Crybaby Corner

“My feet hurt,” said Spike.

For the traveling souls, the night brought only a punishing hike through the city wherein sleep did not welcome them. Somewhere along the way, the rain retreated and the umbrella’s use was deemed spent and Fizzle allowed the hooked handle to slip through his fingers. The city streets dampened the soft archways of the dragons’ feet. They wormed their way through alleys and they dodged the watchful eyes of the nightly patrol, which consisted of stallions dressed in navy colors with golden badges pinned to their chests. These guardians were a new breed in Equestria. Fathers and lone stallions alike were seduced by the prospect of power and they congregated to the nexus of the city where the stallions would shed their civilian skin. To this day, they stalk the lands in search of wrongdoers and they believe that this endless cycle of apprehension will someday give birth to a sense of purpose.

“They’re called cops, they are,” said an older gentlepony. His hair looked as though it was hiding behind his wrinkled head. He turned the key clockwise until the door’s lock clicked in response. “I hope you lads weren’t expecting to make a purchase tonight. I’m afraid we’ve just locked up.”

Through a glass window, Spike studied an assortment of toys and aged household items that were placed on display for passersby to take notice. A blue backpack aroused his interest. He tilted his head skyward and read the elaborate neon sign on the shop that said Alfie’s Antiques.

“Oh, no. We’re just going for a walk,” Fizzle said with a smile.

“Rather late for a leisurely stroll, it is.”

“Yes, sir. It is.” The albino dragon laughed and he looked both ways down the sidewalk to ensure that no eavesdroppers were present. He turned back to the shop owner and he said, “So, what were you saying? About the cops.”

“Right, right,” he nodded and he slipped his key into his coat pocket. “I don’t believe they were always here. There wasn’t much use for armed officials until recently.”

“No cops?”

“Indeed. None at all. Unless, of course, you count the royal guard.”

“Huh. Why do we need cops now?”

“I suppose the same reason I lock my shop at night.” He chuckled. “I’ve never owned a key in my life before this month.”

“Me neither. We don’t even have keys where I’m from,” said Fizzle.

“It’s quite a shame. You simply cannot trust anypony these days.”

“Sorry to hear that, sir.”

“Ah, we’ll survive. Don’t you worry.” The gentlepony buttoned up his pea coat and he said, “Anyway, I suppose I should be off. You and your brother keep warm, now.”

“Okay, cya.” Fizzle waved a claw towards the shop owner’s back and then he looked at Spike. The little drake had his snout pressed against the cold glass. Fizzle bent down and he brought his index finger up and he tapped a sharp nail to his reflection. He applied more pressure with his claw until he punctured a small hole into the glass and then he dragged his finger across the surface so that he made a circular incision. Finally, he took his other claw and he touched the center of the round carving with his palm and he pushed forward. A thin sheet of glass fell into the shop and presented an oval opening through which a small dog could enter.

“Hey, what are you doing,” Spike asked. He looked around himself and began to bite his nails.

“You said your feet were hurting, right?” Fizzle reached into the hole and removed a blue backpack from inside the shop’s display.

“Yeah, but...can’t we get in trouble for this?”

“It’s fine, dude,” he said before he stuck both arms through the straps of the backpack. “We’ll just pay him back when we get some bits.”

“Okay.”

“Here, hop in!” Fizzle faced away from Spike and he squatted low to the ground with each of his claws gripping the blue straps.

“You’re gonna carry me in that?”

“That’s the plan, man!”

“Really?”

“Yup! Go for it!”

“Okay.”

Spike poked a foot into the bag and then he carefully brought his second foot into the bag. After that, he sat with his legs crossed and he heaved a long sigh. Once he felt that the drake was safely contained within the backpack, Fizzle stood up and let out a grunt.

“You’re a heavy fella.”

“Maybe you're too skinny.”

"Fair enough."

The two ventured forth into the deeper intestines of the city. Spike rested on his back and he watched the sky. The clouds parted in order to showcase the stars and Spike allowed his eyes to wander from each crystalline speckle to the next. They shimmered back at him as though they were all dancing to win his attention.

“So, Spike. Do you feel like talking about what happened? You know, why you ran away.”

An answer was not given because Spike’s mind had begun to succumb to the lull of an intoxicating dream state. Fizzle’s voice melted into obscurity and resonated throughout the inner workings of his skull. Variations of colors became suddenly tangible and Spike laggardly groped them in an attempt to retain their surreal forms and commit them to memory. He stuck out his tongue and he tasted one of the colors and the buds which dotted his tongue sent forth electric signals directly to the brain and finally, a mental image was projected before him.

He saw orange flames licking the floorboards of a familiar house. His throat burned and tightened around his esophagus so that no words could be spoken. Another voice vibrated throughout his bones. The voice possessed a feminine intonation and it cursed Celestia’s name repeatedly without reprieve. Spike’s eyes were wet, but he did not know whether it was the fault of tears or blood. He rubbed the back of his claw across his eyelids and he examined his hand and he saw a chunky substance that looked of rotten milk.

Yet another nightmare, and then all was forgotten when the sun rose the next day.

A police officer stood at his post from behind the front desk of the station’s lobby. The doors swung open and the spotted stallion looked up from his magazine and he saw the bull.

“Morning,” said the spotted stallion. “Anything interesting happen at the bar?”

The bull approached and he said nothing. The stallion offered a weak smile.

“Rough night, huh? I made some coffee in the break room.”

The bull placed his hooves on the desk that separated the both of them and he said, “Two dragons headed this way.”

“Dragons?” The stallion squinted and scratched the peach fuzz on his chin. “Nope. I haven’t seen anypony all night except you.”

The bull exhaled and a rush of warm air grazed the stallion’s cheeks. He turned and departed.

“Oooh. Going undercover, huh?” The stallion’s tail wagged. “You want me to clock in for you?”

The doors closed and there was no sound, save for the incessant tick tock of the clock that watched from overhead.