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a memory   
12:45pm 24/09/2005
  Once, when Spookytale was young, and it was becoming obvious to her Mummy that she was a sickly child, she'd been taken to a "Modern Witch Doctor". He was actually an ordinary physician with a passing interest in the occult, but he had been helpful enough.

After her exam he'd bent down and gently pet her hair and handed Spooky a lollipop. He'd smelled like strong soap and sage, and she'd liked being around him, even if she hadn't liked the tests.

"There, there, you'll be ok. We'll find a cure for you. After all, the difference between a curse and a curable illness is modern medicine, isn't that right?"

Little Spooky, with a lollipop crammed in one cheek look up at him with her wide lavender eyes and smiled. "Not really," was her innocent reply.		  
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So I was watching tv...   
11:45am 24/09/2005
 
mood: aggravated
I was watching a tv show about the most haunted places, with these British humans wandering around and screaming. It was filmed with this grainy green "night vision" look, which made me a little hungry. It looked more like catching a bite to eat in the moonlit pastures then the way a haunted place looks, but maybe that's just me.

In one scene the British Manly Men were doing a seance with a rickety table and swearing like pirates. It reminded me of the seances I've snuck into. Oh, I've seen ghosts at them. Sometimes one will even sit at the table, but only if they were hoping for a spot of tea. Honestly, it is more like a tea party then a ghost magnet - but that may be because it developed in parlors and it was fancied by the same people who had frilly tea parties. But generally the spirits float on by, grab some nachos, read the sports pages, and then leave - content in the knowledge that the living were so busy watching a table , listening to joints popping and getting wrapped up in the atmosphere that they'd never notice the actual spirits leaving crumbs on the linoleum.

But that's ghosts for you.

My person friend tried to tell me about movies and shows she's seen with ghosts, but I got upset and ran off to write in my journal. Those people are actors, they weren't ever really stuck without being able to communicate with their loves ones or left helplessly watching the world go by without them.

So, here I am, writing in my journal.

I want nachos.		  
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Djinn 'n' Juniper I   
10:34am 27/06/2005
  The thing about having shod hooves was that it made swimming a bit difficult. And it wasn’t like one could just kick them off at will, it took a good deal of effort to throw a shoe. Generally they added just a itty bit of weight, but since Djinn ‘n’ Juniper was currently trying to stay on the proper side of a five hundred foot waterfall, that bit of weight rather mattered.

Juniper heaved against the white waters, and mused on the downfalls of fine city living. If it weren’t for beautiful women he just wouldn’t bother. Of course, if it weren’t for beautiful women with darn protective fathers he wouldn’t be in this mess, now would he? Though, he mused, he rather looked forward to being an overprotective father himself one day.

And that’s when some driftwood smacked him in the chest and neck and he went over the waterfall.

There was some pain, far far away pain, happening to someone else’s backside. Djinn ‘n’ Juniper felt his stomach up in his neck, and the very curious feeling of swimming quickly downward in free fall. His chest felt compressed as the air screamed past him too quickly for him to breathe. “Ah well,” said his brain, “at least the view’s nice. It looks like liquid rainbows all around your stupid doomed neck.”

“A miracle could happen…” he argued with himself.

“If you get a miracle then you owe someone a whole lot of tender loving devotion.” His brain could be rather reasonable. The spray from the jagged rocks was swelling towards him now, he could feel icy splinters jabbing at the fog of darkness edging around his brain.

“I guess now is an ideal time to pass out, before the jagged rocks tear my flesh from my bones.”

And that’s when a miracle happened.

(from [info]daily15 word #204)		  
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Spritesprite   
09:43pm 19/06/2005
  ([info]daily15 word #198)

Spritesprite flounced through the woods, just as flirty and shimmer shrouded as if she had been performing for her throng of suitors. Even though the woods of the shattered and former granter of knowledge and giver of wishes were often desolate, one never knew where a handsome prince might be lurking. She tossed her silken mane over her shoulder, smiling as it softly landed over her other eye, gently covering it in a romantic drape of hair.

Even as she admired the effect she could almost hear her oddball cousin chiding her. Her cousin always said that magic would happen, Spritesprite couldn't prance it into happening just by wiggling her hips. She sighed and set about looking for something to fill her overpriced designer impulse purchase basket with. Even though her family was filled with freaks and outcasts, they often seemed to stumble into grand romances that spread across time and even the boundary of life and death itself. While she, a filly so fine that many a man had declared her eyes to be magic, her mane to be magic, her smile to be magic… was alone. It wasn't fair.

