Equestria's Second Best Cellist
Equestria’s Second Best Cellist
I’ve worked so hard in life, yet it’s still terrible. Each and every day is a living nightmare, reminding me of my failures, my inability to succeed and all the ponies in the world that are better than me. I’ve tried my best in life to perfect my skills and I’ve tried so many different skills, but I’m still not at the overall top, and there is always another pony waiting for me at the peak of perfection. It’s sickening to think that no matter how hard you try in life, you will never be the best at what you do, and there will always be somepony to outshine you, and put you to shame. It just makes it worse to know that your best friend is world renown and can hear her name echoing through the streets of Equestria. I’ve never heard somepony whisper the name, “Octavia.”
This disappointing life of mine didn’t have a very happy beginning, and as I draw closer to the end with each and every day that passes, I feel as if the ending will be no better. At this rate, my name will never make its way into the annals of history, and it will never withstand the test of time. My own father is one of the most well-known creatures on the face of the Earth, and he is the most respected professional in his field. My mother on the other hoof, though less well-known compared to my father and much less talented, will never be forgotten, and she will be immortalised as the last of a great and powerful bloodline. I guess it’s my fault that she has this title, and that’s probably why she hates me.
The first memory I have of my life was around about when I was maybe two or three years old. Back then, I didn’t have this compulsive, competitive obsession I have now -- oh how I miss those days. My first memory is in fact of my mother, cradling me in her hooves as she sat on a crimson sofa. Her eyes lovingly mirrored the vibrant leather beneath her and her mane drooped to the side, curving with her smooth cheek; a bright shade of grey contrasting with her darker coat of soot. Finally, her natural lips had their corners jerked up towards her ears, and they were forcefully pulled into a crescent as she stared at me with lowered brows.
Based on that one memory, I would conclude that she in fact loved me and wanted nothing more than for me to succeed, but sadly, just like my father taught me, once you consider all of the evidence, your theory might change drastically. That is not the only memory I have of my mother, and unfortunately, the rest isn’t as pleasant as that image of us, mother and daughter, on the sofa, enjoying each other’s company as one chuckles and the other teases.
After that, it seems there was a gap of about a year or so where I just don’t remember anything. Maybe nothing interesting happened during these years, or maybe, the memories were far too painful and left mental scars so deep that the only way to heal them was to forget the memories. Either way, I have no recollection of anything that happened to me during that one year, but I remember my birthday vividly -- almost as if I’m still there celebrating. This memory is one of my happiest ones as well, since it is the first one I have of my father.
The beginning of the eRvent, though entertaining for me at the time, seems extremely boring and mind-numbingly monotonous when I remember it. I was too young to actively do anything in order to celebrate apart from wobble about the house and “dance” for the guests as they all laughed at me, pointing their hooves and pretending that I was just too cute to hold their chuckles. By the age of four, I could barely speak and whenever I needed something, I would just grunt and try to mouth out a random word that came to mind. Not the best system but more often than not, my utterly embarrassed mother would come to the rescue, pick me up and hide me from our guests before getting whatever it was that I yearned and sitting down whilst cradling me in her hooves. This birthday was probably no different from the others, and even though it is the first one that I can remember, it still seems to be pretty horrible overall.
There were gifts and there were streamers, but there were no balloons. I often saw balloons at other parties that we passed and it made me want to have them, but I think I recall my mother saying that they were too dangerous and if I were to pop one, then I would give myself a fright, mess myself and give my mother a lot of unnecessary work. It seemed somewhat reasonable to me at the time, but back then I could also rationalise trying to fly down the stairs despite my lack of wings, and it was only revealed to me the day before I left that my mother has an irrational fear of balloons -- one that cost me an element of my fourth birthday which would have made it that much more memorable.
Eventually, there was a point where all the guests got tired of laughing at me and I thought they probably just wanted to leave, so the lights were turned off and in came a mysterious silhouette, carefully balancing a cake in his fore hooves as he came closer, walking precariously on his hind legs. When he arrived at the table we were gathered around, he placed the cake before my very eyes and skilfully striking a match, he lit the candles and I watched as the four, wax pillars illuminated the immediate surroundings, revealing the faces of every pony around us. When my fascination with the cake finally wore off and I decided to look up, I saw my father for the first time that I can remember.
As with any other pony, the first things I noticed were the most obvious, and they were the colours. There weren’t a lot of colours, just black, white and brown. I didn’t know at the time, but he is from a different country, where there isn’t as much diversity in colour as ponies have. His “mane” was relatively short and neat, hanging over his forehead. If you looked at him head on for the first time, it would be very difficult for you to distinguish his mane from his face, for they have the exact same pattern. Black and white stripes from beginning to end, tip to base and front to back. The last and final colour observable on his natural body was to be found in his peaceful and delightful eyes. The deep chestnut in the middle of an ocean of white was the final touch of the palette, and the result was a masterpiece. Never have I felt so exposed before, but when our eyes met, I felt as if that I had no secrets that he didn’t know, and that I never would. You could see that they were sharp, trained, and capable of seeing things that everypony else would miss.
Beyond that point, everything becomes hazy and there’s another gap in my memory, though this one is a bit smaller -- two months at the most. Nothing dramatically important came for quite a while, and for something close to a year or two, I had no good memories. It was only after I saw my father at my birthday that I realised I barely ever see him. I only see him once or twice a year, and he leaves immediately without so much as a goodbye. I wasn’t as rational back then, so I didn’t understand why and I thought he just didn’t love me, but I was horribly mistaken. For a four year old who could barely speak, I still managed to over think so many things.
A while after my fourth birthday, I gained another happy memory, though it started off terrible, and I don’t regret meeting that filly that day on the playground since she is now my closest and dearest friend. On a dismal and gloomy afternoon, during the lunch break at Ponyville Primary School, a single ray of sunlight and hope shone through the seemingly endless barrier of depressing storm clouds and diverted my attention to the one pony willing to help me in my time of need.
At the age of either five or six, I finally learnt how to speak, but I wasn’t very articulate, nor was I a fast thinker and when confronted by a bully, my legs would freeze, a frog would jump into my mouth, and my eyes would become vacant. Before I knew it, I was no longer standing upright on the dry play area and instead, I found myself curled up on the ground with my saddle almost torn open, and the bits my mother handed me in the hooves of a much taller and much more assertive colt.
I’m not sure if I was aware or not, but I distinctly remember that as I lay there, my muzzle started to feel funny, and it began to itch a little on the inside. Then, when this feeling was gone, my vision started to blur, and a clear liquid collected under my eye before some of it broke away in the form of droplets and trailed down my face. It’s amazing that I may have managed to cry without even knowing it, but I bloomed mentally at a later age, and I was still a bit thick. Besides, I was much more interested in the bright white filly trotting up to us with her lips pursed and determination chiselled into her features.
I remember seeing this filly a few times before in the halls and in the lunchroom, but I never really talked to her, and this was the first time I heard her harsh and aggressive tone. Of a sudden, out of the silence around us, her voice boomed and shook the pebbles on the floor, startling the colt responsible for my fall. Trying to play it off as cool as he could, he gave a shaky smile and with quivering lips, he replied that this was nothing to do with her, and that it would be best for her to just back off. No doubt, what happened next was something he never saw coming, and was something that she looked forward to from before she came to my rescue.
In the blink of an eye, not only did another tear roll down my face, but I also witnessed the sight of this filly -- half the size of the colt at most -- pounce and tackle him to the floor, slapping her hooves furiously against his face, slowly drawing out the blood from his gums and cheeks. At first, he hesitated about fighting back, but when it became apparent that he was losing, his adrenaline must have kicked in and almost instantly, the two flipped and he had her pinned. Sadly for him, he thought this was the end and as demonstrated by her spitting in his face and her hoof to his stomach, he was wrong.
It just took that one hit to make him wrap his hooves around his stomach and moan in pain, but after that, he fell to the floor and assumed the same position I was in. As I lay there and watched him writhe in pain, I saw a hoof extended in the corner of my eye and turning to face it, I found myself staring into the violet eyes of an electric maned filly, whose toothy grin warmed my heart and oddly enough, gave me the strength to pull on her limb and stand up again.
