Art of Tragedy

The streets of Ponyville lay cold and damp. The flight of the wind sends chills ripping through my body every night. My only protection from the cruelty of the elements is an alleyway, an old newspaper, and an empty trash can.

I used to have a family in Baltimare until I was five years old. My mother, Brush Stroke and my father, Sketch, treated me like a prince. I was the world to them. They were always there for me through the thick and thin. They gave me love, shelter, warmth, and more importantly, food. Everything a filly or colt could ask for from parents. Now with them gone and nopony else to turn to, I've been stuck roaming across Equestria looking for a home, being everywhere from Manehatten to Las Pegasus, Appleloosa to Fillydelphia. I just can't seem to find a good home that will hold on to me. Whenever I beg for food, money, shelter, I get scolded and ignored for it. Those ponies don't know what it's like to be living day-to-day on small amounts of food and any drinkable liquid I can find. Everyday is a fight for life.

I feel that this battle may end in defeat.

As I said, I used to live with my parents until the age of five, until they split. I didn't see it coming. They were the perfect parents. It shocked me when they split. I don't remember what the reason was for their split, but all I can remember was that my father found out my mother was seeing another stallion and everything went downhill from there. They fought all day and everyday, for a couple weeks. I remember I came home from school one day with my mother to find my father hanging from our ceiling fan. The look and screams of my mother was something that I never want to hear or see again. I just remember her and I holding each other and crying non-stop for hours. Every time I recall this story, I want to cry until I can cry no more. The images of my father's lifeless, grey body are still plastered to the inside of my eyelids. Every time I sleep, I dream that terrible afternoon, like it doesn't want to leave.

As for my mother, that's an area I hardly ever tread if asked. If-and when-I'm asked, all I can do is tell whoever the story whilst crying uncontrollably. It wasn't like my father's untimely departure, as I now wish it was. It was a few weeks after my father's death, when school was just letting out. My mother hadn't been there to walk home with me, so I just started on my own. The day was rather chilly and dry from what I recall. The weather did turn my nose red and encouraged me to run faster to home.

Arriving home bought me to the sight of a note that was hung on the door with a nail. It was a bit out of my reach, luckily  a whisper of wind ripped the paper off its iron captor. It was a short, little note that was from my mother. It was one of the saddest things I have ever read. I kept the note to this day, holding it close to me at night to try and give me some kind of hope that I'll find a home. The note read,

Art,

I want you to know that I love you very much and would never harm you. Unfortunately, I can't promise that today. Please, whatever you do, do NOT go inside. I don't want you to see my sadness on the floor. Tell the nearest mare or stallion and show them this note. I love you, my baby

-Brush Stroke

Everything was a blur. All I can remember is running and crying to the school, telling my teacher about what I read, showing her the note I had found. The expression her face wore was that of my mother's. Shocked. Saddened. Everything that I never wanted to see. We went to the authorities and they conducted their investigation. That was the last I ever heard of the situation. I was stuck living with my teacher, until she couldn't allow me to as she had a few young ones of her own and couldn't afford to raise another.

That's when I was sent off to an orphanage. The orphanage slept in the heart of the Baltimare. The living condition of the orphanage wasn't too bad, but it wan't the greatest. I lived with four fillies, three other colts, and our caregiver. Her name has left my mind, along with the young ones' and I truly don't want to remember them. All I know is that she was nice at first, I'm guessing as a way to show me that being orphan wasn't so bad, then she turned into a demon. She worked all of us to the bone, making us scrub the floors until they shined like the sun itself and allowed our caregiver to see her own reflection. We also had to wash our clothes, if we had any, make our bed, which wasn't so bad. Making our beds led to us having to wash those sheets and place them back exactly to the caregiver liked them. If we messed up one of those tasks even the slightest, we had to start over. I didn't know how those other ponies managed to put up with this for so long and not complain once. This became the usual until I was wrongly accused of shutting off the heat during the night. I knew who did it and tried to tell her but the ponies all said I had shut off the heat.

That's when I was kicked out.

I was kicked out and was forced to either find another orphanage or try and find another home. Both of these failed miserably. I was turned away from every home and the next orphanage was in Manehatten. That's when I hopped on the train, said goodbye to Baltimare, everyone I knew, and a building I once called home. Ever since, I've been living on the rails, riding from to city to city, town to town, even going as far North as the Frozen North outskirts. I have only just arrived in Ponyville, hoping to find a home and a warm place to stay, from what I've heard from others. I hope that they're right, as this is the last place I'll stay. Life or death, I will live here.

Hoping to find a family.