The Cynic

by VinnyMartello

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Dark, Comedy, Tragedy
Length: 2911

With the help of his stoner friend, a cynical young colt named Slipshod Barcilleo learns to cope with bitterness as he faces his past head on.

Slipshod Barcilleo is a young colt with a deeply chiseled chip on his shoulder. Having grown up in a bad home has made him bitter on the inside and cheerful on the outside. He channels his bitterness into long cognitive rants within, or into the dark humor he uses to keep distracted from how much he hates himself. But, this isn't his fate. He befriends a lazy colt with a dismal outlook on life and a mysterious mare who takes a sudden interest in him. And together, the two knuckleheads learn that they must grow out of their self-loathing and bitterness in order to achieve their ultimate goal - happiness.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-12-05 00:03:52 UTC

Chapter 1: Nonconformists

Nonconformists – perhaps my least favorite form of living creature. The very premise of who and what they are is built upon a lie. Their utter lack of originality and style is almost sickening.  If the societal waters flow in one direction, they flow in the opposite direction for the sole purpose of flowing in the opposite direction. The concept of actual societal revolution and individual growth is foreign to them. For they say “look, we are different – we aren’t like everyone else” when in fact they are being different to be the same. And on this wise I have made the assertion that some go with the flow and others go against the flow - but I prefer to get out a shovel and dig my own river.

You can call me Slipshod Barcilleo. That was the label given to me by my loving parents on the uneventful day I was born. But it works  considering “slipshod” means thrown together with leftover parts or unwanted things. And I suppose that little identifier stamped on my birth certificate suits me well. As an artist and mechanic I have an appreciation for unwanted things; me and unwanted things have a lot in common. But we can discuss that minute detail a little later.

And as for Barcilleo, it’s supposedly Latin in nature and by definition Italian, which means it’s from the country of Italy, which is some made up place full of hairless creatures called “humans”. I think my dad told me all of this to give me the impression that somehow he is actually worth something. In spite of this, I don’t really see the need to change my title. The few friends I do have identify me by that title and the time and effort required to change is not worth the trouble. On top of that it involves paperwork - which is the devil’s work.

I was born in the little town of Aiken. It’s a town whose primary populous is short-tempered earth ponies with excellent family values and social skills; but I’m being sarcastic of course. The home I grew up in fell a few miles short of a white picket fence with red shudders, if you catch my drift. But that’s another story for another day… or another year.

I’m sure you’re captivated by the fascinating autobiography of my exciting life thus far, but it gets even more interesting.  Already a ripe twenty years of age, in college, has a splendid variety of career options before him, and no cutie mark. That is correct. I do not posses one of those blasted things. You must be wondering how. After all, I already mentioned I am an artist and a mechanic. That’s only a few of the things I do. I do many things. Truth be told, I have a variety of talents with no one of them being the life-defining talent that predicts my future, my destiny, and all that jazz. And as for the cutie mark? I willed myself out of it. There’s no way on heaven or earth I intend on having a silly little symbol plastered to my bare hindquarters as a symbol of my purpose in life. If I can be a jack-of-all-trades and a master of everything, then I will never have to deal with such nonsense. And there is no symbol for OCD as far as I’m aware. How’s that for nonconformity? I suppose there’s no cutie mark for hypocrisy either. I enjoy being blatantly hypocritical whenever I’m trying to make a point. It gets folks confused and/or irritated. In a sense you could say that my cutie mark is my whole backside – because I’m an ass.

Well, that's my story in brief. It's what I am. But for all intents and purposes implied or otherwise, I'm just a horse with no name...

Chapter 2: Conflicting Thoughts

Slipshod Barcilleo was born some twenty years ago in the town of Aiken, about fifteen miles east of Ponyville. It’s not a grandiose town by any means. Aiken is more of a middle class town with no fantastic historical landmarks or any such thing, but it does posses running water. And that is a nicety.

However, running water and a roof over your head seem to be of little importance when growing up in a bad home. Slipshod’s father, Apollyon Barcilleo, is a former member of the Equestrian Royal Guard. Although that carries with it some level of prestige, it also carries with it a great deal of emotional scarring. Not all members of the guard stand in front of large shiny doors looking sharp. And in the case of Apollyon, a large fancy door wasn’t the object he was protecting, but rather Equestria itself. Fast forward a few years, and you find an old stallion with bad memories and an even worse parenting skills. As unfortunate as this may be, the cynical little colt named Slipshod always managed to smile at everyone he met, all the while internalizing what went on at home.

