Spike. Unassuming drake he may have once been, had grown in the years since Tirek. He thought on his past idly as he stared at his rather lithe form in the full length mirror on the back of his bedroom door. At about 5 foot, he was short for a dragon of 18. Most dragons his age grew faster due to the greed, but they were assholes as far as he was concerned. His scales shone dully from the moonlight coming from the open window, casting reflections on the wall like sunlight through water.
He flexed in the mirror, sighing as there was a barely decernible twitch in his bicep.
Spike wasn't built, by any stretch of the imagination. Of course, being a dragon, he could give any earth pony a run for their bits, but by dragon standards, he was a runt.
His mind once more turned back.
Celestias warm smile, cocoa with Twilight on a snowy day. His growth spurt. Changing clothe's size every other day, the excruciating pain as his newly formed wing's sliced through the skin and scale's on his back. He chuckled to himself, remembering the numerous, mostly failed, attempt's at flight. The feeling of air rushing past him the first time he succeded, basking in the cheers from his friends.
Spikes happy nostalgia left him as he glanced at the picture hanging above his bed. It was Spike,Twilight, and the other Elements having a picnic. They smiled at the camera, happy and oblivious to what life held in store for them.
What it HAD held in store for them.
Spike snarled, ripping the photo from the wall and crushing it in his claw. His grimace was gone as fast as it had come, replaced by tears as he slowly smoothed out the crumpled picture. He sat on the edge of his bed, wiping his face with the back of his arm. He opened the bottom drawer of his nightstand. He gingerly placed the photograph inside and removed the fifth of vodka from the bottom of the drawer.
He swished the clear liquid around in the half empty bottle, before popping off the cap and taking a generous swig. Two more, and he replaced the considerably less full bottle into the drawer. He fell back heavily, his bed creaking its protest. As the liquor did its job, Spike found the warmth was the only thing he felt, much to his relief. Soon however, the booze hit him full force, and all semi-coherent thoughts were lost in a dreamless sleep.
Spike woke from the shrill bleeping of his alarm clock, each blaring ring like a sledgehammer against his skull. He managed to smack the button on top, leaving him in blessed silence. He rose, against his own internal protests, and immediately ran to the bathroom. Once his stomach had evicted its former tenants, he cleaned himself up as best he could. After a thorough wash in the sink (And a handfull of ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet) he felt somewhat better. Reentering his room, he took notice of his alarm clocks digital display. JULY 5 7:27 AM it stated in blocky red number. "Better speed up, or i'll be late to work again" Spike thought, without any enthusiasm, or emotion of any kind really. "I only got the damn job to get some bits of my own." And to an extant, this was true. Spike had gotten the job six months ago, in early February after......It, happened, and half his paycheck each week went to him, and the rest to the pillowcase under his bed. He had also used it to distract himself, to a degree of success for awhile.
But that had lasted less than a month, before Spike realized his job was just plain shitty. Filthy Rich's Generael Store. A general store, Spike had thought. A good place to start. No.
He worked ten hour shifts, five days a week, for 5 bits an hour. Yes, the pay was terrible,the houts too. The work itself was quiet easy. Stock shelves, run the only checkout lane, sweep. What bothered him, was how much of a prick Filthy is.
Spike had known Filthy was a pompous ass before, but after working under him, it was less pompous and moee sadistic. If spike was cleaning, Filthy would make more messes. Stocking? He would "bump" into the shelf.
He was also forced to wear a rather ridiculous uniform. Spike frowned as he looked in the mirror, seeing the urine yellow polo, covered by the striped pink apron. Pinned to the apron was his nametag. SPICK, it said in bold black letters, next to Filthy's stylized cutie mark.
If he didnt wear the uniform or his nametag, his pay would be docked. Spike Walked downstairs, not seeing or hearing his adoptive mother. He saw her rarely since It, and even then, she acted like he wasnt there at all. She never left the crystal castle they called home. The other Princesses had tried to help her at first, but even Celestia herself had given up after some months.
