A collection of poems and stories too short to exist on their own.
This will be a place for me to post my short stories that are too short to exist on their own, as well as poems that I create. The subjects can be random and will probably vary greatly. Most of these will relate to MLP in one way or another.
If I write about a certain character here often enough, I will add their tag. Until then, the "Other" tag will have to do.
The flourish of trumpets assail the air as the gates open to the large town. Citizens gather along the main road to watch the parade. As the paraders pass through the gates, the cheering turns to quiet murmuring, as they walk solemnly past without distracting their gaze.
What greeted the eyes of the citizens shocked and scared them. It was nothing they expected it to be. No heads were held high, no victorious cheers or shouts were heard, only the quiet shuffling of hooves down the road.
The polished gold armor no longer challenged the sun with its sheen and brightness. Now, it was faded and worn, tarnished by filth and grit and mud, along with the unmistakable stain of crimson known as blood. Beaten and shaken, the soldiers trot down the road without coordination or purpose. Their heads are bowed as they constantly stared down and ahead.
Much fewer than who had left had returned, and many ponies began scanning the large mob, praying to Celestia that their family member or friend was not among those who had died. Many were wounded, but all of them bore scars. Maybe not physically, but they carried them regardless.
Some ponies approached the soldiers and inquired of their friends or loved ones. Most of these encounters resulted in the soldiers wordlessly looking away. How could they tell them that their sons or daughters were killed or horribly mauled?
Some of the citizens begun to muse amongst themselves. Claiming that this campaign was doomed from the start. Stating that it was a waste of their tax money, a waste of life, a waste of time.
More than a few soldiers became enraged after hearing these ramblings. Storming up to citizens angrily, screaming into their faces. Screaming that without them, the town would be an undefended, lawless hell-hole. They were enraged not because they supposedly wasted money or time, but because the citizens believed it was a lost cause. That their friends and comrades had died in vain, had died for nothing.
The soldiers vehemently denied this. Every life lost did not die in vain, every life had contributed, every life had helped to fight against the griffon army.
So they said, even though they had been defeated in their last battle. The griffon oppressors were still at large, their attack having failed. Forced to retreat, being driven from the land that was rightfully theirs. The hollow and broken shell of an army’s former glory and strength.
Poems should not talk about bad things They should talk about nice things Like rainbows, gumdrops, and sugarplums And describe a place where all animals have wings
A poem like that, would be to many ponies, fitting But poems like that dull my senses and bore my mind I'm too serious, too grim, to avidly enjoy a poem like that while I'm sitting Why not talk about the bad things too? For in those, some truth you'll find
I have broken the biggest rule in our society I have broken away and rejected conformity I will talk and write about bad things I will not write of sugary sweets
From our birth we have learned to be "normal" and assimilate Some have found a way to be different, yet escape ridicule Others stay within the crowd, then break away suddenly For they have been individuals longer than anypony could guess
To the rest, my pity goes out to them Turned into a mindless, easily manipulated drove On the tree of conformity, these ponies form the mighty stem The others are branches, to be lopped off and thrown to the stove
Before I'm lopped off and burned in the fire I would like to fulfill at least one desire I want to talk about the bad things Like the evil things that lurk in the mire
I want to talk about the bad things yes I do Even though they are bad, they are also true Such things like poverty, starvation, war, and dying Those who say they don't exist are lying
Do not be blinded by the candy-coated lies Bad things are everywhere and need to be known How else can they be addressed or solved? Nothing is perfect under the world's endless skies
In the end nothing really matters Ashes to ashes, dust to dust As individuals we are meaningless to the world The world is harsh and uncaring, realize this we must
Nature is our greatest friend But also our greatest foe It gives us grief and woe Then happiness round the bend
For some, the darkness of our world is too much They tell themselves lies of perfection and peace Creating a fantasy world of sugar and spice While in reality, the world is not that nice
-Author unknown. Apparently a cynic of Equestria's supposedly utopian society.
