This is a collection of short stories, side stories, and short sequels.
Welcome to the Back Shelf. This is a collection of stories that are too short or substantial to get their own separate page. Sequels will have links to the original works. Tags are as follows: "Dear Spike," - Slice of Life "Another Castle!" - Comedy, Adventure, Crossover "Promontory" - Sad "Apostrophe to the Stars" - Slice of Life, I guess? "The Flotsam-Jetsam Family Cure-All" - Sad "Petrological Poetry" - Random "Dash Vs." - Comedy
I'd like to start out by thanking you for your letter; I get a lot of mail, but rarely is it as thought-provoking as yours! Thank you for your kind words.
That's how I usually write replies to fan mail. But your letter was different than most, so you'll forgive me if I stray from my standard form.
I'm going to let you in on a secret: I base the events in my books on real life. Of course, that just sounds like an excuse for any bad writing I've done, doesn't it? Makes it sound as though any rushed plots or lame jokes can be forgiven, since I can't change what happened. But like I said, I base the books on real life. That doesn't mean I don't use my artistic license.
The problems that you have with my writing, that make it not as good for you, are my own fault. Like you said, it must have been difficult to get my books published and publicized when I live so far away from society. I have many contacts, which helped, but it wasn't enough. So... I pandered.
I read a lot of books aimed at my audience and modeled my writing style after those. The events stayed the same, but the way I told the story changed. The publishers ate it up. I sold thousands of books.
Do I regret it? Maybe. Why should I? Everypony has a goal to achieve the best that they're capable of, but if, by lowering my standards for myself, I've gotten a foal who hates books to read, isn't that a good thing? Do the needs of the many really outweigh the needs of the few - or the one?
Lately, I've been thinking about giving Daring Do a rest and moving on to other things.
Time Turner walked along the border of the Everfree Forest with his marefriend, Ditzy. They had no particular destination in mind, but were considering stopping by Sugarcube Corner to join in on whatever party was inevitably going on.
Turner's cousin, Rose, trotted in their direction. She lifted a hoof to wave. A shadow fell over the trio, and Rose's hoof passed her mouth to reach up to her forehead. She fell to the ground in a dead faint. Ditzy and Turner whipped around.
A hulking... thing emerged from the forest and loomed over them. Its body was covered in sulfur-yellow scales, with grimy claws and a tuft of bright orange hair sprouting out of its head. Bands of spikes ringed its arms and neck, and a spiked turtle shell adorned its back. It towered above them, nearly the height of Princess Celestia.
Before either Turner or Ditzy could react, it reached out a claw and snatched up the pegasus, cackling, "To the castle!" Its booming chuckles echoed throughout the streets of Ponyville and shook the ground as it retreated.
Turner was frozen in place, staring after the monster. "What?" he asked no one, dumbfounded.
"To the castle," the beast had said. The question was, which one? Turner took it as a given that he would be the one to save Ditzy, but he had no idea where to start. It helped matters, though, that there were only four castles in Equestria. He couldn't be headed for the ruins in the forest, since it was probably where he'd come from, so that left three: Canterlot Castle, the Crystal Castle, and Princess Twilight's castle. He might as well start with the closest.
Time Turner rushed through the front door of the Rainbow Friendship Castle. A befuddled baby dragon jerked awake as the heavy crystal door slammed open, sending a large crack up the wall. The sweaty stallion rushed through the hallway.
"Wait!" called Spike. "Princess Twilight wants all visitors to be searched!" His stubby legs worked furiously, and he caught up with Turner, latching onto his foreleg.
Turner shook him off in disgust, jumping on top of his head for good measure. He continued running up the winding stairs of the castle. Guards rushed at him the farther he progressed, but he fought them off, dodging and weaving and pouncing on top of their heads. Finally, he reached the top floor and burst through the locked door into Princess Twilight's chambers.
She jumped up in alarm. "Yes?" she asked warily. She tried to inconspicuously charge her horn with power, to incapacitate the strange stallion until the guards could deal with him.
