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                      Nothing Special                      
                      -by Fereverent-                      
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                       Getting There                       
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Getting There
I don't really know when it started. But I also don't really know what "it" is. Perhaps I should just begin where the problems started.
     Although, in truth, I don't know when that was either.
     I can tell you I've had slim emotions for as long as I can remember. And when you're the middle child in a family of nine, you tend to learn to hide your emotions. Even from yourself.
     My brothers had almost everything to do with it, each of them taking an even fraction of the fault for my instability. Not to say that they accept the blame for making me like this, but it's because of them.
     My oldest brother, Stone, always made sure he was in peak physical condition. Everything he did with me involved athletics. His cutie mark was a depiction of a pickaxe hacking at a stone. If not for the image of a flash, the stone would blend with his coat. He spent plenty of time digging ditches, which was easy with his strength.
     The next was Chat. He was practiced in speech and could start a conversation with a single word and win and argument, even if he knows he's wrong. He's just that good with his words. He pursued other knowledge as well, dedicating himself to school and research.
     After him was Wave. He was incredibly laid back his entire life, chill, I think he described it as. We took a trip to the coast once and he was a natural surfer. He went back the first chance he got, but returns often to mooch off his parents. He was the only one who really considered me his brother, I wish we had more in common.
     I am the next oldest, Page. I know what you're thinking, that's a filly's name! Well, I was told by Chat that our parents were expecting a filly and had already chosen the name. Ma tried to spare my feelings by telling me that Wave was also planned to be a girl, but I know better than to believe anything that either of them told me. I was satisfied with the name when my cutie mark appeared, depicting the image of  a pure white scroll, stamped with a soft purple star, the same color as my eyes. It symbolized my talent in writing. I had the ability to turn an innocent sheet of paper into anything, using words. Granted, my version of words is much different from Chat's, but mine is much more creative.
     My first kid brother is Note. He can do some pretty nifty things with sounds, though he's not the most talented singer, or instrumentalist. Mostly he uses other ponies' sounds to his advantage, making some decent music.
     The youngest colt is Sprout. He hasn't grown up enough for us to know exactly what he's all about, but he's a very entertaining colt. He tends to spend a lot of time in the dirt and grass, and the rest of it in a bath tub.
     The youngest is Breeze. She was quite a surprise, seeing as she's a pegasus, and both our parents are earth ponies. Pa was quite upset for a while, while Ma tried convincing him that it was in her genes. After some time, Pa eventually returned home, drunken and filthy. He either forgot about the problem, or decided he didn't care enough to leave Ma.
     As I said, that leaves me the middle child. You know what they say about the middle child, right? About how they always get the broken end of each stick? Considering most thing go to the youngest to help them grow, or to the oldest to help them move on, the middle child gets what's left. But I never complained, at least not out loud.
     Discovering my lack of emotional and/or mental stability took some time. Most of my younger years passed with storming rage at my casual older brothers or naive little brothers. I always ended up being responsible toward Breeze, no matter what strain it put on me.
     Of course, the Turner family was not the only thing that made me the way I am, but I'll get to that soon. I'd like to start earlier back, before the births of the two youngest.
     I had but one true friend growing up. Her name was Rosettasound, I called her Rose. She had the most beautiful singing voice for a filly her age, and she stood up for me. Having my name, you can imagine I was often picked on, and having a rather feminine figure tended to make matters worse. She fought back, comforted me, played games with me, we even sang together, the most marvelous duets in the town of Stirrupburg. She would seek me out in my most desperate times, in my most secret hiding places, just to lay with me and let me snivel. She would build my confidence with compliments on my "maple syrup coat," or my "dark chocolate mane." She made me happy.
     However, as we grew, she tended to show more interest in my older brother Wave. Her traits seemed to changed to match his better than mine. Each time she visited, she would act bored with my suggestions and ask about Wave and where he was. I ended up just pretending to also be interested in what Wave was up to, just for the sake of spending time with my best friend.
     That was when I began to truly know what it took to cry. I cried myself to sleep the night I discovered that my brother was her new best friend. I cried until I slept that night, thinking of all kinds of scenarios in which I argued with either Wave or Rose in which I expressed all my rage. I thought of every possible phrase, insult, explanation, and come-back that could have occurred, had the experiences actually come to pass.
     After a while, I decided it best to keep my emotions to myself and only show others what they expected of me. At times, I might have lost control and lashed out at somepony, but they would have deserved it.
     I made many other acquaintances throughout my school years, but none of them really worth remembering. One I thought was particular, but he changed quickly. I had pleasant times with another, and thought he might help me make up for losses, but he moved away. Most of the time I was alone in our little rural area of Equestria.
     Anyhow, there's a story I'm trying to get to, but like I said I can't remember where it started. Perhaps I'll begin at my last year of high school. You know enough of my past to understand, right?
     So, when I said my last year of high school, that did not mean I graduated. I dropped out when our family declared ourselves too poor to afford for any of us to go to school. Ma could not afford the school lunches, or the transportation for late arrivals, and Pa was running himself ragged with the chores about the farm. Stone was still around, but stayed occupied with digging in the field. As important as that was, it was not the only thing to do. Chat had moved off to a college in Los Pegasus. I think he's looking to become a lawyer. Wave stayed away until he needed sustenance. Note was straight up lazy, and both Sprout and Breeze were considered too young to take care of the actual work.
     That left me. Jeez, I really hated being responsible. I wasn't as buff as Stone, but I was the next best of us sons.
     The day I announced to my acquaintances that I would no longer be attending the school, I was bombarded with the question of whether or not it was true, then with the query of whether or not I would return, then the thought of if I thought it would be better. The answers were simple: yes, no, yes. I never admitted to thinking I would be happier away from school out loud, but it was despairingly true.
     Ma did her best to continue my education, but wasn't an all too adequate teacher. I mostly just held on to my books and what I already knew about proper speech and grammar. That would be what got me far.
     I met my father on the front porch early in the morning. The rooster crowed as he stepped through the front door. "Ready sport?" He grumbled, gravelly with a morning hoarseness.
     "As I'll ever be." I faked a yawn to imitate a tired facade to see if it would be good enough to get me out of more work. I was as up and ready as I could be, seeing as I had coordinated my insomnia so perfectly, on accident, to give me a fine amount of sleep before I woke up at four o'clock every day. I suddenly felt bad for lying to my father to get out of work. I argued with myself as I walked down the beaten path to the barn;
Anypony would have done it.
But I'm not anypony, I'm Page Turner, and things are expected of me.
Well maybe once in a while you can take one of those breaks you deserve.
I don't want to take a break from hard work. The exercise is good for me.
I didn't mean from work. You and I both know what you really deserve, and what you want.
     Conversations like this occurred extremely often, ever since I decided that being alone was best for me. I actually came up with a theory that my head harbored a second brain. Not full-sized, mind you. More so that half of my brain fits in with half of another brain. My brain dominates my actions and such parts, and the other controls pieces of logical thinking and anger management.
     I am snapped back to attention when Pa drops a sack of chicken feed at my hooves. I am not startled by it, but my thoughts are interrupted. "The can is just outside the door of the coop. Be sure to take the lid off before you open the sack and only feed them two scoops. Collect the eggs and bring 'em inside to be washed."
     I threw the sack onto my back like a heavy saddle bag and slugged off toward the chicken house. The walk would take me a good five minutes, so I decide to side track a little to gather a pale of water for the setting hen. I could then use the pale to carry the eggs.
     I make it to the coop atop the hill and drop the sack. The pale's handle still in my mouth, I splash some water onto my face. No doubt work would only get more tedious throughout the day, but I wanted to take the opportunity whenever I could. I slipped open the lock and opened the door to the small building. A dozen hens scurried out, followed by two roosters. I popped the lid off the feed can and the tore open the sack. I lifted the fresh feed carefully into the empty container. After that I peppered two quart-sized scoops onto the ground for the flock.
     Beside the coop is a small cage, fit with a box. Inside, a fat hen sits on a dozen fertilized eggs. There are two cups in front of her. I carefully fill one with feed and the other with water. There is water left over, so I drink it myself. I then use the empty pale for collecting freshly laid eggs. There are only three right now, but the hens will return to lay more throughout the day.
     I carry the eggs inside where Ma is beginning breakfast. "Oh good," she chimes, "just enough eggs to finish." I smile at the convenience and she smiles back. "It'll get better," she promises. "Just give it time."
     I nod. Even though I know that nothing could get worse now that I didn't have to deal with high school, I make it seem like it's been difficult for me. No sense in dashing her ideas and making her feel stupid. I'm the only one that needs to feel that way.