Giving me a gentle pat on the back, she trotted over to where the colt lay and gently kicked him again, rolling him onto his back before she took the bits from him, and returned them to me with an enormous smirk. I had no idea who she was, and I dare say that she hadn’t a clue who I was either, yet she was still so willing to come help me. I was still relatively new to the world, since it took me so long to learn how to talk, and as such I wasn’t accustomed to the way it worked, but regardless I still thought that what she did was commendable. Sadly, after that day, I didn’t see her until one evening after school a week later.
After my little incident, my mother got pretty angry at the parents of the colt, but they were equally annoyed at the fact that he told them, the electric maned filly and I both attacked him. My mother denied this of course but lacking any evidence apart from my five year old testimony, she decided to let it go and took me home before giving them a slightly toned down version of her death stare that I saw her demonstrate so many times before on the servants and helper ponies.
The next week, there was one day where Ciel, the stallion usually designated the task of ensuring I arrive home from school safely and to perform some simple tasks around the house, was unable to take me home due to his unexpected illness. I heard that he tried to drag himself out of bed, but collapsed before he made it to the front door. Luckily, my mother can have a bit of a soft spot for the help, and so she “helped” him to the servants’ resting room, laid him down on a neat bed and gave him a few days off, staying by his side for an hour or so every day, tending to his every need. I never really knew the reason, but Ciel has been working for mother since before I was born, and he was there when my father wasn’t, so we both feel closer to him than we do to most other ponies.
On that day, Ciel wasn’t able to pick me up from school, and so I had to wait for my mother to show up and get me. Knowing her habits, I ventured a guess that she wouldn’t be there for a while, so I patiently sat in reception and waited for her to arrive. She was probably either having a fit about taking public transport or getting angry at somepony who she thought was annoying her on purpose. Either way, she would have been pissed when she gets to the school, and I would have had to wait until long after the end of the school day. Sure enough, mother didn’t arrive until half past five, and she came with a vicious scowl.
However, that’s not what made that day so special. What made it so memorable was the fact that it was the first time I saw that filly after she helped me out on the playground. I saw the bully walk out from the hall, frowning and kicking his hooves as he was escorted out of the school by his mother, who looked as if she finally learned that her son was in the wrong. After he was gone, silence fell again, and it felt like I was alone again. I was wrong however and after another minute had passed, the sound of hoof steps was once again apparent and as I turned my head to the doorway of the hall, I saw the electric blue mane of a small, white filly.
I’m sure that my mouth was open at the time and my eyes were definitely wide open as I observed the young filly, trotting through reception with her father behind her, strict and stern. Just before she made it out of the school building and out into the fresh air of the evening, she looked back and for a single moment, our eyes met. I’ll never forget the sight of those cerise eyes as they stared at mine, looking past the filly who sat there, dumbstruck and staring deeper into me than any other pony did. I felt exposed and a tiny bit frightened, but the adrenaline was there, and excitement was setting in. I remember that after she turned to look at me, she closed her eyes, smirked, then walked out, led by the hoof of her annoyed father.
That night, after mother finally took me home and we sat together at the dinner table, enjoying our quaint meal whilst Ciel slept in the servant’s resting room, I let my thoughts wander, and inevitably they drifted back to the image of that filly, smirking before she left me in the reception, alone again for the third time and a tiny bit excited. I’m not sure how long I zoned out for, but it was long enough to make my mother want to talk to me. Usually, unless I was choking or having a fit, she acted as if I wasn’t there and just whispered to herself. She always made sure that I sat far away from her when we ate -- far enough that I could never hear what she was saying, but I could always see her lips moving when she thought I wasn’t looking.
That day was a Friday, so the day after naturally fell on Saturday, and since it was the weekend I didn’t go to school. I stayed at home and stared out of a window as I watched the other foals -- colts and fillies alike -- frolicking and playing around with each other outside. Sighing, I hoped that I could go out there and play with them, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen, since my mother never let me go outside alone, and I can’t make friends that quickly either. Knowing this didn’t change a thing though, and I wanted to go outside more than anything in the world.
Saturday passed with almost nothing happening and I’m quite surprised that I remember all of it so vividly, seeing as how prior to this memory, there were quite a few gaps where nothing could be remembered whatsoever. Anyway, Saturday was just as boring as Friday, and by the time Sunday arrived, I was almost so depressed that I could barely move anymore, and I just stayed glued to the window.
After I had a bowl of cereal I darted over to the large, ornamental window again and gazed out, admiring the other foals for their ability to interact with one another and make friends so easily. Needless to say, I was jealous since where I sat was on the second floor of my home, and out of a window that large, I could see the park where they all played so cheerfully. They were so close to where I was, yet I was so far away from them that it was painful for me to watch; but I kept staring anyway.
I kept sighing when I watched them since it made me feel lonely, seeing them with their friends, and at one point when I sighed again for the umpteenth time, I saw my mother leaving our home, escorted by one of the servants who kindly sat her down in a carriage, and pulled her away down the drive, into the main street. Eventually, they went around a corner and I couldn’t see them anymore, but I kept staring at where they were, and I kept thinking about what they were doing, and why she so suddenly left, even though it was a Sunday and there wasn’t supposed to be anything that she needed to do.
My curiosity surrounding the matter didn’t last very long however and pretty soon I found myself staring at the foals again. I saw, off in the distance, a massive beast, ominous and foreboding as it approached us, inching closer and closer with every second; growing dense and dark as it lurked over the foals. I’d only seen this beast a few times before, and every time I saw him, a downpour followed suit, so connecting the dots, I expected it to be raining heavily outside. Sure enough, before too much time passed, the droplets fell from the skies.
The pitter-patter of the water against the glass was both monotonous and depressing, and the more I listened to it, the drowsier I got. Soon, the weight of my eyelids became unbearable and they fell down, taking me into the oh-so-sweet world of dreams. Every memory around about when I fell asleep is hazy, but I can still hear the tranquil taps on the window and feel the warmth of the fireplace as if I were still lying down of the fuzzy, crimson carpet all those years ago, back at home.
Exactly how long I slept for is something I will never know, but I do remember that it was nowhere near enough time for the storm outside to subside. When I finally woke up again and looked out the grand window at the empty park, I saw to my disappointment that all the foals had gone home, and I felt really lonely again. Rubbing my eyes with a hoof, I let out a childish yawn and felt the muscles of my jaw stretch. Calming down, I stood up and turned to leave the dreary sight of the empty park behind and to go to the kitchen in the hopes that somepony would be there, and that they would make me something to eat.
Before I made it down the stairs however, before I even made it to the first step, I saw outside the door of my bedroom, a small, brown box with a rosy pink string tied around it, sealing it. As a curious filly, I saw it as my responsibility to investigate, and find out just what this strange object was. Carefully, I laid my head on the carpeted floor and crawled towards it, making sure that I never moved too fast in fear that something was going to jump out and attack me. I can still remember everything so vividly; my heart pumping faster than my eyes were blinking and my breath was erratic to say the least. Notwithstanding how frightened I was, I pushed on and eventually, I found myself staring right down at the beautiful pink bow, hooves at the ready to untie them.
I didn’t do anything though, and for a long time I just sat there, watching the box, too scared to touch it and too mystified to leave it. The box itself was tiny, probably only the size of my hooves at the time put together, doubled. However, since I was just a filly at the time, it seemed to be pretty large, and I couldn’t even wrap my hooves around it. I never tried to, but I had the feeling that it just wasn’t going to happen. The ribbon used to tie the bow seemed eerily familiar, but I had no idea where I’d see it before, and I only knew that I’d seen it before.
Thankfully, my bewilderment with the strange object wore off after a while, and I finally managed to pull on one end of the ribbon with my hoof and gingerly undo the knot. There was no friction at all and it almost felt as if the ribbon wanted to be flattened on the ground before me, and that it was helping me untie itself. Once undone, the thin, pink strand lay on the ground as I lifted the brown box off of it and held it up high close to my eyes; eyeing it carefully with my mouth wide open. The box would have just opened itself were it not for my hooves keeping it shut. I still didn't know what was in it so I was still too afraid to open it myself.
I definitely wanted to know what was inside of the box though, so I came up with another idea. I'd take it to my mother and have her open it with me by her side. I knew there was no way that she could ever be scared of a box like that, so it seemed like the perfect plan. Grinning like the happy filly I was, I precariously balanced it on my head and stumbled down the flight of stairs, running into the large dining hall where I was sure my mother would be enjoying a cup of smoking hot tea.
