Made Up Friendsby NikodemChaptersBrad the DogSingy slumberResourceful reachesMore slumberPonify my heartBrad the DogThe crackling of a bed under me was what originally pulled me out of my slumber. I didn't dare open an eye, as I felt an overwhelming presence of sunlight on my face. It stopped briefly, the shadow must have been cast by a person, the same that just stood up from the bed I've been sleeping on. I heard minor commotion in the room before the door to it was opened, and sounds of an earlybird family reached my ears. I clenched up a little, slowly coming to terms that I wasn't in at own house, mild sense of anxiety ran through my spine. I almost never went to sleepovers. I relaxed a little when the smell of bacon and eggs hit me strongly, but stiffened once more, when I heard a voice that I didn't recognize. Among the familiar voices belonging to my best friend, his siblings and his mother, there was a tenor voice with a strong British accent. I grunted, knowing that it was time to get up and check things out. I changed my position to face away from the sun, the rough bed sheeting rubbing off my skin. I got excited to put on new clothes and get the feeling of freshness onto my body, but was disappointed to find out I have slept in my school uniform all along. All I could do was to reach under my shirt and spray deodorant onto my skin. I put my feet on the warm floor, stretching, many joints in my body cracking with a satisfying click. The bathroom was right next door to the room I slipped in unseen, in order to avoid talking to people in the state of half-sleep. I only splashed water onto my face, getting some of my longish hair wet in the process, and cleaned my glasses. Fully awake, I walked into the kitchen, mesmerized by the smells, only to be startled by a cheer. Oh yeah. It was my eighteenth birthday. The kitchen was spacious and well lit, with large windows covering almost two of the north facing wall of the room. The eggs and bacon sizzled on the stove, next to which stood a middle-aged woman, Suzanne, head of the household. Four people sat by the table, the siblings looked kind of adorable being organised by age, with the oldest two, Mark and Kian, looking at me with quirky ayes. A small grin appeared on my face as a response to such a warm welcome. I heard a 'happy birthday' from everyone seated at the table, yet my friends remained silent. "Thanks, guys. Just don't sing for me." I answered them, earning a chuckle, and sat at the very end of the table, sideways to Mark. He nodded at me with a smile and turned his attention back to the plate of scrambled eggs. My stomach growled when I looked at his plate, and my mouth watered, looking hopefully at Suzanne, right in time when she walked over to me with my plate. A blush spread across my face when I saw a candle stuck into the eggs. "Happy birthday Nick." She said and went back to cooking. I blew the candle and removed it from the plate, everyone was looking at me with amusement. "I wanted to stick a cigarette in there." Kian suddenly spoke. "Of course you did." I answered, not surprised. "Ah, leave him alone. He doesn't smoke. He'll outlive us all." Suzanne backed me up from the kitchen. I smirked and dug a fork into my breakfast. "I heard a voice coming from here before." I said with my mouth full. "Do we have guests?" I swallowed and looked around for an answer. "Rachelle just got an imaginary friend." Mark said. "Woah. That's the third one already, isn't it?" Most people found the idea of imaginary friends normal at this stage, but I was still fascinated by it, and I just couldn't get used to all sorts of characters walking around town. I was fascinated, and often awkwardly stared at them on the streets. "Yeah, and it's another dog." Said Kian, biting into his gluten-free cracker. "And he talks." "I heard. Well, I'm really happy for Rachelle. Isn't she a little old for one though?" I thought out loud. Mark had an answer ready. "Nope. She's just thirteen. It's rare but not unknown for kids who are even fourteen to get a pet. The highest record was set by a Canadian girl who was fifteen, I think. Although she really needed a friend like that. She was like, bullied in school, and lived with abusive grandparents." He said, finishing his eggs, and looking at me blankly. "I'd say there are people who need those more than her." I stated. "How does it even work?" "No one really knows how it works. We just go with it." Kian joined in. "The proper term isn't even 'imaginary friend'. No one imagines anything. It's actually 'companion'." He said. Mark nodded in agreement. I found it bizarre. It hasn't even been a year since cartoon-esque characters started appearing in children's lives, yet the most notice they ever got was when an incident happened involving one. No one cared or paid any attention to this anomaly, and I felt like I was the only one seeing this sudden oddity. When we were all done, everyone went to their rooms to get their bags ready, and I was the first one by the door. I discovered why that family was always late to school: it was a nightmare to get every child to listen and pack their stuff. That was when I saw the new member of my befriended family. At first, I only noticed a blur of brown fur, and a wagging tail, running downstairs side by side with Rachelle, one of the other kids that wasn't present at breakfast for whatever reasons. He noticed me, and immediately his attention turned towards me, as he tilted his head, his ears flapping, looking up into my eyes. He paddled over to me, sat on his haunches, and lifted his right paw. "Hey, nice to meet you. I'm Brad." He spoke. His muzzle was shorter than most dogs', and I guessed that was one of the reasons speech was possible. "Are you one of the siblings too?" "Heh, no. My name is Nick. I'm just here for the night." I knelt down, and awkwardly shook his paw in my hand, not sure on how to behave, yet being confident to make a good impression. He was roughly the size of a small German Sheppard, but with all light brown fur, looking as if most of it had the same exact colour or even shade, bending the rules of physics. His British accent made me crack up on the inside a little, making me smile even wider. "How did materialisation go for you?" I asked him, remembering a bit of trivia I've heard before, that sometimes the process of imaginary pets goes unexpectedly wrong. "All is fine, I'm just a little stiff in the joints." He said and stretched on the ground in front of me. "I'm just so glad I will now be Rachelle's imaginary friend." His retinas widened, as they followed my friends' sister around absentmindedly. "She's so sweet." I didn't know Rachelle too well personally, so I had to take his word for it. I was about to get more philosophical with Brad, and ask him how does it feel to serve such an obscure purpose, like making a child happy, only Kian disturbed our little exchange. "Come on Nick, we gotta go. We're already late anyway." I nodded sadly into the dog's wise eyes. He nodded back. His mouth opened and he started breathing with his tongue out, before he laid down on the ground, putting his muzzle between the paws. His tail hit the floor twice for goodbye. It was a pity. It was only then, when I realised how many questions I had about imaginary friends. And who would be better to ask than one of them? As I exited the house, I was already anticipating my next conversation with Brad the Dog. We walked out onto the autumn wind, a small army of seven, ready to be educated, and got into Ciaran's (the dad's) minibus. It was a necessary possession in such a large family. I sat at the very back, in the middle seat with Mark on my left and Kian on my right. I thought that it was the best time to ask Mark about my party. "Did you get the alcohol?" I said. We wanted to prepare ahead, and he was the only one above eighteen, except me. Well, I was technically only going to reach adulthood at eleven in the evening, but that didn't matter. If I was asked to show my ID, the exact time of birth wouldn't be a bother to anyone. Nonetheless, my party was going to take place the day after tomorrow, only two days after my actual birthday, on a Saturday, and it was supposed to be held at their house. I didn't like the word 'party', per se. It was more of a small get-together with the few friends I had. "I did." He said. "But I don't know what we'll do with it now." My face lit up, but confusion shortly crept onto it. "What do you mean?" I asked, my voice cracking. I was looking at his left profile, his long hair covered his facial features, as something was stopping him from looking me in the eyes. Just as he was about to answer me, a voice reached us from the driver seat. "Family's coming. My sister and her husband." Ciaran said, looking at me through the little mirror on the minibus' ceiling, his forehead wrinkling in an attempt to see me better. His old eyes sent me a silent apology. "Like, so unannounced?" I felt like on a train without a ticket, with a conductor walking in. I was really looking forward to that day, and all seemed ruined. "We're sorry, Nick. We should have known. They always come during autumn holidays." Kian joined in. "I never understood how in this country you can have a week-long holiday right after three months of summer off." I said, trying not to talk about our missed opportunity to have fun. "Ireland is special." Mark said as the bus hit a bump in the road. "How about next weekend? They're staying until Friday, so we can't do it on the week off, unfortunately. But Saturday and Sunday are okay." I opened my mouth to agree, but then I remembered it wasn't possible. "I'll still be out with scouts by then. I'm only back late Sunday." "Heh... School." Mark scratched his chin. "How about in two weeks time?" "It won't be the same..." I didn't show them that I was about cry, and I instead concealed my emotions. "Well, it's your choice, Nick." Ciaran said again. "Just say the word." I nodded into the little mirror, and his attention returned to the bumpy, country road ahead of us, driving towards the town of Killeanney. The minibus was quickly overtaken by silent commotion of conversations. The younger siblings in the seats in front of me were talking about their school drama, and Mark and Kian were indulged by showing each other the latest memes. I was surprised that I wasn't too interested in the latter, and instead, I leaned my head backwards, able to see the first drops of rain hit the glass of the back window. I got used to the Irish rains, and they never made me feel too sad, except when I actually felt down. And that was one of those moments. Singy slumberA blur of blonde. There were so many of those sun strings, that they formed a curly, organised mess on her head. Her laugh. Oh my god, the laugh. It made me want to follow her around, my eyes drilling into this bush of hay coloured hair. If