Turner saw the tell-tale magenta glow around her horn and jumped out of the way. A blast of magic blew a crater in the wall where he had been standing. They circled each other, crouching in battle positions. Turner spied a chest marked, "Power-Up Potions" behind him and cracked it open. Twilight shouted at him to stop, but he ignored her. Not wanting to turn his back on his opponent for long, he grabbed the first one he saw. Its label depicted some kind of flower. He pulled the cork out with his teeth, spat it at the princess, and gulped down the potion.
It burned its way down his throat as though he'd just swallowed liquid fire. He coughed once, twice, to relieve his scratchy throat, and to his amazement, two fireballs popped out of his mouth, leaving scorch-marks on the floor. He looked up at Twilight and grinned devilishly.
Twilight's eyes widened in horror. "I surrender!" she shouted.
Turner approached the princess. "Where is Ditzy?"
"I-I don't know," replied the princess, confused. "What made you think she was here?"
Turner explained the morning's events.
"I'm sorry," Twilight whimpered. "She must be in a different castle."
Turner groaned and said nothing. He walked back down the stairs and out the castle doors, leaving a very confused Twilight Sparkle behind. "You know, if you're going to drink my potion, the least you could do is stick around so I could study you," she muttered.
Turner arrived at the Crystal Empire by train. He bought a ticket for the fastest train they had, but he still cursed for every minute that it took. That was another minute that Ditzy was held captive by that horrible monster. As soon as the train pulled up to the station, he jumped off, racing through the streets to reach the castle's crystal portico. A whole troop of guards was assembled there, doing drills. Turner screeched to a halt a few yards to their left.
He stood off to the side, watching them. Would it be worth it to fight his way through them, especially if Ditzy wasn't here? He coughed innocently a few times, trying to scare them off with his fire breath, but nopony seemed to notice. Two guards broke formation and approached him. "Can we help you?" one of them asked.
"Uhh..." Turner stammered. "Yes. You wouldn't happen to have seen a, um, giant turtle anytime today, would you?" The two guards exchanged a look that clearly said, Is this guy serious?
"Right, just checking." Turner chuckled weakly. "Er, carry on, then."
The two guards watched as the mysterious stallion ran back to the train station. "You think we should report him?" the guard asked.
The second guard shrugged. "Nah."
By the time Turner reached Canterlot, the sun was low in the sky. This confrontation was the one he was worried about; he would have to face the two most powerful alicorns in the world. He only hoped he could talk things out. If things turned violent, they would get really ugly for him.
He approached the castle's tall gates and made to step through them, but the guards standing sentry slid their spears out, blocking his path. "Hey!" the one on the left cried. "He's the one!"
Turner backed up in confusion. "Who, me?"
The second guard piped up. "Yeah! You're the guy who attacked Princess Twilight's castle earlier today. We're going to have to take you in for questioning, sir."
Turner shook his head. "No, you don't understand. It wasn't like that at all."
The first guard scowled. "Tell it to the judge, pal."
The Celestial court was ending for the day when the pair of guards pushed through the heavy doors to the throne room, stallion in tow.
"We found him, Princess," said the first guard.
Turner gulped. His ears flattened against his skull and he took a shaky step back. "L-look, your Highness, I--" He broke off, unable to find words.
He looked up at the tall mare and saw the shimmer of magic building up around her horn. Panicking, he bucked the guards in their faces, knocking them unconscious.
At almost the same time, Princess Luna teleported into the throne room, ready to begin her night court. She gasped as she saw Turner advancing slowly on Celestia. Luna, in turn, fired up her horn. Turner looked between the two and realized that he had less than a second to escape. As the princesses fired, he ducked.
The bolts of magic slipped past one another. Luna's stun-spell hit Celestia in the chest; Celestia's knocked Luna's hooves out from under her. The two sisters collapsed, unconscious.
Turner marveled at his good fortune. Sure, he'd be in major trouble later, but he needed to find Ditzy first. He galloped back out of the castle. In the throne room behind him, a glass of water crashed to the floor, soaking the ornate rug.
Turner trotted through the streets of Ponyville once more. The sun had gone down long ago, but his hours of searching had proved fruitless. Finally, he decided to call it a day. He would try again in the morning. He headed towards the apartment he and Ditzy shared, unlocked the door, and stepped inside, slumping against the wall in exhaustion.
"Took you long enough," a deep voice said.
