Heartbeats

I'm going to try this, so lemme know how it works out, but I am going to link three songs at the beginning of every chapter, that i suggest watching, in given order, while you read the piece, just mood music, if ya want. completely optional, and DNE in the story.

Youtube Video

Youtube Video

Youtube Video

I sigh and glance at the clock. 5 ‘til, I think to myself, anxiously; I was ready to get out of class. I glance back down to my notes. They consisted of scribbles, half-legible cursive, and an almost overwhelming amount of shorthand, from shortened sentences, to condensed concepts. Shorthand wasn’t about getting the information down in as few words as possible, it was about recreating the thought process, being able to mimic the initial intake of information, thus reforming the input, thus creating further memorisation and understanding. Right? I ask myself, having become completely absorbed in my thoughts. I glance around at the students around me, all of them were just doing regular old student things’ texting, playing on their phones, or paying attention to the lecture. It was the last lecture before the final exams. There would be a class session for test reviews, but after that, that would be it. Final exams, and then a few weeks of freedom.

Freedom for most students, I guess but for me, it was just another return to the familiar, hide in my room, play games, and just do my best to avoid Equinity.

I shook my head. No. this was my last term, then I’d be out of here, out of the house, and out on my own. Whatever that meant.

I still hadn’t really thought ahead of finals. Every idea, every thought, and every consideration beyond that was still a mess of deliberation, passion fueled insanity, and half-dreamt fantasy. What’s one to do with freedom?

That’s life right? One jump into the unknown after another? I mentally shrug, and dismiss that line of reasoning; insanity, that’s what it was. I shake my head to clear it and turn my attention back towards Ms. Thunderberry’s concepts of accelerated fluid dynamics or some shit like that. I didn’t care about physics, honestly. I was just here because I’d been ‘convinced’ to take them. Forced more like, whatever, that was behind me now. I close my eyes and repeat that to myself a couple times, it’s behind me, it’s behind me, it’s done and over with, and crying about it now isn’t going to fix it. I exhale forcibly, and try to pay attention to the last few minutes of the lecture.

The rest of the class passed by without anything too interesting happening; just a conclusion of the chapter and a promise of a test review on the next class. I sigh as the other students clear out and I slowly put my stuff away. I shuffle out of class behind everypony else and look around the halls. I glance at the fillies; a few of them are cute but none of them are anything special. Just cute. I shake my head and let my shaggy, poison green mane straighten itself out before boredly walking out of the hall, out of the school, and then to my dorm, wherein I plop onto my office chair, and proceed to zone out contemplating the finer points of nothing.

A few hours of dullness passed, I was doing little more than sitting there, personifying blobishness in the holy chair of intense sitting. Eventually, I pull out a notepad and scratch out some thoughts. That’s what I did, I recorded, I repeated, I reused every bit of information I could apply to the point of being incestious with my own thought process. But it managed the task of creating enough new content to keep the boredom from killing me. I was a 7 on the bored scale from 1 through dead. But again, that’s life; long periods of boredom interspersed with a few moments of excitement.

After scratching out contemplation concerning said thought, as it already has multiple instances in said notebook, I close it and shake myself to clear off the must of boredom. Today, today I was going to do something. I was going to get out there and make something of my last few days before the mad rush to finals and the conclusion of the semester.

        I look myself over in the mirror. My brows hadn’t repeated their unibrow tendency yet and my face was clean enough. My hair was done; messy, yet gelled down enough to be presentable. I held my usual ‘haunted’ look; the drawn cheeks, tired eyes, and intense brows that I found as my trademark. The look that I felt said, ‘I’ve seen it all, I’ve ran and ran, and I’ve seen everything, and I keep running, running something just as terrifying as the boogeypony.’

I chuckled at the thought, sure, I’d been through alot in my short life, but I sure as hell hadn’t seen ‘everything’. I shrugged to myself, turned, and headed out the door.

‘Onwards and forwards, into the great unknown I tread,

I’m searching, for what I do not know,

though I hope it wears perfume,

and dances in the snow,

I’m not much of a writer,

a dreamer or a poet,

but surely, there’s beauty for midnightat lowest.’

I snort to myself at the end of the …. shanty? Poem? Something. It was neat. I filed it away in my thoughts for later use and continued upon my journey into the great…. where was I going?

I stop, somewhere between the school and my dorm and facehoof. I do it properly, taking time to slowly and deliberately bury my face, a full proper six hooves, into my hoof. A groan of perceived stupidity accompanies it. I lower my hoof after the required one second of motionlessness, and start trying to think of what to do.

        I collect my thoughts, circling a few times to look at the surrounding geography; the slightly chilled wind blowing through my dark blue coat, praying that it might present some idea as to where to go, I spot the city in the distance. A massive, glowing representation of the corporate, consumer world. Shrugging, I walked hurriedly in that direction. I wanted to have some time after I got there before I had to head home. Well, that and it helped to keep my mind off things. I wanted to be moving and if I was moving, I was escaping.

