Author's Note
This is just to see how other's like it. If it's too monotone/sounds like a book report, or is pretty okay, just needs to be revised. So, this is only a rough draft, I just need to know if I should go on, and what I should fix.
Prologue
If there's anything that I would most want to remember in the future, if I follow my childish dream of being on Broadway, is the first show I got a good part in, and was happy doing. The cast of Bonnie and Clyde was welcoming, funny, creative, energetic, and a temporary family that I will go back to someday. I certainly won't forget them.
Besides all the practice and preparation. One thing I won't forget is the night no one came. Most of the cast couldn't make it, so we ran through the show, calling it a dress rehearsal, and people could watch for free. The memorable part was before it, when the director said, 'This is what you'll remember when you're on the stage.' and how every experience makes a difference.
She told us she hoped we'd remember the people around us this whole time, and this event will be remembered also.
I hope I remember, but only time can tell.
Though it makes me sound like a child, or attention whore, I do hope to be on Broadway. Acting makes me happy, and although the attention scares me, I've always wanted to inspire someone just as there have been people that inspired me.
I want to inspire people to be confident. Though it seems near impossible, you can love yourself. Boy, or girl there is always going to be insecurities.
I wrote that years ago, and now I'm here. Still I remember, the speech about remembering the musical.
I know, you're thinking, 'what's here?' and I have an answer.
It's where I belong.
It's the rainy days in Manehattan. The sun kissed beaches of Los Pegasus. Late night drinks in Canterlot. Quiet of Ponyville.
The best thing about it, is that my friend is by my side for every second of it.
She drags my sadness to the after parties of The Lion King for someone else to take away, and introduces my anxiety at Phantom of The Opera.
The best part of all, is watching her be happy. She's got a husband, Quick Dash, who is willing to go with us on trips, for shows. Taking trips is something she wants to do, to pursue her job as an artist.
Painting and drawing, she shows the world what she sees. She creates something beautiful. Together we are stronger, but better than ever, when her lover comes along.
We all make each other happy, and we work as a team we've always been there for each other, and we always will be.
She has a gift. Creating masterpieces of what she sees, and a legend of herself. Not only painting, but helping to raise money for the less fortunate. It reminds me of when we were young, she deserved so much more.
For her to smile and laugh, while her parents yell and scream, and those foals not realizing there is more than it seems. She is brave. There is more than what meets the eye.
What she became, is nothing short of special, what she became is her. The pony that fillies and colts should look up to.
Quick Dash designs boards for games while traveling, and does the cooking and cleaning. He's a huge help and he does something I can't do. He makes her happy.
There's more to it. All of it, I can't seem to explain, I can never find the words for.
After the opening night of The Waitress. My throat was tight and sore, and my diaphragm was well overworked, from my microphone breaking in the middle of the show. The noise of the ponies in the room filled my ears, and challenged the sore drums of my ears.
Iridescent was off chatting to some 'big ponies' about artsy things. While Quick Dash, discussed flying techniques with The Wonderbolts. Ponies walked around balancing drinks, and talking to others in the crowd.
I always felt out of place at these things. Ponies of high class blending in with others, drinking, and some young couples kissing against the wall. That kind of personality just didn't fit me. The 'high class snob' or a 'slot who likes it rough' it's just not me. It never will be.
Outside, I walked by ponies smoking, and doing drugs. Though they would say that this type of behavior is 'uncouth' they're the only ones who really do it.
One mare flicked the ashes of her cigarette at me. Her eyes of ice dug into my skin, and a chill ran up my spine as she told me without words, what she would do to me, if word got out.
Later, I had collapsed on the bed in my room, when we finally got back to our apartment. In my dreams, I went over and over the musical. Tomorrow we would have a day of rest, then a day of trains and tickets. It gets tiring sometimes, traveling more than performing, but the show must go on.