about. A thin dog.

I know, I know, I anwser. I know what do I need. I am just waiting for it.

Or you just don't want to? That voice says. And it is right. Deep down I don't want a friend somehow. Why is that? I keep asking myself.

You... You have betrayed once. You regret what you've done. When friendship was there you didn't catch it. What else? You lose your faith in friendship, but you still have hope, dreaming that the friendship will appear itself and save your life. That is your state. You cannot understand a lot of things, why do those grown ups always cheat? They are just cheating for meaningless things. And they sell friendships too. Is the friendship that importnat? You doubt that. They can't see the differences between friendship and partnership, that's what you think. Grown ups told you, that you gain profits from friendship. But deep down you know it's not like that. You refuse to accept what the grown ups told you. You are no longer a colt but you'd like still being childish, to state your opinion, to fight the grown ups' world. That is what you think. People judge so easily, not soon but easily, like you said, they just accept but never ask how and why, so they can hate gryphons, or despise those yaks, they think it's meant to be, born to be. You don't want that. You want ponies be more reasonable, not prejudice any more. They judge just because of several meaningless hearsays and a few provocatice speeches. You don't want to world like this. But you are too weak, you have no idea what to do, how to change. That's why you cry, why you don't want to make friends. You don't accept the grown ups' philosophy, also you have no faith in yourself, never believe in yourself. You know how miserable Cassandra's life is, that's what you are worrying about. And the worst thing is, you will be always worried until the end of life. Once you think about that, you get worrier. You want to let someone know your thoughts, but there is nopony listening, even if there are, they can't help you either. I mean, they can't even show you the way, they can't guild you, make your doubts gone. You need a mentor to tell you everything but there is none, and you can hardly find one. Only thing you can do is waiting, wasting your time. Anyway, you need help ,but you won't ask for it proactively. A prison built by yourself, that is where you live, not this town. The town belongs the them, those poines out there, none of your concern at all.

I trun my eyes to the knife. No, it's too dull... That would be too painful. I should get a scalpel earlier.

I'll leave those thoughts tomorrow, or today, as I said I'm not sure when is it now. I need to sleep...

---

Day Three

The sun hang in the mid of the sky when I woke up, so I guessed it was noon. Gotta make this short, I've spoken too much in the last few days, and being talktive? That's not a good habit.

I met a stranger today. He was a stranger to this town, I could see it, also he acted strangly. I went to countryside to enjoy my afternoon, and I was reading a verse anthology. He showed up, wandered from the other side of the path. He stood there, looked around, trying to pretend that he didn't have any curiosity about me. Stupid. I had already known.

"Hey! " he came closer to me.

Then I dropped down my book. We didn't talk too much. He was stupidly funny, like a corgi. But he is not vulgar as I thought, and he was reasonable, and logical. I think he is an educated. But he talked like the crowd. "They say", they say this, they say that, always "they say".

When I was younger, I had a friend. He told me what exactly should I do, he was not older than me but he acted like my parent. I hate him, and I wanna break every bone of his, which is the thing I should have done at the first time. He doesn't deserve the word, "friend".

---

Day Four

We are alike. Everypony in this world.

Life itself is meaningless, until we give it a meaning. But it's not the life's meaning any more once it is given by us.

That thing I should have done days ago, I still fear to do so. Am I a coward? I fear living, also the death. I need to talk to somepony to save myself. I'm not totally hopeless...

---

Day Five

I met him yesterday. He was surprised at my illness. He thought I was illness.

When I walked in the street, as if everypony knew I am illness, as if they were all looking at me with a strange smile. I ran away from it, hardly to breathe.

Which is ill? Me, or the world? I cannot tell, but they all say it is me. I hate them, I know they always do that. Even if a pony isn't really ill, he would doubt that, because everypony is saying like that. That's how they push many of us into madness. Do you know that neighbor living upstairs? She disappeared last month.

---

Day Six

He saved me today. That stupid corgi writter. I shouldn't call him that. I was outside, had no money, fainted aside, out of hunger, he found me, and we had a lunch. He told me his name is Fury Comedian.

He said his parents wanted him to become a comedian, because that was what his family always did. He said he doesn't have too much vocabularies, because he lived in a circus, but he is a writter now. His family is proud of him, but he doesn't at all.

Yes, said I. I've heard that some liguists said, we don't have to handle too much of that, 1000 ~ 2000 words is totally enough for dailly uses. Fury agreed.