Sure enough, once through the ornate, double doors; my mother was visible sitting peacefully in her seat, holding a fragile cup made of the finest china up to her lips. I remember my grin opening into a toothy smile with one small gap on the left as I ran up to my mother, and sadly, I also remember quite vividly that just before I managed to get to my mother, I fell over and the box fell onto the floor.
The floor struck my face hard and even though the carpet softened the blow, it created a powerful source of friction and because of it; I felt a burning pain on my left cheek and all the way down my left hind leg. At first, there was silence, but almost instantly afterwards, tears started to gather under my eyes and my lip started to quiver. At the same time my mother had put her beverage down and leapt out of her seat. By the time I was crying and wailing, my mother had knelt down beside me and was holding me in her hooves, gently rocking me and trying to console me.
We remained like that for a while and my tears wouldn’t go away. I had completely forgotten about the box and how I wanted my mother to open it for me, and I was much more concerned with the pain I felt; the burning pain that persevered along with my tears. For the majority of the time I spent sniffling and sobbing, my eyes were closed and the world around me disappeared into the darkness that engulfed me. All I felt was the shift of gravity as my mother rocked me, and all I heard was her voice as she tried her best to soothe me. When my eyes opened, what I saw is something that I still remember, and most definitely cherish.
Through the watery film that covered my eyes, even though the rays of light around the chandeliers were bent and distorted, my mother’s face was still crystal clear, and the smile on her face was stunningly captivating. The rocking stopped, and my face was held directly below hers as she tipped her head forwards and stared at me with her loving yet worried eyes. The light grey hairs of her mane flowed down and dangled before my teary eyes, swaying gently, moving slightly as I maintained my perplexed stare. Finally, after some time, I realised that it was just the two of us. Through my eyes, everything around us was blurred, and she was the only clear thing that I could see. In a sea of obscurity, she was the floating speck of clarity, but the mere fact that she was even there at all was enough for me. Nothing else, just her, holding me in her hooves, our eyes locked in a loving stare and her warm smile calming my tempestuous pain.
That is the second memory I have of my mother which is better than terrible. There are actually quite a few of these moments, and I did them an injustice when I said that every memory other than the one of us together on the couch is horrid. To be honest, she has shown on multiple occasions that I am indeed her daughter, and that the natural bond between us does in fact exist, but it is just probably weaker than the bonds of other families. However, these occasions, treasured though they may be, are vastly outnumbered by the times she’s scolded me, yelled at me, punished me, and treated me like I was nothing better than a homeless piece of pony garbage. In the end, it seems perfectly logical that she dislikes me greatly, and that even though she tries to some degree to appear as a good mother, she can’t effectively hide her true feelings that well.
Anyway, after I calmed down and the corners of my mouth started to twitch as they were pulled out to the sides, my mother’s smile slowly faded, and her eyebrows sank, giving her a depressed expression. Offering one last, quick smile, she turned and trotted back to her seat, gently placing her flank on the cushion and resuming her cup of now-cooler tea. For a while, I stared at her with what I presume was a vacant expression, and she ignored me. Never once did she face me and never once did she look at me. I didn’t know what was going on at the time but even now, I can’t remember what I did to make her act as if I wasn’t there.
My smile was gone and as I slowly stood up, I gave my mother one last look before turning to leave. She didn’t see me, she was drinking her tea. On the way out, I had the feeling that there was something important that I forgot, but my mind was blank and I couldn’t remember just what it was. My tears were threatening to come back and being a filly at the time, I didn’t know how to react. I tried to hold it in, but my muzzle felt funny, and I just wanted that feeling to go away. I put one hoof through the ornate double doors and stepped out of the large dining room. I didn’t feel like returning, not even to have my dinner, but I did want to turn around again. My neck twisted and my head followed until my eyes were directly in line with my mother, and she sat clearly in my line of vision. From where I was, I could tell that she still wasn’t looking at me, but it was because her eyes were closed, and there was a thin, watery trail going from her eyes to her chin. As I left the room and closed the door behind me, I noticed that my sight was blurred, and that the feeling in my muzzle was going away.
The next day was a school day, and as such I was bound by the law to go to a primary school. Ponyville Primary was such a boring and horrendous place. Ciel was better now, and he felt he had to make up for lost time, so he took me to school and even bought me a lollipop on the way. It was round, tempting and crimson -- just like my mother’s eyes. That day, I learned that my favourite flavour of delicacies ranging from ice creams to sweets is strawberry.
Ciel left to go home after he successfully escorted me into my classroom and I was a little sad to see him leave. He’d never bully me like the other colts did and he’d always tolerate my slow reactions and speech in a way that not even my mother could emulate. By the time he’d left the grounds completely, I had finished half of my lollipop, and the other half of the once perfectly spherical, red ball was glued to the stick that stuck out of my mouth. Try as I might, it wouldn’t come off and it clung on as if for dear life. I didn’t care though, as long as my tongue could keep caressing it, it’d be fine.
I still hadn’t finished it by the time the teacher walked in and when she saw that I had a lollipop in my mouth, she just frowned. She tutted as she trotted over and when she was right in front of me, she asked me why I had a lollipop in my mouth. I knew the answer, and so did Ciel but sadly Ciel wasn’t there to help me and I was too slow to think of anything to say. By the time the words came out of my mouth, she was already, annoyed and grabbed the stick, pulling it out of my mouth before throwing it into the bin and scolding me.
It was upsetting that I didn’t get to finish my lollipop, but my teacher’s yelling was enough to suppress my tears. For the rest of the day, out of fear that I’d get told off again, I held my head low and tried not to make eye contact, speaking only when spoken to. Five years old and still not fully in charge of her words -- that was the filly sitting scared at her desk that day and that was the filly that was unable to tell her teacher to go away. Throughout the day, although I never looked up once, I always felt as if somepony was watching me. I didn’t know who it was, but I have a pretty good idea.
At three o’clock, as the minute hand ticked over to the twelve, a bell sounded and its melodious ring resonated through the entire school, no doubt touching the hearts of everypony, bringing out joy and happiness as their uproar harmonised with the perpetual, metallic tapping. All around me, fillies and colts jumped out of their seats and flung their saddlebags onto their backs as they rushed out of the single door. Seconds later, the room was almost empty and I was left alone with the teacher who just looked at me once, scoffed, and followed the rest of the ponies out.
I didn’t want to move yet, so I stayed sat down at my desk, gazing out of the window by my side and watching as the excited foals were met on the playground by their parents, embraced by them, and escorted home by them too. I remember distinctly the astonishingly heavy sigh that escaped as I watched their delight and hoped to share it. Doing something like that was a dream that could never happen, since my mother would never display that level of affection, especially not in public. Staring out of the window again, I noticed that a certain filly was missing.
I’m not sure how long I sat there for, but I remember waiting for Ciel for a long time since he had a lot of work to do and he had a little dispute with a taxi-pony. Eventually, the skies started to turn orange and the sun started to descend. In the background, I heard the sound of faint, light hoofsteps approaching and I thought that they were the hoofsteps of a teacher that came to convince me to go to the reception and wait there instead. I liked sitting in my seat, so I didn’t want to go, but I knew that if she trotted up to me then I’d have no choice. However, she didn’t say a word and the filly just extended a hoof in front of my eyes, offering me a stick with a ball on it.
A red sphere on a thin, cylindrical, white stick. I saw the very same thing earlier that morning, and Ciel was the one that gave it to me. Shocked and amazed, I turned to face the pony that held out the strawberry flavoured lollipop, and to my exuberant surprise, I saw the cerise eyes of the electric maned filly from that day on the playground. Silence fell upon the classroom and I kept staring at her, lips twitching as I tried to speak to her, but I found my natural slowness was holding me back. All the while, she kept smiling at me.
Eventually, she saw that I wasn’t able to speak with ease, and so she began the formalities by introducing herself. Vinyl Scratch, also five years of age, no Cutie Mark, no friends, dislikes bullies. A lot of what she said reminded me of myself and as I kept staring at her, she kept smiling. I had to reciprocate her gestures. I took a deep breath and I told her all about me, and my mother. She was excited to hear everything I had to say and soon, we were on the floor, laughing. She did most of the talking, but she seemed to understand that I wasn’t as fast a thinker as she was.
Sadly, our fun time together had to end and Ciel finally arrived to take me home. He apologised furiously and asked me where how it was possible that I still didn’t finish the lollipop he gave me that morning. I explained that Vinyl gave it to me and after I told him that she’d been keeping me company for so long, he bowed his head and thanked her. Vinyl blushed as Ciel gently lifted me onto his back and trotted out, leaving her alone in the classroom. I really did want to stay, but I was also really hungry, and I could always talk to Vinyl the next day.
