Flat Acapella
I’m not really one for writing. Not like this, anyway. I write music, not dumb little rehashes of my life. It’s not like I can’t already relive it as much as I wanna in my head or anything. It’s part of my “treatment” though, their way of keeping tabs on me.
I’ve been instructed to try hard to be “detailed” and “thorough” like it really matters. No one really cares. They don’t see what I’ve been through these past few years. They couldn’t imagine what it’s like. It’s like, life is just a big game and I’m really bad at playing, or really unlucky. Like I keep rolling a one or a two when I need a twenty. Critical failures up to wazzu, really.
You know, I bet I’d make fun of myself if I met a past version of me. I’m basically the most pathetic thing in the world, and really, I’m okay with that. Well, at least, I am now.
I guess it’s time to get started. At least I’ve got a pretty good segue, right? You could say I’ve mellowed out a lot since college. I used to be pretty wild, sort of like an animal. It’s always embarrassing thinking back that far. If we go even further back, when I lived at home, I was pretty much a big punk. Constantly getting into fights, bashing ponies for their shitty taste in music, or really just anything I could talk shit about.
I was a bit of a bully, and sweet Celestia I was horrible. I remember this one time, in middle school, I pulled a prank on one of the nerds constantly playing chess in the bathroom using some weird magic spell. He’d eat his lunch in the stall all the time too, afraid to step out. I’d probably only made it worse by filling the toilet with a firework rune that blew up his ass.
I laughed so hard when he came out, seared fur and tears rushing down his face. I was nearly expelled too, for fire hazards and harming students, shit like that. Honestly, I have no idea why I wasn’t. It was probably my mom though, she always had a way with words.
My mom was too good for me, an angel really. All I ever did was give her crap. I’ve wished for years now that I could take it all back. She used to sing me songs when I was just a filly. She sung songs she made just for me. Lullabies that would lull me to sleep. She’d say stuff like “Vinyl, my dear, you’re like an uncut diamond, or maybe the draft of the most beautiful song, one only needs to fix you up a bit and you’d shine above them all.”
I took it all for granted though. She left me before I could even come to terms with it. For… Who even knows how long, I was held up in my room. I was angry. Angry at the world, but didn’t want to admit I was going to miss her. I had all the time in the world to go and visit her there in the hospital but I didn’t. Dad tried to make me go, but I’d run and hide around the neighborhood to avoid it at all costs.
After she passed, Dad couldn’t stand my guts anymore. I can only imagine he held nothing but hatred for me for a long time. He began to drink a lot after that too. He wasn’t a violent stallion by nature. Honestly, some would say he was soft spoken. Still, we got into arguments all the time. He never struck me, but I wouldn’t be able to tell you how many times he came close to it.
I tried to get away from home. I couldn’t stand the sight of the place anymore at that point, it was nothing but a reminder of how screwed up I was. Sometimes I wonder how I got all bucked up to begin with, but I draw a blank. I can’t imagine it was their faults, they were good parents.
It was all my fault, all of it, really. I couldn’t do anything back then but laugh like I didn’t have a care in the world. I grew up to be a bad filly because that’s just how it had to be. Sometimes I wonder if I could have done something differently…
Anyway, when I turned 16 I quit school and worked three part time jobs. I rented out a place with one of my friends, Solo. He was an oddball, always going on about how he’d make it big some day. We dated for a while too.
He was the one who really got me interested in music. He played the guitar, though he whined about having to use his nubby hooves. Pegasi and Earth ponies weren’t really made for playing string instruments I guess. Well, maybe Pegasi could use their wings? I’ve never seen a pegasis do that before though, I think the feathers would get stuck in the strings if they tried. Anyway.
Dating Solo, like, seriously? Worst mistake of my life. He dragged me down into his pit. Got me addicted to some nasty stuff, Solo did. Magic stimulus and some psycho plant thing. I don’t even know what they were all called.
It got so bad I was feeling the after effects long after. I was fired from my job for coming into work and basically flipping my shit in front of a customer. I screamed and yelled and was scratching at my skin, trying to get at the things I felt crawling under there. When I got home that night, I broke down crying. I searched for a knife, but wasn’t thinking clearly and grabbed a butter knife. I started trying to hack at my skin, but it wouldn’t really work. Still, that shit should have been a wake up call, but it’s hard to wake up when you’re that drugged up.