she was only facing me... If I could only see her sad, blue eyes that I knew were there, only then I could be at peace. She turned around playfully, her face towards me. Yet I saw no eyes, in her hazy silhouette. Instead of being rightfully worried, I reached out to touch that freakish face of her's, before realising she was miles away from me, and I was looking at her through Galileo's telescope. If she was truly so far away, how could I hear her so clearly? "Nick..? Nick. ~~~" "...Nick. Nick!" The voice of my music teacher, Ms Harrington, ripped me right out of my slumber. I looked around, confused. The whole class was staring at me, some individuals amused, waiting for me to speak. "Yes, Miss?" I made sure my voice was loud and clear, taking my chances to sound like I wasn't just sleeping in class, and like if I was conscious of my surroundings. Ms Harrington shook her arms in disappointment. "I asked you a question." She lowered her face, thus looking more strict and dangerous, a trick teachers liked to pull off. "I'm sorry, can you repeat please?" I responded, almost mechanically. She sighed. "How can you describe the style of singing in this movement of Bach's Cantata?" Most of the people in class were now looking at their desks, the humorous thrill of their classmate being caught sleeping was long gone. "Wh... Which movement is that, Miss?" I stammered lightly. "The one we just listened to." She leaned back on her desk, looking at the clock above the door. "It's the bass aria." I heard a whisper in my ear. Gabriel used the moment she was looking away to help me out. "It was mostly melismatic." I said quickly. "Will you pay more attention in class, Nick?" She said, and I felt that I just got treated unfairly. I knew I answered the question right, but I nodded back to my teacher, knowing better than to start an argument. "I'd also like to see you after class." The whole class looked at me again, as she walked back to her computer. "It's unrelated." Chatter quickly filled the room, as I fell back onto the desk, knowing better than to fall asleep again. I wondered what it was Ms Harrington wanted. I still wasn't able to play anything for the practicals, and I was expecting that to be the case, but I could be mistaken. "What's wrong?" Gabriel asked me, packing his pencil case to his schoolbag. "Nothing. Everyone keeps asking me this." I said, a little too sharply, pushing my thoughts away, along with my very real dream of a girl. I looked into his face. "And I think the bass aria helped put me to sleep." The Brazilian guy was as tired as I was, and also just wanted to return home. Thankfully we only had resource class after music, and we were free. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired, I guess. Oh, and thanks for saving my ass there." I continued, knowing that if I didn't answer right, Ms Harrington's reaction would have been a lot worse. "Well, when you gotta go you gotta go." I wasn't sure what he meant, but I happily accepted his randomness. We put our chairs on the tables, as there were no more classes taking place in the music room that day. I was eager to exit the stuffy atmosphere of that particular classroom, but I still had to get through the conversation with my teacher. I felt a wave of cool air calling me from the school lobby, yet I stayed next to Ms Harrington's desk. She was short, the top of her head was roughly parallel with my chest. She had short blonde hair, and judging by the look, she was in her early fifties. She waited until all the students were out of the room, before looking me in the eyes and addressing me, her strict voice gave way for a more relaxed, compassionate tone. "Nick, I'm really worried about you." She said, surprising me. The teachers often asked me if I felt well, considering how smug my face always was, but I was always sure that Ms Harrington didn't care much about how her students' wellbeing. Classes with her felt like she was just trying to shove information into our heads, and be done with us, waiting for her next Leaving Cert group, to teach the same things for a whole course of two years. I was puzzled by her concern and remained silent. "I often see you with friends, which is good. But when you're away from the group, you always look like you're about to tear up. Is anything bothering you?" This again. I was fine. Well, not entirely, but I preferred not to talk about it. Or think. "Have you been getting enough sleep? Lately, you've..-" I stopped her mid-sentence. "I wasn't sleeping." I said firmly. "I just didn't pay attention for a minute, that's all." I said, looking into her eyes. Back in the first year of secondary school, a teacher told me he could always easily tell the truth from a lie just by looking into the student's eyes, and if that person was looking down, they were definitely a liar. Since then, I've always been looking straight into people's eyes when lying to them, with a confident, but not overly formal tone. Ms Harrington sighed, looking at me with tired eyes. "No one can help you, if you won't allow them to, Nick." She said. "You can talk to me in my office anytime. I can get you a meeting with the counsellor too..." "I'll be fine, Miss. Thank you." I raised the sides of my lips and gave her a single nod, implying I was okay, hinting towards a goodbye. I could see her sigh once more, and look into the wooden floor as I went into the crowded hall. Resourceful reachesI was the first to burst through the door of the resource class, onto the cold corridors. The monotonous hour of being allowed to study anything we wanted seemed useful in theory - especially considering the fact that we spent it in the computer room - but completely blew when put to practice. Our teacher, or 'supervisor', as I call her (no teaching took place) must have taken a pledge to make our lives as boring as she could during resource class. You see, resource class took place at the same time as the Irish class. There was a lucky few students, with me among them, that didn't have to take that class and did whatever for an hour in resource. These consisted mostly of foreign students, like me, and Irish people with dyslexia. There were of course other reasons to be exempt from Irish, but those cases were rare. Mrs Kennedy allowed us to only use the computers if we needed them for work, which was really annoying, considering we were allowed to do anything on them last year. She would spend the entire hour watching everyone's shared screen on her own monitor, as the school software allowed her to do that. If she found some website that she deemed not worthy of her dear pupils, she would proudly stand up on her high heels, and march over to that person, giving out to them for the next five minutes of class, taking their journal if any resistance or argument was made. Sometimes I actually felt sorry for her. She as a teacher, had the most to do out of all of us, yet she wasted her time trying to make our lives worse than they were. It was her who should be given out to for not using her time creatively. If a student was caught, she would tell them to take out their work, and study. This was often followed by them saying they already did all their homework, and that they had nothing to do, to which she would respond by telling them to look over their notes. If that student then said they left all their books in their locker, you could observe Mrs Kennedy blowing steam out of her ears. 'Find something to do, or I'll give you work to do for homework.' - Was what she said then, and the conversation was usually over by then, ended with a sigh of the student, as they took out any book and blindly stared at its pages. Today, I decided to put her words to the test, and see if the work she gave for the dreaded homework was really that scary. I didn't do anything for five minutes, and the usual scenario followed as usual. She waltzed over to me, but when she told me that she will give me work, I paused for a second, and responded with a single word. "Fine" - I said to her, equally puzzling her, and the entire class, just as intended. She scratched her head, looked off into the distance, returned to her desk and started aggressively punching text into the computer, all the while I calmly stared at her patiently, apparently stressing her out, judging from the nervous glances she took at me in the process, to which I responded with a neutral smile every single time. The problem was, she was the physics teacher. I don't do physics. Guess what she gave me for homework. Go on, take a wild guess. A fucking word search puzzle. That's right. I was holding back laughter more than the people that caught me sleeping in music. I quickly lost my good humour though, realising she actually wanted me to do the word search. I exited the room swiftly, to avoid more eye contact with her. The resource class, instead of relaxing me as always for the end of the day, put me in a tipsy mood. I just wanted to talk to my friends to blow off some steam, and ask Francis if he could walk home with me. We did that often, as we lived on the same estate, and he was great company to me. Although shy and introverted, he let loose when friends were around, and, we had a lot of common interests that others in the school didn't share with me. I decided to walk through the outside of the school to take a shortcut to the lockers. Outside, I ran into an old friend. "Nick!" Carl yelled towards me. "Didn't see you around for a while." He lowered his voice as I came closer. He was two years younger than me, currently in his fourth year of secondary school. "Well, you know, school and stuff." I said, looking at his cart. Carl did an odd job at our school. He called himself the school journalist, but he didn't actually do anything remote to journalism. It was his duty to go out early from class on each Thursday, take the cart of newspapers refilled every week by the City Council, and sell them outside the main entrance. The newspapers weren't of course popular among the students, in the era of internet, but a lot of kids actually picked up the weekly issue of Killeaney Times for their parents, as the community news garnered some popularity over time. "You're still doing this, huh?" I asked, after a short bit of silence. "Well I do get paid." He answered, accepting a two euro coin from some young student, and handing her the thin, folded newspaper. "It's something." I said goodbye to him, as the students started to pour out the front door. He was one of the people I wished to spend more time with, yet I could never find the right moment. The main lobby was full of life as I walked through it. Teenagers of all ages, all of them in monotone black uniforms walked by me, minding their own business, most of them heading for the main exit, as I headed to my locker. I allowed myself a slight smirk, seeing my group of friends all gathered