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AppleBloom's Imaginary Friend: Chapter 2
AppleBloom's Imaginary Friend
AppleBloom's ear twitched. Everypony was staring at her. EVERYPONY. Was staring. RIGHT AT HER. This HAD to be a bad dream. How ELSE would they ALL KNOW about the one she had 12 years ago?
She slowly inched down from the chair she was standing on. Everypony was still staring at her, She slowly pushed it in. Still staring at her. She slowly backed out of the outdoor enclosure.
Everypony's eyes followed her out. She nervously cleared her throat. "Well, uh, Captors, ah um...gotta go see Zecora! Hehe, yah. To do some PERFECTLY NATURAL STUFF. AND MAKE COMPLETELY ORGANIC REMEDIES. FROM NATURE. NOT...THAT...STUFF. 'Cus...uhh...that's whut we do! Hehe...ummm....okay? So ah'll uh...see yall...later...uhhm-OW!!"
AppleBloom felt the tugging sensation she'd mentioned earlier again, only harder, like they were pinching her tighy. Like, like somepony was pulling her along saying, "Good idea. Let's go to EverFree."
AppleBloom could've sworn she heard
The Cutie Mark Generator: Epilogue
The Cutie Mark Generator
"Bloooom......AppleBlooooom...." AppleBloom heard this milky voice in the distance. That stinky old wool blanket smell hung over her nose again, just like the last time she'd gone through generator. And that just made her sleepier. No use in waking up if she'll have to endure THAT smell again...
"Blooooooom...." the sing-songy voice called again in the distance, a little more muted this time. Mmm...it sounded like somepony was just singing her to sleep...
"BLOOM, I'm gonna say this ONE MORE TIME: GET UP OR I'LL STICK MY THICK ORANGE TONGUE IN YOUR EAR!!"
"Uwa-?!" AppleBloom's eyes shot open and she fell off a medical table she'd apparently been sleeping on. Her yellow hooves flailed in front of her and ending up going double jointed as she hit the floor with a snap in her bones. Ouch-!! Why, that little--
Waitaminute: yellow hooves...!
"As I always say after i've been trying to wake somepony up for 3 straight hours: the 67th time's the 'charm'!" Doctor
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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