My name is Snips, I am the famous (or infamous?) founder of the soda company called Koka Kola. I am an adult, but not that old, I'm forty-one years old. I have a friend who is the founder of the Bucksy, the rival company of mine, but we get along very well. He is also forty-one years old, a successful businesspony, an idiot, and my very best friend.
Ever since we were colts, we are inseparable. Yes, we have had fights before, but we always forgive each other immediately, no matter what kind of fight that is. We always do things together even now, heck, he is the co-founder of this company, and I am the co-founder of Bucksy—sounds impossible, but that is true. We always share our secrets no matter how embarrassing or personal the secret is, I almost know everything about him.
But that pony didn't tell me one secret that he has ever since he was a teenage colt.
His heart is failing.
And I have never been so angry in my life.
His name is Snails.
/-/-/
Tick tock.
I open my window, feeling the late night air fill my hotel room. Drawing my smoking pipe out of my business suit, I fill the pipe loosely with tobacco and compress it lightly with my magic. Lighting the pipe with my match, I sigh while I hold my pipe. Throwing the burnt match outside the window, I puff slowly and rhythmically while staring at the bright moon above the mountains. Minty smoke fill my throat and lungs, savoring the moment that won't last long.
I adjust my necktie and go to my desk. I decide to finish some papers and go to sleep, but when I see the enormous pile of papers taking most of the space of my desk, I have decided that I will finish the papers in the morning. Considering how stressful I am, I won't be able to finish signing the papers without having headaches and such.
I glance at the door beside the window. Feeling quite sleepy, I enter the bathroom and open the sink. I splash my face with cold water and wipe my face with the dry towel provided nearby. I feel less sleepy and I stare at the unknown pony inside the mirror.
My black eyes are hazy and dull, my once moderate orange mane becomes dull orange, and my grayish opal coat is darker. I don't know this pony I have become, and I don't want myself to become depressed and mentally hurt. I leave the bathroom without closing the light—it's a bad habit of mine and Snails.
I hear the ticking sound of the clock Snails gave me. Somehow, it gives warmth and I feel happy with it, but it also makes me feel angry and worried. I take the clock pendant out and stare at it—it is a golden pendant with Roman numerals as its numbers. Snails had this ever since we were colts, and he gave it to me as a gift when my company started. It is old, but it's very durable.
Poking my head outside the window, I see a drunk pony holding a mug of beer walking in a weird manner on the streets of Canterlot. I sigh at the pathetic pony, then I remember that Snails also walk that way with me. I puff again, creating small puffs of smoke drifting away from me. I have decided to have a drink.
Time is running out.
/-/-/
Tick Tock.
I leave the hotel where I am staying, and it's a beautiful night outside. I take a taxi to the center of Canterlot and ask to be dropped off the Dead Stallion's Drink. I pay the taxi driver the bits he needs and he sets off, leaving me alone in the dark street. The bar name is quite catchy, and this is where Snails and I spend our night together whenever we visit Canterlot. But this time, only me will spend the night here.
Entering the bar, I am greeted by the neon lights and loud music. Beside me, I see a large, muscular pony that are far more taller than me, he seems to know me though. I walk slowly to the bar counter and sit on the red stool, ignoring all the whispers that are probably about me. I light my smoking pipe again and begin puffing.
"Sir, what would you like to order?" the red maned and white coated bar stallion in a tuxedo ask me while wiping the wine glass with a white cloth. I believe his name is Wine Shuffle.
"Buckweiser, with ice." I say in a gravely voice, the voice that I am not familiar with.
"Right away."
The drink is served immediately. Staring at the rocks glass filled with Buckweiser and ice, I puff my pipe again before drinking it. It has a rich, malty taste—the alcohol I am used to. I am the only one in the counter, the others are dancing as the disk jockey is doing his job. There is a blue glow that surrounds the counter, creating a cool atmosphere.
I take another gulp, and the glass is empty. I ask for more, and the drink is served quickly. Hoping that I will forget all my problems I take another gulp. I sigh when Buckweiser is not strong enough for me, even when it is the strongest whiskey in this bar. I order another one, and another one, then another one, until a white hoof stops me.
I recognize whose hoof it is immediately without looking at the face. "Pipsqueak."
"Yeah, the one and only," the dark tangelo maned and white coated with brown spots stallion grins at me as he sits beside me. "Can I borrow your lighter?" he ask me while taking his pipe out.
I take my lighter out and give it to him. Pipsqueak is my old friend, but sometimes he is too busy to hang out with me and Snails. I continue drinking my Buckweiser without getting any complaints from my friend beside me. "Why is a lawyer here?" I ask, putting my lighter back in my pocket.
"I'm just celebrating when I solved a hard case from my patient. I just love the look the other lawyer gave me," he chuckles while ordering a glass of scotch, then he turn to me.
"All by yourself?"
Pipsqueak waves his hoof dismissively and points at the ponies dancing. "Nah, that is not me when I go alone to the bars. I was dancing when I saw you all alone by yourself here, and hell, you look pissed off."
"You've got the guts to talk to a pissed stallion," I drink the remaining liquid in the rocks glass, then again I order another one. Good, the whiskey is getting me tipsy.
"Yeah," he laughs while drinking, then he smoke on his pipe. "Now, tell me a little about yourself: why you're here?"
"I got into a fight this morning because I accidentally threw my burning match on somepony's mane, then I almost got hit by a taxi driver, got blackmailed, got stolen, got punched by a random pony, and when I was supposed to donate in a charity, bad things happened." I gulp, "That's why I'm here."
"Sounds like you buddy!" Pipsqueak punches my shoulder lightly, then suddenly, he is silent. Pipsqueak is staring at his glass, not moving a single muscle and is thinking deeply.
I remain silent too; I know what he's thinking and worrying, and he knows why I am here, drinking and smoking. I stare at the puff of smoke from my pipe going up, mixing the air with minty tobacco.
"I'm sorry."
"You're apologizing to the wrong pony."
Time speaks like your mouth.
/-/-/
Nine Days Earlier
Tick Tock.
Why won't you act fast?
/-/-/
Tick Tock.
Why won't you think fast?
/-/-/
Time flies fast, don't you think?
The world is fading.
/-/-/
Yet you are waiting.
For something to change.
/-/-/
You're trapped in a cage.
Waiting for someone.
/-/-/
Someone to free you.
But things don't work that way.
Tick Tock.