     I carry on with my chores, trying to memorize the list in order to follow through with each ever-day task without having to be told. It will be easier when I get it into a cycle, even though repetition was what really drove me over the edge in school.
     Early morning chores are few and we pause for breakfast just after sunrise, around 7:00. After breakfast comes dishes, then I have to feed the pigs our leftovers. Next is letting the goats out, which we had milked earlier in the morning. Pa says goat's milk is richer than cow's, and harder to come by. That makes it more expensive. Either way, the cheese is good. Once the goats are out in the field grazing I get to reap the wheat. I get about one-seventh of the first field finished. If I make the same progress each day, I will finish by the end of the week. There are nine wheat fields, so reaping will last all season as long as I'm only one doing it. That doesn't bother me, I get a maniacal glee while swinging the scythe.
     Stone and Pa are cutting wood for the upcoming winter while I harvest. I don’t complain, even though swinging an ax is far more simple than a scythe. At the end of the month, Pa will teach me how to sharpen the blade, but before long harvest season will be over with and I will get a different chore.
     I finish the harvest when lunch is called. That means I get a few hours rest. After lunch, Stone has to gather up the wheat I chopped down and tie it up into piles. If we were like those farmers with more money, we could get ourselves one of those fancy balers so we could stack them in the barn. While he gathers the wheat, I begin bucking apples. Our farm isn't big on apples, we only have one field, but an old friend from a distant farm taught us how to grow, care for, and harvest apples. He told us that apples grown just the right way were the most delicious fruits we could taste. After a few years, the trees were fully grown and we had bushels upon bushels of red delicious apples every year. We dried about half of each year's harvest for storage. The rest would be baked, juiced, sauced, or sold. I am only instructed to buck a total of ten buckets full of apples a day. Pa would also take care of ten buckets himself. Stone never really got the hang for it, despite his magnificent, muscular hind legs. And Note would only manage a few buckets before claiming exhaustion and giving up. He was the worst of us all when it came to work.
     After that I help watch over the youngsters, clean up around the house, and even tend to the vegetable garden. Usually that's just up to Ma, but it makes everyone happier when we help each other out.
     After the end of harvest season, Ma comes to me with a surprise.
     "I've signed you up for a book club," she cheers at the breakfast table. "All your friends from school will be going."
    How could she possibly know whom all of my "friends" were, or that they would all be going to book club?
     "They meet every Saturday at noon for lunch," she continued. "Do you know where the library is."
     "Yeah mom," I tell her, "I used to go there after school like, every week."
     "Wonderful, they meet there in a room downstairs. The first meeting will be choosing a book, so get some ideas."
     The first meeting is the least expected scenario I could have experienced. Three fillies I had never met before and one filly I never heard speak. I was the only colt. Apparently the two best friends knew exactly who I was, given my past appearances on the school's stage. That was where they learned my name, their attraction toward me grew as they followed me and learned more about my secluded life-style. Apparently girls were into guys who kept to themselves.
     Once the chaperon arrived we introduced ourselves.
     "Hi everypony," the first pegasus filly said, "I'm Fashionista. I'm in my second year of high school and am captain of the cheer-leading team!" She threw her arms up and donned an incredibly peppy smile.
     Fashionista's earth pony friend went next. "Hi, I'm Penny. Penny Pincher, but you can just call me Penny. I'm also in my second year of high school and am on the cheer-leading squad. Nista and me are here to practice our words and reading skills to get more boys."
     "Oh my Celestia, Penny I can't believe you told them that," the cheer captain squeaked, never losing her outrageous grin. "Everyone, I swear on my adorable, mint-scented mane that that is not why I came here."
     "You big liar, Nista." They smiled at each other and slapped at one another's hooves as a sort of game. Once they were stopped they were quiet enough for us to listen to the next pony.
    "Hello," the silent earth pony said. "My name is Muriel. I work on a rock farm outside town. I like to read often." She was more silent than I imagined, like the whisper of a mouse trying not to alert a nearby sleeping cat.
     After that was the unicorn filly next to me. "Hi everyone. I'm Minty Swirl. I'm a new student this year on my third year and joined the book club in hopes of meeting other ponies who shared my interests." She drew my attention, curiously. I listened carefully as she spoke, mesmerized by her cool tone. Her mint-green-and-chocolate mane was combed into a delicious swirl around her horn, and her aquamarine coat was clean and smelled like salt water taffy. Not to say that I deliberately sniffed her!
     She caught me staring and I cleverly faded my glance away. The adult had been introducing herself while I gawked at Minty Swirl. I didn't hear her name or occupation. I hoped I would learn it some other way. I was to go last.
     "Umm, Hi. I'm Page Turner--"
     "Oh my gosh, that is like the most convenient name for a book club guy." Nista's voice grated in my mind after the interruption. She was hushed by the adult and I continued.
     "I was in my third year of high school, but had to pull out because of our family's...uh, hardships."
     After an incredibly brief pause in silence, Penny jumped. "Holy cow, Nista that means we're the youngest ones here!"
     "Not yet," Nista began, "Muriel never even told us--"
     "I'm on my last year." Muriel  input.
     "Holy cow Penny, you're so right! We're the adorable babies!"
     I noticed a discrete eye roll from Minty at the reaction of the cheerleaders. My mouth even twitched into a grin on one side.
     After an hour of getting absolutely nowhere with the commencement of our book club, we were dismissed. As I gathered my belongings, Minty Swirl stepped beside me. "Hey," she said.
     "Hello Minty Swirl," I responded.
     "Call me Mint," she insisted. "I can't help but notice you seem a little...well, depressed."
     "You'd be the first to assume that."
     "Well, I'll do my best," she sighed. "Are you all right?"
     "I'm getting there." As I lift my bags to place them on my flanks, the strap breaks and my books and papers fall about. I sigh and lower my head to begin gathering them. Before I can grab the first page, a magic aura glows and sweeps it away from me. My bag floated next to Mint, glowing with the same transparent blue-green as her horn.
     "I don't think so," she says while she replaces every article as I had already placed it, as well as tying the broken ends of the strap back together. She didn't get much time to elaborate. I heard a violent crashing just outside and a second later Note was inside panting and sputtering.
     Before I get a chance to ask he begins spurting fragments of sentences. "Page...the farm...Pa needs...hurry."
     He collapsed to the ground and I rush out the door, followed by Mint. "Stay with him," I instruct, waiting outside the door. "He will need someone to help him recuperate. He can help you find the farm when he comes to."
     "He's just winded," she retorts. "Give him a second to breathe and he'll be okay. He can find his own way back, after finding his own way here."
     "You don't know him, he'll take four times as long as you or I to rest."
     "Then it will take him that much longer to get back." She raised an eyebrow. "You're running out of time."
     I grunt, and drop my bags on Note before running off toward the farm. I can only assume the book club chaperone notices the unconscious body of my brother in the doorway before she leaves. I don't really care much about what happens to him, nothing much was wrong with him. But according to his tone, something was desperately wrong with Pa.
     Mint was panting heavily after the first two minutes of running, there were still a good six minutes to go. I say nothing, she manages to keep up.
     When we get to the farm, Ma has Breeze on her back and Sprout by her side watching despairingly into the surrounding forest. I run up to her and ask what happened. "Something startled the goats," she began. "All four of them plowed through the fence and ran off. Your father tried to stop them and steer them back, but was only trampled. He claimed to be OK, and went after them with Stone, but I doubt he'll be OK very long."
     I didn't wait for anything else. Taking immediate action I charged into the forest where it appeared the goats had run. I'm not really one for tracking animals, so I had absolutely no luck in finding any of the four goats. I did find my brother, though, who had managed to get one. He had clamped his jaw around one of its horns and was struggling to drag it back toward the farm. I reach for one of the biggest vines I can see and tear it off the tree. We use it as a leash and Stone leads the goat back to the barn.
     I continue searching. I rushed into the forest in plans of searching for goats, but as the daylight sank I grew more worried for my father.
     After sundown I am aching from strained muscles and various scrapes from the chase. I hear the ringing of the dinner bell and feel some relief. They must have found them all and were waiting for me to begin eating. When I return, it's a whole other story. Ma had rung the bell to call us back and give up on the hunt. Stone and I emerge from the forest almost simultaneously. We rush to Ma at the bell on the porch.
     "Where's pa?" I demand, first-off.
     Ma shakes her head and her lower lip quivers.
     "Where's your friend?" Stone asks.