around our usual spot. I saw Kian, Mark, Gabriel and Francis down there, all taken over by some community news. After dealing with my locker, I went over to them. "What's good boys?" I asked, joining their circle, but haven't been granted any answer thanks to James joining in, and forcing his way between me and Kian. He had an issue of Killeaney Times in his hands, and his fast walking pace made us all cautious. "Did you hear what's been going on?" He asked us, fiddling with his bag, trying to handle the paper in his hands. "Yep." Mark said, and the other three nodded their heads, only leaving me confused. "I haven't." I said, and James immediately stuck the newspaper up to my face. "It's the mayor again." Kian sighed, as I read the headline on the newspaper. Our town was special. Most small Irish settlements like ours, never interacted with its politicians and the council, but we have to thank our dear mayor, for making everyone's lives more interesting. He attended every gathering in the community centre, and daily talked to his citizens on the street. But that didn't make him a good leader, and definitely not a good politician. All agreed, that he wasn't okay in the head, with all the things he tried to pull off. He tried his best to abuse his power, but as a mayor of a small town, he was very limited. He passed a lot of laws to the Kerry County Council, most of them to make his life better. He overall thought that he had power to do anything. There was a scandal once where he 'borrowed' somebody's car. It was found under his office, and he swore he was going to give it back. He avoided all the charges, as the family he stole from felt sorry for him, and believed he had a mental condition, like the majority of the village. Every store owner would roll his eyes when they saw him enter. He believed as a mayor he shouldn't be obligated to pay for small products, bypassing all of the laws, getting into fights with shopkeepers. "Mayor Padraig Ó Riagáin wants to legalise human x companion marriage." I read aloud. "It sounds even worse as a news heading." Said Gabriel, looking up from his phone. I couldn't believe my eyes. It was just like when he tried to legalise incest in Ireland, he was rejected by the County Council, but no one was surprised, as he has done worse before. I thought the following events would be similar to those of that day, but with less backlash towards the mayor, as everyone was tired of chasing after him. "It's disgusting, like. He's outta control." James said, taking the paper from me, bringing it closer to his face, reading a fragment of the article. "...Mayor Ó Riagáin is back with yet another trial to pass a controversial law to the Kerry County Council. In an interview with Killeaney Times, he said: 'Marriage is a sacred ritual performed by humans for millenia, to seal their love for each other with a simple vow. We, humans, have recently been blessed with companions we never expected, and I feel, we are obligated to show our love for them in any way, shape or form.'" He finished, and looked around. "I never thought people even thought of imaginary friends that way." Said Kian, rubbing his chin. "They're here for our kids, not for us to romanticise." "Romanticise? I think this guy just wants to score, if you know what I'm saying." All heads turned towards James. He continued to speak. "I heard his daughter got an imaginary pony lately, lovely mare, everyone liked her around the house, and she helped a lot with cleaning and work, as she's one of those unicorns that can levitate things. The thing is, rumours say, our boy Padraig has feelings for the pony. But I just think he's a deviant." James finished, and rolled the newspaper into a paper pipe and stuck it on a side pocket of his backpack. "Well he IS divorced." I said, and everyone looked at me. "So what?" Countered James. My thoughts quickly went back to Brad the Dog, my earlier acquired friend. He could hold up a conversation with an entire family. He had charm to him, and a distinct personality. Would it be that weird if a human woman had been wooed by such an individual? Probably. Still, such a relationship could theoretically take place. "So maybe there's really something going on there." I said, and everyone blinked in confusion. "They're animals, Nick." Said James, putting his hands into his pockets, and resting his weight on his right leg in a relaxed position. "Sapient, intelligent animals. I wouldn't have anything against companion - human marriage actually." I said, as it started to make sense in my head. I also wanted to disagree with James on something - he was the least open minded person out of all of us, and sometimes it was annoying how little he wanted in common with us. "Still, animals. Nick, would you go to your house, and fuck your dog?" "No. That's completely different, James." "What's different about it? The mayor just wants to fuck a horse. He needs a therapist. And of course you're one to agree, because you're a fucking brony." "Wh..what?" I retaliated. "That show hasn't been mentioned anywhere for way over a year now! And so what if I was a fan of it?" "Whatever do you mean 'so what'? All of you kiss the hooves of all those damn ponies that started appearing in kids' beds. And I'm sure that's not the only part of them you'd like to..." James was abruptly stopped. "Oh shut up. That entire fandom is all but nonexistent. People just like to go after the made up things. I also hate the word 'brony' by the way. It's so overused." "Say whatever you want. I won't listen. You said it yourself, that fandom is dead, and I don't know why you're trying to defend it. You're quite literally beating a dead horse." He walked towards the exit door. "Even if he's right, mayor Ó Riagáin surely wasn't a huge fan of My Little Pony when it was popular. If this is all driven by feelings, why make it all worse?" I spoke, still a little heated from my argument. "I agree." Said Kian. "Look at Brad. He's more inteligent than most of the people in our school." "That's exactly what I've been thinking about." My friends looked at me curiously. "Yeah well of course a normie like James considers sex to be the only important thing." Kian continued, as the others went to their lockers. "Yeah. Wow. Can't believe we're agreeing with the mayor for once." I smirked. "Could it be that we only had to put ourselves in the old guy's shoes?" He wondered. Mark called him from the other side of the locker area. It was time for them to go. "Then what was up with that incest thing?" I tilted my head, smiling playfully at him. "Nevermind. Scratch all I said. He's not okay." He turned around towards Mark. "See you tomorrow man." I felt sad again. I would be going with them, to spend more time preparing for the party, but as it was cancelled, I had to return home. I went over to Francis. His locker was right beside mine. He was tall and skinny, with complicated eastern heritage, longish black hair, and a dark skin tone. "Wanna walk through town with me?" I asked him as soon as our eyes met. "Hm? I thought you're going with Mark and Kian." He said and looked down at my shoes. "Yeah... We had to cancel the party." "Oh. Well sorry, but I gotta get my little brother, I can't go today." My smile was gone. "If you told me earlier..." "It's fine, Francis." He said goodbye, and walked to the main exit, leaving me alone with my thoughts by the lockers. I checked my pockets, and cursed when failing to find my earphones. I had to make my way home in complete silence. Nothing went my way that day. Even the smallest of things failed. And it started to rain. More slumberWalking down a forest of tall growing pines made me calm and relaxed. The country road beneath my feet seemed to lead nowhere, but a small lake. And at that lake... Hay hair. Low pitched girly laughter. The laughter... Where are her eyes? Where, for the love of god, are her sparkling, blue eyes? Killeaney, or, Cill Oileán if you prefer, had 9000 people living in it. For an Irish town, it sure had a lot of pubs, with averagely three to five present at every major street. In one of them, one of the quietest and smallest, that made everyone feel like the 60s never passed, I sat on top of a high chair. Only repetitive nudges from an alien hand brought me back to reality. "Oi, quit it ya cheeky wanker." Said the bartender with a surprisingly strong Dublin accent, rare in those parts. "Or at least stop yer feckin snorin'. For the third bloody time!" From all tables I heard laughter of old and middle aged men, that was quickly lost in the live music, provided by no one else than a fella simply named John, and his pop covers sung in Irish. That's right, I fell asleep on top of the counter in a backtown pub. I decided to take a detour during my glorious, rainy walk home, and come in for a pint or two, to celebrate my birthday alone. I was eighteen after all, and what did I do not to deserve a few sips of alcohol. It was nothing compared to what we were gonna down at Kian's. I was halfway through my second pint. I knew that was my limit if I wanted to return home in a straight line. All I really cared about was the taste of cold, barelled Guiness, and the bitter flavour of its foam. Even though not drunk, I felt somehow relaxed and indifferent, even after having another dream about her. "What's the matter, boy." The bartender leaned in. He had colourful tattoos on his arms, and many piercings going through his ears, his brown eyes looked into mine with quirkiness. "Didn't get much sleep?" "Too much, apperently." I responded, too quiet for him to hear, recalling my music class, and took a sip of the black coloured beverage. "Hey, don'tcha worry. Life only gets worse later on." He smiled, and slapped my arm with an open palm, in a common gesture of sympathy. I looked him in the eyes again, at nothing else but emptiness I made myself see. "Hey aren't ya too young for alcohol, kid?" He whispered, and winked at me. I smirked and took out my wallet from the inside pocket of my jacket and placed it beside my drink. The look on his face said that he would have let me drink at his place anyway, but he took the wallet and opened it, his eyes straight away locking themselves on my ID, visible through a transparent pocket. He smiled at me shortly, before shouting: "Oi John! OI! Do you 'ave anythin' birthday themed?" I raised my head and turned it towards the locale, to see all heads pointed at me once more. If at that moment, someone started singling 'Happy Birthday', everyone would follow. Maybe it would have even made me feel better. But John only laughed. "Haha, nah, don't think so. But I'll take yer request!" Everyone cheered. I felt like the only one having trouble understanding John's thick, Kerry accent. I waited until the cheering stopped before responding to him. "I'd gladly request something, if you could play something else than Ed Sheeran!" I