//------------------------------//
// Memory I - Waste 
// Story: Second (or Third) Chances 
// by HypernovaBolts11 
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	"Where do you want me to start?" a powerful voice boomed from the very air.

Celestia looked around, and down, at the seemingly endless heights of the shelves around her, each nearly overflowing with books, and the red carpet that was just a few centimeters too thin to reach the bases of the shelves. The carpet snaked its way from side to side as it stretched up and down the thousands of rows of bookshelves.

She had enough space between adjacent shelves to move around in with comfort, and she could tell simply from looking at the books which ones she had so carefully crafted and placed atop their shelves. She had never felt at ease with herself for doing it since then, but it had to be done.

Better a new subject be conjured from nowhere than an unstable, arrogant, narcissistic prince who thought he was entitled and capable enough to rule Equestria by himself.

She looked up and down the hall of bookshelves, setting off to find the end of the shelves that flanked her on either side, and said, "Wherever you can start. Just look around for a memory that you believe wasn't synthesized."

"With all due respect, your highness, I have a lot of questions, and I'd like some answers. That's why I agreed to let you inside my head. I don't let just anyone inside my head without expecting something for it," the voice said. It was nervous, and clearly less confident in its ability to force her back out of its domain than it let on.

"The sooner we start, the sooner we can have a real discussion about them. But until such time, I can either follow you to the memories you believe, or I can start poking around in the less public ones," she answered. Rounding a corner, she trekked past a seemingly endless forest of shelves.

"Um... Gimme me a moment," the voice said, and then left her to walk in the silent library of its mind.

Finally coming to an open study area, Celestia sat down at a large wooden desk, and hemmed thoughtfully as she awaited the voice's response.

"Ah. I'm pretty sure this one's real," the voice said, and a single book flew down from above her. After landing softly on the desk, it opened, and released a flash of blinding white light. The light consumed the room, and Celestia felt her senses being redirected as the memory enveloped her.





"How wasted can life leave you?" a voice asked, one that through the crowd of drunken friends and coworkers cut. It sliced through the clamor of laughter and jubilation, and drilled itself into my mind.

I frowned, lowering the octagonal prism of a mug, made of chilled glass and dripping with condensation, onto the bar. I felt my ears standing up and my wings rustling beneath my cloak. I probed my not nearly drunk enough mind for an answer, casting aside notions of context or intent.

How wasted... The thought buzzed around at the back of my skull, thrashing about, shaking loose other thoughts, ones I'd come to the bar in order to expel. I bit my lip, and lifted my mug to my lips, tipping it back, gulping down the apple cider. My throat burned, not because the liquid was warm, it was frigid, but because the ethanol lowered the activation temperature of thermoreceptor cells in my throat, tricking me into believing that my own body temperature was too hot.

I coughed, wondering why nopony had even noticed a teenager drinking his mind out.

Maybe I didn't look like a teenager. Maybe, after all of the wasting life had done to me, the world recognized that I wasn't a kid anymore.

Yeah, I scoffed, like the world recognized anything.

Someone, much larger than me, brushed past me, almost knocking me out of my stool, and didn't bother to apologize or consider me in the least.

I turned around, and blinked.

The bar and tables were empty, the sounds all vanishing, the party having passed. Its attendants having all gone home to empty their stomachs or make foals of themselves.

I sighed, and turned to face forward. I looked down at my empty mug, and muttered to the bartender, "How much do I owe you?" I looked up, and then straight down.

One of my policies stated that I wouldn't look at any part of anypony's body unless they gave me permission to do so, aside from the eyes. I'd made this rule to compensate for my lack of social experience, along with the fact that I wanted to be polite, and would lose every fight on purpose before hurting someone else.

I had a bit of an empathy problem, but not the kind that comes to mind with that phrase. I didn't lack empathy, and most of the people I knew would say that I had the opposite problem. I cared too much, no matter how little sense it made. I couldn't just look away, and I couldn't stand for something that I knew was wrong.

This quirk of mine had earned me a few black eyes, bloody noses, and scars. Most of these injuries had healed quickly, often without much medical attention, a few stitches on the worst of them, and I'd be fine by the end of the week.

The bartender said, "One and a quarter dozens."

I sighed inwardly, glad that I hadn't gone too overboard that night. It wasn't that I had an addiction to alcohol, so much as a terribly inefficient digestive system. I wasn't a normal bat pony —if such a creature existed— and had hematophagy, a blood based diet. Such ponies had been considered special before Nightmare Moon, super soldiers, even.

Now, that was a long time ago, and vampires weren't really revered for their skill in killing so much as their fabled abilities in bed. Nopony had ever been able to explain the origins of such a myth to me, probably because I didn't know any other bat ponies, and the nearest vampire bat pony lived a long way away.

I hadn't had any blood in a while, not that I would complain about ponies not walking up to me with the intention of letting me bite them. I couldn't imagine that the concept of such a thing seemed appealing to most ponies. It just made things difficult for me. And anypony in their right mind would simply run away if I asked them, "May I drink your blood?"

