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Organised by
RogerDodger
Word limit
400–750
These Thoughts of Mine
You know that feeling in the pit of your stomach that tells you that you should be doing something you’re not doing? The one you get when you forget a dentist appointment, or play video games instead of homework? Yeah. Like that. That’s how I feel right now.
It’s cold enough tonight that there’s a nice warm fire in the fireplace. Dad’s reading again, like he usually does after dinner. Mom’s cleaning, and I’m being quiet listening to my music. It’s been getting real easy for me to be quiet lately. See, I’ve been thinking.
Dad says thinking’s dangerous. Says that the thinkers always get killed or arrested, like Issac Neighton or Gallopleo, and that if they had just kept their mouths shut they wouldn’t have ruined it for the rest of us. I guess I can kind of see that: they did kind of say that Princess Celestia was a fake. Not much of a smart thing to do, for all the thinking they did.
Still, I’ve started thinking, and now I can’t stop. I’m thinking about this colt in my class who sits next to me at lunch. He’s very nice, and always offers me one of his mom’s cookies, which I always take. Those things are awesome! But even if he didn’t give me food, he listens to me, and he comforts me when I need it. My school year wouldn’t have gone half as well without his help on my homework either! But yeah: he’s nice.
His mane is a beautiful gold that clashes perfectly with his deep blue coat. The hairs are so soft and straight, too. And he wears it like it’s nothing! Every day I see him it’s always swept to one side like he doesn’t care about where it lands, but is where it’s supposed to be anyway. He’s so relaxed, so carefree.
I think my favorite part about him though, is how he looks at me sometimes, like I’m the only pony on the planet that matters. It makes me feel special. Mom looks like that sometimes, but I haven’t seen it in a while. Dad never looks at me like that. When I asked him why, he said it was a mare thing to do, and smacked me up the head.
Dad says I should start being attracted to mares, but none of them make me feel like he makes me feel. None of them look at me as if the entire world is focused on me. None of them have a perfectly imperfect golden mane, or a mom who makes the best cookies I’ve ever had. None of them are him.
I remember a joke he told me the other day. It was stupid, really stupid, but I couldn’t stop laughing for some reason. “Two stallions walk into a bar,” he said. “The third one ducks!”
The giggle that escapes me must be stifled as quickly as possible; it is quiet time after all. My dad still hears me, and looks up from his book. “Something to share with the rest of us, son?”
I know the answer to this. I know that if my dad could read my thoughts I’d be smacked for sure. I know that if my mother tried to help he’d hit her too. Oh yes, I know the answer to this.
“Nothing, dad.”
It’s cold enough tonight that there’s a nice warm fire in the fireplace. Dad’s reading again, like he usually does after dinner. Mom’s cleaning, and I’m being quiet listening to my music. It’s been getting real easy for me to be quiet lately. See, I’ve been thinking.
Dad says thinking’s dangerous. Says that the thinkers always get killed or arrested, like Issac Neighton or Gallopleo, and that if they had just kept their mouths shut they wouldn’t have ruined it for the rest of us. I guess I can kind of see that: they did kind of say that Princess Celestia was a fake. Not much of a smart thing to do, for all the thinking they did.
Still, I’ve started thinking, and now I can’t stop. I’m thinking about this colt in my class who sits next to me at lunch. He’s very nice, and always offers me one of his mom’s cookies, which I always take. Those things are awesome! But even if he didn’t give me food, he listens to me, and he comforts me when I need it. My school year wouldn’t have gone half as well without his help on my homework either! But yeah: he’s nice.
His mane is a beautiful gold that clashes perfectly with his deep blue coat. The hairs are so soft and straight, too. And he wears it like it’s nothing! Every day I see him it’s always swept to one side like he doesn’t care about where it lands, but is where it’s supposed to be anyway. He’s so relaxed, so carefree.
I think my favorite part about him though, is how he looks at me sometimes, like I’m the only pony on the planet that matters. It makes me feel special. Mom looks like that sometimes, but I haven’t seen it in a while. Dad never looks at me like that. When I asked him why, he said it was a mare thing to do, and smacked me up the head.
Dad says I should start being attracted to mares, but none of them make me feel like he makes me feel. None of them look at me as if the entire world is focused on me. None of them have a perfectly imperfect golden mane, or a mom who makes the best cookies I’ve ever had. None of them are him.
I remember a joke he told me the other day. It was stupid, really stupid, but I couldn’t stop laughing for some reason. “Two stallions walk into a bar,” he said. “The third one ducks!”
The giggle that escapes me must be stifled as quickly as possible; it is quiet time after all. My dad still hears me, and looks up from his book. “Something to share with the rest of us, son?”
I know the answer to this. I know that if my dad could read my thoughts I’d be smacked for sure. I know that if my mother tried to help he’d hit her too. Oh yes, I know the answer to this.
“Nothing, dad.”