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Sugarcoated
Upon coarse dirt by the bank of the stream, I lay and dreamed that I was unborn, undone, and drifting under the bright blue sky, grass rustling and wind soughing along the plains, soft haze over the distant mountains, and the blood-bitter taste of the metal stick in your mouth, resting at the gap in your teeth and sucking the heat from your tongue, and the choking yank of the foul-smelling reins as they pull the corners of your mouth up and back. The tug that makes you look.
I awaken with a snort and scrabble at the air, my hooves kicking divots when they strike the dirt. I smell dust and moist streamwater, reeds and muck, a hint of remote foxscent. My ears cock and swivel, hearing no hint of danger, but I am full of a thing like fear as traces of my dream sink deeper into my mind.
I shake my head and step to the stream, gazing down at the rippled image of my roan coat and the white streak like a diamond on my forehead. I drink deeply, listening into my body and feeling the echoes of a panic I cannot name and from which I cannot flee.
I turn to the path of packed dirt that ran by the stream. I close my eyes and I feel the breeze in my face and the drumming of hooves as I run with my herd, the open sky and warm sun on our sweating coats as the land drops away behind us and I open my eyes again to just the path, with a copse of elms ahead and after that the… the word won’t come. I bare my teeth and breathe deep; there is no fearsmell. It is well-travelled, safe, imprinted by hoofmarks of calm gait. I do not remember whence I came and have nowhere else to go; I start down the path.
Some of the prints below me look odd; I smell a sharp odor and the ringing noises, the pounding of the mallets as they strike your upturned hooves, driving the metal rings onto your feet with sharp spikes, the rings that separate you from the earth and I almost panic again. The air smells of sweet grass, chicory and marjoram, the land is rich with food smells and there is no threat, just the thing ahead to which I am drawn. I fall into the rhythm of my gait, and close my eyes again to recall the clean air through the rustling grasses and the peace of the herd about me as we graze and so I drift into and out of my dream as I walk.
The path crosses the stream as I walk, and there is a… bridge over it. Lengths of wood stripped of bark, laid across the water. A tree sliced to pieces to be walked on. I step onto the bridge and hear the hollow sound as I plod across and approach the… town. I have the word now and my ears flatten and I shy back. But I can see others there now, a herd, and they are together and safe and I remember the warmth at my flanks so I trot forward again.
As I approach them, they do not notice me. The sounds from their mouths are intricate and cadent, and they wash over my ears without touching me, and they are like the sounds of the biting pain at my sides and carcass skin wrapped over my back and the tug that pulls my head where demons drive me so I stop still and stare at them, trembling.
They are not running together or grazing or mating, they stand in unnatural twos or threes and they are making things or exchanging things and there is a mare facing a stallion and he does not press her, though I feel the wind in my mane as I run and the aching hollow of my lust in my loins as he chases me and I yield to him climbing upon my back with his breath at my ears and his teeth clamping on my neck but they are not what I was or what the herd was or what we would have, should have been. They, like demons, make but do not grow.
And as they finally see me, they gather around me and smile at me, and in response I feel the corners of my mouth jerk sharply up and back.
I awaken with a snort and scrabble at the air, my hooves kicking divots when they strike the dirt. I smell dust and moist streamwater, reeds and muck, a hint of remote foxscent. My ears cock and swivel, hearing no hint of danger, but I am full of a thing like fear as traces of my dream sink deeper into my mind.
I shake my head and step to the stream, gazing down at the rippled image of my roan coat and the white streak like a diamond on my forehead. I drink deeply, listening into my body and feeling the echoes of a panic I cannot name and from which I cannot flee.
I turn to the path of packed dirt that ran by the stream. I close my eyes and I feel the breeze in my face and the drumming of hooves as I run with my herd, the open sky and warm sun on our sweating coats as the land drops away behind us and I open my eyes again to just the path, with a copse of elms ahead and after that the… the word won’t come. I bare my teeth and breathe deep; there is no fearsmell. It is well-travelled, safe, imprinted by hoofmarks of calm gait. I do not remember whence I came and have nowhere else to go; I start down the path.
Some of the prints below me look odd; I smell a sharp odor and the ringing noises, the pounding of the mallets as they strike your upturned hooves, driving the metal rings onto your feet with sharp spikes, the rings that separate you from the earth and I almost panic again. The air smells of sweet grass, chicory and marjoram, the land is rich with food smells and there is no threat, just the thing ahead to which I am drawn. I fall into the rhythm of my gait, and close my eyes again to recall the clean air through the rustling grasses and the peace of the herd about me as we graze and so I drift into and out of my dream as I walk.
