Author's Note
Prompt A: “If you could have any fictional character as a best friend, who would you choose? Why? What would it be like?”
I didn't write that!
It's four in the morning. The night has lost some of its youth, but there are a few hours left before morning comes to put it to rest. My room is dark and silent, with the exception of my desk lamp, and the light snoring of my roommate respectively. My chair creaks as I lean back to appreciate, from a new perspective, my latest creation. Lines of text crawl across a bleached desert, like ants in a sandbox; their purpose, a closely guarded secret. I'm the writer. I know the language like I know my own. “Skids” talk in fragmented jargon, but I am a master of the craft.
And soon, my editor will arrive. She's a bookish type from a well-to-do family, and tutelage from only the best and brightest minds in her homeland. Me? I'm from below the poverty line. My parents were losers who couldn't even afford to by used clothes. As a kid, I spent more time cloistered away in my imagination than I did reading books. If we'd both stayed our respective courses, I doubt she would even know my name. But, reality happened. For better or worse, our fates are intertwined.
“Matt?” My face split in a slight smile at the sound of her voice. I eased out of my chair, carefully so as not to disturb my roommate, and slipped quietly into the living room of our dingy, three-room apartment. She kicked her shoes off at the door, first her left, then her right, and plodded over to the couch. My grin deepened when she patted the seat next to hers.
“I was wondering when you'd get back,” I whispered. I settled down next to her, wincing as the coarse fabric prodded me through my shirt. “I finished up yesterday's work, and started on a little bit of a side project. Wanna see?”
“Hm. I dunno; I'm kind of exhausted. Maybe if you made it worth my while…”
“Trust me, you're gonna love this.” I motioned for her to stay put, then pointed to the bedroom. She rolled her eyes, and shooed me with both hooves. I was in and out in a blink, and with laptop in tow, I plopped back onto the couch. I had the program up and running in no-time. “I don't need you screaming, 'kay? Dude-bro is in there asleep, and I don't really want to see how heavy a sleeper he is.”
“Wait, why would I scream?”
“Uh…ecstasy, maybe, but not that kind.” Her lavender eyes bored a hole straight into my soul. “I mean it, Twilight. Nothing sexual, nothing lewd. I'd tell you what it is, but that would ruin the little presentation I have planned.”
“Fine.”
I stared intently at the screen. This was the slowest boot sequence ever, and it was really starting to make me mad. My fingers tapped idly against the keys as the logo blossomed into existence. “Who would have guessed that Applebloom would have a knack for programming computers?” I mused. Still, consumer reviews were in: it still sucked compared to the tech we have in Anthropolis. I guess I didn't have too much to complain about. It was a Dev-friendly operating system, with a lot of flexibility and functionality. There just wasn't a market for it right now.
After a few more minutes of staring at the screen, Twilight turns to me.
“Did you break it?”
“No,” I replied, “I think it just failed to start. Hang on, I'll try rebooting.” I punched the power button with my finger, and held it in until the screen blacked out. This time, the boot sequence passed by quickly and painlessly, dumping us out at the login screen. I was, of course, the only user. After a lightning-fast flurry of my fingers, we were in. I had the generic desktop–functionality over fashion, that's my philosophy–with a few icons lined up along the left side. I clicked on one, and brought up the code I've been working on.
“Is this what you wanted to show me?” she asked. I nodded weakly, before launching into a brief explanation of what it was supposed to do.
“I, uh, took the data from your astronomy papers and did something with it.”
“None of this looks like data. It looks like a string of broken Equestrian, with random punctuation scattered throughout. Are… are you sure this does anything?”
“Sure. I just wanted you to see the effort that goes into making what I'm about to show you.” I closed out of the window, and brought up a command prompt. “All I have to do is type 'stargazing' into the prompt, and…”
I hit the button.
Immediately, the screen went dark. Twilight looked at me, clearly confused. I only smiled, and nodded at the screen. The show was about to start, and I didn't want her to miss anything. Tiny specks of white popped into existence. Some of them were close enough to be a few pixels wide, while others were only one pixel in diameter. They were all stars. Now, I'm no astronomer (though I've been known to dabble in astrology), so there was only so much I could do with raw data. This was a simple thing, as effortless for me as a birthday card is for somebody else. She watched in silence as the stars started to dance. 'Round and 'round they went. Capricorn, Taurus, and Scorpio; Orion, Cepheus, and Cassiopeia; Dippers little and big; Ursa's major and minor–all took part in the celestial ballad.
Towards the end, the stars grew dim. Some winked out of existence. Those that stayed lit were part of an important message. I tore my eyes from the screen to focus on Twilight's reaction. The gears in her head were visibly turning, and it was so cute! The way her brows furrowed, and how she nibbled on her lip as she was thinking. I saw the spark in her eyes before it glinted off her smile.
“I got it!”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I could hear the enthusiasm draining with every passing syllable. “Yeah, but… Listen, I appreciate the gesture, but I'm not sure it's really feasible at this juncture.”
You what? She took my silence as a call to continue.
“Alright, I'll be frank with you: I like you. Sometimes, I like you a lot. Others, I want to kill you–but I don't, because I enjoy your company. Between you and Dude-bro, I think I can actually make it through this semester without seeing my friends. Not that I wouldn't want to! But that's beside the point. It… just wouldn't work out. I guess that's what I'm trying to say.”
“Twilight, what on God's green Earth are you talking about?”
She pointed to the computer screen. There, in a twinkly, glittery font, were the words 'Will you marry me?'. At that, my mind shut down. I closed the laptop, and drug myself off the couch.
“Pardon me for a second,” I grunted. I stalked back into the darkened room where Dude-bro was still slumbering, blissfully unaware of the wrathful roommate that glided to his bedside. A stray strand of moonlight glinted off the safety razor I'd picked up off the nightstand.
“Sweet dreams, kid. I hope it was worth it.”
After that, Dude-bro never messed with my things again. I'm surprised he managed to sleep through my vengeance. The next morning, he woke up with only one eyebrow, half his beard, and half his hair.
A week later, Twilight and I were sitting across from each other at an internet cafe. I'd explained the morning after that I wasn't actually proposing to her: that the message she read at four in the morning was the result of our fellow roommate, and that he wouldn't be bothering us again. After a few minutes of idle conversation, she looked me dead in the eyes.
“There was something important last week that I forgot to tell you about. It's–“
“Your birthday?” She nodded. “I know. Why do you think I was so peeved with Dude-bro? He scribbled a wedding proposal over your birthday card.”
