Author's Note

This chapter has been re-written a bit.
And is now an edited masterpiece

3- Life

If somepony were to call the path I take out of the arena an open street, they’d be wrong. There are tiny balconies jutting over the three-pony-wide path, easily blocking most of the sky from view. Nowhere in the slums of Canterlot is there a place where a motor vehicle can drive on the walkways. Doors open directly onto the street, and thick barred gates stand in front of most doors. Garbage and waste line the edges of the streets in the gutters; I have to walk in the very center of the street to avoid coating my hooves in grime. Beggars huddle in the slightly deeper doorways attempting to hide from the elements and the pony predators prowling the streets.

Most of us completely ignore each other, trying to simply survive in this dump, but there are others who take advantage of the weak ones. They often gang up, hunting down ponies with money or just beating up the weak ones for pleasure. I usually hide the bits I get from fights with magic, but with my horn acting the way it is, I decide to risk being attacked, opting to carry the bag in my mouth, hoping that if a group finds me, they’ll recognize me as the reigning champion of the local Underground Illegal and back off.

As I walk home, my hooves tapping out a swift but measured rhythm on the dirty pavement, movement in the corner of my eye draws my attention.

An earth pony the color of the yellowed pages contained within an old book, and a mane that used to be a vibrant red, now stained by vomit is wobbling towards me, green eyes dull and unfocused. I recognize him as Fabler, one of Dad’s old friends, now a lost alcoholic stuck on the streets.

“Commme here youngun’ I gotta storeee I needa’ tell ya.” Words slurred from too much drinking, Fabler doesn’t realize it’s me standing in front of him. Glazed over eyes stare through me as the drunkard continues. “I wanna tell ya my storeee.”

He wraps a hoof over my shoulder and pulls me towards the edge of the street. I’ve been through this before with Fabler- he has an obsession of telling others stories, but most of all, his own. It only ever happens when he’s drunk, which is most of the time now. I know better than to try and escape. I would rather sit through this once a week than deal with a drunk temper-tantrum.

“Now little one, dooo ya know what life was like before today?” Playing along I shake my head. “Well, it used to beee so good.” A far-away look takes over his face and a small smile peeks out, lured by happy memories. “We had all the bits we needed. Nopony was poor. Celestia raised and lowered the sun every day and Luna followed suit with the moon. But then one day, when I was a young colt, a very bad pony stole our dear princesses. He strapped the Princess of the Sun to a table and removed her wings and horn, all while making the Lunar Princess watch!” Fabler’s special talent is telling and spinning stories. His drunken state is pushed away by his need to tell a story, soon to return after his storytelling is over.

“Do you know what he did next my little pony?” Seemingly lost in recollection Fabler continued without giving me time to answer. “The bad pony took her wings and horn and he had them attached to himself! It is rumored that he had a rogue group of scientists and technicians with him, but in truth, nopony knows the exact details.”

“Using his newly found power he banished Luna. Whispers say he wasn’t strong enough to send her to the moon again, some claim she is still on Equus. Celestia was murdered and her body floats in a river somewhere.” Pretending to be enwrapped by Fabler’s story, I follow along in my head, knowing it by heart already.

“Then this bad pony sat upon Equestria’s throne and called himself our ruler!” Fabler’s voice is now a guttural growl. “He claimed he was making our lives better. Instead all he did was shut down jobs and replace everypony with a robot. Robots that could work all day, everyday. And for the jobs that still need a free-thinking hoof, he takes whomever he wishes, sweeping the homeless off the streets, giving them dangerous jobs, and called it mercy He called what he had done renewing Equestria, and he calls us collateral damage.” A fire burns in Fabler’s eyes and a scowl marrs his face.

Easing out of the earth pony’s distracted grasp, I watch him for a moment, waiting for him to scream at me that his story isn’t over. The yelling never comes and I quietly trot away from the hopeless, daydreaming, drunk.

Rounding a bend up ahead I quiet my hoofsteps. I carefully glance around to ensure nopony is watching or following me. If anypony figured out where an Underground Illegal champion lives, said champion’s house would be blown to smithereens for the sake of eliminating competition. I duck inside a doorway that hides a ladder going down behind a few bends. I scamper down the ladder, slowing just slightly to keep my bits from jingling. When I hit the ground, bending my knees to soften the thump, I swiftly bring my pace to a gallop. I then follow a path that my hooves know from memory. When I first discovered the maze of tunnels underneath my house and the neighboring houses, I hastily memorized it so I could take a different route every time I came down, to throw any would-be stalker off my tail. I follow path number 13 and soon come upon another ladder leading up that blends into the stone to the point that nopony notices it unless they know about it.

I scale the ladder and find myself on a familiar rooftop. I glance around again and leap to the neighboring roof, sliding down that and leaping at the very edge, finally arriving at home. The skinny houses are bunched together, making this an easily traveled course that I take every time I leave and return. Finding the trap door in the roof, I flip it open and descend.

Warm light and the smell of vegetable soup greets me. I turn in the middle of making my way to the floor and push on a small, invisible panel in the wall. It pops open with a soft click, revealing a small alcove with a few small bags of bits in it. I add my recent earnings to the safe and swing the door shut, concealing my bits from everypony--including my parents.

After turning back in the direction of my parent’s quiet voices, I continue down the stairs. I pick up my pace minimally, eager to see those I love. At long last, I enter the warm embrace of the light, the smell of food, and the love of my parents.