     Minty Swirl! I had forgotten she followed me from the library. Had she also followed me into the woods? Would she be able to find her way out?
     My head was racing more than usual. We had to find them.

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                        Someone New                        
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Someone New
     As Stone and I run frantic through the forest the sky grows darker. The moon is only a crescent tonight, so there is not much light and it getting harder to see.
I slow down and try listening. In recent years I have found my hearing to be far more adequate than my eyesight, even with my expensive glasses. I had worn the glasses since I was five. It's practically a miracle that I found out about my advanced hearing.
     At first I don't hear much more than my own heavy breathing and powerful heartbeat. I stop for a few seconds to calm down and listen more closely. I hear the breeze, but don't feel it. It stays high, in the treetops, with the birds. The birds shuffle in their nests as they prepare for sleep.
     I hear hoof steps to my right. They are distant and alone, but not in any particular hurry. I look in that direction and see a silhouette trotting in the distance. I can tell by the stallion's stature that it is Stone. He is still searching, like me: seemingly in vain.
     I close my eyes and concentrate farther away. An owl hoots, a critter scurries, a twig snaps. My eyes snap open. The only thing I can think of in this forest, at this time that would snap a twig is another pony. Stone is still to my right. I begin to gallop forward.
     I still see few things, but there is enough moonlight to navigate past trees. My luck turns: a thick, dark cloud drifts over the crescent moon and blackens the forest to pitch. I stop. Now what?
     In the direction I was running, a blue-green glow illuminates a good hundred feet around the shadowy images of two ponies. I recognize the magical glow as the same aura that Minty Swirl used when she picked up my supplies at the library. My heart leaps as the assumption comes, that Minty had found my father and was following him back to the house.
     I start running toward them once I am convinced it is them. I get closer more quickly than I intended. My haste startles the two and the light goes out.
     "Pa?" I call out. "Mint, are you there?"
     "Yeah, over here," I hear Minty Swirl respond. Her magic light re-sparks and I run toward her again.
     I look over at Pa and notice he's wearing his jacket as a sling, with the sleeves tied around his neck. His left foreleg is resting in the cradle. "What happened?" I insist.
     "One of the goats got a good kick to my head," Pa explains, "sent me down a hill onto an old log. Doubt it's broken, just hurt real bad. Dumb animal got away."
     I nod and we turn to keep walking. Pa knows his way through the forest, but I begin to think the blow to his head is taking a larger toll than he's letting on. Or that he even knows about. I often make corrections to his choices, and after a bit of arguing, he "remembers" the correct direction as the one I pointed out.
     As we near the edge of the forest, I hear Stone calling out for Pa.
Can he not see the light? I ask myself
He's not exactly the brightest star in the sky
Hey now, that's my brother.
Do you deny it?
     "Over here son!" Pa calls to Stone, with a tone of voice that agrees with me.
     "Shouldn't he be able to see the light?" Minty whispers to me.
     I don't answer, just sigh. It’s funny how they both thought exactly what I thought. Sometimes I wish I wasn't so secluded.
     We regroup and head out of the wood. Ma is there waiting, and the look on her face in memorable. The pure relief she shows in that instance is unlike anything I'd ever seen before, or would ever like to see again.
     Everyone heads inside, but Minty stops me. "You’re holding something back," she chides. "Tell me."
     "I hold thing back from most everypony," I retort, "what makes you so special?"
     "As long as I've been here, you're the closest thing I have to a friend. I try to keep my friends, and in order to keep them they need to be happy. I can tell when ponies are unhappy, and you should consider yourself lucky that I bother to stop and try to help."
     The response surprises me. She is probably the closest thing I have to a friend as well. But that doesn't mean I'm going to tell her everything on the first night I meet her.
     She just looks deep into my eyes, like she's reading them. Like she's trying to see what they have seen. I have no choice but to stare back, her piercing green eyes digging into my soul. What will they find? What can they find?
     I can imagine what she's thinking: "His soft purple eyes, like lilacs. They are wet with perpetual tears, held back for years for fear of a secret divulged in the worst way."
     So of course, her actual thought made vocal is nothing like I expected. "Maybe you just need someone new to give you company!" The smile she gives me is warm and meaningful. I don't know what to think of this filly. Does she know something, or anything? Would I have met her if I were still in school? She starts trotting past me and says, "You have very pretty eyes. They remind me of lavender."
     Of course... Though, I do prefer lavender to lilacs.
     I turn and catch up to her. "Would you like me to walk you home?"
     "Only if you're prepared for constant, friendly conversation." She grins at me.
     I don't respond; just think that it would actually be nice to have a decent conversation with a good friend. As long as she doesn't get too invasive.
     She lives near the library, so we don't have to walk too far. On the way she asks very basic questions. My favourite colour is purple. Her's is red. My favourite food is apple fritters. Her's is toast. My dream is to write and act in a play on Bridleway. Her's is to be a pet therapist. I don't quite get what that means, but we have a good laugh as she tries to explain.
     After a few steps of silence, her next question surprises me. "How did you get your cutie mark?" I look back at my flank, the roll of parchment with a single purple star on it. It's a bit of a touchy subject, but I can handle it.
     "Back in middle school, I had this English teacher. She was supposedly the most cynical English teacher in the history of the town. This one assignment she gave, near the end of the year, it was told to be the hardest. I was told she never gave a perfect grade for it, no matter who it was. I took it as a challenge, which is totally unlike me. Every day after school, I would head to the library to use their type-writers. I swear it was an opus among literature. It took me two weeks to finish, so I barely handed it in on time. Anyway, the minute I finished the final page, my cutie mark flashed to its current place." I chortle slightly and casually wipe my eyes beneath my glasses. After a painful gulp I finish, "I only got 93%."
     She whistles in surprise. "Quite a teacher. Do you remember her name?"
     I smirk and discretely bite my tongue to hold back a painful comment. I just end up shaking my head "no."
     "Oh," she sighs, "what about the story? Do you remember what it was about?"
     I bite my tongue a little harder and clear my throat. "Nope, I really have a terrible memory," I say casually.
     "Hmm..." after a few seconds of silence, she smirks back at me.  "It took you until middle school to get your cutie mark?"
     Too far! I lose my cool, and forget to bite my tongue. "Yes, okay?! My lack of social skills deprived my creativity. I had bullies at my throat about my eye colour, my girlish figure, my name, and my blank flank. I did my best to ignore it, but apparently it had a bigger effect than I thought, and apparently it's still a big deal."
     I kept walking, my pace becoming more brisk. She slowed. "I'm sorry." She sounds genuine, but I don't really feel sorry.
She had it coming.
Shut up.
     "For the record, I like your eyes." She catches up and compliments me. "They match the star on you cutie mark."
     I slow down, taken aback by the connection. "Thank you..."
     We walk the rest of the short distance in silence. Her humble house is just a block away from the library. We stopped there and found my bags still outside the door, where I expected Note to pick them up. Dumb colt.
     At the front door of her house she thanks me for the walk. I thank her for the company.
     "Wait here," she insists. I oblige, curiously. She comes back with a lantern, lit and bright. "For the walk home." I hadn't realized she had lit the way for us on the way here. "Stay safe."
     "Thanks," I say as she closes the door. "Good night."
     The walk home is silent and boring. I simply think to myself.
I can't believe I reacted like that.
It's perfectly acceptable. It was a dangerous subject.
But it was uncalled for. I probably hurt her feelings.
It probably surprised her, but now she knows more about you. Specifically about what not to ask about.
Yeah, she knows not to ask about getting my cutie mark in middle school. Great, I can count on not hearing that in a conversation in the future.
Don't get smart with me.
Well I refuse to get smart with anypony else.
Why not? They deserve it, don't they?
First of all, only some of them deserve it. Second, I meant that as of right now. We're alone!
     I sigh. "I'm alone."
     I get hit upside the head when I get home. "Where have you been?" Stone demands. "Pa's been up for hours because Ma's afraid he has a concussion. His leg is broken and we have to take him to the doctor's tomorrow. You're gonna have to pick up on all his chores 'til he's better." All the while he's yammering, I'm putting my bags down, unloading them onto my back, blowing out the lantern and carrying everything to the kitchen table.
     Once I set out everything down I respond. "I'm sorry, but I had to take Minty home."
     I take another smack. "She could have made it home herself. Ma was worried about you, and she's got enough to deal with."
     "It won’t happen again." I try hard not to make eye contact.
