Worth a Thousand Words

Recap: Art accepted the ticket with a promise that he would repay the buyer. It was a long ride, but eventually he found himself in the Ponyville train station. Almost too quickly, he saw the need for a shelter. Spending a few of the bits she gave him, he bought a few building supplies and set to work.

    It wasn't much, but it worked. It was close to what he had envisioned end in his mind, even with the added luxury of fresh white paint. A single open window concluded the look. The space inside was about enough room to sleep in comfortably, while still keeping his art supplies safe from the cold outside.

    Dark was setting in now, and needless to say, he was exhausted. The day had been far from uneventful. With nothing to lie on, (not like it wasn't worse than before) Art simply situated himself in a position in which he could lay comfortably and conveniently. Quick glances out the window made up the first half hour of the night. He wasn't used to sleeping anywhere but the landing under his bridge. It would have to do for tonight though. Common needs such as these would never cross his mind when tasked with something that such little pondering was involved. It left little time to wonder how to make a house a home.

    Sleep suddenly took over his mind, enveloping his vision in blackness. Through all the night, not a single picture crossed his mind. Time was elapsed nearly thirty-fold within his own world. Sporadic times during the night left him awake and unable to collapse into a dream state. That is why in the morning he was in such bad condition to start the day.

    No breakfast. No time. He needed to start looking for household grade items meant for comfort. This included food, blankets, pillows, means of warmth, and of course paint related objects. As soon as these errands had been completed, he calmly made his way back to his shack. Bread, sleeping items, paint, brushes, and five more canvases were all he needed to last him weeks.

    Upon his return, he found all of his belongings just as he had left them. Not a single speck of dust was out of place. As soon as possible, he set aside the painting he would have finished, if it weren't for his untimely move, and he began another wonderful setting of his current view.

    The mountains seemed to paint themselves and the large cliff seemed to from in front of his very eyes. He didn't need to think about what he was doing. It was just natural. He could have down it with his eyes closed, although this would only be partially true because he needed his sight to send positive thoughts to his horn. It's what kept up his expertise.

    Before the hour had even been concluded, a new painting was ready to be added to his collection. Why was it that the work had come so fast? The most surprising fact about it all was that he had only made a single mistake. In his mind, the two clouds in the sky were not as spaced out as they should be. Though to the common eye, they would have been perfectly formed and flawlessly placed.

    Now that this was done, he wanted a scene with much more activity to tame his city side, that allowed nothing of natural color to seep into its color palette. Soon enough, he found that another painting was finished. This featured the Ponyville shops that would line streets. They looked so simple that they seemed complex. It was a hard look to describe, but here was a replica picture on canvas that looked much more real than the actual buildings themselves. It was not enough. He wanted something more to paint.

    This time, he found a vantage point, some few miles away from town, that had a perfect view of Cloudsdale. Just the thought of capturing this delightful image on canvas made Art happy, but sad at the same time. Others would get to see this wonderful scene, but never experience the absolute beauty of it themselves. He brought out his pencil and began to scribble away.

    Time flies when you are having fun. It also flies when you paint. By the time the second layer had finished drying, it was nearly dark. Only six more to go, according to Art's method. It seemed to bring out the brighter browns and such. It was the final mile, and then some, that made his projects so lively. It was almost as if looking at it brought you there. A simple realistic painting was far from it though.

    Once he had finished up there, he set upon the "house". A good night's rest would certainly reinvigorate his creativity. The recently finished canvas would dry quickly, as it hadn't done so already. Surely it would be done by tomorrow. With all of the amassing pictures, he would either need to dispose of them or sell them. The prior would hopefully

Succeed. With how delightful and uplifting they were, it shouldn't be too hard to find somepony willing to spend a few bits.

     With no memorable image occurrences during his slumber, the daybreak came rushing forth. No noises were apparent at this early hour. Judging from the position of the sun, it was about six in the morning. In such a relaxed town, there would be few ponies up this early. Art was used to the big city where nopony ever slept. Manehattan was always awake, and out of habit he would wake up at around six without fail.

    With nothing much else to do, he left for town with his newest additions to try his luck.  If he had any, he would likely get about ten bits or so. The trip was more of an errand with priority of food, but it wouldn't hurt to try to sell one or two adornments.

    Upon arrival, he scanned the vicinity to find not a single living soul. This came with the exception of a few idly wandering ponies that would turn down his offer without a second thought. The ponies with too high standards; likely transported from another high class city.

    With a huff of disappointment, he altered course. This time for a general direction towards the nearest bakery to the limited extent of his knowledge. Sugarcube Corner. From what he could tell, this would not be the most enjoyable trip, seeing as the cashier was really rambunctious. And pink. Once the distance had been covered, he stashed his supplies in a nearby bush, then hesitated briefly before entering the warm atmospheric shop.

    Luckily, the pony wasn't there this time. In her place was a sullen looking pony who obviously felt that it was too early in the morning to be up. No matter. As long as she could function right, her actions didn't bother him. It must have been the big city that had killed off his empathy for others. He would likely never feel the same way about another's emotions as somepony else here.

    "Hello, I would like to buy two loafs of bread." The request was a bit more upfront than he expected, but the cashier didn't seem to notice. Without a word, she walked into a different room, obscuring her from sight. Shortly after, she returned with the two loaves he had wanted. "Thank you mam." The polite gesture was appreciated, but not enough for her to show. The clinking sound of four bits could be heard rattling on the counter as he left.

    Going back to the shack to kill a few hours proved to be quite uneventful. The only notable things that occurred was the subtle chirping of the birds and the calming breeze. He took the time to doze off, as the last night had been unsatisfying. It surely did regenerate a bit of the color in his face. Speaking of color though, it was about time for him to wash off all the grime he had accumulated during his stay in Manehattan.

    In his light nap, he saw many different lights. The image became clearer and the unmistakable form of multiple skyscrapers began to break out. The simulation zoomed out and it became apparent that it was his prior dwelling's surroundings. The building that he had neglected to paint still looked inviting and grey. Then, zooming in back to the bridge he lived under, he saw the unfinished painting of it knocked over and ripped. It was true that he hadn't taken it with him, but he was nearly certain that nopony knew or cared enough to come and ruin his belongings. A shadowy figure approached the painting lifted it up, then threw it to the ground. Instead of colliding with the concrete, it slipped right through the cracks of the worn sidewalk.

    As the canvas denied the reality of physics, he woke up. It wasn't sudden, it was more of the fluttering of eyes opening, then the body's habit of refusing to rise to its feet. This followed by silent yawning concluded his trip back to the real world.