Every single day, I leave my little box in my little alley, in between two little buildings in my little street, in the middle of my not-so-little hometown of Phillydelphia. My name is Star Gazer. The name is pretty accurate I guess, since that's the only thing I do. Besides begging for bits of course. I remember every day that I spend on that special sidewalk, two blocks from the end of my dirty street. The funny thing is that I can't distinguish one from another. Yes, I remember every single day since I started doing what I'm doing, but that's because every single day is exactly the same, so if I remember one of them, I can remember all of them.
Why am I homeless, begging for bits? Well, it's kinda complicated really. I have no horn, so I can't use magic to be of use to anyone, and I have no wings, so I can't go anywhere or get a scholarship to Cloudsdale, if that were even possible, and my talent is virtually useless. In this day in age, nobody needs a mare who can look at stars and remember constellations. Anypony can do that, really. So my nebula cutie mark really doesn't mean anything. But at least it's mine. My family told me to leave, disgusted with my same-sex attraction. They gave me a train ticket to go stay with a family member, but when I got to the address, it turned out to be an alley. My alley. No bits to get back, no letters, no nothing. And from there the days began to blend.
Yes, every day is the same. I walk out to the end of my street, body aching, head pounding because of the noise level of the busting city, and I slowly trot two blocks down to my corner. I lay out my moldy hat, upside down, then I sit and watch the hat, occasionally asking a richer-looking pony for some bits. It's funny how it's always the ones who look like they aren't as well off as others who give more often. But I'm not going to complain. After all, Star Gazers can't be choosers.
The start of the day is hot, slow, horrible and muggy, but I don't say anything other than asking for bits. Usually doesn't take long before I get the first one, but then the next three usually take until lunch to get into my hat; that's how I tell time, actually. I count the bits. Every day, when it's 3-bits-o'clock, I get lost. Lost in a daydream.
Heh. I can imagine myself taking those bits and storing them away in a bank somewhere. Then I get out them and a bunch others when I need to pay the next bill for my tuition. Then I would go back to my homework, studying the star maps intensely even though I've memorized them a thousand times, not wanting to do my math or history papers. Writing is so hard to do with your mouth...
Then I can take a break, get something to drink and relax a bit before I leave for work. Sweet, boring work. I have an income, though small, it's enough to pay the bills and have some left over for food. I'd always imagined I'd have a roommate, but I don't have any friends or known anypony's faces except those who take an extra moment to leer at me, or the Princesses from various posters. And I'd never room with them, the idea is preposterous, even for someone in the royal family. So I just imagine that one is helping pay, but I don't know what she'd look like. Hell, maybe I'd even manage to strike up a relationship.
Perhaps I'd take those bits and invest, then get enough returned to buy a hotel for a few days so I can look nice and find proper work. Then I could forgo the education, just work, attempt the climb the ladder, even. Then find myself a nice mare and have a life. A boring, normal life with someone who...cares...about me. The mare with the disgusting, mottled blue mane and light green coat.
And then of course there's the part of me that wants me to go five blocks down instead of two, and see about doing...that...for money. The money would be decent and I'd actually have a life, right? But it's so vulgar, so dirty. And I feel like if I hang in there for just a little bit longer, I can get a lucky break. Perhaps I can save up some bits to travel somewhere else? Nah. If I even tried to save up any bits, they'd just get stolen.
Then a loud clink pulls me from my fantasy, and now I have five bits. And then I get a sandwich. And they're gone. And then it's back to the corner. Every damn day.
When my next few hours of begging are up, I slink home, eating another pathetically tiny sandwich. When I get back to my box, I look up, trying desperately to find some stars that I recognize. Every night I think I'll see some constellations through all the light that pours out and into the sky. But no. Every night is the same, dull mix of vibrant colors. And then I lay my head down on a dirty pillow without a casing. Perhaps I'll have a good dream? Sometimes; only sometimes. And they are pleasant, and for a while I'm happy. They're usually about me and my old family, and we're together, having fun, and we're not fighting anymore. But then I wake up, and reality hits me again. I look around for a second, every single night this happens, I look around before realizing it was just a dream, and then I fall back asleep.
Just me, my box, and my tears.
Author's Note
Hey, this is Noah. I just kinda sat down and churned this out, I don't really expect to go anywhere with it and I just kinda wanted to get some sad thoughts out of my head. Probably gonna be some flaws, but my goal wasn't to try and make an in-depth story. Well, I hope you enjoy it!