shouted across the room, earning a lot of laughs and knee slaps, from the guests, as well as the old and bearded John. "Anything within my repertoire. Go on!" Everyone looked at me with anticipation. "Aight. Play "Whiskey in a Jar" again. I loved that one." I said. My last sentence was silenced by the applauding crowd of twenty people. "As I was going over..." John started, a basic chord progression followed his singy words. "...the Cork and Kerry mountains..." Everyone else drunkenly joined in, along with the bartender and the few bored housewives that found new loads of energy within themselves. They all had too much fun, considering it was only Thursday. Too much fun to notice the door open, and too much to see an unexpected guest sit at the bar table with me, his large, overweight posture causing the chair to creek. "Hello mayor." I said, unaphased, and watched him get a pint of Guiness poured in by the bartender. "What brings you here?" "I thought that for once people would understand." He spoke in a quiet, reserved tone. He had a stylish coat thrown over a white collared shirt, with an expensive, red neck tie. I continued my drink, downing the entire quarter of the pint that was left. I didn't feel like talking to anyone. Especially not Padraig Ó Riagáin. "I don't know why I'm telling you this, but..." He grabbed his head, lowering it, flashing his receding hairline and short grayish hair. "I love her." He turned his round face towards me. "It doesn't matter if she's a pony. I'd feel the same way if she was a field mouse. I just don't know why everyone finds it so hard to understand." "Did you tell her how you feel?" I asked him, not believing I was actually going into a conversation with that guy. He nodded simply. "Did she return your feelings?" A shake. "Then how about you maybe NOT try to pass a law to change the way our society works? To maybe not become a laughing stock of town, and not make our town the laughing stock of Ireland?" He only opened his mouth in response. That same mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he sighed and took the first sip of his drink. "Can I pay by card?" I asked the bartender. "It's on the house. Happy birthday." I smiled at him, and hopped off my chair, turning towards the exit, only to be stopped by the mayor's voice. "I'm not in control of my choices anymore. I don't know where to put my hands. I've been trying to lay my head down, but I can't seem to find a clear path without her at my side." I opened the door to the outside world. His words stung me in the heart - I was going through very similar feelings. It all felt very real to hear. "Oh and..." He said, as I was halfway out the door, making me look back at him. "Happy birthday to you. Citizen." Ponify my heartA familiar, white taxi was parked in front of Walli's Bar. It was my dad. He looked at me through the passenger seat window, with raised eyebrows, making sure it was his son he was looking at, before gesturing me to get in. I was actually relieved to be out of the messy nature of Killeaney's tight community, and felt glad to be in the air conditioned, spacious Toyota. Even though the car was a small fraction the size of the pub, it felt bigger and much more breathable. "Happy birthday, Nick." "Thanks, dad." We drove in silence for the next three minutes, only interrupted by the e-cigarette smoke, coming from his mouth every now and then, and filling the car with the smell of mint. "How much did you have?" "Two." "Litres? Shots? Gallons? Glasses? Bottl-" "Pints." I stopped him a little too abruptly. I could feel his eyes looking at me, before he returned to driving. We didn't say a word for the remainder of the ten minute trip. The only source of light in my room was my computer screen. It was one of those awkward moments when it came to my head that my eyes were sore, and I should probably turn on my bedside lamp. It was hardly a bed. A king sized mattress thrown on the ground, with bedsheets over it. That mattress could be a metaphor for the state the rest of my room was in. A lot of clothes on the floor, laundry hasn't been done for days. Empty yoghurt tubs and tons of fruit peels on my desk, attracting fruit flies, that I occasionally had to swat away from my monitor. There was little furniture, aside the large wardrobe, and a second desk at the other end of the room. The desk, both it's drawers and a compartment, we're full of unused stuff and school books. The white walls had some posters on. Posters weren't really my thing, but any that I got my hands on, I'd usually hang up. It was a cry for breaking the monotony of my room. My eyes stopped at the My Little Pony poster for a few seconds, making me recall the events of the day that just passed, and made me think about James and the mayor. I quickly shook those thoughts off. Two dusty guitars stood in the room's shadowy corner. Untouched in months, which made me feel very guilty. It was always that one day when I was telling myself I'd practice, but that day always turned into a tomorrow. Half closed bathroom doors loomed at the back of my room, emanating darkness. I had the luxury of having a private bathroom. In the bathroom, more mess and an Ikea bag, serving as a garbage disposal. The entire composition was accented by a ceiling wall. It reduced the size of my room, by taking a forty five degree angle about a metre from the floor, and reaching the ceiling, allowing a Velux window to bring daylight inside, during early hours. That wasn't possible due to the late time darkness, topped off with violent rain. My daydreaming was interrupted by a loud Facebook message I heard through my headphones. It was Annie. Talking to her helped me forget about how terrible my day went, and focus on the positives, even if there was very little. Hey, won't you be eighteen in eleven minutes? Her message made me smirk. It was indeed 10:49, and I was born exactly at eleven o'clock, on sixteenth of November, in the year of two thousand. My fingers quickly ran across the keyboard. Yep. Not very excited about this Also I'm surprised you remembered the exact time lmao I watched the three digital dots bounce for a few seconds before getting a text back. Haha yeah Well happy birthday I'm gonna go to sleep Love you x I said goodbye and closed the Facebook tab. My brain was trying to decide if I should reopen it, and send Annie a paragraph telling her how texts like that, and heart emojis, really started to bother me. Even if I felt warm on the inside, especially after having two dreams about her in a single day, they just reminded me of how devastated I was due to not being with her anymore. My eyes were closing however, so I decided to call it a day. My computer turned off, making the room eerily quiet. My hands rested on top of a fuzzy body, I made my head fall back, sighing, and sinking into my armchair. I should really get those ceiling leaks checked out, now that I looked at them, being a responsible adult and all. It hit me, that the surface beneath my hands was soft and furry. I didn't take any action at first, thinking that it was one of my dogs that sneaked into my room and got onto my lap when I didn't see, and I forgot about them laying there. I patted the warm creature, sighing one more time. I blinked my eyes a few times, and slapped myself mentally. If I didn't want to sleep on the armchair again, I had to get up and do my sleeping routine. Sleeping in the uniform on a school day didn't sound like a very attractive option. It was then when I first laid my eyes on her. In my lap, slept a small, blue pegasus. She was curled up in a ball, her belly facing away from me. Her prismatic mane dangled down the armchair. Her tail rested on top of my knee. Her ear twitched, and she raised her little head mininally, to let out a long, tired yawn. She stretched her forelegs at the same time, straightening them, I watched as they shook in place. My heart started beating very fast. I thought she was going to wake up, but she only let out a couple of gibberish words, giving me a sample of her voice, making me believe that it was in fact her, Rainbow Dash, that suddenly appeared in my very own lap. I spent the next ten minutes staring at the site in front of me, trying to figure out how those events were even possible. Oh my god. I just got an imaginary friend. Why? "I'm not even a child anymore." I whispered to myself. I raised my hand slowly and brought it to her ear, curiously. It twitched away when I made the slightest contact with it. "I'm an adult. This shouldn't be." I scratched my chin, running my fingers across the three day old beard. Was this even how the whole ordeal worked? Like, it's supposed to be an ordinary pony, or a dog, or some mystical creature that appears, but one of the main characters of a known tv show? How!? I slowly and gently reached under the body of the frail pony at my lap. I lifted her, mainly concerned about her head staying in the same position, as to not wake her up. She was incredibly light, even though she was only slightly bigger than my larger dog, she must have weighed at least twice as little. I carefully positioned her on the bed, bending my body from the armchair at an awkward angle. She murmured some sleepy words under her nose, tiredly flicked her tail, and went back to breathing deeply and regularly. There I was, in the middle of my room, a confused being, a fresh teenage adult, that only got more problems dropped on him. I couldn't believe my eyes. I didn't even know what to think anymore. I turned around, finding it hard to take my eyes off of the fuzzy anomaly on top of my mattress. In the bathroom, I changed into my pajamas, impatiently washed my teeth and face, before returning to the room. I swear I heard movement just seconds ago... Rainbow Dash was under my blanket, laying on her side, facing away from the wall, similarly to how a human would sleep. Her chest still raised itself and lowered at the same pace, so she must have changed position in her sleep. I awkwardly walked onto the bed on all fours. I had to move the blanket away from the mattress' side, in order not to wake the pony up with movement. I considered running downstairs to get my dad, or just simply waking her up, but I decided not to act on impulse, and wait until morning before anything happened. I laid myself on the mattress, the back of her fuzzy blue head facing me, with strands of rainbow hair flowing down to the pillows. I slowly began to relax. I reached out to get the light, a little too aggressively. She smacked her lips a few times, and then made movement with her body, her entire back rested on my chest, as she returned to sleep. I could feel her warmth, and tips of her wings touching my chest, and I was too scared to move away. There I was, for the next thirty minutes, trying my best to fall asleep, with a fuzzy, blue creature, leaning into my chest. Her mane smelled like rainy winds, as I drifted away.
