i miss the way the sun streamed through my window
“All I’ve got are lines. Lines that lead me to where I want to go. Nobody can see them, sometimes not even I can. But they’re there.”
Soon the sun would be up, and the world outside her window would stir to life. Sunlight would bask over the town and stream through her window. Just like it had every single day for years before. And for Fiddlesticks, that was enough. She never needed an alarm clock. Instead, she enjoyed waking up just as the fresh rays of sun hit her eyes.
But it wasn’t the same any more. That was the problem. Fiddlesticks grunted and shifted to her side, turning away from the window. She wondered for the thousandth time what was different. It was the same window, it was the same sun. So why didn’t it make her feel happy anymore?
It was a question that she had been struggling to answer. The only answer she had was that nothing was different except for herself. And that infuriated her. She turned again, laying on her back and staring up at the ceiling.
She closed her eyes and sighed, counting to ten in her head. In a few more hours Fiddlesticks would work the family farm, helping her parents and cousins man their prized orchards. And she’d be falling asleep on her hooves, and her father would pull her aside and voice his concerns, and her mother would beg Fiddle to tell them what was wrong.
Then, if she was lucky, she’d spend the early night playing her fiddle at the local pub, pumping out drinking tunes and pop songs for a crowd too drunk to care. Then another night of tossing and turning and she’d do it again.
Fiddlesticks sat up on her bed, throwing off the covers. It ain’t workin’, she thought. She looked to her left again, out the window.
Outside, the town was still. Torches flickered in the early morning darkness, leading the way down the cobblestone streets. The houses on either side of the street stood tall and unmoving, silent sentinels in the night.
It’s all wrong. She frowned, squinting out the window. Everythin’s wrong. With a defeated sigh she swung her legs over the side of her bed. She shivered as her hooves made contact with the cold floor. Shaking the chills off, she headed for her desk.
The desk was mostly bare, with a cup of pencils on the far corner next to a stack of papers. A brand new sketch pad sat in the center, its pages blank and unmarred. It was a parting gift from one of her friends, back when she was still interested in drawing. She never used it.
It was a gift. A gift from her best friend, given to her just before she left. It seemed almost insulting not to use it. Fiddlesticks snarled. With a swipe, she knocked the pad off of her desk. It hit the floor without a sound. Sorry, A. K., but that ain’t helpin’ me.
The very mention of the name made her wince. A. K. Yearling. The mare who never cared what others said about her. The mare who kept to herself and watched from afar. The mare everyone was scared of. The mare who was her best friend.
She looked out the window again. Things were so much better back then. She had friends then, friends she could rely on and joke with. Back then, they knew things would change. But they didn’t care, because they thought they were ready.
‘We won’t fall apart,’ they said. ‘We might move out, but we’ll keep in touch.’ Fiddlesticks scoffed. What a joke that turned out to be. Back then they believed it, so they didn’t worry. They thought that nothing in the world could split them.
For awhile it worked. They sent letters, promised to return to visit one day. Then the letters came less and less. Cherry Berry finally got her flying certification. Raindrops couldn’t get any vacation time. Then the letters stopped.
Yearling had smiled and said there were a million reasons why. They were just busy, leading their own lives and forging their own paths. Or they just forgot about me, she replied. But it didn’t matter to her, because she still had Yearling.
And for a few more months everything was fine. Things had changed a little bit for sure, but everything changed eventually. Sure, she might have been a little more lonely, but not much was different. So Fiddlesticks would smile and say that everything was fine, and everything was the same. Hoping that it would make her feel okay.
With a sigh, Fiddlesticks stood up and went to the window. She opened the curtains to stare out into the night. The town stared back at her. And though the world outside was still, she could almost feel it speaking to her. Questioning her. Why are you still here?
She didn’t know. It wasn’t her family. She loved them, but they didn’t expect her to hang around forever. It wasn’t the town either. Again, she loved it, but sometimes it didn’t love her back. In the past she would have said her friends, but they were gone now. So why was she here?
With another sigh, Fiddlesticks turned away from the window. She used to love how quiet the town was at night. It helped her relax and think. It helped her breathe. But now it suffocated her. She flopped back onto her bed, laying on her back and staring up at the ceiling.
A. K. Yearling. The name came to her mind again. Fiddlesticks wondered where her friend was now, and what she was doing. She sighed again, remembering the day Yearling had told her she was leaving.
The news broke her. She was angry, despondent, upset… but she didn’t show it. She couldn’t, because even if it broke her heart, Yearling was excited. Excited to start a new adventure, to lead a new life.
Ah wonder if she knew how much that killed me,Fiddlesticks thought. It surely wasn’t Yearling’s fault, the mare was too restless to stay in one town forever. Maybe it was just her own fault. She shook the thoughts off, sitting up on her bed again.
Yearling had smiled and hugged her, saying that she would write and come to visit when she had the time. Fiddlesticks smiled back, but she knew better. So she let her go. Told her how much she loved the time they spent together, and how she wished the best for her. Yearling had laughed, saying that they would see each other again.
Then she left, and the cycle started again. It began with letters at regular intervals, as Yearling told her about Canterlot and what life was like there. Then she mentioned finding a group of like minded ponies, and finally feeling like she fit in. That was when the letters became irregular.
Eventually they stopped, just like Fiddlesticks knew they would. It didn’t make it hurt less. And while Yearling was running around Equestria and making friends, Fiddlesticks was alone. She had tried to reach out, to make new friends, but it just didn’t work. Nopony connected with her the way Yearling had.
For a second she imagined Yearling was there, standing besides her. Laying a hoof on her shoulder, asking her what was wrong. “How do Ah say this?” Fiddlesticks asked her imaginary friend.
