shitty octascratch might delete later idk

Stories about my friends used to make me happy

She was standing on the bridge overlooking downtown Canterlot.

I can see them smile, hear them laughing

Reared up on her hindlegs.

I laugh and smile back but it’s just acting

Forehooves stretched out before her.

All the happiness that passed is all past me

Twirling and twisting over one another.

You must present yourself perfect

Watching them go blurry against the lights of the city night backdrop.

No one cares if you hurt if

It didn’t really matter.

The presentation’s not perfect

She left while it was still dark.

Attention on you’s so pertinent

And she was still drunk.

It’s all in the execution

Got home just in time to be alone.

All in the presentation

Octavia out at some stupid show.

All in the animation

Like she herself would be if she hadn’t fucking ruined her entire life.

All in the sensation

She stumbled through the mess of her apartment.

The way you execute yourself

Found her way to her turntable, hugged it tighter and with more love than she’d imparted on anypony in recent memory, and took the precious pressing of Octavia’s best performance in her fetlocks.

The way you telegraph your blood

The record slipped from her drunk grasp.

The way you play and throw the show

Tumbled to the floor.

The way you act all on your own

Vinyl didn’t mean to do it.

The way the needle hits the groove

Her hooves had just stumbled over themselves.

The way the hoof comes out the shoe

It’s fucking hard to balance on your hindlegs when you’re sober, let alone as drunk as she was.

The way the record skips and skips

Vinyl stared down at the smashed and shattered plastic beneath her hind hooves, blood pooling painlessly onto the floor around them.

The way you’re back to your old tricks

“Fuck,” she whispered to herself.

She slumped against the record table, her muzzle laying upon the disc mount; the needle poked against the side of her forehead.

She hoisted herself to a sort of supported slump, her forelegs locked as she lifted her head from the turntable.

And slammed it right back down against the oak and rosewood as hard as she could.

The table’s broke

SLAM

The needle clicks

SLAM

The record’s stuck

SLAM

It won’t get fixed

Crack.

Won’t go further past the end

She stumbled backwards, hardly able to stand. She lifted one hoof to her forehead, her vision aflush with static, mind swimming. She groped around in the space above her eyes, right where the part of her mane began. Her hoof came back damp, full of chunks and shards that sang with otherworldly electricity.

Never starts back up again.

Vinyl Scratch fell to the floor.

ERERERERERERERERER
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER
WHYWHYWHYWHYWHY
STSTSTARARARTARARARTSTAR