As she plopped indignant daisies into her basket she heard hoofbeats in the distance, and something in the timbre caused her heart to race. She looked up, and her luminous eyes widened. “I spy,” she thought to herself “something that starts with 'incredibly gorgeous'”.

She slung the basket on her pale green back and trotted towards the stallion, and a small voice sang in her pretty ear. It sang of gods, of new cultures, and of an island far away that would lie forgotten for ages as the jealous protector of magical secrets. She never looked back.		  
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ack   
01:00pm 19/04/2005
  Everyone has the sniffles. I don't want to get sick! I already have CWS, I don't need a snot virus, too.

Bob taught me some new phrases today. Foo, bar, and baz. Neologisms rule. Neologisms in Ponyland would be the name of my novel, if I wrote a novel called Neologisms in Ponyland.		  
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Is something ahoof?   
12:49pm 07/04/2005
  Today my person friend gave me a pirate chest full of boobies. Blue footed boobies. Then she laughed, declared that a chest full of boobs was better 'en gold, had a coughing fit, and went back to bed.

...

I don't get it.

I will have to keep my eyes open then, just in case it was supposed to make sense.		  
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Tholo   
01:00pm 25/03/2005
  Nestled amongst verdant mountains rested a quiet little town, it's rich soil and pure waterfall providing a comfortable life for the residents. The summer had been stiflingly hot, the air hung limply like damp cloying spider webs, wrapping up the town residents in wilting heat. Even so, most of the villagers went about their cheerful business, though slowly and with many ice cream breaks at the local cafe. They were much like you and myself in that regard, I suppose.

Though one night the bad dreams came. As the cicadas called, and the frogs sang, horrible monsters swam up to the villagers in their dreams. The monsters growled out that they were the Ra'elgerz and they would swallow all their love. Each monster towered above their chosen victim, covered in flowing rags that oozed forth fungus and slime. Four arms each, and their heads were shrunken, falling backwards towards their arched spike covered backs, though their mouths were swollen, huge, and grossly protuding from their contorted faces. Blistered lips laughed silently as fumes snaked forth towards the villagers. Their dank breath gagged the dreamers as the beasts sucked their good dreams away. They mashed their teeth at the dreamers, chased them, tossed them, threatened them, and held just out of reach bright jars containing the villagers good dreams. Each pony felt alone, isolated, the sole victim.

That morning each and every villager awoke with a start, his or her breath ragged, pillows damp from sweat. Loved ones clung to each other, friends ran to seek solace. As they took comfort in each others' company the tight grip on their hope lessened, and slowly a few of their favorite dreams came back to them, though only in the waking. They still felt weak, lackluster.

All found comfort in company except for Bartholomew - a dark and selfish young lad. He had never had much love to give, and had always wished ill upon his neighbors. He envied them their happiness, but had never thought to partake in it. While others sought friendship, he sat in bed and brooded. His dreams did not return, instead they were replaced with spite.

He pulled himself from his bed, and angrily strode outside.

"Ho! Tholo!" One of his neighbors called to him, "Are you all right?"

"It's Bartholomew," and though he could have then confided in his neighbor about the dreams - he did not. He turned and darkly strode away instead.

The bad dreams continued that night, and the next morning the villagers were weaker, but still found hope in each other.

Tholo grew angrier.

When the cry went up that a wise woman had come to their town, to help with the dreams, relief spread through the townspeople like doves in flight. For all except Tholo.

"Ha! Such foolishness- a wise woman indeed. What could she know?" Deep in his heart he was jealous that no one had ever called him wise.

The villagers flocked around her. She was old, her mane was a silvery pink, and it shimmered in the setting sun. Her dark coat was so covered with swirls and dots of varying hues that it was almost impossible to say what color it was.

She sighed as she spoke, her great age seeming to emanate even from her bones. "Ahh...ahhh...yes..." she paused. Tholo snorted impatiently in the background. "You have done well to care for each other..."

The crowd rustled, surely there must be more they could do?

The old woman pulled forth many ribbons from her bag by her side. They ranged in hue and texture, but all of them shimmered with a tiny hand-print near one end.

"These ribbons have been held by faeries as they cavort in the moonlight. The ribbons are gossamer reminders of the pure joy of it, the innocence – they have absorbed just a bit of magic. Tie one of these ribbons in your hair and you shall sleep soundly. The Ra'elgerz can not bear such things..."

Bartholomew's harsh barking laugh cut her off. "Ribbons, ribbons?!? Surely this woman is a charlatan!" He turned to the villagers, and when not one agreed he left in a huff. He was the only one not to take a ribbon.

