In a Cello Mood

Dear Diary,

It takes seven steps to get from the living room to the kitchen. One hoof at a time. Past the dusty bookshelves with romance novels that can never be in real life, past the door and into the kitchen.

It takes two steps to get from the kitchen door to the fridge. Cheese, dry bread - why put it in the fridge? Cause Dad said so - and lettuce. Close the door. No breakfast today. No breakfast yesterday. Breakfast is a distraction. You can only feel slightly alive on an empty stomach.

It takes three steps to get from the fridge to the bathroom. I don’t feel alive. But as I brush my teeth, as I see my reflection in the mirror, when I try to brush my hair and wash my face, I realise I am alive. At least, I should be.

It takes four steps to get from the bathroom to the living room. It takes two steps to get from the living room door to the window. ...It takes fourteen storeys to die hitting the ground. One storey is not enough. It takes two steps to sigh and get from the window to the living room door.

It takes one step to take the keys from the little cupboard by the exit. It takes two steps to walk out and close the door.

It takes a million steps to fix a life.

***

“Did you hear?”

Octavia covered a yawn with her hoof, walking out of the university building side by side with Vinyl, Lyra and Bon-Bon following suit. She glanced a loving side glance at her marefriend, keeping her attention on what the spinner was saying, instead of focusing entirely on her flank. “Hear what, love?”

Lyra sighed and stopped, rubbing her eyelids with a hood tiredly. “Vinyl, of course we’ve ‘heard’ the news.” She wrapped a protective hoof around Bon-Bon, who blushed, looking around to see if anypony was paying attention to their little frivolities. “Did you forget that I know stuff? And I share everything with my Bon-Bon.” With that, Lyra smooched the cream-coloured pony loudly on the cheek, eliciting a small yelp from the usually somewhat dignified mare.

“Would you go so far as to say…” Vinyl grinned, taking off her spectacles. “That that’s what you do? You drink and you know things.” The spinner put on her spectacles again in a swift motion, still grinning, casting a look at her marefriend, waiting for approval.

“No.” Lyra glared at the white mare. “First, you do not reference that show. Second, not every reader has seen that episode yet. Third, these are spectacles, not shades.”

“Episode of what?” Octavia blinked.

“Readers?” Bon-Bon blinked as well, still in her marefriend’s embrace. “Okay, that’s just a Lyra thing,” she concluded aloud, before freeing herself from the mint unicorn’s grip.

“So what’s the news, Vinyl?” Octavia prompted as the four went on their way. “I am not an omniscient mare, I am still oblivious.”

“Beauty Brass dumped Frederic!” the DJ announced proudly, the grin never leaving her face. “Heard it from Neon, and Neon heard it from a mare who’s a friend of Beauty’s…” She shrugged. “If she can ever have friends.”

“She can,” Octavia whispered very quietly. “Why?” she asked in a louder voice. “What was the reason behind that?” She kept the pace, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, even though she knew, she’d heard Beauty, she’d talked to her and…

“Well, she said it wasn’t going to work out.” Vinyl shrugged, dropping the grin. “I mean, who cares? She said she liked somepony else or something like that.” Vinyl placed her front hoof on Octavia’s back. “Who cares? She’ll just have another stallion to drain life from, but it isn’t going to be Frederic.”

Octavia tensed but didn’t free herself from the embrace. Thoughts tried to surface in her head, and they did surface, to some extent, but they absolutely refused to be put together. It felt like she had a vague idea, an idea regarding Beauty, but she couldn’t quite put it in words inside her mind. If Beauty had truly heard her words then, and had taken them close to heart… If she had listened, and thus had reimagined her relationship with Frederic… If she had been driven by guilt, then maybe she, Octavia, had a part to play there? And was that a bad thing or a good thing?

“We all make mistakes,” Octavia said aloud, trying to sound dispassionate, but her voice still trembled. “I know only too well. I made a mistake in the Crystal Empire.”

Vinyl shook her head sadly. “I made a mistake too… uh, you know.” She looked at Octavia understandingly. “And you know too, Lyra. But you’re a good mare, so you’ll keep silent.”

“I’m a bad mare only when Bonnie gets out the riding crop.” Lyra winked at the cream-coloured, but now very pink-ish, mare. “And sure, everypony makes mistakes. I voted for Trump.”

Octavia just sighed, disregarding Lyra’s usual… Lyra-ness. Something was not right here, and, while she couldn’t hear it from Beauty… “I’m gonna go visit Frederic,” the cellist said. “See if he needs a shoulder to cry on.”

***

“Okay,” Octavia admitted, cradling the tea in her hooves. “I thought you needed a shoulder to cry on, but you seem pretty much all right, Freddie.” She motioned with her hoof. “No alcohol, and such calm acceptance. You did like her, though, right?”

“I’m strong inside, Octavia,” Frederic replied with a smile, approaching the table and putting his own mug next to the plate of cheese and the jar of honey. “You haven’t visited me in a while. I’m glad you came, and I’m glad you came for me.”

Octavia chuckled, taking a sip of the tea. “You know, all I can think about is that Vinyl would probably make a dirty joke out of your words.” The mare laughed lightly, raising her eyes to look at her friend. “Okay, no, she would definitely make a dirty joke out of your words.”

“I’m glad you and Vinyl are together,” Frederic said, drinking his own tea, with milk, just the way Octavia remembered him always drink his tea. “Beauty and I, we went our separate ways.”

“She…” Octavia tried to adopt a cautious tone. “She, uhm, she has found somepony else? Another stallion?”

Frederic laughed aloud, resuming his eye contact with the grey mare only after ceasing his laughter. “Another stallion?” He sighed and rested his chin on top of his hooves. “Octavia, don’t tell me you haven’t realised yet.”

“Realised what?” Octavia asked cautiously, a realisation creeping into her head, but first lingering next to her heart, delivering a sharp, meaty sting.

“She likes somepony else, Octavia.” Frederic stood up and approached the mare, placing his hoof on her shoulder. “And that somepony is you.”

***

“Yes, Father?”

“...”

“No, I… I have broken up with Frederic.”

“...”

“Yes, I know he is a Horseshopin, but Father, that wasn’t-”

“...”

“I am not going to apologise to him and make up with him!”

“...”

“Father, we’re over it. I like somepony else.”

“...”

“No, it’s not a rich stallion.”

“...”

“No, Father, I am not a filly-fooler.”

“...”

“Yes, I know you’d kill me if I were a filly-fooler.”

“...”

“Father, I am not going to-”

“...”

“Father, you can’t mean this! You can stop sending money to me, but keep sending it to Mom! She needs-”

“...”

“...Yes. Of course. I will try to make up with Frederic.”

“...”

“I know you want your grand-foals to be of good heritage, Father.”

“...”

“Yes, Father. Love you too.”

***

You know, Diary, sometimes I have this dream where I live on the top floor of a skyscraper, in a penthouse bought entirely with what I earned myself, not what my parents earned for me. I cradle a glass of mulled wine in winter and I watch the snow descend regally outside, little snowflakes spiralling down from the sky.

I walk up to the window and climb onto the small table by the window that holds the vinyl player. I open the window and let the wind rush in. The usually green earth is all covered with dark, painful white. The pink moon winks at the shining sun. I reach for it, and I lean out of the window.

And then I fall.

Beauty Brass, November 2nd