Brad the DogThe crackling of a bed under me was what originally pulled me out of my slumber. I didn't dare open an eye, as I felt an overwhelming presence of sunlight on my face. It stopped briefly, the shadow must have been cast by a person, the same that just stood up from the bed I've been sleeping on. I heard minor commotion in the room before the door to it was opened, and sounds of an earlybird family reached my ears. I clenched up a little, slowly coming to terms that I wasn't in at own house, mild sense of anxiety ran through my spine. I almost never went to sleepovers. I relaxed a little when the smell of bacon and eggs hit me strongly, but stiffened once more, when I heard a voice that I didn't recognize. Among the familiar voices belonging to my best friend, his siblings and his mother, there was a tenor voice with a strong British accent. I grunted, knowing that it was time to get up and check things out. I changed my position to face away from the sun, the rough bed sheeting rubbing off my skin. I got excited to put on new clothes and get the feeling of freshness onto my body, but was disappointed to find out I have slept in my school uniform all along. All I could do was to reach under my shirt and spray deodorant onto my skin. I put my feet on the warm floor, stretching, many joints in my body cracking with a satisfying click. The bathroom was right next door to the room I slipped in unseen, in order to avoid talking to people in the state of half-sleep. I only splashed water onto my face, getting some of my longish hair wet in the process, and cleaned my glasses. Fully awake, I walked into the kitchen, mesmerized by the smells, only to be startled by a cheer. Oh yeah. It was my eighteenth birthday. The kitchen was spacious and well lit, with large windows covering almost two of the north facing wall of the room. The eggs and bacon sizzled on the stove, next to which stood a middle-aged woman, Suzanne, head of the household. Four people sat by the table, the siblings looked kind of adorable being organised by age, with the oldest two, Mark and Kian, looking at me with quirky ayes. A small grin appeared on my face as a response to such a warm welcome. I heard a 'happy birthday' from everyone seated at the table, yet my friends remained silent. "Thanks, guys. Just don't sing for me." I answered them, earning a chuckle, and sat at the very end of the table, sideways to Mark. He nodded at me with a smile and turned his attention back to the plate of scrambled eggs. My stomach growled when I looked at his plate, and my mouth watered, looking hopefully at Suzanne, right in time when she walked over to me with my plate. A blush spread across my face when I saw a candle stuck into the eggs. "Happy birthday Nick." She said and went back to cooking. I blew the candle and removed it from the plate, everyone was looking at me with amusement. "I wanted to stick a cigarette in there." Kian suddenly spoke. "Of course you did." I answered, not surprised. "Ah, leave him alone. He doesn't smoke. He'll outlive us all." Suzanne backed me up from the kitchen. I smirked and dug a fork into my breakfast. "I heard a voice coming from here before." I said with my mouth full. "Do we have guests?" I swallowed and looked around for an answer. "Rachelle just got an imaginary friend." Mark said. "Woah. That's the third one already, isn't it?" Most people found the idea of imaginary friends normal at this stage, but I was still fascinated by it, and I just couldn't get used to all sorts of characters walking around town. I was fascinated, and often awkwardly stared at them on the streets. "Yeah, and it's another dog." Said Kian, biting into his gluten-free cracker. "And he talks." "I heard. Well, I'm really happy for Rachelle. Isn't she a little old for one though?" I thought out loud. Mark had an answer ready. "Nope. She's just thirteen. It's rare but not unknown for kids who are even fourteen to get a pet. The highest record was set by a Canadian girl who was fifteen, I think. Although she really needed a friend like that. She was like, bullied in school, and lived with abusive grandparents." He said, finishing his eggs, and looking at me blankly. "I'd say there are people who need those more than her." I stated. "How does it even work?" "No one really knows how it works. We just go with it." Kian joined in. "The proper term isn't even 'imaginary friend'. No one imagines anything. It's actually 'companion'." He said. Mark nodded in agreement. I found it bizarre. It hasn't even been a year since cartoon-esque characters started appearing in children's lives, yet the most notice they ever got was when an incident happened involving one. No one cared or paid any attention to this anomaly, and I felt like I was the only one seeing this sudden oddity. When we were all done, everyone went to their rooms to get their bags ready, and I was the first one by the door. I discovered why that family was always late to school: it was a nightmare to get every child to listen and pack their stuff. That was when I saw the new member of my befriended family. At first, I only noticed a blur of brown fur, and a wagging tail, running downstairs side by side with Rachelle, one of the other kids that wasn't present at breakfast for whatever reasons. He noticed me, and immediately his attention turned towards me, as he tilted his head, his ears flapping, looking up into my eyes. He paddled over to me, sat on his haunches, and lifted his right paw. "Hey, nice to meet you. I'm Brad." He spoke. His muzzle was shorter than most dogs', and I guessed that was one of the reasons speech was possible. "Are you one of the siblings too?" "Heh, no. My name is Nick. I'm just here for the night." I knelt down, and awkwardly shook his paw in my hand, not sure on how to behave, yet being confident to make a good impression. He was roughly the size of a small German Sheppard, but with all light brown fur, looking as if most of it had the same exact colour or even shade, bending the rules of physics. His British accent made me crack up on the inside a little, making me smile even wider. "How did materialisation go for you?" I asked him, remembering a bit of trivia I've heard before, that sometimes the process of imaginary pets goes unexpectedly wrong. "All is fine, I'm just a little stiff in the joints." He said and stretched on the ground in front of me. "I'm just so glad I will now be Rachelle's imaginary friend." His retinas widened, as they followed my friends' sister around absentmindedly. "She's so sweet." I didn't know Rachelle too well personally, so I had to take his word for it. I was about to get more philosophical with Brad, and ask him how does it feel to serve such an obscure purpose, like making a child happy, only Kian disturbed our little exchange. "Come on Nick, we gotta go. We're already late anyway." I nodded sadly into the dog's wise eyes. He nodded back. His mouth opened and he started breathing with his tongue out, before he laid down on the ground, putting his muzzle between the paws. His tail hit the floor twice for goodbye. It was a pity. It was only then, when I realised how many questions I had about imaginary friends. And who would be better to ask than one of them? As I exited the house, I was already anticipating my next conversation with Brad the Dog. We walked out onto the autumn wind, a small army of seven, ready to be educated, and got into Ciaran's (the dad's) minibus. It was a necessary possession in such a large family. I sat at the very back, in the middle seat with Mark on my left and Kian on my right. I thought that it was the best time to ask Mark about my party. "Did you get the alcohol?" I said. We wanted to prepare ahead, and he was the only one above eighteen, except me. Well, I was technically only going to reach adulthood at eleven in the evening, but that didn't matter. If I was asked to show my ID, the exact time of birth wouldn't be a bother to anyone. Nonetheless, my party was going to take place the day after tomorrow, only two days after my actual birthday, on a Saturday, and it was supposed to be held at their house. I didn't like the word 'party', per se. It was more of a small get-together with the few friends I had. "I did." He said. "But I don't know what we'll do with it now." My face lit up, but confusion shortly crept onto it. "What do you mean?" I asked, my voice cracking. I was looking at his left profile, his long hair covered his facial features, as something was stopping him from looking me in the eyes. Just as he was about to answer me, a voice reached us from the driver seat. "Family's coming. My sister and her husband." Ciaran said, looking at me through the little mirror on the minibus' ceiling, his forehead wrinkling in an attempt to see me better. His old eyes sent me a silent apology. "Like, so unannounced?" I felt like on a train without a ticket, with a conductor walking in. I was really looking forward to that day, and all seemed ruined. "We're sorry, Nick. We should have known. They always come during autumn holidays." Kian joined in. "I never understood how in this country you can have a week-long holiday right after three months of summer off." I said, trying not to talk about our missed opportunity to have fun. "Ireland is special." Mark said as the bus hit a bump in the road. "How about next weekend? They're staying until Friday, so we can't do it on the week off, unfortunately. But Saturday and Sunday are okay." I opened my mouth to agree, but then I remembered it wasn't possible. "I'll still be out with scouts by then. I'm only back late Sunday." "Heh... School." Mark scratched his chin. "How about in two weeks time?" "It won't be the same..." I didn't show them that I was about cry, and I instead concealed my emotions. "Well, it's your choice, Nick." Ciaran said again. "Just say the word." I nodded into the little mirror, and his attention returned to the bumpy, country road ahead of us, driving towards the town of Killeanney. The minibus was quickly overtaken by silent commotion of conversations. The younger siblings in the seats in front of me were talking about their school drama, and Mark and Kian were indulged by showing each other the latest memes. I was surprised that I wasn't too interested in the latter, and instead, I leaned my head backwards, able to see the first drops of rain hit the glass of the back window. I got used to the Irish rains, and they never made me feel too sad, except when I actually felt down. And that was one of those moments.