One might ask where his mother is in all of this. As luck would have it, she’s a pacifist. It’s the perfect storm. And it begs the question, how? Young love is indeed blind. And in this case, it’s deaf too. And it’s no surprise that our young colt is a conflicted soul. As a young adult with his whole future before him, he has many decisions to make. Should he allow himself to become that which he hates? Should he become a pacifist? Does a happy medium even exist? Living in a world of two extremes is like living in the San Palomino Desert: blistering hot at day and ice cold at night, with only fleeting moments of comfort in between. Slipshod did his best to hold on to those fleeting moments growing up. He wouldn’t have had any if it were not for his loving sister. She moved away when he was eighteen. But he thinks of her every day.

Sovannaro Barcilleo was born four years before Slipshod, so she ended up acting as his mother in many ways. Sovannaro learned early on that the only way to truly survive is to take care of your own. “Sovie”, as he called her, was Slipshod’s only true friend growing up. It was Sovie who gave Slipshod those fleeting moments of comfort. And that played a major role in keeping him from unleashing the shadow residing within as he grew older.

Cynical as he is, Slipshod cares about everyone as best he can. He’s only a tough guy within the confines of his conflicted albeit guarded mind. He doesn’t really let his emotions out, unless they’re sun-shiny and well orchestrated. He doesn’t want anyone to see that ugly shadow harbored behind his happy eyes. Since his emotions are corrupted, keeping them bottled up should save anypony from dealing with a colt in a blind rage. Or so he thinks. And since nopony has ever seen him angry, it’s obviously the correct way to go about things. But of course, that truly isn’t the case. Years of unaddressed rage take on a different form in some cases. Slipshod was living in a world of quiet self-contradiction. He loved everypony around him; but he hated himself. And this skewed way of thinking led him to be outwardly arrogant, but inwardly humble, outwardly self-righteous, but inwardly modest, honest to all, but always lying to himself; and all the while he is thinking that he has that dark and unassuming shadow living within him under control. But fortunately for him, he would soon discover that the love of a friend can tame that wild beast known as bitterness.

Chapter 3: Burning the Bush

Another day of science classes and military drill came to an end the Aiken Community college and Military Academy. Our little cynic happens to be a member of the Wondercolts Reserve Training Corps. Although just a humble earth pony, his mechanical skills landed him a position as member of the trainee ground crew. It isn’t entirely his cup of tea, but it keeps him away from home longer than a regular day of classes.

Things had been running through the status quo at this point. Go to physical training – go to class – go to drill – go home – dance on the edge of a knife as you maneuver around a crazy stallion – go to bed. However, things would turn out a little differently while walking home on what he would have thought to be an uneventful day. As he was making his way down the old dirt road leading to his parent’s house, he noticed something rustling in the leaves a little ways off the side of the road. Amidst the trees behind a bush he noticed a lanky but heavyset figure laying face down in dirt. Surprised at seeing a young colt lying passed out in the faceplant position, he stepped back staring blankly. But surprise was soon overcome with curiosity. He nudged his hoof into the face of the awkward butterscotch earth pony and waited for a reaction. Nothing happened. He nudged again. The second nudge proved successful. A long heavy sigh escaped the colt’s muzzle. “Okay, okay” he said, as the inebriated colt in question wearily lifted himself up from the ground. His long legs seemed almost a necessity given the size of plump little belly. It was then the two made eye contact. His bloodshot eyes exposed a history of unfortunate events and a longing to forget the past. Slipshod found himself looking at his own reflection. But the eternal silence of an awkward stare was broken as the colt’s bloodshot eyes suddenly lightened up; a burden was lifted at the mere presence of a young Slipshod. But why?

“Slipshod? Slipshod Barcilleo? Is that really you?” exclaimed the dizzily delighted young colt.

“Wait a minute… I’d know that round belly anywhere! Zak Buttersworth!”

“And I’d know that dumb white spot on your forehead anywhere!”

“I had forgotten you existed!”

“So did I. But now I remember that I do exist. It’s all cuz’ the magic stuff has worn off so now I have been thrust back into the cold, cold encapsulation of life known as reality.”

“Oh my”, Slipshod muttered. “What stuff are you talking about?”

“Ya’ see, there’s like this magical plant… in the Everfree Forest. And you like, go and find it. And when you do find it, you eat it. And then you forget all about the treachery known as life. It’s a miracle of modern science.”

“Ummm… That doesn’t sound healthy”, he retorted.

Zak gave a half serious half dizzy look at Slipshod. “Naw, it’s cool man. The zebra in the woods said it was okay. She’s awesome. She’s like, an ethnic Dr. Seuss or something.”

“I’ve never heard of such a doctor”, he uneasily replied.

“Neither have I. But that doesn’t matter. You’re here and that’s good enough for me.”

Slipshod gazed wonderingly at his old friend from school. He clearly had changed quite a bit. “But then again, so have I”, he thought to himself.

The delighted look in Zak’s eyes soon faded back to a tired gray hue. They fell into that treacherous territory known as self-awareness. It’s a look rarely seen in the eyes of any living creature; it’s a territory too frightful for Slipshod to enter.

