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// The present 
// Story: A Story Worth Telling 
// by Elkia Deerling 
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Square and white, that is what my cutie mark looks like, because it is a blank page.



A blank page is an opportunity, a chance to create something from scratch. A chance to fill the paper with words to create stories, poems, songs, or anything you want. A chance to inspire others with your work, and write stories that say things about you, about the world, or about the ponies living in it. A blank page is an endless world, and I couldn’t have wished for a more beautiful cutie mark.



In the end, Sunray had been right. When there is one door, one opportunity closed, it is useless to start banging on it until your hooves hurt. You should try opening the other doors, see what opportunities wait behind them. That way, we can bypass the challenges we have to face, and exploit our talents in a whole different way. I suppose that is what I attempted with the Cutie Mark Crusaders, trying so many different things to get the meaning of my cutie mark. But, thanks to Sunray’s words, I realize that I kept pushing against locked doors, no matter how many things I tried. It had taken a friend to help me overcome my challenge.



Thanks to Sunray, I can believe in destiny again. If I wouldn’t have  given up on myself, if I wouldn’t have tried to do the ultimate deed on the train tracks, if Princess Twilight Sparkle hadn’t sent me to the Ponyville Hospital, I never would have met Sunray—and I would never have discovered the interpretation of my cutie mark.



I am a writer.



It started when we returned to the Ponyville hospital after our walk. Sunray had urged me to grab a piece of paper and a pencil as fast as I could. Of course I said to Sunray that drawing wasn’t going to work for me, but he had something else in mind. He said I should write down my new experiences, everything we had seen and talked about on our little walk. I thought at the time that that would be quite boring, but in the end it turned out alright, as you have just read the result, dear reader.



So I finished my piece, which became longer than I expected, and read it to Sunray. It became a piece describing the wonders of nature, chopped in bits and pieces by dialogue, and interrupted by deep thoughts. But to my horror, Sunray started declaim it out loud. I still can’t believe how amazing that pony’s memory was. There was a little stage with a microphone, used for the occasional guest performance by stars willing to do something for charity, and Sunray scrambled up the stage, grabbed the microphone, and recited the first words.



And then something strange happened. Everypony stopped doing what they were doing and listened to Sunray. Now I must admit that Sunray was a marvelous storyteller; it would be very impolite to give all the credit to myself. His voice was deep and soothing, betraying his former profession as a social worker. It was a voice which said, ‘I care about you,’ and he used it for my story—he cared about my story.



With every sentence he read, more ponies gathered around and looked at him. Even Digit stopped doing his mad calculations and looked up at the elderly pony on the stage. Sunray read the piece aloud as if it was a beautiful piece of poetry, loud enough for everypony to hear it, but soft enough to let the words sink in with their own weight. While I was—apparently—a story writer, Sunray was a storyteller, and a good one at that. Later, when I had asked him about this hidden talent of his, he gave me an odd smile, and said that in his youth he always liked to play Ogres and Oubliettes, whatever that is.



When he was done telling, he received a wealthy applause, accompanied by the stomping of hooves on the ground. I even felt myself clopping my hooves together, and I was the one who wrote it. Sunray invited me to come onstage and receive some credit of my own, which I did. It was at that moment, when I gazed into the eyes of all of the patients—all of my fans—and hearing their applause, that I knew I was a writer, and forever would be.



So yes, I do believe in destiny again, and maybe even in cutie marks too. If my cutie mark hadn’t been so vague, I never would have left my home and gone on my crusade, which is now finally over. I suppose I should even thank my family for only reinforcing my decision to leave and never come back, as they also inspired me to write that last scene of chapter one, the one with the fight. My crusade is over, and I have finally found my special talent. I think it’s safe to say that after writing three bestselling novels and a bundle of short stories. Maybe you can also count this lousy and pathetic autobiography to those, dear reader. When I went to the signing session this year, you all asked a lot of questions about how my career started. You asked for it, and here you have it, a road with many bumps and gaps, but also a road which led to a beautiful and rewarding destination.



And all thanks to Sunray, my first friend. Unfortunately, the old stallion passed away, but his spirit lives on in my books. Every book I write, I write for Sunray. In the few years that Sunray was still alive, he had seen me grow, and I had never seen him laugh and joke so much. He considered me his son, I like to think—and I know it is true. He had watched me write, he had helped me with brainstorm sessions which lasted whole nights, and which only ended when we would fall asleep of exhaustion. There were so many ideas that came out of the old stallion that I now have material enough to write ten books, easily. And that’s also why I believe that every book or story I write has a sliver of Sunray’s soul in it. He was the light that chased away my darkness, and he still is.



Unfortunately, Sunray had never seen his comatose patient wake up. But I’m happy to say that I did. She’s a little filly named Gold Leaf, and now my beautiful daughter. Of course I am not her biological father, but I adopted her when she regained consciousness and traveled back to the waking world of Equestria. Once she woke up, it took some time and some medical examinations before she was allowed to do things, and she and I didn’t leave those days wasted. We talked a lot. Miraculously enough, Gold Leaf could still remember Sunray and the long talks she had with him, trying to make her life a little bit better. She could remember every conversation she had with the old stallion, which were many, and when she recounted them for me, I could feel the impression Sunray had left on this young filly shining through, his soul drifting on the words he had spoken to her.



And Gold Leaf was also curious about me, for I was the only one who had had contact with Sunray before he died. So in exchange, I told her everything that had happened with the two of us, even reading to her the little piece I had written. Needless to say, she loved it, and we often had a merry time together.



