Journal entry #1

My therapist said that I should write down my thoughts and stuff in a journal. Well, he actually said a diary, but I’m going to call it a journal. The last thing my quickly dwindling sense of self-confidence needs is gossip spreading around town making folks think I’m into little filly stuff like diaries. So yeah, here I am, writing in this journal. I don’t know how writing down what all is wrong with me is supposed to make me feel better, but here it goes. I’m anxious, despaired, depressed, paranoid, and unmotivated. That didn’t help at all.

But whatever, I might as well keep writing. I mean, it’s not like I’ve got anything else going on. And I guess it is kind of relaxing. It’s like venting to someone about my problems, only they don’t fall asleep or try and kill themselves like what usually happens when I talk about my issues. So from now on, I’ll just make daily notes in this journal and write down the things that bothered me each day. Kinda like coming home to your wife, complaining about how much of a nob your boss is, and plopping down on the couch with a beer while she makes dinner and yells at you from the kitchen about how worthless you are. Wow, I’ve got some pretty distorted views on what marriage is like.

Anyway, I’ll start with today. Another craptastic day of scrubbing floors, ponies treating me like a loser, and wasting time after work with Nougat. Same-ole, same-ole. Except for one thing that was really weird. I saw this little crying filly on the way home from work. She was just sitting in the street with no one around. I went up to her to see what the deal was, but... well, she was... Oh forget it. I'm pretty sure it was just a prank anyway.

Rags trudged towards the center of town, exhausted and smelling of soap. He had just clocked out of a hard day of scrubbing, mopping, washing, and wiping. Cleaning was the only thing he seemed to be good at, hence the dish and cloth tattooed on his butt. His brown mane was disheveled, his tan coat was shaggy, and his green eyes were tired and drooping.

Not much attention was paid to the earth pony as he meandered down the street. Everybody knew who he was, then again, everybody knew everybody in Ponyville; they just didn't care as they only regarded him as that weird sad-sack who makes everything clean at that restaurant with the really good hayfries.

But Rags didn’t really care. Well, he did, but he was used to it by now. He was always alone and feeling kind of blue, so he just accepted it. He only ever had one friend, Nougat. Speaking of, Rags could see the yellow pony sitting at one of the tables in the town square, gnawing on some kind of sweet morsel. Rags slowly approached to greet his pal.

“Hey, Nougat, what’s going--”

“I’M NOT A CHANGELING!”

“...on...”

This seemed to always be how Nougat greeted Rags. He used to question it, but soon just embraced it, assuming it was part of some kind of mental condition. Maybe Nougat’s parents were eaten by a changeling or something.

Rags sat down at the table. His jittery friend, who wasn’t a changeling, regained his composure. “I mean, uhm, nothing’s up. You know, just the same old thing,” He grinned sheepishly.

“Yeah," Rags dropped his head on the table with a thunk, glaring off into space, "same old thing."

“Hey, bro, something wrong? You look kinda bummed. More so than usual, at least.” Nougat began snacking again.

“Nothing special. I’m just feeling especially bad today, for whatever reason,” Rags droned.

“Does somebody need a cupcake?” Nougat offered his half eaten treat, to which Rags simply stared at him for a moment. Apparently the pegasus was oblivious to the fact that half eaten food wasn’t appealing in the slightest. When Rags denied, Nougat went back to eating it, speaking through mouthfuls. “You know what you need? A marefriend! Someone to hold, someone to snuggle with, someone to make out with, someone to--”

“Dude! There are kids around here!” Rags interrupted. “Besides, I’m not interested. Getting out of this rut I call life is higher on my priorities list.” Rags let out another deep sigh, and Nougat leaned back into his seat, knowing that whenever his friend did that, it meant he was about to get deep and existential... and really depressing.

“It’s not fair,” Rags said somberly while sitting up.

“Um... what’s not?”

“This.”

“What this?”

“This this.”

“What this this?”

“This! Life! None of it is fair!” Rags gestured to everything around him.

“I’m afraid you'll have to elaborate, buddy,” Nougat said, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Some ponies get it all. Some ponies get lots of money, some ponies get lots of fame, some ponies are naturally talented in things that are big and impressive, and some ponies just have lots of interesting things happen to them. And what do I have?”

“I dunno,” Nougat replied.

“I’ll tell ya what I have. Nothing.” Rags, for the second time, let his head fall on the table.

“What are you talking about, you big baby? You’re way better off than a lot of ponies. You’ve got a job, your own place, and... and...” Nougat trailed off.