"Gah!" Turner jumped up in alarm, adopting a battle-ready stance. The monster sat at his dining room table, sharing tea and cake with... Ditzy!
Turner rushed past the monster and embraced his marefriend. "You're okay!" he cried.
She drew back in puzzlement. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"
"I- You got kidnapped by this horrid creature!" Turner sputtered, pointing at the stranger, who scowled.
"Hey!" Ditzy reprimanded. "Bowser's not a monster! He's just a little misunderstood. I promise, he's a real sweetheart."
The stranger, Bowser, blushed and took a dainty sip of tea to try to cover it up.
Turner looked back and forth between the two of them. "So what was with the kidnapping? And the castle? Ditzy, you can't tell me that his intentions are good."
To his surprise, the other two burst out laughing. "Oh, Time Turner, you can be such a worrywart." Ditzy giggled. "Bowser and I used to play this game all the time when we were little. He wanted to surprise me because I didn't know he was supposed to be in town."
Turner raised an eyebrow. "When you were little? How long have you two known each other?" he asked.
"I'm her brother," Bowser said nonchalantly.
"What!?" Turner looked like he was about to faint from sheer shock.
Bowser gave a mighty belch, and Ditzy wrinkled her nose at him. She leaned in to whisper into Turner's ear. "He's adopted."
Forever pulling this gargantuan behind me. Four strapping stallions signed onto this job six months ago. They are still working. We are still working.
Ponies need to go places, and we have to accommodate.
What is rest, anyway? One is well-rested when he is not tired. I'm not tired. Am I rested?
We don't need sleep to rest. Adrenaline keeps us alert. Coffee, gulped down in a few precious seconds of standstill, gives us energy,
Evening Star stumbles as he runs, but we help him up. The beast behind us must never catch up. We pull it along, but it has power beyond us; it will turn on us the minute we still our hooves. So, quickly, quickly, we must run.
These ropes are chafing, burning my skin through my coat. But all will be okay.
We pull up to a stop, and the ponies board. The boss appears next to us in a flash of magic, gives us a toothy grin. "C'mon boys," she tells us. "Perk up. We'll all be out of a job soon, anyhow. Might as well make it last."
I close my eyes, relishing the cool feeling of sun on my eyelids. How long since we last stopped? A week? A month? We take cat naps here and there. The days all blend together; one sunrise into the next.
She's right, you know. We've passed other machines, powered by steam and coal, not stallions. Our muscles, built up over years of sweat, are equal to a few shovelfuls of black rocks. They can go faster. They save bits, since they certainly don't have to pay anypony to pull.
But until they let us go, we have to keep running. The cars are full, the doors are closed, the whistle blows. It's time for us to be off.
O stars! ye shimmering beacons in the night, Which for many years upon years Were the sole comforters of my dejected soul. Like beings of immeasurable power, you recline Above the world. You shed slivers of light Over the land, sprinkling drops of silver Into the dreams of foals, Giving comfort to the nomads and wanderers With sparks of light in the black depths of the sky. You, whom I once created with my own hooves; You, whom I breathed life into with a gentle touch; You are truly my loyal subjects. My children. And I, your royal mother, do humbly and greatly thank you. No requests, nor pleadings, nor demands shall turn your heads, Yet to the humblest wish of a child do you rush to grant. Everlasting, all-seeing eyes; you observe silently the world Which must seem so small, so insignificant From such a lofty perch as yours. Selfless beings; you produce not a drop Of magic and light but to be enjoyed by a world Which gives nothing back, until, an eternity later, You silently flicker out.
Eight little yellow hooves scampered around a tiny kitchen. Flora huffed as her twin sons once again smashed into the heavy wooden door as it creaked open. Their father, Copper Wire, poked his head in to ask a question of his wife, but was cut off by the wails of both colts.
Flora scooped them up in her magic, wrapping them in a comforting aura. She carried them over to the couch and sat down, inspecting them for any serious injuries.
Flim sniffled. "Mama, Flam pushed me into the door. 'N now my muzzle's probably broken."
Flam scowled. "Did not! You stopped right in front of me."
"Now, boys," Flora said gently. "It doesn't matter what happened. Let me see."
