On the other hoof

Octavic didn't even remember when he had lost consciousness. He had a dream. It was a dream where he performed on a fancy cruise with the filly of his dreams, but then suddenly everything went dark, there was water everywhere, and he did something incredibly stupid.

"Wait a second. It wasn't a dream. Those were MEMORIES!" though Octavic.

Everything flashed by in Octavic's brain. The boat, the guitar, the band, the cello, Octavia, rain, storm, lightning, Octavia, digging, blood, blood...

He jerked awake from the nightmare. He would have sat up, but he didn't have the strength to do so. He simply shook his body and opened his eyes wide open, but he had to narrow them because of the strong light.

There were voices around him. At first they were all muffled and unclear, but slowly they began to become clear.

"Oh my, he woke up! HE WOKE UP!" A male voice said.

"Shush, he needs REST! Be quiet, please" a soft female voice quickly followed.

"Oh, I apologize," the male voice said.

Octavic looked to the side, and he saw two ponies. One of them was Fancy Pants, and the other one looked like a nurse.

Opening his lips, "How is Octavia?" Octavic tried to say, but to his surprise, what came out sounded like a strangled duck.

"Don't talk, you are still extremely weak. But don't worry, you'll get better in no time." The nurse left, returning shortly with a writing board and a pencil.

"If you need anything, just write it down on here."

Octavic lifted his left hoof, trying to grab the pencil. Then he suddenly saw the bandage on his left forearm and stopped.

"Oh right, I cut my left hoof off," he thought to himself. So he took the pencil in his mouth instead and wrote on the board,

"How is Octavia?"

He desperately wanted to know if Octavia was all right. The question about where he was or how bad he was injured seemed like dust to him compared to his worry for Octavia.

"She is fine. Much better than you are. Anything else?"

Octavic wrote under his first question, "How badly am I injured?"

The nurse and Fancy Pants looked at each other.

Then the nurse sighed, and said, "Sir, we regret to inform you of this. We have done our best, but your hoof... " she paused.

"I am really sorry."

Octavic let out a long sigh. He was prepared for this, so the nurse's words weren't much of a surprise, but he felt sorrowful. He felt as if he was empty inside. He had lost more than just his hoof. His music had been a part of him, and he had lost that, too. He wanted to cry, but instead he just laid there with a straight face, feigning calm.

Fancy pants walked over. "Sir, I am really sorry about this incident. Luckily, your insurance covered most of your medical bills, and I would personally donate a portion of my bits for you, as you have done such a brave act. You are a true hero."

Octavic gave a weak smile.

The nurse lead Fancy Pants out of the room and gave Octavic a chance to get some rest. The following days were very plain and boring, and Octavic felt the urge to leave before he would have a chance to run into Octavia.

And he did. He checked out of the hospital as soon as he regained the strength to walk. The doctors tried to convince him to stay for further treatment, but he simply took the medicine he would need and left. He rejected all the invitations and interviews from reporters. He just wanted to be alone, away from Octavia. He wanted to give Octavia the freedom that she wanted, and not block her path towards her own dream.

He had already booked a ticket back to Fillydelphia, his hometown, where he would be able to find a job. He didn't know what kind of job it would be. He just needed SOMETHING to take his mind off what had happened. The train would be leaving the next day, so he decided to pay a visit to his own apartment.

He had lost his key to the door a while ago, but living in this same apartment in Canterlot for months, he had learned the trick. He held out a thin card, and then slid it between the door and the door frame. He moved the card next to the door knob, lifted his hoof and gave the door a kick on the lower right corner. The old wooden door opened with a loud crack, and Octavic walked inside.

The room was dusty, but familiar. For some reason, though, Octavic felt like he was in a stranger's house. Feeling uneasy and nervous, he sat down on the couch and looked at the white walls of the room. The table was still messy and unbalanced, the couch was still uncomfortable, and the big poster of Octavia was still hanging on the wall of his living room.

