//------------------------------// // chapter 5 // Story: At the precipice of truth // by The Drifting Bard //------------------------------// Chapter 5: Re-Surface During my sleep (if you could call it that) my memories resurfaced. Memories which served better use as a warning to others. Memories which brought pain, anguish and loneliness whenever they appeared Memories which ought to stay dead and buried. More specifically the memory which caused my shoddy suicide attempt. It was early September, having finally found that perfect job, I applied… I wasn’t hired. My rent was overdue… really overdue. My things had been repossessed, and all I had left was my guitar. Living out on the streets, barely sleeping due to the inexplicable fear of being lynched or worse, I became a street musician. But the world had too many. The city had too many. But I wasn’t really bothered by it. What bothered me were the people. The people who would live their day to day lives not knowing how lucky they were. Sure on the increasingly rare occasion some kind soul would throw a penny at me in the hopes that I might play something a bit more upbeat, their hopes would be shot down because passersby would occasionally spit on me and blatantly be disrespectful. Sometimes I would end up in an alleyway trying so hard to curl up into a ball to try and sleep. But the sleep I got was a restless one. I took it upon myself to leave the city, walking for over two hundred miles with a crudely written sign on the back of the guitar simply stating “Dover” some people gave me weird looks, some pulled over to ask ‘why Dover?’ in the end I finally reached my destination. My feet were bleeding; I was too tired to care. I was with out a shadow of a doubt in more psychological pain that physical. I remember my ‘death’ very well. What began as a simple pilgrimage to a new location turned into a very sad time, I pulled out a locket from a pocket. The only other thing personal to me, which had high sentimental value. I opened it up to look inside. A photo of her. She was smiling. She was always smiling. I awoke from my slumber to the smell of freshly made pancakes. Fluttershy sat down next to me with a flump. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes to take in the new sights of pancakes, flowers and lots of green furniture. I watched as she daintily took a bite out of hers. “How’s your head?” I asked her, watching as she squeaked once again. She swallowed her piece of pancake “I’m…a little bit hung-over” she blushed, but then her facial expression changed when she looked me in the eyes. “You….you’ve been…” before she could finish, I just bowed my head and close my eyes. “Yes, I’ve been crying, although I just didn’t know it” she placed a hoof on my shoulder “do you…want to talk about it?” she asked with a motherly sort of tone in her voice. It wasn’t any wonder why she was so good with animals. “I’d rather not, not until I’ve re-lived everything anyways,” she looked at me with an air of worry and confusion. “And besides, I wouldn’t want to see you in the state I’m in” I smiled, knowing it would re-assure her that I was a perfectly healthy stallion... Although not in the psychological department. I took a bite out of a pancake and my face lit up “these pancakes are lovely, Fluttershy” I looked at her clock. What was once a smile quickly turned into a grimace. “Applejack is going to kill me isn’t she”