After dinner, I tried to talk to my mother, but she ignored me like she normally does. It never seems like she’s doing it on purpose, but she’s always zoned out and she never notices me until I’m hurt. Sometimes, I think about hurting myself just to get her to see me. I made my way upstairs into my room and I closed the door before I turned around and faced my bed. To my surprise, placed gently and carefully on my bed was the box from the day before, but even more surprising was what was on top of it. A cube as far as I could tell, with a different colour on each side. Blue, green, white, yellow, orange, and red -- just like my mother’s eyes.
Each face was made of nine squares and depending on the face; they would all have a different colour. I had never seen anything like this before and needless to say, I stared at it, mystified for a while. I held it in my hooves and tilted at different angles, admiring it from every point possible, the contrasting colours on opposite sides, the somewhat smoothed vertices, and the clear-cut borders between each and every one of the squares on each face.
I lost track of time quite easily but I still sat on my bed, staring at it in awe. I stroked it with my hooves constantly, feeling the smoothness of the stickers against my coat with each touch. All of a sudden, one of the faces turned and the colours were messed up. In a panic, I tried to turn it back, but somehow, I managed to mess it up even more and after a while, the beautiful completeness of the cube was gone, and every face was a clutter of different colours, far less graceful than the original arrangement.
I wanted to cry, and I wanted the pretty colours to be fixed, but no matter how many times I turned the faces, I found that it was no use and that they wouldn’t go back to the way they were. As the night grew older, and the light coming in through my window dimmed, I remained still with the cube in my hooves, desperately trying to figure something out. Then, something finally occurred to me, and I started to have hope again. I realised that whenever I turned a face of the cube, only a few of the pieces moved, and that they moved in a predictable way.
Armed with this information, I started turning the cube and after ten minutes or so, I had the green face solved completely. This made me happy for a while but I still had to solve another two layers of the cube and I didn’t know how. I started to feel sad again, and my muzzle felt funny. The tears were building and they were about to come out. They would have soaked my pillow were it not for the knock on my door.
Sniffing, I opened my mouth and tried my best to speak, but it took too long and I went with a simple grunt in the end. The door slowly opened and through the illuminating gap came the head of Ciel, grinning and encouraging. He came to make sure that I was sleeping, but instead he found me on my bed, furiously trying to figure out what to do with the cube to arrange all the colours. He chuckled as he closed the door behind him and kneeling down at the side of my bed; he slipped the cube out of my hooves and examined it.
Some seconds later, his hooves became a blur, and I could hear the sound the cube being turned. Ciel wore a confident smile as I stared at him, amazed. Then, his hooves came to a stop and between them he held the cube with all of its colours on the correct faces, just like it was when I came into my room. Needless to say, I was astonished and after my bewilderment finally disappeared, I jumped on him, begging him to teach me. At first, he chuckled, reluctant to divulge his secrets but after minutes of my pleading, he decided that he might as well. He had never known me to be able to keep up coherent conversation for so long, so it was a sort of reward.
By dawn, I learnt all the tricks of the trade and in that one night, I learnt how to get past every single permutation of the Rubik’s Cube. At first it would take me five minutes to solve it, but before the sun rose I was averaging just under a minute. I was flabbergasted, and so was Ciel. I never thought that I’d be able to do something like solve a puzzle, and I never thought that I’d be able to learn so quickly, but I did. I showed myself that there were things about me that I didn’t know yet, and that still had to be discovered.
Ciel and I celebrated the entire night by continually solving the cube over and over again and even though he was visibly very tired, he tried his best to stay awake to keep me company. At four in the morning, the sun was half up and my room was illuminated. As we chuckled inside of my bedroom, I saw Ciel’s ears twitch and noticed that his smile disappeared for a moment. I remember that at this point, when I pricked up my ears and listened carefully, I heard the sounds of hoofsteps getting further and further away from where we were.
After that, Ciel seemed sullen and with a shaky, low voice, he told me to get some sleep before he took me to school. Despite my own objections, I knew that he had a point and that I was better off listening to him. He left and I worked my way under my covers, hugging the cube and holding it close as my eyelids got heavier, and I got drowsier. The stickers still shone brilliantly like the fresh fruit of Sweet Apple Acres.
Not that many hours later, I was sitting in my desk at school, still drowsy with another strawberry lollipop in my mouth. Vinyl came up to me with a bright smile, but all I could manage was a feeble grin before I let my face meet my desk. Vinyl stayed by my side until the teacher came in and woke me by yelling at me again. Just like the day before, she told me off for the lollipop and threw it in the bin, this time much more frustrated and shaking her head like I’d done something inexcusable.
At the end of school, I was a bit more energetic and I chatted with Vinyl as I waited for Ciel to come and get me. I told her about the cube I had and I told her about how I stayed up all night, learning and learning, practising and practising. At first she was really excited, but she didn’t believe me when I said that I could solve it in under a minute. I told her that I could, but she wouldn’t believe me no matter how much I tried to convince her. In the end, in order to show her that I wasn’t lying, I invited her to come to my house on Saturday so that she could watch me. She agreed just as Ciel came in and as he carried me away on his back, I looked to Vinyl who wore a wide grin and waved her hoof at me.
I spent the rest of the days leading up to the weekend practising, improving my technique, and begging Ciel to tell me whatever secrets he had left about solving Rubik’s Cubes. I didn’t tell my mother that I had made plans with a friend on Saturday, but I thought that I could always tell her when Saturday came. I didn’t even tell Ciel, so he thought it was strange that all of a sudden, I became so eager to learn the tricks of the trade. I wanted to impress her. There was something about her that struck me, and stuck with me, and it made me want her to remember me. Sadly, not many ponies want to remember a five year old, semi-illiterate filly, so this was the next best thing.
Saturday came and I was more excited than I ever was up until that point. We had arranged for her to come in the afternoon -- an hour or so after my mother and I had lunch which was usually at twelve. Though the lunch was tasty and our chef was pleased with what he made, I didn’t take too much time to enjoy it and rather, I wolfed it down then patiently waited by the window for my friend to appear. My mother was a tiny bit suspicious at first, but when I told her nothing was wrong, she let it go without a fight.
I heard the doorbell ring and immediately, I dashed down the stairs and beat Ciel to it. He stared at me in shock but I waved him away, saying I wanted to open the door for once. He didn’t leave, but at least he reluctantly stepped aside. As the door opened, my face was beaming and I saw another face, beaming just like mine was, with elusive and amazed, cerise eyes.
Vinyl stood at my doorstep, mouth agape and eyes wide, staring right up at the entirety of the front of my house. To me, it all seemed natural but I guess it was a rare commodity so she was just admiring it for the first time. It took a while but after some insistence that I did in fact live there and that I was not the only pony in the world that lived in a house like that, I managed to get her to come inside and follow me to my room. After Ciel saw her, he left, chuckling under his breath.
The second we stepped hoof in my room, I lead her to the bed with incredible speed and as I tried to find the words I wanted to say, I sat her down and looked around my room for the cube. She sat there, still amazed and she remained like that for a few dozen seconds. When I finally found the cube, there was a trail of dribble, dribbling out of her mouth and I dashed over to my bedside table to get a hoofkerchief and wipe away her drool.
She denied it again and again, before I even started and she insisted that I wouldn’t be able to do it. However, I persuaded her to shut up, sit back, scramble the cube, and then watch. She agreed and as soon as I handed her the puzzle, she turned around and scrambled it with her back facing me, not wanting me to see how she scrambled it. A few moments later, she turned back with a wide grin and lifted the stopwatch on the desk with her magic, ready to time me. She held it in a way so that I could see the time as I solved it. Taking a good look and a deep breath, I composed myself, and gave her the green light.
Five seconds and I had the green cross, five more and two corner-edges were in place. It took a while, but fifteen more seconds and the last two corner-edges were in place -- with that the first two layers were solved in twenty-five seconds. There was something strange about the blue-red edge piece -- it wasn’t oriented like it usually was. I didn’t pay that much attention to it though and I just kept trying to solve it, but I soon found that no matter what I did, it wouldn’t flip. Ten more seconds and I had all the blue stickers -- apart from that one -- facing up. Another five seconds later and I had the corners aligned, and a final three more seconds was all it took for me to solve the final permutation of the last layer. A total time of forty-three seconds and I had it solved, apart from that one edge piece. It was still the wrong way up.