     "You better--"
     "That's enough," Pa interrupts. "Stone, go close up the chickens. Page, your brother's right. We had no idea where you had gone and no idea when you would come back.  Unfortunately my leg is broken, which means someone will have to pick up on the chores."
     "Yeah, I got the message with the hoof to my skull." I snapped.
     "That's enough. Stone was only trying to make sure you got the message."
     "What, so now I'm not a good enough listener?"
     "If he doesn't think so, no."
     "I really don't think you should base your opinion on me from what your first born thinks!"
     "Don't try and confuse the subject."
     "I'm not confusing anything! I am speaking absolutely normal, you're just too simple to understand a slightly advanced form of the language. This whole family is!" With that I storm off, making sure to ignore anything else he has to say. My bedroom is in the basement because I'm the only one who hasn't complained about it. I don't complain because having such an undesirable room makes it easier to keep secrets.
     If Pa is gonna have trouble sleeping tonight then he'll finally have something in common with me. For as long as I can remember, I've had insomnia. A very complicated form. Lying in bed is not relaxing at all, and it certainly doesn't put me to sleep very fast. I only really get tired after midnight, forcing myself to fall asleep any sooner and I'll be up a number of times before five in the morning.
     That said I usually do my best to occupy myself until midnight so I can sleep the rest of the night. That is, I used to, up until I started having to get up early to start on my chores. Tomorrow is Sunday, and Pa insists that work on Sunday is immoral. That only means that I get more sleep, so I keep myself up by writing myself letters. The first one pretty much just says what I wish I had said to Stone while he chastised me.
     Dear Page,
You've done nothing wrong. Minty Swirl is a very nice girl, and she deserved to be walked home. Pa's broken leg is not your fault, and you shouldn't be accused of anything, especially not something like this.
     Talking to myself keeps me sane.
     After a few letters later and my clock reads 11:37, Ma comes into my room with cookies. "I thought you'd be awake."
     "I was actually just about to go to bed." I lie.
     "Well, I brought some cookies and warm milk, to help you sleep." She places a tray from her back onto my desk in front of me.
     "Thanks, but warm milk gives me nightmares." That is the truth.
     "Oh, I didn't know."
     "That's okay." I take a cookie. "Thank you." Fresh, warm, gooey chocolate chip. Probably the best comfort food there is.
     "I'll get you some cold milk." She seems kind of... desperate.
     "No, that's fine. This will cool down quick."
She smiles. "Okay, well... good night Page." She kisses my forehead and walks out, leaving the plate of cookies on my desk. She often seems like she's trying to cheer me up, while other times she's completely oblivious to my feelings.
Why is my family so random?

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                       Open the Door                       
//-------------------------------------------------------//
Open the Door
     I wake up early, like I do every morning, but with the freedom of Sunday I have the chance to fall back asleep. During one of these bouts of sleep I have a dream. I don't remember all of it.
     I remember lying in the shower tub, cold water storming onto my already-soaked coat. I wasn't moving, but I could still see. I remember somepony coming in to check on me, but I didn't recognize who it was.
     I don't remember breathing.
     The pony carried me to my bedroom, laid me in bed and left. I remember the door clicking: Locked.
     I woke up finally to a pounding on my door.
     "Page," Note shouted in at me. "Ma and Pa are about to leave, are going or not?"
     I rubbed sleep from my eyes and growled a response. "Where?"
     "To the hospital," he reproached. "Pa's leg is broke, remember?"
     "Broken," I chide under my breath. I take a few seconds to think. Going to the hospital won't mean much of an experience for me. I could take my book, but I'm probably too lazy to read it anyway.
     "So, you going?" Note called.
     I rubbed my left eye some more, still trying to stay awake even though I would try sleeping again as soon as he left. "No." That was that. No more noise from either side of the door. I laid back down to try sleeping more, to no avail.
     I just spend another hour lying awake, thinking of everything irrelevant as of the moment. It was just before I decided to get up for good that I recalled my dream. I spent a few more moments thinking on it, attempting to decipher it.
     Having no luck yet again, I finally got up. Everything of that morning on is unforgettable, for the reason only that is repetition. The simple rut of having an average Sunday routine makes it easy to remember. But hard to forget.
     I had cold cereal for breakfast, same as everyone else. Note and Sprout were arguing in the living room. Stone was outside working, despite his father's wishes. Sitting at the table with my bowl of cereal is far from peaceful, but it's the closest I get until I return to my room, which may occur sooner today than other Sundays.
     Usually, Ma and I would play a board game until noon, then she would prepare lunch and we would all eat together. Then I would go to my room and sleep or write or read until Pa called me for supper. Today is different.
     Quite simply, neither of my parents are present, so that leaves me with nothing to do. I decide to go outside.
     Steering clear of where Stone is working, I make my way to the forest. The section I'm heading for is different from the area in which we were lost the night before. I know this stretch of woods like the back of my hoof. I come here all the time, mostly when I need time alone and don't want anyone to find me. I don't particularly need alone time today, I just want it. Last night left some, well, feelings to be desired.
     There's an old apple tree deep within the area that I like to climb. I can make it pretty high, and I love it. I know some ponies are afraid of heights, or terrified of falling, or the risk of falling or whatever, but I'm the opposite. I feel better the higher off the ground I am. And falling, well, there's no better way. If I got the chance to fall from the sky, with the assurance of landing safely, I would jump willingly.
     I make it to my special branch and lay down on my belly, legs dangling over either side. I lay with my chin resting on the hard wood of the limb. The nearing end of the season sends a chilly breeze through me and I shiver. A few of the remaining leaves fall with the gust. I hear geese honk overhead as they travel south for the coming winter. I close my eyes.
     Now I hear so much more. Still the rustle of crumbling leaves and migrating birds, but now I hear squirrels burying acorns. I can hear snakes slither into burrows, preparing for hibernation. Then I hear a louder sound, the crunching of leaves under something's steps. I open my eyes and see a bear. She's about fifty yards away, and she's carrying a fish. The bear doesn't notice ol' Page in the tree, but I watch her to the best of my ability. At one point I have to look over the frame of my glasses to continue watching, which gives me a headache.
     I close my eyes again and continue to listen. Forest life stays the same, making the same sounds as always, while my mind plays. I imagine scenarios that could occur if I climbed higher into the tree. Or if I jump down and follow the bear. I come up with stories that could happen out of the blue. I determine how logical and/or probable each of the scenarios is, but I know that even the most realistic of happenings won't ever take place, because whatever I expect to happen never happens. Have I mentioned this before? I think not. If I have, skip the next paragraph.
     Ever since I was a colt I came up with the most ridiculous occurrences. It is this outstanding imagination that makes me a brilliant writer. Anyhow, I often take moments of silence as times for my mind to wander, and often it comes back with numerous ideas. As I grew older, many of these ideas grew more and more logical. And as I learned, I discovered that no matter what I expected to happen -- no matter how logical, or immediate -- it will not happen. For instance, once I was doing homework in my room when I discovered that I had already done this exact assignment the day before. I brought the work to my mother and told her, expecting to hear some bout on how I should finish it just in case, but instead I hear her tell me that I shouldn't worry about it and just tell my teacher in the morning. So I forget the assignment and tell my teacher the next day, expecting him to be OK with it, and understand that I shouldn't need to repeat work. But of course, it happens in the exact opposite way! This teacher, whom I have known to be accepting and willing, now puts me down that I should have done the assignment without a problem, having already known it. This is just one example.
     With the knowledge of past events never working out according to my expectations, I decide it best to stay put. I allow myself to think of more possibilities and rest my eyes and listen.
     At my age, with my imagination, I have quite a number of stories in line to be written, and I have no intention of creating new story lines constantly. Instead, I have put the ideas to use, adding on to already existing accounts. I do my best to write these notions down, but I almost never get the opportunity to truly write the whole thing.
     I feel another cool breeze and a leaf falls directly across my muzzle, tickling my nose and making me sneeze. After that, I decide it might be a good idea to get down and go home.
     I jump off the branch and enjoy every lasting millisecond of freefalling. Sometimes I think I would have made a much better pegasus than earth pony.
     I land perfectly on my hooves and brace the impact into my knees. It's too easy now.
     "Perhaps I'll jump from higher up next time and land in a roll?"
     That would be the most adventurous thing you've done since running through the woods.
     "Wouldn't it just?"
     I think to myself, half out-loud, while I make my way back through the forest. The sun is lowering in the west and my belly rumbles, hungry. I don't bother rushing, though.