I’m a simple pony, there is little that I want I enjoy my time alone writing and thinking But I cannot rid myself of this strange feeling Like a changeling, it shifts and leaves me reeling
I’m lonely and I acknowledge this fact Never before has it bothered me, except for now Now I feel empty and incomplete, unsatisfied I look with envy upon couples, wishing for what they have
Wishing for companionship on a more intimate level Wishing like a stupid fool for what is called “love”
I scoff at myself and my own longing and thoughts ‘Tis impractical for me, says my brain coldly Don’t deny yourself of what you need, my heart counters Torn and divided, I sit and do nothing with emotions floundering
I desire to love and be loved by another on one hand Yet, on the other I wish to just simply be left alone Contradictions upon contradictions fill my head like sand Leaving me to be confused and saddened
I think of having a lover, and my emotions well up Threatening to overthrow the dam of my composure
Alone I sit now, feeling truly lonely for the first time Longing for a companion, I softly cry to myself Wallowing in pity, I tell myself to pull it together How can I? I’ve never fallen apart like this before
Members of the female gender frighten me so The fear of rejection is strong and makes me tremble My fear is only magnified by my shy traits Feeling awkward, I resolve to approach one
I found one, who I think matches my personality I cannot rid her of my mind, I will ask her soon
Oh happy joy, I dared to ask her to a date Stuttering over myself I asked her, as she smiled She accepted and my heart flew to new heights Happily I went on my way, awaiting the day
The day after, she approached me, and elated I still was Afterwards, my thoughts crashed to the ground like a stone Her answer was premature she said, not quite ready she stated I replied that it was fine, and it was, but still my spirits sank
Thoughts of failure and ineptitude swirled in my mind Like angry bees, they stung at my pride and my esteem
So now here I sit once more, alone and wanting Wanting to be alone yet not wanting to be alone Being happy while being sad simultaneously I dare not reach out again, for the bees still swarm
In time I will try again, but why do I act this way? Why do I have these thoughts and feelings? Why am I so confused and lost in this world? And why must love be such a paradox?
Woe be upon thou who open this book Beware the screams and wails of those who are damned Cursed thou shall be, after taking thine first look Tarried and hounded until thy senses are bland
Mine own greed hath caused me to fall A pursuit of things not meant to be seen A vicious she-wolf that devours all Hath plunged me into this hellish dream
Fly up to Paradise, the land of eternal salvation Power that we are not meant to control Or fall to Tartarus, the plane of eternal damnation Broken faith and sin shall stain the soul
Choice, and your choices alone shall carve out your fate
Quickly, turn back now, for thou it is not yet too late
The ever fleeting and ongoing flow Silently it passes us by, exerting its influence on all Steadily and incessantly this wind shall blow Nothing can stop it, not man, beast, nor wall
Time is an abstract concept, faceless and indifferent Caring not for the weeping of those who've loved and lost It wears away stone and earth, humbling what was magnificent While it measures the period between summer and frost
Everyone has a watch, not knowing when it will expire Brief or long, time marches at any pace it pleases Endlessly it extends, for it is a never-ending mire We admire and fear it, like some of the most hideous diseases
Yes it's true, that nothing lasts forever and we shall fall
But isn't that the point, for time will always outlast all
Run little ones, run little ones, run away Into a world filled with dreams and desires Run little ones, run little ones, far away Go to the land of rest for those who are tired
Here you will be happy, and here you will play Here you will be safe, and here you will stay
Run little ones, run little ones, run away Away from your fears and your grief Run little ones, run little ones, far away To a place you can count fall, leaf by leaf
In this world you will conquer your fear And never again will you shed a tear
Hurry little ones, hurry little ones, hurry here Follow the path and from it do not stray Hurry little ones, hurry little ones, hurry here Don't lose your way, or that'll ruin your day
The place you travel to is filled with countless wonders Here you will experience the most ultimate of splendors
Run little ones, run little ones, run away Away from the world that feared and loathed you Run little ones, run little ones, far away Away from the bodies and the lives you once had
Here you are happy, and here is where you play Here you are safe, and forever here you shall stay
A great white expanse filled with a bright light With no walls, ceilings, or floors, it stretches endlessly A fresh canvas, a blank page, this is the imagination
A world you can create and mold how you so choose Nothing can limit you while you are in the confines of your mind While we wonder what could lay at the source of this great gift
Picture an antique door in the great white expanse No one knows what's behind it, we can only dream and imagine The door to our subconscious has never been opened and explored
It's a great mystery that irks all civilized and educated minds What is behind that door? Is there dark, or is there light? What could we learn about ourselves in this unknown realm?
Perhaps a few have seen what lies on the other side Those with fragmented minds and unearthly thoughts Seeing things not meant to be seen, and slipped into insanity
There are many things that we shall never fully understand Yet we are always searching, searching for answers we shouldn't be We all have this deep desire to know everything, even if it's impossible
Is it possible that this search makes us all mad and blind? If so, will this lead to the destruction of all intelligent life? If this is really true, is this great gift actually a curse?
These are the things that fill my life. A never ending cycle of monotonous events day in and day out. I wake up, go to work, then go to bed. This repeats for five days at a time before the weekend arrives. Said weekend isn’t much different. Wake up, attempt to socialize with other ponies, fail at that, mope about, do nothing, and back to bed.
Many times I have wondered what the point of getting out of bed was, since all that greeted me each day was more of the same. I go to work every single day, acting cheerful and smiling all the while, performing a show for the customers and my co-workers. I appear happy when I’m not, and it eats away at me. My head swirls inside contradictions and paradoxes whilst I cry when I smile.
