GREEN   121   0
   2366 13.56 KB    294

Finite

By NHanon
Created: 2025-05-21 14:43:51
Expiry: Never
happy accidentdrama

  1. 1.
    >Slept in again.
  2. 2.
    >There’s no need for a clock to know that.
  3. 3.
    >It’s a feeling that just exists.
  4. 4.
    >Still need more sleep, otherwise.
  5. 5.
    >Body refuses to stay awake long enough to get everything done.
  6. 6.
    >Time is finite, though.
  7. 7.
    >Moreover, today is likely to be another repeat-
  8. 8.
    >Get through the tasks, nothing more.
  9. 9.
    >First, coffee.
  10. 10.
    >This is the only correct way to start things off on the right hoof.
  11. 11.
    >Fill pot, light the burner, and eventually, a soft, bubbling burble echoes in a slow rhythm.
  12. 12.
    >The process would be much faster if it was done with one of those newer pots.
  13. 13.
    >But this old one is reliable.
  14. 14.
    >That sounds like-
  15. 15.
    >Just wait.
  16. 16.
    >Watch the small wisps of steam rising up and into the air, vanishing out of sight altogether at unknown points.
  17. 17.
    >There’s an internal clock that gives way to the knowing of when to stop.
  18. 18.
    >All that’s left is a steaming pot soon afterwords.
  19. 19.
    >Fill up a cup.
  20. 20.
    >No cream.
  21. 21.
    >No sugar.
  22. 22.
    >Nothing extra, period.
  23. 23.
    >Leave it black.
  24. 24.
    >Stronger and more effective.
  25. 25.
    >Blow on it softly, easing away the heat.
  26. 26.
    >Then, slowly, the first sip is had.
  27. 27.
    >A light fire upon tongue, which alight the senses and mind.
  28. 28.
    >Ears perk, a sigh uttered, and with that, the first task is complete, speeding things up.
  29. 29.
    >Second, review.
  30. 30.
    >Old work, that of yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that, and the day-
  31. 31.
    >Each piece is given time to examine it in its entirety.
  32. 32.
    >Every one is weighed for the overall design.
  33. 33.
    >Like the flaws to note, as well as as the perfections.
  34. 34.
    >Criticisms to level, such as the common case of too much line pressure, or how certain colors do not blend.
  35. 35.
    >Then there’s the shading in certain ways, like the side of a cottage, which makes it appear artificial.
  36. 36.
    >Or the face of the pony in a crowd, who’s distorted features draw far too much attention to it.
  37. 37.
    >And the feathers on the-
  38. 38.
    >The task is finished; no need to dwell on it any further.
  39. 39.
    >Last, inspiration.
  40. 40.
    >Draw back the curtains in every room.
  41. 41.
    >All throughout the outside world, life teems so much, but especially in color.
  42. 42.
    >A pair of birds meet in a tree, chirping to one another.
  43. 43.
    >Their coats, bright blue, breath more courage and vibrancy than other blues could.
  44. 44.
    >Around them, the flora – trees, grass, and bushes – each gently swaying to the invisible wind.
  45. 45.
    >The blades of grass, the small leaves, they dance; animating in ways that few could ever hope to grasp.
  46. 46.
    >Up above, in the shifting lilac sky, puffy white clouds drift along.
  47. 47.
    >Those textures – both above and below – are difficult, but not impossible to capture.
  48. 48.
    >Not another pony to be seen out there, not that there needs to be.
  49. 49.
    >The world is fine without them, and moreover, this is enough to be seen to fuel the fires.
  50. 50.
    >What time left is limited, however.
  51. 51.
    >Shut the curtains, close off the world.
  52. 52.
     
