Psychedelica – Pastel Ponies
A pony story by Joseph Raszagal
As inspired by stuff best kept away from children
Intermission (Chapter 1000) – Being a Kid and Growing Up, it's Hard and Nobody Understands

As also inspired by an extremely adorable tumblr. Go check it out if the following subject matter appeals to you. Tell 'em Razzy sent ya.

When you've got clear skies on a beautiful autumn day, you take a walk and enjoy it.

I'm pretty sure there's a law somewhere that says you have to. Come to think about it, I was probably the guy who ratified it.

Constitutional Jeremyocracy!

But sometimes nice days are really hard to enjoy. Sometimes you hear a little orange kid sobbing by the edge of a lake. And even more importantly, sometimes you just can't walk away from a crying kid.

I can't.

I didn't.

“Hey, what's up?” I asked as I trotted over to him. “You look like you're thinking about a lot more stuff than someone your age should really bother themselves with.”

Looking up, the lanky unicorn colt wiped at his watery eyes with a hoof and replied, “Huh?”

“Uh, right, so a stranger walks up and asks you how you're doing. Could be creepy, right? Heh, my bad. I don't mean any harm.”

“N-no, it's okay,” the colt said through a sniffle. “You didn't do anything wrong.”

“Alrighty then, I guess that brings me back to the elephant in the room. You look pretty upset. Something wrong?”

Shaking his head, he drooped down onto the grass and sighed, “Something's always wrong... I'm just too stupid to figure it all out.”

Well damn, I wasn't expecting an answer that deep.

“Hey, that's a little depressing coming from a kid,” I said, shuffling awkwardly in place. “What's on your mind... uh...?”

“Snails.”

“Okay, so what's on your mind, Snails?” I inquired again.

“I...” he began, closing his eyes as he searched for what he wanted to say, “it's hard to talk about. And I'm not so good with words.”

With a smirk, I replied, “Well, neither am I. I just pretend to be good with 'em when the spotlight's on me. After that I go back to futzing around with catch phrases and pop culture references.”

After a short pause, Snails sniffled back another urge to cry and asked, “Can you... can you keep a secret?”

“I don't really know what's going on, but already, my lips are locked up,” I assured him with a wink. “I'd give you the key, but I already dug a hole, buried it, then filled in the hole with concrete. I'm thinking of building a shed over top of it or something.”

The small smile that I got from him was worth the awful joke.

Alas, it wasn't to last. Only a second or two later and that smile hitched a ride to places unknown, replaced by one of the most frustrated frowns I've ever seen.

“I just... I don't...” he muttered, trailing off into another bout of silent crying.

“Hey now, it's alright,” I said gently. “Really, I promise. I won't say a thing to anyone. Pinkie Promise, even.”

Looking up at me with tired, reddened eyes, the little guy whimpered, “I... I don't know what I should do.”

“Do about what?”

Standing up, Snails trotted closer to the water's edge and pointed at his reflection.

With another sigh, he said, “About myself.”

That made me scratch my head.

“What do you mean?” I asked him, joining him near the water and staring into the steady ripples.

“I'm... not normal,” he muttered, another tear sliding down his cheek.

“If it helps any, neither am I. Normality is overrated.”

“I wish everypony felt that way,” the orange colt replied, his smile forced and bitter.

“You'd be surprised,” I stated, patting him on the shoulder. “Quite a lot do.”

“I feel... wrong. I try really hard to be normal, to fit in, but it hurts. I don't understand myself. I never have.”

Tilting my head at an angle that would have impressed any owl, I pressed on, “Again, I'm gonna need a bit more info than that. What's wrong?”

“I am! I'm wrong!” Snails shouted, stamping a hoof as the tears came back in full flooding force. “I'm a colt, but I don't feel like a colt! Every time I look at myself in the mirror, I see somepony else, somepony who isn't even me! And it hurts!”

And that's when the kid's problem hit me like a ton of bricks.