The boys sat quietly while their mother inspected their injuries. It was nothing serious; they were both just sore. She kissed them both lightly on the nose. "Better?" she asked.
"Better," they giggled. They jumped off of the couch and resumed their game of tag, or chase, or whatever they were calling it. Flora chuckled. "Be careful!" she called after them in vain.
"Come on, sleepyheads," Flora called to her boys. "It's almost time for school!"
No answer. She marched up to their room and swung open the door, only to find both of them huddled, shivering, into the same bed.
"I-I don't feel so good," Flam muttered.
"Me neither," Flim whined.
Flora tutted. "Oh, dear. What's wrong?"
"My tummy hurts--"
"And my head--"
"And my throat--"
"And my legs."
Their mother put a hoof to both of their foreheads. Neither of them seemed to have a fever.
"Goodness, you can't miss school today!" Flora said. "Mrs. Metric told us parents that today was supposed to be a surprise field trip! Oh, well..."
"What?" the colts asked simultaneously.
"Yeah," she agreed. Seemingly stumped, she thought for a moment. "Oh! I know what should make you feel better! Wait one second."
She tromped back downstairs, and Flim and Flam turned to each other. "Think we overdid it?" Flim asked.
"Nah," Flam replied. "I actually am starting to feel kinda sick."
Flora returned, holding two cups of green liquid in her magical grip. "Here. This should do it," she said, giving one to each of her sons.
They gulped it down. "This doesn't taste like medicine..." Flam said suspiciously.
"That's because it's not!" Flora replied. "It's a super-secret family recipe that my grandma used to make when I was just a little filly. She told me that it's supposed to cure anything."
"Weeeell," Flam said hesitantly, "I am feeling better. What about you, brother?"
Flim nodded eagerly. "Yep!"
They threw off the covers and ran down the stairs.
Flam let the front door slam closed behind him. Flora lifted her head up from her book to reprimand him, but faltered when she caught sight of his bruised face. She scrambled to get up.
"Honey, what happened?" she asked, her voice full of concern.
"Nothing," he lisped.
Flim burst through the doors, sporting a large cut over one eye. "Well, that was a bust," he complained.
Flora lifted an eyebrow. "What happened?" she repeated sternly.
The twins shrugged. "We got in a fight," Flim said casually.
Flora sighed. "What happened this time?" she asked wearily, herding them into the kitchen.
"It was nothing, really," Flam protested. "We were just telling Apple Cinnamon that we'd figured out a way to make better cider than him, and he got mad."
"Really mad," Flim agreed.
Flora bandaged up Flim's face and gave Flam a towel full of ice to hold over his bruises. "You're too old to keep getting into fights," she sighed. She took two cups of the green liquid out of the fridge and handed them to her sons. "Here, drink these."
They downed the tonic, and Flam's bruises appeared to shrink. "Thanks, Mom," they chorused.
She waved them off. "Get out of here, and go think about how you're going to apologize to that colt tomorrow."
They slunk off abashedly.
Flora coughed wetly, shaking her frail frame. Her sons were crowded around her bed.
"Can I get you anything?" Flam asked.
"I am a little thirsty," she admitted, her voice rasping.
Flam ran down the stairs to fetch his mother some water. He reached into the fridge to pull out a cold pitcher, and caught sight of another pitcher, this one filled with slightly congealed, green liquid. He grabbed both in his magic and ran back up the steps. "Mom! I've got something that'll make you feel better!"
She lifted her head. "Hmm?" She saw the green sludge. "Oh, not that stuff, honey. It's at least four years old. I haven't made any since you two moved out."
Flim nodded eagerly. "Okay, that's no problem. We can just make more, right?"
Flora shook her head and beckoned her sons to come closer. She put a hoof on each of their cheeks. "I appreciate the thought, boys. But I'm old now; there's not much here for me anymore. Your father's already moved on."
Flam shuddered. "No! Mom, just tell us how to make it. You'll feel better, I promise."
She inclined her head. "I keep the recipe in my nightstand. But, please--"
Flim cut her off, pulling the drawer open and rifling through, pulling out a small piece of parchment. "Is this it?" he asked. She nodded. He made to run back down to the kitchen, but his mother caught him, holding onto his tail with her weak threads of magic.