I shook my head solemnly, and dug through a pocket in my cloak, producing fifteen gold coins. I set them down on the counter, and said, "I'd give you a tip if I had any money left on me. Your job can't be easy, but it's a job, so you're stuck with it." I looked down at the shimmering marble floor between my stool and the counter, and frowned as I tried to recall the date.

"You can't be doing any better, given your age and all," her deep voice answered.

So she knew that I was underage, but had sold me the cider anyway. Perhaps she hadn't been the one to give me the drinks. Actually, no, the bartender had been a stallion when I was last given a mug. "Speaking of time, do you know what day of the week it is?" I asked her.

"Friday," she said.

I sighed, and shook my head, as I often did after a long night of drinking. I wasn't depressed, at least, as far as I could tell, but the fact that I was already hooked on alcohol and just out of school still irked me. And even the very thought of school drew me back to memories.

I smiled for a moment, remembering what delight I had felt upon receiving my schedule during my freshmen year. I had already taken biology and advanced biochemistry in middle school, a feat to which I had often subtly drawn attention, so as not to brag per say while simultaneously showing everyone up.

I had been so excited about being applied to the advanced chemistry courses. How grand that day had felt. I had rushed to my parents' bedroom to show them, and they had been proud. They had never been prouder of me, of their son, of what I could do, of what I was doing.

They also hadn't been as proud since. Then again, I suppose none of that pride was real to begin with. Heck, that memory probably isn't even real, knowing what I do now.

In any case, I remember that, in the first four years to follow that day, my life had been one great thing after another, achievement after glorious achievement. But my parents had never been present enough to be proud, to spend time with me. I had still managed to get by with my classes, along well with my peers, and good grades.

I had attended the University of Canterlot in my final two years of high school, taking classes under the best science professors the world had to provide, and I had loved to be there. So, since I liked it so much, and I was a rising wunderkind, I applied to enter college. The board gave me an incredibly useful scholarship, along with a discount for financial aid, as my family was simply struggling to pay the bills.

I got a major in applied chemistry, and took to schooling like nothing else. I was the big nerd on campus, and told myself that everyone who didn't like me was just jealous of my success.

You're probably wondering where the depressing great tragedy is, right?

Just hang in there.

After two years of college, I was given the axe for drug charges.

Post graduation life had done me in. Hard.

All of the skills and hopes and dreams that naïve colt had gathered during his education had only brought me into a world of pain.

It had started with a few other students knocking on the entrance to my dorm room, which had bothered my roommate to no end.

If you wanna know who he was —and, you don't, let's be honest— look up the EUP Guard, and just look for the bulky one with a flowing blue mane and a princess for his bride. He's that one. Sometimes I thought about checking in on him, but his wedding had just been in the news, and I didn't wanna compound his use as a food supply by a changeling. Besides, he was on his honeymoon, and the last time I'd seen his wife, well...

Let's steer away from that. It wasn't good. In my defense, the song had been his idea, and I was the only sensible person performing it.

Where was I?

Right.

So, as it turns out, the ponies who kept knocking on my dorm room were a part of some coalition, and all wanted the same thing from me. They had decided that a nerd with a chemistry major was the right sort of person they needed in order to kick off their drug business.

I, being a sensible person, not interested in losing my scholarship, dignity, or rapport with the university, said something along the lines of, "It's the middle of the night. I have studying to do, a career ahead of me, and a serious disinterest in helping you with your opium business. Now why don't you get outta here before my roommate's marefriend has you all beheaded?"

In my defense, I hadn't known that they were serious.

So yeah, the next year, when I had no roommate, they started showing up again, in groups, with weapons.

And so, with more leverage over me than a full grown adult on a seesaw, they turned my dorm into their production center, from which they directly sold small quantities of illicit drugs contained within stolen lab glassware. When I fell behind on production, or didn't come to my dorm for the night —both because I was staying in a friend's place to study— they'd track me down, inject me with whatever they hadn't sold enough of, and drag me back to my dorm.

Needless to say, someone called for an investigation. I'd pled guilty to the judge, told her that the gang had forced me to synthesize, process, sell, and take drugs on school property. The judge had appealed my case, and I had been released on account of my victimization.

I was just glad to get off on the whole thing without losing my scholarship, until I began to show symptoms of withdrawal. Those gang members had gotten me hooked on a lot of things, and I do mean a lot.

While they were sitting in jail, I was trying to get help handling my addictions, but I couldn't get off of the one thing so difficult to get that I started dumping what remained of my savings into the lap of a big cartel. Aurora isn't especially detrimental to one's health, which is why it's so dangerous. There is no way it can kill you.

I could have replaced every drop of blood in my body with aurora, and I would only die because I didn't have any blood. As long as enough of the fluid in my veins was blood, I could take as much of the stuff as my body needed.

