//------------------------------//
// 4: The Life I Chose 
// Story: Uncle Nic-fit's Drunken Story Time 
// by Nic-Fit 
//------------------------------//


THE LIFE I CHOSE






I was sat by myself in a booth of th nightclub. My friends had roped me into coming along becauus it would be 'fun'. This wan't my kind of 'fun', infact, I hated stuff like this, but played along because my friends had asked nicely. Of course now they had wondered off to Celestia knows where, leaving me alone.

I casually sipped on my wine, attempting to block out the blaring music that I hated so. Out of the corner of my eye i saw an obviuosly intoxicated stallion making his way over to me. I sighed nd closed my eyes.

"Hey there pretty mare! Want to dance?"

I close my eyes tighter and grit my teeth. 

"No." I force out.

He sits down next to me. I'm now almost seething with rage.

"Oh, okay. What type of music do you like then?"

I calm down a little upon hearing the question, since music is my passion in life.

"I'm into Lowercase and Post-Minimalist Dungeon Synth."

"Thats...cool I guess. I really like DJ PON-3."

I look him straight in the eye and throw my wine over him. At this point I am shaking in anger. I get up from the boooth and gallop outside. All around me I can hear ponies lauhging and having fun, its awful. I manage to flag down a taxi cart to have him take me   home.

"So, wheere is it that youre from?"

Oh Celestia, he's trying to talk to me. And he has a weird accent!

"II havn ot seen you around here before, I work this route veeeeeery often, and-"

"PLEASE STOP TALKING" I blurt out.

He shoots me an annoyed and confuse face, but keeps pulling the cart, this time in silnece. After aboit 10 minutes we've reached my house. I throw a bunch of bits at him and run as fast as i can into my house, slamming the door behind me. I go up to my room and switch on my cassette player. I pull out my tape of ambient field recordings of foal's hospital wards in the 80s, and let it washes away the contact I had with the uncultured scum outside, laying on my bed and hugging my cello as it did.

I go to hang upmy jacket, but suddenly realise that I don't have it with me. I must have left it in the club or the cab. I'd have to go back to get it.

No. I wont go back out. I don't need it. All it would mean is that I woudl have to spend longer out there with those mouth breathers. I sigh at the loss of my jacket, looking out of my window.

"This is the life I chose" I tell my self.

This was the cost of being better than everypony else.

"This is the life I chose..."





As we can clearly see, Octavia has very poor social skills