And a journalist is a writter, a novelist is a writter, a poet is a writter too. I said. He agreed. Then I asked him what kind of writter he is. He said he write them all. He gave me some of his essays, I've read, I don't quite like his style, but I admire him. He has friend after all. He has been admitted by the society. And I? Locking myself away, and fighting myself, trying to figure out the life's meaning, fearing something, and hoping something.

The moon is so beautiful tonight. She is sad too, I think, she is always sad. She shows up in the midst of the sky when everypony sleeps down, nopony admires her, even nopony notices her. She can talk to nopony, too. She wants to, but she can't, and maybe, she doesn't dare to even if she could. Who can read her?

Tears... tears are evil, but I'll let them flow this day. Can you hear me? We are the same...

---

Day Seven

Cantorlot has a fashion show. Appleloosa is going to have a festival to celebrate the harvest. The newspaper says so.

None of my concern. All those things are just meaningless, oh well, or at least meaningless to me.

It only have meanings when you are going with your friends. When you can share happiness, when you can laugh together, or laugh at each other. None of them is a good place to go for me, I'd rather not going if I gotta go there alone. Watching movies, taking dinner in restraurant, or attending to a party, that's for the ponies who have friends, only they can really have fun. I won't do any of this, maybe in my whole life. Yes I still have hope, I hope somepony be my friend, but what can hope do if it's just a hope?

I'm not hoping that everytime I need you you are there, I'm not hoping you can always spend time together. I just hope, sometimes, you can spend your time with me... And I think that's not gonna happen. Do you know that, my dear old friends? I don't want you to be always with me, but at least you can send me a mail several days. But, now I have no idea what are yall doin recently, I have no idea where are you all...

Fury, I hope you are here, I hope you could hear me... but no, I think we are not friends, we are just nodding acquaintances, we only talked twice, and now what am I thinking... You don't even know the real me.

Am I self-pitying? I don't want to but it seems I am doing like that. That's because my weakness... must be... But how can I get stronger without any supports from friends...

In the surface of the scalpel's blade, I can see the moon, as bright as always... I am your follower... Take me there, please...

---

Day Eight

Hi, Inky, it's been a while. How are you doin recently? Fury asked.

I didn't anwser him quite a while, then I asked, have you read the Legend of Magic?

Hmm... I think so... You mean the book written by Stardust?

Starburst. And actually the author is Stygain, that is his diary, just published with Starburst's help, I said. So the dialogue ended here. I am pretty sure we are not living in the same world now.

Say, what if Stygain is still the Pony of Shadows? I mean, what if Twilight and the others couldn't save him? What could Stygain do? I mean, if we put ourselves in Twilight's position, or Star Swirl's position, we can easily get the conclusion what we should try to trust the others, try to listen to them, don't judge easily, it is clearly. But, what if we put ourselves in Stygain's position? It seems that he can do nothing but just waiting for the others' rescue, is it? Stygain is the reactive part, and the others are the proactive part, so the Stygain's fate is technically in Twilight's hoof. What if that's not Twilight but Star Swirl? I mean, can Stygain save himself without any help?

I doubt that. Because I am a Stygain, and no Twilight in my life.

I was planing to ask him that, sadly he didn't read the book, and he pretended.

Say, did somepony promised the king of the world only if you pretend? Not just you like that, but them all. I am disappointed about this world.

---

Day Nine

Phathetic.

Phathetic?

Phathetic.

That filly looked at me, anwsered for the last time, then jumped away. Who taught that? I don't even know her.

I started to hate myself. Maybe I am phathetic.

It reminds me a story happened to me, I was in a train. A businespony sat aside. He started to tell a story of his.

I've met a worker before, an old pony, funny and phathetic. I was writing a contract at that time, and then I heard a voice, you misspelt, that's even not a word! I turned my head back, it was the old worker. Haha, how pathetic...

The whole train followed the laugh, including me. I was pretending there. How pathetic I am!

---

Day Ten

I feel guilty.

I wish I am pure evil, then I won't feel guilty at all. Have those evil poines ever feel guilty too? If they do, then they are no evil enough. Nopony. I feel ashamed.

When I was in school, my deskmate told me that if he were my father, he'd like to drown me into the toilet once I was born. I did nothing, as if I heard nothing. And it was decade years ago.

They say love is wise, hatred is foolish. And I hate.

---

Day Eleven

Maybe I should write a novel too, or let this diary be, just like Stygain's. I'll name it A Madpony's Diary, haha...

I feel lonely. I want to be treated nicely. I thought the world can take me in, be a part of them no matter how different I am, but I thought wrong. Only writing can save me. The only reason in my life keep me from suicide is writing. When I write I can only feel a lilttle hope, I wanna write, that's why I haven't die yet.

