I use to wonder, you know? Dream I guess you could say, yeah, I use to dream and believe and just throw my hopes up and assume I’ll know what to do, but now…all I want is to sleep, not hope anymore, or think, or believe, I just want some
Great story. Amazing setting I have, but it is now in Hiatus since March 25th, 2014. Expected to recommence within a few months; anyone wanna help?
I look at the stars and hope...
I look into the sky and believe that the world is ready for me, but I know that it's not the case, I know that no one is waiting for me, my friends shared the best of times, and now it's as cold as the shell I feel encased in. I often feel that I have more potential but offer very little gesture beyond my fantasies.
Into the flaming stars and the puffy clouds, I do believe that maybe one day I can see the light at the end of tunnel.
I feel overwhelmed, no, I…I…I’m okay, right? Or why I shouldn’t be? I mean, if not for the sake of myself, than for the sake of ponies around me. I’m okay, I can handle this.
I sit there and watch at the sun burning into a thousand explosions every second of the day until night nestles into the sky.
Wave of defeat, wave of pity, and I’m lost, I don’t understand why the world doesn’t understand the problems that lay beneath me? Why can’t the world take these problems for granted, why can’t the ponies around me take these problems for granted? Why am I taking these problems for granted when they aren’t normal, no…wait, normal? That’s an odd word.
Normal shouldn’t feel this right, normal shouldn’t have to mean that you are an equal with your surroundings, why is normal so different from the unusual?
Unusual…such a work of art when somepony says it, so many variables and theories that watch you as you try to uncover the definition of unusual in your head.
You sit there, you sit there and ponder with the unexplained, you sit there with those starry eyes and watch as the sun burns, the sun burns with a burning passion of harmony and love.
Harmony and love? Such preposterous terms and yet, so thrilling to speak of, or imagine, or gaze to, or fade to, so many meanings to love and loathe for.
Self Loathe, self-hate, self-pity, and self-seduction. Seduction to your own destruction.
What makes somepony love to watch their minds topple over their own pity?
Why won’t anypony understand? Why won’t anything understand, the world is crying, the world is spinning and the cries grow older, why can’t I cry?
I have to be stronger, I can’t go back, I have to be better, like a solider that marches away, I have to be better for worse, its like I'm minus something, you know?
I paint myself with self-guilt, I paint myself with hate, and why can’t I tell my friends that I hate them as much as I hate myself.
The sun beams out and brightens up the light in my darkness, the light shines out the cold black, and the ponies that call down upon myself are just plain noise.
The hollow digs me under, and cover me with dirt. The darkness covers me with Tartarus, while the bleak monotonous drone tears me into asunder. The glooming gaze of night sets in and I’m stuck with those jarring thoughts of emptiness.
The splitting, distorted thoughts still linger and tear my head into pieces, my brain feels cooked and burnt to a crisp while the palm of my hooves are stained and dirtied with mud.
Shame on you.
I look at what could have been, I look at my friends and think how great they are and what am I to them? It’s easy to think positive just as it is easy to think of yourself as negativity, you can try and scan the errors of your wrong doings over and over until you feel satisfied, but in the end what do you achieve? What do you gain besides that self-pity?
The old stories of the great Nightmare Moon were childish and fun to hear as you were put to bed, but they were soon dismissed as fairy tales after a while.
You’re self-esteem and your courage to bring about your personal weaknesses is delusional and a complete ploy to grow up, but really…
See? I think too much, maybe not somepony like Twilight Sparkle, but I over exaggerate on a few things with myself. Whether it be my family, my body, my looks, or my voice. That damn southern accent, gosh I hate it. I just hate it, I even make up words or slangs as I go along and it pains every time I hear somepony take a crack at my accent. I can’t help it, and I can’t stop what I’ve been doing for so long. These days, my family just bores me and my friends seem repetitive.
I remember the days when I use to be just free, and do whatever I felt like doing, or ask anypony around to give me some insight on whatever they were doing, or teach me something new that never stuck with the family trade that we all became so accustomed to. I was always fond of Rarity and Sweetie Belle, how easy and more simple their lives must seem, all they focus on is silly clothes and that damn cat I never liked, but none of them would ever know about it. They probably wondered the same thing about us, and how we look more friendly and joyous about everything, but really, they don’t know and they don’t understand. Hypocritical am I?
I’m a helpless child, I’m a helpless pony that needs something in her life.
When I look back, all I want to see is fond memories and that is what I get, but I know that something within those lines twisted and had bent out of shape because now I often contemplate self-destruction.
