“Do you think it will snow this year, Inky?”
Inky looked up from her work with the same expression she always wore around Pinkie – annoyance tinged with disappointment. Her gaze flicked over to Pinkie, down to the small pile of rocks her sister had managed to collect, then back up. The skin around her eyes tightened, the only sign of her displeasure.
“I think you should stop worrying about the weather, and worry more about your rocks,” she said.
And that ended their conversation for the day.
* * *
“I think the snow would be neat.”
Inky didn’t respond for some time, so long that Pinkie wondered if maybe she hadn’t heard. That would be unusual – normally Inky’s ears were sharper than a bat’s, and ready to pick up the slightest hint of misbehavior from her sisters. Pinkie opened her mouth to try again when Inky suddenly spoke.
“Why do you think that?”
Pinkie’s mouth clopped shut. Inky wasn’t scolding her, or ordering her back to work, or telling her she was a foolish filly with her head in the clouds who would never keep the farm running if she didn’t buckle down and learn some good old-fashioned earth pony discipline.
Or earth pony work ethic.
Or earth pony sense.
Or earth pony stoicism. Whatever that meant.
Inky stared at her, and then she shrugged and returned to her rocks, pushing a tiny piece of brown quartzite into a hole and covering it with dirt. She planted four more stones before Pinkie found her voice.
“Because it’d be pretty! I think?”
Inky snorted. “How would it be pretty? It just covers everything and turns it white. You can’t see the ground or tend your crops if there’s snow everywhere.”
Pinkie looked around at their farm. A thousand shades of grey stared back, a slate rainbow that devoured happiness and joy. Grey clouds smothered them. Grey mountains warded them in. The grey earth stretched away, featureless and plain.
“I just think it’d be nice,” she said. It was too quiet for even Inky to hear, and her sister went back to her work.
* * *
“I heard it might snow tomorrow.”
Inky snorted. It was the closest she ever got to laughter. Her charcoal mane, tied back in a sensible bun, bounced in time with her steps.
“It’s not going to snow tomorrow, Pinkie. It never snows here.”
“But Comet said—”
“Comet is a pegasus. You know you can’t trust them. They’re flighty and shiftless and steal from the earth pony families.”
None of those things were true in Pinkie’s experience, except possibly the flighty part. And so what if Comet had taken some food from their farm? It wasn’t stealing if Pinkie left it out on purpose. She frowned and was about to offer a rebuttal when Inky continued.
“Besides, it’s too warm to snow.” She tilted her head up and sniffed at the air. “And it doesn’t smell like snow.”
Pinkie took a deep breath in through her nose. It was true – the farm smelled like it always did, of wet rock dust and earth pony sweat.
“Maybe it will get colder,” she said. But her voice lacked even the faint conviction borne from foal’s hopes, and her sister didn’t bother to respond.
* * *
“What would you do if it snowed, Inky?”
“Hm? I would clear it away, so we could keep working.” She dug at a soft clump of soil with her hoof, unearthing a large piece of feldspar that had grown over night. She gave it a lick to test for ripeness, nodded, and set it in the cart Pinkie was pulling beside her.
“What if there was so much snow you couldn’t? What if we couldn’t work at all?”
Her sister paused for a moment, as though the question caught her off guard. “Then we’d wait for it to melt.”
“But, uh, what if it never melted?”
“You’re being silly again.” For most ponies, the word ‘silly’ was a term of endearment. For Inky it was not.
“I think if it snowed, I’d come out and play in it all day.” How did you play in snow? Pinkie had never tried, but it seemed more fun than playing with rocks.
Inky stared down at the hole she had started to dig. Her eyes seemed to lose their focus, but before Pinkie could look any closer, she shook her head, and the same old look of annoyed disappointment returned. “You would. That’s why you’ll never run this farm.”
Maybe I don’t want to. She couldn’t say so aloud, of course, but she thought it as hard as she could and wished for snow with her next heartbeat.
* * *
“It’s supposed to snow tonight.”
“I know.” Inky kept her voice down, so as not to wake their parents. “It will probably melt, though, just like last time.”
Pinkie blinked. “You’ve seen snow?”
“Oh yes. The year after you were born, there was a small snowstorm. It covered everything for a few hours before the sun came out and melted it.”
They were silent for a while after that. Pinkie tried to imagine her sister, with her charcoal mane and slate grey coat, walking around in the pure white world.
“Was it fun?” she finally asked.
“Why would it be fun? It’s just snow.”
“Yeah, but you could do anything if it snowed. You wouldn’t have to plant rocks or turn the mill or sweep the path or do anything but play!”
“And who would do your chores for you, hm? Me? Or maybe mother could do them for you?” Inky’s voice dripped with scorn.
“I’d do my chores! Just later.”
“Right, later. After you finished playing.”
Pinkie frowned. Her sister couldn’t see the expression in the darkness of their room, of course, but she had never been one to hide her emotions. “Maybe. Maybe after I played in the snow, I could do your chores, and you could play.”
Inky’s snort sounded from the darkness. “You’re being silly again, Pinkie. Go to bed.”
* * *
The house was silent when Pinkie woke. Silent and bright, filled with brilliant light that streamed in from beyond the curtained windows. She trotted over, curious, and pulled the curtains aside.