I want to say, want to talk. Talk to anypony who's reading this. I don't want to die a corpse, I want my name to be known. When they rush into my room and see my corpse, and read my diary, then they will know how much you've done to me, how much you've already hurt to me, they will regret, cos they are the killers.

Know this, if I die one day, you are all killers. For not understanding me, for bullying me, for judging so easily but never hear me. For you push me to the cliff, the edge of life. I die, and also I disgust you.

But when I have spoken enough? I mean I've been silence too long, but in the end there will be nothing to say. Is that the time to die then? What do I do when it comes? I have no idea. I don't fear death. I am alive now, and I don't fear that, how would I fear death? I want to express. And I must, for that's the destiny.

I'm being like this, all because of you.

---

Day Twelve

My grandpa died. Within a year, another family member left too. I didn't know that at all, until a year after that. I didn't even get a mail from them. I was study in Yakyakistan then, far from my hometown. And they just decide for me, to not letting me know. I know, they think that's good for me.

A year after my grandpa's death, I went back to hometown, surprisingly found the truth. The death a year ago, and they kept secret from me, as if I am not a member of them. They blamed me, and questioned, why did you go to so far a place to study? As if I was the one who made a mistake. From that time, I knew, they make mistakes, and I don't have to respect them always. The crowds, which stand for those authorities.

After I knew that they had already sold out everthing belonged to him, I knew there was nothing to keep me here any more. I started to think, that this world we are living, is actually controlled be the others. Everything you know, the way you live, the facts you've seen, all is decided not by yourself. Everything is called "they-told-you". So the world is full of lying, or maybe, itself is a big lie, who knows.

Ponies lie everywhere, Ponies pretend everywhere. Say, if my family do such thing to me, how can I have any courage to get alone with the others? How can I trust the others, to be open to them?

I've read a lot novels. The best thing of writing one is, they will never know if you are writing yourself, or you just make up a ideal pony on your stage. I love this part, so I can hide behind it, and also I can express the real me at the same time. Novelists lie, that's just because their stories maybe fake, but the feelings are real, so a novelist tell more truth than mathematics. Feelings are the most precious thing to us.

I felt no hate, my heart was at peace. Everytime I miss my grandpa, I can let everything go, it seems. I wanted nothing but a fully rest. So I took a rest that night, aside his grave. I couldn't catch it, I couldn't see him for the last time. We were arguing, that was the last time we saw each other. I tried not to let me think about it but I failed. I felt tired, why don't you take me with you? I asked inside. I feel so scared, living in this world, even my own family couldn't trust me... and look at me now, I am useless, totally wasted... I thought like that, falling into sleepness.

Why there are so many stereotypes in this world... Why can't we play nicely... Why do we have to insult each other... Why do you have to hurt, why do we have to cry...

I am just a meaningless one, imprisoned in this pony-shape body. I'm not even sure who am I. Am I even a pony?

---

Day Thirteen

I've been scammed for like a thousand times.

When I studied in Yakyakistan, the school was in a tourism city. More and more ponies travelled there to feel the foreign cultures. It was in the street, a filly asked me if I could borrow her some money, she was a tourist from the equestria and she got lost with her mom, she needed money to buy some food, and find a nice place to spend night. I gave all my money away. I was expecting to spend for the rest days of the month.

A few days later, I met the same situation, but this time it was a little young yak, he looked very poor, dressing rags, beggin me for money. I didn't give her any, and I don't know if I did the right thing. I think, ponies don't like Yakyakistan for no reason. And yaks don't like we ponies for no reason, too. Because that kind of things could happen in any country even like in equestria.

I wanna run away. I can't breathe in this. I don't do it, doesn't mean somepony else won't do, too. Being kind, doesn't mean the others gonna treat you kindly too. This world, drives me crazy. But if I meant to be dead, let my stories be known by others. Let my thoughts be known.

---

Day Fourteen

Ponies cheat everywhere, I once asked why, here is my answer. As we know, we always have our time bullying the others when we were young. And ponies are all the same in every stage of their lives. We lie for the same reason. When we were young, it might be candies, or trying to get the others' attention. When we were no longer young, our desire changed, but the desire is always there. That's why ponies cheat even if they are so called grown ups, businessponies, loveponies, they cheat for the same reason when they were fillies and colts. So do the other evil things. Like I've seen too many haters in this world, too. Just a few evil ponies, even if just a little one, can destory the whole world, so we want all the ponies are kind and nice, but that cannot happen, that's why we hope. But what if we destory ourselves? Then there will be no evil at all, isn't it? Isn't that the utopia we are always looking for?

