//------------------------------//
// 18 - Moon 
// Story: The Silver Bullet 
// by Snowball 
//------------------------------//

The sunlight, the touch of a drooping arm, brushed down my face as the last of the sun fell from view. That fiery thing didn’t fall, so much as we ourselves turned away from it. The bench felt no different than from yesterday, besides a little chilling to the rump. Some arc of bright sunlight screamed over the buildings before me just to my eye level, so I was left the awkward choice of taking its assault if I lowered my head just a little, or sitting uncomfortably. 

There is a point to all of this, don’t get me wrong. With a few strums of this object in my hooves, I could communicate to anyone what my favored disposition was: that of an artist. Consider one’s suffering: if it’s to be seen as the dark, then no matter how gruesome our suffering, someone, somewhere else, enjoys the relaxing sunshine without a care in the world. They don’t care about you, or know about you, or even understand what it means to be you. To glimpse out into the night from a lit room is a simple embodiment of this truth. 

It’s not quite as fair a comparison as I’d hope it would be. My eyes sting if I look into the sun, after all. Does one’s eyes burn from optimism if they live too happily? That, I don’t know. Some phantom pain stings when I reminisce those kind of days, to way back when. 

The emptying intersection that graced my view was all too familiar. Mothers held their children’s hooves and walked them along. Gaudy windows stamped scenes of idle conversation, of lively anecdote and calm browsing in the shops. Pegasi up above, colors all washed out wrapped in cones of orange. When I thought back, what I saw was just like this. 

I watched these scenes, just like this. My hoof strummed a lazy cord. I watched my wrist rock against every string, the weight of my hoof making their tension mostly negligible in its descent. Oh, oh so many years ago a smaller, well-kept hoof played this same cord in the same manner. 

So what had changed?

“Lyra? Lyra, there you are!”

Her mane was beautiful. When she jogged to my side, her curls bounced and glimmered, the rims of her bright eyes smooth and pristine. She flashed me a smile, then took her seat by my side.

“Hey, Ocean Song,” I said slowly. My lips contorted to a smile by reflex, and I spoke to her with an airy, level tone. Inviting’s the word.

Ocean waved to me and bounced in her seat a few times to rest her back in an angle she must have deemed fitting. “How come I always catch you noodling, huh? The crowd’s just dying for you out there!” she said, brows raised in drama as she swept her hoof across the view. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. I flicked my mane in a pause to feign how much thought I gave to the question... one could say. “When a song comes to mind, the feeling that I’ve already played it to death gets in the way. Any old pony can’t see the ruts you’re stuck in, but they’re still real to you, you dig?”

The filly sank in her seat. I coulda driven her lower and lower, but the thought just didn’t appeal to me that day. She stared at her hoof, left one I think.  “You feel like a copout, then?”

“Naw, just like I got myself stuck in some mud and pulling makes it worse.” I chuckled at the thought. “You were already without a paddle before you met me, though. That mud was sucking your hooves off before you even took a step. How come you kids can’t just write a damn song and accept it’ll suck?”

"Well, what can I say?" she huffed. Her other hoof brushed her bangs aside. It gave her face a nice frame for the nicer smile she flashed to me, just bloated with under-confidence. "It's so easy to talk yourself outta taking the plunge when you know what shit you're going headfirst into."

"Like love and war," I retorted. "Oh, but you hardly ever hear about the ponies who didn't take things too far, now do you?"

Ocean just shrugged. "Us normal folk have terminal apathy. Wouldn't you agree, old lady?"

"Poor thing," I said, best baby talk I could care to muster. "First lesson for any performer? Your crowd is just waiting to cut loose.  It'll be you or some other thing that will actually make the news that sets 'em off." I pulled the filly into this buddy-buddy hug. "Cuz, wouldn't you know it? Our job is to put what they already feel into words. If not words, then pictures."

Ocean snorted. "And if not pictures, then drama." I taught her well, it seems. 

"Life is too short to be angry. Angry at nothing. Don't let ma and pa try and tell you our job is a waste of time, you dig?"

Ocean broke the hug first, this odd look on her face. "Psh, my dad was the most forgiving guy ever," she said, flicking her mane. She dealt imaginary cards from her hoof, one at a time.  "You just... play... your cards... right with ponies like that, then you're golden. Mom was too much of a mule to be so easy." 

