//------------------------------//
// Wednesday 
// Story: Ç ® υ § Η Ξ Ð 
// by shortskirtsandexplosions 
//------------------------------//

	Vinyl Scratch hadn't killed herself.  She had the day-old blisters on her fingers to prove it.

She exited the lobby beside the band room, sighing out a crooked smile.  Her muscles were still sore from a previous afternoon of angrily, aggressively mowing three neighborhood lawns in a row.  It was almost a strenuous enough task to erase her fresh memory of the cafeteria incident.  What's more... it paid well.

And now...



Good.  You did good.  You're not creeps at all.



She raised a long yellow sheet of paper in her grasp.  The receipt copy bore her trademark handwriting.  In the "To" field it read "Octavia Melody."  And in the "From" field it read "Anonymous."

Vinyl sighed again, adjusting her shades as she smiled... and smiled.  Her breaths settled as if she had just finished sprinting a marathon.



Best twenty dollars I ever spent.



She shuffled down the mostly-empty hallway, one pastel sneaker after another.  Her eyes lingered on the receipt in her grasp... imagining another set of eyes brushing over it.  Velvety purple pupils.



You're not creeps.  You're not creeps.  It's okay.



Vinyl gulped.



It is okay, right?



The warning bell rang.  Startled, Vinyl jolted in place.  Errant, last-second stragglers rushed up and down the hallway around her.  In a rush, she flung her backpack around and zipped it open.  The contents were a disheveled mess, and she fumbled for a place to drop the crumpled receipt.  Without thinking, she stuffed it down someplace at random: the canvas confines of a folded umbrella.

With another zip, Vinyl closed the bag and proceeded to her algebra class.



No more worries now.  Just numbers.  Numbers are cool... I guess.



Vinyl sat down and the period breezed by.  Several yawns and pythagorean theorems later, and the bell rang loudly.  The entire class rose to their feet like summoned thralls.  Vinyl surged among them, shuffling down the hallway.  Humming to herself, the girl yanked her headphones up to her ears.  Her finger fumbled over the toggle buttons of her player...

...when heaven spontaneously scraped her eardrums.

"I just... I just don't understand..."

"...!!!"  Vinyl quivered from head to toe.  Her finger slapped the player's buttons one-too-many times.  Her headphones began crackling a Coldplay remix track.  Vinyl felt like vomiting in shame and confusion and—

"Rarity?  Coco?  Fleur?  Are any of you responsible?"

"It wasn't us, Tavi!"

"Mmmmm... quite.  If we wanted to support the Canterlot High Fair, we'd just show up and pay for tickets at the gate."

"But my oh my... twenty carnations!" Rarity hummed.  "Somebody's got a secret admirrrrrerrrrrr!"

"No... no, that's..."  Confused violet eyes blinked.  Confusedly.  Vinyl saw smokey threads fluttering from an air conditioning vent overhead.  A dainty body leaned back against a locker as she cradled a tender bouquet of soft white buds in her expert cellist fingers.  "Don't be daft.  This must be some ruse.  It has to be."

"Don't sell yourself so terribly short, darling.  You are most ravishing.  No doubt a handsome devil has his eyes set on you."

"Oooh!  She's right, Tavi!  What if it's Auburn Anchors from the swim team?"

"Or Fancy Pants!  You sit right next to him in Debate, don't you?"

"Girls, please, this is... I must say I'm rather flabbergasted."

"Heehee!  You're turning the most delightful shade of rose!  It matches your eyes, darling!"

"Please, Rarity.  I'm just... well... you know..."

"Hmmm?"

A dull, gray sigh.  Vinyl watched as the girl craned her head with an angelic twirl.  "I don't have time for that sort of nonsense.  I shan't pretend otherwise."

Vinyl's blood went cold.  Her hands gripped the straps of her backpack until the knuckles turned white.

"Tavi, surely you must have wondered 'what if' you could—"

"I'm sorry.  My music comes first.  You all know that."

"Heehee... don't apologize to us!  Just think of the poor boy admiring you from afar!"

"Yes... well... such is life," Octavia's voice muttered, dull and lifeless.

The words rattled in Vinyl's ears as she passed by—as she had to pass by—hunched over and invisible.  She drifted past the gaggle of girls on necrotic limbs, slouching towards an unseen coffin to be born.



Creep.  Loser.  Absolute creeps.



She sniffled.  Her shades fogged from the inside.  She could no longer see where she was going, but it mattered little.  She focused on the ache in her muscles, the blisters in her fingers, and drowned herself in butchered Chris Martin.



Such a friggin' creep.  That's what you get.  That's what you always get.