The path crosses the stream as I walk, and there is a… bridge over it. Lengths of wood stripped of bark, laid across the water. A tree sliced to pieces to be walked on. I step onto the bridge and hear the hollow sound as I plod across and approach the… town. I have the word now and my ears flatten and I shy back. But I can see others there now, a herd, and they are together and safe and I remember the warmth at my flanks so I trot forward again.
As I approach them, they do not notice me. The sounds from their mouths are intricate and cadent, and they wash over my ears without touching me, and they are like the sounds of the biting pain at my sides and carcass skin wrapped over my back and the tug that pulls my head where demons drive me so I stop still and stare at them, trembling.
They are not running together or grazing or mating, they stand in unnatural twos or threes and they are making things or exchanging things and there is a mare facing a stallion and he does not press her, though I feel the wind in my mane as I run and the aching hollow of my lust in my loins as he chases me and I yield to him climbing upon my back with his breath at my ears and his teeth clamping on my neck but they are not what I was or what the herd was or what we would have, should have been. They, like demons, make but do not grow.
And as they finally see me, they gather around me and smile at me, and in response I feel the corners of my mouth jerk sharply up and back.
Opening with a dream sequence? Bold move, but I think it works for you here. The contrast between the dream/nightmare is sharp and sensible, and sets up that 'something is wrong'.
This unfolds fairly well; the reflection in the stream, the flashbacks compared to the surroundings, the 'missing word' bit, they all paint a clear picture for me. The story progresses a bit, as well, moving from nightmare to incomprehension, to the town.
I'm not really sold on the ending, though; that last line, paired with the description of the town, doesn't lean far enough one direction or the other; this story starts with the mare being scared, and then develops into calm-ish, and I'd expect the ending to either sell this as 'everything's alright now' and have her be comforted, or dip back into nightmare again, but… I'm not really sure it does either. The suggestion is that she's smiling? But the strangeness of that description, paired with the unnaturalness of the description of the town, makes me wonder if that's supposed to be a good thing or not. I can't really tell, I guess; it seems to continue the 'confused' mood from before. I'd like to see that change more sharply, because I think that would give the story a stronger feeling of progression and feel more satisfying.
Anyways, this is well written and interesting. I just doesn't clinch as hard or cleanly as I'd like. Good work, but a bit flat.
This unfolds fairly well; the reflection in the stream, the flashbacks compared to the surroundings, the 'missing word' bit, they all paint a clear picture for me. The story progresses a bit, as well, moving from nightmare to incomprehension, to the town.
I'm not really sold on the ending, though; that last line, paired with the description of the town, doesn't lean far enough one direction or the other; this story starts with the mare being scared, and then develops into calm-ish, and I'd expect the ending to either sell this as 'everything's alright now' and have her be comforted, or dip back into nightmare again, but… I'm not really sure it does either. The suggestion is that she's smiling? But the strangeness of that description, paired with the unnaturalness of the description of the town, makes me wonder if that's supposed to be a good thing or not. I can't really tell, I guess; it seems to continue the 'confused' mood from before. I'd like to see that change more sharply, because I think that would give the story a stronger feeling of progression and feel more satisfying.
Anyways, this is well written and interesting. I just doesn't clinch as hard or cleanly as I'd like. Good work, but a bit flat.
I like the idea of mlp ponies interacting with real life horses. Its a nice story all in all with a cute ending.
The ending is lackluster, but there’s quite a bit here that I like. I have an unhealthy attraction to mid-sentence flashbacks/memories. It’s a problem I developed at a young age, and I’ve been seeing a therapist for it. Along with that, present tense is a great choice here, one of the few times where it works better than past. The confusion came off as genuine, or about as genuine as a horse can be. Good stuff is for nerds, though. You’re here for critique.
The ending is clearly supposed to be associated with the dream about the bit (the horse kind) in the beginning. However, what’s not clear is why. The horse is smiling on her own, possibly for the first time, yet the imagery calls back to the pain of having no control at all. If the ending is suppose to be happy, then using the word “jerked” killed that idea. If it’s supposed to be a deep and philosophical type of thing, then I think you missed the mark. Or I’m just a dumb. There’s always that.
Also, I think this story could benefit from a few more horsewords sprinkled in (fearsmell, etc). They really help with reenforcing the identity of the narrator as being more primal or feral than ponies.
In that same vein, try using much simpler words to express the thoughts of the narrator. If she has trouble remembering what a town is called, her vocabulary should be likewise limited.
The ending is clearly supposed to be associated with the dream about the bit (the horse kind) in the beginning. However, what’s not clear is why. The horse is smiling on her own, possibly for the first time, yet the imagery calls back to the pain of having no control at all. If the ending is suppose to be happy, then using the word “jerked” killed that idea. If it’s supposed to be a deep and philosophical type of thing, then I think you missed the mark. Or I’m just a dumb. There’s always that.
