In the small town of Ponyville, during one stormy night, a small pegasus pony was born. As she entered the world through the darkness of the womb she had previously known, a crack of lightning split the sky. From inside the hospital, for that was where the mother had gone upon entering the pains of labor, the lightning could do no harm. Yet, for all that, the sound and the flash of light startled the mother, and in doing so the foal was pushed forth from the darkness into the blinding light of the world. A healthy white earthpony, a nurse, took the child from the mother quickly in order to care for the small foal. To everyponies delight, the foal seemed healthy enough, but it did not make a sound as most foals might. This displeased the nurse and she attempted to stroke the cheeks of the foal, prompting it to sound and signal that it could, indeed, do so. It did not. Just then, a second strike of lightning split the sky anew and the small foal's cry split the night. The nurse, kind-hearted as she was, was naturally pleased to see that the babe was healthy. However, the foal made such a piercing cry that the nurse was a bit shaken, though she made no comment nor motion to indicate this.
The small pegasus was handed into the welcoming hooves of her mother, whose identity was neither important nor worth noting. The foal, however, basked in the new sensation of heat and soon snuggled to her mother. Then, very slowly as if to savor the moment somehow, the foal began to open her eyes. For the first time, though unknowingly, it gazed upon the world with its deep green eyes. Outside the storm began to die down and the winds began to settle. The foal gave no notice to this and, as was it want, began to close its eyes once more. For a third and final time the lightning flashed and the thunder boomed. The green eyes of the pegasus burst open and she screamed, though no sound escaped her tiny lips.
The life of this small pegasus seemed uneventful to say the least, albeit from the perspective from the casual onlooker. In truth, the day to day activities of the minty-green pony did seem quite uneventful. She, like the other fillies, went to school in order to learn a great man things, including the wonderful event in one's life that was the earning of the cutie mark. This fascinated the young foal greatly. Would her cutie mark be something extraordinary? Perhaps a mark of a great scholar or athlete? Would it signify her destiny to aid others in life?
Standing before the mirror in her room, the pony attempted to glean what her purpose was in life, just what it was that made her unique. Looking in the mirror, she did not see much at all; this disappointed her greatly. For, in the mirror, the filly saw a minty-green pony with a maroon and tail. The forest-green eyes were deep, but did not contrast with her coat color whatsoever. Snorting, the filly cast her reflection aside, denying it quite completely. Whatever her purpose was, whatever destiny planned for her, it certainly could not be encountered in this mirror.
The filly went from her room, where the wretched mirror lied, and headed outside into her own personal garden. In truth, the garden was a part of the house that her parents, who were of no significance, owned, but it was as good as hers anyways. Yes, the garden was truly her own as she tended to all of its needs—the watering, the weeding, the seeding. Yet for all her efforts, gardening in and of itself did not seem to be her special talent as no mark ever appeared on her flank. It was maddening. Though, if the filly was to be honest with herself, she would not have wanted a gardening cutie mark anyways. No, a gardening cutie mark did not seem grandiose enough and therefore she did not desire it as fervently. What she wanted, what she desired, had to amount to more than a silly gardening cutie mark. It was her wish, so therefore it was certain.
Still frustrated with her time spent by the mirror, the filly began to weed out the garden. She went about it, normally, in a very orderly fashion, but today was not ordinary, not really. Instead, today the filly went about yanking the weeds from each corner of the soil and tossing them about. To her surprise, tears began to well up in her big eyes, but that could not be helped after all. Then, after her little bout of rage had subsided, she began to water her roses. The roses, in fact, were her favorites of the garden and pervaded most of the square footage of the place. They were, as they were meant to be, a deep bloody red, akin to the mane of the filly who tended them. It was the middle of spring now and the flowers had already begun to blossom nicely. Each petal stretched out from the bud, display each their sensual beauty, but never to be parted from the flower itself. That was the curse of such beauty.
The filly, still as mute as ever, began to sit quietly in her garden as she so often did. In truth, she felt as though she did not need to speak at all. What was the point of blathering endlessly when all the world's truths could simply be gained by listening? This she did. In the blissful silence of the garden, the pony could become one with what gave her such life. The wind rustled each leaf of the garden, leading them momentarily into a frenzied dance that was never to last. The wind played with the long ponytail of the filly, picking it up but always returning it back to form. It was a friendly gesture in the end. However, the wind switched and began to swirl constrictingly about her. The pegasus, being a winged creature, attempted to extend her wings and fly away, but the wind tore her down and held her firmly planted in the place. Then, for the first time in her life, she heard the words that had been hidden for so long.
"Können Sie mich hören?"
And, surprisingly, the filly spoke. Once more, for the first time in her short life, the words she never thought she possessed came readily to her lips. Her mouth, so dry from the lifeless idolatry it had long endured, began to crack into use. Her ears, however, rebelled against the sound and turned down upon hearing such a dusty voice, so worn with disuse.
"نعم حقا."
In a moment of rapture the filly whinnied with joy, a frivolity almost unknown to her until this point. She bucked up and down, her tiny wings carrying her off the garden floor and into the wind once more. Her eyes lit up with a green fire from the depths of the leaves that surrounded her and a smile broke the face of one so long without one. In a dazzling display of light, the flank of the filly glowed and shimmered. Still beating her tiny wings, the filly looked down and smiled quite genuinely once more. Upon her flank was a type-set letter "A" in bold black with a thorny vine of red surrounding it. Though she did not understand it completely, the filly was overjoyed. At long last she had discovered her talent: language!
[Or had she really?]