Roots

by TwinturboDOHC

Rating: everyone
Tags: Comedy, Tragedy, Random
Length: 1264

Failure is an opportunity. To try again, but this time more intelligently.

This story is based around a promising pony named Cymbal, whose life takes a turn for the worst. Now, he must somehow survive the bustling metropolis of Manehatten with only his wits. Oh, and some drumsticks.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-08-11 19:44:50 UTC

Chapter 1-A turn for the worse

Hello, my name is Cymbal, and I'm a drummer. Which is difficult, to say at the least, not being a unicorn. I am an earth pony, my cutie mark (obviously) is a pair of sticks. I have a dark blue coat with a bright (-ish) green mane and tail.

The reason my cutie mark is a pair of sticks is because when I was little, I found two sticks (don't get too excited) and started banging on pots and pans and things like that. Then when mom came in, she screeched, "Look! Cymbal! You got your cutie mark!"

I live in Manechester, which is just south of the crystal empire. My father died in a freak marching incident when I was 12. When I tell people that, they look at me like, "and the punchline is..." It's true. There was an argument during practice, between my dad and the leader. It got out of hand and dad got pushed out of a second story convention centre window and died of blood loss later in hospital.

Growing up I had a normal life. I had a few very good friends, Blue Rose and Stan. We were always into music and nothing at the time really suited us. (music wise) We moved into an apartment in Manehatten together when we were all around 20 years old. I worked in a downtown café where business was good.

Rose was in a string quartet and was a grade 8 cellist. Stan was a bit useless to be honest. He was lazy, obnoxious but he came up with all the best jokes and had a heart of gold. He never managed to hold down a job for more than a few weeks.

It all started one typical afternoon. I came home from work, saw Stan lying on the sofa shrouded in a cocoon of junk food and fizzy drinks. I knew Rose was performing at a concert that afternoon for some big wigs.

"Hey! I'm back. Miss me?" I called out. I got cheerful and slightly muffled sounding fuck off from Stan. Business as usual.

Unexpectedly, I heard Rose call out, "I'm back!"

"Aren't you supposed to be performing until 8?" I enquired.

Her face said something was up.

"Fiona started playing in B flat!" Of all the keys!" explained Rose.

"Did you still get payed?"

"Yes, the rest of us got payed in full. You know what Fiona did next?"

I was going to regret asking this, "What did she do next?" I sighed.

"She blamed us! She said if we'd have just played it out in B flat and bluffed we could have pulled it off!"

"uh-huh,"

"She blamed us, US, when she was the one who started playing in the wrong key!"

"Wow."

"Should've roundhouse kicked her in the horn." Piped in Stan.

Rose turned around. "Why in Equestria would I have done that Stan."

"Well..." She gave him a look that was so mean, it could be considered totally average, "just to... er... do something?" He suggested.

"You can't talk about doing anything, Stan. All you do is sit on your stupid ass watching television and eating junk food."

"errr..." he trailed off.

"And I haven't even told you the worst part yet," not even a fly would have dared to clean it's throat. "SHE quit! She fucking quit! Her! Who was the one who started playing in B FUCKING FLAT!!!" Rose started panting heavily.

Now, I ought to explain, Rose pays the rent, I pay for food and Stan? I think he pays for the subscriptions and the tv license. Just.

"Well, what are you going to do about the rent?" I asked, "Can't you just do your acts without her?"

"No, she WAS the lead violinist, which means we literally can't play anything." ouch.

"Well what are we gonna do then? We can't afford to keep this flat." we all knew this. We shared a 3 bedroom apartment in uptown Manehatten. If Stan ever cleaned up his stuff, I'd describe it as a penthouse palace.

"I don't know what we'll do." She started crying. I went over to comfort her.

And that's how it began. Over the next year, we moved into worse and worse places. The café I worked at got bought out by Starbucks. It came to the point where we were living in a basement apartment, all we had left was the sofa and our own personal belongings, (pictures of family and the like) The apartment, if you could call it that, was two rooms. A living room and a bathroom. The roof was leaking as we were all listening to the news on a radio.

"And so the the kitten managed to escape the nasty escapade unha-" The batteries were dead.

"What now?" said Stan as he ate some cold baked beans.

"I don't know Stan. None of us know." I replied.

"Why don't you know?"

"I just don't, okay?"

"Well, I would have thought..." I stared at him icily.

"Would have thought what? Would have thought you could just freeload off us Stan?" I snapped, angrily.

"Well..."

"Well..." I mimicked in a stupid voice' "That is all you do. You know it. I know it. Rose knows it."

"I don't."

"You lie like a cheap watch, Stan. I would know, 20 bits doesn't pay for a genuine Rolex, Stan!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what, I can't deal with your shit. I'm leaving." I picked up my saddle packs. I put all of my remaining money into it, my last surviving memory of a heritage I had to leave behind. A triangle.

"Where are you going?" Asked Rose.

"Out." I said. I unlocked all 17 of the locks to our door, and stepped out into the breezy evening air.

This was stupid. Stan was just a waste of time, space and money. I just walked. I thought I would cool down, but instead, I just kept walking. Block after block after block after block. I just kept going.

After a while it started to get dark. Then it got darker still, and started to rain. Small droplets at first, then massive blobs that left me soaked in seconds. I started to shiver with cold, but also partly with anger. But still I kept walking.

I couldn't go back, it would be admitting defeat. No. I had to keep walking. The problem is, you can only walk for so long. My hooves ached, my legs burned and I was chilled to the bone. But still I kept walking.

It was getting really late. The cities night life was emerging. Ponies were thin on the ground due to the rain. "Watch where your fucking going, idiot." My legs were nearly giving way from the strain of keeping myself aloft. But still I kept walking.

I knew I would have to rest eventually. I could go to one of the homeless centres. I could just sleep in an alley or under an overpass. I had to stop. I was totally worn out. I started to feel numb all over. But still I kept walking.

As I had anticipated, I was now searching for somewhere dry to rest. Or maybe just die. That would be nice. The was an overpass, underneath it was dark and overgrown. But at least it was dry. I cleared away some trash to the side. My front legs gave way and I collapsed in a heap.

This is the lowest I've ever been. I cried myself to sleep.