I did eventually find enough of my sense to leave that dick behind. Only after he forced himself on me though, and treated me like a piece of meat. I felt so disgusting and worthless. I was barely conscious and couldn’t fight back. I swore off stallions after that, there’s no way I could handle a shitty relationship like that again.
I was 20 when I went back to school. I don’t really know why I did, I guess I was really into my music and needed a high school degree to really pursue it. I was a synth board player, a keyboardist and an experienced DJ by then.
I actually part-timed at a pretty big club in downtown Manehatten. After a couple months working the DJ booth, a big black note appeared on my ass. Sometimes, I’d forget I didn’t have my cutie mark, and honestly, I didn’t really care. To me, a cutie mark was like the end. Stuck at a dead end. If your mark wasn’t desirable, like a “you’re a good reader” cutie mark, you’d be stuck with a profession in something useless.
Now, music though, music was my jam. Even if Solo ruined my view on guitarists, I still like the same music, heavy rock. From Hoofelica to PONE-C/DC, I knew them all. I wasn’t much of a singer though. I joined a start up band going by the name Glue Factory. Wasn’t a big deal.
The main vocalist, Larynx, was really cute. A deep pink coat and a scarlet mane. She and I were really good friends for a while. The bass guitarist, Strum, was always hitting on me, even though it was pretty obvious to everyone with a brain that Larynx and I were totally into each other. I can still remember the deep strawberry smell she used to wear. It was sort of obnoxious though, and didn’t fit her image at all during shows.
We’d wear some pretty rad black clothes with colored accents representing our personality. I actually still have an accessory from the clothes we used to wear, my purple sunglasses. Ponies began calling me DJ-PON3, too, after some of them recognized me from my gig at the club. It sort of stuck with me, even after the band dissolved.
Larynx was what we called the glue that kept the Glue Factory together. Her singing was absolutely beautiful, in the most hard rock way possible. She’d settle scores, she’d make us feel better, she was so nice, yet so strict. She was also a bigger addict than I ever was.
It wasn’t a big shock to anyone. Larynx ODed the night of our big band rivalry match. We faced off against the Naponyians, another underground band fighting for their spotlight. We were partying after our success when Larynx started having some sort of seizure. I can still feel her body twitch under my hooves, like she’s still there. It all happened so fast, none of us knew what to do. Too out of it to help. To this day, the scent of strawberry brings me back.
The funeral seemed like a joke to me. It was far too nice out to be a funeral. Everypony from Glue Factory was there. We knew we weren’t really welcome though, since it was our fault. We did this to her, and that’s all I ever thought about when they buried her ashes. It felt so out of place too, because there wasn’t the familiar scent of strawberry in the air. It was like, even the most basic part of her, even if it was obnoxious, was being taken away too.
At the time, I didn’t think I really loved her loved her, but really, I probably did. After all she was the only pony at the time I could really count on. After the funeral, the band fell apart instantly and I sat around doing buck all. I was utterly broken, only managing to just barely scrape by.
My DJ Career went to shit because I couldn’t keep myself energetic for the crowed. I was constantly getting sick too, and not just with common colds, I was getting bucking wrecked. Weeks at a time, I’d be out of commission. The only reason I survived was because my dad came back to get me.
I don’t remember what I said to my dad the moment I woke up in his house. I don’t even know how he found me. Maybe one of my friends from Glue Factory told him about me. He wouldn’t ever say, so it must have been. That, or the owner of the club, but he’s way too busy I think. Either way, I was practically incoherent for a long time.
I couldn’t tell up from down, and I still felt nauseous for a good while. I remember sitting in the shower for hours and hours, long after the water’d gone cold, and just think. It’d help lessen my sick feelings and helped me distract myself.
Dad seemed to have mellowed out after I left all those years ago. I made sure to leave his house on good terms back then at least, so he wasn’t to upset with me, even if I did steal some money to get started. Either he forgot, or knew I needed to get out. I never wanted to bring it up with him, not that I can anymore anyway.