  53. 53.
    >There still needs to be light.
  54. 54.
    >Candles are set about, all for the effort to assist in the single purpose.
  55. 55.
    >Pull out a fresh and clean canvas.
  56. 56.
    >Tools are placed easily within reach.
  57. 57.
    >Now, create.
  58. 58.
    >Amid the occasional, soft scratching, followed by a hushed breath or two, there are moments are silence.
  59. 59.
    >That’s how creation goes here.
  60. 60.
    >This is not the creation born from quill, nor birthed by clay or stone.
  61. 61.
    >Sketching.
  62. 62.
    >If it is correct, then colors will be breathed into it.
  63. 63.
    >It is through sketching that skill is proved.
  64. 64.
    >That’s how you tend to view it, anyway.
  65. 65.
    >Personal thoughts aside, it’s a common test and effort to undertake.
  66. 66.
    >Self-imposed, yet not any greater or lesser than how a teacher would give it to a student.
  67. 67.
    >Everything takes time; the length of which varies, from hours to uncounted days.
  68. 68.
    >No need to keep track of exact time, for it is perfection that takes priority.
  69. 69.
    >Though once in the long gone past, the former was true.
  70. 70.
    >That lead to-
  71. 71.
    >Things are different nowadays, but they still both pose a risk and reminder of what can go wrong.
  72. 72.
    >Nothing can or should impede creation.
  73. 73.
    >Blood, sweat, tears, that’s how some describe it.
  74. 74.
    >Most ponies treat it as a metaphor, few knowing how it is often quite literal.
  75. 75.
    >Enough thinking, concentrate.
  76. 76.
    >Distractions are a poison.
  77. 77.
    >If allowed, they’ll rip apart work as though it were tissue paper.
  78. 78.
    >Those mistakes made by it are unforgivable.
  79. 79.
    >Examples of those sit in a nearby pile.
  80. 80.
    >Somepony will buy them, many more consider them even acceptable for whatever reason.
  81. 81.
    >Then there’s the special pieces.
  82. 82.
    >Those are safely tucked away.
  83. 83.
    >Most are about a peg-
  84. 84.
    >You pause.
  85. 85.
    >With a slow head shake, you close your eyes, followed by a sharp inhale, then a slow exhale.
  86. 86.
    >Attention shifts back to the canvas.
  87. 87.
    >Sketching continues.
  88. 88.
    >Complete it, perfect it, stick to discipline to ensure it.
  89. 89.
    >Capture the essence in a vivid moment.
  90. 90.
    >Deny the echos of the past, especially those of the dreaming world.
  91. 91.
    >Concentrate.
  92. 92.
    >Focus.
  93. 93.
    >Be light as a feather-
  94. 94.
    >Sketching stops.
  95. 95.
    >Coffee is turned to.
  96. 96.
    >You utter a contended sigh after a deep sip.
  97. 97.
    >There, better.
  98. 98.
    >You look over what’s currently being worked on.
  99. 99.
    >A magical place, somewhere far.
  100. 100.
    >There’s a broad, nearly empty sky that covers the uppermost portion of the canvas.
  101. 101.
    >Mountains line the horizon, with rolling hills that extend outward.
  102. 102.
    >At the foot of those, a forest that spreads forth until it reaches a valley near the bottom half.
  103. 103.
    >So many details left to refine.
  104. 104.
    >All necessary.
  105. 105.
    >Most important among all of this, the pony in the center, with-
  106. 106.
    >Distractions.
  107. 107.
    >All self-inflicted.
  108. 108.
     
  109. 109.
    >Have another cup, two, or several of coffee.
  110. 110.
    >It’s cold.
  111. 111.
    >Little to care about.
  112. 112.
    >’This poison shouldn’t be relied on’, suggests a thought.
  113. 113.
    >’Nothing would get done without it,’ answers another.
  114. 114.
    >The picture is looked over again.
  115. 115.
    >From there, you retrieve your pencil, letting work fall back in order.
  116. 116.
    >Everything moves in harmony, just as it should.
  117. 117.
    >Soon enough, the sketching is finished.
  118. 118.
    >Spend some time on deciding how to proceed from here on out.
  119. 119.
    >This piece has a familiarity to it.
  120. 120.
    >A sense of knowing, which guides.
  121. 121.
    >Nodding, you pick up a brush, wet it, then begin to apply color.
  122. 122.
    >The room becomes noticeably dimmer at some point.
  123. 123.
    >Candles are getting low.
  124. 124.
    >A peek is given to the curtains, showing no light; the day must have left.
  125. 125.
    >Lips press together into a tight, thin line.
  126. 126.
    >Another pause to break the flow, cutting into time.
  127. 127.
    >Light some more candles, with some having to be adjusted.
  128. 128.
    >Though afterwords, they highlight something about the piece, giving way to an even greater pause.
  129. 129.
    >With surgical-like precision, you very, very carefully go over every centimeter of it.
  130. 130.
    >Curves followed, as well as the simplest lines.
  131. 131.
    >Shadows compared and contrasted, along with shapes and sizes of any and all things.
  132. 132.
    >Judgment comes in the form of a hushed, heavy sigh.
  133. 133.
    “This part is sketched wrong.”
  134. 134.
    >To the untrained, they wouldn’t know the difference.
  135. 135.
    >’This is as obvious as the sky,’ speaks a cold tone.
  136. 136.
    >Somepony once said there are no mistakes, just happy little accidents.
  137. 137.
    >They’d be wrong.
  138. 138.
    >’This piece cannot be saved; toss it into the mistake pile, if not outright destroy it.’
  139. 139.
    >An opposite, younger voice comes about, ‘Don’t do it.’
  140. 140.
    >There’s a debate that goes on.
  141. 141.
    >Enough of that.
  142. 142.
    “Fix it,” you mutter as you pick up pencil and erasure.
  143. 143.
    >A great deal of care will be needed.
  144. 144.
    >’Such a waste,’ argues the cold. ‘This consumes so much time.’
  145. 145.
    >Nothing to be done about that.
  146. 146.
    >In spite of that, brief flashes of memories state otherwise.
  147. 147.
    >Laughs, jeers, judging, trashing, breaking, tearing-
  148. 148.
    >Focus.
  149. 149.
    >Far too much invested.
  150. 150.
    >Don’t think about it.
  151. 151.
    >The only way forward is to-
  152. 152.
    >Sitting back a moment, you exhale a shaky sigh.
  153. 153.
    >Nerves are on edge.
  154. 154.
    >Concentration refuses to stop wavering.
  155. 155.
    >The late hour must be contributing to that.
  156. 156.
    >Sleep can wait, this cannot.
  157. 157.
    >Consume the rest of the coffee, despite it being cold.
  158. 158.
    >Shortly thereafter, a light buzz stirs.
  159. 159.
    >All other things fade into the background, leaving the labor to go on without further delay.
  160. 160.
    >When the corrections come to an end, it’s welcome.
  161. 161.
    >Still, a reevaluation is needed.
  162. 162.
    >Lines to traces, shapes to compare, and mental images to refer to.
  163. 163.
     