Also, I think this story could benefit from a few more horsewords sprinkled in (fearsmell, etc). They really help with reenforcing the identity of the narrator as being more primal or feral than ponies.
In that same vein, try using much simpler words to express the thoughts of the narrator. If she has trouble remembering what a town is called, her vocabulary should be likewise limited.
This story is good at establishing an unsettling atmosphere. As the reader, we know what's going on is benign, but it's continually juxtaposed by the reaction of the character. The ending felt similar to me - there's a smile, but no real sense of happiness. Overall, the story felt like it mostly played one note. It was an interesting note, but the whole thing didn't end up very complex overall for me.
Easy top of prelim slate. Aims at an idea, sells it, and I'll be shocked if it isn't the most unique take on the prompt this round. Thank you, author.
The linchpin to this story, I think, is that horses bare their teeth at other horses as a threat - usually a prelude to biting or sometimes kicking. It might be a bit inside baseball, but I'd see it from time to time back when I was a roustabout at a stable, especially if I was a little late around feeding time and the horses were impatient. I think you understand this, Writer, since you go out of your way to differentiate between the smiling ponies and what the horse is doing, and it gels with the general unsettledness of your perspective character.
>>Icenrose
Horses don’t bare their teeth as a warning in the same way dogs do. They usually only show their teeth either immediately before biting, or as something called the flehmen response (the silly hoers faec with a flipped upper lip). The flehmen response most often occurs when a stallion smells a mare in heat, or when a horse smells something interesting/unfamiliar in general.
The author intentionally references the corners of the mouth jerking up, not the upper lip, harking back to the feeling of a bit and reigns. I 100% agree that it helps the overall unsettled nature of the story, but I just wanted to point out that a “natural” reaction would be slightly different from what we see here. However, it’s possible that your explanation is the one the author was going for, just skewed a little by tiny biological inaccuracies.
Horses don’t bare their teeth as a warning in the same way dogs do. They usually only show their teeth either immediately before biting, or as something called the flehmen response (the silly hoers faec with a flipped upper lip). The flehmen response most often occurs when a stallion smells a mare in heat, or when a horse smells something interesting/unfamiliar in general.
The author intentionally references the corners of the mouth jerking up, not the upper lip, harking back to the feeling of a bit and reigns. I 100% agree that it helps the overall unsettled nature of the story, but I just wanted to point out that a “natural” reaction would be slightly different from what we see here. However, it’s possible that your explanation is the one the author was going for, just skewed a little by tiny biological inaccuracies.
>>Not_A_Hat, >>dragon discord, >>2Merr, >>Caliaponia, >>horizon, >>GaPJaxie, >>Icenrose, >>2Merr
Sugarcoated
Okay, I have to break this non-retrospective streak. Thanks for the bronze, and the thoughtful reviews!
Here’s what I had in mind as I developed this:
The protagonist is a horse aware of her situation, and the plight of her whole species. They were once free herds, making the plains shake with their hooves, until the demons came down out of the trees, the ones that make fire and metal bars and strip the skin from corpses to make reins and saddles. The enslavers of free races, stealers and warpers of destiny, shackling and culling and breeding and reshaping, dignifying their crimes with the name of ‘domestication’.
But this isn’t the worst part. That comes when the enslavers eradicate the identity of the race they enslaved, miscasting them in their stories, letting the ancient truths die unsung as things like horses are shown as unironically assuming the manners and behaviors of their conquerors. The protagonist, seeking refuge amid other like her but faced with this betrayal, is not even permitted the dignity of her own honest reactions, but must join them in a final false smile. The bit and reins may be metaphoric here, but they are still present.
Thanks again for the comments and praise, congrats and condolences to all as appropriate, and I’ll see you next round!
Sugarcoated
Okay, I have to break this non-retrospective streak. Thanks for the bronze, and the thoughtful reviews!
Here’s what I had in mind as I developed this:
The protagonist is a horse aware of her situation, and the plight of her whole species. They were once free herds, making the plains shake with their hooves, until the demons came down out of the trees, the ones that make fire and metal bars and strip the skin from corpses to make reins and saddles. The enslavers of free races, stealers and warpers of destiny, shackling and culling and breeding and reshaping, dignifying their crimes with the name of ‘domestication’.
But this isn’t the worst part. That comes when the enslavers eradicate the identity of the race they enslaved, miscasting them in their stories, letting the ancient truths die unsung as things like horses are shown as unironically assuming the manners and behaviors of their conquerors. The protagonist, seeking refuge amid other like her but faced with this betrayal, is not even permitted the dignity of her own honest reactions, but must join them in a final false smile. The bit and reins may be metaphoric here, but they are still present.
Thanks again for the comments and praise, congrats and condolences to all as appropriate, and I’ll see you next round!