Featured Song: Float
Artist: The Neighbourhood
Life is supposed to be a simple thing. We’re supposed to wake up, go to our cruddy job, come home to our families, and go to bed. Sometimes, we don’t even have that. If you look, you can find these people. You can see when someone doesn’t have someone to go home too. You can see when they don’t even have a home to go too. But no matter what, they keep going. We keep going. Usually we have someone or something that keeps us moving forward in our perpetually repeating lives. We strive for something better, to change the rut we find ourselves in.
But what if you can’t? What if you find yourself lost to everything? To everyone? Is it still possible to move forward? Can you even look forward? Would it just be easier to look down a barrel and pull the trigger?
That’s where I find myself now. I’m lost, a hunger that I had is now gone. Nothing can bring it back. Every day I wake up I wish I didn’t. With each passing day I run on autopilot. It feels like the person I used to be doesn’t exist anymore.
And when I’m asked why I feel that way, the answer’s clear. I’m stranded. Not just someplace unfamiliar. I’m not lost in some distant town or state. No. I’m not even lost on some distant country.
“Stark? Stark, are you awake? It’s time for your lessons.” No, I’m lost in a whole new world. I’m stuck where no human had treaded before, where no other human will tread. I’m alone. I have no job. I have no family. Not anymore or anything. I’ll never have one either, a family. It’s all gone. Everything I knew. Everything I had. And in a span of a few seconds, it was gone. Forever out of my grasp.
“Stark. Hurry up or you’ll be late.” Limply, I roll out of my bed. A bed not for my size even. I’m stiff and tired. Sleep doesn’t come easily anymore. Not for the past few weeks since my arrival. Each morning I find myself looking in the mirror. Each morning I ask the same question. Why am I even trying? I worked as an office assistant back home. A pencil pusher. I went to the gym on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I stayed home in my single room apartment working on anything I needed for work Monday. If I didn’t, I’d find myself just driving. And I was happy. I had my rut, my place in the world. And ever so slowly, I was working toward a better rut. A new position was opening up and I was set on taking it.
For whatever reason, the man standing before me in the mirror kept something in his eye. Determination? Where did he get it? Why? The stress was obviously getting to him. He hadn’t slept well in weeks. How could he still keep moving forward?
Dismissing the man, I found the shower. I let the hot water flow over me, letting the scorching water pelt my body. I wash my face and brush my teeth before finding some simple handmade clothes specifically tailored to me. I look to the hall, trying to decide to even meet my teacher. The man in the mirror told me to go and I listen. Down the stairs and into the middle of the circular wooden library stood my teacher.
A quaint purple unicorn with large purposeful eyes looks at me. She had a shorter mane and tail than most others. Her assistant held stacks of books, easily shielding him from my view. Even then, I know he’s a small purple dragon. A baby dragon. He was the unicorn’s assistant. And every day I woke up to see them, the man in the mirror got weaker. I could tell.
“Did you sleep well?” She asks me. I merely nod. Her smile slowly melts away. I notice her try and strengthen it, but it’s forced. The little dragon murmurs something resulting in subtle slap from the unicorn. They led me to a circular table in the middle of the library.
“So, do you have any interests you’d like to discuss before we begin?” She always asks me the same question every morning. With a shake of my head, the unicorn slumps. “Nothing at all? The princesses? Magic? Not even the weather?” All were just a harsh reminder of everything I lost. The harsh reminder of losing everything I had the potential to gain. Everything was foreign. Everything was void.
And yet I keep going forward.
“Then what do you want to learn? You already know everything about our culture, about our history. You know our stigmas and what’s okay to say or not say.” I think for a brief moment, but only one thing comes to mind. “And no Stark, we can’t send you back home.” My mind shuts off. That’s it. There is nothing else I want to ask. Nothing else I want to know. “Okay. I can do this.” I just look at her, waiting to go on one of her tangents. Culture, history, even science, math, and English. Entire days were spent listening to the pony spout things that were inconsequential to me.
“I’ve got it.” She smiles at me before whispering something to her assistant. He looks hesitant but nods anyway. He finds the door and I watch him waddle down the street through the window. The pony’s cough get my attention. “Today, we’re going to take a test.” I remain unmoved. Pass or fail, it doesn’t matter. “Let’s go.” She stands, beckoning me to follow. With a wave of her magic, she opens the door to the outside world. A world full of ridicule and judgement for my kind. No, for me in particular. I’m alone here. The more ponies I saw, the more it drove that fact home.
And yet, the man in the mirror pushes me forward.
“Alright, for the first test, I want you to meet new ponies.” I regard the unicorn with a distant look, trying to pick up if she’s serious. She nods for me to lead the way. Without rhyme or reason, I turn and begin my walk. Ponies stare and point. Some whisper to others around them. Mothers push their children behind them. I know without a doubt I’ll forever be ostracized. I’ll never truly belong. Maybe I’ll be tolerated. That is, if I make it that far.
“Stark.” I stop to look at my teacher. She points to another mare. Following her hoof, I see the other mare beckoning me toward her. For an instant, I feel surprised. I can’t help but approach. She is a golden earth pony. Her hair and tail were an even brighter yellow than her coat. My teacher told me about pony’s marks, but I don’t care about them.
“Hello. My name is,” I miss her name. It’s like it flows from one ear and out the other. “What’s yours?”
“Stark.” I just spoke more than I had in the last few days.