"I coulda been your mama," I said, pulling my cheeks down to hide the wrinkles. At once my companion squeezed back what would have been a hilarious laugh and squeaked in pain from biting her tongue. Gotta love ponies like that. 

"Y-you know I hate that face!" the girl cried. 

Good, I had her distracted. When you fluster these sorts you can trip them up more and more. I lead into the question with three small laughs. "So do you miss your mama and pa?"

She tried to laugh along before her peanut brain caught up. "W-what?"

"You heard me."

"I told you to never talk about them," she whispered. 

Of course she tried to get away, so I pushed her back down by the shoulder before the thought crossed her mind. "Just humor me, kid."

"Why?" Her face twisted into a mean 'ol frown. "What, did I hurt your feelings or something? You know your age doesn't matter to me, so you can rightly fuck off."

"It's your ma's birthday today." 

That was all it took to knock her off her hooves. She brushed her nose with her left hoof, hiding her soundless lips. I leaned forward, but she turned away. 

This day meant so much to both of us, let me tell you. Maybe it wasn't an important thing to her. She was a young girl, and her mama woulda given the world to her. Her nature I knew well, and every ill thing Ocean said of her was a blatant lie.

I played along, even then. You understand why, don'tcha? 

...oh stars!

Hee hee, I need a breath. Sorry about that. Just the thought of what Bonnie would do to me, you don't even know. You can't make absurd shit like this up. Ocean would see her mama go from zero to hero if I told her any stories. 

"I guess years of her throwing block parties stamped that one on my mind," I said. 

She swallowed hard. "So what? I'm on my own now, Lyra. Maybe, uh, I get a little homesick from time to time. I can swear that I only miss when life was so easy, so carefree." She matched her eyes with mine, still always a bit uncertain. "But the freedom is worth having to pick up after myself."

I bopped her on the nose and kicked right back. For good measure, I swiped my own bangs to let it fall over my face and batted my eyes at the girl, who looked a few cents short on words. "I didn't want no life story, kid. You said what I wanted to hear, and that's all that mattered."

Ocean coughed demure-like. "That I d-don't take my freedom for granted?" She leaned onto my chest. "Of course not."

Her mane was so soft and lively. A good deal of warmth and traces of moisture trapped under gave a hint to its thickness. You can't tell me that a girl who dolls herself up for you for even the most pointless meeting isn't adorable, now can you? 

My scowl grew and grew. Breezy, wispy, washed-out. Things only go more wrong, don't they? It goes without saying that she meant everything to me. They always do, and don't you fucking think otherwise. 

We just stayed together for the evening, before I forget my little story. The kid left at around ten, like usual. Busy morning ahead of her, like usual. About lunch time for me, like usual. A stroll down Main Street was what the doctor ordered. Nothing was open, not a lot of ponies left around or anything. Oh, I didn’t really do any food shopping that week. Again, huh. You know, the slop they give me here has been oddly filling me these past few weeks.

Alright, alright, back on track. I’m getting to the part you actually asked about. Ain’t it tantalizing?

There was just one shithole open. The crummiest diner you could imagine, run by the crummiest looking sorts of pony. You rounded the corner past the Breezy Bee --  great place, that one -- right on by this budget dress shop and a lot with some trees, littered with trash and cracks in the concrete flowing with weeds. And then you went past some curio place, some stationery place that was the mangled offshoot of the old, old Quills and Sofas then at last…

The Key Tapper. The only forsaken place open at midnight. I suppose I woulda starved to death without it. Shopping’s that miserable to me. I’d go in, see, and this chubby filly would say ‘how do you do’ every time. Every fucking time. I suppose by being a regular, you sorta belong to the establishment. You’re their regular. The filly’s name was Eclair Puff, some called her Clair.

But you knew that already.

I pushed open the jangly portal, probably smeared a roach or two. She perked up and immediately waved at me.

“Oh hi, Lyra! Just in time, too. I put some yummy cocoa on!” She wanted me to stay a little longer tonight, it seemed. Making it feel like home. I glanced to my usual spot, and on the table was a baby blue vase. In that vase, a single anthurium. Oh, it looked a juicy and tangy orange, but the moron got the whole meaning backwards. 