It wasn't even that long ago. Just a month ago, he was living there. He had had his guitar, his music, and his dreams. But now, he had lost them all.

Octavic looked to the side. He saw his old guitar lying against the wall. The usual smooth, wooden body, the usual steady and hard fret board. The strings were dusty, but still tightly attached. Octavic walked over and picked his guitar up with his right hoof. He didn't know why he did it. He just wanted to hold his old friend that he had been with since his dad gave it to him, and just play one more time and say goodbye.

He sat in playing position. He put the guitar on his left leg, and adjusted the position so the guitar fit nicely underneath his arms. He then held out his right hoof and flicked the first string. An open E. A bit flat, but still acceptable. He played through all the open strings, tuning them by turning the little nob on the top of the guitar with his teeth. Wanting to play more than the open strings, he moved his left arm onto the fret board and pressed down.

It didn't work. Without his hoof, he couldn't press down single strings. He could not even form a proper cord let alone a single note as his forearm was too thick for it. He tried again a few times, but the pain from his wrist told him that there was no use. He realized that he could never, ever play the guitar again.

Octavic lowered his head. What was he expecting? From the moment he dug that dagger into his wrist, he knew that he had thrown his life away. But he still thought that if he put more effort into it... if he tried harder than any pony else, then he would still be able to be a musician. But now, he lost hope. He gave up.

He buried his face in his arms and cried. First a few drops, then tears flew down his light grey face in streams. He cried like he never cried before, letting all of his emotions out of his chest. Sadness, hopelessness, emptiness... Everything.

He didn't know how long had he had been sitting there, letting the tears flow. The only thing he knew is that, suddenly, he felt a pair of gentle hooves on his cheeks.

Confused, he looked up. Tears had blurred his eyes, so he rubbed them with his good hoof. When he was able to see the pony in front of him, his jaw dropped.

Octavia was standing in front of him, holding out her hooves. She had a gentle, worried smile on her face like she was apologizing, or as if she was trying to cheer him up.

"What... what are you doing here?"

Octavia ignored him. She moved over and sat down to his left, still holding her hooves on his face. Then, using her hooves, she turned Octavic to face towards her. She moved closer, stretching her neck and turning her body. Moving her hooves lower, Octavia pulled him closer and gave him a comforting, gentle hug. They were so close together that they could feel the warmth and hear the heartbeat of one another.

Octavic felt her muzzle against his own. He smelled a mixture of high class shampoo and the naturally pleasant scent of Octavia, and his brain went blank.

It was as if the roomful of air had turned into still water. For a long while, they didn't move. They didn't talk. They just sat on the couch, sharing the peaceful and special moment, together.

Then, Octavia finally moved her muzzle away. They looked into each other's eyes, and Octavic asked, "But where do we go from here?"

Octavia didn't reply. She moved her hoof onto the fret board of Octavic's guitar and pressed down. Octavic was shocked, "You...?"

"Go on, try to play Ebon Coast." She said with an encouraging smile.

So Octavic did. He started moving his right hoof over the strings to make notes. Not quite sure what Octavia wanted to do, Octavic played at a much slower tempo than the song was supposed to be played at.To his surprise, Octavia's left hoof followed with great precision. The notes were in tune and indescribably beautiful. He looked at her, and after giving him a smile, she said, "Play at the normal speed." He sped up, and Octavia's hoof followed. For that moment, he felt like Octavia had become an extension of himself. The song kept going smoothly, and each note was on beat and, quite simply, perfect. Octavia had obviously spent a lot of time practicing this difficult piece; and what's more, she understood Octavic.

Octavic felt another stream of tears flowing down his cheeks. He may be incomplete, but on the other hoof, he knew that there was somepony who would make up for it and that everything would be all right.

-The End-

(Editor's note: I just d'awwwwed. =) I also have an expanded appreciation for my dad's guitar playing.)