I was always pretty sure Dad was going to go in a similar way to Mom. After years of alcohol bingeing, your liver won’t be to happy with you. Still, at least he went peacefully, on his own terms, not his liver’s. He told me to follow my dreams of being a professional musician in the big leagues, not a small time band. Honestly, I never really wanted to be in a band.
The lime light was great and all, but somewhere along the lines, I just didn’t give a buck about attention anymore. Maybe it was just a sign I was growing up, or it might be that I was just giving up on it all together. Like it was too hard or something, to much pain and suffering to start up a new gig.
All that was about, maybe five years ago now? I saved up my money for a long time, and got into a college known for it’s amazing music programs. For the most part, that claim was true, but it was mostly ponies looking for something more idealistic. Though I was being an idealist too, in retrospect. They were all imagining being in a sick band, full of punk rock mares and sweet emo stallions or whatever.
I could see myself making music for me, like, for something I loved. It’s a little difficult to describe, but at the time, I knew what it was I wanted from my music. In college, I sort of let myself go though, got wrapped up in a lot of shit. I fell into my old habit of bitching ponies out over nothing.
I didn’t bully ponies as much though. I knew better by then, but my emotions just went haywire sometimes. I would explode over little things, like some stallion taking a picture of me. I had a lot of talks with the deen, and oh boy, was he a talkative one.
I always guessed he was the type to talk a student into submission. He’d prattle on about all sorts of self righteous shit and idealistic nonsense. I’d sit there in his office for maybe an hour or so just listening to his stories about life lessons he learned while he was a member of the Canterlot Guard, like, 5000 years ago.
It all went in one ear and out the other, and even now I still think he was a putting it on way too thick. Doesn’t help that I’ve been given similar speeches practically nonstop ever since I was admitted here. The docs say not to write about Never mind, I’m getting emotional just thinking about that.
Infact, I’m done writing in the journal for today, I need to rest a little bit. I’m sure my Psychologist will grab this journal while I’m out. It really makes me wonder why I even wrote this if the only person who’ll read it is her. I don’t think I really want ponies knowing my life story like that, but what else am I going to do? Seriously, what the buck else am I suppose to do.
I could just sit here and do nothing, but what would that accomplish? I had motherbucking goals in life, I had motherbucking everything after a life of hardships and what do I get for it? I get nothing! It makes me so angry that after all this time, the only things I ended up not regretting in my life are ripped away from me.
Buck this.
Well, looks like I’m back to this stupid piece of shit writing assignment. I had enough of these in school, thank you very much. And it’s so damn awkward having to press my face up against the paper and write using my teeth and tongue. If they wanted me to write this paper so bad, why the hell can’t I use magic? Now, I have to sit in this gaudy bright white room and think about all the “happy moments” in my life, and make sure not to think about the “negative thoughts”.
You know, I almost threw this book out the window. To bad it was sealed shut with who knows what. Forcing it open didn’t work at all. I thought about throwing a chair at it. Might still do that, but not yet. I also thought about tearing this book to shreds too, but after they told me they’d already made a copy of all that’d be written, it didn’t feel like it was worth it. To be honest, nothing feels like it’s “worth it” anymore. And that line of thinking is exactly what got me put in this dump in the first place.
Anyway, that’s all there is to say about that. Maybe I’ll pick up this book again later, I’m still angry.
Seems the doctors weren’t too happy I hadn’t said anything “positive” in my last writing assignment. Not sure what they expect me to say though. I could write about how the smell of roses and fabric softener reminds me of mom. Could write about how I loved the songs she sung me, or maybe I could write about how she would cuddle me when it was dark and thundering outside.
No. All I can ever think about when it comes to my mom are the horrible things I did to her, making her suffer through her illness without her daughter there to support her. At least I was there for Dad in the end. That’s hardly reassuring though. If there really was life after death, could I honestly think Mom was happy with just that? I really don’t know. She wasn’t a selfish mare, that much was for sure.
Whenever I look in the mirror, I can see my mother in me. I have her mane, and her snout, but her coat was a shade yellower. It’s like she’s looking back at me, and when my guard is down I feel as if her image in the mirror frowning at me.
