The Ballad of Xyclone

My name used to be Skyler Wilson. I was a 16-year-old dude from Vancouver, Canada and I resided in Nashville, Tennessee, USA.

And I was a brony.

I hated my life. I was made fun of all the time. I was bullied for having a girl’s name, “Skyler”. I was bullied because of my appearance. I was bullied because of my opinion on things. And then, later in life, I was also bullied most because of my infatuation with the television program “My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic”. Hey, it wasn't my fault the show was so damn awesome. Every single day, I would get called “faggot” and “queer” because of this reason. It used to not be like that; I once had a wonderful life before that. But my life entered a downward spiral eight years before, after the best friend I ever had, Veloci, died in a tragic…let’s say “accident”. He was the best friend a guy could have, he was so cool, he was—and you’re gonna get a kick out of this—he was a velociraptor. That’s right; I was best friends with a talking dinosaur. I know it seems wacko, but I swear I’m not even kidding. See, my father was an inventor at the time, and he’d invented this cool time machine where he went back to prehistoric times and met this extremely intelligent velociraptor, so intelligent that he had the ability to speak. While my father attempted to do experiments on Veloci—that’s the name we gave him—when he brought him to present times, he became really good friends with me, my father, and my brother Devon. We all went on cool adventures in my father’s time machine. However, my father was often put in danger by the time machine because of its dysfunctionality, and he often had to make modifications to it—although, none of them worked, and my father still somehow ended up in trouble every time. One day, though, there was a huge problem with the time machine—that I don’t really want to go too much into because it’s hard for me to talk about—that caused Veloci to be vaporized into thin air. Anyway, shortly after that, my father finally perfected the design of the time machine, discovering that the best design was a British police box. He named it The T.A.R.D.I.S. Don’t ask me what it means, because I really don’t know, not even to this day. He even invented a remote control for it: a modified pen which he named The Sonic Screwdriver. My father started acting strangely then. He started calling himself The Doctor—even though he had no PhD—and described his profession as a “timelord”. Anyway, my father started ignoring me and not paying any attention to me after Devon was institutionalized. You may ask, “Why was he institutionalized?” Well, Devon suffered through some…“traumatic experiences” during our adventures with Veloci. He tried to tell everyone that he knew a talking dinosaur and, well, need I say more? Everyone thought of him as crazy. Who wouldn’t? If some dude just walked up to you on the street and said that he knew a talking prehistoric reptile, what would you say? You may also be wondering where my mother is in all this. Well, she left my father when he started making crazy inventions. I don’t know, nor do I care where she is. Anyway, that’s when everything went downhill. That was eight whole years ago. Afterward, it was just the same routine every day: I'd wake up, take a shower, watch an episode of MLP, go to school, get harassed, go home, and get asked the same generic questions from my father—the quote-unquote “timelord”. Well, there you go. That was my previous back-story. Now…enough of me rambling on about past incidents. It’s time for the real story. The story of when everything changed.