By now, everypony who is reading this is probably yelling at me.
“Get over it, work is boring.”
“Go do something instead of moping and sitting around doing nothing.”
“Change won’t happen on it’s own.”
“Stop being such a crybaby, suck it up.”
To them, I say, “You try being depressed. Then you’d know it isn’t that simple.”
Clinical depression. I will not lie, when I learned that this was a diagnosable ailment, I about laughed my flank off. That was before though, now I can see how and why. It cripples and paralyzes all in its grasp.
I no longer find joy in things I once did, so I stopped doing them. I can barely sleep, as my mind is always active, never ceasing its blasted functions. I never feel happy, only sad and lonely. Even the company of my friends and family do nothing to help me. All I can do is put on a fake smile and say everything is alright, even if it’s not.
Where I once saw good and hope, I only see countless imperfections, numerous mistakes I have made, and how it could all go bad or wrong.
I fear my family and friends suspect that something is amiss. I have become a fair bit more secluded than my usual self, and I think my parents have heard me crying hysterically more than once late at night. The last thing I want is for them to drag me to a doctor and force-feed me happy pills. Living a life through false happiness sounds like a hell in of itself, in addition to having ponies constantly fawning over me. To make sure I was happy, that I felt like I was worth something, that I mattered, and to make sure I was taking my medication.
Fuck that shit.
I already know I’m a worthless mare who wouldn’t be missed. They could easily find somepony else to replace my spot in the store. I don’t matter. All my existence is, is a name, a number, a face, and a birth certificate.
Think about it, the planet we live on is huge. On top of that, our planet spins in a great expanse so vast we cannot comprehend it. Ponies and other creatures are born and die every single damn day. Who would notice or care if another one died today? Honestly in the grand scheme of things, we are all irevelant insignificant life-forms who live and die for no purpose that we can make out, other than for our own pleasure or survival.
What’s the point of this?
This question has kept me awake pondering for more nights than I care to count. If all we do is live for our own pleasure, why do we exist? At the same time, if we no longer find happiness or pleasure in anything, what’s the point of living?
I feel cold, empty inside. I once cared about others, about myself, about living. Now, I can’t even justify getting out of bed to myself anymore. Everything in life is so trivial and meaningless if we’re going to die later down the road anyway.
At first, I was frightened by this lack of feeling. I grew desperate, vainly trying to enjoy things I once did, trying to seduce stallions to feel the warmth of another, and finally I drove myself over the edge. I wanted to feel something, anything. I saw a knife upon the kitchen counter, and you can guess where that led.
I felt pain, but it was something to remind me that I was still here. Eventually, it stopped hurting so much and actually began to feel good. I began enjoying the sensation of agony in my flesh as it turned into pure joy. Pain became my vice, my last remaining source of pleasure left to me in this world. How wet I would get and how hard I came as I masturbated, feeling the searing pleasure of metal slicing through my fur and skin with the sight of my own blood driving me wild.
The first few cuts were easy enough to dismiss to those around me. After my need became greater, so did my cuts. They grew deeper and longer, and were becoming harder to hide. The explanation of falling into a briar bush would no longer work, and my hoodie could only cover so much. I started lying.
Short of telling those around me I was getting mugged or beaten on a regular basis, I just said I was having several unfortunate accidents with sharp objects. Falling on scissors, dropping knives while carrying them, snipping myself with shears at work, and the like.
…
Yeah, I don’t blame them for not believing me. My explanations were more shoddy than a house of cards. Needless to say, drastic measures were taken. All sharp objects around the house, and my place of work, were kept away and out of my reach. Then the forced doctor visits started. One to heal my body, and a shrink to listen to my hormone and depression driven sob stories.
To this day I still feel depressed. I never take any pills they give me, and I am now a master of finding them in my food. They say I’m mentally unstable, a bomb waiting to go off. Maybe they’re right, maybe not.
So now I sit, sitting on my bed whilst writing this. I gaze at the one knife I managed to sneak out and keep hidden this whole time. It gleans malevolently with a few thin trails of crimson. This and my wet sheets are signs of my pleasure that I befit upon myself a few minutes ago.
I grab the knife and stare into the polished and reflective metal. I see my mirror image staring back blankly, through the lines of red. Thoughts enter my mind, sick, evil, unhealthy thoughts. I’m depressed, my life has no meaning, why should I live? It would be so easy to take my own life. One slash across the neck and it would be over in a couple of minutes.
I sit, I stare, I think. I see no reason not to do it, but I hesitate regardless. I ask myself; Is this the answer? Will this solve my problems? Is this the answer I’ve been seeking?