I tried everything I could remember and everything that Ciel taught me, but try as I might, I just couldn’t get the piece to flip. All the while, Vinyl was grinning at me and stifling her laughter. In the end, after three minutes and six seconds, I still couldn’t solve it. I was distraught but for some reason, Vinyl was delighted. Eventually, she couldn’t take it anymore and she broke into laughter. After that phase was over, and my shock subsided, she took the cube from me, slipped the piece out and flipped it before slotting it back in. It turns out that when she scrambled it, she flipped the piece without telling me so that I wouldn’t be able to solve it. At first I was a tiny bit annoyed, but I have to admit that her smile pulled one out of me too, and it was hard to hide.
Just before Vinyl left, she turned to me at the door and told me again that my house was amazing. She also added that she was wrong and that I could solve the Rubik’s Cube astonishingly fast. Then, she told me that in a week there was going to be a competition held in Ponyville Town Hall, and that she thought I’d do quite well -- she said I might even win. I was intrigued, but I wasn’t sure about it yet. She said that she’d take me there if I wanted to go though, and then she left to go home, taking one last look at my house before she left. She really was mesmerised by it.
The next Saturday, immediately after my mother and I finished our lunch, a knock came from the front door, and Vinyl was there, waiting for us. I told my mother about my plans and with almost no emotion whatsoever, she agreed to go with me. Vinyl was going to lead the way and according to her, we were going to walk there. At this point in time I had never seen my mother out walking before, so I wasn’t sure how she’d take it, but for the entire trip she seemed to be preoccupied with her thoughts and never really paid that much attention to where we were going. She followed me, and I followed Vinyl who led the way.
Possibly an hour passed before we finally got to Town Hall and when we stepped inside, my legs froze, and a frog jumped into my throat again. There were so many ponies in there that I’d never met before that I couldn’t breathe and I just stood there, scared out of my mind. I remember Vinyl looking back at me as she went further into the mass of ponies; her smile still warming my heart and filling it with the slightest bit of courage. I also remember feeling a slight amount of pressure on my head, and that when I turned around, I found myself staring into the crimson eyes of my mother who gazed at me lovingly, and encouragingly, and pushed me forward, prompting me to follow my friend. As I traced Vinyl’s steps gingerly and entered the crowd, I remember looking to my mother one last time and seeing a smile just like that day on the couch.
An hour or so later, the competition started and I was one of the contestants. I had never been so nervous before in my life and when I sat down at the table with the mare smiling at me, I felt as if I was going to... “Brick it.” Sweat poured down my face, my hooves trembled and my thoughts were so scattered that I couldn’t even find the words needed to say that I wasn’t ready to begin. In the end, when I tried shaking my head in protest, I accidentally nodded instead and they got the idea that I was ready, so they gave me the cube.
I was allowed to freely examine it for fifteen seconds and initially, I didn’t think that was enough time, but it turns out that it was plenty. For the first ten seconds, my eyes were shut and I didn’t dare look at the cube for fear of seeing the prying eyes in the audience where my mother stood. Usually, I would love to see those garnet orbs but for some reason, being at the competition made me want to ignore them, and pretend as if they weren’t there. After those first few seconds, I managed to compose myself and with the last five, I took a look at the cube, searching only for the green edge pieces.
My hooves were on the timer and as soon as I lifted them and picked up the cube, half of a second had already passed. Three seconds in and the green cross was formed -- much faster than all of my practice times. Seven more seconds and two of the corner-edges were in place. Ten seconds later, the first two layers were complete and I had the “Anti-sune” ready on the top face.
All of a sudden, my mind went blank and for a whole five seconds, my hooves didn’t move and I couldn’t remember any of the algorithms that Ciel taught me. The pressure got to me and my mind cracked under the pressure. I felt like I was going to cry with all the eyes of the ponies staring at me, but as I scanned the crowd, hoping not to see the red eyes of my mother, I saw instead the purple eyes of my electric-maned friend. Vinyl stared at me with determination in her eyes, and she passed on that will to me through her gaze.
Three seconds later, the top face was complete and all I had to do was shift the pieces a little bit. Two algorithms and eight seconds later, the cube was solved, the crowd erupted in cheer, and an immense weight was lifted from my shoulders. The final time of thirty-six seconds was faster than any of my practices with Ciel or my demonstrations with Vinyl, and it was something that even I didn’t think I could do. I was a bit lucky that one of the algorithms was cut short and the permutation didn’t take too long, but at the end of day, I still solved in just over half a minute.
Another hour and a hundred solves later, I had an average time of thirty-four and a half seconds, and a best time of twenty-three seconds. I was proud to say that I was the one that achieved these amazing feats and when I thought about how I only practised the cube for two weeks, it made it seem even more amazing. I’d never shone at anything before, so when I did so well in that competition, I thought that I had found my calling in life. I even started to find it easier to talk after we were called to the stage to hear the announcement and the names of the top five ponies.
The excitement and anxiety was unbearable as we stood in wait, eagerly standing on the edges of our hooves with our necks arched, trying to be the first one to hear what the judges said. My mother was the most composed, but even she looked as if she hoped to hear my name. There was a moment of silence before the first name -- fifth place -- was read out, and a select group of the crowd cheered, pushing the frail, pale colt onto the stage. Fourth place was a serene mare with flowing, auburn hair, and she was met with momentary applause and short cheers. Third was a bony and weak pony that barely made it up onto the stage. Unfortunately, he wasn’t applauded and he wasn’t cheered, it was almost as if he was there alone, no friends or family there with him.
Finally, my turn came. The second I heard my name called out, my body froze. I had never felt that sensation before and the sheer joy of it all overwhelmed me. The ponies around me cheered and my mother knelt down and gave me an embrace in celebration. Vinyl’s eyes were bright and excited as she smiled at me and dragged me with her towards the stage, pushing me onto it for all the audience to see. I wasn’t nervous and I was just happy -- so happy that I could move again, and so happy that I didn’t mind the countless eyes that were focussed on me. I shook hooves with the judge and stepped aside, climbing up one of the three pedestals. Then, it occurred to me.
I was only second place, and I didn’t win. The realisation took some of the joy away and replaced it with disappointment, but I convinced myself that whoever came first must have been somepony who practised every day of their life, so I felt a bit better. However, when they finally called him up, I saw that he was just a colt, probably younger than me, and as he made his way onto the highest of the pedestals, he looked down at me, and smirked. Later, I learnt that he came on a whim and that he never touched a cube before that day. I was so proud of the fact that in two weeks, I managed to master so many tricks of the trade, but then to learn that there was a colt in the same town I lived in that learnt all the tricks in a matter of hours, and managed to use them better than me, it shattered my spirits.
Never before have I felt so disappointed and never before have I felt so ashamed. I thought that I was special and that I was unique. I thought that I was capable of things that nopony else was, and I thought that with a bit more practice, I could become the best solver of Rubik’s Cubes, but it turns out that I’m not special. The colt that beat me was special, and yet, he didn’t seem to care at all. He showed no emotion on that pedestal, and he scoffed when the audience applauded him, dangling his blood-red mane in front of his grey face and black eyes. Thanks to him, I haven’t touched a Rubik’s Cube since. I’ll never forget that name I heard everypony in the crowd cheer and applaud. Merlin.
That was the first time that I felt the need to shine, and it was the first time that I truly decided I wanted to be known. Hearing that crowd cheering felt great, but to hear them chanting a name that wasn’t mine was nothing but insulting. From that day onwards, I tried to prove that I was better at everything I did. It didn’t matter what it was, but I just wanted to be the best at something. The littlest thing would have been enough but sadly, I couldn’t even do that.
At the age of six, I overcame my inability to speak and I could finally articulate my thoughts. At the age of seven, I could read at incredible speeds and a month before my next birthday, I learnt the basics of solving Sudoku puzzles. Only now do I realise that it was quite amazing that I could learn so much in so little time. This trend went on for years and with each new year came a new skill. In my lifetime, I have mastered so many things, but never once have I been dubbed, “the best.” There was always somepony who was just a little bit better than me, and that was infuriating. Being good wasn’t enough for me, and I wanted so much more. Eventually, my competitive nature found an area where it thought I could shine: academia.
