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Organised by
RogerDodger
Word limit
400–750
In This Story, You're Supposed to Laugh
“Avoid beginning a story with dialogue,” Celestia said. “Many ponies find it... tacky.”
A young Twilight Sparkle scribbled notes at her desk.
“And the most important rule of storytelling,” Celestia said when Twilight’s pen stilled, “is never tell your audience how to feel.”
Twilight frowned and paused for barely a moment this time before dutifully writing down her teacher’s words.
“Do you have a question?” Celestia asked. This was unexpected, at least this early, but good. Very good. It was important that her new pupil learn to doubt her, at all occasions and in all situations.
“It’s just…” Twilight looked to the floor.
“Yes?”
“It’s just… why not?”
“If you tell your audience how to feel,” Celestia said, “they are more like as not to feel something else entirely.”
“But is it bad to feel something other than what you’re supposed to feel?” Twilight asked.
Celestia pondered that question for a long time.
In this scene, Celestia, you are supposed to feel excited.
You have found a new student, the first in decades. A unicorn filly who shows extreme promise in the magical arts, whose innate power is unmatched among her peers. It is a power that with focused study and a guiding hand could sprout and grow like a redwood in fresh soil, metamorphose like a caterpillar slumbering in its cocoon, erupt like a spark fallen among dry leaves.
You should think about what this filly could accomplish with your teachings, what great things she could do for Equestria, for the ponies, for you.
You must feel fear, too, of course. Never forget fear. Never forget to worry.
Remember your failures. Remember all the ones you have failed, and remember how and why you failed.
Think what devastation this filly could wrought, the lives she could destroy.
And the lives she could save, oh all the many lives she could save! And those she could create. The friends she could make, the lovers she could take, the family she could raise.
What she could create! Anything! Everything! Form something new from the old, mold before unseen unimaginable forms from the hardened clay of stagnation.
This burden is yours, Celestia. Cherish it, fear it.
But why then are your movements so mechanical as you prepare your new pupil’s quarters, why are you so unfeeling as you prepare the lesson plans?
In this scene, Celestia, you are supposed to feel proud.
Your pupil—she was so young once!—has graduated. She has moved out from beneath your wing’s embrace. She is a mare now, an adult. She lives away from you, lives her own life. You cannot know, cannot predict what adventures she will embark upon.
You do know they will be good. Oh, she is so good! So wise! So kind! She has grown so beautiful!
You read her first letter, Dear Princess Celestia…
But then what is this brackish sadness that pollutes your chest? Where does it come from and why? Why can’t you dispel these feelings?
Why must this be so hard? Why must it feel like something within you is torn whenever you look upon her empty quarters? Why must you feel so strongly again, and again, and again?
Where is your command over your emotions? Where has it gone?
In this scene, Celestia, you are supposed to feel sad.
Your pupil—no.
No, your friend, she lies in the casket and she does not move. You look upon her, you remember, and you know you should cry.
But there are no tears, there is no sadness.
You feel relief, don’t you? You are so sick, so very sick, that you feel relieved that it is over?
You don’t feel relieved for the disasters that have been averted, that she was not another failure. You feel relieved for you are free.
After this day, you need not feel anything about her again, wrong or right, isn’t that it?
Oh, Celestia.
In this scene, Celestia, you are supposed to feel excited again.
You have found yet another new student, the first in decades. A unicorn filly who shows extreme promise in the magical arts, whose innate power is unmatched among her peers. Her name?
Twilight Sparkle. A bookish little filly from Canterlot.
But you don’t feel excited, do you?
What do you feel?
Is it apprehension? Disappointment? Is it anything? Does this feeling have a name?
“Yes,” Celestia said in response to Twilight’s question. “Sometimes.”
Twilight childishly scribbled her notes.
A young Twilight Sparkle scribbled notes at her desk.
“And the most important rule of storytelling,” Celestia said when Twilight’s pen stilled, “is never tell your audience how to feel.”
Twilight frowned and paused for barely a moment this time before dutifully writing down her teacher’s words.
“Do you have a question?” Celestia asked. This was unexpected, at least this early, but good. Very good. It was important that her new pupil learn to doubt her, at all occasions and in all situations.
“It’s just…” Twilight looked to the floor.
“Yes?”
“It’s just… why not?”
“If you tell your audience how to feel,” Celestia said, “they are more like as not to feel something else entirely.”
“But is it bad to feel something other than what you’re supposed to feel?” Twilight asked.
Celestia pondered that question for a long time.
In this scene, Celestia, you are supposed to feel excited.
You have found a new student, the first in decades. A unicorn filly who shows extreme promise in the magical arts, whose innate power is unmatched among her peers. It is a power that with focused study and a guiding hand could sprout and grow like a redwood in fresh soil, metamorphose like a caterpillar slumbering in its cocoon, erupt like a spark fallen among dry leaves.
You should think about what this filly could accomplish with your teachings, what great things she could do for Equestria, for the ponies, for you.
You must feel fear, too, of course. Never forget fear. Never forget to worry.
Remember your failures. Remember all the ones you have failed, and remember how and why you failed.
Think what devastation this filly could wrought, the lives she could destroy.
And the lives she could save, oh all the many lives she could save! And those she could create. The friends she could make, the lovers she could take, the family she could raise.
What she could create! Anything! Everything! Form something new from the old, mold before unseen unimaginable forms from the hardened clay of stagnation.
This burden is yours, Celestia. Cherish it, fear it.
But why then are your movements so mechanical as you prepare your new pupil’s quarters, why are you so unfeeling as you prepare the lesson plans?
In this scene, Celestia, you are supposed to feel proud.
Your pupil—she was so young once!—has graduated. She has moved out from beneath your wing’s embrace. She is a mare now, an adult. She lives away from you, lives her own life. You cannot know, cannot predict what adventures she will embark upon.
You do know they will be good. Oh, she is so good! So wise! So kind! She has grown so beautiful!
You read her first letter, Dear Princess Celestia…
But then what is this brackish sadness that pollutes your chest? Where does it come from and why? Why can’t you dispel these feelings?
Why must this be so hard? Why must it feel like something within you is torn whenever you look upon her empty quarters? Why must you feel so strongly again, and again, and again?
Where is your command over your emotions? Where has it gone?
In this scene, Celestia, you are supposed to feel sad.
Your pupil—no.
No, your friend, she lies in the casket and she does not move. You look upon her, you remember, and you know you should cry.
But there are no tears, there is no sadness.
You feel relief, don’t you? You are so sick, so very sick, that you feel relieved that it is over?
You don’t feel relieved for the disasters that have been averted, that she was not another failure. You feel relieved for you are free.
After this day, you need not feel anything about her again, wrong or right, isn’t that it?
Oh, Celestia.
In this scene, Celestia, you are supposed to feel excited again.
You have found yet another new student, the first in decades. A unicorn filly who shows extreme promise in the magical arts, whose innate power is unmatched among her peers. Her name?
Twilight Sparkle. A bookish little filly from Canterlot.
But you don’t feel excited, do you?
What do you feel?
Is it apprehension? Disappointment? Is it anything? Does this feeling have a name?
“Yes,” Celestia said in response to Twilight’s question. “Sometimes.”
Twilight childishly scribbled her notes.