Streets of Sleeping Canterlot

Streets Of Sleeping Canterlot

By Chimpso

I began my trot, my aimless trot, down some unknown street in Canterlot.

I knew not where I was going, nor my intention, but if I must mention, as a blatant contention, my goals were irrelevant; an invention. A justification, a failed innovation, I didn’t have an objective, just motivation.

The streets were silent, eerily silent, whereas by day they were almost violent – vibrant beyond comprehension. Nightfall saw quiet, but I didn’t buy it, nor was I going to sit and bide on it.

The cobblestone scraped under my hooves, but never would I choose another place to muse. The night was long, the atmosphere silent, nopony to get up and defile it. But that is a lie, merely their presence had died, they still sat by, just not willing to embrace it.

I looked to my city, my beautiful city, and I felt a tangible pity. The beautiful potential, bordering exponential, left to rot by those not privy. Those not privy to the wonderful secret; that it is by candle and starlight we best view our lives, away from the eyes that, like knives, erode our souls and dreams, and cause us to misconstrue the beams of those who genuinely care for our needs.

So I stand in the street, in the cobblestone street, in the street lamp’s intangible heat, and shout, “Wake up Canterlot, this is no time for sleep! Why when night comes do we weep? Why not instead we sweep our fears away, and come here to meet and greet?”

The ears on which my voice fell twitched, and their minds nagged at them like an itch, who be this ruffian, for which day and night is switched? Why does he not understand? It is the law of the land, that nighttime is no time to howl like a lich. They go to their windows, and see me there, the evenfall air displacing my hair as I continued, no purpose in sight, to stroll with a smile through the night.

I did not relent, nor was I content. I never understood what it meant when my parents tucked me into bed. I thought it silly, so willy-nilly, that I need skip the part of the day most dear. I did not hold the fear, as others appeared, that caused them to hide like fillies.

I embraced the night, our beautiful night, and revered the light, the light of the moon. She sat in the sky, so very shy, and I despaired when she said goodbye. Her sister was just – as was a must – but she was a mere lust. Love meant being there, and so I would sit and stare, before standing up and taking a dare, with the uncaring Canterlot millionaires.

I shouted my mantra, as loud as I cared, when out of the corner of my eye I spotted a mare. She smiled like a dame, and her flowing turquoise mane joined mine in the sway of the cool night air.

She approached me, and I felt like a loon, as her luscious white coat shone in the moon. Her appearance had stature, and she was clearly high class, so I felt compelled to ask, “What brings you to my farce?”

I did not expect what happened next, the unicorn mare placed a hoof on my chest, she told me, “Let us not jest, you put this city to the test. You see them rest, and you must confess, you can’t stand their duress, that compulsion you detest for the night you hold so dearly.”

She spoke the truth, I could only hope that the city would see it’s night in a different scope. She stood beside me, this was clearly no joke, “I shall walk with you, you silly mope,” and her grin cleaned away my confusion like soap.

And so we walked and we walked, and much did we talk. I could only gawk, she was as astute as a hawk, and we discussed as the eyes did stalk from the windows of sleeping Canterlot.

While we did trot, we began to laugh as we shared stories from our past. I knew not how much time had passed, but our everlasting mirth stood like a mast, with which the night we did ballast our hopes and dreams and tasks.

As we did move, in the sound I noted a groove, and not just the clopping of our hooves. Doors I heard open, conversation I noted, though I knew it was nothing to fear. The mare still walked beside me, not once did she deride me, and I blushed as a gentle nuzzle greeted my ear.

We trotted on and on, ignoring the doors now in song, opening one after another, it didn’t matter; nothing was wrong. The lamplight was mild, and the noise never broke her smile, as we continued our chatter, nothing was wild. Just her and I, the background noise a lullaby, dragging us to a sleep where time was not lost; a rest where there was no cost, and allowed us to always be observers of the night.

On that night did I recognize the true beauty of the darker hue, and while the day would eventually shoo, it sat strong and proud, black did replace blue. White of clouds became white of stars, stretched out wide and far. They did not mar, they made perfect, twinkling above par.

We halted as we beheld a view, a vista of Canterlot, shining in the moon. The lights were off, the windows dark, not a single candle burning in Canterlot park. The city slept, while we wept from the joy we had just expressed.

She turned to face me, wrapping me in a hug, her warm embrace giving my heart a tug. We shared that moment, a moment of connection, her motives I could not question. She had come onto the street, despite the absence of the sun’s heat, to talk with this unassuming stallion, what a feat! I couldn’t believe that on that night, I had had company and support for my plight.

She told me to walk again another night, and she would join me in my immersion. Said assertion made my heart leap, and my excitement I could barely keep. She offered me company, when others would sleep!

As she turned to leave, my eyes followed, and the sight I saw caused me to swallow. Down the street behind us, a crowd was approaching, their presence almost encroaching. But as they neared, wane did my fear. For I had realized, this crowd of significant girth was drawn to the mirth we had birthed.

They didn’t seem to notice us or the cool air, as they approached the viewpoint and stared at the wonderful city down there. The street lamps lit up their faces as the little fillies and colts held races, while their parents stood and conversed, and it wasn’t terse. They were enjoying the night, the change of atmosphere with which they previously regarded with fright, in the company of others under the pale moonlight.

The mare’s gentle smile became a huge grin as her eyes darted around and observed the din. The noise wafted down, to the lower parts of the town, and the lights began to turn on as the foals ran round and round and round. Laughter and joy filled the air, it was a sight beyond compare. A tap on the shoulder, and like a boulder, I was tackled into another hug by the mare.

I held her, and she did purr. Our eyes were closed, we did not stir. Even if our joyous mirth could only coax this one night from it’s seclusion, it was a night I’d spend with her.