Celestia's pictures become a product, send to everywhere, hanging in the shop, becoming their advertisements. When Luna came back, more and more medias paid attention to her, but for their own profits. The shops named after them to attract tourists. And so on. The princess of friendship's diary didn't become a textbook, teaching ponies how to make friends, but became a product of entertainment, amusing ponies, making money for the publishers. You tell me, what happened to this world? You may say that's not my concern, but I can tell you, this world is driving everypony into madness. We need calm down and stop amusing ourselves, we need be kind and nice, not judging anypony easily, we need peace. But only a few ponies know this, and maybe less. We haven't learn love and friendship from this, and never will.

I fear this world. I fear myself. For I am weak and I don't know what can I do about all of this. I don't know, what can I do for myself. The best and the worst thing is, I am destroying myself and i am enjoying this.

---

Day Fifteen

Close eyes, in order to open them again. Shut the feelings down, in order to feel again. Once you've done those, the feelings is sharpened, and the eyes will be brighter. So you can see those things that ponies can hardly notice, those tiny things, piece by piece. Once a filly tole me, I remember, It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.

When I was just a colt I always like those fairy tales, but they told me that it's not real. But I still like it now. Ponies can be prisoned by millions of concepts or ideas, so they can not jump out of it, they can't see the scenery outside. So there are racist, trolls, haters. But, meanwhile, I cannot argue with them, because they didn't catch the wind, I mean, they hate something for a reason and that's not their fault. Think about it, yakyakistan's police is almost the worst in the world, I can tell, and I have no words for that. Or maybe, it's just too objective and I am judge easily too. I can not feel sad about the world without feel sad about me. I judge easily too, I know right. The differences between me and them is, I know I am judging, and I won't take that as a conclusion, I know it's just a judgement and it can be right or wrong, it's may not how the things really are. As for them? Uhm, they judge like it's real, and if you have done something out of their surprise, they won't say something is wrong with their judgement, but they will ask, what's wrong with you?

I can see that clearly, but I can not change, or I don't know how. That's the source of my pain, and it never rest until meet the death.

---

(That horizontal rule is added by Inky himself, shown in his diary, noted by Fury Comedian. )

I've heard a tale, that when somepony dies, in the meantime, there will be a star falling from the sky, into the Star Lake. I don't know where are those falling stars fall into. Star Lake, but where is it? Name is just a code, a metaphor of real things existed in our life, just like story is a metaphor of our life, too. Maybe it's just a lake, like a normal lake, waters and trees. Or it's just there are too many falling stars rest there and it looks like a lake. Maybe it's sea size, or maybe ocean size, we call it the lake just because we named it so. Also you can name it another whatelse, but you gotta find a way to call it.

There are too many tales about the Star Lake, millions? Or billions? Those tales is a maze, and you never know what's the fact of it (I believe its existence, do you? ). Like, you can make any wish and the lake will help you make it come true. Or you may become a god-like, like those alicorn princesses, and you can almost do anything you want by its magic. Some tales say it's the original source of any kind of magic, before the universe formed. Nopony has arrived the Star Lake so nopony knows which is real. And, nopony thinks the lake is real, anyway.Every tale has something in common, that is when a pony dies, there will be a star falling into there.

I believe the lake it real, but I'm not if it in real world. You may tarvel through the map until the edge of the world, or you can seek it inside your heart. I perfer the last one, for eye is blind, and one must look with the heart.

What if the only path to it is death? Anyway, I want to find it.

---

Fury Comedian's Note

After reading his diary I think he is mad. There is no such thing like stupid lake existed in this world, but it's also a good joke for relaxing. I hope I can save him, but we seldom meet together, and why he sent his diary to me, it's still a mystery that I can't figure it out.

With his diary, there is another letter found in the mailbox. Inky has given me the copyright of the diary, it's my property now and I can burn or trash it, whatever I want. But I think Inky may want there are more ponies know him, so I decided to publish this without asking. The diary ends here without a sign, there is no start and no ending, but I hope it's not boring. Because every peice of work is the blood bleeding from the author's own heart. And, if you are reading this, Inky, I hope no matter where you are, you can come back. I should have made friendship with you, should have known more about you. And, I hope you can find your Star Lake in your heart peacefully.

Comments

[sunsetsjournal]

Hey Twily, even though this is the first story you've published. you've clearly hit the nail on the head.
I mean, I have never read something more intense and passionate: that's absolutely the way to write: you got my greatest support.