> Memoirs of a Blank Flank > by SakuraSama > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- > Journal Entry One > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- 4th of Spring, 7 PM Those doctors in Canterlot General don't know anything. My poor mother spends so much money for all these visits, and nothing's helping! I honestly don't know why I even keep going to see Dr. Helping Hoof at all. What's more, he even wants me to start keeping this lame journal. I honestly just don't see the point! I mean, it's not like writing's going to make my cutie mark appear! I guess, if nothing else, I can put everything out on paper. Perhaps then I can make some sense of all of this. I suppose I should start with the basics. My name is Hidden Talent and next week I'll be 27 years old. I'm about average height for a stallion. While I'm not quite as statuesque as my father Best Talent was, at least I still managed to inherit his impressively sized horn and penchant for all kinds of magic. I admit I don't remember as much about my father as I'd like, since he died when I was quite young. The moments I do remember of him are good, though. My mother, Hidden Beauty, has an unfortunate name that doesn't refer to her outside features at all. She is, in fact, quite lovely, both inside and out. Her name refers to her cutie mark and her talent in using her magic to restore objects and artifacts. After Best died, my mother did everything she could to make sure I had the best of everything. She even went to far as to join an adventurer's guild, to give herself easier access to ancient treasures she could restore and sell for loads of bits. I remember her being gone for long periods of time when I was a very young colt, but before long she would return, bits in hoof, willing to buy me anything my little heart desired. Her restoration business was quite lucrative, making it easy for her to live off of her income and support a growing colt by herself. Though both of my parents are both of rather soft pastel color schemes, everyone was surprised at my deep cobalt fur and dark navy mane. My mother proudly compares my look to that of Princess Luna, which is in equal parts flattering and embarrassing. Even if it IS Princess Luna, I don't really like the idea of my mother thinking of me as a mare. I mean, I have a little pride a stallion. I would look a great deal more like the Moon Princess, if not for my vivid fuchsia eyes. I'm not ashamed of my look, but I wish I didn't stand out so much sometimes. Ponies in Canterlot are not afraid to blatantly stare. I know that for a fact. I guess I do keep my mane a bit long, but I think my square jaw and larger horn make it hard for anypony to mistake me for a filly anytime soon. I would trim it, but since I don't go out much except for doctor visits, it seems like a wasted effort. Besides, a short mane really doesn't suit me. I live in Canterlot Heights with my mother (at least until I decide I'm ready to go back to school). Not that I hated school or anything, mind you. If anything, it was the best time of my life. I attend Princess Celestia's School for Talented and Gifted Unicorns, just like Starswirl the Bearded, the Great and Powerful Trixie and Twilight Sparkle. Or at least I used to attend, until the nightmares and stress overcame me. Eventually it got to where I couldn't sleep at night, and was nodding off in all of my classes. My grades took a plummet, and that only drew more attention to the fact something was wrong. Even now, I don't really know how it all happened. My lack of a cutie mark was never really an issue for me before. Now a day hardly passes without me mourning the loss of my future and everything I hold dear because I am a FREAK. A fully grown BLANK FLANK. Dr. Helping Hoof tells me not to say such things, "to avoid negativity" and "find peace in my current situation". That, and that "I must believe to succeed". Well, forgive me if I withhold my enthusiasm. I want to believe that there is still time, that I'm not very sick, cursed or something. That I will wake up tomorrow with my ridiculously late but equally ridiculously awesome cutie mark on my flanks. I'm not even sad to say that any inkling of that hope died a long time ago. It died years ago in that classroom, when I couldn't handle the stares and jeers of my peers and even some of my professors. The questions and comments were innocent enough at first -- "You just have to wait," my so-called friends would say without so much as a thought-- "I'm sure you'll get your cutie mark eventually." Later it was always, " Is there something wrong with you?" and "Are you contagious?" My only eventuality was that I would never have a Cute-ceañera, and that I would be mocked publicly by my own classmates. I hate to even think about what happened. Not that I could really blame them. If I had my cutie mark, I most likely would have done the same. Wow, only my first entry and I've already depressed myself. Maybe I'll have a brighter outlook after a hot meal and some sleep. Maybe I could ask mother if she would see if the market has the new Great and Powerful Trixie Comics available! I'm sure that would cheer me up at least. Perhaps I'll try writing again tomorrow. Signed, Hidden Talent > Journal Entry Two > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- 5th of Spring, 2AM Damn. The nightmares woke me up again. Or rather, I awoke myself with my own screams and my mother gently but urgently prodding me with her magic. She had