Broken Heartstrings

Broken Heartstrings

The Second Melody: Waiting for Nothing

If you're here as a follower, you'll probably figure that reading back through this has really tickled me, and really pissed me off, too, given recent events, and so I am writing more on. This was my second fiction, and so the first chapter was not written up to scratch, and that means that it won't flow in to the second as well as other stories.
On that note, I give you The Second Melody. Have a good time.

~~~

She awoke from a dream of a war inside her body, ponies swirling around her heart like love and hatred, music flowing from the clashes, a series of tear-jerking tunes leaving the heartbroken mare with sore eyes on her wake-up call.

Lyra lifted her head off of the base of her Lyre, which she'd used as a pillow over the night, and looked up to the sunrise.

Celestia's life giving ball of light rose over the small, tree-covered forest to the east, a bright, spherical time-keeper kept by the god herself. She looked out to the bright orange sky and sighed.

Picking up her lyre, she headed up the road, hoping that Canterlot would offer a better life than Ponyville. Or at least a better life on the streets.

~~~

One of the things that Lyra was renowned for was her singing, as it turned out. She couldn't ever sing to anything that she didn't make, but she could improvise her lyrics as she waltzed up the road to Canterlot pretty well.
" You go from the girl that looks nice,
and hangs with the people I know,
From the one that I wonder,
About whom I thought I'd never know;
To the cause of my waking in the morning,
And the reason I sleep well at night.
'Gone from my main source of power,
Through the longest days of my life,
From the person I cry to,
To the main cause 'n' reason of my plight.

'Gone from wonder, to love,
To hatred, to all of the above.
And while I fight to make sense,
Of the fact that,
You still want to know me...

What do I do?
When the girl I love doesn't love me too?
What do I do?
I need help, because I think I'm about to,
What do I do?
I can't think, if not about you.

So finally, From Someone,
To close to me,
To hated by,
To not saying 'Hi,'
To awkward passings,
To you re-befriending,
Me.

It's not goanna be easy,
These last weeks have been sleazy,
But I still feel for you,
And it still needs to go.

Do you still have feelings,
Are we really just friends?
Am I being paranoid,
Just 'cause I knew it would end?
Am I really okay,
With being kept at bay,
Is 'friends' really enough?
Is it really this tough?
Why can't I just fix it,
And leave us our separate ways?
Why can't I just fix it,
And let us head our separate ways?"

She stopped her dance once or twice when carriages stopped to see who was singing, and sometimes offered a few more bits than they should of - they were from Canterlot, a good street performer was unheard of, and they definitely had money to spare - but for the most of the time, she climbed slowly up the mountain trail, repeating her song again and again, once or twice changing the words or notes to entertain herself.

Halfway up the hill, a gentlecolt offered her a ride in exchange for her tune to be played in his cart, which she accepted - if there was one thing she could figure out for herself about being homeless, it would probably be that you accept any free ride or rest.

~~~

She hopped off, waving goodbye to the man who was being called 'Just Rich' by his pullers. She thought the name was familiar, but she just couldn't quite put her hoof on it.

As she turned after making a curtsy, she gasped slowly.

She'd been to the Gala before, but she came in a carriage, so she never saw the city. She knew now, though, that if she where to make her living from music, this would be a great experience.

The tens of carriages that slowly swarmed through the city, surrounded by the hundreds of ponies walking from one store or shop to another all indicated an impossible amount of cash in her hat pocket by the end of the week.

Or that is, if I play this right...

~~~

Bonbon woke up in her apartment bedroom. Not her bed, though - the floor had served as her mattress last night, and the hoof that wasn't carrying the bottle of wine had served as her pillow, though it was now numb.

She sighed, attempting to rise from the floor, before falling back down and hitting the ground.

Damn it...

Her hang-over had forced her to the floor, seemingly with the power of a stampede, as when her head hit the ground, pain echoed throughout her body, as did the absurdly loud 'crash' of the wine bottle smashing on the floor, but the stupidly strong light of Celestia's sun pulsed pain through her head as if her eyes were being pushed back through the skull made her roll over in to her own vomit.

Her stroke of bad luck, as she knew, was caused by last night's drunken stupor. This was mainly indicated by the fact that her vision was still like a curving mirror, but the currently shattered wine bottle combined with the strong smell of urine emitting from her leg made a good indicator, too.

"Coffee."

~~~

Lyra stood on a step on the front of a stage, singing and playing her version of 'Hospital Flowers' to gather a small crowd before heading or through the streets playing a slow, gentle tune. Whatever it was that she was doing right, she noticed that it brought in the money.