The Best Songs Come From the Soul

by Quicksear

End Recording

It's a cold world I woke to.

I do not remember much, and what I do may be suspect. Glimpses only, of electric blue, flashing orange, red, white. A single glistening pool of magenta as soft lips brushed my face. Soft, silken warmth and a spattering of rain.

I did not see what became of that place. But I heard enough. In the early morning hours, Ponyville was rocked by a shocking blast of sound and light. Only three ponies had been out that night, and only they saw the roof lift off of Vinyl’s home, engulfed in white fire, sprinkling the entire street with timbers, burning thatch and shards of shattered glass.

The guard was immediately called, not that they’d needed the cries. The blast had been seen from across town, at the clinic. I’ve heard that Carrot Top nearly shook herself from her bed at the sound of it.

When ponies gathered at the destroyed cottage, they had feared the worst. But then a filly, roused from her sleep and scared at the sight, tripped into a shocking discovery.

All of us, lined beside each other in the flowerbed, wrapped in old blankets under a scrap of iron. Bon Bon, Lyra, Berry Punch and myself, huddled together under a sheet of metal that had been assumed to be mere detritus from of the blast. I cannot imagine the terror of that filly, hiding beneath the cover in fear, only to come face to face with us.

We’d been rushed to the clinic, filling the largest ward, all the doctors and nurses there to try and save us. Berry had been hurt the most. The taps had been plunged into her multiple times in an effort to find a Song she didn't really have. Bon Bon had been used up nearly to passing, but her leg and neck would heal. Her belly, and her bruises from before, though, would take longer. Lyra had been very lucky, the haphazardly thrust device in her chest missing her heart be a hairsbreadth. Overall, I was lucky. Only one injury, to my hip. The bones and joint were ground away, but it was not life threatening. But there was no doubt about it: I would not stand to a cello again.

But we all survived, in a manner of speaking. Berry Punch is now a changed mare. She seeks a quiet life now, out amongst the farms. Maybe she’ll start a vineyard? Now that Carrot Top is healed for the most part, she has promised to help her fellow Earth Pony. They both seem to see things differently now.

The first thing Bon Bon did on waking was close her Canterlot store to be closer to Lyra, and the first thing Lyra did was sell her Ponyville cottage to move to her mare’s side. It was an adorably awkward situation for all who saw it, but the Mayor of Ponyville quickly solved the issue. Lyra and Bon Bon moved into a smaller cottage closer to the park. I hear they take walks there every day.

Me? I woke up later. The doctors couldn't tell why I was so fragile of constitution, and once I woke, I never told them. All they could see was a mare whose bones had healed as well as they would, whose body was as well as medicine could make it. But no.

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.

It’s still there, sometimes. Angel was right. The music never stops. I hear it in the quiet, gnawing at me, yet calming at the same time. The Song I hear is not the one of fear and force Vinyl first drew from me. This one is settled, in balance. It finally harmonizes well.

I don’t know what that means, really, for me.

Angel was right about many things. There’s no going back. Not for me, as my mane and frailty attests, and certainly not for her. All they ever found of Angel was a single charred skull.

But of the mare we all want to see, the mare the Royal Guard seeks from border to border across the land, the mare I swear I hear in my head, there was never any trace.

Vinyl Scratch, the foremost modern artist of Equestria, the pioneer of radio for the masses, the champion of the telephone, and of glowsticks, is gone. Not a sight, sound or scent of her has been seen since. Every time I hear the soft tune in the back of my head, I think of her, and every time I wake up on soft mornings, see the mist in the valley and hear another violin just beyond my window, I cry for her.

She was many things to many ponies. Hero, idol, ruffian, but at all times she was strong, brave and obstinate. I loved her for it. I catch myself thinking sometimes, that I never showed it enough, that if Vinyl and I had been better, Angel’s lies wouldn't have gotten to my Vinyl and cracked her like thin glass, but I stop myself. This wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t Vinyl’s either in truth. I can’t even bring myself to blame Angel, a pony brought so low by anguish, pain and loss.

This story has aired on three radio networks and is available for sale in all major centres, along with the last songs Vinyl Scratch produced, saved on the single record in the wreck of her house. If any pony, anyone spots her, please...

I just want my Vinyl back.

Author's Note:

The cold empty pit in the stomach you get when a good story is over is a thousand times worse when you are really into writing it. And I can't help but think that' I'll come back to this. There's still a story here...
So anyway, to those who stuck to this, thanks for tagging along! Hope you enjoyed the ride, and keep an eye out. I have the usual penchant for sequels.

Regards and signing off.
Quicksear

Comments

[Brakyo]

Yeah, that "cold, empty pit in my stomach"? It's there alright, which in my case, means a great, bittersweet ending to a story marked for Tragedy. Eeyup!
And a sequel? Yes, please, I would love to see (read) whatever happens in the coming days.

By the way, shouldn't this 'ere story be marked as "Complete", pardner?

[MyBronysGoAye]

S-So many feels.. I.. I can't.. I.. I-I..

..Sequal? <3

[Fire-Storm]

GLOWSTICKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
god i wish it wasn't too late to favorite this 12 times
the emotion i feel towards this story cannot be expressed in English so have an obscure African one...
"Entwadi eyake ingle enkulu! Wena iyakwaz u'bala emnandi englobo eyam!"
sorry if my spelling is wrong but i havent written this stuff for 5 years