“Say what?” Imaginary Yearling asked.
“That Ah miss it,” Fiddle answered. “Ah miss everythin’. Ah miss the way the sun streamed through my window. Ah miss the way the stars shone in your eyes, when we sat under the sky and counted the stars. Ah miss the way you said everythin’ would be okay. Ah miss you.”
Imaginary Yearling didn’t answer.
“Time’s just movin’ so fast,” Fiddlesticks whispered. “Ah can’t catch it. Ah don’t think anypony can.”
“Maybe you’re not supposed to catch it.” She felt Yearling climb into the bed next to her, and she felt Yearling’s hoof rubbing circles on her back.
Fiddlesticks grunted. “Then what am Ah suppoused to do?”
“You know I can’t answer that.”
“Damnit, Ah’m tired,” Fiddlesticks hissed. “Ah’m tired of livin’ like this. Of bein’ left behind, of hatin’ myself and the world. Of feelin’ like Ah don’t matter. Because let’s face it, Ah don’t matter. Ah’m just another background pony in someone else’s story.” The bitterness crept into her voice. “And Ah’m tired of bein’ stuck in this stupid cycle, livin’ every single day wishin’ for change and not gettin’ it.”
“Then change.”
She snorted. “Change? Change? How?” Fiddlesticks turned around to see an empty space next to her. The comfort was gone now, leaving behind a pit of emptiness.
Fiddlesticks flipped onto her stomach and grabbed her pillow. She shoved her face into it and let out a muffled scream of frustration. A feeling of despair overcame her, and she was angry. Angry at her friends, angry at Yearling, angry at herself.
Angry because they were off doing exciting new things. Angry that life decided to get in their way. Angry that her friends were pilots and managers and adventurers while she was just a broken, lonely musician, who played for a world that didn’t care, who was to tired too fall asleep, who wished, wished that the world would stop changing, who couldn’t even figure out who she was--
She threw the pillow across the room as hard as she could. It bounced off her window harmlessly. Fiddlesticks scowled, wiping the tears from her eyes with a foreleg. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Breathe. Breathe. Count to ten. One, two… three… four…
Fiddlesticks broke. She dropped her head into her forelegs and cried. She cried because… she didn’t know. But it felt right. Her body was overcome with deep, wracking sobs. Her chest shook and the tears fell down her face like rain from a stormcloud. Get it together! Someone will hear you! One, two, three, four, five…
Her vision was blurry, even as she tried to wipe the tears from her eyes. She tried to get her breathing under control but her body worked against her. Her tears disappeared into the sheets under her. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…
Fiddlesticks sat up and found herself looking out the window again. Soon the sun would be up and the town would come to life. And nothing would change, but everything would be different. Because it was the same town, with the same streets and the same ponies. But she would change. And that would make everything different.
Because we only see the world through our own eyes. That was something Yearly had brought up when she was learning about philosophy. The world is nothing more than what we make of it. Something that’s different to us may not be different to anypony else.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.
With a deep, shuddering breath, Fiddlesticks pulled herself together. She looked around her room again, and her eyes fell on her prized fiddle case. Music was her life, if the cutie mark on her flank was anything to go by. But she wanted more than to play music. She wanted to be heard. She wanted ponies to listen, not shout requests at her so they could drunkenly try to sing along. Yearling’s advice echoed in her head. Then change.
Ah can’t stay here. With that in mind, she hopped off her bed again, still a little shaky from her breakdown. She tossed the pillow back onto her bed and picked up the sketchbook from the floor. As she set it on the table, she remembered that there was writing on the front.
Time changes everything, it said. She smiled and shook her head. Ain’t that true. She opened one of her desk drawers and rummaged around. Pushing aside broken pens, books, and other objects she pulled out an old frayed map. She spread it out on the table.
Fiddlesticks flattened out the map with a hoof. Her eyes flicked from city to city. Manehattan, Canterlot, Fillydelphia… She quickly located her town and lay a hoof on it. She moved it to the city of Manehattan, wondering how different life would be there.
She traced invisible lines from city to city, plotting out an imaginary path from place to place. What was the word Yearling had used? Nomadic? That was what Yearling said she wanted to be. A wanderer, who drifted from place to place as they saw fit.
Fiddlesticks wondered what that life was like. Living sunset to sundown, always moving, never worrying about change… Surely that was better than this. Fiddlesticks perked up. Maybe she was onto something.
Being a traveling musician wasn’t something unheard of. And it wasn’t a solid commitment either, should she eventually chose to settle down. Maybe then she could stop being scared of change and embrace it instead.
The mare leaned back in her seat, rubbing her eyes. Maybe it was just her sleep-deprived brain, but she thought that she was onto something. Of course, there were still a lot of kinks to work out, and she’d definitely have to bring it up with her parents, but if she really wanted to…
Or maybe this was silly. Fiddlesticks sighed, rubbing her eyes. Then change. Maybe it didn’t have to be something this drastic, she reasoned. It could be something simple. Like getting out of the house more. Meeting new faces. Figuring herself out.
She stood and went over to the window again. The sun was just starting to rise, basking the world in a bright yellow and orange. The mark of a new day. A day where everything was different, although nothing had changed. With a deep breath, Fiddlesticks wiped the last of the tears from her eyes and smiled.
Whatever happened next, it wouldn’t be easy. But it was a change, and change was something she desperately needed. It wouldn’t bring her any closer to the friends she’d left behind, but it gave her hope. And that was enough.
From outside, rays of sun streamed through her window. She still missed the way the sun streamed through her window. She still missed her friends. She still missed Yearling. But for the first time in a long time, she felt okay. It wasn’t amazing, but it was a start. And that was all she needed.
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end.
