My Little One-Shots - The Record Keeps Spinning

by Phantasma Eeria

Rating: teen
Tags: Random, DJ P0N-3, Sad, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark
Length: 1179

A short story inspired by The Living Tombstone's "Like a Spinning Record"

A short story inspired by The Living Tombstone's "Like a Spinning Record" in which Vinyl Scratch
(DJ Pon-3) builds her life and has it come crashing down around her ears

Published 2017-12-12 01:00:12 UTC
Last updated 2017-12-12 01:00:12 UTC

The Record Keeps Spinning

An old friend of mine told me to follow my dreams and seize the moment, that was the creed we lived by, and that's the creed they took to the grave.

I was always the quiet one, I'd stay in one place for hours on end with my headphones on just listening to whatever was playing at the time. When they came up to me and started talking to me I felt strange, I'd never been approached like this before, it seemed...right...as if they were...family. No matter what happens I'll never forget their name, Octavia, when I first heard it I thought they were making it up, but after a while I started believing them. We started talking and we quickly became close friends, they played their cello for me and I took samples and mixed them together into songs. That was ten years ago.

We found a small place together, a little two bedroomed apartment with the bare necessities and nothing more, it wasn't much but to us it was home. When we finished moving in we invited our neighbours around for a house warming party, we both performed, but no one seemed interested in Octavia's music, their elegant cello recital was lost on our neighbours as it lacked a beat they could dance to. Something about that day caused Octavia to snap, their mind only focused on one thing, fame, the only word that went through their head was famous. So they moved out, they went to New York to pursue their dreams. That was six years ago.

Several years passed and I was still in our apartment, barely managing to pay rent. Rats and cockroaches infested the building, most of the residents moved out, the block was decrepit and abandoned, I was the only one stupid enough to stay there. There were rolling power cuts and gas leaks, I spent most of my time repairing the building, and in return I was allowed leniency when it came to paying rent. That was four years ago.

I walked through town one day and saw a large number of construction workers in a fenced off enclosure, I asked them what was going on and I was told they had plans to build a club there, they said the owner was looking for employees. Without second thought I asked where I could find the owner and they directed me to his office in New York. As I walked through the streets of Neigh York I saw Octavia walking, on the other side of the road, towards me with her cello in its case in her hand. I called out to her and waved but she just kept walking as if she hadn't seen me, the guilty look in her eye said otherwise. Crestfallen, I continued on my way to the office I was heading for to see the owner of the club. That was three years ago.

The construction finished on the club and, mixer in hand, I unlocked the door, crossed the threshold and set my equipment up. I had spent the past six months trying to convince the owner that I was right for the job, I showed him the mixes I had made of Octavia's cello playing and eventually I impressed him enough to offer me a job. I started out working a few hours a week but after a while I started DJ-ing properly, the club got big, and I finally moved out of my old apartment and got my own place. That was last year.

As the club got more popular it started attracting people, horrible people, prostitutes, drug addicts and the like. The more they came in, the less other people wanted to come, eventually the owner had had enough, he shut the club down, everyone who worked there was laid off and told to find somewhere else to work. Deciding to try make something of myself I went to apply for a loan so I could start my own club, or if not at least so I could buy the club I used to work at. That was six months ago.

I stood in my club, having bought the one I worked in from the old owner since I knew someone who could man the door. Everything had been redecorated, a light-up dance floor had been installed. I was in the club spinning records every day and night, I didn't get any sleep at all, just so long as my booth didn't fall. I got home one night to see my answering machine having recorded a message.
"Hey, it's Octavia, sorry it's been a while I-I just thought I should call, but you're not in so...I guess I'll leave this message and hope you call me back." As soon as the message starts my heart begins racing, I immediately pick up the phone and call Octavia back, "Hi, this is Octavia, I can't answer the phone right now, please leave a message."
"Hi Octavia, it's me, you said to call back, sorry I couldn't answer I was making some new songs to play at my new club, you know how it is, anyway, we all miss you here back home, so why don't you come back to show us what's become of the cellist we used to know?" That was last night.

I wake up at three in the afternoon unaware that I had been sleeping, I walk through to the lounge to check my answering machine, no messages. Shrugging, I sit down in one of my chairs and turn the TV on. The news comes up on the screen and my heart drops as the reporter says the words "Tragedy strikes as the Cellist Octavia of the Neigh York Orchestra has been found dead at the foot of the Statue of Harmony, it is believed she committed suicide as several eye-witnesses report hearing her saying the phrase ”I'll play you all a lullaby to send you off to sleep” before throwing herself from the zenith of the building." In a state of shock and depression I walk to the drawer by the door to my house, pull out the unused revolver, load the only bullet in the drawer and visit my friend in a place we can spend eternity together.

Three Hours Later
Police officers crowd the small apartment inspecting the crime scene before them, a corpse lays on the floor, a revolver by its hand with a gunshot wound in its head. A large blood spatter marks the wall to the left of the body and a single golden bullet casing lies, still smoking slightly, on the floor. The answering machine switches on and a woman's voice comes through "Hey, it's me again, I wanted to leave this before you found out what I'd done but I'm. It sure if you'll get it by then, I just wanted to say I'm sorry for everything and that I've been playing music for what seems like forever so I'll stop playing just to come visit your club."