I watch as the gloomy sky is glazed with a million bright stars filling our universe up to the brim with eternal light. I watch as the smooth edges of the puffy white clouds get shaved off and bounced back by its surrounding competitors all striving to produce a bigger success than meets the eye. The eclipse of the sun is ending and the future begins tomorrow.
Tomorrow seems so far and beyond but really, it stands in front of our face and we can’t bear to notice because we don’t want the current to end.
My sister tells me that we were going to need buckets of water soon because the pipes under our home are rusted and need professional fixing. So I offered to get the bucket of water and my journey is quicker than I anticipated, I look over the blue river bubbling at the edge before it trickles down into the depths below, the unsung hero that has made this town possible, the hero that asks for nothing in return but to enjoy its company as we feed off it.
My name is Apple Bloom and all I want to do is admire my own self-destruction.
I sat here on the uncomfortable chair, in the humidity that beamed from the sparkling windows of outside, while the light shining through the thick curtains were dimmed and particles of dust flew around the center of the room before drifting out of plain sight. The room itself wasn't all that spectacular, the boring old grey rug stretched across the room with useless furniture placed at precise points that was meant to give this a warm feel, but instead only dumbs the average pony down and hampers our creativity. Maybe that was the purpose of this whole shindig that I’m stuck in, but whatever, I don’t really care for this place but I’m here now so I might as well get used to it.
The curtains were ragged and scuffled like they were once gripped by a ponies hooves or fluttered with our tails consequently that it left this velvet black curtain looking bleaker than the pony sitting across from me with that dumb old look that I always get from her since I started these stupid sessions. The dull cheeks on her face slouched more than I did, big droopy cheeks worn from the years of stress and pent up anger of dealing with whining and self-hate fillies like myself. She did have three little freckles in the middle of her cheeks that did bring a short blush across my face, thinking of Applejack meant the world of joy to me deep inside but the connection between us was so distant that to try and convey a message would end up with a long pause before awkwardness settled in. The mare didn’t catch on to my little glee of joy and instead just muttered some discouraging words into my folder as she read through the file a second time, than a third, than a fourth. Her mane set back into a ponytail with a pencil stuck between it while she fidgeted with her forehoof across the couch, why was it that I had to sit in a chair while she rested her rump softly on that delicate couch. The cobalt color blended nicely with her dress suit that I began to drift off into my own world of finding the perfect coat of colors that could compete with hers. I’m starting to think like Rarity probably, weird.
I haven’t slept all day and my bow was all ruffled up and my mane hadn’t been combed properly but she didn’t care, obviously. She was worried more about her paycheck and her bills than what my sorry rump had to offer. The sun glared and brightened up so vividly that the black curtains turned solid brown momentarily before slowly regaining its original hue. The mare looks tired, as I am, but she looks as if that she really loathes me specially. I’ve been meaning to ask her about that, might as well since she has been an unworthy grump after we first met, my first greeting wasn’t all cheery either sister, but I still know how to freaking smile, at least. Time feels like it’s going slower than it should, everything feels slower, the light feels slower, her random coughs feel slower and the receptors in my brain feel slower. I feel as if that this session has already surpassed its due date for the week and I should just buck the heck out of here, now. I try to get her attention so I cough uncontrollably only to really cough afterwards because I nearly choked after the first run. She doesn’t buy it, and instead just gives me a glare and a small huff before droning out towards my file again. She begrudgingly snorts and swipes the paper back and forth as she tries to not make eye contact with me. The sweat on my forehead starts to peek out of my red mane and I’m starting to feel the heat, the burn, the itch on my arm but I refuse to scratch because whatever motion I make might set this mare off and strangle me.
As much as I hate to say this, I’m sure she wonders why I would be in here of all places, it’s something I’m starting to question myself with also, why am I here? I’m fine, I’m okay, and why do I have to be here, in this place. There is nothing special or of any clarity in this place, at least back in school I can draw for peat sakes! Here, all I do is watch this dried up mare shift through my file before grilling me about my life, and how or why I’ve been so disconnected and less sociable about, than when I was a kid. I already knew all this, so why does she have to badger me about it? At least if Applejack told me off or decided that having one of our ‘talks’ was necessary, I could choose to leave, so why can’t I leave this cesspool of garbage? I choose to stand up and walk out but before I do, I hear a loud tap with her forehoof on the table right beside her and when I look back, she raises her other forehoof over to my sturdy, hard, annoying brown chair. I give her a look but she gives me a look back and those eyes of hers had always crept me out, so I sighed and walked back to my box and waited until she decided to close me up and lecture me unto I either got frustrated again and refused to speak, or stormed out in anger. It was only the second time I did either of those two things out of our three sessions together. I began to play with my bow just to pass the time, trying desperately to fix it perfectly like how I usually kept it as, without pinching the top of my head or my scalp. I wish I had magic like Sweetie Belle, damn if she could contain her magic I mean, she’s okay and all, but if you can develop a crush for colts first before and don’t know to use magic yet, than you are doing something wrong.