  164. 164.
    >Seconds.
  165. 165.
    >Minutes.
  166. 166.
    >Hours.
  167. 167.
    >Who knows, really.
  168. 168.
    >A decision is still reached, all the same.
  169. 169.
    “...everything is right where it should be.”
  170. 170.
    >A strong yawn forces its way out from the depths of your throat, drawing your ears back a tad.
  171. 171.
    >No clock to know the time, but that’s because clocks are a distraction.
  172. 172.
    >You already know that, much like how many other things are known.
  173. 173.
    >’This should be proof to stop until morning.’
  174. 174.
    “Well…”
  175. 175.
    >’No, there is much more to do.’
  176. 176.
    >’Remember: time is finite.’
  177. 177.
    >Any resistance is deafened when the brush is picked up, wet, then painting starts again.
  178. 178.
    >Occasional pauses are still given, only out of necessity to avoid further accidents.
  179. 179.
    >Those pauses, however, are starting to grow longer.
  180. 180.
    >Vision blurs every now and then.
  181. 181.
    >Thoughts grow slowly distorted.
  182. 182.
    >The body’s needs are nothing but pests.
  183. 183.
    >Coffee is the solution.
  184. 184.
    >You start a fresh pot.
  185. 185.
    >In the meantime, annoyance festers.
  186. 186.
    >Work is already difficult, but of course your body just has to add onto that.
  187. 187.
    >You sigh.
  188. 188.
    “This isn’t helping any…”
  189. 189.
    >Deep within, a sleeping giant begins to stir.
  190. 190.
    >The heart beats like it were normal, but in truth, demands a change.
  191. 191.
    >Rather, a desire.
  192. 192.
    >Two of them.
  193. 193.
    >The first, the most basest, though easily among the most important – love.
  194. 194.
    >Days and nights here, with but a bed, table, tools and canvases, it’s empty to say the least.
  195. 195.
    >No amount of art made can fill that void.
  196. 196.
    >Then there’s the second, it’s different, it relies on-
  197. 197.
    >A sudden, loud burble kills the thought, forcing a squeak from you.
  198. 198.
    >Realization follows.
  199. 199.
    “St-stupid pot.”
  200. 200.
    >Fill a cup, take no hesitation in having a greedy gulp.
  201. 201.
    >Regret is immediate when the fire hits
  202. 202.
    *cough-cough-cough!*
  203. 203.
    >You mutter a few curses, taking a moment to recover from the brainless act.
  204. 204.
    >Back to work.
  205. 205.
    >Even with the aid of coffee, the giant is awake.
  206. 206.
    >’Ignore it.’
  207. 207.
    >Desires cannot be ignored forever.
  208. 208.
    >In this case-
  209. 209.
    “Don’t, just… don’t.”
  210. 210.
    >You set aside the brush.
  211. 211.
    >A soft shaky breath is exhaled, then a sip of coffee had.
  212. 212.
    >It’s cooler to the tongue, though that doesn’t apply to the ache everywhere else.
  213. 213.
    >You look over your work.
  214. 214.
    >What colors are there are coming along nicely; blending in the ways that they are supposed to.
  215. 215.
    >The pony at the forefront has taken on more definition due to it.
  216. 216.
    >An easily identifiable mare with a short mane and tail.
  217. 217.
    >Her eyes are squeezed shut in bliss, joined by a large, toothy smile that goes from ear to ear.
  218. 218.
    >No earthly chains to hold her down.
  219. 219.
    >No wrongness about her view.
  220. 220.
    >No cruel fate to twist her.
  221. 221.
    >Most of that owing to her large pair of elegant wi-
  222. 222.
    >Another sip of coffee is had, albeit a larger one.
  223. 223.
     