that sad, worried look that I hate so much as she headed back to bed. She wanted to call Dr. Helping Hoof right away, to take me to Canterlot General right there on the spot. It took about twenty minutes of arguing and the promise I would write in my journal to finally placate her, and send her back to bed. Her exhaustion was visible, her worries beginning to take its toll. I gave Mother the best smile I could manage, to show her I was better, or at least, okay. She gave me a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She reminded me of my promise to write and left, plodding slowly down the hallway of our home back to her own room.. To be honest, I had no intentions of keeping that promise, at least at first. I took a quick shower and even had a cup of warm milk, only lay in bed staring at my bedroom ceiling for an hour. I guess you could say I'm writing more out of desperation than anything else. How pathetic is that? At least no one but myself will actually read this. Mother says I should try to write my night terrors on paper, since I have such a hard time discussing them with anypony. The last pony I want to have to confide in is my mother. I love her and I won't make her worry about me even more than I already have. It looks like I'm keeping my promise to write, whether I want to or not. Maybe Mother is right, I guess it can't hurt to try. It's not like I'm actually going to be sleeping anytime soon. The nightmares usually start out the same, back in my room in the Canterlot School dorms. Things seem initially normal and nothing is amiss, that is until I try to turn on my desk lantern, which ordinarily acts my trusty source of studying light. Now my faithful light is suddenly unresponsive and inert. I naturally began firing up an easy Light spell, only to feel a dull ache at the base of my horn. I only felt this sensation of couple of times back when I was a colt, but I knew quite well that this was a symptom of magical discharge. I never liked the feeling of being powerless, and I never felt more powerless without being able to use my magic. Even though my room had two rather large windows, the room was pitch black, so much so that I couldn't see my hoof in front of my muzzle. It was as if I had been blinded, or sealed off from any source of light. I nervously call out for help, for light, for anypony. I don't hear anything, not even my own voice. I try to get to the door of my bedroom, to get away from the encroaching darkness. For some reason, my foyer, usually hardly big enough for pony to stand in, now seems to go on forever. My only exit is suddenly miles away. Still I run on vainly, feeling my muscles quickly tire. I close my eyes, finally resigning myself to the dark abyss. But the end doesn't come. I slowly lift my head, able to see and hear again. I'm in Advanced Magical Theories class, one of my favorite school subjects. But something is wrong. Everypony is staring at me, some with abject disgust in their eyes, others with acute fear. But all eyes are on me. I flinch, not wanting to make eye contact with anypony, but I can't look away from the mare standing in front of me, her lavender eyes strangely filled with a sort of motherly concern and locked squarely on me. Why does it always have to be her? I started attending school at the same time as Twilight Sparkle, and we shared a few classes, one being Advanced Magical Theories. Every other day of the week I got to stare at the back of her lovely head and silently compete with her for top rankings on class exams. Not this day though. Today Twilight Sparkle was worried about me, worried because in the middle of class, I had attacked another student. I stood there lost in her gaze, unable to speak up on my own behalf. So many things I want to say rush through my mind, but I never manage to force them past my lips. Before I can react, the Royal Canterlot Guard is upon me, trying to subdue me and block my magic with a dampening spell. I struggle against them for a few terrifying moments, using desks to make sure the Guards give me a wide berth. I drop the desks on their heads to buy myself enough time to summon some magic in order to teleport somewhere, anywhere, just away from here. Although I'm unable to think of a destination, I still manage to teleport. The teleportation feels like it's ripping me apart from the inside out. The pain is over as soon as it began, as my hooves come in contact with solid ground, my magical jump complete. I open my eyes this time to a cold, stone clad library. I shivered at the sudden chill in the air around me. The smell of molding paper and wet rotting wood permeate the air. I feel myself being helplessly pulled to a dark, silent area of the knowledge-filled tomb. And then I hear The Voice. That voice, that seemed to echo from the very pages of a certain dark book. The Voice offered me the thing I truly wanted most. The Voice offered me my Cutie Mark. I quickly argued that such powerful magic did not exist, for what magic could conjure up one pony's very destiny? The voice was confident that magicks such as these not only existed, but the words to the spell were on the very pages of that dark book. I heard a voice that wasn't mine ask, "What do I have to do?" The words left my lips, but weren't really my own. The voice was happy, or at least sounded happy. "Just read the words aloud, and use your power," it said. Everything good and sane in me wanted to run away, but I couldn't stop myself. The dark book opened