//------------------------------//
// An old foe and an older friend 
// Story: A Story About Nothing 
// by ponyartist 
//------------------------------//

Sun light broke through dusty drapes, as it cut its way through the darkness falling upon a stallion who sat on a worn out coach that sat in the living room of an apartment that lay draped in a layer of dust with the smell of stale air and trash throughout it. He just sat there thinking……thinking of stuff that no longer mattered nor should he even bother to remember, but still his mind held them close like how a mother holds their foal close. The irony of such things and how his thoughts held him just as close as he held them when the ponies he considered his friends held him at arm’s length like a crying child that was not theirs never escaped him. With a heavy sigh he breaks away from his thoughts to stare at the bottle of scotch that sat on the coffee table; as if it were his foe and he were studying him waiting for him to make the first move a move that would never come and a fight that if he started it he would not win, but than his sight was stolen from his foe by what was once an old friend. Now its wooden body sat in the corner gathering dust and even though it hasn’t been used in what most of been years it could still stand strong. It was his old art easel something he had not used or bother to think about in quite some time.

A stallion sat before his art easel intently working as if the world around him no longer mattered. His gaze was only lifted from his work to study the mare that lay posed on the coach before him. His brush fallowed every curve of the mare’s body, as he gently placed them on the canvas. With every brush stroke he placed on the canvas he wished it was his hoof that was moving over every curve of her body, but they both knew that would come soon enough. He gave the mare lying before him a small smile to which she returned with her own. No words were spoken, because none were needed.


The stallion just sat there staring at his old art easel as he wrapped himself in his owns thoughts. He merely let out a sigh as he rubbed his eyes. He picked up the bottle that still stood silently before him and put it back with all the other bottles some open, some not, and others empty. He stole another stare at his art easel as he thought to himself could he still do it? Did he still have it? Could he come back?