The world outside was white. The frosted window concealed the rest.
She dashed down the stairs and out the door. Her sister sat on the porch, a dark blot against the blinding white glare all around. Pinkie scrunched her eyes tight, until after a few moments the glare subsided, and she could open them again.
Fat flakes of snow fell in utter silence all around them. They speckled Inky’s coat and filled the distant air with veils. The mountains were dim white shapes in the distance. The wind smelled like ice. The ground was...
The ground was gone. All the rocks, all the pebbles, all the bare and ugly grey earth was gone, replaced by a thick blanket of snow. The whole world was transformed into something strange, something different.
Something wonderful.
She took a step off the porch and sank to her fetlock in the snow. It crunched quietly beneath her hoof, the loudest sound she had heard since waking up.
“It’s cold,” she mumbled.
“What did you expect, silly?” Inky asked. She didn’t seem to notice the snow on her coat and mane. “Of course it’s cold.”
Pinkie pushed at the snow with her hoof, forming a little mound. New flakes fell upon it, creating odd geometric forms that slowly vanished in the pile. She looked up again, at the alien world.
“It’s so different,” she said. “It’s like the farm is gone.”
Minutes passed before Inky answered.
“I know. It’s beautiful.”
Very nice. Only thing I would recommend, would be to add a blurb at the start of each story with its tags. Otherwise, this looks like it has everything I like about your writing.
Inky, you try so hard to be "sensible", but you're still a foal, full of hope.
Or something. I'm finding it hard to express how this made me feel. It was just... right.
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"overnight"
I love these stories! So sweet and cute and funny. Keep it up!
dashie.mylittlefacewhen.com/media/f/img/mlfw8936-That_is_beautiful.jpg
These little stories are just amazing. So much life and emotion packed in a scant thousand words...
This one fell flat with me. Inky was one dimensional and static until the last line, when she suddenly became two dimensional. In my mind I was periodically saying "be nicer to your sister, you little shit."
The old switcharoo.
Not as impactful as your second story, but a fine narrative in its own right. Inkie doesn't allow herself to entertain the thought of being more than she is, while Pinkie can't help but do so.
Pinkie can bend and twist, but Inkie is brittle and easily broken.
Oooh. This is pretty similar to 1001, but with an ending with hope, not melancholy.
Chpt 4: You'd like the reader to pick up on the fact that Inky is suppressing her feelings earlier, and to have a model of Inky's psychology: what she wants, how she feels about the farm. That isn't there. We see Inky is grouchy, but we can't tell whether it's a bitter-at-the-world grouchy, a moralistic better-than-thou grouchy, or an I'm-just-a-grouch grouchy. It would help to know what Inky thinks the future holds, what she'd expected when she was younger, something so that last line isn't out of nowhere. Because this is fan-fiction, readers won't give you the benefit of the doubt and will at first assume you're writing an unrealistically flat character to fulfill some plot purpose.
This would be a great story to put inside a larger story.
I enjoyed it, but what on Earth was Blinky doing this entire time? You make it sound like Pinkie only has, or bothers, the one sister.
having a disparity between intent and execution here. working in this small a space, and given the nature of the stories you're telling, i feel like you're trying ot channel a Carver-esque minimalism, but misappropriating your description in the other direction. there's a ton in this story that you could have just cut right out - explanations in places where the dialogue and simple bits of description would be so much more meaningful by themselves. consider
versus
i feel the latter is much more impactful - this trend is continued elsewhere, though at risk of being a complete deconstructive stickler, i'll avoid dismantling the whole thing
one of the things you mention right on your user page is that stories about ponies are stories about people - this seems like you're going in the opposite direction. once again, you're over emphasizing the moment of revelation to tie the story up in a nice little conclusion. i feel like human drama is less abrupt than that - albeit, while we're operating in a world of cartoon equines, filled with ridiculous and overblown absolutes, there are lines to be drawn - but i can feel a great deal more meaningful expression seeping out of the crevices of this overemphasis.
when someone publishes a story in a readable format, they might not be looking for direct critique, so i apologize for this sudden unsolicited interest in your short stories. i've just been meaning to read your stuff for a while, and i feel, speaking for myself, that direct response to a work is the best thing it can solicit. if i'm being an annoyance, feel free to tell me.
also, note that all this critique is levelled with the awareness that you're obviously operating on a plain where construction, mechanics, and basic storytelling conceits are not longer items of concern - i wouldn't show up to anyone's page and start harping on an execution of potential if it wasn't a well-documented fact that they could hold their own on the playing field.
final note: curious as an aside that Pinkie's other sister is missing.
i hope they hugged in the snow.
I have read very little of inky. as much of a downer as she is, I do like this version.
Makes it seem as though the hardest shell can be broken with the right tool... and in a small way, that's a beautiful thing.
It strikes a chorde with me is all.
Why didn't you post this on its own, it's fantastic! D:
Inky is so distrustful of Pegasi she doesn't check the weather schedule?
The world needs more happy, wonder-filled people like Pinkie Pie (well, not exactly like Pinkie Pie) We've already seen "Too Many Pinkies."
Two years before Hearthbreakers introduced her properly, you nailed Limestone's personality to a tee
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I appreciate the critique :) And welcome back. Figured I'd find an old comment of yours to respond, and I did appreciate your thoughts.