It seemed nopony could break the metaphorical spell Twilight was under. He often found her just starinh at the wall. Blank as a sheet of paper . It scared visitors, not that they had any anymore. They knew what was wrong with her, Celestia and him. Mostly anyway.
Twilight was a happy mare, in the life she had built for herself. One built upon harmony, peace, and the magic of friendship. She had fought villians of course, but the elements had been there to lock them away.
She was for all intwnts and purposes, innocent.
And when It happened, her preconcieved notions of the world she thought she knew shattered around her like so much glass. It broke her. And she had yet to recover in the eight months since.
Spike left the castle, walking through the streets of Ponyville towards his job. The streets were cobbled, unlike the dirt they had been what seemed like so long ago to the drake.The town had grown, Twilight becoming a princess attracted much of it. It felt like a real city now, though it was less homey than it once had been.
Author's Note
Whew. Outta steam. Bedtime finally, more soon.
Spike strolled through the streets, slowly coming upon his place of employment. The old wooden building clashed with its newer brick and concrete neighbors. The old door squeled its protest as he entered.
"SPICK!" screamed the pony crossing the store. Spike sighed as he turned to look down at his superior. "Late again it seems" Filthy stated smugly. Spike glanced at the clock above the counter, seeing it was 8:05. "Sorry sir, i'll get to work."
The sweaty pony walked away as Spike began to sweep. "See that you do." Filthy said as he entered his office. The day passed slowly as ever, the hours crawling by as Spike worked, with not a single pony entering the store.
He grunted as he lifted the fifty pound bag of hay onto the shelf. He turned as hoofsteps behind him announced the arrival of his boss. Filthy looked at Spike, then the freshly stocked shelf, then back to Spike. He turned around and bucked the metal shelf. Spike simply stared agape as bags fell, bursting on the floor and spraying hay everywhere.
"You'd better get on that, if you want to get home to that useless princess of yours." Filthy said with a sneer. Spike punched Filthy.Hard. He fell to floor as blood dribbled out of his muzzle. Spike ripped the apron from his form and threw it on the ground as he walked towards the door.
"YOU FUCKING BASHTERD!" Filthy screamed in rage. "YOU JUST MADE THE WORSHT MISHTAKE OF YOUR LIFE!" Filthy's furious tirade faded as Spike left the store.
Spike fumed as he walked. He could take Filthy's shit on a daily basis, but just couldn't contain himself when his family was insulted.
"At least I don't have to deal with that shit anymore" Spike said as he realized his job there was forfeit. As the castle neared, he cut down an alley, heading into west Ponyville. Several dirty alleys later, and Spike saw his destination ahead.
The squat, broken down warehouse filled him with a sense of comfort. He walked to the door, an image of some grapes and a strawberry etched into the wood. He stuck his arm through the broken portion of the window next to it and unlocked the door.
As he stepped inside, the familiar smell of wood smoke assaulted him. He walked over to one of the many crates stacked against the far wall, and began to pry it open. He'd been breaking into Berry Punch's distillery for the better part of a year, and he could always count on it's contents to make him feel better.
The lid popped of with a loud crack, and Spike shoved his hand into the crate and pulled out a bottle. A smiling Princess Luna on the label proclaimed this was triple X moonshine. He replaced the lid and left, locking the door behind him.
Spike tucked the bottle beneath his wing as he retraced his path through the alleys. Once again at the main road, he walked a few feet towards the castle, before turning and heading across the street. Walking uphill, past the homes and businesses of the town he called home.
Reaching the top of the hill, he pushed open the cast iron gate to Ponyville cemetary and closed it behind himself. Popping the top off the moonshine, he took a long swig, relishing the burn as it hit his throat. Walking up the hill towards the most cared for section of graves, he downs another mouthful as tears begin to roll down his face. He stopped, crying out loud now into the warm summer night as he stared at what had caused his life to come to this point.
Five graves, one next to the other.
Author's Note
Chapter 2 finally up!!
I need to work on chapter length though.
