A completely unbiased, thoroughly fair and balanced look at the life of a young filly named Glory as she grows up in Starlight Glimmer's Equal Equestria.
You've read all those other, highly biased stories about the village Starlight Glimmer created, and the equality they practice there.
Isn't it about time you had a fair and balanced look at Starlight Glimmer's Equal Equestria?
As a young filly named Glory prepares for a big test that could mean the future of her village, she'll learn what living in Starlight's utopia really stands for.
Glory's eyes were fixed on the window, and the dusty rolling plains it framed. The wide-open land surrounded her village, just waiting for her to wander out and explore it, to discover what wonders she could, and best of all to meet all the friendly critters who lived out there, just like her mother had done before she had come to this place.
“Glory!”
Her teacher's harsh voice broke through the walls of her half-formed daydream and made the little world she had created collapse. The little filly tore her eyes away from the window and sat up a little straighter at her desk. She tried her best to look like she was paying attention, even though that was the hardest thing in the world.
At the front of the classroom, her teacher whipped her long, thin pointer onto chalkboard, sending a terrific crack like thunder resounding throughout the room. Every single colt and filly jumped in their seats and folded their ears flat against their heads. Once she was sure she had their attention, Fair Shake addressed Glory: “Glory, all the other colts and fillies in this class are equal in giving me their undivided attention.” The teacher glared through her cat's-eye glasses, making the filly squirm. “Do you think you're so special you don't have to pay attention?”
“No, Miss Shake,” the filly said glumly, hoping there wasn't a detention waiting for her at the end of this lecture. Today was boring enough without having to wait in the detention room while the teacher's pre-recorded voice told her how great the village and its equality was, over and over again.
“Do you think the rules don't apply to you equally?”
The white-coated filly sank into her chair in shame. “No, Miss Shake.”
“Tomorrow's test will determine not only your future, but maybe the entire village's. Do you want to jeopardize it?”
“No, Miss Shake.” She bowed her head and tried to hide behind her red-and-blue striped mane.
“Alright then.” Regaining her composure, the teacher turned back to the chalkboard and glided the pointer's tip under the division tables scribbled on it. “All together now, class.”
As equals, the students repeated along to the tapping of the pointer: “Zero divided by one equals zero. One divided by one equals one. Two divided by one equals two....”
As the dull drone of the other students' voices filled the room, Glory took to murmuring gibberish. Her thoughts started to wander again, though she at least had the good sense to kept her eyes fixed firmly on the board this time.
For eight whole hours each and every day, she had to sit in this cramped schoolhouse while the world through the window beckoned her. In the morning, four hours of reading comprehension -- which was mostly made up of learning what an equals sign meant -- followed by a short break for muffins, and then an hour each of addition tables, subtraction tables, multiplication tables, and division tables, which was where she was at now. Blessedly, though, soon the bell would ring and she could go on home.
Not long now.
She saw something flutter outside the window. Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at it. A small bird perched on the sill, with a gray back and a white underside. She saw birds just like that one around the village all the time. They're all so equal-looking, she thought warmly. No wonder they like to hang around here. She had a distant memory of her mother -- who had once worked for the menagerie of the Canterlonian royalty, before she got sick of royals and their 'ivory tower', as she put it -- pointing out the name of the bird and telling her its name, but she had been very young and it was all dim and hazy in her mind. Nowadays, though, her mother didn't seem to want to have much to do with animals at all. Glory thought that was a crying shame, because critters were all so fascinating.
As the teacher led the students in reciting the division table, the bird began to chirp along with them, its shrill voice rising over the students' voices. Although there was a fluster on her face, Miss Shake ignored it and continued leading the students. The chirping of the bird grew louder and more enthusiastic, however, until the moment the teacher broke off, went to the window, and took a swing at the bird with her pointer.
“I'll teach you to mock me, bird,” she said.
The bird hurriedly fanned its wings out and flapped hard to avoid the wooden stick. It took off into the air and flew into the bright blue sky, and Glory's imagination went with it, wondering to what places unknown it would head.
“Well, now that that little interruption is over,” Miss Shake said, returning to the front of the class, “let's resume, class.”
Groaning inwardly, Glory took up the chant with her fellow students, but her mind was soaring alongside the bird who had given her a brief break from the boring school lesson.
When the class had finished all the division tables on the board, Fair Shake smiled and said, “Very good.” She returned the pointer to the top of the first one. “Now, again.”
Wearily, the class began to recite the division table again.