I often find myself dreaming about her. Every dream is different, but there are common themes, like her cradling me, us talking, and her disappearing at the end. It’s always so vague though. Dad used to say things like she was trying to talk to me through my dreams and when she disappeared it meant she was going back to the afterlife. I can’t remember any of her facial expressions, but I always felt like she was sad.
What else could there be to say though? School life was pretty average, if a bit boring, despite the bullying and shit I mean. I didn’t really have any friend friends at school. Just ponies I hung out with occasionally to get in trouble with. Batter was a funny colt, always coming up with schemes, like the time we scammed about eleven students out of their bits by convincing them we could offer them “curse wards”.
It all started after a rumor spread around about ghosts haunting the gym, and that they’d come out after school and follow foals home. Ponies will just eat that shit up like candy. I still sort of think it was funny too. I obviously was not really a part of the sales pitch though. I was already infamously known as “Vinyl the Vixen”. Lucky that name didn’t stick very long. After we all entered high school, it vanished just like I did.
My dad was sort of a nut during that time, more so than I said before. Perhaps it’d be easier to say he had bi-polar tendencies. Some days he’d pretend I didn’t exist at all, others he’d get angry with me over everything, and on others he’d be a really nice guy. I always enjoyed those nice guy days, but they were few and far between. I mostly relied on the ignore days to keep my sanity in check. I had just started working at that point and met some noteworthy, but ultimately irrelevant ponies.
The only coworker I can really remember well though was Notes. She was the kind of mare I wanted the life of, but I didn’t really want to be her. She was probably one of the only mares up to that point in my life that I’d say was a good role model. Thing was, underneath it all, she had a few sour habits. She’d constantly give me these weird glances like she was above me, or maybe it was pity. I’m not really the best at reading the emotions of other ponies.
Anyway, Notes lived a pretty relaxed life from what I saw. She had a really nice coltfriend who would stop by every once in a while. I thought he was one hell of a hunk at the time, too. He’d buy her things like jewelry and she’d always brag about the new pair of earrings she just got from him. My boss and I played a little prank on them one day, I don’t really remember the details though, all I know is the look on Notes face was hilarious! That’s sort of an empty sentiment, but whatever.
Soon after, I quit working at that store. It was a little too far, so I ended up at a record store. The same record store I got fired from for yelling at a customer. That store was such a bucking blast. Solo and I would get music from there all the time when we dated. We’d grab a handful of records and play them while we sat in a grassy field at night. Then we’d get high on… something. I’m still not sure what we used.
I don’t even know where Solo kept getting all those drugs. He’d keep it from me, like I was gonna rat them out or something. I don’t know what his deal was, but I know that druggies aren’t the brightest bulbs in the pack so it’s all pretty stupid.
I remember he hit me in the face once. Gave me a black eye when we got in a fight about money, and drugs came up. Rent was always an issue, and Solo spent most of his income on those drugs. I had to fight my urges for more of the stuff the whole time just as much as he did, but he wouldn’t give it up. I’ve been clean for a long time now, but I bet Solo ODed a long time ago. Still, I do have the shakes every now and then.
I actually relapsed in college when a bunch of ponies set up a party. They weren’t the hardest drugs, just the bunch of us smokin’ some magical plant or whatever. The smell was really good for some reason. Whenever we blew out the smoke, pink particles seemed float in the air. It might have been a hallucination, but I remember somepony saying the drug wasn’t like that.
The kinds of substances the Glue Factory got their hands on were some gnarly shit though, believe me. I had some really bucking scary dream after taking that kind of system abuse. Bucking monsters attacking with dolphins for limbs. Fire everywhere, and grotesque pony faces seemed like melt into the monster or some shit like that. I was like, watching myself from above in the third person. I had a warped hair color, gold or something. I don’t even like yellow.
That actually reminds me of the time I bought my first synth keyboard. I swear, that store was so shitty. The floor was all groody with mud caked all over it. The staff looked like they were all druggies, but I guess that’s to be expected. Downtown Manehatten is pretty much a dead zone for anypony other than ponytrash like me.