I smiled to her after the moment’s contemplation. “Good evening, Clair. How’s your pa doing?”

Our go-getter beat me to my own table, waiting to take my order. She couldn’t keep her hooves still, nor her wings. We did this song and dance so many damned times, yet she always had this awkward moment of looking over her own menu to avoid staring at me, or some other random boring object. The menu was long since unneeded, but there it was.

She didn’t set it down when I took my seat. “I’m feeling a little bit of spinach tonight,” I told her. Well, maybe that wasn’t the exact thing that exact day. I made it a mission to not have a usual, since I was a filly even!

She giggled. “You must be a mind reader, Lyra. Shy-Shy already whipped some of that up for breakfast earlier, i-if you don’t mind it a little cold?”

I snickered. “So your baby is being your assistant tonight, again? I’m fixing to tell your pa just how well you handle the night shift at this rate.”

Red as a tomato. Clair straightened her apron and counted the tiles a bit. “She said her animal friends were all tucked in for the night like babies. Mr. Bear didn’t have no fits tonight, no one had nightmares.” She stomped her hoof, if you could call it that. “It’s just the worst, seeing a little critter be scared like that.”

Fluttershy called from the kitchen. “Did you want the spinach soup, Lyra?” 

Of course she could hear that. “Yeah, hit me!” I replied. I gave the table one good pound of discontent, and Clair practically ate the air from the room and ran to hug the wall. Just too easy. Whatever cloying grouch she readied didn’t matter when that thing flitted in.

On leathery wings, the creature glided into my view. Her coat powdered in moon dust, eyes of fresh wounds. Her ear swiveled just so to my tapping, impatient hoof. No smile with teeth, sharp as that, could be called welcoming. Nothing about her didn’t wear on one’s nerve to stay put, to smile back or give the time of day. 

It took real practice to get over all of that. I did the smile-wave one-two to this monster named Fluttershy. That’s what she is, and that’s what I’ll call her. If you don’t like it, you can just leave.

I asked what had changed a few minutes ago, didn’t I? I wasn’t asking for myself, oh no. I know how abrasive and irreverent a husk I became. I know why I’m… I’m…

But her! She hadn’t aged a single day. Oh, if you were in Clair’s place, watching us two exchanging that greeting, you’d understand. 

“It smells just right for me,” I said. The thing blushed and set the bowl down in front of me, in service. It’s those little moments.

“I-it’s nothing special, really. Just an old recipe from when I was growing up,” Fluttershy said. 

I took a sip. More or less, it was spinach. A taste of onion, a dash of cilantro and sprinkle of salt. Very, very plain, that soup. A lot of what you’d get there was pretty plain, pretty simple. “I’m guessing you didn’t have the bits to throw around in the kitchen, then,” I said after a few smackerels. 

“That’s true, actually,” Fluttershy said. She jumped to Clair with a flick of her wings. She got this stare whenever something scared her, frozen under some spotlight. Fortunate for her, Fluttershy made it all better with a little bit of touch. Just a hug, a pat on the head. The girl’s cheeks flushed, then she was fine like always. Her cheeks were so soft... so callow. 

I rubbed the back of my head in embarrassment. “Heh, sorry about that Clair. I just forget things too easily nowadays.” 

“I-it’s fine,” she mumbled. Their little hug was more of a cause of attention at this point.

“It’ll get better, Clair,” Fluttershy said, honeyed voice. “My closest friends could be brash at times, so that made me more comfortable with, well, these things after a while. I believe in you.”

She tensed her shoulder a few times and flicked her tail out, once curled in fright. “Lyra IS too awesome to hide from forever, yeah.” These moments, I tell you.

I gagged as overtly as I could, rousing a few chuckles from the two lovebirds. “We don’t need this much schmaltz every time I visit, do we?”

Clair stepped up to the table out of the little embrace. Her legs wobbled but she seemed back in the zone again. “Oh, but I like these kinds of moments, Lyra. Hugs, for free!” Her wings shuffled around as she spoke. After she took her seat, the feathers on them ceaselessly brushed the wooden back of the stall, yet she acted as if she didn’t notice. The girl couldn’t sit fucking still to save her life.