At long last, after eight whole hours of schooling, the bell rang to let Glory know her misery had ended. She bounded down the steps, jumping the last two and landing in the arid dirt, and trotted away from the squat building made of mismatched stones that housed her class. Merrily, she walked along the sole street of her town. Normally she would go home with her first friend among equals, Cosmo, but....
For as long as Glory had known Cosmo, the other filly had wanted to follow in her big sister Sharp Barb's hoofsteps and become a hairdresser; at least, Cosmo had wanted to do that right up until the moment she had eagerly volunteered to let Barb cut her mane. Barb had accidentally sheered Cosmo's ear off. Now her first friend was lying at home in bed, her whole head swaddled in bandages. The town doctor had assured them all that would solve the problem, but Glory had thought he looked mighty nervous, as if he didn't quite believe the words coming out of his mouth.
So now Glory had to walk home alone. She passed Levee Stress and Sass Surely, two colts from her class, playing in the dirt. Levee was trying to build a water mill in a river of water leaking out of the town's broken pump, while Sass had a pencil between his teeth and scribbled jagged, crude letters on a piece of scrap paper. Levee tried to put two twigs together to form a frame, but -- like every time he tried this -- the structure collapsed in on itself.
“It's no use,” Levee moaned, “I can't get it to stay up like a real building!”
“I'm not doing any better,” Sass said sadly. “These words don't fit together the way they should--”
But something down the street caught Levee's eye. He kicked his first friend among equals in the side. Dopily, Sass looked up from his paper, and quickly joined Levee in scrambling to his hooves, snapping to attention, and saluting.
Glory followed their eyes and saw, walking down the dusty street alongside Miss Fair Shake, Starlight Glimmer. In Glory's mind, there was never any doubt that she should salute as well. After all, Starlight was the most amazing mare who'd ever lived. Leader and founder of this perfect village. Glory whipped her forehoof to her forehead to pay her respects to the kindest, smartest, most valiant pony she had ever known, who had brought equality -- true and genuine equality -- to Equestria. As she walked, she seemed more like a force of nature, like lightning in pony form, and yet there she went, courageous and wise but also so approachable. Glory's mother said Starlight was the kind of pony you could have a cider with; she was just that friendly. And it was true friendship, not like those other high-falutin' places where some ponies thought they were better than others because they had marks on their flanks.
Glory suddenly wanted to thank Starlight for what the mare had done for her. For all of them.
She trotted after her leader, who was kindly giving Double Diamond a hearty smile and wave of her foreleg. Then she turned to Fair Shake, and though she was still smiling her voice went cold, so cold it made Glory slow down and fall into step behind them, torn between listening to what she was saying and respecting her amazing leader's privacy.
“This is about equality, Shake,” Starlight said. “As founder of this village, I am personally responsible for the future of every little pony in that school. I want to give them the best chance they can possibly have. But in order to do that I need to know the quality of their education. An equalized test is, by far, the most reliable way to gauge that, because it's equal. Everypony takes the exact same test in the exact same conditions. The only thing that separates them is the name at the top of the sheet.”
“I understand, Miss Glimmer, but--”
“But? But what?”
“But that poor filly sliced her sister's ear off! I firmly believe in this village's principles of equality, but couldn't a slight bit of time could be allocated to other subjects? Like technical skills? Or home economics and household safety? Art or music? A colt found an old guitar in the storeroom, and he asked me what it was!”
Starlight cast a sharp, icy look in the teacher's direction. “And what if some ponies find out they don't have any aptitude for art or music? It wouldn't be equal to make them learn something they're not good at. And how do we decide which kinds of art and music to teach? Some would have to be chosen and others would be left by the wayside. That's not equality. Neither is devoting time to skills some ponies won't like or need or be good at."
“What about history?”
“What about it? All ponies are created equal by our reasonable draughter, and I founded this village to be the best example of that, to show Equestria what we're trying to accomplish. Teaching the foals anything more would just muddy the issue.”
“But there's so much more to life than that--”
“We're trying to show the world the superiority of an equal way of life. We can't accomplish that by showing outsiders how great our music sounds, how pretty our pictures are, or how good our baking tastes. But numbers, scores on reading/arithmetic tests, those we can use.” Her voice turned icy. “And if the numbers don't demonstrate that, let me remind you that you will be dismissed from your post, effective immediately.”
“Something which is entirely unnecesssary. I've been a teacher for thirty years now. I know it like the back of my hoof!”