At age sixteen, I had my GCSEs to worry about, but I didn’t really worry about them. Vinyl was always prepared to act brave, but I could tell that she was incredibly scared. She had been my friend for eleven years, and we grew closer and closer. She was my best and only friend, but with a friend like her, I didn’t want anymore. Vinyl had never worried about a single exam in her life before, so when she’s ready to cry because she thinks she’s going to get straight Cs on her GCSEs, then you know it’s a serious matter.
It’s true that Vinyl was never good with her studies, and it’s true that even I had doubts that she could make it into Sixth Form, but I wanted her to. I didn’t want to lose the only friend I had because she couldn’t study, so I gathered a few ponies to help her. I would have helped her on my own, but Vinyl can be too much for me to handle sometimes. There were some ponies in the year below that were regarded as “geniuses,” and I decided to get their help. I was prepared to pay them, but they were nice enough to offer their assistance for free.
The next day, after school, the five of us met up in Vinyl’s form room and we locked her in, forcing her to do three hours of revision before letting her go home. She wasn’t very happy with me at the time, but the results spoke for themselves and she thanked me promptly afterwards. Derpy and Spitfire were patiently talking everything over with Vinyl, asking her what she struggled with and offering their methods to help her. By that point, Blaze and I had our backs pressed against the far wall, and we were both incredibly frustrated. Vinyl was plucking my last nerve and I needed a short break from her incompetence before I could continue helping her. Blaze on the other hand was just as thick as Vinyl and she didn’t want to listen to her sister or her friend's tips of revising.
For the next few months, we kept this up every day and Vinyl looked as if she was about to die. On the day of the exams, I trotted through the double doors of the exam hall with pride but Vinyl was less certain. I felt bad for her, but this was a point where I just couldn’t do anything. All I could do was wish her luck, and that’s what I did. She smiled weakly at me before turning back to face the front, and I could see that she was really worried. I wanted to help, but I couldn’t, and I was more focussed on trying to do well on my exams.
For an entire week, I tried my best in all the exams and I was very confident that I did well. When my results came, I was over the moon, since I had the best results in the year. I got all A*’s, which means I did well in every single exam I sat. Nopony else in the year was able to emulate these results so I was the best in the year. After eleven years, I finally did it, and I was finally the best. I was incredibly happy, and so was Vinyl, but only a part of her joy was for me.
When I finally calmed down a little, Vinyl had her toothy grin so close to my face that I was a tiny bit scared by her. Her good news however brought an even wider smile to my face. I couldn’t believe it, she couldn’t believe it, and when we told Derpy and Spitfire, they couldn’t believe it either, but Vinyl got three B’s and the rest A’s on her GCSEs. It was amazing, and despite the months of arduous toil, we were happy for her. It worked, and Vinyl was going to make it into Sixth Form. It was a happy day for everyone and my joy lasted for a short while. It came to an end when I read the paper the next morning.
My mother was over the moon as well, and she even went as far as going out with Ciel to buy a cake and bringing it home for the three of us to share. Mother was now aware that I was friends with Vinyl and she was very welcoming when I had her over. She always seemed so depressed whenever she spoke to me, but when Vinyl’s there she seemed so happy. There was something that she saw in her that I was still oblivious to. I have a good idea of what she saw now though, but I can say for sure.
An entire night’s worth of celebrating left me exhausted and in the morning, I wanted nothing more than to enjoy my steaming cup of black coffee alone with nopony else that could speak and ruin the silence. I went outside to pick up the paper and before I took a second sip of coffee, I got my pencil, flipped over to the puzzles page, and solved the three Sudoku puzzles. It didn’t take long at all and ten minutes later, I put my pencil down and lifted my mug again. Then, I decided to read the paper, and that’s when I saw it. Ponyville rarely had any news and neither did Equestria, so the smallest, extraordinary feat would be enough for the papers.
“Starlight, 12, Gets Straight A*’s On Her GCSEs!” -- That was the atrocious headline that ruined my month. Sure, I got straight A*s too, but I was more amazed by the fact that she was four years younger than me, and she still managed to do the same thing. It made my accomplishment seem pointless and useless. All those celebrations were for naught, and once again, I wasn’t the best. The memories of when I came second in the competition all those years ago came flooding back, and memories of every single second place I’d ever gotten piled on and on until I couldn’t take it anymore. I thought I was useless, and that I would never be the best at anything. Sadly, I was right about one thing.
The years passed slowly only now, I didn’t care about anything. My grades dropped dramatically, I didn’t pick up any new skills and my will to perfect anything was gone. I fell down the ladder of improvement that I spent so many years climbing and I fell so fast that it just made all that effort seem miniscule and pointless. Even my father showing up for my birthday wasn’t enough to cheer me up. He stayed in Ponyville for a while as well. He said that it was because he wanted me to cheer up, but he didn’t even stay with us. Usually, he was too busy to do anything with me.
There was one time though when he came to talk to me regarding the disappearance of Ponyville’s blacksmith. That was the first time that I was certain he was my father since I finally found something that I got from him. I got his reasoning skills. When he talked to me about Anvil’s disappearance, it was apparent to me that something was wrong, but we only talked for a little while and he left afterwards. I did warn him though, that he might want to keep an eye on his good friend, Inspector Mourn. It’s a shame that I didn’t pay more attention to Vinyl too.
When we were sixteen, Vinyl and I were both blank flanks, but at age seventeen, Vinyl got her Cutie Mark. The entire story is a bit long winded, but the basic gist was that she went with a few of her friends to a club for the first time and after getting in, she enjoyed the music so much that she wanted to learn and practice the art. It was inspiring to watch her spend so many hours -- thousands of hours -- practising the same thing over and over. We saw each other less and less but on special occasions like birthdays or holidays, we still got together and enjoyed each other’s company.
I never did enjoy her work, and I still don’t, but she’s my friend, so all I could do was encourage her to keep going until she made it into her talent, despite my own depression. Just because I was always upset, it didn’t give me the right to drag Vinyl down with me, so I kept supporting her, all the way until the end when she finally got her Cutie Mark. As happy as the event might seem, it was the beginning of a horrible turn of events.
At seventeen years of age, Vinyl found her talent, and she wasn’t going to let it go to waste so unfortunately, she dropped out of school and became a disk jockey, working in the nightclubs of Ponyville and sometimes Manehattan. She was already pretty skilled, so she spent most of her time at work perfecting her skill. I was really happy for her, but sadly, the happy news brought with it a darker and much more disheartening truth. Vinyl was no longer in the same school as me.
The one and only thing that kept me going to the school was gone, and that was the end of it for me. I couldn’t go back to that school knowing that it was just filled with disappointment and loneliness. Without her there to protect me and without Vinyl there to encourage me, I just couldn’t do it and after a lot of thought, I decided to drop out too. I had no idea what I was going to do with my life, but I didn’t want to spend another day in that place, and I just wanted to get out of there alive. Sadly, my mother was a bit less than supportive about this decision, and she threatened to throw me out of the house if I didn’t go back. I didn’t know what to say but apparently, not answering to her was an answer, and her decision was final. The next morning I woke up in the middle of the park with a bunch of ponies staring at me. Overnight, I became homeless, friendless, cold, and scared.
I went around from place to place without a destination in mind, just wondering about what I was going to do, and I was really scared. My mother just kicked me out of the house, and there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t go back to the school, but if I didn’t, then I’d never step foot in my house again. Hours passed and the night came with the promise of torture in the nights to come. I had nowhere else to go, so I curled up under the gazebo and fell asleep, hoping that it was all a horrible dream and that when I woke up, I’d find myself in my bed, nice and cosy.
Morning came and unfortunately, I was still in the same place. Still under the gazebo, only this time, I was drenched by the rain. I felt like I was going to cry, and I did. I bawled and wailed, and my sobs could probably have been heard at Sweet Apple Acres. Time passed slowly as I sat there, crying my heart out and pouring all the sorrow that I had locked away onto the green grass beneath me. Of a sudden, I felt a hoof tap me on the head and when I tried to open my eyes to look, I saw the green eyes of a white maned Pegasus.
He stared at me, looked down at me as I tried to stand up. Even when I stood on my hooves, he was still taller than me, despite the obvious fact that I was older than him. With him, he held an instrument, a large string instrument kept in a case, and he motioned for me to take it. I did so reluctantly and once it was firmly in my hooves, he told me that it was a gift from my father. Before he left, he wished me a happy birthday, and then he disappeared behind the bushes to the side of the park.
