Painting our Life - 6 Colors

Two years later...

   The clock ticks. I slump in my seat, waiting for something to happen. I stare at the computer screen.

   It's like this almost everyday. I smile. Everyone wants to be big in something. Now I'm the owner of one of the biggest restaurants in town: Blue Bird.

Blue Bird.

   I bet you realize who I renamed the restaurant after. Some of my employees scratched their heads in confusion the day I announced the restaurant will be receiving a new name. Luckily, the new name did not arouse any complaints or disappointments.

   I have a document of this month's profit open on the computer screen. It's better than last months. Infact, I don't ever remember our profits ever decreasing by a noticeable amount.

   I never thought I'd get this far. A year and a half ago when the owner said he's handing the restaurant down to me, I thought he was playing a joke or something. I wasn't ready to take on such a roll of responsibility. I'm glad I did.

   Look at me. I began as a waiter all those years before and slowly worked my way to this position. Being a waiter was much easier and less stressful but I enjoy everything I do now. It's just almost part of my routine. I walk into work with a smile, even on those days when people are just, you know, not having a good time for no absolute reason at all. I do my best to keep my employees happy and enjoy their time working here.

   There are times when some people just try my patience. Of course, they fail to do so. Take my employees for example. A year ago, they suddenly just all decided to mess with me. At first, a few of the cooks refused to take orders and I thought I had some rotten tomatoes that needed to be fired in my crew. Soon I realized that the entire staff team were being jerks to me. It was just a joke. Though I'd be lying if I said I wasn't frusterated halfway through the day.

   Don't misunderstand me. I have an excellent staff team. Sure sometimes I hire that odd one out of the crowd who acts like a big jerk to everybody, but the rest of the employees are excellent and trustworthy workers.

   I shut off the computer and turn off the monitor. I stand up and grab my jacket. It's the middle of December. It's pretty cold and I try to wear a coat but most of the time I find that a coat is too warm. I think it has something to do with all of my experiences in the cold. They weren't very fun.

   I open my office door and walk out past the employee's lounge, past the manager's office and down the stairs into the busy restaurant. A few waiters nod in respect as I walk past them. I look around. There are many happy faces. Many are deep in conversation. Some are eating, some are waiting for their food.

   I exit the restaurant. It's not very cold. A thick blanket of snow covers the ground. I walk through the parking lot to my reserved space where my car is parked. I fish out my car keys and unlock the door before climbing in. The engine stirs to life; I give a moment for the heater to warm up the car before I plant my hands onto the ice cold steering wheel.

   Maybe it's time for me to buy one of those covers made of fur you wrap around the steering wheel so it get doesn't get cold when you leave the car.

   I pull out of the parking space and exit the lot.

   One of the perks of being a restaurant owner is that you're your own boss. It's great, really. I could hire anybody to do my work for me and I'd still keep my job. Actually, there's nobody to fire me. I'm at the top of the pyramid. I can set my work hours whenever I want.

   I smirk at the thought of a thirty-minute work day. I can't do that. I'm supposed to open up the restaurant every morning and close it every night. I already got past that by giving the janitor an extra key to do it for me. Not for free of course; I slipped an extra dollar into his hourly salary. Now I just come to work for the sake of it and the fact I have nothing better to occupy myself with at home.

   It's a silent drive. Sometimes I would talk to myself to rid the loneliness. Not today.

   I drive out of town and continue driving down the road. I live on the outskirts. Like a few miles outside of Guelph. It's not that far away from work and I've come to enjoy the peace that settled in after Dash left. It's saddening, but I try my best every day to not think about it and get on with my life as Celestia had said. Afterall, isn't life all about moving on?

   I pull up in my driveway. My wheel hits the curb and the car shakes. I grin and curse under my breath. I often find myself doing that. It's no biggy, if anything does damage my vehicle I could easily get it repaired. Why, with the money I'm making, I might as well as be the richest man in town.

   I shut the engine off and climb out of the car. I stretch my arms and yawn. Finally. Some time to just relax and watch some television. I fish out a keychain ring bombarded with every key I own. I work my way through to find my house key. I unlock the door and walk in.

   Something feels different.

   I immediately notice the presence of a stranger in my house. Did somebody break in? Damn it. I didn't think someone would go out of their way, to go miles out of town just to rob a single house that doesn't even have anything worth real value. I keep all my money in the bank and a good amount in my wallet. Other than that, a credit card would do.

   Footsteps. Loud and clear. From the living room.

   Maybe it's only my imagination running wild. Two years alone has left a funny sense of insanity in me. I'm not taking any chances though. One wrong move and I could be stabbed. Even worse, shot. Real firearms are illegal in Canada but even a legal gun for practice like an air rifle could do some potential damage.

   I grab a baseball bat from the closet where I keep coats beside the main door. Stealthily, I walk towards the living room where I think somebody would be hiding. Ever get the feeling that you're not alone? You probably weren't. I don't know how but when I walked in the atmosphere just felt different. I take a deep breath. And charge into the living room.

   I search around frantically. Any sign of movement or anything out of the ordinary will not escape my eyes. I inspect the entire living room with haste.

   Empty.

   I exhale a breath of relief and move on to the kitchen.

   Nothing.

   I check the washroom.

   Not a soul.

   I search every inch of the first floor. Nobody. I am alone afterall. If somebody was in here I'd have heard them moving away from me or to the second floor.

   I plop down on the couch, dropping the bat onto the floor. Some excitement would be nice. I sigh and close my eyes. My heart rate slowly returns to normal. I feel fatigue. Tired. Depleted. Worn out. I feel like I could sleep right here on this couch for an entire week.

   Hold up.

   I shift around. Something makes a crinkling sound beneath my back. It feels smooth like paper. I sit up to see what I had crushed. Half of it is still under me. I reach over and pull it out from underneath. A piece of paper. I turn it around to see what's on the back. The few words that greet me slap a sudden grin onto my face. My heart leaps with joy.

One week. Equestria. Be ready.

Dash

Painting our Life - 6 Colors End, November 1, 2012

Author's note

   That's the end of Painting our Life - 6 Colors. I don't expect myself to write a third installment (it's a possibility). I understand the quality of my story may have decreased; I apologize for that. Stress has its toll on me. Being a freshman is tough. Even now, I'm writing this note in my science class as I take notes on the atomic theory.

   I already have an idea for a new story. I plan on writing a few one-shots before I start on big one. It might take a while for me to write though. (Very busy with homework and video games... Yep, I have a terrible addiction.)

   Well, until next time, bronies!

   Your probable best pony pal,

Inu