Glass Never Breaks in Equal Shards

Walker sighed very heavily. He was actually going to tell Pinkie his history. He felt uneasy, but he began to speak. He tried not to make too much eye-contact with Pinkie. He wanted to speak it, not converse about it. He gulped one final time, and his story began...

"It started about a  year ago. Hardest winter Manehatten had had in a long time. Which is where I was living at that time. I was about 12 years old. My Father and mother were quite poor. We lived in a dirty part of town, in a broken down apartment. My mother didn't have a job. She was quite the painter, but never was able to hold a job, or get enough painting gigs. She had business cards for her "Painting movement" as I called it. She called herself "Manehatten sky Murals." She was occasionally painting people's rooms, business walls, restaurant walls, etc. They were always stunning. She got a good amount of money to pay a few bills if she needed the money, but nothing more than that. She wasn't called by enough companies, or pony families to keep the business consistent.

My dad was...Well, he was a drunk, an alcoholic if you will. His problems were invisible to his own eyes. He'd come home every night at least a little drunk. He would continue more and more as the night progressed. My mom and dad hadn't loved Each other for many years. In fact I'm sure my mom regrets marrying him. I don't really have a lot of good qualities to describe about my dad.

They fought a lot. Never physically. It got close sometimes, but not close enough. Sometimes, He'd threaten  me, if my mom wasn't home. That always sucked. He'd find anything to argue  about, or bring up. If he couldn't think of anything immediately, he might make a problem out of something. Like cleaning, or the TV remote, or who knows what. I think he drinks because he knows We're not happy as a family. To attempt to forget. Of course, he causes most of the despair, but he doesn't see that in himself.

One night, He got really drunk. He was at a party instead of the other half of work. He must have drunk really strong stuff. A lot of it. He came in, and started arguing with my mom right at the front door. She tried to ignore him, but he soon got the attention he wanted. I still have no idea what they were fighting about to this day. I spend time every night wondering, and trying to draw a conclusion.

I was in my room, pretending not to listen. I couldn't make out most of the words, but their voices got louder and louder. I began to tear up. I got one of my pocket knives, that I used to collect. I tried something that I heard people do, cutting.... I had to think about it, but my thinking abilities were clouded by my emotions at the moment. I opened the knife, and cut my lower foreleg quickly. It was a pain I wasn't exactly used to. I focused on the blood coming from it. It burned.... And for the few minutes it bled, I wasn't thinking about what was happening in the next room. I realized that THAT was the objective with cutting... The pain makes you not think about what's happening right at the moment. Instant gratification I guess. I began to focus on the fight again. And I heard my mom crying....and...being hit..... I froze for a little bit....Dad actually began to get physical....  I ran out of my room, he was beating her furiously. Her nose was bleeding, and she was on the ground. My dad did not stop. My mom was able to break free for a little bit, and escape his grasp. She ran towards me. She said "Walker! Come on, let's get out of here!" She tried to grab me while she could....But.....It didn't work out so well. My dad growled right before he tried to grab her again....But he didn't exactly grab her.....My mom was stopped in her tracks....and a blade was coming out the front of her chest.....My dad, stabbed her.....She fell to the ground......"

Walker began to weep. He kept trying to talk. Pinkie was tearing up herself. She walked over to Walker and hugged him. She was rocking side to side in the embrace, like rocking a baby. Walker was able to speak again through his loud sobs. "My dad walked away from my now dead mom. As soon as he turned around, I jumped on him, and punched him over and over again... He tried to escape, but I would not let him. His face was extremely bloody, and I was still punching him, while sobbing. I think he was eventually knocked out from a couple punches ago. Someone must have called 9-11. The police were outside. They broke through the door. I told them about the whole night. And thankfully, one of the next door neighbors knew it was my dad....If the neighbor didn't say that, they would have blamed me, because my dad was beaten, and my mom was stabbed to death. I was the only one who looked like I did something. They understood the situation fortunately.

Later, I moved with my grandmother. I was scared. I hated her. She was quite the mean grandmother. She didn't like me either, but she was the closest relative I could live with.

It was quite hard to live with her. She always insulted me whenever she could, as well as treat me like trash. I hated living with her. I got a new scar almost every day. I just cut, and cut, and cut.  One night, I got tired of it, I ran away.... I went into her room when she was sleeping on the couch, and grabbed a couple hundred bits. I packed nothing but my guitar that I had been practicing, and this old coat that my mom had. I got a train ticket to Ponyville. It was random. I chose a town that was far away.

After arriving, which was bout a month ago, I had to find somewhere to sleep. I had money, but I didn't spend any on lodging. I only spent money on food when needed.

Sleeping was hard. Usually, I didn't sleep, because I had nightmares most nights. Mostly about that last moment of my mom's life. She tried to grasp me, and take me away from my dad. When you hugged me, It reminded me of her. It felt like she actually was able to grab me, and hug me before  we escaped... But then I remembered where I was. Which is why I cried.

The first night of trying to live homeless, I played my guitar for a long time, and sang as well. I sat at a park bench, where no one would hear me.... And then I passed out....Once I woke up, I saw that I got my cutie mark. A guitar. I didn't think about it much. No one was there to care. I kept going on living homeless. As the winter came in harder, It became harder to sleep. All I had was this large coat. Right before you came to help me, I thought about killing myself.........." Pinkie's eyes widened, and she put her hoofs to her mouth in shock. "I thought about possible ways. I thought about jumping, but then, you came to help me..........."

.......................

Walker finished his story. Pinkie was about to cry. She hadn't met anyone like this. Especially a young stallion. Someone this young should not have to experience homelessness or seeing his mother die. There was a large silence... Pinkie was lost for words. What would she do? "Would you like to live here?" Pinkie broke the silence. "Huh?" Walker heard the words, but he wasn't sure if he believed what he heard. "Live here. I mean, As long as you need. I'm going to help you, in whatever way I can." Walker nodded. He smiled. But then his smile turned to a thoughtful face. "I have a question, Pinkie." He said. Finally making eye contact again. "What is it?" She responded. "Why do you want to help me? I mean, I definitely am grateful. But Most people just walk by, and forget I'm visible. Or just not care at all. It's odd that a stranger would help me...." Pinkie was quick with a response "I help everyone. I'm the pony with the reputation to help, and make everypony happy. I've always been that way, and I always will. No exceptions" Walker smiled. "Thank you...."He said softly, with a smile.