She then slugs over to her briefcase and reaches for it, struggling, she groans before lifting herself up just to pick up the damn thing. After reaching for it, she asks me if I’m okay. I respond that I am, she repeats it once more, and so do I. She dismisses me as a loss cause and returns back to opening her briefcase. We both sat in silence for another duration of a few minutes before I broke the silence to her.
“Ah mean, ah’m not fine, miss.” I finally admitted.
“Hmm.” She scoffed almost humorously.
“Well, Ah can elaborate if ya feelin’ it.” I tried to reassure us both, without sounding like a total boob.
“Uh, huh.” She fondly sounded off before zoning away with the contents inside her briefcase. I tried to make out what lurked beneath that dreaded colored case but all I can see was a sea of papers overlapping one another in a hoarder fashion.
Well, this is total crap.
“Look, well ya listen to me, Ah’m tryin’ here alright?” I finally broke, my voice cracking and my throat felt dryer than all of the desert in the Middle East. I changed positions and no longer had my legs crossed, my back relaxed a bit but still kept a tense firm to the situation that I’ve been currently caught in, my shoulders felt restrained against my own will but I knew I was just reeling this through my head. My chest tightened and my lungs tried to conceal each breath it took as it felt it was its last. Even my head was screaming shouting out the right words, but it’s like my tongue couldn’t register it properly because whatever I said now wasn’t going to be what my brain is thinking, instead it was what my fear that wanted to do all the talking and have me shut in the corner and die within the confinements of this wooden chair that I’m currently bind too.
“Alright, shoot.”
“Okay, ah mean, ah mean, look, ah know things haven’t been so…kind on your end, but ah can try to lighten up the mood, alright?” I pleaded, I begged, I just wanted the silence to stop.
I sat there impatiently as she pondered the poor choice of words that I enforced, wondering how this will go was more gut-wrenching than watching your friend stumble home after not feeling so lucky.
“Sure, fine. Look, I don’t want to come off as harsh, but you haven’t exactly given me a lot to go on. Besides your family giving me some of the gritty and not so gritty details, I’m an open canvas and I need you to fill me up, so can you get a move on with this and make a commitment.” She raised her eyebrow and gave me a short wink before placing her briefcase down on her lap and watched patiently as I made the final decision.
The soothing sound of her quiet and pleasant voice was a breath of fresh-air from the impassive, mundane and lukewarm way she had carried herself over the last three weeks. I guess I can admit that I was probably not easing the situation with the outbursts and random cussing.
“Ah think ah can?”
“No. I want you to know you can, otherwise what was the point of sending you here.” The mare belittled.
“Ah’m sure ah can, miss.” I stated, half-sarcasm, but half serious also, and maybe a bit half-delusional too.
“Alright, then. Now that we got that out of our chests, you can stop sweating and breathing heavily because I have other clients that like to use that chair when they want to talk about their issues too, you know.”
“Oh, ah’m sorry miss, ah’m really sorry.” slouching a little bit, but I kept my posture up.
“It’s okay, now shall we begin?” she cut to the chase and was full on back in her state from the first day we met.
My life felt on pause that moment as I wondered through my head once more, coming up with fantasies and dream worlds that all catered to me and my family and friend’s needs. Dreaming seemed a lot more thrilling than actually making a go of it, I remember those days when being the CMC meant so much to me, and to my friends and it’s a sham now that we hardly discuss it, let alone consider it in our conversations, those were wonderful times and those are times I feel the most appreciative about since I first met those two fillies. I will never forget the day when they caught me at my most awkward moment of my life, having to be ridiculed by Diamond Tiara was a bucking hate train throughout my days in the school house, so much hazing and lame snarky comments. I think I want to talk about her this time, no being quiet and shallow me, time to be an honest and truthful mare today. Somewhat…
“Apple Bloom, shall we begin?” the mare asked again, this time with a little grit in her voice, a little more demanding.