Singy slumberA blur of blonde. There were so many of those sun strings, that they formed a curly, organised mess on her head. Her laugh. Oh my god, the laugh. It made me want to follow her around, my eyes drilling into this bush of hay coloured hair. If she was only facing me... If I could only see her sad, blue eyes that I knew were there, only then I could be at peace. She turned around playfully, her face towards me. Yet I saw no eyes, in her hazy silhouette. Instead of being rightfully worried, I reached out to touch that freakish face of her's, before realising she was miles away from me, and I was looking at her through Galileo's telescope. If she was truly so far away, how could I hear her so clearly? "Nick..? Nick. ~~~" "...Nick. Nick!" The voice of my music teacher, Ms Harrington, ripped me right out of my slumber. I looked around, confused. The whole class was staring at me, some individuals amused, waiting for me to speak. "Yes, Miss?" I made sure my voice was loud and clear, taking my chances to sound like I wasn't just sleeping in class, and like if I was conscious of my surroundings. Ms Harrington shook her arms in disappointment. "I asked you a question." She lowered her face, thus looking more strict and dangerous, a trick teachers liked to pull off. "I'm sorry, can you repeat please?" I responded, almost mechanically. She sighed. "How can you describe the style of singing in this movement of Bach's Cantata?" Most of the people in class were now looking at their desks, the humorous thrill of their classmate being caught sleeping was long gone. "Wh... Which movement is that, Miss?" I stammered lightly. "The one we just listened to." She leaned back on her desk, looking at the clock above the door. "It's the bass aria." I heard a whisper in my ear. Gabriel used the moment she was looking away to help me out. "It was mostly melismatic." I said quickly. "Will you pay more attention in class, Nick?" She said, and I felt that I just got treated unfairly. I knew I answered the question right, but I nodded back to my teacher, knowing better than to start an argument. "I'd also like to see you after class." The whole class looked at me again, as she walked back to her computer. "It's unrelated." Chatter quickly filled the room, as I fell back onto the desk, knowing better than to fall asleep again. I wondered what it was Ms Harrington wanted. I still wasn't able to play anything for the practicals, and I was expecting that to be the case, but I could be mistaken. "What's wrong?" Gabriel asked me, packing his pencil case to his schoolbag. "Nothing. Everyone keeps asking me this." I said, a little too sharply, pushing my thoughts away, along with my very real dream of a girl. I looked into his face. "And I think the bass aria helped put me to sleep." The Brazilian guy was as tired as I was, and also just wanted to return home. Thankfully we only had resource class after music, and we were free. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired, I guess. Oh, and thanks for saving my ass there." I continued, knowing that if I didn't answer right, Ms Harrington's reaction would have been a lot worse. "Well, when you gotta go you gotta go." I wasn't sure what he meant, but I happily accepted his randomness. We put our chairs on the tables, as there were no more classes taking place in the music room that day. I was eager to exit the stuffy atmosphere of that particular classroom, but I still had to get through the conversation with my teacher. I felt a wave of cool air calling me from the school lobby, yet I stayed next to Ms Harrington's desk. She was short, the top of her head was roughly parallel with my chest. She had short blonde hair, and judging by the look, she was in her early fifties. She waited until all the students were out of the room, before looking me in the eyes and addressing me, her strict voice gave way for a more relaxed, compassionate tone. "Nick, I'm really worried about you." She said, surprising me. The teachers often asked me if I felt well, considering how smug my face always was, but I was always sure that Ms Harrington didn't care much about how her students' wellbeing. Classes with her felt like she was just trying to shove information into our heads, and be done with us, waiting for her next Leaving Cert group, to teach the same things for a whole course of two years. I was puzzled by her concern and remained silent. "I often see you with friends, which is good. But when you're away from the group, you always look like you're about to tear up. Is anything bothering you?" This again. I was fine. Well, not entirely, but I preferred not to talk about it. Or think. "Have you been getting enough sleep? Lately, you've..-" I stopped her mid-sentence. "I wasn't sleeping." I said firmly. "I just didn't pay attention for a minute, that's all." I said, looking into her eyes. Back in the first year of secondary school, a teacher told me he could always easily tell the truth from a lie just by looking into the student's eyes, and if that person was looking down, they were definitely a liar. Since then, I've always been looking straight into people's eyes when lying to them, with a confident, but not overly formal tone. Ms Harrington sighed, looking at me with tired eyes. "No one can help you, if you won't allow them to, Nick." She said. "You can talk to me in my office anytime. I can get you a meeting with the counsellor too..." "I'll be fine, Miss. Thank you." I raised the sides of my lips and gave her a single nod, implying I was okay, hinting towards a goodbye. I could see her sigh once more, and look into the wooden floor as I went into the crowded hall.
Resourceful reachesI was the first to burst through the door of the resource class, onto the cold corridors. The monotonous hour of being allowed to study anything we wanted seemed useful in theory - especially considering the fact that we spent it in the computer room - but completely blew when put to practice. Our teacher, or 'supervisor', as I call her (no teaching took place) must have taken a pledge to make our lives as boring as she could during resource class. You see, resource class took place at the same time as the Irish class. There was a lucky few students, with me among them, that didn't have to take that class and did whatever for an hour in resource. These consisted mostly of foreign students, like me, and Irish people with dyslexia. There were of course other reasons to be exempt from Irish, but those cases were rare. Mrs Kennedy allowed us to only use the computers if we needed them for work, which was really annoying, considering we were allowed to do anything on them last year. She would spend the entire hour watching everyone's shared screen on her own monitor, as the school software allowed her to do that. If she found some website that she deemed not worthy of her dear pupils, she would proudly stand up on her high heels, and march over to that person, giving out to them for the next five minutes of class, taking their journal if any resistance or argument was made. Sometimes I actually felt sorry for her. She as a teacher, had the most to do out of all of us, yet she wasted her time trying to make our lives worse than they were. It was her who should be given out to for not using her time creatively. If a student was caught, she would tell them to take out their work, and study. This was often followed by them saying they already did all their homework, and that they had nothing to do, to which she would respond by telling them to look over their notes. If that student then said they left all their books in their locker, you could observe Mrs Kennedy blowing steam out of her ears. 'Find something to do, or I'll give you work to do for homework.' - Was what she said then, and the conversation was usually over by then, ended with a sigh of the student, as they took out any book and blindly stared at its pages. Today, I decided to put her words to the test, and see if the work she gave for the dreaded homework was really that scary. I didn't do anything for five minutes, and the usual scenario followed as usual. She waltzed over to me, but when she told me that she will give me work, I paused for a second, and responded with a single word. "Fine" - I said to her, equally puzzling her, and the entire class, just as intended. She scratched her head, looked off into the distance, returned to her desk and started aggressively punching text into the computer, all the while I calmly stared at her patiently, apparently stressing her out, judging from the nervous glances she took at me in the process, to which I responded with a neutral smile every single time. The problem was, she was the physics teacher. I don't do physics. Guess what she gave me for homework. Go on, take a wild guess. A fucking word search puzzle. That's right. I was holding back laughter more than the people that caught me sleeping in music. I quickly lost my good humour though, realising she actually wanted me to do the word search. I exited the room swiftly, to avoid more eye contact with her. The resource class, instead of relaxing me as always for the end of the day, put me in a tipsy mood. I just wanted to talk to my friends to blow off some steam, and ask Francis if he could walk home with me. We did that often, as we lived on the same estate, and he was great company to me. Although shy and introverted, he let loose when friends were around, and, we had a lot of common interests that others in the school didn't share with me. I decided to walk through the outside of the school to take a shortcut to the lockers. Outside, I ran into an old friend. "Nick!" Carl yelled towards me. "Didn't see you around for a while." He lowered his voice as I came closer. He was two years younger than me, currently in his fourth year of secondary school. "Well, you know, school and stuff." I said, looking at his cart. Carl did an odd job at our school. He called himself the school journalist, but he didn't actually do anything remote to journalism. It was his duty to go out early from class on each Thursday, take the cart of newspapers refilled every week by the City Council, and sell them outside the main entrance. The newspapers weren't of course popular among the students, in the era of internet, but a lot of kids actually picked up the weekly issue of Killeaney Times for their parents, as the community news garnered some popularity over time. "You're still doing this, huh?" I asked, after a short bit of silence. "Well I do get paid." He answered, accepting a two euro coin from some young student, and handing her the thin, folded newspaper. "It's something." I said goodbye to him, as the students started to pour out the front door. He was one of the people I wished to spend more time with, yet I could never find the right moment. The main lobby was full of life as I walked through it. Teenagers of all ages, all of them in monotone black uniforms walked by me, minding their own business, most of them heading for the main exit, as I headed to my locker. I allowed myself a slight smirk, seeing my group of friends all gathered around our usual spot. I saw Kian, Mark, Gabriel and