That’s why, as soon as Gold Leaf was dismissed from the hospital, I adopted her. She’s really so sweet, and a walking source of inspiration. She looks a lot like Sunray. Just like Sunray, she possesses this view of things, this philosophical viewpoint, that is unique and unparalleled. If I wouldn’t know better, I would think that she was actually Sunray’s granddaughter, for the likeness between their walks and their talks is striking. She’s doing very well. She’s going to school—studying language, of course—and even writes stories of her own. She says she wants to be just like me when she grows up, and I believe she will, because, although I am quite a harsh critique partner, I think her stories are very creative and funny, just like she herself.



And what about me? I’m pleased to say that I am doing fine as well. Obviously, I am no longer staying in the Ponyville hospital, although I do sometimes go there to read one of my stories or recite a poem or two. But I neither am I living with my parents again; they had banished me, after all. No, I am living my dream. Remember when I said that if there was one place I’d settle down, it would be Ponyville? The moment I began earning some money with my writing, I saved and saved, until I had enough to buy a cozy little house in Ponyville. I couldn’t think of a more beautiful town to raise my daughter in. Everypony is so friendly here, and there are tons and tons of festivals and holidays which the Ponyvillians celebrate. It is as if Ponyville is the friendliest and jolliest place in Equestria, certainly compared to Baltimare.



I have received neither word nor letter from my parents and my brother. I bet they are too busy with their work. But that’s alright, because so am I. They have helped to shape me into what I am now, so for that, I thank them kindly.



And of course, now that I live in Ponyville, it is even easier to keep track of the mane six’s adventures. I sometimes go and visit Princess Twilight Sparkle, and we have long chats over cups of tea. Not just about my mental health, but also about my stories and about philosophy and about her own adventures. She had even given me access to her library, so I never have to worry about buying books myself. I can’t tell the princess how grateful I am for everything she has told me. I have learned so much about the idols I used to study via newspaper articles. Seeing them in real life is so much better than looking at a wall full of newspapers. One morning, as a surprise, Twilight Sparkle had gathered all of her friends in the throne hall, and she let me ask them whatever I wanted. I believe Rainbow Dash got a bit bored by the end of the afternoon, but there was just so much to ask. When the sun finally began to set, I had enough material to write an extensive biography of all of the main six, including Spike and Starlight Glimmer. Oh, there’s just so much to do.



But first, Gold leaf and I went to the hospital. It was a beautiful summer day, so we decided to take the mountain paths to get there. All around us, there were beautiful fields of heather, with their little white and purple flowers rocking in the breeze. The grass looked green and healthy, the air fresh and revitalizing. Not at all like the air in Baltimare, where not even the rich district would have the privilege of mountain breezes. From this altitude, we could see the town of Ponyville lying snugly in the valley. We took a moment to look at the beauty of the little village, considering ourselves lucky that we were living in a town as cute and beautiful as Ponyville. Truly, the town itself keeps inspiring me—the town and its silly and diverse population.



We moved on, climbing higher and higher, until the Ponyville hospital came into view. As we walked closer, I could see nurse Redheart pushing an elderly pony in a wheelchair. Both ponies waved, and I waved back.



I felt Gold Leaf poke me as we turned our back to the hospital and instead took the gravel path surrounding it.



“Aren’t we going to tell some stories, dad?”



I looked down and stroked my daughter’s mane. “I’m afraid we will do that another time, Gold Leaf. We have to visit somepony else.” I knew it was going to be sad, but I also figured that Gold Leaf was old enough to bear the sadness. And besides, I thought that she would like to see him as well. I swallowed, then continued our way.



We took the path leading into the mountains. There was nopony else; it was deserted. We passed a beautiful overlook and stopped a couple of minutes to look at the green valley with its mirror lake. I wondered whether my soul would shine bright when I would take a peek in the waters.



“Is this the soul-mirror lake?” Gold Leaf asked.



“It is,” I said, and I felt tears well up in my eyes. I turned around. “Let’s move on.”



We reached the forest with its evergreen trees. Instead of cold white snow there was the warm green of the needles and the brown of the bark and the earth. That was where I learned my most valuable life lesson. I my head, the memories revealed itself like a movie you see for the second time. Only the cast was slightly different. I felt the urge to talk, to say something to my daughter, but I felt that no words could truly capture that moment. Not now, anyway, with Sunray gone.



There it was. Beyond the forest was the very same spot where we decided to turn around and head back after Sunray had heard enough. He said that not because he had enough of my poetic descriptions, but because he had heard enough. He had heard enough to conclude what my destiny should be, what my special talent was and how I should put it to good use. I still can’t believe how much he had helped me.



Right there, faced towards the view of the mountainous valley, was a single stone. I walked around it until I could read the inscription, with my daughter by my side.



“Here lies Sunray, my light in the darkness. May he forever see the virtues in ponykind.” Gold Leaf read the epitaph aloud. When she was done, she looked up at me. “That’s beautiful. Did you come up with that?”



“I did,” I said, crouching down to plant a bunch of heather next to his gravestone.

 

“That sounds just like him,” Gold Leaf said. She sniffed, and that was not from the healthy mountain air.



We held each other’s hooves, and cried softly. Gold Leaf was just as sensitive as I was, and hope her emotions will never backfire on her. But if they do, she has a very understanding father who will help her through the storm, to help make her shine like rays of the sun.



THE END