Well...I need a break from researching ww2 for my other story, so I decided to upload this. It may be vague in the beginning, and yes even a little depressing, but I promise it will become much more lighthearted as I progress.
and yes...I do not in any way shape or form own my little pony? But even think of using any of my ideas without discussion I warn you things my not end well.
threats and disclaimed aside, enjoy!
Scared...Alone...they are both new in my life, but ever present after that day. That horrible, life altering day. The day I learned how to use magic.
I had never been skilled in the art of magic, never being able to produce so much as a spark whist my classmate were able to levitate anything as heavy as a bowling ball. Yet it had me entranced, and I wished to learn more about the subject, knowing very well it had nothing to do with my special talent, as there were many others in my class who excelled far above me in the subject. It did not concern me knowing this, pursuing the knowledge of magic, wanting to know every microscopic thing about the subject.
That was the foundation of my filly hood, sticking my nose in any magic book I could find, no matter how damaged or musty. Due to this I became the outsider of my grade, for different is always shunned by those who set the social standard, and I was a special kind of different. I had yet to receive my cutie mark, which did not bother me in the slightest, only worrying over the material scrolled out over yellowed parchment. My mane and tail were always unkempt and stuck up in any direction, which again I did not take notice. Personal appearance had little value in my eyes, taking up more time in my schedule than it was worth. I did however love myself, not wishing to change the color of my coat or mane as many of my peers had grown into habit of doing, turning from a gentle lilac one week to hot pink with lime green streaks the next. My coat was a pastel yellow, the color of the lemon crayon in class that had been rubbed over the white. My main had been the color of the violet flowers growing in the field near my home which I retreated into to read each afternoon. It also contained the color of the clear sky without clouds, and my tail was the same, with exception of it being mostly the lilac color with lines of the aqua running through it. But it was my eyes that were the only thing about my appearance that I seemed to cherish as my classmates did about fashion or mane dye. They were the color of my mother's a vivid green, the green of new spring grass that signaled the end of the cold times of winter, the color of hope, my mother had told me.
My early years passed by without a break in normality, but the day after my studies paid off, and I finally was able to perform an act of magic that no longer was fact. I woke up, not knowing where I was, or how I had gotten there, and a unknown feeling grabbed my heart with icy fingers. I was afraid. It was not the fear of failing an exam or tripping and stumbling. It was a fear that took over your entire existence, your entire soul, leaving nothing left. And with a fear so pure, panic is always a close companion.
Before calming down and observing my snow covered surroundings I ran in a flurry of limbs, racing as fast as my legs would take me. The snow stung my skin as I ran, flashing by so fast I could not distinguish where one flake differed from another, only seeing white lines flash before me. After a period of time I did not expect to pass, I sunk into the snow in fatigue.
Bitter tears stung my eyes, and I forced myself not to let them spill. I had no idea when I could obtain water again, I could not afford to waste my fluids. It was tempting to consume the snow for nourishment, but after reading tome after tome I had come across the fact that eating snow increased the chances of dehydration and lowering your core temperature. The snow continued falling covering me entirely after some time. I continued laying there, not wishing to waste any off my sapping energy. I longed to see my mother, and her eyes, the green color of hope. But all I could see was the blank white of snow, the blank white of despair.