• Published 26th Jul 2015
  • 10,654 Views, 4,220 Comments

The Things Tavi Says - shortskirtsandexplosions

Let me tell you a few things about my roommate, Octavia. After all, she saved my life.

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Haunting Things

Author's Note:

Three ballads in, and I already feel like throwing up.

Some things hit so close to home that they eviscerate the gut.

It was one thing hearing Sweetie Belle belt a single tune out, painting the chords with her innocent voice.

It's another thing to hear the ballads being sung by a ghostly creature that has no business existing on the audible plane. DJ Capricorn's apartment practically floods with blue. Cyan is an azure fountain that never ceases. Cerulean waves of ocean pearls rattle against the walls, windows, and ceiling.

Goddess Celestia...

It's been years since I've listened... since I've felt...

I have to move.

I get up... I walk... I trot circles around the room.

My hooves are hard, heavy things. I fear that—in a matter of hours—they'll inevitably grind trenches into Capricorn's carpeted floor.

I'm so selfish... so pathetic...

I shouldn't have brought this war to Capricorn's place.

I'm going to melt... explode.. fall into brittle pieces all over her rug and furniture.

What was I thinking?

I lean against a window pane, shivering, seething.

The fourth track starts. It's more upbeat than the previous three. It makes me want to vomit. The plinking piano keys between the melodic vocals only cause my head to ache all the more.

And yet, the blue waves keep coming... darkening... dipping... deepening.

Oh my goddess...

I forgot... I had no idea...

...how closely it resembled indigo...

... ... ...almost like her when she's sad.

The volume lowers all of the sudden. The blue waves recede, draining to reveal a fine mist of magenta cascading from my hyperventilating lungs.

"Miss Scratch..." It's DJ Capricorn. The burgundy tone is silky, sweet, compassionate. "...are you certain you can handle this? We... we can do this just one song at a time if you w—"

I shake my head.

"Are you certain? I hate seeing you get overwhel—"

Frowning, I wave a hoof viciously at her, then point at the record.

She takes a breath, then nods. "Very well."

And just like that, the volume increases. The blue waves rise, and I'm drowning again.

So I hold onto something.

I hug myself, standing before the window, adrift in the cerulean sway. I close my eyes beneath my shades and absorb the melodies, saturating myself with the saccharine past. Allowing the infection to spread... the rhythm to germinate.

And somewhere in the midst of those swelling tides...

...I recognize the genius.

And it's so familiar it hurts.

Shuddering, I remain steadfast. I cling to the anchor and memorize the tonality of the vocals... burning them freshly into my brain... no matter how badly it hurts.

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