"When I awoke, I awoke to the soft, calmest trill of a violin, a single note I could swear came from just beyond my window. I opened my eyes and saw the beautiful sunshine through my faded mane and smiled, drawing a deep breath in peace. And the music stopped."
*****
I rested well that night.
For the first time in months, the empty pit in my stomach was filled with relief; relief of no longer existing in this limbo, this lack-of-purpose that defined me. So where I’d gone to sleep trembling in my dark corner of an abandoned basement, a thousand thoughts rushing through my head faster than I could understand them, I woke to a beautiful golden sunrise and a peaceful, voiceless silence.
I finally knew what I had to do.
Ponyville had been Vinyl Scratch’s home, her place of safety. She had known nearly every pony across town and had been a well-loved member of society. One of the more famous denizens, she had brought quite a lot of fame to the previously small village. What with her and Octavia, and of course the Elements of Harmony, Ponyville had become a boom town in mere months, despite the disasters that kept blowing things up. Ponies like being where things are happening, so they still came.
That’s where the side of town I lived in came from. Ponies like Cinder Block and his team of workponies were drafted in to build houses for far richer, far dumber ponies, and others like Cherry Cup followed to support them. It hadn’t taken three months for the town to double in size after the Nightmare Moon incident, and that was five years ago.
The building under whose foundation I’d made my home was one of these new boom projects. It was also abandoned, the rich Prince who’d commissioned it having decided he’d rather not live in the same town as the seamstress who’d painted a target on his well-groomed ass. Now it was mine. Or, had been.
As I looked about the damp walls of the grotto under the floor where I lived, I knew I wouldn’t come here again. Something said last night outside the dormitory sparked a little something in my chest. Hope. Whether I denied it or not wouldn’t change the fact: I was ever a fighter, and I couldn’t just give up without letting go of everything that made me who I was. Even more than that, I told myself, if I didn’t leave town now, other ponies were in danger. Ponies like Cherry Cup and Moon Skritch, whom I’d spent time with or gotten to know; their Songs would call to me sometimes, along with the Voice in my head, prompting me to give in, attack them. That animalistic need to take from somepony else what was Taken from you.
Yes, it was time to leave Ponyville.
I looked to my possessions. All I really had to my name was a pouch of bits, coins donated by sympathetic ponies assuming I was a beggar, a small emerald on a silver chain, a gift from a special pony long ago, and an old but well cared-for violin.
Why the violin? I ask myself that every day. I had seconds to save a few possessions before my world and my life ended that night, and I had saved these two things. The necklace had been within the violin case, and in the delirium that had ruled me, that instrument was the only thing I cared about. Everything else but that reminder was already lost to me.
The violin wasn’t even mine.
Weeks after my old home was scattered across the neighbourhood, I’d found myself in this hole, clutching the violin case like a life preserver and crying into its scuffed, felt surface. Four hours after that, I was outside a window at the clinic, bawling as I tried to play a song I no longer had.
I don’t really know why I did that. Octavia heard me, I know now, she said so in her radio recording. To know that it brought her some measure of peace was good, but I knew then that I had to abandon any hope of seeing her again. Still, when nights grew too long or the Voice too loud, I’d gone there, to her window, and tried to play. A lost chord in the dark night, haunting her.
I couldn’t abandon her. Come to think of it, that was probably the only reason I was still alive. But maybe if I could find a way to reverse the damage I’d done, maybe I could repair everything, make it like it was again. Maybe Vinyl Scratch and Octavia Philharmonica could-
No.
I looked at the necklace, that other reminder of happier times. I know better than to wish for the impossible. Octavia blames herself, and thats the only reason she hasn’t learned to hate me. I can’t expect her forgiveness. If I can reverse what I have done, at least then I can try to forgive myself.
*****
An elderly mare opened the door. She looked down at me through rheumy eyes in surprise as she asked, “My dear, how can I help you today?”
She had that compassionate look in her eye, the same way fillies look at little birds with broken wings. I can’t say I appreciated it. Instead, I nodded curtly, raising my hoof. “I just wanted to leave something for Moon Skritch, if he’s here. If he’s still sleeping that’s okay, but-”
‘Oh my,” she started, looking at me differently now, “I never knew that young pegasus worked with the likes of...Um, that is to say, he never arrived last night. Though now I fear he got himself drunk at that dingy bar down the street. Maybe you should check there?”
I froze, my hoof still halfway to hers, the necklace draped over it. Her eyes found it, though, and sparkled. “I’d be happy to hold onto that for him though.”
I snatched it back, glaring. I sat there on the doorstep and looked at it contemplatively. I’d meant to thank him. He’d been so kind, despite his own problems. He hadn’t said anything untrue, and had tried to help me. I’d meant to thank him…
“If you’ve no further business, dear…”
But maybe it’d be best if I just left.
The road out of Ponyville was excellently maintained, and worn smooth by many hooves rather than rutted by wagon tracks. The train line handled all heavy goods and most passengers anyway; the only ponies who used the roads were traditionalists, those walking for the fun of it or madponies (all one and the same in my opinion) and of course those who couldn't afford the train fare. That would be me.
