The Minority Pony

I bury myself in my song, in my work, waiting for Rainbow Dash to come once more. It is a Sunday, and I pray to God for my soul, and for an end to my worries, and for forgiveness. Always for forgiveness. For the drinking, for the lies, for everything. This is the Mormon part of me, in such opposition to the atheist part. When I am an atheist, I am certain no God is there. Then there is being Wiccan, no god then either, I dance in circles and cast magic spells, hoping that the world will connect with me, and my earth pony stamina will come to me. But today is not a godless day. Today is a day for prayer.

I scrub down my bar, cleaning the bathrooms, the stools, until everything sparkles... though that's because I spilled glitter everywhere. But the place is clean. I finish my song, and I put it into the karaoke machine. Rainbow Dash... I want you here. Come to my bar tomorrow, please. WHO THE HELL AM I TALKING TO? Eh, who cares. Who was I talking to when I asked who I was talking to? This whole chapter is a tiresome internal narration that only you and I can hear, reader. Pathetic. I'd rather talk to a rock than you. You likely don't give a flying feather about my life.

But still you listen, though I wonder why. I go to Canterlot in my Mafia Raffia disguise and deliver packages. I met with Octavia yesterday, and it went fine. She was cordial, and praised me on my diligent work. Florrie Lee or whoever was wrong to be worried, I am fine. I have not seen binoculars in my bushes again, and it has all died down. I drink more alfalfa soda, no alcohol today, but tomorrow shall make up for it. Goodbye, then. I need some time alone.