“It's a more equal world now, Shake,” Starlight said, looking sidelong at the teacher with a broad grin. “And in a world where all students are equal, that means bad learning comes from bad teachers. If you aren't equal to the task, I can put another pony in your position just like that.” She stomped her hoof sharply on the ground and glowered at the teacher. As she turned her head, however, she finally caught sight of Glory ambling along behind them. “Hello there!” she said, stopping in her tracks and turning around, her voice suddenly full of warmth.
She's our leader, Glory thought, shoving all her doubts aside and discovering a surprising wellspring of confidence inside herself. Even if it was a little bit of a surprise to find out it was her and not mean old Fair Shake who wants us to learn math tables until our eyes fall out, she knows what's best for us.
“Um,” she muttered to that radiant mare beaming down at her, “h-hi, Miss Glimmer. I j-just wanted to th-thank you for....for....”
But how could she put into words what Starlight Glimmer meant? That mare standing over her had done so much to make Glory as equal as everypony else; to let her have friendships with other ponies, earth and pegasus and unicorn, without being divided by race or the inequality of a cutie mark; to give her a place where she would always feel at home.
Faced with such a failure of her wordpower, Glory wished there was a bit more to reading lessons than just the equals sign, but in the presence of the mare who had decreed what her lessons should be in the first place, such a thought filled her with shame.
But, ever gracious, Starlight saved her fumbling, bumbling filly self. “You're so welcome, my little pony,” she said as she walked closer, until she was near enough to rest a hoof on Glory's head. A shiver went through the filly; the mare's touch was electric. “I was born in a big city,” she said, raising her eyes to the sky dreamily, “but I've always been a small-town filly at heart. I left the city and the cutie mark they foisted on me just as soon as I was able, because I firmly believe a humble village is the backbone of a just society. When I couldn't find one that suited my belief in equality, I made this place for all the ponies searching for something they couldn't find in the rest of Equestria. And it gives me so much more pleasure than you can imagine to share that equality with you, my little filly.”
She tousled Glory's mane and, with a lighthearted laugh, walked away, leaving the filly to stare after her in awe. It dawned on Glory that she should salute her glorious leader again, and she stayed at attention until Starlight Glimmer and Fair Shake were out of sight.
Glory walked home in a daze, still aglow from meeting Starlight. But she snapped out of it when she found a visitor waiting near her doorstep. It was a tiny lizard-like thing with pointy ears and a hard ridged shell on its back, and it took trembling steps across the hot desert ground. She got down on her foreknees and peered at it. It raised its feeble head and stared up at her. When she reached over to scoop it up, it tried to run, but it stumbled and flopped to the ground. She peeled it off the dusty earth and held it in her hoof to peer at it. She knew the things by sight, but its name escaped her; again, a distant memory of her mother telling her flitted through her mind, but it proved uncatchable.
She suddenly realized she would rather learn the names of the animals around the village in school than endless math tables and equal sign comprehension. And again, the disrespectful nature of such a thought filled her with shame. Starlight Glimmer knew what was best, and that was why she was the leader of the village.
“Hello, little fella,” she said to the critter. “Did you want to come inside?”
Could these critters talk? She didn't know. Certainly she had never heard one speak before, but there was so much outside her door that she had never seen or heard of. Plus, it was so little it must be a baby. Maybe it just couldn't talk yet.
Keeping the weary critter balanced on her hoof, she pushed the door open and tromped inside. She would have liked to ask her mother what the critter was called, but like most of the other adults her mother was busy building a cottage for a new settler in town. She wouldn't be back until long after Glory's bedtime. She went up the stairs to her room, where she set the critter on her bare desk. She poked its head with a gentle hoof. It flicked its long and thin tongue out and licked her fetlock.
“Heehee,” she giggled. “You're a friendly little guy. Do you want to be my friend while Cosmo is laid up in bed?”
The critter flicked its tongue out again.
“Is....is that a yes?” she asked, honestly not knowing. Firmly, she said, “I'm going to take that as a yes.”
It didn't protest.
“Well, I have some homework to do, but you can keep me company so it's not as boring.” She got out her notebook and flipped open to a fresh page, then took a moment to tickle the critter under the chin before she put her pencil between her teeth and got to work writing out her math tables.
She was deep in her sixth page of tables when the baby animal waddled over to her and made a plaintive cry. She goggled her eyes and mimicked its cry right back to it.
“Who's a funny little rascal?” she asked. “You are!”
