Trinity of Time: Fate and Change

Writing a script is always the hard part. I never get good ideas at the right time. I'm thinking I need a change of pace. Something exciting, you know? Everyday life is just so boring. Same song, different day. I want a fresh experience. The lack of change is most likely why my writing has been faltering recently. My dream has always involved literature, in one shape or another. With the rise of television, ponies are starting to question books. What morons they are; books are mere paper, brought to life solely by the reader's imagination. Electronics could easily become sentient. Heck, they might even have a mind of their own one day, and decide we're not "worthy." What?! It's a possibility. Brr... I get chills just thinking about it.

Hmm... That sounds like a great idea for a script actually. Yeah... A society where the worthy are perfected, and everypony else is sentenced to eradication. Hmm... How could I fit my previous idea though... I got it! How about a world where the "worthy" receive those "implants," proudly earning the title of Falsicorn! Yeah! That sounds like a great idea for a dystopic fiction.

Ugh... It's still not enough... This is certainly a good base, but nothing much in between. There needs to be more. There has to be more; whether for my fans or for me. What? I have fans. Hey, it's not like the internet isn't a thing. In fact, it's a huge thing. I've gotten quite the feedback; for better or for worse. Of course, there are the occasional parasprites (seem to be getting quite a few recently), but that's all besides the point. I really need a change of pace. Perhaps a stroll can help me gather up some ideas together.

On my way to the Everfree Forest, I stopped by a small record shop in a remote part of Canterlot. I used to come here all the time as a child. Too bad the old owner died. He was such a nice colt. We would always talk about our musical preferences. I personally love a much more refined tune, as opposed to the loud, headbanging trash that comes out today. Granted, Vinyl Scratch, better known as DJ-PON3, did leave quite a mark on this earth. And then there was Octavia. I remember vague memories relating to a concert of hers I attended as a young filly. Heaven must sound beautiful right now.

When I think about all these things, and just how much I missed out on, I really wish I was born in a different time. Ancient history was filled with wonders and mysteries. Great thinkers, poets, painters, musicians; all ponies of my caliber, roaming about their daily lives, alive and free. If I was a mare of the past, I would be trotting along the busy city streets by their side. I wonder what kind of figure history would have remembered me as.

Flam took a break from his usual drum rehearsal, and politely greeted me. At first glance, he didn't seem like the "classy" type; his mane was dyed black and sapphire blue, had tail and hair extensions of matching colors, and a piercing on the lip, coupled with two very stylish earrings. Despite this punk appearance, he possessed a warm and caring heart, putting others before him. He has his reasons I'm sure. Maybe I shouldn't have said those things. Had I never spoken in the first place, perhaps he would not hate himself as much.

"Welcome Lavender," he said in his usual, gruff voice. "We finally got that new album you wanted. It was a foreign import, so i had to blow some of my own money for it. I just hope your happy it arrived." His smile filled with unease. What was this feeling inside my heart? is it... Remorse? I haven't felt such a sensation in so long. I guess being an elite does take away a part of you.

"Thanks a lot Flam. I appreciate your help. Here; keep the change." I dropped a 50 bit bill on the table, along with a few 2 bit coins. "This should be more than enough to cover the shipping fees."

He said nothing. I spoke no words. Yet somehow, I could see a sparkle in his eyes, despite all the hair hiding those lush green irises. He was trying not to smile. I shrugged. Money's quite superficial to me. As long as I can make more, I don't give a crap about it. He put my bits in his own pockets. Just like that, I walked out, watching tears fall down his cheeks from the outside window. Guess this is just the way I connect. Am I really still bitter at them? Am I really holding onto a grudge that might not even exist? It's just... I cannot forgive you for what you two did to me. Both of you, mother and father, should have been there. Instead, I got to grow up alone, bitter and cold.