The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

by The Red Parade

Violent Synthetics

All she had to do was press ‘play.’

It was a silly little tape recorder, worn down from years and years of use. The icons mounted on the buttons were faded and barely visible in the dim fluorescent of the room, but she knew where they all were by heart.

It was a silly little tape recorder. Vinyl Scratch knew this. The whole world knew this. So why did it scare her so much?

Maybe she knew the answer. Maybe she didn’t want to believe it. It didn’t matter.

She had owned a lot of equipment over the years. Turntables, record players, vinyls themselves, instruments… everything had come and gone in the course of her life. Save for this silly little thing.

Her hoof hovered over the play button. All she had to do was push it down. Or light up a spell with her horn and activate it. But she hesitated.

Vinyl lowered her hoof with a defeated sigh. She picked up the recorder and turned it in her hooves. There was a crack that ran down the right side, from the top to the bottom, but it still functioned. Probably.

She looked out the window as a violent clap of thunder shook the city. It didn’t faze her. The rain poured down in a muted cascade outside of her boarded up window.

Vinyl frowned. She pushed the play button, and the recorder came to life.

The scratchy sound of a violin came out of the speakers, a crude imitation of a beautiful sound. It rose and fell in time, letting out beautiful melodies in a series of mellowing chords.

She sat there for a few more seconds, staring at the tape recorder in her hooves. Halfway through the song she slammed the pause button and ejected the tape.

A strip of scotch tape had been applied to its surface. The words ‘HBD Vinyl’ had been written on it in black marker.

Vinyl’s ears drooped. The gift had been given to her fifteen years ago. Things had changed since then. They always did, didn’t they?

She returned the tape to the player and pressed play again, becoming a frozen statue in the darkened room. The music swelled and rose, through static and haze, before dipping low again and crescendoing to one final, held out note.

The music ended, and the tape went on for a few seconds in silence before a voice began speaking.

“Happy birthday, Vinyl. I know you aren’t quite the fan of classical, but I do hope this composition can put a smile on your face, in the same way that your work puts a smile on mine. However little I understand of it, that is.” The voice laughed. Vinyl didn’t react. “I’m not quite sure what to call it yet, but know that it belongs to you, my love. It always will. I look forward to our future, wherever it may take us. I love you, my dear.”

Vinyl pressed the pause button. She blinked a few times before rewinding the tape. She pressed play again.

“Happy birthday, Vinyl.”

She sped it up a bit further.

Fifteen years ago she put the tape into the player for the first time, and when she heard the song she cried.

“I’m not quite sure what to call it yet, but know that It belongs to you, my love. It always will. I look forward to our future, wherever it may take us. I love you, my dear.”

Vinyl hit pause again, scowling now.

Fifteen years ago she hugged her marefriend and thanked her for the gift.

She rewound the tape.

“I love you, my dear.”

Again.

“I love you, my dear.”

Again.

“I love you, my dear.”

Thirteen years ago, Octavia moved out of their house and never looked back.

“I love you, my dear.”

Vinyl threw the tape recorder across the room. It bounced off the wall and clattered to the ground with a new crack in its casing.

She walked out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

“I love you, my dear.”