Geez, am I even qualified to give out the kind of advice that he needs?

Welp, only one way to find out~

“I... I think I know what you're talking about, Snails.”

Meeting my eyes, he bit his lip and asked, “You do?”

“Yeah... and it's hard, isn't it? Not feeling at home in your own body? I'll bet it is.”

Nodding, Snails sat down on the grass to suppress his shivers and answered, “I wish I was somepony else. I'm... not right. I should have been born differently. Not... not like this!”

After debating it in my head for a moment, I stepped forward and gave him a hug, quietly shushing him.

Because hugs fix everything.

SHUT UP, IT'S TRUE!

“Hey, don't cry. Not again. If you turn on the waterworks again, I might do the same. Look, I... I don't know how that feels, but I know you shouldn't cry about it.”

“Why not?” Snails questioned, slowly calming back down.

“Because you are who you are already. I'm not sure if there's ways to change that here, but I know that there's ways to soldier through it, even if it's painful. So... you're a colt, right? But you want to be a filly?”

Apprehensively, he nodded again and said, “Y-yes...”

“Then you're beating yourself up over nothing,” I continued, releasing him and turning my head to look out across the lake.

“W-what?”

“Be yourself,” I expounded, a strange sense of sagely wisdom overcoming me. “Be the filly that you want to be. Don't let your gender decide that for you. It's your life and your identity, not anyone else's. You can be whoever you'd like, physicality be damned! Wear a dress if it makes you feel better, wear the prettiest damn dress you can find! Eyeliner too! Mascara, blush, lipstick, the whole nine yards!”

“But my parents~

“Will understand,” I interrupted, grinning like an idiot. “If they really love you, they'll understand. Do you think they love you?”

“I... I told my Mom already. It upset her, but I think she understands.”

“And your father?” I questioned.

“I know he loves me...” Snails replied, casting his eyes down at his own hooves, “but I'm afraid.”

Nodding, I offered, “If he loves you, he'll understand too.”

Sometimes it's the simple things that really need to be said.

Sometimes the simple things don't seem so simple.

After pondering what I'd told him for a minute, Snails looked up at me again and asked, “W-what's your name?”

“Um, Jeremy,” I responded, feeling more than a little dumb for having only just now told him who I am. “Jeremy Robin.”

Standing up, the orange colt brushed himself off and smiled.

A real smile this time.

That's more like it, kid.

“Thanks, Jeremy. I... I still need to think about this. A lot. But I think you're right. My parents love me. My Dad loves me. I... I think I can do this.”

Returning his smile with one of my own, I said, “I think you can too.”

“Um, if... if I need to talk again, will you be around?” he asked, turning on the unnecessary puppydog eyes.

“If you need to, yes,” I stated, giving him another pat on the back. “I have plans, but they're irrelevant. If you need someone to talk to, I'll be here. Check out the library if you need to find me. And, hey, Twi makes for a pretty awesome psychiatrist too.”

We chatted for a few more minutes, just smalltalk about the town and the coming Running of the Leaves, but eventually the kid thanked me one last time and excused himself to trot off home. I watched him go and got to thinking to myself.

“I think Gilda was right,” I chuckled. “These ponies are turning me into less and less of a jackass with every passing day.”

To be continued in our regularly-scheduled programming, Psychedelica – Pastel Ponies...

Author's Notes:

And thus concludes this very special episode of Psychedelica – Pastel Ponies. I don't think I need to soapbox much more here and ramble on any further about how you should live how you would be best comfortable living, so I'll just conclude with this: Be yourself and damn everyone else who doesn't see the true you in the same light that you do.

A lot of us spend a lot of time torturing ourselves for a lot of reasons (and there goes my “a lot” quota for the decade), but it doesn't have to be that way. There are people you can talk to about your problems. Don't beat yourself up over 'em. You'd make some random guy on the internet who writes pony fanfiction cry. Please don't make me cry, yo.