The bartender's voice bounced off the walls, echoing back to my sonar ears, shaking me free of my reverie. I blinked as my mind gathered the sound, and constructed the room around me. I found myself sitting at the bar, looking up at her, forgetting for that moment why I hadn't looked at her.

I blinked, my earthy brown eyes dilating, as if I were a bit awed by what I saw.

Keep in mind that I hadn't looked at anyone directly for a long time. My ears let me know where everyone was, and what shape they were in, even how fast they were moving, and in which direction. So when I laid eyes upon the pegasus, with feathers well preened and aligned to perfection, something inside me snapped awake.

My heart threatened to burst free of my chest, and my eyes fixed on hers. I tried to keep my mouth closed, but I don't think it worked. My ears spun from the sides of my head to point directly at her, and the right one flicked a bit. The only thing that could have made my reaction any more obvious would be if my wings stiffened.

"So how drunk are you? I'm not that attractive," she said.

Fiddlesticks, every last word.

Her eyes, her eyes alone drew my attention more than anything else.

My wings shot out at my sides, and my cloak did nothing to contain them, because of course it didn't. I gulped, looked back down, and said, "Well... You have to understand, I don't look at people."

Great, and now I sounded like I was absolutely drunk.

"It's always a bat pony," she sighed.

Biting my lip as I collected my thoughts, I wrapped my wings around my own chest, keeping them mostly out of sight, and said, "I'm used to using my ears. I just... I figure nopony wants a vampire staring at them, like I'll steal their soul if they look me in the eye."

She raised her right eyebrow at me, and said, "I know some other bat ponies. And I know that they don't drink blood."

I figured she deserved an explanation, after I'd stared at her. I finally closed my eyes, and looked away. "To be more specific, you know some fruit bat ponies," I said, and folded my wings at my sides, calming down a bit. But an afterimage of her stuck inside my head. "I'm what some other bats refer to as a hex-bat, a subspecies of the common bat pony."

I don't think she took me seriously, not that I could blame her. I wouldn't have taken me seriously, after downing five mugs of cider.

Now, the reason I can still remember what happened that night is this; my digestive system is really terrible at its job. I wasn't absorbing nearly as much alcohol as a normal pony would have after drinking that much.

She leaned forward, and said, "Listen, Rad, I gotta close up shop sooner or later, and I can't do that until you leave."

Had I told her my name? I didn't remember telling her my name. Why had she called me by that nickname? I hadn't gone by that name in forever. Wait a minute.

I looked back up at her, and quickly glanced between her and the mug she had in front of her. The mug was steaming from the top, and I could smell catmint in the air, a smell that drew me back to high school. I had a friend er... former friend, who had loved catmint in her tea. I narrowed my eyes at her, and asked, "Holy shoot. Firefly?"

Oh wow. She hadn't changed a bit. She'd grown taller, and I swear that I could see real muscle in her shoulders, but she had barely changed at all.

"Look who's forgotten who?" she said, rolling her eyes. "I really wanna go home and unwind, so move along to the next bar, if you don't mind."

"I haven't forgotten you. I just didn't recognize you. I don't like looking at people. I worry about what they think of a guy who just stares at all the mares at a party, so I don't look at people. I've learned to use my ears since we last spoke, and I've been using my eyes less and less," I said. "Dang, I can't believe you're working in a bar."

Then I remembered what I'd said when we last spoke, and bit my lip. I looked down, and said, "Sorry to bother you. I... I wish I hadn't said what I did, and I know that I should have been less of a jerk..." I shook my head, and slipped off the stool, turning around to leave. I slowly trotted towards the door, and, as I pulled it open, said, "I... If it's any consolation, my life's gone to shit, and I'm in a right state. Maybe that karma you always talked about is real."

And, just like that, something in my head clicked into place. Something fit where it hadn't previously, and, as I stood there, I glanced at the window, catching sight of her reflection in on the glass. I could see her smiling at me, and she said, "I've gotten over it, you know. I'm not gonna hold a grudge against you for something you said when you were still going through puberty. Odds are, you've changed since then, and I'm sure you're only telling me that your life is bad because your professor doesn't have enough time for you."

I bit my lip, and, basing my decision on information collected several years ago, about a person that basically didn't exist anymore, who had probably been worn away by life after school, told her, "I... got kicked out."

She lifted a hoof to stop me, and said, "Wait up. You have a story to tell, and I'm still here for you."

Still there for me. She was still there for me. That phrase meant a lot to me. After everything that had changed since we were in school, since we'd been kids, since that awkward moment at graduation when I'd shuffled past her while pretending to have never met her, she still cared.

But, hey, that was Firefly.

I had to wipe my eye with a hoof to keep a tear from showing. I was just happy to have someone to talk to again. I hadn't reached out to any of my old friends lately, and she had been my marefriend for a couple of years. I wasn't looking for a second chance, which would have actually been a third, given our history. I just wanted somepony to care for a bit, even if I was still working to get over her in the long run.