The sun was blinding. It was already half-way through the morning, and the high orb beat down an incessant heat through my thin coat and mane. Looking down, away, or even closing my eyes didn’t help; they were always sensitive, and even more so lately. Too much time in the sun would give me a headache, and the Voice always followed pain. Today though, today was far too important. Today I said my overdue goodbyes.
I watched my hooves listlessly kick over the white pebbles in the dirt, not daring to look up as I walked between two huge willow trees. I hadn’t dared come here before. Two weeks ago, I had gone to the clinic in the early morning, the violin across my back, tears in my eyes, only to see the window I played beneath closed. Octavia never closed her window. I was terrified. My fears were groundless, luckily. Octavia had been deemed healthy, discharged. She had moved into a new home, out in the quieter countryside. It hadn’t taken me minutes to find out where it was.
I looked up and opened my eyes wide, burning the picture into my mind. On a small hill, surrounded by low well-tended shrubs and beside a small stream, sat a golden-thatched cottage, new built and looking fresher than a painting on the easel. I looked through the hanging boughs around me and sighed. I pulled the violin case from my back and opened it in front of me. I sat there, looking at it, thinking. I’d played songs for her outside her window at the clinic. Would she hear the song here and think of our happy memories, or be reminded only of the pain I put her through? I reached hesitantly for the worn bow, only to snatch my hoof back. This violin, it wasn’t mine. It never was.
It was, and always will be, Octavia’s.
I closed the case and drew it back up to my shoulders. With one last glance at the quiet peaceful cottage, I turned around and walked away. I almost thought I heard a snatch of cello playing from behind me as I left.
*****
My legs weren’t as strong as they used to be. Walking was a task after only two miles, torture after ten. I was then breasting a hill twenty miles east of Ponyville.
My progress was slow; it was afternoon , and the sun glanced off the clouds far to the north. Cloudsdale, the only city visible from pretty much everywhere in Equestria. Around me, the tall oaks and aspens of the Whitetail Woods. Beneath me, the same white pebbles that covered every inch of the road behind me.
Ahead of me, though, was my problem. A black-and-white tail and blue wings, walking along the path. I was hoping the pegasus wouldn’t see me, but it was inevitable.
With a sigh, I lowered my head and kept on walking. Just my luck he paused where the path narrowed. He stopped when I passed him, looking up in surprise, “Oh, sorry I didn’t... Hey, you okay?”
I huffed and stepped further away from him, pushing an annoying branch out of the way with a hoof. The equally annoying pegasus gave me a curious look as I did, “Uhh, why don’t you just use magic to push that out of the way?”
“Why are you walking down here when you have wings?” I snapped back, finally getting free and moving on. He wouldn’t know, but magic, something I had relied on, perfected for my life, my job, my talent... as Skritch had said; it had slowly drained away, and now I was left with nothing.
“Well it’s so pretty this time of year, I figured I’d enjoy the scenery.” He said, watching me amusedly, “I’ve just come groundside recently you see, visiting family. You don’t get flowers in Cloudsdale that much.”
Cloudsdale, huh? I rolled my eyes at him, “Getting excited over a flower is something even pegasi get over in their foalhood, isn’t it?”
He shrugged and stopped smiling, walking at my pace. “Maybe. But I say find joy where you can, when you can. After everything that’s happened lately, its the best we can do to enjoy the little things.”
We were quiet for a while. His words had caught me off guard. Not many ponies I knew could be both happy and realistic, and it left me at somewhat of a loss. This colt was quite young, yet something told me he knew something of the world. That made me curious.
“You must have an interesting outlook to see things like that. I wonder if there’s more to it.”
He gave me a sideways glance, curious himself, and snorted. For a second I thought he’d recognized the scar on my neck for what it was, but then his smile blossomed as he cantered off up the road and grabbed some poor clump of weedy flowers in his teeth. He galloped his way back and dropped the rough bouquet at my hooves and nodded at me, big blue eyes sparkling, “They aren't much, but they’re a gift. Try to enjoy them, alright? If you’re stopping at Hoofington, ask for Chasing Haze at the town clinic. I’ll see if I can help you out.”
And with that, he took off. Great wings flared, the strange pony disappeared up through the trees. Only one thought could make itself heard in the silence he left behind.
He’s crazy.
Still. I looked down at the vibrant field-flowers. I poked them experimentally with a hoof before I realized I looked every bit as silly as that pegasus had a moment before. I smiled a little at that.
...they’re a gift…
They were some of the sweetest flowers I’d tasted in months.
As I sat there with petals hanging out of my mouth, wondering just what was happening to me to make me so susceptible to gestures of random strangers, I remembered his words again. I looked up at the sun lowering in the sky behind me, then forward at the approaching twilight. The Hoofington Clinic, did he say?
I got up and started moving again. Maybe that Cloudsdale pegasus could help me after all.