I would love to work with animals when I grow up, she thought. They're so cute and funny.
It reared back on its hind legs let loose its cry once more, its eyes looking directly at her. Giggling, she barked right back, then rubbed its stomach.
“Sorry I can't play,” she said, “but I've got more homework yet to do. Maybe tomorrow, huh?”
Mewling, the critter dropped back down onto its four legs and slunk away to a corner of the desk, disappointed that its new friend couldn't play with it. She watched it go, her heart wrenching in sadness, but there were tables and tables of mathematics she had to finish first.
Glory woke early the next morning, bright-eyed and well-rested, and threw the bare and badly-patched blanket aside.
“Good morning!” she called across the room.
Her new friend was still huddled on her desk, and it didn't answer her. It just lay there. Who's a big 'ol sleepy-head?! she thought. Grinning, she crossed the room to wake it, but after the third shake it still wouldn't get up. Her smile slowly dissolved.
“Hey, come on,” she said. “Get up.”
Her friend remained limp and lifeless.
“Do you hear me? Get up! Get up, get up, get up!”
A distant voice came from the doorway. “What are you yelling for, Glory?”
She turned to see her mother standing there. Glory moved aside to let her see the desk and the critter on top of it. Her mother casually strolled over, picked up the critter lying on the desk, and examined it.
“I'm sorry, Glory,” she said finally, “but this....this, um.... ah, armadillo. Yes, that's right. This armadillo is dead.”
“What?!” Glory reeled in place like she'd been struck. Tears started to drip down her cheeks.
Her mother stared fixedly at the armadillo, concentrating hard, and then, like she was being roused from sleep, said, “Poor thing looks dehydrated.” She became a little more alive and vivid as she spoke of her old job, though she still seemed like she was talking from a million miles away. “Probably got separated from its mother and wandered out of the desert searching for water.”
“Water? Why?”
Her mother raised her puzzlement-filled eyes from the armadillo and stared into Glory's. “They need to drink water to survive.”
“But....but....” Glory started to sob as she realized what its cries from last night had meant. “I didn't know critters needed to drink water like ponies do!”
“All animals do,” her mother said, a little more alive. “Didn't you learn that in school?”
Her sorrow quickly boiled over into rage. She grabbed her notebook and flung it across the room while she screamed, “I don't learn about nothing but division tables!”
“Hm,” her mother said. “I probably should have told you that, but it's very busy right now in the village. A lot of work to do, if we want to stay here. And all the things I learned from my old talent are.... Sometimes it's so hard to recall....” She trailed off as her eyes unfocused. “I'm sorry, what was I saying? Something about my old talent? It's hard to remember that long ago, Glory.”
Glory sank to the floorboards, drowning in her tears among the scattered pages of her division tables. Miss Shake was right, she thought, in a moment of understanding. I want to learn about animals, not these boring old math tables. It's not fair. My mother can't teach me nothing if she's working all the time, so we should be learning about it in school.
Starlight Glimmer was going to be there, she remembered. She was going to give a speech about equalized testing to the foals before the test started.
I'm going to tell her, Glory thought. I'm going to say that Miss Shake was right.
“Are you alright, Glory?” her mother asked, going down on her knees and putting a comforting foreleg around Glory's neck.
“Yes,” Glory said, wiping the tears away. “I'm just fine.”
At the front of the classroom, the flag of the village hung. “My fellow villagers,” Starlight Glimmer said, standing under the parallel bars crossing the fabric, “soon we will be ready to show the world our more equal way of life.”
Glory sat at her desk, the emotions stewing in her heart.
A photographer moved throughout the class and snapped pictures, his hooves clumsy and his face crossed with indecision as he tried to figure out which shot would look best. He trudged over to Starlight and peered at the side of her face, then raised his camera and snapped a shot from six inches away.
Starlight laughed weakly, then pulled the camerapony close and whispered, “I told you, make sure the sun isn't in the window behind me, or the picture will be useless. Now get in the back of the room and only take pictures from the direction of the sun.” She pushed him away and smiled warmly at the class again.
The camerapony stumbled to the back of the class and took up his camera again, to continue indecisively shooting pictures.
“When ponies from outside the village come here,” Starlight continued, “we want them to see the very best our more equal way of life has to offer. Equality works, and letting them see how so very smart the next generation of ponies we're raising in our village is, well, the most surefire way to let them know nopony in our town is lagging unequally behind the others. This new equalized testing initiative is designed to do just that. I should know, I thought it up myself.”
