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.