     When I finally make it back to the house, Ma is carrying Breeze inside on her back while Pa hops out of the carriage with his front left hoof in a cast, hung in a sling. I decide it best to slip in another way, to avoid an awkward confrontation with him. I only manage to run into Stone at the back porch. He's hard at work spreading pebbles into a path to the wood pile. By the looks of things, he crushed the rocks himself.
     "Where you been, nimrod?" He insults me.
     "Out back," I tell him. It's simply what we call the area of woods that we use most often. "I needed some time alone."
     "Yeah, well I needed some work done. You coulda helped out, fag." That insult bites me, but I hide the cringe.
     "Just because Pa's not home--"
     "Pa being injured like he is, you'll need to pick up a lot more slack 'round here, you dung." He only knows to call me what he sees every day.
     I wait in silence, my eyes on the ground facing the door.
     "Why dontcha grab a shovel and help me get these rocks spread." It's not a question in the slightest. He pushes a spade down toward me. I bite my tongue and ignore it, letting it fall to my right. "Hey, flea-biter," he shouts, I bite harder, wetting my eyes with tears. "I said get the shovel, or did ya forget how to listen."
     "Shut up! Just because Pa isn't around doesn't mean you get to break his rules!!" I shout. My riposte was only met with a powerful swing to the left side of my face. My body shifts to the right and my legs buckle, causing me to fall slightly.
     "Next time you feel like shouting at me," he whispers, "you best bite your tongue."
     I see the shovel on the ground and consider using it to hit him, but something stops me. This makes me choke up more; all my life is based off things I could have done, but didn't. Especially things like this.
     I take a long shaky breath and turn to run inside, but something stops me. He is standing on my tail. "What kind of idiot are you? Get the shovel and help."
     I yank my tail free, pulling a few hairs out with a sting. It also knocks him off balance slightly. I have a sudden thought of attacking him while he's stumbling, but again I let the chance go. I simply back up, defensively, say, "Deal with the stupid rocks by yourself," and run inside before breaking down.
     I run directly downstairs, ignoring calls from any family member that happened to be inside. The tears in my eyes, fogging my glasses, along with the pained ringing in my ears, I don't have much trouble keeping them out.
     The door to my room has no lock, so I take my desk chair and prop it closed.
     I cry myself to sleep. I don't bother responding to anyone's attempts to get to me. I think my mother, and youngest brother each tried to come in. Neither of them does.
     I wake up to a pounding on my door. The abruptness of the call makes me forget my dream.
     "Page," my father calls, "Page, open the door."
     "Or what?!" I shout back, despite my tiredness. "Go ahead and ground me. It's not like I have anywhere to go!!"
     "Just open up," he sounds like he's pleading now. "I want to talk to you."
     I remain silent for a few good moments, listening. I hear the shuffle of hooves, more hooves than a single pony. I hear the sweet voice of my mother, but don't know what she's saying. Is she chastising him? Forcing him to be a different kind of parent? I get out of bed and slip to my door. "I can hear you fine through the door," I tell him.
     I hear the hushed argument of my parents outside.
     Ma says, "Tell him you want it to be face-to-face."
     Pa replies, "I don't see what the difference is."
     Ma growls back, "It will mean more to him to actually have you in there. A real chat will help him get things off his chest."
     Pa clears his throat. "Son, I would rather we speak face-to--"
     "I want to talk to Ma," I interrupt him. "I know she's there."
     More unclear arguing takes place, but I can tell they're arguing while wriggling past each other in the stairway outside the door. "Page," Ma finally calls.
     "Yes mother?"
     "Will you please open the door? I want to see you."
     "I can't risk that."
     She sighs heavily. "I understand that you're afraid of Stone, but--"
     "I am not afraid of him..." I interrupt again. "I... I'm afraid of you." She stays silent for a few moments, waiting for me to elaborate. "I'm afraid of your way of using your skills as a mother to get into my head and make me spill things that mean nothing." I speak sarcastically about her "skill." "I'm afraid of you achieving a knowledge that you believe as true simply because you got me to say it out loud, just so you can use it against me the next time something like this happens."
     She is silent for a few more seconds, but eventually responds. "I'm sorry you feel that way." I feel like interrupting again, but I bite my tongue. I've gone far enough for now. "I just want to know what was in your mind when you hit him."
     I laugh a good, maniacal laugh at that. "When I hit HIM?" I say.  "I'll be honest; I did expect him to cook up something like that, to make him perfectly innocent while making me entirely crazy." I choke at the last word, like my mouth has tears of its own. "But that figures, doesn't it, Ma? That the perfect first born was attacked by the insane middle child." I start sobbing up for some reason. "Good ol' Stone was just doing a simple job and this crazy pony jumped him." I kick the chair from the door, allowing it to open. "At least now I know I'm not the only one capable of making up stories." I turn and walk to the other end of my room and face the wall.
     Ma slowly opens the door and walks in while I sob. My glasses fall to the floor with a little splash in my tiny tear puddle. "I never got the whole story," she admits, quietly.
     I look over my left shoulder, and she gets a glance at that side of my head. I hadn't even noticed the pain until I recalled the affair in its entirety. She instantly spotted the swelling bruise on my skull left from a senseless attack, given by a senseless pony. I turned away as she reached toward the welt. "I believe my reaction is justified. The bruise speaks for itself."
     She says nothing more. She simply sits beside me and wraps a hoof around me. I am now as big as she is, so cuddling me is not simple anymore. But it sure does help.
     She holds me, weeping, until almost two a.m. when she decides that it's best we hit the hay. I make her promise not to make me tell her, or anyone, what my problems are. No one has the right to know yet. She promises, and we both go back to sleep.
     In the morning I am woken up by Sprout, telling me there's a list of chores for me to do today.
     The list says I will have Note helping me. But I read that I will work alone, seeing as Note will not work regardless of what he is told.
      I keep my head down all day, and am content until lunchtime. Ma does her best to keep everypony from asking about me at breakfast. I give Note the more simple of the chores, but consider that he will most likely not do them right. The chores are arranged to keep me in a different field from Stone all day, save for mealtimes.
     All of my previous chores remained, and Pa's chores of stacking logs, milking the goat and churning butter are given to me. I give Note the chore of churning. Stone is in charge of sawing the logs and splitting them. I will get to split them tomorrow. I still have to reap the wheat, only now Note is helping. He only gets a small sickle, but I still fear for him. With this extra help, harvest will be finished at least a week in advance.
     Things run smoothly for some time, but like I said, lunchtime changed everything.
     We were just cleaning up when Note spoke to me. "That friend of your's visited yesterday."
     "Mint?" I ask him.
     "No, the older one," he says, "Rosella or somethin'."
     I pinch my eyes shut and bite my tongue.
     "Said she had a big opportunity for her music career and was wondering if you were still into singing duets."
     I open my eyes slowly, but keep my teeth closed. Yesterday was her birthday.
     "Too bad you weren't around. Instead she invited me over. You should see the turntables her step-dad got her. The music coming from that vinyl, it was sweet."
     I taste blood.
     "I showed off my skills with sound and made her an epic new electronic track to sing to. She's gonna write lyrics and-- Hey where you going?"
     I bit my tongue open listening to him talk, so I decided it was best to leave. My eyes were wet all over again. He'd better keep his mouth shut throughout the day, or I might miss the hay next time I swing the scythe.

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                 Inconceivble Opportunity                  
//-------------------------------------------------------//
Inconceivble Opportunity
I’ll spare you from the piteous length of consistent visits to Rosettasound’s home across town. In short: we made visits nearly weekly because my mother was rekindling her friendship with Rose’s mother and they each still thought there was something between us. Unfortunately, they are all too dense. Either that or I am a better actor than I previously realized.
After the terrible turnout of the first week of book club, the chaperone resigned. Ma graciously filled in, and now my mother had complete control of the book club. Being in town, Ma decided it would be an OK idea to finish the walk across town to Rose’s house. Once Note caught wind of this happening he made sure to tag along on the trips to book club.
Whenever I went to Rose’s I was left alone and bored. I’m not saying she’s not a good friend, just maybe to someone else. I mean, she definitely tried to entertain me during my visits, but she could have tried harder. Basically it was all about her new music. Eventually she found the money for a game machine. I had no idea what game it was, but Wave was informed and apparently invited. Basically, everypony else had more fun at my “best friend’s” house. I wouldn’t complain though, that’s not really me. Besides, I had a book to read, or to write, and with everyone else busy without me I had plenty of time.
Anyhow, I told you I would not go through that whole, depressing percentage of my life, so I won’t.  Back to the topic of the book club? Very good.
