//------------------------------// // Empty Promised Land // Story: Running the Show // by Theta //------------------------------// Following Dash’s lead, we eventually make it to her house in the sky. I hesitate to step into the cloud home, instead rethinking if I should follow through or not. Last chance... Shit, what the fuck have I gotten myself into! I barely know this chick, and I’m already telling her my past...worse yet, she’s a FAN, and a loud one at that. I should probably bail out... Settling in on the idea that I should ditch Rainbow, I glance around, and find that I'm already inside the mammoth building, stuck in what seemed to be the living room. Surprisingly, the whole place is spotless. “Uhhh Dash, I...I think I left the stove on. I’ll catch you lat-” “Oh, no you don’t! You promised to tell me. Besides, we’re already here. So come on, just tell me, I promise I won’t go to the local newspaper and print what I hear.” “Dude, please. I just..I can’t...” I start to back up into a wall, slightly cowering to the oncoming pegasus. "Solar, why in the hay are you, a former Wonderbolt, so...so introverted? I mean, there's no way you could've gotten by without being more social back in Canterlot!" I can’t think of anything to say, instead I give her a blank look. "Come on! Just spit out already!" "I can explain... “, I pause, trying to think of what to say, "I was trying to say I didn't have the best home life growing up-" "So what? I didn't come from much either." Dash quickly interjects. At this, I pull my shirt off and extend my wings, only to point my back towards her; revealing the long scars that lay there. "It's not that I didn't come from much, I mean that might explain why I dress like a vagabond, but it’s that...I didn’t have parental figures growing up, no one I could look up to. You see, Dash, money don't fix everything, in fact, all the income my parents made, went directly to either food for them or alcohol... But rarely to feed me. They’d rather pay into their habits, than to take care of their own flesh and blood. I survived on whatever I could scrounge up, even going so far as to save lunch from school. “When I was about ten, or I’m pretty sure ten? Few concussions have screwed my memory up, sorry... Let me rephrase that, as long as I can remember clearly, I was beat by my old man. Y’see those scars? Those are just the ones that left their marks. So many others have been healed over; those are the ones that burn the most. I got hit with whatever he had in his hand, or whatever he could get his hands on. See that long one?” I ask, pointing to the longest scar that runs the length of my back, “That’s from a whiskey bottle. Drunk bastard broke the thing over my head, and decided to slice my back up while I was passed out. Those other ones are from a myriad of things...leather belt, pieces of wood, et cetera... Like I said, I got hit with whatever was in his hand. “He always told me I’d never amount to shit. That my dreams would never come true...and you know what? He was right. Sure, I made it big as a Wonderbolt, more than most ponies do, but I never wanted that lifestyle. That was an escape for me, a scapegoat for getting out. That’s it. You’ll probably laugh, but growing up I loved helping and guiding others.” I turn to show my shoulder, “Guess that’s why I got sun and arrow for a cutie mark... Too bad my parents didn't see anything in it. My dad told me it was worthless, that there wasn't a job out there that I could have to match my supposed talent. Fuck, to this day, I still partially believe him. “If you’re wondering about my mom, the bitch never talked to me. I mean never, in all my nineteen years alive, not once has she said anything to me. And no, she isn't a mute. I know that for a fact, I heard every word she spoke when they fought. No matter my accomplishment, she would never even bat an eye at me. Not when I scored the game winning goal at the Equestria High School Lacrosse Championship, not when I earned my mark, and not even when I was invited to become a Wonderbolt. To this day, I can’t tell if it’s better she never talked to me or not. "Heh, lacrosse... y'know, that game saved me from my own devices. It allowed me to vent all the anger I felt, allowed me to be as reckless as I could be, hell, it allowed me to just be me. It's fucked up to admit, but I laugh in pain, spat in the face of Death, himself. After years of pain, I don't know... you just get used to it. For most, they just stop feeling altogether, but me? I'm too fucked up... I welcomed it. Hell, I expected it... I played through games with illegally cut pads, all of which put me in harms way. From dislocating my shoulder, which I subsequently popped back into place, to plain concussions, I played through them all. Something primal always clicked when I felt myself hit the ground... I put myself into situations where I could be taken out, just for the adrenaline rush. "That's the real me, though... A fucked up, self centered dick nut, who can't get over his past... Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if Celestia herself took my soul, and my body burns in-" A hand grace the small of my back, massaging the widest scar. To this, I can’t say anything, the feeling numbs my brain. Using all the strength in my body, I muster up a muffled, “Thank you.” Replacing the shirt back onto my body, I turn to see a distraught Rainbow Dash, tears flowing from her eyes, had sunk to both of her knees. Lifting up her head, I wipe the tears from her eyes, “Don’t cry, kid. That shit’s done with. For good. Just please, I hate to see a beautiful mare like you cry. Just ain’t right.” I outreach my hand to help the cyan mare up, and she happily accepts it. “Thanks, Solar... It’s just that... I forced it out of you. I’m so sorry, I could see that it was painful to talk about... and moreover selfish of me for doing what I did.” She embraced me in a hug, “I hope you forgive me...” “I never blamed you for anything in the first place, Dash... And you were right, I said I’d tell you about it. It was wrong of me to try and double back on that...” I pull her closer in, and for the first time in years, I allow a single tear to run down my cheek.