"Please," she asked. "Just sit with me for a little bit. My boys." She smiled fondly at them. "I love you both very much."
She coughed once more, and the effort seemed to drain her of all of her energy. She drifted away, her eyelids sliding shut. Flim and Flam watched in mute horror, but sighed in relief as they saw the steady rise and fall of her chest. The only noise in the room was the rather loud sound of her labored breathing.
"Come on, brother," Flim whispered. "Let's see if we can figure this out while she's asleep."
They trotted quietly out of their mother's room, leaving the door open behind them. Flam stopped in the middle of the hallway. "Oh, hold on," he said. "I'll go get that old tonic. Give me a minute."
He doubled back and reentered the silent bedroom, lifting the pitcher. He headed back out the door, but paused for a minute in the doorway. Wait, silent?
Flam trudged down into the kitchen a few minutes later. "Took you long enough," Flim commented. "Listen, I got it all figured out already. It's actually pretty simple."
"It won't help," Flam said despondently.
Flim scoffed. "Don't be that way. Can't you remember all the amazing stuff it did when we were little? I mean, look at how easy it is! Who would've thought?" He levitated the recipe in front of his brother's face.
"That's not what I mean," Flam snapped.
Flim's magic flickered out, and the slip of parchment dropped as fast as his grin. It fell to the floor, faceup, and Flora's careful mouthwriting spelled out: Flotsam-Jetsam Cure-All Tonic: -Apples (1) -Beet leaves (3) -Love
They have a story. They used to be big, But things kept wearing on them Grating them. Eroding them.
The rain washed them Away from their troubles. They hid underground, Waiting. And waiting.
And waiting.
Nothing to do. Nopony to see. Nothing to think about Except what they had left behind. What they had dragged down with them.
Years of loneliness. Years of pressure and dirt. They hardened to the world, First with a shell, Then with their hearts.
"Igneous"
Magma. A rock's beginning, Fiery with heat and Passion.
It runs its course. Oozing down hills, Spilling over towns. Destruction.
It runs and slides Until it forgets its purpose. Forgets why it's angry. Confused.
It pales; Its orange color fades, Leaving it Alone.
Cold.
Gray.
It's fragile, Oh, so fragile. But shiny And beautiful
And calm.
"Metamorphic"
Rocks are hard. Rocks are big. Rocks are strong.
Ponies think rocks are permanent. A rock is a rock is a rock. "A rock cannot change."
Do they know that nothing's permanent? Rocks change, the same as ponies: With time.
But change isn't always bad. Marble comes after limestone, Stronger and more beautiful.
Change can be a gneiss thing, too.
"Worldly Words"
Rocks are everywhere. The ground. The cliffs. The oceans. Rocks can be as big as a boulder Or as small as Boulder. Minuscule grains of sand Or tall, looming mountains.
We owe so much to rocks. Our houses. Our heat. Our jewels. Other ponies think rocks are boring. Rocks are my world. They're everypony's world. Literally.
"Rock"
I've heard of rock music. Have you? It sounds like it's music made for rocks.
But it's not.
It sounds calm and quiet. A steady beat. Maybe with lots of drums.
I listened to rock yesterday.
It didn't sound like rocks.
It sounded loud. Crazy.
Did I mention loud?
It felt like rock Was banging rocks around Inside my head. I don't want rocks in my head. Not real rocks, at least. And not rock.
It was a cloudy morning. A horribly cloudy morning. Clouds like steel wool covered the entire visible sky.
Rainbow Dash did not want to get out of bed. Lots of clouds meant lots of work. And on such a gloomy day, it was pony instinct to want to hole up inside. Even if "inside" was inside a cloud.
However, Dash needed her job. Not for the money, really; she didn't make that much bucking clouds all day. No, it provided her with a sense of accomplishment, and it kept her motivated. One had plenty of time to daydream about being a Wonderbolt when one had a super boring day job.
So, reluctantly, she dragged herself out of bed and plodded down the stairs into the kitchen. Her hooves dragged on the faux-marble floor. Coffee was obviously a necessity; she started the pot automatically. Then, she stood in the center of the kitchen for a moment, trying to evaluate what it was that her tongue told her it was craving.