“Precisely. I’ve got a job, that pays squat by the way, and a house. That’s it. Meanwhile look at someone like, say, Princess Twilight!”

“What about her?”

“She’s a princess, she has everything handed to her on a royal silver platter, she’s a genius who dabbles in things that would make our heads explode if we tried to understand them, she’s got god-like magic at her horn-tip, she’s gorgeous, she can fly, and to top it all off, she’s an Element of Harmony. So on top of being perfect and ruling over a whole nation, she’s a conduit for unfathomable magic and a national hero who has saved the world more times than I can count!” Rags took a breath, slightly worn out from saying all of that in one go.

“Well, that's why she's our princess. Your point?” Nougat asked, slightly bewildered by the long winded rant against their ruler.

“So look at me. I’m a dishwasher. That’s it. That’s my life in a nutshell. I’m living proof that life isn’t fair. There are those like the princess, an epitome of perfection, and then there is somebody like me. A dishwasher who is only farting around, doing nothing of significance, until he dies and withers away and everyone forgets about him,” Rags huffed.

Nougat, having had enough of his buddy's whining, tried to calm his friend. “That kind of thinking is why you’re depressed all the time, you know. You should quit looking at what other ponies have, because it will only make what you have look like crap in comparison. No matter what you do, there are a million ponies who are just better than you."

“Well I don’t quite like that mentality. It’s basically just swallowing the garbage you’ve been given instead of asking why you can’t have the delicious meal the ponies over there are getting,” Rags said, resting his chin on a hoof.

Nougat rolled his eyes. “If you’re so sick of being in a dull routine, then go do something with yourself.”

“You don’t think I’ve tried? Every time I try to accomplish something, I get shot down. Tried going to college, ran out of money. Tried finding a special talent that makes me unique, and I get this stupid thing.” Rags jutted a hoof at his cutie mark and scowled. “Washing crap? Really!? How is that a special talent? Anyone can scrub a dish with a sponge! That’s not something you dedicate your life too, that’s something you do as a foal because it’s part of your list of chores!”

Nougat buried his face in his hooves. “Why are you bitching to me about this? Isn’t that what your therapist is for?”

Rags stood up from his seat. “Funny, because he said the same thing you did.”

“Well then if everyone is telling you to make the best of what you got, why aren’t you doing it?”

“Because that’s like polishing a turd. There’s no point when what I have isn’t all that great to begin with,” Rags said, stretching his aching muscles. “I’m sorry for going off on you, bro. It’s just that I’ve been trying to figure things out. It just feels like I’ve wasted my life. I mean, I’ve never even been outside of Ponyville. Well, there was that one time those douchenozzles tricked me into going into the Everfree and I nearly got eaten by timberwolves, back in middle school, but that wasn’t all too fulfilling, to be honest.”

Nougat hopped down from his seat, stuffing the rest of the cupcake in his mouth and harshly swallowing. “Rags, bubala, you think too much. Just remember, the possibilities are endless. Who you are is not set in stone.”

“That was pretty profound of you, Nougat. I’m impressed... wait... you got that off a fortune cookie, didn’t you?” Rags deadpanned.

“Uhh...”

“Oh whatever.” Rags began walking, and Nougat trotted up beside him to finish up the conversation with a suggestion.

“Maybe what you need is an adventure,” Nougat said confidently.

“What kind of adventure are we talking about here? Because I already said that I didn’t find narrowly escaping the jaws of death too invigorating. Unless you were talking about living out some sort of perverted fantasy,” Rags said jokingly

“Well I was talking about exploring some kind of ancient temple or whatever adventurers do, but I’m sure a harem of hot babes would perk your spirits too,” Nougat laughed.

Rags chuckled softly with his pegasus friend. As enticing as oodles of gold in a secret room off in some ancient palace sounded, he wasn’t Daring Doo. That sort of thing just doesn’t happen to ponies like himself. He didn’t really even want something like that to happen. He would be more than happy to settle for some clarity in life. That’s what he needed, not a dragon to slay, a maiden to save, or a harem to woo.

“Anywho, I best be off. I’ve got a lady waiting for me at home.” Nougat proclaimed, his chest puffed out and head held high.

