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// Ghost of You (This Ain't a Party, Get Off the Dance Floor!) 
// Story: The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology 
// by The Red Parade 
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“Yo! Over here, ya big lug!”

Soarin’ whipped his head around, locating the voice that was eagerly waving him down. He pulled at his uniform collar anxiously, gently stepping over the other seated ponies before plopping down in a folding chair besidenext to Spitfire.

“Thanks,” he panted, pulling at his collar again. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“For a navigator, you sure get lost pretty easily,” Fleefoot observed.

Soarin’ rolled his eyes and scowled. Before he could say anything, though, a hush fell over the audience as the band took to the stage. The lead singer cleared her throat and tapped the microphone a few times. Coloratura shut her eyes and began singing. 

“Well I never, thought I’d be around forever, 

And if you die, we’ll be together,

To be in search of something better,

Well I can try..”

Rapidfire smiled at her dreamily. “After all these years… she’s still great,” he whispered. “Gonna miss her.”

Fleetfoot rolled her eyes, but caught the eye of the band’s bassist. “I’d drink to that, Rapid.” 

Soarin’ shifted in his seat uncomfortably. The lights were starting to hurt his eyes, their harsh yellow almost staining the black uniforms everypony was wearing. Spitfire nudged him slightly. “You alright?”

“I dunno,” he replied. “Are you?”

Spitfire rolled her eyes. “Of course not, Equestria’s at bucking war, Soarin’.”

At the word, the service ponies grumbled and sighed. “Geez, can’t you just let me have some fun before we go?” Fleetfoot muttered. 

“Just let us have this one moment, Spits, without you talking about the damned war,” Rapidfire said. 

As the song progressed into the chorus, some of the other soldiers stood up, taking the forelegs of their partners and leading them to the dance floor. The mares giggled and laughed, trying to hide their blushes while the stallions smiled and led on, trying to mask their hidden fears.

They spun in slow circles, as the guitars rose and fell in time with Coloratura’s voice. The uniforms and dresses blended in with suits and ties, making a wave of color that seemed to glide up and down the hardwood floors. The crash cymbals and the bass notes carried on, giving a solid base for the rest of the song to stand on. But all Soarin’ could hear was gunfire and explosions, mixed with waves crashing against the shore and the scream of the wind in his ear.

Soarin’ didn’t want to be here anymore. He watched as the band continued playing. Coloratura kept singing, though she gripped the microphone stand hard. Her eyes remained closed, though her voice began taking on a hoarse quality as she sang louder and louder.

“It’s the end of the world,
Or it will be for me,
Cuz you are never comin’ home, never comin’ home
Never comin’ home, never comin’ home…”


The rest of the band shifted on their hooves nervously as each musician hazarded glances at the seated ponies. Daring Do swiped at her eye, throwing her off the beat a little bit but quickly recovering. Spitfire watched her sadly.

Caramel ended up breaking completely, tears streaming down his face as he attacked the drumset. The drops disappeared into the pure black uniform coat, unnoticed by the world. Soarin’ couldn’t bear to look at him anymore.

Instead, he glanced up at the banner hung above the band. Thank you to Equestria’s Bravest! it read. Where would we be without you? It made Soarin’ want to cry.

“And all the things that you never ever told me,
For all the words that are always gonna break me,
Never comin’ home, never comin’ home
Could I? Should I?”


Spitfire reached over and gently nudged Soarin’s shoulder. “Time to go,” she muttered. The four stood up, making their way out of the aisle. The dance floor was empty now, as the soldiers and their lovers assembled on either sides, facing the stage. Their eyes were downcast and their faces blank. 

Soarin’ tugged at his uniform collar again. The auditorium door seemed so far away now. But they pressed on, past the still forms of their friends and families who stood still as statues. 

As they walked out the rear of the auditorium, Soarin’ glanced back at the stage. The band had left their instruments now and gathered around a sleek black coffin. They picked it up and began marching off stage, while Coloratura fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face as she screamed out the words.

“And all the things that you never ever told me,
For all the ghosts that are always gonna haunt me,
Never comin’ home, never comin’ home,
Never comin’ home, never comin’ home,

For all the lies that they’re ever gonna tell me,
And all your smiles that are ever gonna haunt me!
Never comin’ home, never comin’ home,
You’re never comin’ home, never comin’ home.”

With a sigh, Soarin’ turned away from the concert and followed his friends out the door. It wasn’t a party.