Background Pony

V - Industry

Dear Journal,

What does it mean to be cursed? What does it truly mean? Does it mean that I've been robbed? Does it mean that I still possess things that have yet to be stolen from me? Have I experienced the worst that fate has to offer, or am I simply lying in wait for the darkest, cruelest punchline in life to come?

It's so very easy for me to feel sorry about myself. It's something that I cannot help but dwell upon each and every day. For a while, I've feared that I would let things like this get to my head, that I would resort to doing acts both desperate and pathetic that would only hurt the ghostly shades of friends I pretend to be surrounded by on a regular basis.

Then I met souls-amazing and inspiring souls-who each were born with a chance to shine, like I once was. Only, though they were never magically robbed of their ability to achieve greatness, I soon realized that they too were at a loss to encounter an opportunity to surpass the limits of themselves. After all, what is life if not a complex game with both winners and losers and not enough points to happily placate both?

The fact that I'm a pony with no perceivable future cannot be denied. Until I can somehow unlock the magical power of the elegies-the thick black borders of my invisible prison-I cannot hope to anticipate anything but a future of oblivion, obscurity, and emptiness.

What, though, can be said of those around me? As a matter of fact, ponies have always been cursed since the beginning of time-not by a frigid dome of amnesia, but by a transitive sphere of ignorance that constantly threatens our very dreams and aspirations from their genius conception to their desperate expression.

I, at least, have a hope that nopony else seems to have. As soon as I end this curse, I expect to immediately start existing again. However, it's been my experience that there are mares and stallions-gentle hearts, all of them-who may never exist, at least not as brilliantly as they would desire to, no matter how hard they struggle. What solution do they have to pick out of a hat? What silver bullet will slay the beast that consumes their artistry with as much ease as I can slay mine?

No. No, I am not cursed. I am simply less blessed, less polished, less shiny than those around me. With time, I have faith that I will enchant that which has been struck dead in my life. I will bring shine back to a dull existence. And yet, no matter what progress I may or may not make, I cannot stop hoping-I cannot stop dreaming-that those around me can become just as lucky too.

A dangling bell above the door shook as I entered. The lavish interior of the fashion shop rang with a gentle melody. Soon, though, an eloquent voice surpassed even that heavenly jingle with a chirping tone of its own.

"Welcome to Carousel Boutique, where every garment is chic, unique, and magnifique."

I couldn't help but smile. Now that's a fabulous greeting if I ever heard one.

"Excuse me..." I spoke as gently and politely as I could. Almost a week had passed since I performed the Threnody in full. Most of my nerves had recollected, and I was happy to be in public once more. The eye-pleasing curtains and smell of clean fabric lulled my spirit as I marched into the luxurious establishment with my rough saddlebag and unassuming hoodie. "I was told that a mare by the name of Rarity works here. Is there a chance I might speak with her?"

Long ago, I had established for myself a simple rule when "greeting" ponies with whom I had become quite familiar. For the sake of simplicity, it seemed a good habit to feign ignorance. I didn't want to alarm any soul by immediately addressing them by name. For the longest time, I never second-guessed this "code" that I lived by.