Alone With The Silence of The Symphony
Listen With an Empty Heart
Pinkie Pie heard music.
She always heard the music.
The silence of the empty streets of midnight pressed upon her back. Pushed her toward the house. Her ears pricked to every rise and fall in the moving sounds that came from it. The laughter. The happy talking, sharing secrets of self and of friendship in trust. The music.
A twitch of her hoof could have told Pinkie what she knew of the clock on her distant bedside table ticking away the hours she had left to sleep. In this moment, she cared nothing for the rest she needed; for the parties she had thrown today and the parties she would throw tomorrow. No aching head or legs or bones to tell her what they needed in this moment. Only the soft silence of the street. The pondering silence of her heart. The great, aching silence in her head that reached longingly for the motes of sound that floated on the air. And the music.
The voices rose so beautifully in unison from within the house. A chill breeze seemed to pass across the mare's back, raising her fur on end. She approached the side of the house. The living winds of night gently tugged at the weeds that sprouted from the dust against the wall, their rustling joining the sounds from inside in serendipitous time. Hooves moved silently as she drew beneath the window of the house's front room, and warm light crept and then trickled upon her face and flanks in chinks from between the heavy curtains as she neared. Leaning slowly forward, her face tingling with dull anticipation, Pinkie pressed one yearning ear against the melodiously thrumming smooth cold of the glass. Eyes stared gently into the middle darkness, clouded by her focus on the sounds of the music within. In silence she listened.
***
Lyra was beaming warmly. It wasn't often her best friend Octavia came to visit her from Canterlot.
The uplifting melody of the harmony in her chest came to a glorious peak with the voice of her friend as her hoof-tip strummed gently at the final note of their song of friendship. The finishing breath of "ahh" died happily with the reverberations of the instruments and was almost instantaneously reborn as deep-hearted laughter. Octavia leaned her weight against Lyra's side, laughing as she laid her precious cello gently against the couch. Lyra reached a hoof around her should and dragged her deep into the side-hug, laughing.
"That was awesome girl! I miss all your ideas for compositions down here in Ponyville. Why don't you come and live here already?"
Octavia pulled her hindhooves up onto the couch and leaned into the cushions behind her, laughing the suggestion away. "Uhm, a little thing called 'my career' Lyra? It is a little important, no?"
Lyra fake-pouted, before waggling her eyebrows to elicit a guffaw from her friend. "So how's Scratchy? Somepony told me you two were dating?"
A chuckle. "Were. Didn't last long." There was a short silence before they both broke down in giggles.
When her aching sides couldn't take it anymore Lyra rolled off the couch gasping for air and cantered across the room to a loaded desk, grabbing a large stack of music sheets and hopping back onto the couch to drop them on the cushion between her and Octavia. "Been writing a few things myself" she gasped out, taking a few moments to clutch at her stomach. ("ow!") Grinning, Octavia ran her eyes over the messily-scribbled musical notes, silently taking note of where the tune could be made neater and laughingly taking in the bit of nuanced humour in Lyra's lyrics.
Turning to the second song in the stack Lyra's "So...." interrupted her thoughts. A grinning "Wanna play it?" and a grin in return.
Grey hoof on polished brown neck, mouth strapping bow to hoof. Two aquamarine hooves on gleaming strings, one mint-green lock of mane brushed against the golden wood of the harp. A minute of ringing clamour of testing notes to strings and two husky voices humming in harmony. A moment of pregnant silence. Then music.
Glowing moats of sound from the harp strings danced about the deep stream of song that flowed from the cello as Octavia's hoof swayed expertly back and forth and Lyra's hooftips skipped along familiar strings. First one voice then the other picked up then died down before rising together in harmony. Their river of sound cascaded through the room and for the two friends a lifetime of love and friendship danced and spun and carried them through their shared memories, lives and hopes for the future. A world of happiness was opened by their hooves and voices and it poured from within them into the space of the room.
***
In the darkness outside sat Pinkie alone. Her ears stretching out against the glass. Locks of pink mane rustling slowly in the breeze before her glassy eyes. Forehooves locked tightly against her aching chest. Her cheek leaned against the the sill, a deep mark slowly pressing into her damp fur.
It was stupid. She knew that. She had been laughing all day; singing, dancing, screaming, laughing, all beside the greatest friends she could ever have. Welcoming her friend Lyra's best friend to Ponyville and making herself a new friend. Knowing how happy Lyra was. Hearing her happiness. The voices from inside sang loudly of joy; the very thing Pinkie lived for. And the tears rolled silently down her face. Her hooves trembled in the dust. Her tail twitched against the weeds.
Time stretched on.
Lyra sang with Octavia inside.
The harp sang with the bow.
And no-one sang with Pinkie.
She sat alone and cried.
Many songs and many bouts of laughter passed and Pinkie slowly untangled her stiff hooves after an immeasurable amount of time and silently wandered down the block to the darkened Sugarcube Corner, the music following her quietly on the breeze. Made her silent way between the closed doors of the twins' room and the Cakes', the hollow echoes of the music calling in her head.
The next day she would wake afresh with energy, ready to fill her heart and life with the joyous laughter of her friends as she joked and played and sang for them.
But as the darkness of sleep came to meet her where she lay listless atop her bed, it was the silent symphonies of inexplicable and immeasurable sadness that played within her head.
