Prince Elenore Michael Blueblood III walked slowly through the halls of Canterlot Castle, being followed by countless reporters.
"Mister Blueblood," One of the mare reporters asked, "A moment of your time for the Canterlot Press, please?"
"Sure, love," He replied, flashing off his smile twinkle thing, "Ask away."
"Why do you insist on being the center of attention, Sir?" She asked.
"Well," Blueblood stuttered, realizing this question might hurt his reputation, "I feel like it is a privilege to the lesser ponies to see me so often, if that answers your question."
The reporters scribbled away on their notepads and snapped pictures as the Prince smiled, and he said, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to." They scribbled some more, and Blueblood departed, heading towards the Throne room to talk to his mother and aunt.
He entered the grand hall, and saw his Aunt, Celestia, and his mother, Luna. He bowed to both. "mother," he said, "May I have a favor?"
"Yes, Elenore?" Luna asked.
"I wish to fund the Canterlot Public Military Academy."
Luna looked at him, with her face saying it all: No. But she had to vocalize it, "I will not allow this, My son. You are a respectable prince. You will not bring militaristic goals into our society."
"But mother," he said, "We need to defend ourselves! And such a small donation!"
"No!" Luna exaggerated, "Introducing Imperial military fundamentals will ruin the peaceful nature of our country!"
"Why?" He asked.
"We have prided ourselves on our passive nature. This is the way Equestria was founded: On friendship, not hostility. We will not risk this precious history on a military academy."
"You dare refuse me my wish?"
"You are spoiled, Elenore! You don't deserve to be one of us." Luna commanded.
"Then let me fund the academy!" Blueblood yet complained.
"Fine!" Celestia interrupted, "If you wish to interfere with the proud history of Equestria, so be it."
"Thank you, Aunt." he said.
"Under one condition," Celestia added, "You may never return."
"What?" The prince asked, infuriated, "What do you mean?"
"You are banished from Canterlot. If you have the nerve to ruin the pride of our centuries-old country, you may leave it forever."
Blueblood was speechless.
"Now go," Celestia said, "Never return."
Blueblood, overtaken by rage, left the Throne Room with the slam of the door. "Maybe I will." He mumbled to himself.
He passed guards, who saluted to him, but he returned it with a scowl. He passed them without word, and went up the stairs to his chamber. He slammed that door as well, and started packing his case. He packed more shirtless collars, hair gel, a comb, hoof polish, and plenty of bits. He threw it over his back, and went back downstairs.
As he exited, he looked at his room. His bed, scattered and ruined, his dresser, torn apart at the seams, his prized mirror, shattered. In his anger, he had forgotten his pride. His honor. He pushed it out of his mind, and left his room, and finally, the castle.
He was on his own now, walking down the road departing the mountain, and awaiting the train. What would he do with his life away from Canterlot? He knew not. In his anger, he had forgotten all about the ball he wanted to attend in the first place.
He looked down upon his hooves. Who are you? He asked. Where do you belong, Elenore? He pondered his thoughts, and came upon one conclusion: Not here. Not where they know me. I do not deserve to be know. He had hastily regretted his actions to his mother and aunt, and swallowed his pride, knowing he belonged nowhere. He didn't deserve what he had.
You belong somewhere unknown. He continued thinking, You belong in Tartarus. You belong in a cave. You belong in the wilderness. His anger swelled up inside of him as he thought, They need somepony better than you. He looked at his suitcase, You didn't earn this. Everything was given to you. He huffed in anger, ready to scream, You are nothing. You're a spoiled prince.
"NO!" He shouted in the crowd of ponies waiting for the train. He threw his suitcase. It skidded on the rock path, went right under the guard rail, and fell the hundreds of feet to the ground beneath the mountain. The ponies now noticed him, and swarmed him, asking questions.
In his anger, he pushed them aside, leaving the Train Station and trying to find the Path of Roderick, a secret, long-forgotten path, that lead from the summit to the base. His thoughts torturing him the whole time. You're nothing. Not here.
"You're wrong." He said aloud, "You'll always be wrong." but he didn't let up on himself, Will I? You forget, I am you. "You're not me, you do not control me. I control my fate. My destiny is in my own hooves."
Is it?
His mind stopped. Was it? Was he himself? He stopped walking the path, and looked down below. "No." he said. Why? You don't belong here. They deserve a Prince fitter than you, Blueblood. "No." he said again, refusing his thoughts total control. What makes you stay? Promise that you'll be accepted somewhere? "No." He said once more, "What keeps me here is the thought that I may redeem myself.
He could almost hear his conscious laugh at him. But can you? Blueblood feared he could not argue with his mind. Could he redeem himself? Just do it. it told him, Just jump.
But something kept him rooted to the path. Maybe the fear of death, maybe the love of life, maybe the memories of his old life. He couldn't think straight, his rage blurred the lines of his thought. "No." he said once more, "Just... No." He pulled himself back, and continued, trying to shove his thoughts to the back of his mind.
But it didn't work. They were ravenous, tearing his brain at the seams. You're nothing. You're a rat, in a world of cats. It's only time between you and death. But... His thoughts worked their way to his mouth, forcing him to say, "How much time?"
He looked back over the path, to the ground that seemed miles away. His thoughts once again told him, Just jump! They won't miss you. but he willed himself to stay, no matter how much he wanted to. "NO!" He shouted this time. He felt a war in his mind, between life and death. Life was winning, and soon, his thoughts of suicide subsided.
He continued walking, when he inexplicably heard, "What do you have to lose, anyway?" It wasn't his thoughts, it was real. He looked around, but found nopony. Then he realized, he had said it. He was right. What did he have to lose? Nothing. He had no life anymore.
DO IT! his thoughts screeched at him, and he could no longer deny them. He looked off the edge. He reminded himself how little he'd be missed, and he hung one hoof off. It dangled hundreds of feet off the ground, and he staggered. He nearly fell, but he closed his eyes and regained his balance.
He leaned forward, positioning himself perfectly across the ledge. He thought of life as a string, now tense, with a pair of scissors lain across it just so. One swipe, and it would snap. He thought about it once more, and leaned forward.
He could almost feel the string snap as he plummeted.