Francis down there, all taken over by some community news. After dealing with my locker, I went over to them. "What's good boys?" I asked, joining their circle, but haven't been granted any answer thanks to James joining in, and forcing his way between me and Kian. He had an issue of Killeaney Times in his hands, and his fast walking pace made us all cautious. "Did you hear what's been going on?" He asked us, fiddling with his bag, trying to handle the paper in his hands. "Yep." Mark said, and the other three nodded their heads, only leaving me confused. "I haven't." I said, and James immediately stuck the newspaper up to my face. "It's the mayor again." Kian sighed, as I read the headline on the newspaper. Our town was special. Most small Irish settlements like ours, never interacted with its politicians and the council, but we have to thank our dear mayor, for making everyone's lives more interesting. He attended every gathering in the community centre, and daily talked to his citizens on the street. But that didn't make him a good leader, and definitely not a good politician. All agreed, that he wasn't okay in the head, with all the things he tried to pull off. He tried his best to abuse his power, but as a mayor of a small town, he was very limited. He passed a lot of laws to the Kerry County Council, most of them to make his life better. He overall thought that he had power to do anything. There was a scandal once where he 'borrowed' somebody's car. It was found under his office, and he swore he was going to give it back. He avoided all the charges, as the family he stole from felt sorry for him, and believed he had a mental condition, like the majority of the village. Every store owner would roll his eyes when they saw him enter. He believed as a mayor he shouldn't be obligated to pay for small products, bypassing all of the laws, getting into fights with shopkeepers. "Mayor Padraig Ó Riagáin wants to legalise human x companion marriage." I read aloud. "It sounds even worse as a news heading." Said Gabriel, looking up from his phone. I couldn't believe my eyes. It was just like when he tried to legalise incest in Ireland, he was rejected by the County Council, but no one was surprised, as he has done worse before. I thought the following events would be similar to those of that day, but with less backlash towards the mayor, as everyone was tired of chasing after him. "It's disgusting, like. He's outta control." James said, taking the paper from me, bringing it closer to his face, reading a fragment of the article. "...Mayor Ó Riagáin is back with yet another trial to pass a controversial law to the Kerry County Council. In an interview with Killeaney Times, he said: 'Marriage is a sacred ritual performed by humans for millenia, to seal their love for each other with a simple vow. We, humans, have recently been blessed with companions we never expected, and I feel, we are obligated to show our love for them in any way, shape or form.'" He finished, and looked around. "I never thought people even thought of imaginary friends that way." Said Kian, rubbing his chin. "They're here for our kids, not for us to romanticise." "Romanticise? I think this guy just wants to score, if you know what I'm saying." All heads turned towards James. He continued to speak. "I heard his daughter got an imaginary pony lately, lovely mare, everyone liked her around the house, and she helped a lot with cleaning and work, as she's one of those unicorns that can levitate things. The thing is, rumours say, our boy Padraig has feelings for the pony. But I just think he's a deviant." James finished, and rolled the newspaper into a paper pipe and stuck it on a side pocket of his backpack. "Well he IS divorced." I said, and everyone looked at me. "So what?" Countered James. My thoughts quickly went back to Brad the Dog, my earlier acquired friend. He could hold up a conversation with an entire family. He had charm to him, and a distinct personality. Would it be that weird if a human woman had been wooed by such an individual? Probably. Still, such a relationship could theoretically take place. "So maybe there's really something going on there." I said, and everyone blinked in confusion. "They're animals, Nick." Said James, putting his hands into his pockets, and resting his weight on his right leg in a relaxed position. "Sapient, intelligent animals. I wouldn't have anything against companion - human marriage actually." I said, as it started to make sense in my head. I also wanted to disagree with James on something - he was the least open minded person out of all of us, and sometimes it was annoying how little he wanted in common with us. "Still, animals. Nick, would you go to your house, and fuck your dog?" "No. That's completely different, James." "What's different about it? The mayor just wants to fuck a horse. He needs a therapist. And of course you're one to agree, because you're a fucking brony." "Wh..what?" I retaliated. "That show hasn't been mentioned anywhere for way over a year now! And so what if I was a fan of it?" "Whatever do you mean 'so what'? All of you kiss the hooves of all those damn ponies that started appearing in kids' beds. And I'm sure that's not the only part of them you'd like to..." James was abruptly stopped. "Oh shut up. That entire fandom is all but nonexistent. People just like to go after the made up things. I also hate the word 'brony' by the way. It's so overused." "Say whatever you want. I won't listen. You said it yourself, that fandom is dead, and I don't know why you're trying to defend it. You're quite literally beating a dead horse." He walked towards the exit door. "Even if he's right, mayor Ó Riagáin surely wasn't a huge fan of My Little Pony when it was popular. If this is all driven by feelings, why make it all worse?" I spoke, still a little heated from my argument. "I agree." Said Kian. "Look at Brad. He's more inteligent than most of the people in our school." "That's exactly what I've been thinking about." My friends looked at me curiously. "Yeah well of course a normie like James considers sex to be the only important thing." Kian continued, as the others went to their lockers. "Yeah. Wow. Can't believe we're agreeing with the mayor for once." I smirked. "Could it be that we only had to put ourselves in the old guy's shoes?" He wondered. Mark called him from the other side of the locker area. It was time for them to go. "Then what was up with that incest thing?" I tilted my head, smiling playfully at him. "Nevermind. Scratch all I said. He's not okay." He turned around towards Mark. "See you tomorrow man." I felt sad again. I would be going with them, to spend more time preparing for the party, but as it was cancelled, I had to return home. I went over to Francis. His locker was right beside mine. He was tall and skinny, with complicated eastern heritage, longish black hair, and a dark skin tone. "Wanna walk through town with me?" I asked him as soon as our eyes met. "Hm? I thought you're going with Mark and Kian." He said and looked down at my shoes. "Yeah... We had to cancel the party." "Oh. Well sorry, but I gotta get my little brother, I can't go today." My smile was gone. "If you told me earlier..." "It's fine, Francis." He said goodbye, and walked to the main exit, leaving me alone with my thoughts by the lockers. I checked my pockets, and cursed when failing to find my earphones. I had to make my way home in complete silence. Nothing went my way that day. Even the smallest of things failed. And it started to rain.
More slumberWalking down a forest of tall growing pines made me calm and relaxed. The country road beneath my feet seemed to lead nowhere, but a small lake. And at that lake... Hay hair. Low pitched girly laughter. The laughter... Where are her eyes? Where, for the love of god, are her sparkling, blue eyes? Killeaney, or, Cill Oileán if you prefer, had 9000 people living in it. For an Irish town, it sure had a lot of pubs, with averagely three to five present at every major street. In one of them, one of the quietest and smallest, that made everyone feel like the 60s never passed, I sat on top of a high chair. Only repetitive nudges from an alien hand brought me back to reality. "Oi, quit it ya cheeky wanker." Said the bartender with a surprisingly strong Dublin accent, rare in those parts. "Or at least stop yer feckin snorin'. For the third bloody time!" From all tables I heard laughter of old and middle aged men, that was quickly lost in the live music, provided by no one else than a fella simply named John, and his pop covers sung in Irish. That's right, I fell asleep on top of the counter in a backtown pub. I decided to take a detour during my glorious, rainy walk home, and come in for a pint or two, to celebrate my birthday alone. I was eighteen after all, and what did I do not to deserve a few sips of alcohol. It was nothing compared to what we were gonna down at Kian's. I was halfway through my second pint. I knew that was my limit if I wanted to return home in a straight line. All I really cared about was the taste of cold, barelled Guiness, and the bitter flavour of its foam. Even though not drunk, I felt somehow relaxed and indifferent, even after having another dream about her. "What's the matter, boy." The bartender leaned in. He had colourful tattoos on his arms, and many piercings going through his ears, his brown eyes looked into mine with quirkiness. "Didn't get much sleep?" "Too much, apperently." I responded, too quiet for him to hear, recalling my music class, and took a sip of the black coloured beverage. "Hey, don'tcha worry. Life only gets worse later on." He smiled, and slapped my arm with an open palm, in a common gesture of sympathy. I looked him in the eyes again, at nothing else but emptiness I made myself see. "Hey aren't ya too young for alcohol, kid?" He whispered, and winked at me. I smirked and took out my wallet from the inside pocket of my jacket and placed it beside my drink. The look on his face said that he would have let me drink at his place anyway, but he took the wallet and opened it, his eyes straight away locking themselves on my ID, visible through a transparent pocket. He smiled at me shortly, before shouting: "Oi John! OI! Do you 'ave anythin' birthday themed?" I raised my head and turned it towards the locale, to see all heads pointed at me once more. If at that moment, someone started singling 'Happy Birthday', everyone would follow. Maybe it would have even made me feel better. But John only laughed. "Haha, nah, don't think so. But I'll take yer request!" Everyone cheered. I felt like the only one having trouble understanding John's thick, Kerry accent. I waited until the cheering stopped before responding to him. "I'd gladly request something, if you could play something else than Ed Sheeran!" I shouted across the room, earning a lot of laughs