Worth a Thousand Words

    The morning dew hung in the air. Pure white swirling clouds started to surface over the horizon. They obstructed the bright rays of golden sunshine. It cast a warm glow over the landscape. Very few beams of the heavens happened to find their way through to the city. Those that did managed to depict a picturesque scene, as if they were painted onto a canvas. Such simplistic beauty hardly ever showed its face in Manehattan.

    The rays reflected off of shiny glass. Glass that made up most of the large skyscrapers in the city. There were thousands of ponies up and about, trying to work their uneventful home life away. It seemed as though it was everypony in Equestria. Everypony except for one. One who dwindled their savings away on a dream. The dream that had seemed so close from the start.

    Art Pastel had been alone under a small stone bridge for as long as he could remember. His coat was so ridden with filth that it was nearly impossible to decipher which color it had once  been. His mane was tangled into a state of disrepair. Art's growling stomach had awakened him. It was relaxing to hear the cool running stream of water by his side very morning. It was his true home. All he had to boast was a few assorted paintbrushes, pencils, little paint, and and a couple blank canvases. If one of the resources had been diminished, he would go out and spend his hard earned bits.

    As soon as the morning had been accepted by his eyes, he began to work on his latest piece. A levitating brush surrounded by a dark blue hue started it's journey along the remaining blank splotches. It was a view of the city from his spot under the bridge. His art was to die for, although nopony would accept it from him. That being with the exception of very few. It was his only hobby. passerby's would only display a rude scoff in his direction. It was very degrading. Painting was the only thing he could do to keep himself from ending it. More than once had he thought about throwing himself off of the bridge.

    His current artwork was absolutely beautiful. It was so much a spectacle, that it could lift anypony from deep depression. It was entrancing. It deserved more attention, but never achieved that height. If it were a good day, he could sell it to an oncoming pony. The most he had sold anything for was twenty bits. It was enough to get by for a week, only eating one course every midday. Life had thrown him into a pit, yet he believed that this dedication could be his shovel out.

    Each stroke of a brush would fill the canvas with life. Every so often, he would scrutinize the surrounding areas to look for potential customers. Not once had he seen one. Only the cobblestone walkway, accompanied by a few great trees, cared to meet his eye. Sighing, Art would resume. The vibrant colors that comprised the canvas were so remarkable, that they deserved more credit. It would only be stashed away with the others in a final conclusion though. Nothing was more disappointing than having to end one piece's appealing display.

   There was not much left to do, but final details would take roughly another few hours. They should only take about thirty minutes, but it occupied his time. The time gave enough room for new thoughts. As for now, he was planning on trying a profile of the clearest skyscraper in view. He had already picked it out. It was one of the most structurally challenged buildings in Manehattan, making it a prime target for him.

    As Art entered the last hour or so of work on it, he glanced back once more. Nothing stuck him as unusual, so with another shrug of his shoulders he started to levitate the thinnest bristled brush back to the nearly complete artwork. He stopped, then dropped the paint covered tool.

    He turned around to stare at a single spectator that had sat herself down on a bench facing him. A loose smile was draped across her face. Something Art hadn't seen in months.

    "That painting is simply astounding," a unicorn with a clean white coat commented. Three diamonds were her symbolic cutie mark. "Would you, perhaps, be inclined to sell it when it's done? I would love to have such an adornment hanging on my wall. My name is Rarity, by the way." Art didn't know how to react. This was the first time somepony had seemingly wanted one of his works for something other than sympathy.

    "I...I uh...how much will you be willing to pay?" He said, trying not to sound greedy. His voice came out a bit raspy, in result of being used so little.

    "One hundred bits at least! Something as magnificent as this does not deserve to be cheated off of the artist responsible," she exclaimed with refined dignity.

    "Wha-f-f-for this!?" There had never been an offer so high before. That sum of money was enough to eat heartily for a month.

    "Of course. I would never try to swindle somepony out of such craftsmanship."

    "I-I don't think I can sell you this for that much."

    "So you want two hundred?"

    "No!...I mean you can take it for ten bits. I'd feel that I would have cheated you if I were selling it for that much. Ten bits is my normal selling price. Just take it for that."

    "Are you sure? It's not that much."

    "Yes. It's fine." He handed the canvas over to her, then backed away. His conscience would only be ridden with guilt if he had decided to hand it over, and demand one hundred bits in return. She searched around for her bit bag. It must have been nicked.

    "Look, I don't have any bits on me right now. Excuse me." Rarity set the painting back down, propped up against one of the trees. Without any time for explaining, she took off.

    Another trade gone wrong. It was getting too hard to make any sort of living in the area. The only talent he had was putting colors onto a blank canvas, albeit he was one of the best at it. Today was different though. More disappointing than the rest. Today, he had failed to make profit. Be could have sworn that there was a visible bag of coins when she had been watching him paint.

    Well, now that the one of the great city from such a low perspective was done, he could sketch out the skyscraper. It was normally nonstop, doing this all day. It was only to pass time. If the paints weren't there, he would be begging. That was the last thing we wanted. He had seen one or two homeless near his area. He was better than them though. They begged and lied around. Art painted for survival.