• Published 21st Nov 2012
  • 1,578 Views, 106 Comments

Growing Carrots - Roobles

An experimental glance into the life of Carrot Top, as a background pony.

  • ...

Stained with dirt.

You wake up.

The air is wet, but warm. Bed delightfully soft and caressing. Very soon, it will be another day of your life. Just dangling, somewhere over the horizon. Waiting on your majesty to raise the sun.

Your sheets are tangled; pillow gracelessly spilled upon the floor.

You must have had a fitful night of sleep, but you don't remember.

You're fixing the sheets now, and it's making you feel better. It clears your head to form their lines. Crafting a peaceful order from the unkempt; gently cover the signs of unrestful nights.

The sun is cresting now, and you smile. It's going to be another wonderful day in your favorite little town.

Savory oats and tastes of carrots. Milk to smooth the flavor. The breakfast you love each and every day. Little, fanciful kisses on your palette, to carry you through your daily labor.

Carrot fragrance swirls with soilage musk, as you part the earth of your morning garden. Pale hooves stained with dirt. Small, wiggling friends, in your garden, on your tools. Eating and excreting your soil, making fertile.

Sweat is on your brow, and your jaw aches with exertion. There's another cramp in your neck, but you keep lifting and turning the soil.

You pluck the weeds that don't belong. Make room for your seeds to grow. Seeds that will develop into something crisp, orange, and plump. Seeds that will bring life to the ponies of the town you love.

There's a commotion off in the distance. It's a shriek of fear or joy. It must be important to somepony, but you keep on digging.

It's not your turn to look yet.

You're walking beside your friend now. Her light blue coat glistens in the afternoon sun, giving a quaint beauty to each articulated move. You're looking at her mane, and you're feeling confused. You don't understand its perfection, how it dances with every step of hoof. You're trying to remember the last time you looked in a mirror. You're trying to picture your own mane, as it once was, just to wonder how it might compare. But your head is hurting now, and you can't quite recall.

Still. Deep inside, you know you're not as lovely as her.

Her mouth is moving now. Her hoof pointing off in the distance; head still bobbing in tune. You can read the enthusiasm gushing from her. You can feel her body just crying out to communicate with you.

But for the life of you, you can't hear a single word.

You're nodding and you're laughing, but you don't know why. Your mouth is moving in that funny way, when no words come out. Your tongue feels numb, and you're gasping for breath. But your eyes twinkle like perfect little gems, and you've got a smile that would make a dentist blush.

You can feel it. You're in the limelight now, and you need to have your best face on.

You're eating the food that's in front of you, wishing you were hungry for it. Wishing it had carrots. Wishing it was something you made.

There are strange ponies sitting at your table, but you're smiling at them anyway. One looks almost familiar to you, just a little different than she's supposed to. Something is off with her cutie mark, and you don't remember her having wings. But you understand that sort of thing. Everypony has her off days.

You want to look for the waiter; want to catch his eye and ask for a box to go.

But you keep smiling. Keep pretending to know the ponies in front of you. Keep pretending you can hear the words they are supposed to say. You do this, because there's a buzz in the air. You can hear the humdrum of ponies enjoying themselves, echoes of phantom conversations that never really existed at all. You do this, because you know something important is about to happen.

You spot the waiter out of the corner of your eye, but you can't look at him directly.

He's holding a platter on his back, passing by that table in the spotlight.

The pink pony is bouncing and laughing. You can hear her voice cutting through the crowd. Shrill and grating, laced with unrequited glee.

You're not surprised when she collides with the waiter. You're not surprised when he stumbles from it, spilling the pitcher he so precariously balanced. You're not surprised when that water cascades right on top of the dangerous, purple unicorn.

But your face is carved in shock, and you're staring. You grimace as steam rises from the unicorn's head, and cower as embers burn within her eyes. To anypony passing by, you're the perfect image of a confused and intrigued mare, caught unaware by a moment of scandal.

But you're feeling bored, and just can't look away.

You really want to get the waiter's attention now. You're tired of sitting at this table, and sick of your undesired food and sick of your undesired company. But as the world focuses on the pink pony's sheepish grin, you know it just doesn't matter any longer.

For a fleeting moment, you're walking the streets again. Alone this time, and you swear you heard mention of the princess.

You're in a crowd, cheering your lungs out at the most exciting thing you've ever seen. Your eyes are deadlocked on the champion, as she's swept away in victor's glory. The stands are wild, streamers clouding up the air, and never have you felt so alive.

But you're still trying not to notice yourself, cheering two rows ahead of you.

And thankfully, she has the courtesy to do the same.

The last fleeting rays of sunlight skitter across your bedroom wall. Illuminating speckles in the autumn air.

There's a bittersweet feeling in your heart.

You tell yourself that you're happy, and that you had another wonderful day in the town you love.

But you're not sure.

When you try to think back on the events, your head begins to hurt. And you just can't recall.

You lift the covers; slide your body across the cold sheets. Your limbs and neck are sore, extra sensitive to the mellow water chill. You tell yourself it must have been another productive day in the garden.

Little doubts peck and chew at the corners of your mind, but you sweep them away. You're happy, and that's final. If it wasn't true, then you wouldn't have a smile on your face. You wouldn't be grinning and chuckling to yourself, hoping to Celestia it doesn't turn into a sob.

The sun is setting, and you don't have much time left if you want to get up before dawn.

You close your eyes.

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