She smiled sweetly, and all around Glory the class cheered for her, but Glory just sat there and stared up at Starlight. She has to know, Glory thought. I have to tell her that Miss Shake is right.
Her mother said Starlight was so friendly and approachable. So why was Glory finding it so hard to say what she needed to say?
For starters, she told herself, Starlight was making a speech, and it was rude to interrupt, no matter how much the words burned in Glory's throat and itched to be set free.
“You colts and fillies are our future,” Starlight said, “and the future of our equality is something I very dearly want to share with the rest of Equestria. But only by showing the world how very equal you all are can we do that. I'm putting my trust in you, my littlest friends among equals, to help me spread our message of equality.” Her eyes wandered among the desks, and she met Glory's. “Hello again. Your name is....New Glory, is that right?”
Glory hesitated a moment, and then nodded sharply.
“Are you excited for the test?”
The filly was lost in her thoughts for a moment. “I don't know,” she said, finally and truthfully.
With a concerned cock of the head, Starlight asked, “You're not? What's wrong?”
Now was her chance. Her chance to lay everything on the table, to tell Starlight all the feelings she had inside her, all her doubts and worries and fears, about how her new friend had died because nopony had ever taught her a simple thing like critters need to drink water, just like ponies do.
And still she hesitated.
Starlight was so caring, Glory thought, and all Glory was doing was disappointing her. Letting Starlight think her equality wasn't working. Why was she doing that to a mare who was so amazing? The shame came to Glory, once again.
“Let me tell you a little story,” Starlight said. “When I was your age, my school gave me a test. But this wasn't like your test. This was a magic test. And some unicorns, in the land outside the village, have better magic or access to better spellbooks than others do. All the other foals were up there, showing off their fancy magic they learned in their ivory towers.” Wistfully, she smiled. “And there I was, feeling so ashamed of what I had to offer. I could feel the other foals' eyes on me, talking about me, making fun of me because my magic wasn't as good as theirs. That's the moment I first thought to myself, 'Starlight, this just isn't equal at all.' I passed, but I came to realize I didn't care about their kind of tests anymore. It was a rigged game.” She looked at each one of them in turn. “I wanted no part of what magic school had to offer. The inequality it represented. It created jealousy and misery and resentment, not the kind of true and lasting friendship you all experience in this village. And that, my little ponies, is why I'm here in front of you today. Equalized testing gives you equality other kinds of education does not.” She turned to the side and showed them all her cutie mark. “I learned that the hard way, so you don't have to.”
As Glory gazed in awe at the compassion radiating from the mare's face, she chided herself for being so stupid. Here Starlight was, founding a truly equal society out of the goodness of her heart, all so ponies like Glory would never feel left out. But now Glory was trying to ruin Starlight's utopia with her stupid worries.
Glory quickly got out from behind her desk, ran right up to Starlight Glimmer, and hugged her tight.
“Oh ho ho!” Starlight said, surprised.
She gestured for the photographer to come closer, then turned Glory around and put a forehoof protectively around the filly. Together, as equals, they smiled at the photographer, who fumbled and bumbled a bit before he had the camera set to take a picture.
“I knew you'd see things my way eventually,” Starlight whispered with a kind and caring smile.
“I'm glad I do,” Glory said.
Starlight tousled her mane again. So friendly, Glory thought about that mare with the same equal sign for a cutie mark everypony else had. The same mark New Glory would someday have as well. Starlight Glimmer wasn't some ivory tower unicorn who thought she was better than regular folks. No, she was a mare of the ponies, who kept hope alive. Hope for the future of Equestria.
Glowing with pride in her village, Glory walked back to her desk and took her seat. Starlight smiled at her from the front of the class. Miss Shake, who still looked a bit nervous about not being able to teach if anypony failed, walked among them and gave out testing papers.
Don't worry, Glory thought to her. We'll do our best to help you. Because we're all friends here.
She looked down at the paper in front of her. It was completely equal with all the other papers, just as all the students in the class were equal. Equal, except for the names they scribbled at the top. Glory put her pencil between her teeth and started to fill in the division tables, which she knew so very well by now. When they were done, the testing papers would still be totally equal, as every answer would be correct.
She didn't look out the window once. She did, however, glance up from time to time to see Starlight Glimmer, still at the front of the class, smiling at them. Smiling, because she knew that all of them, each and every one, were equal. And soon they would show the world just how equal they truly were.