“Your mother doesn’t count, Nougat--”

“You'll see! I’ll get the hottest marefriend you’ve ever laid your virgin eyes on, Rags! Someday! Maybe not today! Maybe not next week! Maybe not next month! Maybe not next year! But it. Will. Happen! I swear on my queen's--er, I mean, on the princesses crown!” Nougat flew off, feigning righteous fury. Rags chortled at his friend. He was an awkward pegasus, always nervous around strangers and even those he already knew until he gets in motion, so to speak. But once he got comfortable in a social environment, he was a great colt to be around. Probably why he and Rags had been friends since elementary.

Getting back on track, Rags set off towards home once again. The sun began to set, illuminating the landscape and surrounding buildings in a dim orange warmth. Pink and purple splashed the sky, with pink slowly being overcome by purple and the approaching dusk behind it. Ponies moseyed back into their houses and shut down their street kiosks. Some sat with their lovers on benches, watching the orange blaze dip below the horizon. Others looked to be preparing, gathering their associates for upcoming night time shenanigans. Rags might have been a depressing soul, but even he was feeling pretty chipper in the wake of such tender atmosphere. If only he could feel so contented all of the time.

Soon enough, the night came. The moon reared it’s alabaster dome, peeking just over the buildings and establishments of the town. Street lamps provided vision for those still up and about at such an hour. Stars speckled the heavens like sugar sprinkled over a dark treat by a masterful chef of the cosmos. This was the greatest part of the day to Rags. The peaceful walk home under the thousands of watchful, glowing eyes of the soft-spoken night, with nobody around to call him a loser or scream at him to get this or that done. Whenever he looked above, his worries felt as if they were expunged from his stress addled mind.

Though the night wasn’t as potent as he wished it were when it came to alleviating anxiety. As his home came into view a few blocks down, thoughts of how the day was going to play out tomorrow slithered into his conscious thought, stirring up the familiar feelings of dread that typically came with such prospects. He shrugged, feeling defeated. The hand he was dealt in life was beaten by the full house that his opposition possessed. The following morning would bring the same feelings as the last: more pain and stress. Between his dull routine, the lack of support from most around him, and the questions of what to do with his existence, Rags was on the verge of an episode.

They would find him tied to the doorknob of his bedroom door by a necktie, overdosed on pills and smelling of alcohol, with something profound and haunting written on a suicide note. Oh, who was he kidding? He didn’t have the gump to do that. Besides, maybe his comrade was right. It’s a big, wide world, with bountiful possibilities, right? Who ever said that it was impossible for Rags to make something of himself? He could be an artist, or an athlete, or maybe pursue his secret dream of being one of the greatest physicists the world has ever known! Even if he couldn’t draw to save his life, had two left hoofs, and found getting a grasp on many of the mathematical concepts of physics to be a challenging process that could very well take up most of his li-- he’s gonna be a dishwasher forever.

Head hung in solemn thought, he neared his destination, when he heard a faint noise. It was soft and sporadic, coming only in small coughs. His ears perked as he tried to focus on the sound. He thought of several possible sources that would make such a sound at this time of the night. It didn’t sound like a cat rummaging through the trash, nor did it sound like a piece of litter skittering across the ground in the breeze. He listened intently, waiting for his brain to identify the strange sound. The breeze changed direction, and blew straight towards him. This little change enhanced the clarity of the noise just enough for Rags to pinpoint the entity.

It was a filly weeping.

After coming to a reasonable conclusion of the source, his next and most obvious questions were where was this filly at, and why was she crying. Well as for the where, she was definitely outside, Rags could tell that much, so he wasn’t just hearing the sounds of a filly in her room through an open window. As for the why, perhaps she was lost. Maybe this part of town was foreign to her. Rags decided it was time to stop theorizing and act.

He walked forward, listening. The sound came from ahead, but not quite in front of him. He stepped softly so he could hear. The closer he got, the better he was able to discern the location. Now it sounded like it was coming from the right. As he reached the end of the block, with his home three blocks further down, he could see her. A little dark-blue pegasus filly sitting under a streetlamp on the sidewalk to his starboard.

He watched from around the corner, glancing from side to side, waiting to see if someone else was around. Admittedly, it was very creeper-like of Rags to check and see if nobody else was around before approaching a filly. But this wasn’t because he was sizing her up, it was because he was naturally a very paranoid pony. He had ludicrous notions about this crying filly, like how she could have been a red herring set in place to attract unsuspecting victims for a group of bandits to ambush. And some much more reasonable notions, like how she could just be waiting for someone to come pick her up.