As I stated previously, the original adult present at the book club meetings gave up at dealing with the lot of us for some reason I was never given. Ma had Pa staying home with nothing to do, and he wasn’t a terrible parent, so he had the chance to babysit. Stone is there, too, but let’s be honest, he won’t be much help with the kids.
Note and Wave didn’t have much to do at the library, since they weren’t part of the book club. Note spends most of his time reading the comic strips in newspapers. Wave sat in the back reading actual comic books.
The book club is as eventful as ever; and by that I mean Fashionista and Penny do most of the talking, about anything but the book. Ma tries to get us to reminisce on the events happening in our little piece of literature while Mint and I converse about the events occurring in our own lives, or the lack thereof.
Somewhere within the meetings, Mint is reminded that I am somewhat of an author and instantly requests a work. She gives me no specifics regarding what she wants, leaving all the imagination to me, which can be both a good and bad thing. Leaving it all to me gives me the opportunity to include anything I want, But without giving me anything, I won’t know if she’ll like it or not.
“Just make me something adventurous,” she begins, “with plenty of humor, and not too much romance.” Should be simple enough, I actually have a story involving much of what she requests, but I don’t exactly want to use something that big for her. No, that one is going to be a work that will make me famous.
“Okay, cool,” I tell her. “When do you want it?”
“Just, try to get around to it, and get it to me when you’re finished, Okay?”
“Got it,” I promised. I had never been good with deadlines, so I’m glad she insisted I take my time.
Book club continued weekly with no real summation or destination in sight. We’re basically told to read so far in the book before the next meeting, and we’re discouraged from reading ahead and spoiling the story for everypony else. I’m pretty sure Muriel has already finished it, but she’s not spoiling anything. She doesn’t talk much, so that must be fairly simple for her.
Conversations with myself occur more often now, with so few ponies to talk to, and they come to such impromptu subjects. Once, I found myself in a deep conversation about potato chips. Having not had one in over a week, that kind of conversation is not exactly expected. Another time, on a long walk home from book club, I had trouble keeping track of where my conversation was going, or where it had come from for that matter. It went something like this:
When do they actually place these roads?
I think they just mark them, and they get so beaten down they are eventually just dirt.
What if they actually have jobs for spreading dirt into roads?
That would be stupefying.
Stupefying?
Yes, s-t-u-p-e-f-y-i-n-g.
Well, that’s quite a word.
I wonder if any other words rhyme with it.
Mesmerizing? No, not quite.
What made you think of “mesmerizing?”
It rhymes with “stupefying.”
Almost, remember?
Thanks for reminding me.
I wonder who came up with all these words.
I wonder who decided to spell them the way they’re spelled.
They were probably the same person.
Then someone decided to write them all down into a dictionary.
That was probably the same person as well.
It might not have been!
“Ben?”  Maybe it’s “bean? “
I kind of pronounce it “bin.”
Bin?
At that I suddenly wonder what kind of thoughts could have led to this single word, and begin thinking backwards and back to the dirt road business. From that another conversation persists.
Anyway, I’m probably boring you now. I know, big lack of actual story going on right now. Let’s get back to that.
One afternoon, on our way out the library, Ma comes to me with some big news:
“I’ve been speaking to a few of the librarians recently,” she began, “and they have told me about students that come to the library regularly for home-schooling.”
“Yeah?” I press. She had told me she would be home-schooling me, but she didn’t really know much more than I did. I had studied a few extra things since leaving school, but I hadn’t pushed myself like before I left.
“Well, the librarians told me that some of the students have eligibility to graduate early.”
I grow suddenly interested, slowly getting to what she’s saying. “So you’re saying…?” I trail off so she can finish before I make a possibly far-off guess.
“I’m saying you have the possibility to graduate,” she pauses, “soon.” She emphasizes “soon” to make a point I apparently wasn’t getting. Technically, my guess was on the money. Graduating a whole year early!
“That’s incredible!” I don’t quite shout it, but my voice is definitely a little louder.
“Well, technically,” she continues, “You would get a ‘Graduate Equivalency Diploma,’ or ‘GED.’”
“Yeah,” I inform her, “I get it. But really, that’s incredible!”
She makes a sort-of sad-looking happy face for me. She knows why I’m so excited to actually graduate: it’s so I can move on to college, or at least into an actual career. I’m not entirely proud of it, but my vision is fairly similar to that of my older brother Chat’s: I want to move out. I want away from the family to pursue my own future. This upsets my mother because I’m the last one with any sense, but that’s what happens; the smart ones leave.
My whole plan is simple: I want to move into Manehatten and get a job for Bridleway, even if that means being the gopher, or the intern, or whatever. I want to work there to increase my chances of handing my scripts in to a superior authority, so I could finally have one of my own plays on Bridleway! If that doesn’t work out, I’ll hand the story over to a publisher nearby, and have it printed into a book to be read nationwide! I’ve planned for many – if not, all – back-up plans for this to work; I’ve looked up every big publisher in Manehatten, I’ve researched the history of successful play-writes from Bridleway,
I’ve even memorized when they’re hosting auditions for new actors. I know I have to really try extra-hard for this, since nothing really works out for me the way I expect it to.
I only had it coming.
Anyways, I stood there, in front of Ma, thinking of my future and how fantastic this news was. Now that I am really going to graduate, I can get into things that I have planned for. Lots of places won’t accept drop-outs.
I give my Ma a hug. She hugs me back and for a good eighteen seconds, I am reminded how comforting a mother can be, or even just a hug. Even simple, gentle contact with another pony has the ability to lift my spirits, if only for a minute.
She lets go and asks me, “Do you want to go to Rose’s?”
I look down, my smile fades, and I shake my head. She must know something is wrong, if she decided to ask.
“That’s fine,” she smiles as I look back at her, “some other time.”
She walks past me to break the news to Wave and Note. Once she leaves my side, she is replaced by Minty Swirl.
“Y’know, if you ever really needed a hug, you could’ve just asked me.”
“I never thought I would need one.” We look at each other, the same sad, lonely expression in our faces. “Not to mention I suck when it comes to asking about private stuff like that.”
“That makes sense,” she rolls her eyes, and smiles at me.
I smile back. “My mother has just presented me with gratifying knowledge involving the now possible pursuit of home-school graduation via Graduate Equivalency Diploma. I have been given the inconceivable opportunity to graduate a year ahead of my class and pursue a higher education and/or a basic employment and increase my chances for an efficient future.”
She laughs. I know she likes it when I use big words and sound official like that. “An inconceivable opportunity if ever I saw one.”
We laugh at each other for a bit. Then she goes silent, as if realizing petrifying knowledge. Perhaps she has assembled the truth behind the big words; that I will be leaving home. This is what I come to as she lowers her head. She inhales to speak again, perhaps to wish me luck and attempt to cover up the sadness she feel. I place a hoof on her shoulder, stopping her from speaking. She looks at me with the same sort-of sad-looking smile as my mother. I return with a reassuring smile, at least that’s what it’s meant to be.  I hug her then. My eyes closed, I embrace the simple gesture as the first, most meaningful hug between the two of us.
After twenty-two long seconds, she lets go. But before she walks away, I tell her, “Y’know, if you ever need a hug, you can just ask.”
She laughs again and brushes by me just as my family makes it to me.  I hold my gaze where she was standing, longing for her to fill the absence. Note bumps my side, breaking me from the trance. I quickly have a thought; why? Why was I feeling like that? I shouldn’t be getting so attached on one pony.
There’s nothing wrong with a little affection.
It is when there’s no need.
C’mon, she’s a filly and you like her. You want her back because she makes you feel whole.
Don’t make up stuff just to prove a point.
Are you saying you get the point?
I’m saying there is a point; I’m not saying either of us gets it.
Basically you’re saying that you don’t want to love this filly because you’re afraid of –
I’m afraid of getting heart-broken again.
You’re afraid of that? Just because it happened one other time?
How long have you been in my head?
*sigh* Fine, I get it. You’ve had friends abandon you left and right. Does that mean you shouldn’t ever trust anyone else again?
It means they’ll have to prove a lot more to me than one hug to get to me.
What do you think she would say if you told her that?
She definitely wouldn’t have the same opinion of as before.
Exactly, so why not just –
Why not just keep myself protected? Look, I know you don’t really get it, and I don’t get that, but whatever. Nothing you can say will change my mind. I have been through enough to know how and when to keep a secret.
…Been? Ben?
Been is equal to Bin! Now leave me alone.
