Ch.1

Dear Future Self: Ponyville is just as happy and seemingly perfect as ever. Times like this make me wish I actually was more a social butterfly like I playoff, but society is like that. Ha-ha, deception is fun. Even fooled that little smart-ass, Twilight "sparkle", what a prissy name, perfect for that prissy little bitch. I picked up the first items for the celebration.

Celebration Items So Far:

1 package of 12 white un-aired balloons

1 Black Sharpie

1 Red Sharpie

3 rolls of streamers of assorted colors

10 boxes of wall tacks in assorted colors (100 pieces to a box)

Finished typing, I continue to just sit there staring blankly at my old type writer. I don't even know why I make these entries. I've always been against diaries, it's basically all your life laid open for all to see, but the lists seem practical, my memory can't last more than 12 hours nowadays. I look down at my hooves, laying still, limply on the keys-THUMP THUMP THUMP. I whip my head around to where I thought the general direction of the noise was but all I saw was my empty hallway. Damn, I need to pick up some candles the low light was just too creepy to take, the only light in the room was half a red pillar candle set next to the rusted type writer, my hooves began to tremble on the keys, my flank is sore from sitting down so long on the old wooden chair that came with the house when I bought it. I look up at the wall in front of me, a painting hangs perfectly symmetrical to the log desk I'm sitting at, but something seems…off. I focus on the illustration, the picture shows a simple and unskilled drawing of a red mare lying down, its mouth hangs open and its eyes seem to stare at you in shock, monotoned only by the lack of skill whoever made it has. The red ink of the mouth seems to melt from a drop of red ink that appeared to have dripped and rolled down the page. My eyes scan lower on the picture and in black scribbled ink are the words:

FLUTTERSHY

AGE 5

"Song of the flies"

Weird.

It's just an innocent drawing, made by….myself. I don't remember making such a thing but it's been here ever since I moved in, hung up by my mother probably, who helped me unpack I believe, but is now deceased, I think her ashes are in storage,

I can't remember.

THUMP THUMP THUMP

"I'm coming! Calm your tits." I holler towards the hallway. I scoot the chair back, get up and start towards the hallway, annoyed.