> Picture me in neon colors.
>  by Keyslam
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Let my legacy be remembered.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The low rumble and occasional creaks of a rocking chair fill the room. You sit by the fireplace, reading a book.

"Come 'ere a little closer. I have something to tell ya."

You look up from your book. Gramps is looking at you with his good eye. A weak smile surfaces on his wrinkled face. Ever since you first met him a few years ago, he'd hardly spoken to you. Nevertheless, you obey and scoot closer. You frown at the retreat of the fire's warmth from your back.

"Ah, no worries about keeping warm. I'll just turn up the heat a little." Like a barren tree bending in the wind, Gramps rises from his seat, reaching a frail hoof for the nearby knob. He pauses with a chuckle. "It appears that I have forgotten that I am a unicorn! Hm, feels like yesterday when my brother and I attempted to bring artificial horns to the masses." Another pause. He glances at your confused face. "Was I saying something?"

You nod.

He takes a moment to think, sitting back down in his rocking chair. You return to your book in the meantime. It wasn't one you particularly would've liked to read, but your assignment on Equestrian history demanded you read it, so here you are. At least the current chapter on Twilight's ascension was interesting.

"Picture me in neon colors, kid."

You look up again.

"When I'm gone, picture me in neon colors. My brother never had that chance before he passed."

To be honest, you'd never thought about it in that way before. You'd never even had the chance to meet your great-uncle.

"All that I've done in life. I know it really ain't much, nor can I say it was ever entirely honest, but I did what I could. I've made mistakes in the name of money, and I'm past that now." A sigh escapes his chapped lips. He closes his eyes. "Yes... I'm done with that life. Been done for it for many decades now... Just imagine for a moment; my name... our family's name--emblazoned in neon colors. Neon is iconic. Neon is bright. Folks like bright things, don't they?"

You nod, though you doubt he notices.

"I want them to focus on that brightness. I want them to know that, after the life my brother and I were once known for, we genuinely tried to do good. Our assistance in Princess Twilight's plans to integrate portal-world technology proved successful. Ponies in Equestria have higher living standards now than ever before."

"I... guess, yeah," you agree. "I haven't gotten to that part yet in history class, though."

Gramps lets out a snort. "Psh, history? You've got something better than some crusty book." His hoof pats you on the head. "You got the real deal. Or at least, the surviving one. Just think. My legacy. My brother's. Even now, most still only see us as former grifters. We were nobodies at best, and at worst, we were the villains in the stories told to the little fillies and colts at night. It was only thanks to Princess Twilight herself that we had a chance to finally put all of that behind us once and for all. Yet, for all our efforts, this family remains defined by its legacy of scams to this day. I want to put an end to that."

He leans back in his seat. The uneven rumble of his rocking resumes. You can envision it already; your grandfather's name, glowing like a beacon in even the darkest of nights. A testament to a better world. Or at least, what was hopefully a better one.

Still, it didn't feel right.

None of this did.

He's trying too hard. If anything, such a display will come across more as a form of bragging than anything that'd garner respect. Yes, he wants to restore the family name, but to elevate oneself to such heights with a single sign?

You shake your head. "This doesn't feel right."

"Nonsense. Through all my years, whether they be from my years of shifty business or not, I know one thing for sure: ponies like their flashy signs."

You fall silent. He's dead-set on this, isn't he?

"I'm just... well, worried, that's all." You set your book aside. "Gramps, you always seem so obsessed over how ponies see you. Aren't you worried that it might backfire? What if you only make it worse?"

That same smile from before resurfaces. "I gotta hand it to you, kid, you're a heckuva lot smarter than I ever was even at twice your age. As far as risk goes... there's a little thing us old folks like to call confidence. You can't make it to the end if you never really get going, now can you? Sometimes it takes a shot in the dark."

A small grin forms on your face. "Like a big ol' neon sign?"

"Yes, like a big ol' neon sign."

That gets a chuckle out of you. Though, even then, you still have your doubts. What makes him think that a single neon sign will make such a difference? If he is truly set on changing the public's opinion, then surely he'd need to put more effort in than a sign, right? You furrow your brows. Then again, it was thanks to that same aforementioned public opinion that you'd never met Gramps until recently. Maybe he in fact has tried everything he could already. 

"My brother and I gave away millions when we first retired. Even now at my ripe old age, I watch as the remaining savings I have continue to dwindle. Yet these donations continue to be long-overshadowed by events that even I do not clearly remember anymore. The Super Speedy Cider Squeezy, for example. Our competitiveness back then got to our heads. Kept ruining every chance we had until our reputation was ruined. I'm sick of it."

Your ears perk at the mention of that machine. Gramps finally named something concrete. The Super Speedy Cider Squeezy... what, 2000? It didn't matter what the number was anyway--you'd learnt about it once while visiting a museum in Ponyville. Not once did anypony ever mention that it was your own grandfather who'd helped build it.

"Before I leave this life, I want to put an end to that still-bleeding reputation, once and for all." He sets a hoof upon his chest. "For me--" he shifted slowly, moving his withered hoof to your shoulder. "--And for you."

He pulls away, and the uneven rumble of his rocking chair fills the room once more.