Anyway, there was this yellow synth board on sale for only a couple hundred bits and was actually a really good quality board, so I bought it. Big mistake, because just about everypony started calling me bumble bee for like, a month. I sold the board back and grabbed the white model instead, even if it was like, a time and a half more expensive.
Somehow, after I left Solo and didn’t buy my own drugs, money never seemed to be as big an issue. I moved to a really shitty apartment in Canterlot after dad passed. I lived on the third floor and the floors were so thin I swear I was gonna fall through it every fourth step. At least I had a top floor room though, because the ponies downstairs kept complaining about me walking. They also complained about the smell and the music, and basically anything else they could think of to complain about. They were pretty annoying.
That apartment was still pretty good for what it was though. I wrote so many rad songs in that bitch, it was insane. Most the sheet music burnt in a fire along with the rest of the apartment complex after my third year living there. The complex remarkably covered everyones expensive so after that I just moved to an on-campus dorm with a roommate.
No one died in the fire, and it turned out the cause was a stray cat wandered into one of the bottom floor apartments and knocked over a lit candle onto the carpet. Oh the shit the lady that lived there got, keeping a lit candle going while she’s not home. That was some popcorn worthy shit right there. I was too pissed to grab some and enjoy it though.
Let’s face it, that fire ruined just about all my equipment, the shit I loved for the better part of the last three years, so I had a right to be mad. It’s like your baby was just smashed by someponies stupid ass cart barreling down a steep hill. I was really lucky my renters insurance was at the highest possible standard. I always had a feeling something bad was going to happen, and so I got like, 45,000 bits in payment. It was actually a pretty sweet deal, for multiple reasons.
I kind of also feel that fire was sort of fated, even though I don’t believe in that sorta bull. I wouldn’t have met my sweet friend, and roommate, Octavia, without that fire. The doctors told me to avoid writing about Octi though. Said it might make me a little unstable. I’m still gonna write about her though, buck da police.
Octavia was and still is, probably the best friend I ever could have asked for. She was super cute in an uppity, higher class sort of way. She and I came from waaaaay different worlds, you have no idea. I’m constantly getting into trouble, doin’ drugs, bitching people out, bein’ all sloppy and shit right? Octi over there was some high class shit. I’d catch her playing traditional music, some of which sounded really damn depressing, but it all had a very posh tone to it. She’d eat all proper with a napkin at her side and in her lap. She was a real neat freak too.
Me on the other hoof, I’d be blasting my rock music full volume pretty much all the time, though I never did that while in the dorms. Some poor dude got his plot handed to him first day I was there. He’d been blaring some shit, electrical beatbox? Who the buck knows. Point is, dude was playing it WAY too loud. Never once played music in the dorms after witnessing that. Scar you for life.
For looks, I’m white with a blue mane. Octavia’s got a full grayscale scheme going on though, and she had this weird habit of ending sentences with a physical tick. She’d like, bend her neck to the side ever so slightly. No pony really noticed it but me though. It was just that subtle.
At first, I was pretty terrible to her. I wasn’t much for classism, or whatever you call it. But when it came to Octi, her high class nature and attitude just like, freaking… I don’t know. Looking back, it might have been sort of intimidating, being with someone so far from my world, or at least, acting like it. I lashed out, called her names, discriminated against her posh attitude, made fun of her music… and she never really retaliated.
I think that was what made it a huge mind game, her not retaliating. I always felt like her anger would explode one day, and she’d flip her shit, but no. She was always calm cool and collected when she was with me. That’s not to say she didn’t have issues with others though. She was too smart for her own good, ended up making herself out to be sort of a difficult student. She would flaunt her “superior intellect” at others in her age group, but no one could really take her seriously.
Octi was the one who really taught me a lot of the important book smarts I know. I don’t think I’d use bigger words in sentences until she showed up. I’m still pretty shotty at it though, so excuse me if my “prose” is pretty dopey. She used to say that to me all the time.
Anyway, we grew closer than ever after she told me a few things about her past. She came from a large family out in the middle of nowhere. You wouldn’t really be able to tell, because she hides her accent very professionally. Still, when her guard is down, it slips out, and it’s every bit as adorable as it sounds.
