Diary Of A Cellist

Vinyl scratch stood in the doorway looking absently at the assorted boxes of various things littering the room before her. She rarely stepped hoof in this room. After all, she had no real reason to. Nothing in the room belonged to her anyway.

She slowly stepped inside, careful not to knock over any of the trophies or awards scattered about the floor. She made her way over to the big four poster bed, which was –as like the rest of the furniture in the room- littered with boxes.

She pushed a couple aside and sat down on the bed. It had only been two days since the bed had last been occupied. A tear came to the unicorns’ eye at the thought of the rooms’ old occupant. She pushed the thoughts from her mind and got to what she came here for.

She reached over and grabbed the box closest to her, picking it up and setting it in front of her on the floor. She slowly opened it to reveal its contents. Once again a tear came to her eye as she saw the first object lying in the box.

It was a picture, well coated in fine dust. The dark hoof carved mahogany frame was worn and faded. The mare in the photograph stared out from behind the glass. Her small smile seemed to add color to an otherwise blandly colored pony. Her mane was perfectly groomed and trimmed, with long bangs curling down over her forehead. A perfectly knotted bowtie lay on her throat, its band hidden by a crisply folded white collar.

Vinyl put the picture down next to her; she had no intention of parting with it. She picked up another picture out of the box. This one had no frame and had deep creases in it from being folded. It had the beige mare from the last picture, but this time her air of sophistication was gone; replaced by a look of confused determination.

She was sitting in a DJ booth, a clunky pair of headphones hanging around her neck. She was looking down at the turntables and all the knobs and levers, her tongue sticking out in concentration. A white unicorn with a messy blue mane stood behind her, seemingly dying in laughter.

The sound of the radio echoed from an adjacent room, snapping her out of her nostalgia. Vinyl had forgotten that she had left it on. She listened for a moment, trying to distract her mourning mind.

“tell me when it’s over, wake me when I’m sober, the scars to hard to hide, I shoulda known better, if only I could be strong enough to see that it’s over, I wish I never met you, cuz you were s’posed to be coming back to me where are you now?” the radio abruptly stopped as vinyl shut it off, it wasn’t helping her feel any better.

She returned to the box, picking up a dusty leather-bound book. It had an old lock on it that broke easily without much effort.

As she began to read the familiar hoofwriting, she started to tear up. She had found possibly the only thing she had never dared to touch. In neat cursive on the inside of the front cover was a name.

Octavia.

With a shaky sigh, vinyl began to read the little book, clutching to every word.

“Dear diary…”