Suppressing his paranoia, he began to move towards her, feeling that even if someone was coming to pick her up, he should at least see what she was crying about. Sure it wasn’t really his business, but he couldn’t just leave the filly sobbing alone in the dark. Tentatively he emerged into the same patch of light the filly sat in, and gently spoke to her

“Excuse me little filly, is something wrong?” The filly only continued crying, tears lightly splashing the pavement. “Hey, are you okay?” Rags inched closer as he spoke.

“I’m having the nightmares again,” the filly breathed.

“What?” Rags said perplexedly. Not really knowing how to respond, he cautiously raised a hoof to her shoulder after a brief moment of silence. “Uhm... there there? It’s, uh, gonna be alright.” She raised her head slowly. Rags snapped his hoof back, thinking he might have upset her. She began to turn to him, her light blue mane obscuring her eyes, from which tears still flowed. She brought her head up to look at him and--

Nothing. There was nothing. There was nothing in her eyes. They were pitch black. No pupils, no irises, no whites, no life, nothing. Solid darkness stared at Rags. No, not at Rags, at his soul. Those eyes were empty of life, and yet, there was something in them that gazed into his very being. He didn’t know what it was, but it was something that made his skin crawl. It all took place in only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity to the dumbfounded Rags. As quickly as the feeling of dread struck him, a flash of bright light washed over him and filled his vision.

He fell back on his flank, rubbing his eyes. When his watery-eyed sight came back, she was gone. He whipped his head in every direction, searching for the filly. But she had disappeared, undoubtedly sinking into the darkness around the light and scurrying off. Rags got to his hooves, still rubbing one eye.

Okay, let’s just stay calm here, Rags. Just stay calm. Now, I have no clue what just happened, who she was, or what the buck was up with those eyes, but obviously it wasn’t anything harmful. You are not hurt, you can see, so she didn’t blind you, and what the buck was up with those eyes!? No no, calm yourself, don’t freak out, there is probably a perfectly logical reason for all of that, what with the flash, and the crying, and the what the buck was up with those eyes!?

Rags' eyes had shrunk to pinpricks and darted about, his mane stood on end, and his brain chugged and lurched like a steam engine leaving the station, searching for an explanation. Finally, in a moment of brilliance, he came to a conclusion that a dedicated private-eye would nod his approval to.

A prank! That’s what this was! A prank! Some buttmunch just put that filly on the sidewalk with some kind of weird eye makeup or whatever to freak out any passing ponies. Well played, you joker! Well played! I laugh! I laugh at your joke! Because that's obviously what it was! Yep, just a joke! Clearly not a freakish supernatural event! Now take some deep breaths Rags, you big scaredy cat, you! And just trot down the street there to your house. ‘Sall good, ‘sall good...

He spun on his hooves and made way towards his domicile, putting a strenuous amount of effort into being relaxed and calm.

Did she have a horn? I could have sworn I saw a... nah.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, Rags began to cool off. He looked at the situation, thought up a logical explanation, laughed it off (albeit rather dementedly), and resumed his journey back home... though, at a more urgent pace. He didn't bother to follow up on the peculiar phenomenon. Whatever just happened there, it was over and done with. He reasoned there was no need to pursue the oddity, but he was really just trying to justify what was essentially running away.

It was a perfect way to end the night, now that he thought about it. He was stressed and high strung, he got the giblets scared off him, and ironically, due to that very reason, he was now too tired and worn out to continue stressing over things. Now he could sleep easy tonight and not be kept up into the wee hours by his anxieties, as per usual.

He reached his home, quickly stuck the proper keys into the corresponding locks, and scrammed into his house, slamming the door behind him. Though he had convinced himself it was just a joke, those eyes. Whoever the mastermind was, they did a fine job with that eye-makeup-contact-lens-whatever. The fear he felt in that moment, with those dark pits boring into him, was a feeling most horror movies only wish they could instill. But, seeing as it was just a harmless little joke, he could rest easy. He tossed his keys onto the counter, grabbed a bottle of that fantastic cider he saved from cider season out of the fridge, and slumped onto the couch in his living room.

Though the vicious, depression feeding cycle would start again tomorrow, he felt strangely at ease. Finishing off the few swigs of cider, he tossed the bottle with perfect accuracy into the garbage can in the kitchen using skills that were a byproduct of years worth of cleaning for a living. He lugged himself into his neat and tidy bedroom and fell on the bed, too spent to even pull the blanket over himself. He spiraled into a deep dream-filled sleep, visions of something better dancing in his mind... and those eyes.