on its own, even turning the page to the correct spell. I don't know how I knew it was the right one, I just knew. I could sense it in my horn. As soon as my eyes lit upon the pages, my mouth began to chant the incantations quickly and involuntarily. I finished, covered in sweat and starting to feel a burning sensation in my flanks. I look back feeling a small blossom of hope at the prospect of getting my Cutie Mark out of all of this, but my hopes are dashed as I see nothing but painful burned flesh where my flanks used to be. Pain drowns out all other thoughts and sounds, though I can clearly still hear The Voice over my torment. The Voice laughs merrily at my agony as I sink to the cold floor. This is usually the point I start screaming and wake myself up. Tonight I had been particularly caught off guard, considering I'd written in my journal yesterday. I was really hoping writing might help. It's not like that stuff ever happened, at least nothing but the classroom incident, of course. I'm pretty sure I would remember engaging with some dark, evil powers, or something like that. At least I think I would remember. I should write about the Classroom Incident as well, but that's WAY too long of a story to tell at five in the morning. I think I'll do a little scavenging around the kitchen and sneak a little of mom's hard cider. She's always holding out on me. HIdden Talent P.S: Hard Cider awlays does the trick. Goodnight Drunk Happy pony > Journal Entry Three: Part One > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- 12th of Spring, 10:30 AM -- Canterlot Heights Train Station I seriously think I must be the most unlucky stallion alive. I can't believe I let Mother talk me into these kinds of things! I need to learn to speak up for myself more. I would rather be at home, out of the public eye, but due to my stupid night terrors, I am waiting at the stupid train station in the stupid morning cold. I have to wear all this annoying clothing as well, like I usually do when I go outside. At least wearing clothing is fairly common, if not standard, in Canterlot. It's not my preference, but it helps when I want to cover my...FREAKISHNESS condition. Ugh. I can feel my mother's eyes boring into the back of my skull right now, but I don't care. I never wanted this and she knows it. She can glare all she wants. I'm going to Ponyville for the summer, but I don't have to like it. The nightmares have returned in full force, but it's only been a week. I wish I could manage this better, or at least, more quietly. While I was still in school, the nightmares were fairly infrequent. I worked my schedule around the problem, using nights to study and stargaze, and sleeping in the early morning hours. Now I hardly want to close my eyes for even a quick nap, for fear of slipping into more subconscious horrors. My mother came to my most recent visit with Dr. Helping Hoof, and proceeded to tell him that the nightmares, the screaming and the insomnia had returned, after almost a year of progress. He grew very concerned at this and suggested that I needed some "time to get away from it all" and relax. I had been getting hardly an hour of sleep each night, the rest of the evening plagued with fear and paranoia, so I wasn't completely against the idea. I desperately need more rest, but spending my entire summer in little, backwater, "who the hoof has even heard of" Ponyville wasn't what I had in mind. What about Las Pegasus? Or even Manehatten? I'm more of a city pony, to be honest. The countryside has sunshine, bugs, dirt and a bunch of other stuff I don't care for. Not to mention there's nothing to do there. I suppose it will be peaceful there, though. Mother says we supposedly have family in Ponyville, some relatives on my father's side who moved there long ago. I'd heard about them when I was much younger, that I had even had a filly cousin there who was about my age. She still lives in Ponyville to this day, but Mother says you'd swear she had just arrived by chariot from Canterlot yesterday. She even has her own shop, which doubles as her living space. Hard to believe she's actually a year younger than me. According to my mother, as soon as Rarity heard where we were visiting from, she extended the invitation immediately. She insisted both my mother and I stay with her at the boutique, my mother for a few days for sightseeing and myself for the remainder of the warm season. She sounds like a nice enough unicorn, but if she's anything like real Canterlot snobs, I doubt we're going to get along very well. Maybe I can find a dark corner to hide in and read until I can finally return home. At least I managed to snag the newest Great and Powerful Trixie comic at the newsstand before we bought our tickets. I want to read it now, but I'm thinking I'll save it for the train ride instead. I wish I had a mastery of my magical talents like Trixie does.Or like my dad, for that matter. Heck, just some confidence wouldn't hurt. Or maybe something to be confident about? I suppose confidence comes easier when you're actually doing something, instead of waiting for your life to start. The train leaving for Ponyville has just arrived, though we still have a bit of time before we need to board. The station isn't overly crowded, but I don't mind boarding last, to avoid any unnecessary attention. I'll find a nice window seat in the back and get some enjoyment out of this forced vacation .Once I'm settled, I can write some more later. Hidden Talent