‘Escaping from what?’ I ask myself inquisitively. I pause, and shake my head to clear it. I think to myself, It’s in the past. Whatever that meant.

I had thought that so many times, I had built such a stonewall out of my past that I was able to forget who I was. That forgetting brought peace. It was my tranquil, sad, sanguine serenity.

        I thus progressed towards the city. Quietly, swiftly, and unobtrusively, paying no mind to the world around me and simply existing within myself.

        Within about a half an hour, I had achieved the outskirts of the city. Ponies on hoof were becoming increasingly popular, and the dirt road gave way to a paved one with sidewalks, the street itself reserved for carts. I assume a more relaxed pace and instead concentrate on finding something to do. I wasn’t a clubby person. I didn’t drink outside of my dorm. Raves disgusted me. There just wasn’t a whole lot of stuff for a pony like me to do. I shrugged. Eventually, I’d find a tea shop. Sometimes, it was a good thing to just sit and drink tea to your heart’s content.

        I open the door to the tea shop and wince at the light sound of a bell hung off the door. I hated having my presence announced. it made me feel…exposed. It drew attention to me. I felt like a sitting duck when it happened. I return the hostess’ greeting and find myself an inconspicuous table. There are other patrons in the cafe but overall the place is sparsely populated. They were selling tea after all. Plus, this wasn’t a high society city; it was industrial cesspool of capitalist filth. When the waitress asks for my order, I request a green tea. Then,  I sit and stare at the table after she leaves. What the everlasting fuck am I doing here? Doing this for?

I am upset by my total lack of an answer to such a simple question. Sure, I could throw excuses at it until it went away but that wouldn’t solve the problem. Being dishonest to oneself was a recipe for disaster and it required a strong use of doublethink for me to continue to believe that as someone who lies to themselves about their past on a regular basis.

The waitress was rather pretty. Thankfully, this was a quiet secluded corner for refined ponies and refined ponies took care of themselves and their appearances. My thought took on a new, welcome tangent, onto what I aspired to find in a potential mate. I wasn’t too picky on looks, love makes ponies blind. I wanted someone that was like me, a bit crazy, mistrusting of everything they couldn’t prove, and completely against giving anypony,anypony, power over other ponies in any form.

If you want to rule, too bad. If you want to lead a revolt, be the change you want to seeband when you have achieved change, fade back into the crowd and go about your business. Crime should be dealt with swiftly and decisively; if you kill somepony, you die. If you rape somepony, you get gelded. If you steal something...that was a hard one. I had a soft spot for thieves as a lot of them did it because they had to survive and that was how they managed to do so. Anything that wasn’t unquestionably straightforward, time in prison.

        Anyways, wooing the waitress might be fun, or at least getting to know her. She was a pleasing yellowed beige and her coat had been brushed and cleaned until it shone slightly in the soft light of the cafe. Her mane was a brownish gray reminiscent of oak bark, also cleaned and maintained to perfection. I honestly did feel a little lackluster compared to her, tending to not care for myself beyond the basics, except for in the event of an outing. In which case I would clean myself up as much as I could in a short time, as perfection was all about maintaining your image, not the spontaneous creation of flawlessness. I find myself watching the waitress as she takes the other patron’s orders and eventually brings me my drink. She was probably taken anyways; a mare like that would more than likely have a few friends that would jump at a chance with her. Whatever, I conclude. She’s probably too aloof and haughty for my tastes anyways.

I return to my own mental bubble and concentrate on enjoying my tea. I wonder what I would look like with a coat that was actually maintained, if still a bit shaggy. I liked being shaggy, it kept me warm and it kept with my mane in the ‘intentionally messy’ department. I wondered if that would help my chances any but I figured it wouldn’t matter too much. I might even have looked better if I took steps away from society's standards and kept my coat as dull as possible. It’d make sense, having such a dark coat. I ask myself for the thousandth time if my mane really does glow. My wingtips, the same color as said mane, cradle the cup of tea and bring it to my lips for yet another drink. I sit for a moment and contemplate my odd coloration. I was a deep blue, somewhere below royal and navy, a shade I called ‘midnight’ that was in fact an actual shade of blue yet, my mane was a radioactive green that seemed to glow in some lights. My wingtips displaying the same shade, they also appeared to glow sometimes. Which bothered me to no end. I felt like a neon sign sometimes; dark colors contrasted by glowing, radioactive highlights. My wings themselves faded from the color of my coat, to the color of my mane. My tail, again, was that same limey, poisonous color that reminded me of dragons, poison, and radioactivity. I sighed to myself, and then went back to drinking my tea. That was life. You were dealt a hand, you had to play it. You could fold at any time but you only got dealt once.