“Nice to meet you Stark.” She lifts a hoof. I reciprocate the motion robotically, giving her a shake. She smiles at me for whatever reason. “Well Stark, I hope you come to like our little town. Have a good day!” She walks away with nothing but a large smile. Why? What made her so happy?
“She’s happy she made a new friend.” My teacher informs. Friend? She doesn’t know me. Why would she consider me a friend? Pushing away the questions, I continue my walk through the town. Many faces are of shock. Some are fear. A few flee all together. I feel the man in the mirror grow weaker.
This time I’m stopped by three little ponies. They look at me in wonder, their large eyes meeting mine. I await for them to flee or be picked up by their parents, yet none come. Finally, they smile. Confusion flushes my conscious before they each chant their names.
“What’s your name mister?” The one to ask me is the little white unicorn with the pink swirled mane. She put me in mind of a puppy: cute and huggable. All three do. And for the first time since my arrival, I find myself smiling.
“Stark.” The adorable children look to one another and go into a huddle. I can hear them whispering and looking back at me. Finally, with a simultaneous nod, they break.
“So, uh, Stark, would ya like ta play with us? We’re ‘bout to play some tag.” I can’t help but look back to my instructor who seems to just smile at me. I was never asked such an innocent question before. Not by ponies.
“Maybe next time.” I answer. They each pout but reluctantly relent.
“Definitely next time.” The third child answers. They run off laughing until out of sight. With nothing else holding my attention, I begin to circle around back toward the library. I feel I did enough for my test. Hunger is beginning to sit in too. That is until I hear a beautiful melody. It pulls me toward it through the streets. The sound becomes clearer. A violin? It has to be some kind of string instrument.
Finally, I find it. On a stage, a group of ponies sit listening to the musician. The pony has a brown coat and dark hair. She plays the instrument while standing on her hind legs, using the instrument itself to support her. Somehow, she holds the tool to play a masterpiece. I want to get closer, but I don’t want to scare the others or the performer. I hang back by a nearby tree. The notes were smooth and soothing. I take the moment to close my eyes and lose myself in my memories. As the song plays, I’m at peace. I’m happy. And the final note plays, drawing me back into my cruel reality. It hurts, but I find myself clapping for the masterful artist. She bows to her crowd and they disperse. I let them leave to avoid scaring them. Though it appears I overstay my welcome. The performer takes stock of me. Our eyes meet for a moment. Slowly, her mouth curves upward. She smiles. As she leaves her now stowed away instrument, and I find myself meeting her.
“Hello. Did you enjoy my practice?” She holds out a hoof. I greet her, but miss her name.
“It was very beautiful.” She looks delighted.
“So what’s your name? I see our resident librarian is with you.” I look to my instructor who gives the performer a smile and nod.
“Stark.” She ponders my name for whatever reason, nodding her head.
“Stark? Yes, that’ll be an easy name to remember for sure. I practice every day around this time if you ever feel like listening. Have a wonderful day.” I can’t help but see my teacher’s large smile.
We return to the library to eat. The remaining day is spent on certain cultural differences from what I’m used to. Night quickly approaches and I find my scrawny bed. The next week is spent doing the same thing. Each day I find the man in the mirror growing duller. Each day, the performer’s moments of bliss only seem to be getting shorter. I meet a varying amount of ponies each day. The conversations we held were brief and I soon found myself back at the library with another lecture.
Today. Today is different. Today, the man in the mirror looks tired and beaten. Only a small glimmer from his eyes remains. I find my teacher in the study. She looks far more upbeat than normal.
“You ready for today?” I give a nod, and we soon find ourselves out the door. To my disappointment, the performer isn’t here today. I don’t spend my time visibly self-loathing, but a sigh escapes my lips. My teacher has a reassuring smile, but I don’t have one to return. For once, she takes the lead. We make our way through town. Not many ponies has come out yet.
My teacher leads me to an odd building. One with a large gingerbread house. She beckons me inside and I enter first. The lights are off for only a moment. The room lights up, ponies jump out.
“Surprise!”
It was a chorus of shouts. Streamers fell, a sign saying, “Welcome to Ponyville!” hung from the ceiling. I take stock of the ponies present. I recognize all of them. My teacher joins her gaggle of friends toward the back. The rest come toward me. They’re all familiar. Each and every one of them. Even the little kids from my first day out.
“What is this?” The group of ten or so ponies look to one another. Finally, the electric blue maned pony answers.
“It’s you surprise party! Lighten up.” She patted me on the side with a laugh.
“Yeah, how about some punch and cake?” The red maned, yellow coat pony asks. She and her three friends point toward the large dessert table.
“Or we can throw on some music and hit the dance floor.” The golden pony suggests.
“What is this?” I repeat. My heart is beating faster. I can’t understand what’s happening.
“A party for our friend.” Not just one, but all of them shout it. They do so with such genuine smiles that I can’t help but find myself looking back at the man in the mirror. He doesn’t look so beaten anymore. He gives me a brief smile and a quick nod, sending me back to reality. For the first time I reciprocate the warm smile.
It was after the party that I found my answer. When we lose everything and we have nothing else to push us forward, we just have to make something from scratch. We have to latch onto it, and force it to grow. And ever so slowly, we can make a new rut. It might take a while. It might take the rest of our lives. But we can make a new one. And we can keep making a better one. For me, it started by learning these ponies’ names.
Author's Note
My first three hour challenge. I'd like to know your opinions if I captured Float well. What could I had done different? What could I focus on next time? Any and all thoughts are welcome! Thanks for your time.