She was out there raisin’ apples or some other fruit. She ended up ran away from home to Canterlot when she was younger though. Similar to my own story, it was because of her dad, but unlike me, it wasn’t because she was a confused naive mare with a streak of bad behavior, oh no.
Her Dad, unlike mine, was extremely violent. Didn’t want no daughter of his makin’ high falutin’ music for city folk. That wasn’t their life. He stuck to traditions, and drank himself silly. The only thing that really saved her was her four siblings. She was the middle child, see? So she had to protect her younger brother and sister, while her two older sisters protected her.
One time, her Dad was smacking around her younger sister. She didn’t tell me why, and it doesn’t matter really, cuz you don’t smack a filly. Not ever. Anyway, Octi and her sister Ballad stood up to the old stallion like out of a movie or something. They lost the fight though, ending them both with bruises all over.
Octavia never really spoke much about her family in the end, she liked to distance herself from it all I think. She was that sort of mare, just like I used to be. I could see a little of my past in her. She worked like a dog in Canterlot to make a living, especially since she was practically still just a little filly. Canterlot living expenses are insane.
Thing is, she got really lucky in Canterlot. She landed a cool biz writing jingles for advertising on the radio. She always had a knack for writing some pretty deep or catchy pieces. So she got her cutie mark really soon afterwards. I’d recite one of her jingles, but writing down lyrics without a tune seems a little pointless.
Apparently, one of the various stores she worked at, I don’t remember what she said it was, but one of the regulars there was talking to one of his pals about how the music industry couldn’t produce any worthwhile jingle artist or something. How his advertisements were going to flop. Even Octavia doesn’t know how she came up with something on the spot that the dude liked.
After that, she lived a pretty luxurious life, or at least, luxurious in comparison to before. She had to work round the clock coming up with all sorts of scores for ponies. She never really got the recognition she deserved though.
Octavia is actually like, three years younger than me. She went to college a lot sooner, so it’s pretty much expected. I’m still the more immature one, she says. Age doesn’t equal wisdom I guess. Despite that, I did sort of lord it over her head before we liked each other.
Speaking of which, it wasn’t really until we accidentally bumped into each other at a PONE-C/DC concert that we really began to talk. I never spent a whole lot of time in the apartment. I was either working or out partying with friends. So I actually didn’t see Octi a lot until that day. Turns out we were into the same kinds of music, which she was actually sorta embarrassed about.
While she does love her traditional music, she also loves to rock hard too. Girl can really dance when she lets loose. Should have seen her there, dancing circles around just about everyone. Her and I had a big dance off, and as a former club goer, I knew my way around a dance floor. Girl can really go wild when she has too much cider. Seriously, it was like some sort of meta grudge match or something, the way she was moving. Still, I won in the end.
She pouted in defeat, but it was that cute pout with the wrinkled snout. Her face lit up red too, though maybe it was just from all the dancing, and blood rushing and what not. Still though, Octi was the cutest little mare in the freaking world. Not a bad cook either. I guess all those years taking care of her siblings really had the pressure put on her to learn. I swear, the hayburgers she makes are in a league of their own.
Still, she had her issues just as much. She wouldn’t leave me alone when it came to doing dishes, or setting the table. Honestly, I probably wouldn’t have started eating at the table if she didn’t nag me to do it. Sometimes, she would pray to the earth and soil for the good harvest that helped grow the food. She had me doing it a few times too, like a small ritual. It was one of the only ways she truly kept her country origins I think, sort of as a way of paying respects not only to the harvest, but to her roots as well.
Other than me, Octi never really had any close friends I think. She was a big introvert, but not antisocial. She’d stay home if at all possible, totally blowing off most my attempts to get her out to go check out the strip mall down the road. I wanted to go check out all the swag, maybe pick up some sweet gear, or a few records. Persistence was the key though, cuz eventually I did get her come with me, and oh boy, was it a blast.
It was then I decided I really liked her a lot. I don’t think it’d be possible to forget the look on her face when I told her. Went from gray to full flush in an instant. Nearly collapsed on the ground from her wobbly knees. She was a wreck, and I laughed through the whole ordeal. She accused me of lying or playing a stupid prank like I used to, but no, I was very serious.
