//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1 
// Story: Communication Error 
// by cAPSlOCK 
//------------------------------//

	A silhouette wandered aimlessly down a dimly lit Ponyville street. Late at night, the only light was from the Princess Luna’s moon, reflecting the light of its elder. The shadow walked, keeping pace with a piece of garbage effortlessly skipping down the road by the wind, his only company during the quiet night. He made a turn and entered a small house in need of some repair. The paint hasn’t stood the test of time, only fifty percent of the house is colored white, and even then its shine has been lost to filth. The interior wasn’t any better, what remains of the carpet is stained beyond the power of any detergent. There wasn’t a corner without a dinner-plate sized cobweb in it. The internal temperature was at the mercy of the weather, for there was no heat or air conditioning. The electricity had been long shut off, and the dwelling was supposed to be empty. The previous owners had moved years ago, and the house had been devoid of everything but the roof itself for years. The figure carefully walked through the pitch-black house, trying not to make a sound despite the fact that there was nobody he could disturb. He knew the house like the back of his hand. He made his way to a small table. He didn’t worry about tripping over anything – there was nothing there. He lit a candle, and the room around him suddenly came into light. There was a small sofa, terribly uncomfortable, that served as the centerpiece to the room. There were many other rooms, but they served no purpose. All were empty except the kitchen, which featured a wood stove. This would have been an asset, but the only wood that could be gathered was in the Everfree Forest, and it wasn’t worth the effort or the potential danger.
The shadowy figure also was revealed in the flicker emanating from the wick’s glow. He was an earth pony, young – but not a small child. He was no older than seventeen. His green coat was filthy and matted, but that didn’t matter. He was home. He called it home, anyway. The house was by no means his, and he was trespassing. But nobody cared about the status of this particular house, so he didn’t worry about being discovered. Besides, if somepony had decided to buy that house among all of the other vacant homes in Ponyville, they probably needed it more than he did. He carried the dish that held the candle between his teeth and he laid down on the sofa. It was small and uncomfortable, but still better than the floor. He set the candle down on the floor next to him, careful to keep the candle from tipping. He curled up in a ball and shivered. Without blankets, some nights in Ponyville were brutal, especially then, in the late autumn. The young stallion rose from the couch and made his way to table once again. There, he took a few more candles, and lit them all at once. There were seven in all, each decently sized. That was what he had. Seven candles were his only option for warmth. Though the small flames provided next to no heat, perhaps the thought of there being fire nearby would have had a psychological impact on him, making him think he was warmer than he was. He slept, despite the cold and the discomfort. The cold comes around every year, and though he couldn’t say he was used to it, he was at least familiar with it, and knew that he had survived worse. 
He woke up the next morning and looked around. Celestia’s sun had just peeked over the horizon and the chill of the night hadn’t completely vanished. He stood, and stretched out his legs. The morning traffic hadn’t started yet, and then was the perfect time to leave without anypony noticing. He stepped out, careful not to alert anyone who may be nearby. He had nothing to do in the mornings, or at any time for that matter. He just had one job, and that was to survive.
Food. That was important. He had no job or money, and had to find something to eat. Despite his situation, garbage was below him, and he refused to scavenge. He wasn’t a thief, either. He survived on the wild apples that grew in the more remote areas. He had discovered a location on the edge of the Everfree Forest where the fruit was abundant. He rarely went there, for there was a cottage nearby, and he often saw a yellow pegasus pony out and about with the local animals. That particular day, he decided to risk it. He made his way toward the apple trees and examined the available selection. There were about six trees in all, and they were right next to each other. As he approached the one with the ripest fruit, a squirrel moved nearby, causing him to jump. He took a few worried glances around him; he didn’t want to be seen. He was a timid young stallion, self-conscious as can be. It would be better if nopony knew he existed. The only thing worse than poverty was the harsh judgments of the middle and upper classes. He got in a position to buck the tree, his hind legs lifted into the air.
“Umm… excuse me?”
He turned and made eye contact with a yellow pegasus for a split second, then ran away as fast as his legs would take him. He ran until he couldn’t anymore. It wasn’t very far, considering his malnourishment, but it was far enough to be out of the eyes of any and everypony. He collapsed at the top of a hill, exhausted, hungry, and lost. That was when he fell apart. He was a strong pony, hardened from his experiences, but even he wasn’t made of stone. He shielded his face in his forehoofs and sobbed. Every terrible event he had ever experienced rushed back to him to assist his despair in tormenting him.
In school, he was as shy as ever, and his fears were real. Bullies had their fun with him; he had no Cutie Mark. His flank was still bare at the age of ten. He was unintelligent, nearly failing every class he was enrolled in. He had no real friends; his only company had ever been inanimate. He was awkward, in both appearance and personality. His legs were unnaturally short and his thick mane couldn’t be maintained. He wasn’t a people pony, his sense of humor was pathetic and he didn’t know how to make friends. There were many ponies that had similar traits, but they were unaware, and the burdens had no effect on them emotionally. But he was the exception; He was brutally aware of his shortcomings. Maybe he couldn’t do long division, or tell you what year Princess Celestia banished Nightmare Moon, but he knew that he was an outcast.
He lived in a never-ending rut until he was thirteen. His mother had fallen ill, and he took care of her. His father worked to support his family, and the medical bills took up a vast majority of the paycheck. Despite the effort put in by everypony, her condition never improved, and it was only a matter of time before Death had tightened his grip. 
He and his father never were the same. His father entered a depression that led to alcohol abuse, and the poisoning that followed took his life, orphaning a fourteen year old son. The depression inevitably spread to him. But rather than seek help, he began to fear the ponies around him, and the inevitable pain associated with each and every one. He fled his home town without another word, and has been living in the Ponyville streets for three years. He regrets leaving, for he has faced more hardship than he could have imagined. It wasn’t as simple as walking into town and talking to somebody. He was shy, and feared the reactions of the people if he made himself known. His life was hard, but it was predictable. He had a routine. He was locked in a daily plan for survival, doing nothing more, and nothing less. 

He had no future, no destiny.

And at age 17, his bare flank reminded him of that every day.