Coincidentally, just as I think this, Wave bumps into me and asks me a question as if he had asked me three times previously. “Do you think Rosettasound would dedicate a track to me?”
“Forget it Wave,” Note interrupts. “He’s somewhere else right now.”
It suddenly occurs to me that we have been walking for some time now, and idle banter has carried on between my siblings as I blindly followed. While walking, I can trip Note for saying that, but I don’t. I simply speak up. “I’m really not the pony to ask.”
“Oh that’s right,” Note goes on, “you’re still sore that you’re girlfriend doesn't pay attention to you anymore.”
I bite my tongue. When did he get so sassy?
“Note,” Ma chides, “don’t say stuff like that.”
“Quite frankly,” I input, “I’m surprised he finally managed to put it all together. I've only –“
“What do you mean ‘finally’?” Note raises his tone. “It’s only the most obvious thing happening since the sun came up.”
“Note!” Ma keeps trying.
“Really, Note,” I try to combat. “Listen to your mother. She knows more than you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I bite my tongue more. There is just no arguing with this kid, he leaves no plausible entrance to combat.
“If you know she doesn't like you any more, why do you go?”
I scream at him. “IF YOU’RE SO IN LOVE WITH HER, WHY DON’T YOU GO THERE YOURSELF?!” I get the thought that we’re still in town, but when I look around, we’re in the front yard. “You've obviously been getting along so much better than I ever managed, rub it in my muzzle a little more and go live with her!”
“Why don’t you?!” He shouts back. “Why’d you ever stop trying?”
I bite my tongue, thinking I've gone far enough already.
“I know why, because she fell in love with Wave!” Note points to our older brother, who suddenly looks up in confusion.
I bite my tongue harder and clench my eyes, imagining myself taking him out with impressive attacks and throws.
“She stopped giving you all her time so you gave up. You figured you weren't what she really wanted, so you stopped trying.”
I feel tears squeeze between my eyelids.
I hear him inhale deeply and finish his thought. “She came looking for you a few weeks ago. When Ma and Pa were away, she came over here asking for you.”
“I never asked her to,” I say. “She came looking, but not because she wanted to be friends, and go back to the good old days. No, she came looking for someone to work with her. She doesn't know what it takes to be a good friend.” I choke up at the end.
“Sounds like you’re just avoidin’ her ‘cause of one bad time.” Stone calls from the porch. I glare in his direction and see him there with Pa and everypony else, watching.
When I see them all there, I start laughing. I shake my head and close my eyes. “This is quite a family, huh? Standing by, actually watching while two brothers fight.”
“Don’t be mad at us, Page.” Pa steps off the porch and tries to come to me, his broken foreleg slowing him. “Be mad at yourself.”
I swallow a lump and try to speak. “I’m always mad at myself. I’m mad at how I've made mistakes, at how I've disappointed ponies, how I’m never good enough.”
After some silence, Pa speaks up again. “Good.”
My eyes break open. What?
I look at him, and just shake my head slowly. Then I walk away. I walk right past all of them and inside. Ignoring commands and invitations to stay and talk. I walk right to my room and barricade the door. I sit in the middle of the room and cry. No sobs, no weeps, no sound. I just cry, tears falling from my eyes, staining my spectacles, pooling on the floor. I sit and breathe deeply, loosing tears from between my eyelids one by one, for hours and hours. I don’t think anyone comes to my room. Especially not to apologize.

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                       Tell Me More                        
//-------------------------------------------------------//
Tell Me More
Things carried on that way for quite some time, and to cut a long story short I’ll jump to my graduation.
I had attended all of my older brothers’ graduation ceremonies and cheered for them with each award they received. I’ve even played for the band during other graduations, with just a simple, repetitive tune for when the graduates entered and exited. But after looking back on it, I don’t know why I expected any of them to show up to my graduation. Along with the knowledge of having none of them giving me much, or any, due credit in the past, my entire graduation consisted of me and my mother sitting in the principal’s office of the school, having him read off my achievements from the past, then shaking hooves with me before handing over my GED and wishing me luck with a forced smile.
I brought the degree back home to lie in a box with other special achievements I had earned in the past. For instance, the one time I was awarded “Student of the Month.” Or my modified swimming participation trophy. Then there was my clip from the newspaper of the time I got second place in a Pinewood Derby. It’s a small box.
Having graduated a year ahead of my class, I had the opportunity to go off to college a year ahead of my class. Unfortunately, I eventually learned, the college of my choice – or the second- and third-choice colleges – didn’t accept applications from students with a GED.
I feel like there’s nowhere else to go with that, and I’m probably right considering nothing else notable happened until I moved out.
At first I was hesitant, and that made me angry. I had wanted to get away for so long, and now that it was happening, it scared me.
Why?
I remind myself that there’s no turning back. I had the train ticket, after spending almost all of my savings.
There’s no turning back.
I pack my old, enormous suit case. Gather a quilt and sleeping mat, some food, and a few things for my first few days.
There’s no turning back.
I dress casually and warmly.
It’s probably a bad idea to leave so close to winter.
There’s no turning back.
I hug my parents good-bye at the train station, get encouraging smiles from my siblings, and turn to the conductor to hand him my ticket.
There’s absolutely no turning back.
This sentence has forced away all the thoughts that would have tried to convince me to stay. After I finally find my seat on the train, those thoughts explode:
How are they going to be able to handle the chores without me?
What if I can’t manage myself out there?
How do I know any jobs will accept minors?
What if Pa gets hurt again?
Will Ma be able to control the little ones?
What about Minty Swirl?
That final thought surprises me and I start crying.
I didn’t even tell her I was going.
You’re going to be fine. You can send a letter as soon as you settle in.
I should have at least told her.
You didn’t have any chances, there’s no problem.
I take a deep breath and blink away the glossiness in my eyes. Out of the blue, a fellow sits beside me and puts his hoof on my shoulder.
“You alright partner?” He asks.
I take another deep breath and nod. “Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine.”
“You sure? You look a little broken up.” The concern in his voice seems genuine. He has a grassy green coat that’s a tad messy. His mane is a deeper green, like oak leaves, rather unkempt but mostly hidden under a big hat. He has a red bandana tied around his neck with the knot at the front.
I swallow the lump in my throat and try to sound convincing. “I’ll be fine, really.” I even give a petite smile to persuade him.
He raises an eyebrow, obviously not satisfied. I withhold my smile as he digs through my eyes and into my head. “Nope,” he states.
“I’m sorry?” I respond, faking confusion, hiding worry.
“I said ‘Nope,’” he restates. “In other words, I don’t buy it. There’s something you’re not saying, and it’s killing you. I’m guessing you know no safety in telling the truth because you have been led astray in the past by an unfortunate attempt.”
I try to configure the words he said, but only get about half of it. “I’m sorry?”
He faces forward. “Trust me kid, I’m the oldest of seven, I’ve had practice.”
“Well, I’m the middle of seven,” I tell him, “and my eldest is nothing like you, so forgive me for the confusion.” I don’t try to make it sound sarcastic, but I think I did.
He looks back at me. “I also have a bachelor’s degree in psychology.” He point to his flank to show me a cutie mark depicting an open spiral-bound notebook with a question mark on the page.
“So,” I try to think of something that won’t sound offensive, “I guess that explains why you’re so good at telling.” I force a desperate smile.
He puts his hoof around my shoulders. “You can tell me anything.”
As if.
I tell him some. I tell him where I’m headed, and why. While I speak, the train takes off, and as I look, I don’t see any family left. I swallow another lump. I tell him how I’m broken up about leaving my family and friends. Well, I specify “friend,” and he looks especially worried about that. When I’m done, he can tell I’ve left much out. “It’s okay,” he claims, “I get it. I’m just a strange stallion on the train. You just met me, and don’t trust me enough to tell me everything yet. It’s okay.” He looks at me in silence for a few seconds. I turn and look out the window at the moving objects.
Suddenly, “Would it help if I told you about me some?”
I shrug, and he takes off about his life:
“My favorite game as a foal was hide-and-seek. I was nearly invisible in the bushes.
“All the bullies meant nothing, because I was able to tell what their problems were just by the stuff they said to me.
“I met her at a Daring Do book signing. We’ve been married a year and a half, and now she’s expecting.
“I’ve been visiting my family here in Stirrupburg for the announcement. She went to Fillydelphia for her’s. We live in Manehatten, moved there together because of a job offer, and we love it.”
“I’m glad it’s so great,” I say, thinking and hoping he’s finished, “makes me feel better about moving out there.”
“So?” He looks at me, expecting me to continue my story.