I’d been in a few relationships so it wasn’t really a big deal to me, but Octi over there was a first timer, and she was so nervous about it. Especially since we were both mares. Back home, she had to hide her sexuality because her parents would have beat it out of her. She tried to like stallions, but she couldn’t convince herself of it. Instead, she originally planned to just stay single forever. I told her that idea was total bunk.
Canterlot is a lot more accepting of mare on mare relations, hell even manehatten was pretty lax about it, despite all the hate going on over there. Still we did have our issues with some folks. Like this one time, we were walking together and a bunch of students from another college trotted up to us. They surrounded us like you see in a lynching. I was on fight or flight mode, ready to take action. Octavia though, she was a pure bad ass. Lemme tell you, that earth pony strength ain’t no joke.
As soon as they lunged for us, she whipped out some sweet Pon-jitsu like moves, fending them all off with ease. Eventually they realised I should be their target and came after me, but oh boy that was a mistake. I used a little magic trick I liked to call “Ear Explosion”. Though it’s not a literal explosion, I can take down a small crowd by creating a high frequency noise with my magic. That’s how Octi described it.
It’s too bad I don’t really have control over who it affects so Octi got caught in the crossfire. I had to carry her unconscious body by myself all the way back home, where I tucked her in bed. I also snuck in a little kiss on the lips.
Anyway, that’ll do it for today. End on a high note at least.
I had a pretty bad break down earlier this week. I don’t remember a lot from the past three days either, it’s all sort of a blur. I thought I saw someone, or maybe I was meeting them? I don’t really remember.
The docs apparently used some magic on me to make me “calm down”, but ever since I’ve felt… Different... Maybe. I have no idea what they used, and I’m starting to think their eeeeevil. Too many Es?
I get this strange feeling in my stomach when I write like that. How would I normally write these journals anyway? They took away my other journals and I don’t remember what I wrote in them. I get the feeling my memories are disappearing, almost as if they’re being wiped away. Why would they wipe my memory though?
I’m constantly nervous now, and get a serious case of the shakes, like withdrawal symptoms, but way harder than normal. Are they drugging me up on something I don’t know of? It must be right? How else could you explain this feeling.
I hear things at night now too. I lay down to sleep and hear nothing but muffled screaming. I don’t know if it’s coming from downstairs or what. Are they torturing ponies in this place? I don’t actually know where I am anymore. I thought it was just Wait where did I think I was?
The docs told me not to write in the journals anymore actually, and I don’t know why. I remembered I hid this extra one in my pillow, thing is, I don’t remember why I did that. All this talk of remembering things, or forgetting things… I’m so unbelievably scared right now.
I hear hoofsteps
I can’t let them find this book.
I stopped taking the drugs they’ve been giving meeeeeeeeee
Don’t give in, it’s only a dream.
oh daaaamn
shit.
Listen, vinyl, you have to stop this now! Pay attention, get ahold of yourself! While you’re lucid, remember and write what happened. Write what you remember.
Oh no.
It was nothing, don’t worry! Just write! Keep moving forward!
Holy shit, what was that.
Look behind you! Quick!
Did I find another pen? Where did this one come from? W-wwww-wwhat?
Don’t pay attention to that now! look behind you!
I need water, where is my water. it was suppose to beeeeeeee heeeerrre…. wasn’t it?
You already drank your water, look there’s an empty glass!
or was it? Did I already have it? I must have. I have an empty glass here.
Calm your little white ass down!
they’ll come for me. In the night, the guards, they come for me. All I do is cry and cry. Mooooooom.
There you go, remember!
Mom, where did mom go? Afterlife, afterlife right?
Yes, she’s gone now, Vinyl.
Well why is she on my bed. Why is she on my bed right now? Mom? She’s sick.
She had cancer. She’s dying, but you can make her feel better, just turn around.
I hear her coughing. I know it’s heeeeer though, but I dare not look. I hear her. She’s calling my name.
Vinyl - Turn Around
Mom?
I could see her, laying there in my bed. It was so weird, like a dream. The sweet smell of strawberries and fabric softener rose in to my senses. I felt so sad, so alone, yet happy to see them again. I could almost touch them, they felt so real, so tangible. They spoke to me.