That night all slept soundly - except for Tholo. An entire hoard of the monsters converged on him, starving, greedy, cloying, grasping. Tholo awoke, the moon poured her light on his face. He gulped for air and then lay very still...thinking. His thoughts jumbled all around, avoiding the truth like it was a stinging insect. He thought that if the neighbors slept better then he it must be because they were better off - maybe their bed was more comfortable. As Tholo thought this over his bed seemed lumpy and hard. Yes, if he had his neighbor's bed, and perhaps their sheets and pillows, then surely he would sleep soundly. He fell back asleep, dreaming of ways he could make what was theirs - his.

The next morning Tholo stumbled, sheer exhaustion clinging to his skin and sinew like bloated dead slugs. But then he heard his neighbors laughing and talking, and a flood of angry energy boiled up. "Oh, I must have their bed!" Tholo thought to himself. He spent the day half-awake, barely able to function. His one thought was of how soundly he would sleep in the neighbors’ bed.

That night was preternaturally quiet, but Tholo was too tired to notice. He stumbled over to his neighbor's house, carrying a knife. Oh, he intended to do evil, that much is sure. As he crept inside he beheld a great beast. Its surface writhed, and it emitted a dull hum, like many insects. The beast was shaped like a great cicada, with a head like a great wolf, it's maw huge. Tholo was too tired to run, and instead stood in angry fascination.

It moved it's great bulk close to him. "The Ra'elgerz have made me to serve you, they beheld your evil dreams and rejoiced in them. As you exist, I exist."

At this Tholo rejoiced. Finally, he had something great!

"But," the creature whispered "I care not for you at all." And with that it opened its great dark maw and swallowed him whole. As Tholo's screams faded away the beast fell into hundreds of cicadas. They quickly scattered in a tumultuous dance, and forevermore they cared for nothing but freedom and song. In the fair moonlight Tholo’s knife glinted, the only scrap of him to remain.		  
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musing on   
04:37pm 10/03/2005
  I feel like I'm a fluttering eyelash - just barely. Just barely here, there. I don't exist today.

The radio echoes and mumbles, bad houseguest. It's the worst kind of company. The advertisement for self-confidence in a pill whines on, demanding to know if I feel invisible and powerless, and I want to flick it off. But I'm too insubstantial, too insignificant, and in the end it wins and advertises on and on.

I cry. When I cry cats stare at me, wide eyed and hunched up, tail twitching, muscles taught. No one seems to know what the cats are looking at, and I hide away, before I cry in front of my friends.

Then I am ready to feel better, so I look for stories. My stories. The rest will pass.		  
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Snowdrop Hope I   
01:48pm 09/03/2005
  Once upon a time, around the start of memories, there blossomed a kingdom. It was a rolling land of emerald, and songs of joy fell from the lips of almost every citizen. It was a jovial land, though it bloomed and faded within the slow wink of the blue time tortoise. There is no trace of it now, but for the ponies that remember the stories told, such as this one.

This story is one of Snowdrop Hope, an old mare that lived on the forested edge of the kingdom. She was white and spring green, and she lived by the forest in order to sing. Her heart was so full of hope for peace and joy that her songs soothed even the wild wolves. In this way she kept many safe, and she was glad for it. She worked honestly, and lived happily, but for the wish of a daughter.

One day, as she paused by the forest edge, she ruminated on her one wish while eating her apple. “Oh, I am getting old, and maybe my song is not as full of hope as before. I wish I had a daughter to dote on and to teach!”

She tossed her apple into the woods, where it landed with an “Oooch!” Startled, Snowdrop Hope crept into the woods, knowing full well that apple cores do not generally speak unless they have something important to say. Would a talking apple core grant her a daughter? It was a land full of magic…

However, what she found was an old stallion named Murph. Old Man Murph rather fancied her, and he spent a suspicious amount of time lurking near her home trying to think of ways to woo her. He was smiling, as if he’d been struck with gold.

“Oh, fair Snowdrop Hope. I was just passing through to the miller’s, and I heard your wish. I would be happy to give you a daughter, for spending my life hearing your fair voice is my wish…”

Snowdrop Hope sighed. He could be charming, but she really had no need for a husband. Her life was full of joy enough, but for the absence of a daughter. “I’m sorry…”

“Well, I’m not sure how else you expect to get a daughter.” The old romancer frowned at her, then trotted off before he could get the scolding he deserved.

Snowdrop Hope watched him go, thinking over his retort. How would she get a daughter without a man in her life?		  
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12:58pm 09/03/2005
  Eeeehehe, now I can share my stories without having to chase around Tabs while shouting them at her.  
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spookytale
 
 

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