Years. Ten of them, that's how long it's been. I can still hear them, if I sit down and listen to the silence. I have a lot of that nowadays. I can still remember the way I'd listen to their music, and I would smile.
I still have the newspaper. I keep it in a drawer, folded, I don't pull it out often. Sometimes I do. It's a bit more smudged every time I put it back. It's in the dresser near the left wall in the living room, at the bottom. The same dresser with my trophy on top. I won it that year, and I haven't competed again since.
The Sun's up high outside the window. The princesses keep the country running, and everyone is happy. And I wonder what happens after this is all done. If there are forces beyond this life then I hope they like music.
I was young back then. And things were different. I remember seeing Twilight Sparkle's ascension, and realising things were changing. Where was Twilight that day? I think she was in Canterlot, discussing something with the Sisters. I was in the park, under a tree. Starlight Glimmer was there reading a book, and the Ponytones were practising. They hadn't been invited. Next year, they'd said.
It was summer, and close by birds were looking for some shade. They flew off when the mailmare landed on the grass. She was looking for me. Passed me something, her eyes downcast. I opened the letter. I still have the entire scene engraved in my memory, the sounds of music, the words in front of me, the foals playing, everything down to the smell of flowers.
And I was just there. Bearing the weight of it. The next thing I remember clearly is the ceremony, everything between the two is too blurry. Twilight gave a speech there, about loss and the unchangeable nature of things. All things I'd had more than enough time to think over myself. None of it helped.
Applejack threw a party that night. No. A gathering. It wasn't meant to be a party. It was a nice thing. Everyone invited together around a big fire, I think they were burning discarded twigs. It was for everyone who'd suffered, and it was for me, even if it's selfish to think it was just for me. And I hated it. Ponies gathered together, ate, talked. They smiled, they laughed, they did as friends do meeting around a bonfire on a summer night. And I hated every moment, every laughter, like it was mocking me. I know they weren't. I know they meant well. I didn't talk to them. Fire was my only company that night, and I considered embracing it far more than I would like to admit.
There were others on that train, of course. I never got to talk to them, I don't think they particularly know about me in the first place. I saw one of them once, I think she was Applejack's friend. I just looked at her, from afar. What was there to say? She was smiling as I saw her leave.
The cafe we used to hang out at is still around. I go there, occasionally. I went there yesterday too. The mare at the counter knows me. Not a friend or anything, but she knows. She gives me comforting smiles, occasionally offers something on the house. I wonder if I really still look miserable enough for that. The place is nice, but it's just not the same. They used to play there, sometimes. Now it's just quiet.
I remember when the rest of Ponyville got the news. Some cried, some louder than others, some just looked saddened. No one spoke up though. It was quiet. It felt quiet. Not just the talking. The sounds of the city died down for a short while. It was silent. No one said anything to me those days. There was nothing to say.
I remember the day they left. The three of them lined up on the platform, waiting for the train, their luggage besides them. The early morning light pushing away the mist. They looked tired, probably lacking sleep, but they were happy. Of course they were. They were smiling. It was the last I ever saw of them. It was the last train any of them would take. And the last we said to each other was bye. I wish I'd said how much I loved them and cherished them, but it's my meager consolation to know they knew. It was never a secret. Much more I wish things had gone differently. But luck was out for all of us that day, much as I hate to say that's what it was.
I went out of town for a walk, near the river. Got up on the dyke and on the inner side. It's summer again, and it's cooler there in the shade, where you can hide from the Sun. Enough to take this heat. River's drying up these days, it's properly sweltering out there. I found company, someone who'd had my same idea. It's still striking to see how much those fillies have grown. The three of them were drinking cider together, and offered me some.
One of them is a singer, in her spare time. She knows. I think it hurt her, and, well, not as much as it hurt me, but it did. It really hurt her, not just the polite distant empathy of someone who recognises a tragedy. And I knew she was struggling to ask, and I saw her take another swig before she did. And I know it hurt her, so when she asked I said yes.
I still have all their notes, unfinished pieces, musical sheets, it all went to me. I never threw any of it away. I couldn't. I think this'll be the day I do something with them, and maybe it'll make someone happy for a while.