Something crunchy... and sweet? No, salty. No, a little of both, she thought. I definitely want peanut butter. Just the thought of the delightfully sticky substance brought her to full consciousness.
She rifled in the drawers for a minute, before emerging with a spoon. It was way too gross outside to worry about trivial things like bread.
Dash pulled open her cabinets, trying to locate the peanut butter. She really didn't have much of an organization system; she usually just stuck things into the closest receptacle whenever she was done with them. That was one of the reasons that Twilight didn't let her take books out of the library anymore.
After a couple of minutes, she determined that the peanut butter was not in the cabinets. She cracked open the fridge door and peered inside, but to no avail. She pulled open the freezer door, and there, seated on a throne of frozen vegetables and TV dinners, was a jar of peanut butter. She snatched it up and shut the door, juggling the jar between her cold hooves as she carried it to the table.
Dash pinned the jar to her chest with one hoof and placed the other hoof on its lid, giving it a twist. The jar stubbornly refused to yield its contents to her. She grasped the jar in both hooves and used her mouth to try to pry the lid off, but succeeded only in hurting her jaw and chilling her teeth.
She realized what the problem probably was: some peanut butter had gotten caught in the threads of the lid, and now that it was frozen, it was effectively cementing the whole thing shut. She flew over to the sink and turned the dial on the faucet to its hottest setting. She waited until she saw steam curling off the stream of water, then stuck the jar under for a few seconds. "That ought'a do it," she muttered.
Dash shut off the water and tried again to open the jar, but her hoof slipped off the wet lid. She grabbed a towel off of the floor and dried off the lid; then, she held the towel over the lid as she tried once more to open it, thinking that the extra traction she would gain would be enough to help her complete her task. It wasn't.
"Okay, seriously?" she grunted to herself, still trying in vain to twist the lid off. "This is getting ridiculous. I just want some fricking peanut butter!"
A hoof knocked on her door, and Dash dropped the jar, grumbling. She stomped over to her front door and wrenched it open.
"Hey, Rainbow Dash." Thunderlane chuckled nervously under his boss's wrathful gaze. "You, uh, you okay?"
"What's a pony got to do to get a little breakfast around here?" She stomped back into the kitchen, leaving the door open. Thunderlane trailed awkwardly behind her.
"I was just stopping by 'cause, well, in case you didn't notice, it's pretty nasty out there this morning," he explained. "And I was talking to some of the other ponies on the team, and we were going to try to get an early start this morning, so we can get home sooner. But you weren't in yet so they told me to see what was keeping you..."
Dash wasn't really listening to him; she was preoccupied wrestling with her jar of peanut butter. "Yeah, one sec," she muttered.
She used her teeth, then her hooves, then her teeth again, but the lid didn't budge. She gave a whinny of annoyance and dropped the jar again. She rummaged around in the kitchen drawers for a minute, before taking out a very large, sharp knife.
Thunderlane's ears flattened against his skull. "Whoa there, boss. Calm down."
She ignored him, sitting down with the jar in her lap and attacking the lid from all angles. Shavings of plastic flew around the room, but the lid didn't loosen. Dash threw aside the knife in frustration; it embedded itself, quivering, into the cloud-wall, an inch above Thunderlane's mane.
Dash smacked her head on the floor. "Why" smack "won't" smack "this" smack "open?" she groaned.
Thunderlane picked up the jar in one hoof and effortlessly twisted off the lid with the other. He set the jar back down in front of his boss, who looked up at him with an awestruck expression.
"How-how did you do that?" she whispered reverently.
He shrugged. "I dunno. Wasn't all that hard."
Dash narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "Thanks..."
He nodded awkwardly. "Just, uh, want to get out of here. Y'know, clouds to buck and all."
Dash picked up her spoon from the table and returned to her spot on the floor. She picked up the jar eagerly and dug the spoon in. It scraped against the bottom. She did a double-take and peered into the jar's opening.
About a teaspoon of peanut butter remained in the jar.
Dash set the jar back down, her face an inscrutable mask. Thunderlane approached her tentatively. "Rainbow Dash? D'you want something else, or can we go now?"
"GrrrrrrrRAEAGHGH!"
Rainbow Dash has yet to fix the small, circular hole in her ceiling.