It was so strange that he just came into my life then immediately left, and that he gave me that cello. It was also a bit strange that my father wished me a happy birthday, but not in person. Something probably happened after the case of the disappearing blacksmith, so he didn’t want to see me, but I was disappointed since I really wanted to see him, and I really wanted his help. I didn’t know at the time why he gave me a cello for my eighteenth birthday, but I didn’t care, and I was considering pawning it off for a bit of money.
It then occurred to me that if I did that, I’d just spend that money and then be penniless again. Plus, I didn’t want to sell the only thing I had left that reminded me of my family. With no other choice, I resolved to performing for bits on the streets, and begging for money. For the most part, I survived -- barely -- but that lifestyle was horrible. Every night, after I enjoyed some rotten apples that had been thrown away by the Apples, I sat down with my cello and stared at it. I even named it so that I wasn’t so lonely, and so that I could feel like I had my friend with me.
Some months of being homeless later, I picked up the bow for the first time, and stared at that instead. I thought about my life and everything I did. I remembered Ciel teaching me how to solve the Rubik’s Cube, I remembered sitting my GCSEs in that hall with Vinyl by my side, and I remembered all the competitions that I’d ever entered; she was always there. There wasn’t a single memory of a competition when I didn’t see Vinyl there in the crowd, and it struck me that she was my best friend, and she was somepony I desperately wanted to keep in my life.
The last thing I brought back to mind was the image of my mother’s red eyes staring down at me as her light grey hair dangled in front of her face and contrasted with her soot-coloured coat. She was cradling me, and we were together on a crimson leather sofa -- one that is still in my house -- and we were mother and daughter. I would have given anything to go back to that point in life; I just wanted my friend and my mother back.
Biting my lip, a tear rolled down my cheek and my eyes were blurred as I lifted the cello from the case and held the bow against the strings. I’d seen other ponies play it before, so I had a vague idea about how to play it, but I had never played an instrument before, so I was prepared for something horrendous. Gingerly, I pressed my fetlock against the very top of the cello and held down the strings gently as I balanced the bow with my other hoof. Wincing, I lightly pulled the bow across and the result was one, single, pure note that resonated deep inside of me, and gave me a warm feeling. I wanted to cry again – though not out of disappointment or sadness --, but there was something else that I wanted, and I wanted it more than I wanted to cry.
I pulled the bow across the strings again and reproduced the same soothing, gentle, beautiful sound from before. It was incredible listening to that sound, and if I could have done it, I would have frozen time just so I could keep listening to it. It took me a long time but I eventually became a master of the English language, and yet, I still found it difficult to describe what it was like to hear that note. Over and over again that night, I kept making that sound, and it kept making me feel warm inside. Eventually, I got to a point where I was so tired that I was about to pass out, but I still wanted to keep listening to that sound. Sadly, my body won, and I fell asleep after falling face first onto the grassy ground.
The next morning, I woke to find that the cello was on my back and the bow was in front of me on the ground. Energetically, I jumped up and let the memories of that heavenly sound from the night before flood my mind as I scrambled to my hooves and stood up tall, ready to play the cello again. Taking a deep breath, I recreated the same stance I had last night and with a grand smile on my face; I pulled the bow back and waited for Celestia’s Angels to sing. Nightmare’s demons answered instead.
That sound was nothing like the one I heard the night before and it made me want to tear off my ears just to make it stop. I didn’t understand what was going on, I did everything just like I did the night before, but the product was completely different. I couldn’t understand what was going on, but all I knew was that I had to be doing something wrong. I spent the entire day practicing, trying to get the note right, but I just couldn’t and I was getting hungry. For the next week, I spent each and every day doing the same thing, trying to recreate that note only to fail and grow hungry once more.
Eventually, ponies stopped giving me bits when I begged, so I had no other choice but to perform. All that practice with the cello did a lot and I was still the same filly I was thirteen years before that point, I could still learn a few tricks with incredible speed. A week was all it took for me to learn how to properly play the cello, and with that much practice under my belt, I performed for the passers-by on the streets, and some of them seemed to love it. The ones that gave me the bits encouraged me to keep playing, and the ones that ignored me made me want to get better and rub it in their faces. Either way, no matter their response, I kept playing and playing.
I had no idea what I was playing, and I was just playing whatever sounded right to me. I remembered what sounds the cello made when I held it a certain way, and with that knowledge, I played a few random pieces that I made up for all to hear. I never enjoyed music in school, but out there on the streets, it was my new way of life and survival.
With my cello, I made more money than I ever did begging, but it was still only just enough to keep me fed. Two years passed, I turned twenty, and I was still out on the streets, performing for the passers-by, hoping not for their approval, but for their generosity. I stayed alive and I kept improving my skills with the cello, but I never managed to hear that sound again. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t recreate it. Every night, I cursed the fact that I let my fatigue win and that I didn’t take the time to remember how I played such a soothing note.
One day, I stood on the curb, playing my cello with my eyes shut, focussing only on the music. Ponies listened and dropped some bits in my cello case, but I wasn’t paying attention to them, I only cared about the bits and the music. I hoped that when I played that random piece of music, I’d hit that note again, but sadly, I didn’t. As I drew closer and closer to what I defined as the end of the piece, my ears opened up to the world around me, I heard the sound of hoofsteps coming towards me and I noticed that they stopped right before the metal clinks of the bits reached my ears. Oddly, I never heard them leave.
I stopped the piece early and stared out of half-closed eyes only to have them immediately open at the sight of the mare. Her white body never changed and her electric blue mane brought back so many memories when I looked at it. Finally, she lifted her purple sunglasses and her cerise eyes met mine. I hadn’t seen Vinyl in over two years, yet she could still warm my heart with her smile and gentle gaze. I’d missed her so much and I was so glad to see her that I dropped my cello and tackled her to the ground. She was glad to see me too, and some ponies were disgusted by the sight of us in an embrace but we didn’t care, we were too happy.
A while later, we sat together in a cafe and though the staff were annoyed that I was there since I hadn’t bathed in a long time, Vinyl convinced them to leave me be. I never would have thought that Vinyl would be the successful one, but she was. She was surprised to see me on the streets and she was wondering where I went. It turns out that my mother told her that I left to travel Equestria, so Vinyl looked for me in every corner of the country but failed to find me. It was so sweet that she was willing to do something like that, and I felt my heart swell at her words as my eyes watered.
We talked and talked, and we laughed and ate together; it felt as if we were teenagers again. We had so much fun together that day that I hated the fact that once the day was over, the fun would be over too. Vinyl really is a brilliant pony, and I thought that I really should repay her in some way. She saw that I was upset and she saw that I was afraid, so she did what she always did. She protected me.
That night, I found myself, clean and fresh, warm and cosy, wrapped up in a thin blanket, curled up on Vinyl’s couch. She let me stay with her and when I heard her say that, I almost exploded with uncharacteristic joy. I never knew that a friend could be so great, and I regretted taking her for granted when we were younger. The house that she bought with her own hard-earned bits was being offered to me and there was no way that I would have said no.
I lived with her for a month and that was one of the best months of my life. She worked hard to make sure that she could support two ponies since DJs don’t make an insane amount of money, and I was really happy, but I also wanted to make myself useful. Sadly, I couldn’t do anything and I didn’t have a job, so there was no way for me to repay her. It’s funny, because she ended up helping me repay her.
Every night, I practised the cello and my music didn’t go unnoticed. She heard it and though she admitted it wasn’t her cup of tea, she insisted that it was good. I wouldn’t listen, but she was convinced and she said I needed to get my name out there. She told me about this competition in Canterlot and how all the best musicians of the world would be there. She thought that I should enter too. At first, I declined; afraid to fail again like I did so many times before in the past, but Vinyl had an ace hidden behind her shades. She already signed my name in and paid the entry fee of seventy-five bits. It was incredibly expensive, and now I have my suspicions that Vinyl said a fake number, but at the time it shocked me enough that I agreed to go along with it. After all, I didn’t have many friends that were willing to lie to me to get my life back on track.
The day of the competition came two weeks after our little talk regarding my entering it, and we were standing outside of Canterlot Opera House, preparing to go inside. I was incredibly nervous, but Vinyl denied me a chance to calm down and dragged me in, embarrassing me in front of all the high-society ponies of Canterlot. She signed me in and passed me a ticket with a number on it. When my number was called, I was to go up and perform. I remember swallowing my heart when I saw the number five on my ticket. She took me there too early.