and knee slaps, from the guests, as well as the old and bearded John. "Anything within my repertoire. Go on!" Everyone looked at me with anticipation. "Aight. Play "Whiskey in a Jar" again. I loved that one." I said. My last sentence was silenced by the applauding crowd of twenty people. "As I was going over..." John started, a basic chord progression followed his singy words. "...the Cork and Kerry mountains..." Everyone else drunkenly joined in, along with the bartender and the few bored housewives that found new loads of energy within themselves. They all had too much fun, considering it was only Thursday. Too much fun to notice the door open, and too much to see an unexpected guest sit at the bar table with me, his large, overweight posture causing the chair to creek. "Hello mayor." I said, unaphased, and watched him get a pint of Guiness poured in by the bartender. "What brings you here?" "I thought that for once people would understand." He spoke in a quiet, reserved tone. He had a stylish coat thrown over a white collared shirt, with an expensive, red neck tie. I continued my drink, downing the entire quarter of the pint that was left. I didn't feel like talking to anyone. Especially not Padraig Ó Riagáin. "I don't know why I'm telling you this, but..." He grabbed his head, lowering it, flashing his receding hairline and short grayish hair. "I love her." He turned his round face towards me. "It doesn't matter if she's a pony. I'd feel the same way if she was a field mouse. I just don't know why everyone finds it so hard to understand." "Did you tell her how you feel?" I asked him, not believing I was actually going into a conversation with that guy. He nodded simply. "Did she return your feelings?" A shake. "Then how about you maybe NOT try to pass a law to change the way our society works? To maybe not become a laughing stock of town, and not make our town the laughing stock of Ireland?" He only opened his mouth in response. That same mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he sighed and took the first sip of his drink. "Can I pay by card?" I asked the bartender. "It's on the house. Happy birthday." I smiled at him, and hopped off my chair, turning towards the exit, only to be stopped by the mayor's voice. "I'm not in control of my choices anymore. I don't know where to put my hands. I've been trying to lay my head down, but I can't seem to find a clear path without her at my side." I opened the door to the outside world. His words stung me in the heart - I was going through very similar feelings. It all felt very real to hear. "Oh and..." He said, as I was halfway out the door, making me look back at him. "Happy birthday to you. Citizen."
Ponify my heartA familiar, white taxi was parked in front of Walli's Bar. It was my dad. He looked at me through the passenger seat window, with raised eyebrows, making sure it was his son he was looking at, before gesturing me to get in. I was actually relieved to be out of the messy nature of Killeaney's tight community, and felt glad to be in the air conditioned, spacious Toyota. Even though the car was a small fraction the size of the pub, it felt bigger and much more breathable. "Happy birthday, Nick." "Thanks, dad." We drove in silence for the next three minutes, only interrupted by the e-cigarette smoke, coming from his mouth every now and then, and filling the car with the smell of mint. "How much did you have?" "Two." "Litres? Shots? Gallons? Glasses? Bottl-" "Pints." I stopped him a little too abruptly. I could feel his eyes looking at me, before he returned to driving. We didn't say a word for the remainder of the ten minute trip. The only source of light in my room was my computer screen. It was one of those awkward moments when it came to my head that my eyes were sore, and I should probably turn on my bedside lamp. It was hardly a bed. A king sized mattress thrown on the ground, with bedsheets over it. That mattress could be a metaphor for the state the rest of my room was in. A lot of clothes on the floor, laundry hasn't been done for days. Empty yoghurt tubs and tons of fruit peels on my desk, attracting fruit flies, that I occasionally had to swat away from my monitor. There was little furniture, aside the large wardrobe, and a second desk at the other end of the room. The desk, both it's drawers and a compartment, we're full of unused stuff and school books. The white walls had some posters on. Posters weren't really my thing, but any that I got my hands on, I'd usually hang up. It was a cry for breaking the monotony of my room. My eyes stopped at the My Little Pony poster for a few seconds, making me recall the events of the day that just passed, and made me think about James and the mayor. I quickly shook those thoughts off. Two dusty guitars stood in the room's shadowy corner. Untouched in months, which made me feel very guilty. It was always that one day when I was telling myself I'd practice, but that day always turned into a tomorrow. Half closed bathroom doors loomed at the back of my room, emanating darkness. I had the luxury of having a private bathroom. In the bathroom, more mess and an Ikea bag, serving as a garbage disposal. The entire composition was accented by a ceiling wall. It reduced the size of my room, by taking a forty five degree angle about a metre from the floor, and reaching the ceiling, allowing a Velux window to bring daylight inside, during early hours. That wasn't possible due to the late time darkness, topped off with violent rain. My daydreaming was interrupted by a loud Facebook message I heard through my headphones. It was Annie. Talking to her helped me forget about how terrible my day went, and focus on the positives, even if there was very little. Hey, won't you be eighteen in eleven minutes? Her message made me smirk. It was indeed 10:49, and I was born exactly at eleven o'clock, on sixteenth of November, in the year of two thousand. My fingers quickly ran across the keyboard. Yep. Not very excited about this Also I'm surprised you remembered the exact time lmao I watched the three digital dots bounce for a few seconds before getting a text back. Haha yeah Well happy birthday I'm gonna go to sleep Love you x I said goodbye and closed the Facebook tab. My brain was trying to decide if I should reopen it, and send Annie a paragraph telling her how texts like that, and heart emojis, really started to bother me. Even if I felt warm on the inside, especially after having two dreams about her in a single day, they just reminded me of how devastated I was due to not being with her anymore. My eyes were closing however, so I decided to call it a day. My computer turned off, making the room eerily quiet. My hands rested on top of a fuzzy body, I made my head fall back, sighing, and sinking into my armchair. I should really get those ceiling leaks checked out, now that I looked at them, being a responsible adult and all. It hit me, that the surface beneath my hands was soft and furry. I didn't take any action at first, thinking that it was one of my dogs that sneaked into my room and got onto my lap when I didn't see, and I forgot about them laying there. I patted the warm creature, sighing one more time. I blinked my eyes a few times, and slapped myself mentally. If I didn't want to sleep on the armchair again, I had to get up and do my sleeping routine. Sleeping in the uniform on a school day didn't sound like a very attractive option. It was then when I first laid my eyes on her. In my lap, slept a small, blue pegasus. She was curled up in a ball, her belly facing away from me. Her prismatic mane dangled down the armchair. Her tail rested on top of my knee. Her ear twitched, and she raised her little head mininally, to let out a long, tired yawn. She stretched her forelegs at the same time, straightening them, I watched as they shook in place. My heart started beating very fast. I thought she was going to wake up, but she only let out a couple of gibberish words, giving me a sample of her voice, making me believe that it was in fact her, Rainbow Dash, that suddenly appeared in my very own lap. I spent the next ten minutes staring at the site in front of me, trying to figure out how those events were even possible. Oh my god. I just got an imaginary friend. Why? "I'm not even a child anymore." I whispered to myself. I raised my hand slowly and brought it to her ear, curiously. It twitched away when I made the slightest contact with it. "I'm an adult. This shouldn't be." I scratched my chin, running my fingers across the three day old beard. Was this even how the whole ordeal worked? Like, it's supposed to be an ordinary pony, or a dog, or some mystical creature that appears, but one of the main characters of a known tv show? How!? I slowly and gently reached under the body of the frail pony at my lap. I lifted her, mainly concerned about her head staying in the same position, as to not wake her up. She was incredibly light, even though she was only slightly bigger than my larger dog, she must have weighed at least twice as little. I carefully positioned her on the bed, bending my body from the armchair at an awkward angle. She murmured some sleepy words under her nose, tiredly flicked her tail, and went back to breathing deeply and regularly. There I was, in the middle of my room, a confused being, a fresh teenage adult, that only got more problems dropped on him. I couldn't believe my eyes. I didn't even know what to think anymore. I turned around, finding it hard to take my eyes off of the fuzzy anomaly on top of my mattress. In the bathroom, I changed into my pajamas, impatiently washed my teeth and face, before returning to the room. I swear I heard movement just seconds ago... Rainbow Dash was under my blanket, laying on her side, facing away from the wall, similarly to how a human would sleep. Her chest still raised itself and lowered at the same pace, so she must have changed position in her sleep. I awkwardly walked onto the bed on all fours. I had to move the blanket away from the mattress' side, in order not to wake the pony up with movement. I considered running downstairs to get my dad, or just simply waking her up, but I decided not to act on impulse, and wait until morning before anything happened. I laid myself on the mattress, the back of her fuzzy blue head facing me, with strands of rainbow hair flowing down to the pillows. I slowly began to relax. I reached out to get the light, a little too aggressively. She smacked her lips a few times, and then made movement with her body, her entire back rested on my chest, as she returned to sleep. I could feel her warmth, and tips of her wings touching my chest, and I was too scared to move away. There I was, for the next thirty minutes, trying my best to fall asleep, with a fuzzy, blue creature, leaning into my chest. Her mane smelled like rainy winds, as I drifted away.