I sigh heavily and start again. I tell him a bit more, staying away from my cutie mark story. He seems incredibly amazed to hear that I graduated a year early. It is then that I get a notion that his interest may be forced.
You think he’s acting?
He might be.
But he’s such a nice guy.
I’m just saying he could be. Like, this might just be and advertisement for his job.
Or he could be for real. Give this guy a chance, please?
I finish my story, hoping that he’s convinced. I look directly into his eyes, straight-faced.
He smiles at me. “An internship at Bridleway?”
“Yeah, or a job,” I tell him. “If I can get a job there, that’d be great. If not, I’ll have to look elsewhere.”
“Bridleway’s pretty tough. You think you’re good enough to be a writer?”
“I think so,” I try a touch of confidence.
“That must explain you’re cutie mark,” he points out.
I take a deep breath. “Yeah, it sort of does.”
“Mind telling me the whole story?”
He smiles, his eyes smile. He just looks trustworthy. I turn my head and look out the window. “I can’t.”
I can feel his smile die. He’s silent for a moment. I hear him rummage through a bag for something. Sounds like a piece of paper, a hard-cover book, and probably something to write with. I hear the sound of a pencil scribble on the paper. “Here,” he says. I turn back around to see a folded sheet of paper being handed to me. I take it in my hooves and begin unfolding it. “If you ever feel like telling me more.”
Inside the folds I see a two addresses and his name; Leafy Green. Next to one address it says “home,” the other says “office.”
“Really?” I say, “You’re giving me all this information about you, and you hardly know me. What if I’m a thief or something and came up with this whole elaborate plan to gain your trust so I could rob you?”
He laughs a bit. “I’d say I know you pretty well, Page, you just told me after all. I like your imagination though.”
I fold the paper back up and put it into my suitcase.
Eventually the train stops and before we part ways, Leafy reminds me, “If there’s anything you need, send me a letter, or just come by.”
I smile. “Thank you.”
From there I begin my adventure. First things first: Finding somewhere to stay.

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                          It Ends                          
//-------------------------------------------------------//
It Ends
I find a cheap place, well, as cheap as can be in Manehatten.  It had three rooms; a kitchen, a bathroom and a den. I sign the lease for just over a year, to hopefully give me enough time to find another place or renew the lease before the landlord kicks me out.
After getting my few things unpacked and placed, I find my way to Bridleway. They’re just beginning rehearsals when I show up. I tell a big guy at the door that I heard about the internship and he leads me in. I get the internship, but internships don’t pay.
After about a day of searching and starving, I found a job at a café. They had just lost a waitress for reasons I was told were none of my business. I don’t care, it’s my job now.
My training started the next day, but of course I had to take afternoons off for my internship. Things were going well, except for the undeniable fact that it would undoubtedly become a rut that I would have to crawl out of, if I wanted to survive.
I wanted to see how long I could last.
It took about two weeks, but after I had had enough and was desperate for anything to change my schedule, I dug up the paper that Mr. Green had given me upon my arrival.
I write a simple letter, telling him where I work and things like that. I specify how I need something to take my mind off things. When I finish I notice that I never bothered packing or buying envelopes, so instead I make one myself. It’s not bad, but I’m afraid it will give away too much about my life. I don’t want him to give me any charity.
The next day I receive a response:
Dear Page,
It’s good to hear you’re getting along so well!
However, there are a few things bothering me about the things you wrote.
For instance, the way you dodged the specification as to why you wish to “take your mind off things” leads me to believe you have a fear of consistency, you don’t like the way life is repeating itself. I would be happy to meet with you whenever you’d like. Having somepony to talk to, even on a regular basis, can help a pony realize the distinctive things that go on in their life, and can easily break them out of their “rut.”
It just so happens that I pass that café at least twice a week at the hours you work there. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll stop by on those days to visit and have some breakfast with you.
Oh, and another thing. I noticed you didn’t use an envelope. Perhaps you are having trouble getting on your hooves? Remember, I’ll be here for anything you need! As long as it’s within reason, of course.
Have a nice day,
Grassy Green.
I knew he’d get way more than I’d expected from a few sentences. He is a professional, I suppose.
As it happened, he showed up at the café just after I did, just after opening. He ordered a coffee with three creams and one sugar, and an onion bagel with butter. He sat at the bar that was Justin front of the little kitchen-area where I prepare all the drinks. The actual kitchen is around back, through a door. There is a window from my area leading to the kitchen for me to pick up orders.
He sits in this place particularly so that he can speak with me while I work.
Sad to say, it didn’t change much. It was nice to talk to someone friendly, but as I continued working there, many ponies started recognizing me, as I did them. I learned to fetch regulars, and more frequently got higher tips.
But there was one night shift…
Basically, another waiter didn’t show, so I had to send a notice to Bridleway and get a night off to pick up the late shift. It was awful.
A bunch of middle-aged ponies fell through the door, drunk, and find table closest to the door. I groan and canter over to the table.
“May I take your order?” I say, trying not to sound disgruntled about serving drunks.
One of them starts, “Yes, I’d like – hiccup – I’d like your sweet cheeks – “ he stops and passes out on the table. I back up a few paces.
Another one speaks up. “I believe my friend was trying to ask if you were on the menu.” They all start laughing hysterically.
One of them seems to have a little sense left in him and asks for black coffee and fried celery. I write it down and turn to walk away.
“Where’re you going sweet-cheeks?” The first one woke up and shouted. “I thought you were gonna take my order.”
I take a deep breath, thinking of using some witty comeback to see if I could-
No, that wouldn’t end well.
I sigh and turn back around. He leans away from his chair. “I ain’t gonna shout it to ya,” he nearly whispers. So I take a step forward and he shouts, “I’ll have you!”
They roar again, all except the one who seems to have a migraine. Perhaps this was his first time getting drunk, and he didn’t like it. He turns to me and speaks quietly. I step up to him to hear him better. “They’ll just have the same,” he tells me.
“Yes, sir,” I respond. I write it down and turn to walk away when I feel a sharp slap at my left flank. I yelp and jump away. I turn back at them and glare while they all laugh riotously. I prepare the coffee while our chef fries the celery. He can hear their drunken party from the kitchen, and tells me that ponies often believe that fried celery can shorten the length of hangovers.
I bring them their coffee and celery and politely ask if they’d like anything else. They say no and I leave cautiously, so as not to get another perverted smack on my hindquarters.
Unfortunately, it did not get better.
After cleaning a few mugs and listen to the group’s senseless banter, one of them calls out for a refill. When I get to the table, he acts obnoxiously stubborn and insists I come all the way around the table to get the mug. I glare at the first fellow, and he just whimpers.
I step around the table to collect the mug, and before I can grasp it, the drunken idiot jumps on me. I nearly fall forward with his weight, but I’m glad I keep myself up.
Just then, Grassy Green bursts through the door shouting for the stallion to stop. I don’t wait another second. I slip about an inch forward and raise my right hind leg up in between both of his, then shove him off me as he squeals. I jump away from them as his buddies pick him up off the ground. All except for the newbie, who seems to have fallen asleep in his seat.
Mr. Green dashes to my side. “Oh my goodness, Page. Are you all right?”
“Yes, Dr. Green, I am quite all right,” I try not to sound sarcastic, but I don’t think I did too well. I save myself quickly, “What are you doing here?”
“I was on my way back from work and saw, or moreover heard the commotion from inside and was worried. I burst in to find this moron assaulting you. I’m glad to see you came out unharmed.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, faking an exhausted sigh.
Suddenly the chef comes running out. “What in Equestria is going on?”
Long story short, the drunk was arrested, and his buddies sent home. Celestia knows if they made it. I was given the next day off and was invited to Dr. Green’s office in case I needed some mental help.
It was pretty basic. I told him everything that happened from beginning to end. I showed no fear or signs of trauma, so Grassy gave me a compliment on my mental stability after a traumatic experience.
I told him I’d had a lot of practice, and he simply responded “Oh.”
However, no matter what I had gone through in the past, nothing could have prepared me for what came next.
That afternoon, I arrived home to notice a letter in my mailbox sent from home. I grew excited; it had been days since I sent my letter to them, also in a makeshift envelope.
As I read the letter, my elation dwindles. Mother wrote to me to tell me that Pa had been loaned a mechanical reaper to assist in harvesting while I was away. He didn’t know how to use it properly. They could get to a hospital in time.
My father had died in an instant, and I wasn’t there.
It was then that I learned the most terrible lesson about life:
It ends.