  224. 224.
    >Go back to work for a time.
  225. 225.
    >The invisible clock ticks away.
  226. 226.
    >And the whispers rouse.
  227. 227.
    >’Nothing ever changes, now does it?’
  228. 228.
    >Hoping.
  229. 229.
    >Waiting.
  230. 230.
    >Praying.
  231. 231.
    >Wishing.
  232. 232.
    >All for nothing.
  233. 233.
    >Equestria? Same as it was on the day you were born.
  234. 234.
    >Home? Same as it was when it was first bought.
  235. 235.
    >You? You never changed.
  236. 236.
    >Still wearing worthless piercings.
  237. 237.
    >Still lying to yourself.
  238. 238.
    >Still trapped in-
  239. 239.
    “Stop.”
  240. 240.
    >A slave to creation.
  241. 241.
    “N-no, I’m-”
  242. 242.
    >Answer this: why does the caged-
  243. 243.
    “SHUT UP!”
  244. 244.
    >With a slam of your hoof, there’s a loud clatter, with your pencils, brushes, and paints jolting; some crashing to the floor.
  245. 245.
    >An echo of your shout lingers for too long throughout your home.
  246. 246.
    >Heavy breaths come and go, with your small frame quivering like a leaf.
  247. 247.
    >’What do you hope to accomplish by screaming at shadows?’
  248. 248.
    >Eyes squeeze shut, followed by an utterance of a tiny whimper behind pursed lips.
  249. 249.
    >This incident was born from nothing.
  250. 250.
    >’How pathetic.”
  251. 251.
    >It should be all the evidence that sleep is needed.
  252. 252.
    >But there is still much to do on this piece, so why stop now?
  253. 253.
    “Because.”
  254. 254.
    >’Because why?’
  255. 255.
    “Because-”
  256. 256.
    >‘-why does the caged bird cry?’
  257. 257.
    >In an instant, your eyes shoot open wide.
  258. 258.
    >None of this is normal.
  259. 259.
    >No living relatives.
  260. 260.
    >No friends.
  261. 261.
    >No lover.
  262. 262.
    >No nothing.
  263. 263.
    >There’s just you, staying cooped up in a cage of your own making.
  264. 264.
    >That’s not how ponies are supposed to live.
  265. 265.
    >All for what, making art that no pony will ever see?
  266. 266.
    “N-no! It’s going to be great, I’m going to show them all, and it’ll prove that I am perfectly-”
  267. 267.
    >’-not normal.’
  268. 268.
    >The walls of the room begin to descend, drawing themselves like they were a stampede.
  269. 269.
    >Breathing turns sharp as you fall to the floor, curling yourself up defensively.
  270. 270.
    “It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not.”
  271. 271.
    >’But they are.’
  272. 272.
    “It’s-”
  273. 273.
    >’-true.’
  274. 274.
    >Everything repeats in a cycle, just as fresh as when it first started.
  275. 275.
    >Your chest tightens.
  276. 276.
    >Eyes stay open, in spite of the overwhelming need to shut them.
  277. 277.
    >In the midst of this chaos, the unfinished piece, acting like a monument.
  278. 278.
    >The mare in the middle, who you want to be.
  279. 279.
    >A pegasus.
  280. 280.
    >No feathery wings of your own; trapped within an earthen body not much different than a stone.
  281. 281.
    >’How would one such as yourself, a flightless bird, ever hope to escape the confines of this prison?’
  282. 282.
    >A sniffle is all that can be mustered.
  283. 283.
    >Then, a loud, choked sob.
  284. 284.
    >Try as you might, there is no stopping what’s to come.
  285. 285.
    >Cries wrack out.
  286. 286.
    >Trapped and alone, stuck within a cold and empty home, unable to escape this fate.
  287. 287.
    >An earth pony who denies who they are, what they are, longing to be something they can never be.
  288. 288.
     
  289. 289.
    >To be normal.
  290. 290.
    >To be a better artist.
  291. 291.
    >To have friends.
  292. 292.
    >To have somepony to love, and to love back.
  293. 293.
    >To be a pegasus, to fly free like they do.
  294. 294.
    >Just a mistake, not a happy accident.

/emo/ Eri and Anon, the sunset

by NHanon

/emo/ Eri and Anon, finding the beauty in things

by NHanon

/emo/ Hearth's Warming Eve with the emo ponies

by NHanon

/emo/ Eri's week, chp 1

by NHanon

/emo/ Eri's week, chp 2

by NHanon