Bump.
Bump.
Bump.
The little filly’s head hit the desk with each bump, her silvery mane flowing about as she did so, the pigtail behind her slapping about. The monotony of the math class got to her every day, but she never figured it would ever get this bad.
She had once read that the average pony spent ten years of their life collectively wishing that the time they were currently spending was already over. She wondered if it were true.
She rubbed her little hooves around her cheeks, pulling all manner of annoyed faces. She looked over the next row of fillies and colts, their muzzles pressed to the papers, pumping out math equation after math equation, like well-oiled machines. Was she the only one left with a mind?
She adjusted her glasses; they had no lenses, they were only only for show, after all. Just another fashion statement.
Silver Spoon didn’t want it to end up like this— quite the opposite, really. She had wanted to remain blissful ignorant for the rest of her life, but today had changed all that. She had woken up this morning, wrapped in warm cotton, laying on crisp linens, with a horrible sinking feeling in her mind. This was the day when the thin paper-machét screen between the life she lived while she was awake and the life she hid under the covers with fell apart, showing both to be entirely connected.
A folded, faded, frayed piece of paper landed on her desk. She looked up from her own thoughts, and cast a glance behind her. The red, curly-haired filly who sat behind her was scribbling away at her paper, acting as though she hadn’t done anything, but Silver Spoon knew; she knew everything, she was certain.
The paper was addressed to Apple Bloom, but Twist certainly knew that it wasn’t going to get past Silver Spoon without the insides being made known to her. THe little filly continued to put off her math work, and unfolded the paper. She heard a little gasp behind her, but Twist couldn’t do anything: her hooves were tied. She wouldn’t dare cause a commotion and risk the paper being read aloud by Cheerilee. Silver Spoon had won this round.
The paper was old, and still had the annoying extra piece of it that was taken from the ringed notebook, the part which could be torn off, leaving only a perfect piece of three-hole-punched lined paper behind. Silver Spoon growled internally at the little extra piece of the paper, and had to refrain from tearing it off. Instead, she distracted herself by looking down at the contents of the note.
Twist’s hoofwriting (mouthwriting? Silver Spoon never knew which one to call it) was less than neat, but it was still readable. The prying filly could feel the sides of her mouth curl up into a vicious smile, the same one that a parasprite makes before devouring a slice of pie left out in its path.
Apple Bloom,
I know I’ve been ignoring you for a lot, and I just want to let you know that its not becus because I dont want to be your friend anymore. it’s just that youve gotten a lot of new friends and since you started hanging out with them I’ve had these weird jelous feelings and I know it’s more then a friend jealously. I just wanna know... do you want to be more then friends?
Below were two hastily-scribbled boxes, one holding a “yes” next to it, and another with a “no”. Silver Spoon smirked. So Twist had the hots for Apple Bloom? Not surprising, Twist always had a bit of a dyke-y look about her. Silver Spoon shot a mean, knowing smirk back at Twist, who blushed a deep red, and buried her face back in her work.
Silver Spoon was just about to think what she could do with this note, when a rude voice interrupted her thoughts with a—
“What’s that? Give it here, Silver Spoon.”
Silver Spoon looked over at the spiteful, yet genuinely curious face, of her one and only “friend”, Diamond Tiara. Her pale pink face was scowling at the note held in one of Silver Spoon’s grey hooves.
Silver Spoon hated the bitch, she truly did. She hated her with al her heart. Yet, day after day, she pretended to be friends with her, humoring her, faking the following, faking the complicity.
It had been a simple enough decision in the beginning, really; Silver Spoon had to choose which pony would pay off more in the long run to follow around. She was never a leader herself, simple a follower, a lackey to support those who would take charge. To the common pony, this would seem like a lack of mind that lead to this, but she had it completely figured out: while the other pony lead and took responsibility for everything, she would be able to inherit the side benefits of being the ever loyal toady. An insured ticket to greatness without having to do too much of anything!
But now, with the line that had divided her judgment so easily in the past had fallen to pieces, she begun to wonder if she had made the right choice. Attracted to power instead of strength in character— was this the right choice?
“It’s nothing,” Silver Spoon said, faking a snide tone with ease. “Just the answers to the worksheet we’re working on that Twist wanted to pass to one of the Blank Butt Blunderers.”
Diamond Tiara looked at Silver Spoon with an odd expression on her face. “So why aren’t you copying it down? Hurry up so that I can see it and get this dumb crap over with!”
Silver Spoon shifted uncomfortably. Damn, she hadn’t thought this far, she needed to come up with something really quickly to avoid letting Diamond Tiara get another piece of satisfaction.
Fortunately for her, salvation arrived at just that moment.
“What’s that you have, Silver Spoon?” Cheerilee asked, slowly trotting down towards her desk.
Silver Spoon shot another glance at Twist, and grinned maliciously. “Oh, Twist just passed me a note to give over to Apple Bloom. I wouldn’t be an accessory to this rule-breaking though, so naturally I refused.” At the end of her fabrication, she casually shredded the note, and deposited the many slivers of paper into the trash.
“Well, that’s very well-behaved of you, Silver Spoon,” Cheerilee said, giving the dishonest filly a smile of approval. Silver Spoon flinched internally as the hollow praise faded away almost immediately.
“As for you, Twist,” the teacher continued on, “I’ll see you after class. You know that note-passing in class is not tolerated.”
Silver Spoon smiled to herself, and turned around to look back at Twist again. Her face was still flushed red, but her expression was not one of anger, or even annoyance; it was one of... relief. Silver Spoon’s eyes widened slightly as she realized that Twist must have heard Diamond Tiara enquire about the note. She hadn’t been exactly whispering, either. The filly mouthed a silent thank you, and then she returned to her work.
