Hollywood Gold

A young filly opens her naturally thick-lashed eyes, a pallet of pink hues, to another morning of her existence. She yawns groggily and her eyelids flutter for a few seconds, her body's response to rousing from sleep. The filly lifts her light gray hooves above her head in a luxurious stretch. She hoists her body out of her bed- or rather cot of some sort- and stands for a moment, taking in her surroundings.

"Ah- Ah- choo!" She exhales in a short and high-pitched sneeze. "It's too dusty in here..."

As the child approaches an old and splintery wooden vanity set, she catches her reflection in the badly cracked mirror. Her hair, the color of butter and lilacs, is a nest of tangles and knots. Her face, a pale gray the color of a cloud in the midst of expelling a light rain, has a sprinkling of dark freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her symmetrical cheeks have a light pink blush to them, either naturally or from the heat of the thick comforter that she swathed herself in to keep out the frigid air of her tiny room (most likely the latter).

The filly reaches into a drawer in the vanity set that is stuck half open, and grasps a brush handle with her teeth, which she uses to smooth out her mane. She then proceeds to brush out her tail as well, and then is content with her appearance. The young pony is about to walk upstairs to get something to eat, when she notices her calendar that is hung right on the wall prior to the stairway. The calendar is pinned open to August, and the filly's eyes widen when her eyes fall on today's date: August the 5th. It is circled with a red marker and marked with the words: FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL!

"Sweet Celestia, I forgot!" The young pony exclaims, and rushes upstairs and away from her cold bedroom in the basement of her small home.

When the filly speeds into her father's bedroom, which lies a hallway down from the tiny living room, she trips over a broken bottle of Jack Daniel's Whiskey. She gasps in pain when her hoof is sliced open, gushing sticky blood. She lets out a pained scream.

"Holy shhhh-"

Suddenly, a voice booms, "Marigold? What the h- You stupid filly, why don't you look where you trot?!"

"Daddy, I need a bandage or something!" Marigold Valley whips back, staring desperately at her father for help.

Copper Key's eyes, which were slightly darker than his daughter's, were bloodshot. A stubble spread across his chin and over his upper lip, the color of salt and pepper. His curly auburn hair was receding, and he appeared to be in ill health. This was due to drinking, which he did very often.

"Calm down, would you?" He yells, and with no sign of concern or hurry, retrieves a roll of gauze from the medical cabinet. He tosses it at her, and she quickly wraps her bleeding leg with it.

"Clean your bloody mess up. I don't want the wood to get stained." Copper orders.

"I will," Marigold says. Under her breath she mutters, "If your friend Jack weren't in my way, this wouldn't have happened."

"What's that?!" Copper turns to her, snarling.

"I didn't say anything, Daddy!" Marigold smiles sweetly, faking innocence.

"You little brat, we both know you did." He raises his hoof to give her a hit on the mouth, and she bats his hoof away in fear.

Copper seizes her hoof in anger. "Don't push me away! When you deserve a smack, I'll give you a smack!"

"But you don't have to hit me!" The young filly retorts, both fear and anger shining in her pink-hued optics.

"I'm your father! You don't get to decide what you deserve!" And the colt gives the cowering filly a hit on the jaw.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I won't disobey you again, I promise!" Marigold fumbles, trying to appeal to him. "It's the first day of school for me, you know... We haven't even bought my supplies."

"Use the ones from last year," Copper sighs. "You're in third grade now, right?"

"Fourth."

"Fourth? Thought it was third?"

"No, it's fourth, Daddy. I'm in fourth grade."

"But you're only eight years old..."

"I'm ten, Daddy. I turned ten in February." Marigold lets out a short sigh.

"Huh." He grunts.

That proves just how much he pays attention to me, thinks Marigold.

"Well, you'll just have to borrow supplies today. You should have told me earlier on," Copper shrugs.

"But Daddy, I did tell you!" Marigold Valley protests, then shakes her head. "Never mind. I will borrow some stuff today... But could you please take me out to get supplies later?" She looks up hopefully.

"I'll give you some bits and you can go to the market to see what you can get," her father replies.

"Thank you, Daddy!" Marigold beams, happy that he gave in. He is usually much more difficult.

Marigold trots to the kitchen to find some breakfast. Eyeing the clock on the wall, she sees that school had actually started about ten minutes ago. She grabs an apple and gulps it down, then hurries out the door to catch a bus or something, as school is a good half hour away from her home by vehicle.

As she wonders what schedule Baltimare Bus Lines follows, Marigold bites her bottom lip nervously. What will everypony think of her when she arrives late? Just then, a yellow and black taxi rolls past her.

"Wait!" The filly exclaims, waving her hooves.

The colt behind the wheel of the cab stops short and backs up.

"Need a ride, Miss?" He asks, eyeing her.

"Yes, please! I'm so glad I caught you..." And with that, Marigold opens the door and hops in.

"Where to, Miss?" The driver questions, looking back at her.

"Baltimare Elementary School for the Public, please!" Marigold says politely, and the car speeds off.

The awkward silence between the driver and the filly leaves Marigold fidgeting in the leather seats. The drive is long, but then again, Marigold never travels much. About half an hour later, the taxi driver drops Marigold off at her destination.

"That will be three bits, please." The driver smiles and holds out a hoof.

"Oh!" Marigold gasps, face-hoofing herself. "I didn't even think of that! I'm so sorry, sir... I don't have any money on me."

The cab driver is obviously upset by this. After all, nopony just does a job for free.

"You should've thought about that, young lady," the driver sighs, rubbing his temple. "I'll tell you what, though. You're young and probably in a hurry. I'll let you off the hook this time, but if you come across me again, don't expect me to chauffeur you around without a price." He says sternly, and steps on the gas to be on his way.

"Thank you!" Marigold calls after him, and turns to look at the building of her school.

The walls are red brick, and the roof appears to be dark metal. There are some windows lining the exteriors, through which one can see the classrooms. There is a bus loop and a narrow path leading into a suburban area. Marigold trots up the cement steps and opens the glass doors. She steps inside and heads to the office to check in. She knows the school, for she had gone here since kindergarten.

When she walks into the office, two mares are each at their own desk, tending to paperwork and dealing with phone calls. Two younger ponies, children (and probably fifth graders), are leaning against the smooth black counter-top, presumably office aids.

"Good morning!" One of them says, a young colt with toffee-colored skin and a short black mane and tail. "How can I help you?"

"I need to check in," replies Marigold, and walks up to the desk where there is a sign-in sheet.

"You need a parent when checking in a considerable time after the beginning of classes," the office aid says. "Do you have a parent with you?"

"No. Sorry."

"Well would you like to make a phone call?"

"We don't have a phone."

"Oh," sighs the young colt. "Mrs. Pennyworth? What do I do about a tardy student with no parent to check in with?"

An elderly mare looks up. She has pale skin and silver hair, with milky blue eyes rimmed with dark spectacles. She purses her lips for a moment, before replying: "I suppose she'll just have to check herself in. But it will be in her record."

"Yes Ma'am," the office aid nods, and gestures towards Marigold to sign herself in.

After signing her name and jotting down the date and time with a black pen, Marigold tells the aid her name so he can give her a yellow tardy slip. She looks it over and sees that it is checked as "unexcused".

"Thanks," she says, and asks for a copy of her schedule. The aid gladly gives her one and she trots out of the office.

"What's my first class?" She asks herself, and looks down at the schedule. She gets her answer when she looks at it:

FIRST HOUR- MATH- MR. ARITHMUS

Marigold sighs. She hates math.

"Well," she mutters. "I better get to class."