...your aim is off, pal. You got me talking, got me talking! Why throw that one away too?

The monster sat right on next to her. Stars, I couldn’t help a snicker or two seeing them together. Seems like my timing was impeccable, seeing how they chuckled along for the moment. Fluttershy rested her forelegs on the table. Glanced at a spot a few times on it, then brushed something aside. Clair was already babbling again, the outsider. Me and her, we watched that green hair sway down on through the air before vanishing, as hairs are wont to do. 

“...and the ribbons they had were so adorable, too! They had one that reminded me of you, Lyra, but I couldn’t afford it.” It took me one blink to realize she was giving me this look of disappointment, waiting. 

“Oh, that’s fine girl,” I said. Bet she woulda slept good that night with that answer. “You just gotta point me in the right direction so I can snag it later.” I took another sip of that soup. Sip of the soup. Ha. The thing watched me intently, a touch of sadness. At the time, I figured we both knew it had gone cold. It was my second spoon, even. I still crave a little bit of it, actually.

“So how is it?” Clair asked me.

I waved the spoon at Fluttershy, this sassy little gesture. “It’s good, I’ll give you that much. But Ms. Iron Stomach here couldn’t be bothered to experiment all these years?”

She smiled back at me. I shuddered. Only just a little. “I can’t really stand strong tastes anymore, actually. I do agree that I should spice things up a little more though. Why, Clair here added a little nutmeg to it the other day and it sold by the end of the dinner rush.”

The girl ducked down a little. “We don’t really have any of it left today. Sorry!”

I’m gonna bet that I answered one of your little questions just now. That was our day in, day out. That’s what us three were to each other ten-fold longer than tonight’s planned entertainment. I was a damned Aesthetics major back in Celly’s. I needed a bit of lead in, kill two birds with one stone. It was a night like any other, to be perfectly honest. You need to just believe me there. My craving for drama would constitute perjury, sadly.  Whatever you call it. A scar, a blemish that would be! I’m no liar. 

What happened? It’s not so much an event as a… revelation I had. The ‘why’.  

We gave her a hard time for a little while, but it all winded down to idle chatting before I knew it. About two in the morning, the thing said she had to run out back to her home to tend to her nocturnal critters. I usually ‘went’ on my way along with her, and tonight was no different. Clair hugged and kissed her favorite monster, rested her head on its shoulder. I reined that in, though. One solid glare when the thing’s back was turned, and Clair broke the hug. Fortunate that Fluttershy can’t really taste emotions.

My one good scare topped off this night. We went out the door, shoulder to shoulder. About a block we’d usually walk together before we went our separate ways, passed with more blabbing. We reached the midpoint of the derelict lot. Entered stage right, moon livening up the scene. A punchy gust rattled some unseen wind chimes from afar that called the scene.

“What’s wrong, Lyra?”

I continued to move forward as I answered. Really, I was falling. 

“Nothing, why?” 

The sounds of the thing shuffling highlighted the sharp pain in my tail that webbed through the back, so I stopped. Played cool.

Fluttershy looked into my eyes when I faced her, so gentle. My tail didn’t budge a centimeter, I could feel it. I swallowed.

“Lyra, I know it when I see it. Something troubles you,” she spoke softly.

I’m no coward, but I knew I wasn’t going anywhere. I couldn’t say just what she knew. The more she said my name, the harder it was to not scream in her face. I could hide a python in a saddlebag any day of the week, but you couldn’t ask me to stare one down. 

I wanted to keep Clair to myself above all else. She was just like me. Greedy and paranoid. I wanted her, and I wanted Ocean. I just wanted.

She pawed at the ground with her free leg, observing it. “I’m sorry I’m like this. I used to bemoan what I was. The thirst. The sun. The loneliness. I had my friends by my side for so long, but now I don’t. Now it’s so hard.”

“Because you’re alive, right?” I said. She gasped. The understated shift in her mood was still plain as day despite how muffled she made it. I looked away from her. “And you can’t reverse it, either. You would never ask anyone of such a thing.”

Another breeze chilled my bones. That voice, that broken little sound. “I’d rather live with it. I’d rather live with this than ask her to kill me. I’m too much of a coward to ever truly mean such a thing, and yet I’m terrified of the future.”

“I’d never wish this on anyone.”