“Slip”, he said. “I really need a friend right now.”

“So do I, buddy. So do I.”

Chapter 4: Unsweet Dreams

The many long hours spent in physical training certainly paid off. Slipshod plowed through the Everfree Forest as fast as his long legs could carry him. A sick and twisted harbinger of darkness was chasing him with the ferocity of an emaciated wolf. And the creature was gaining on him. With all his might, Slipshod put forth a last ditch effort to make it to the edge of the forest, where creatures of the night don’t dare trespass. He saw the faint light of the moon just ahead of him. The trees were rapidly thinning out as he neared the edge. He could almost smell the grass of the field that lay before him. However, catastrophe struck as something sharp and jagged pierced his hind leg. Bleeding and in pain, he pushed forward. But he went crashing to the ground as his leg gave out. With his forelegs he began to drag himself to the edge. But it was too late; the spear in his leg had done him in. He could hear the beast behind him, slowly but confidently stepping towards its prey. Trying to escape was beyond hope at this point. With one leg severed and three more paralyzed with fear, there was no point in trying. He slowly turned around to gaze upon the creature that would soon end his existence. Before him stood a tall pale horse. His legs were clad in iron and a bronze helmet concealed his wicked countenance. With his mighty foreleg, the beast removed the helmet – exposing the living embodiment of fear: Appollyon Barcilleo. With hungry eyes, he looked down upon a scared and helpless child. Crying for help was for naught. Slipshod knew his fate and was powerless to stop it. He looked up at the destroyer gazing down upon him. The cruel smile and sinister look in his eyes spoke only of ill intent and unholy desires. With drool falling from his mouth, he began stepping towards his prize, ever so slowly.

“NOOOOOOO!!!!!” exclaimed a mortified Slipshod as he fell from his bed face first. It all was a dream. Just a dream. Just a vivid, frightening, memory-evoking dream. He picked himself up off the floor and looked out his bedroom window with the longing of a tired old prisoner in a cold dank cell. The moon shone brightly; its soft and welcoming light brought some sense of comfort and peace to his afflicted mind. Slipshod glanced over at the clock atop his nightstand. “Four o’clock already,” he muttered begrudgingly. “Might as well pack my things and get ready to go back to school. Physical training starts in two hours.”

Dreams are mysterious things. Sometimes they throw you into a world of adventure and excitement. Sometimes they are terrifying. Sometimes they catch a glimpse of things which have not yet come to be. And sometimes… sometimes they interpret reality. It’s a rare occurrence that dreams like these enter the mind. For many in the waking life have tried to interpret dreams. But few experience a dream that interprets waking life. But the rarest occasion of all is when the interpretive dream is observed by the interpreter of dreams. And it was this rare occurrence that would lead to the unfolding of Slipshod’s reality. Everything he ever knew would soon be challenged. But the challenger would not be a warrior or an enemy, but rather himself.

The collision to his bedroom floor definitely made a decent thud. His face could attest to that. It fortunately wasn’t enough to wake his dearly beloved father. But it was just loud enough to be heard by the observer of dreams herself.

Princess Luna had witnessed many a nightmare. But this one troubled her greatly. It was more than just a reflection of a troubled past – but a glimpse into the future as well. Luna flew from her tower and ran through the halls to the bed chamber of Princess Celestia. “Sister,” she exclaimed worriedly, “I saw a dream. But it was not a usual dream. There is a shadow lurking within the midst of it.”

Celestia was already awake when Luna entered the chamber. Her uneasy expression shared a similar concern. “I felt it too Luna. Something powerful is at work.”

The Princess stepped out of her bed and walked over to her crystal ball. With her magic she activated its power and tried to observe that which caused a disturbance in the flow of fate. But as the image in the crystal became clear, Celestia’s countenance went from that of fear to pure bewilderment.

“What do you see within the shadow, Sister? It is it a magic user? Tirek? Could it possibly be Nightmare Moon herself?”

“No Luna. It’s none of those things. I see a young child of earth. He possesses no magic or special abilities. He is just a humble earth pony.”

Celestia gazed wonderingly into her crystal ball. “What makes you so different?” she muttered as she tightened her eyes and focused in. After a few minutes of observing this young colt, she saw a manifestation of things to come. She saw the lad standing before a crossroads leading in two completely different directions – but ending up in the same place: wealth and power.

Celestia continued observing this manifestation as she spoke: “I see a young colt with incredible drive and ambition; a bright future lay before him. But he is also very dangerous. He is tormented and conflicted, caught somewhere between wanting to destroy the world, and wanting to save it. There is no middle ground. He will rise to power someday, that I am sure of. But the path he chooses could bring forth prosperity, or leave behind it a path of destruction.”

“What does this mean for us, my dear sister?” Luna replied.

“It means one of two things: either help him, or destroy him.”