My turn came really early, and when I stood on the stage, I remembered what it felt like to have so many eyes focussed on me during all of my other competitions. I never liked that feeling, and I hated it even more when I was about to perform knowing that my performance could very well dictate my future. I looked down and accidentally saw my blank flank which only made matters worse. I started hyperventilating and I couldn’t think; all I could do was panic. The judges weren’t pleased and they were tutting me, but Vinyl smiled a warm smile at me.
That was enough to make me realise that she had been supporting me in everything I did in my life, and she was still going to be behind me every step of the way. I had to repay her, and I’d start by playing an amazing piece, just for her. I was still nervous, so I did what I always did to calm down; I closed my eyes and drained my mind of any thoughts. However, of a sudden, one, single, vivid memory lingered in my mind. It was the same memory that gave me the power to do so many things in life, and it was still there to help me, just like Vinyl.
My mother cradled me gently in her hooves as she looked down at me with her rosy red eyes, warm and loving, filled with care and grace. Her mane descended alongside her cheeks, and the colour change was apparent, going from stormy grey to light silver. Finally, the smile on her face, the beautiful smile could melt the coldest icicles and stop the strongest snowstorms. A smile appeared on my face and a tear rolled down my cheek as I lifted the cello and started to play.
My piece seemed beautiful, though I couldn’t tell. I never properly learnt how to play the cello, and everything I played was just improvised by me. I don’t know how the audience reacted since I was just listening to my music, but I thought it was good, and no doubt Vinyl did too. It went on and on and I didn’t know when to stop, the notes just kept on coming out and they wouldn’t stop. At that point, I was nothing more than a messenger whose sole purpose was to deliver the music, but that was good enough for me. However, beautiful though the music may have been, I didn’t hear the note I heard that night I played the cello for the first time.
The music stopped, there was silence, and then the opera house erupted into applause and cheering. This feeling was strange to me, and I didn’t know how to react. All I could do was smile, blush, bow, and look to Vinyl for her inevitable smile. To my surprise, I couldn’t find Vinyl, but as my head darted from side to side, searching for the out-of-place, blue mane, I saw another mare that I dearly missed.
Standing up on her hind hooves and furiously clapping the other two hooves together, my mother stood in front of me in the middle of the crowd, eyes moist and lips tucked away. Seldom have I ever seen so much joy in my mother’s eyes, and the sight of them made me cry. I didn’t even pack my cello away, I just put it gently on the ground and then I ran off the stage, heading for my mother. I leapt forward and grabbed her, pulling her into a tight hug. I cried into her mane and she cried into mine as the two of us stood there, letting out years’ worth of pain and resentment.
Everypony else stared at us, but we didn’t care and we held onto each other. I apologised for every bad thing I did as a filly; breaking the windows, not eating properly, drawing on the walls of the house and so much more. She apologised for throwing me out and she told me about how she never stopped regretting it. She tried to find me but for some reason she never managed to succeed even though I was always out on the streets of Ponyville. We were both sorry, and we were both glad that we were together again; that was all I cared about.
Hours passed as all the other contestants performed and the judges judged them. We watched a few but it was incredibly boring. Vinyl finally found us in the crowd and to my delight; she had my cello with her. Vinyl with my cello is another sight I will not soon forget. Eventually, the time came for the judges to announce the winners and though my mother and Vinyl both had high hopes, I wasn’t ready to be disappointed again, so I didn’t make a prediction.
The top ten for every instrument was listed, and then the top ten overall were announce. I didn’t care about the clarinet or the violin, so I didn’t care that ponies called Starlight and Fetlock won them respectively. When the judges said “cello,” my ears pricked up and I was ready to be disappointed. As the places were taken up going from tenth to first, the three of us grew more and more anxious, and even I started to get a bit nervous. Deep down, I still wanted to win.
Sixth, fifth, fourth, the names were all read out without any hesitation and we got closer and closer to the position I dreaded. Third was read just like the rest and then there was a pause. I leaned so far forward that I was almost on the stage again, and I knew that this was my last chance to place in the top ten. Then, they said it. They called out my name. Once again, I was second and there was somepony else better than me.
Though everypony else around me was cheering, I wasn’t exactly over the moon with second place, and as I dragged myself up onto the stage, I sighed, lining up with every single other pony whose name had been called out so far. First place however, went to an older and much more sophisticated mare, whose hooves were indicative of endless hours of practice and improvement. My father’s eyes never lied, and I was sure that she was a pony that had abandoned everything in life, family, friends and fun, just so she could do well here today. That was an eye-opener.
We stood there for a long time since there were a lot of categories, but I didn’t mind. I was so happy to learn that the pony that beat me spent so much more time working on this than I did. After all, I never had a single cello lesson, and I learnt everything whilst I was out on the streets, homeless. She might have been the best performer, but there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that I was the best raw talent there that night, and that was good enough for me. I was finally the best at something.
The top ten performers overall were read out and surprise, surprise, I wasn’t one of them. It didn’t matter though, since I finally came first at something. I came first at something else as well that night. There was another list to be read out, and my name was on it. My name was called again and I was called to the front of the stage to shake hooves with the judges. When I heard my name called out, my mind went blank and my lips went numb as I trotted over and shook their hooves before going back to where I originally stood. They dubbed me, “Canterlot’s Best Young Cellist.”
In one night, I became the best in two different ways, and it made me so happy that I was ready to squeal with excitement. All my life, I wanted to be the best and I always failed, but then in one single night, I did it twice. That was hooves down the biggest accomplishment of my life, and it was one of the best things that ever happened to me, but sadly, the glory didn’t last long. Though word of my skill travelled quickly, when I told ponies my story, none of them believed me and they scoffed at me. I insisted that it was the truth, but they kept denying it. Eventually, it got to the point where the media belittled me so much that nopony cared about what I’d accomplished anymore.
I still managed to get a job though, and I performed at wherever there was a formal event. I always got good reviews, but the media reinforced the idea that I was an egoistic liar. I didn’t care what they thought -- I never really cared what other ponies thought -- and at least I had a job. I could slowly repay Vinyl for everything that she did for me. My mother offered to send me to University and offered to let me live in our old house again, but I declined. I wanted to live with my best friend, and she wanted to have me there with her too. My mother was a bit disappointed, but when I told her the reason she just chuckled and told me that she understood, and that she was right. I was just glad that she was willing to take me back into her home.
Right now, I still live with Vinyl and everyday seems like an adventure, even though neither of us ever goes anywhere. We spend all the time we can together, and I feel as if I want her to be by my side forever. I can’t imagine a life without her, and I’m grateful for her being there when I needed her. She still supports me and I’m slowly repaying her, bit by bit for letting me stay with her when I was homeless. Every Saturday, Vinyl and I visit my mother and we ran into my father a few times. My mother always seems so happy when we drop by.
Every night, I get out my cello and practice a little bit, listening to the humming and singing of the strings. After the competition, I finally got my Cutie Mark. It’s a pinkish-purple, treble clef, plastered on my flank and though it is not one of the most fashionable looks, it constantly reminds me of the first time that I came to terms with being second, and the first time that I ever came first. Also, I never managed to recreate that sound I heard that night, and right now I’m not even certain that ever happened, but I won’t give up. I’ll keep playing until I find that note again, and after I find it, I’ll share it with the world.
Vinyl likes it when I play my cello. She doesn’t know about the name I gave my cello, and I don’t think I’ll tell her, not yet anyway. The name definitely fits though. It helped me in my time of need and kept me company when I was lonely. There is no other name that would fit so well. Every night, when I’m done playing her, I set her in her case, seal it up and put her by my bed before getting in under the covers. Then, I tap on the wall until I hear a displeased groan from the other side and I whisper, “Goodnight Vinyl,” before closing my eyes and letting my thoughts take me to the world of dreams.
I was being rocked gently from side to side and though the smile on her face looked fake, her beautiful eyes were full of genuine love and affection. Her brows were half lowered and just made her expression even more sombre than before, but she still seemed delighted by what she saw. Her mane dangled before my eyes and my hooves grabbed it, and played with it as I giggled senselessly. Overall, the colours were a bit dull and depressing, but there were two places of a hue so vibrant that I’ll never forget them. Her eyes, her beautiful, crimson eyes glistened in the lights and when I looked into them, I saw a faint reflection. A very faint reflection of a foal with her mouth wide open, staring up out of violet eyes, right at her serene, graceful, delightful mother.