Silver Spoon returned to her own paper, her eyes glazing over as she looked down at the terrible math problems that she had yet to conquer.
***
Silver Spoon was back at her modest house. School had ended quite some time ago, and Celestia’s sun was setting in the sky, casting rays across the living room, sending shadows all about. The home wasn’t anywhere near the level of Diamond Tiara’s mansion, which was supported by her father being one of the most successful business stallions ever to grace Equestria.
Silver Spoon liked Filthy Rich; far more than his daughter for sure. No matter how much money he made, he stayed in Ponyville, never letting his money completely take him over. He still composed himself rather well, and was courteous to ponies around him. How Diamond Tiara had turned into an alpha bitch with such a decent pony for a father, she’ll never know. She supposed it was in the same way with her, her parents both decent hardworking ponies, and she a liar and a thief. She smiled a cruel smile, relishing in how life worked a way around just to screw you over so fantastically.
Getting off of the couch she was currently sprawled out on, Silver Spoon trotted to her kitchen. Taking a loaf of bread, she selected two nice slices from the center of the loaf, and set the down on the counter. Ripping open a drawer, she held a butter knife in her mouth. Two short trips to the fridge later, peanut butter and apple jam were lying on the pieces of bread. Laying down the butter knife, she put the two pieces together, and took a bite from her sandwich.
It was delectable, but not something that would stay with her. It was only a sandwich, after all. What would stay with her, however, was the fact that the sandwich contained apple jam. This got her thinking about Sweet Apple Acres, which in turn made her think of Apple Bloom, and her dumb friends, which in turn made her recall something they had said a few days ago. Something about a Radio Fire record...
Silver Spoon smiled. Radio Fire was a baroque pop band from the west coast of Equestria that had become everyponies’ favorite act overnight. The record was supposed to have some of the best quality that vinyl's could get on the current gramophones. Apple Bloom couldn’t have any but one from decades ago, while Silver Spoon’s was completely up to date. Surely, it would just go to waste otherwise...
It was completely dark by the time Silver Spoon had snuck over to the Cutie Mark Crusader’s clubhouse. She looked up and down the creaky stars that lead up to the wooden hangout spot, trying to come to a deduction about how best to climb into the CMC’s clubhouse.
She wasn’t any good at climbing, so she knew that her only option left was to head up the stairs. As she set her first hoof on the bottom stair, it creaked loudly, and she grimaced. She was going to need more finesse if she were going to make it through this unscathed and unheard.
Five minutes of painstakingly light hooves later, she was at the wooden door to the clubhouse. She opened it with a small creek, and took a look inside the tiny room. It was cluttered with furniture, some of which was broken, and the table in the center of the room was covered in crayon drawings and plans of what she assumed were crusades-to-be.
And there it was: the Radio Fire record, sitting next to a slightly torn beanbag, halfway out of its vinyl disk sleeve. Silver Spoon smiled slyly; her treasure was exactly where she needed it to be.
Hopping over the room, making sure not to cause anymore creaks from the wooden plank floorboards, she grabbed the disk in her mouth. Smiling around the vinyl item, she turned to the door, ready to begin her journey back home.
***
Silver Spoon’s hoof bumped up against the gramophone. Before placing the record down onto the spinning slot, she lifted the needle. Relinquishing the hold she had had on it with her mouth all the ay since the clubhouse, she used her hoof to wipe away the saliva that had come from the grip of her jaws. At long last, she dropped the needle, and flipped the switch, listening to the glorious music that poured from the machine.
The first track, entitled “Fake”, was a nice opening tune, but nothing more. It didn’t seem to have a lot of substance, true to its name. Silver Spoon smiled. Clever band! Having a “fake” song be the “fake” opening! The song was rather short as well, and after only about two minutes, the next one began to play.
This one, entitled “Borrower’s Locket”, was somewhat more mournful, while still carrying the overall tone of beauty this album had promised. The piano and the violin blended so well together, while the backing horns accented the stallion’s falsetto vocals. Silver Spoon knew that this was going to be a fabulous record.
Then came the third track.
It was called “This Year’s Thief”. It started out with some low bass chords, followed by a few higher-scaled piano notes. The whole thing seemed to be blended well together, setting up a very moody, yet suspiciously wrathful tone, all while holding together as a delicious piece of beautiful music. When the lead vocalist began to sing, however, is when it hit her.
“This is the casting call
A letter to the backstage
Detailing every silver arrow wound
Every private tomb
Every single exit womb
Aaaaaaaaaah Aaaaaaaah...
Yes, it’s messed-up, and
We’re dressed up for the
Oooooooooooh Ohhhhhhhhh
It’s time to take another chance...”
Silver Spoon had no idea why the lyrics had sounded so odd to her, but her mind was twisted with a terrible uneasy emotion. Right now, the piano was jaunting, and the guitar was ripping through the the next set of patterns. The second set of lyrics started, and Silver Spoon felt her stomach contort.
“And do you question why
They left you standing here in the cold of winter
Without anything to eat for dinner
Wasting in the frozen water
Cooooooooooooooooooold...
You set yourself up to high
You left your chances on the dressing room floor
You left the wind at the door
And you thought, it’s taught, it’s all far too fought
Every last tree branch lost the leaf
You’re nothing but this year’s thief!”
Silver Spoon sank to the floor, the realization of earlier swimming through her head as the song slowly faded into the next one.
Had she made the right choice? Had it been better to prefer power of strength of character?
“It’s too late now,” she told herself, “I’m in far too deep. I've got to stick it out until the end.”
The next song droned along, but she wasn’t listening to it anymore.
Outside, it began to rain.
