The Spaces In Between

by ThatShakeWeight

Introduction

The streets were empty. A few smatterings of ponies here and there dotted the landscape, but all was quiet in New Manehattan. You know, whoever built the station did a good job of capturing everything that made Manehattan what it was. You have the skyscrapers that almost touch the high, domed ceiling; you have the small businesses and shops that line the streets; the ridiculously overpriced housing; and, finally, you have a massive number of homeless ponies that can barely scrape by on minimum wage jobs. Of course, the ponies of Equestria One never had to worry about any of that. It was a magical paradise rife with harmony, right? Wrong.

There were fewer gutter rats in Manehattan before we had to move to space, sure, but I can guarantee you that there were homeless ponies roving the streets then, too. How could I know that? It’s a facet of life. The first rule of economics is scarcity; there will never be enough of anything to fully satisfy those who want for it. Even with a smaller population basis like that of on Equestria One, there were not enough resources to properly accommodate every pony that dotted its surface. That’s without even considering the other races, which took away even more resources and added to the population density of the planet; leaving each race with a homeless and impoverished population of some sort. While it was never enough of an issue that the princesses took notice, it was most definitely there. Today, 1431 A.E.P., homelessness is a massive problem because of the increased housing cost brought on by moving our population onto the huge space stations that dot the galaxy. But that’s enough of that, excuse my tendency to ramble a little bit.

I am Desolate Daybreak, an impoverished pegasus with a knack for finding myself in trouble. Fortunately for me, it’s been a while since I last got myself into any sort of trouble, outside of financial problems. I work a nine to five job at Mister Espresso’s, a little coffee shop on 32 6^th Avenue. I barely make enough money at my shitty job to afford an apartment, much less any sort of luxuries. I live on my own, and have done so since I was old enough to get a job. My mother, bless her soul, died when I was only 13. My father is a deadbeat piece of shit who left my mother less than a month after my birth, so I was on my own. In her wake, my mother left me with a run-down apartment, 400 bits to my name, and a shitty mattress on the floor that we called a bed. As a teenage colt on my own in the world, I was forced to do some very unpleasant things to survive. I took jobs of all kinds, from selling drugs to sweeping the floors after hours at a nightclub. I have no doubt that my employers took me in out of pity rather than because they were impressed. I was a street urchin, and now, 6 years later, I’m a cashier.

The greatest thing my mother could have possibly given me, however, was my flight license. As a pegasus, the one thing we want to do most in life is fly free. This, however, is impossible to do on the stations, due to the heavy restrictions on station airspace. You accumulate a large fee very quickly if you fly for too long past your allotted time, or outside a licensed flight area. I can only afford to go to the station park occasionally, and the meager amount of flight time I get there is negligible at best, but important for my mental health. My mother gave me something great, however. Working double shifts gave her enough extra money to put into savings that she could send me to flight school to learn how to pilot a spacecraft. That remains to this day, the greatest thing anybody has ever done for me. Flight school was hard, and the subjects ranged in topic from mathematics all the way to physics. This did not deter me, however, and I threw myself into my studies, determined to make my one shot at getting a license count. I ended up with a pilot’s license but no ship to my name, and it’s something that I’ve been working hard to find.

I’m not the only would-be pilot out there, and getting a job in the flight industry is tough. I’ve been on the lookout for a job, but it’s exceptionally difficult when the only flight experience you have is a license you worked your ass off to earn. Working at Mister Espresso’s isn’t quite torturous, but it’s a grim reminder that I’m trapped on the station with no way out. I make weekly trips to the port in search of open jobs, but there are no steady ones that I can find for a pilot without a ship. There’s one job, but I’m not desperate enough to take it quite yet. It’s a salvage mission to the Outer Rim, but it’s dangerous, and I’m not willing to put my life on the line until I must. I’m just a hopeless little sob-story without as much as a spare bit to his name. I have friends, sure, but they’re more like acquaintances honestly. I had to take a roommate in a while ago due to rising housing prices on my street, but we’re rarely home around the same time. There’s also the fact that he’s a thestral and stereotypically sleeps during the day, only coming out to work the night shift at a bar called The Mare’s Head on 18^th St. His name is Hemlock Shadow, and his special talent is poison-making, although there’s not much use for that when you’re destitute and working at a bar. We’re on pretty good terms for guys working paycheck to paycheck, and using the one-bedroom apartment only as a crash. We have a bed and a recliner chair for the rare occasion that the bed is occupied and we’re both home. As it turns out, with me both on the lookout for a job as a pilot and working a nine to five, and him working the night shift at a bar, we don’t really use the apartment for anything except for a place to lay our heads. I’ll occasionally visit The Mare’s Head on my downtime to see him, but I have neither the bits nor the time to make frequent visits. A nice glass of beer every now and then does wonders for the stress of living sometimes.

I think I’m a pretty average pony, all things considered. Living paycheck to paycheck, holding onto the slightest shred of hope that one day I could be free. Honestly, it’s more than unlikely; I just tell myself that it’s possible, so I can keep a grip on life. I’m not making any progress in life now, but who knows? Maybe I could win the lottery or something. Regardless, it’s irrelevant. I don’t know why you’d want to read it, but my name is Desolate Daybreak and this is my story.

Author's Note:

This is the introduction. A little bit of a primer for Chapter One. This is my first story on Fimfiction, so tell me what I can do better so I can improve! Also, let me know if there are any grammar or spelling errors that I missed in my self editing. Thanks for reading!