Mom was laying in my bed, and Larynx sat in the corner, a needle pressed against her skin. She had tears running down her face, her mascara smearing all over her fur. I waded through the air like it was made of molasses, rushing around the bed frame and snatching the needle from her hooves.
I felt so powerful, so alive and lucid. Like I’d finally come out of it for the first time in eons. I hugged her tightly in my arms and patted at her mane. I hushed her sobbing and she hugged me back. I began to cry so hard, I didn’t want to let go of her strawberry scent again. But she pulled away from me, and nuzzled my snout. I knew what was happening.
Larynx smiled at me so honestly. She looked so happy to me, like she was finally free. She passed through me, like a ghost and danced around the room, suddenly appearing in her show costume. Black with pink accents. I watched, practically stunned. I leaned over to my mother and whispered to her.
“That’s her mom, that’s Larynx. Isn’t she wonderful?”
Mom nodded to me, suddenly full of energy. I turned my face back toward Larynx, but she disappeared into thin air. I stopped crying, and smiled at her passing. I pulled up my chair and sat down next to my mom.
It was hard to know what to say to her, after all these years. I could say how much I missed her, how much I regret not being there for her, not helping her or being nice to her, say I was sorry for being so rotten, but she spoke first.
“Vinyl, you’re like a shining diamond, or the most beautiful song ever composed. You found someone to complete you, didn’t you?”
My heart fluttered uncontrollably, and the air around me felt so thick. Time, what was time? It didn’t even exist.
“M-mom.” I could barely speak. “It’s been so long… I-”
“It’s okay, Vinyl.”
“Mom… Mama… I’m so sorry mama! I’m so so so so so sorry, please…” I said through my tears.
Taking me into an embrace, mom patted my head. Her touch felt so light, and tingled against my fur.
“You’ll always be here with me, vinyl. Always. I love you so much, no matter what. I always will.”
“I’ll be with you forever! I promise, I won’t run!”
“You can’t do that, Vinyl.” She pointed.
Out of the corner of my consciousness, I found a face. Octavia stood before me, an inverse of her normal grayscale. She called out to me, like she couldn’t see me, from beyond the door frame. She looked so distraught like she was going to cry any moment. She banged so hard on the door, it broke the hinges. Time slowed down as she rushed to my side. Just before she could touch me though, everything went black.
This might be the last entry I make. I don’t know how long I’ll stay lucid for, but I need to use this time to write what I know. I just hope this entry doesn’t get torn to shreeeeeds like my previous entry. I know it was here, it must have been. I can still feel the indentations in the pages underneath.
Octavia came to see me. She was hunched over my body, and crying, saying things like she wanted to see us go home together, to have a real life together. I didn’t get it, so I just told her I loved her. She was so shocked, but she smiled so wide and kissed me so passionately. All I could do was lay there.
She told me that was enough, that I’d fought enough and pushed my bangs aside, only to lay her lips against my forehead.
“Rest now, my little warrior.” She’d whispered to me. “I’ll be here for you, don’t you worry, I’ll always lov
I don’t know where I found it. Did I find it? I don’t remember, but my journal was laying on the table this morning. I swear I lost it a long time ago. It’s missing so many pages though, and everything else has been scratched out. I can’t recall anything I wrote in it, but I still like the way it feels to write in here. Feels like such a long time since I wrote. It feels like my memories have been slipping lately, but at least I don’t hear the voices at night anymore.
A pony came to see me yesterday. I didn’t recognize her but she addressed me as Vinyl like she knew me. She kept trying to talk to me. But somehow I couldn’t really hear her. It was strange, sort of surreal. I couldn’t see her expressions, but I don’t think she was sad.
She brought in some sort of instrument. I could see it pretty clearly, a large string based instrument. A cello I think. She’d sing me pretty songs a lot of the time. Sweet Lullabies to lull me to sleep just like
Anyway, the music she played was so happy. I could hear the joyous sound in those strings which echoed through my room here. I don’t know why, but I felt a little tinge in my heart when she stopped playing on a sharp somber tone. She held that low note for a long time, like it was meant for something. I really hope she comes back some day, she was the highlight of my day. I really liked her.