Another Lovely Day in the Neighbourhood

Flash felt tired.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror and noticed the heavy bags under his eyes and red splotches across his skin. A quick check confirmed that they were all over his body, primarily focused around his neck and arms.

Lights flickered overhead in the dingy back bar room he was in. He could feel the mustiness and age of everything around him. His electric guitar leaned against a nearby wall in contrast to everything else, too new for this old room. That and the posters plastered everywhere. ‘You can always get help. Call ?#$-^&*-@#!^’. He had never been fond of Celestia’s dumb campaign posters but these ones in particular agitated him.

Ding.

He looked at his phone. A text from Vinyl. Probably about the event since she was handling the sound system tonight.

You l00k lk sh1t.
You st1ll g00d 2 play?

Deep breath. He ran a hand through his hair.

Yeah. Good to go.

Y0ur g1rlfr13nd in 2nite?

Derpy’s at a convention out of town.

Why’s sh3 nvr h3r3?

Flash put his phone into his pocket. He didn’t want to answer that question since he didn’t even really know the answer to it.

A hand fell on his shoulder.

He covered it with his own.

“You’re not supposed to be back here,” Flash remarked.

“Do you want me to go?” Timber replied.

“...No.”

They stayed like that in silence. Flash felt… comfortable for once and he really wanted to leave it be for fear of ruining the moment, but a nagging question in his mind forced him to speak.

“What is going on?” Flash asked.

“That’s not the right question,” Timber answered.

“Then what is the right question?”

“You’ll know when it comes to you.”

“Can’t you just tell me now?”

“No. It never works if I tell you.” Timber withdrew his hand. “You have a show to do.”

“But—”

“It’ll be clear to you soon, Flash. I promise.”

“...Will you be in the audience?”

“Front row. Always.”

Then Timber left.

His mind was twisted in turmoil. He scratched at the red welts along his skin, thankfully less itchy than before. He could stop this, go back home and try to recover from whatever madness dogged him. That was the smart choice.

Instead, he grabbed his guitar and left the room.

The roar of the audience greeted him.

Flash was pretty sure the bar was supposed to be smaller than this, but he wouldn’t complain about such a massive audience spread out before him. It didn’t make him nervous. On the contrary, it invigorated him. A big crowd meant tons of fans. Maybe even new ones. A musician’s dream.

On the small stage was a microphone and an amp. He plugged his guitar in, and adjusted the mic stand. He brought a hand up, ready to strum the first note. He searched the sea of dark faces for Timber.

Front row. Just like he said he’d be.

Flash hit the chord, hard. The riff he played into was louder than it should be, but the crowd was egging him on and he needed to get them pumped up. It was deafening. The cheering. The guitar. All of it served to convince Flash that this was exactly where he wanted to be. Red welts and weird happenstance be damned.

Going into the first verse, he started to sing. He blasted out lyrics he’d spent months on, weaving verse from the harmonious notes.

A wave of adoration from the crowd. It was intoxicating. He was getting drunk off the praise doing what he loved for a crowd that loved his music as much as he did.

Song after song, chord after chord. Sweat poured off him in a river. It was all secondary to the performance.

He hadn’t felt this good in ages.

“Loser.”

The single word cut through the noise. He faltered, but recovered quickly. No one noticed. He tried to move past it, but the word reverberated inside his head, stuck like chewed gum to the underside of a table.

“Loooser.”

It wasn’t worth getting hung up on. He wouldn’t let it get to him.

“Pathetic. Loooser.”

His hands shook causing the sound to distort. He felt a chill. The music was suffering from stupid words and it was making him mad.

“Wimp. Idiot. Moron.”

Cold was rapidly leaving him as heat overtook his body. It was rising like an uncontrollable wave ready to crash onto the shore.

“Loooser. Iiidiot. Mooor—”

Keep it under control. Almost at the end.

“Clown. Stupid. Weak—”

One more bar. One more bar. One more—

“You don’t even have the—”

“SHUT UP!” Flash shouted. “SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUT—!”

He brought his guitar up over his head then smashed it against the amp.

“—UP!”

The amp wailed its death rattle. Flash smashed it again. And again. And again. Metal pieces went flying. Red splattered the stage. Static blared from the speakers. Unhinged laughter underneath it all.

The amp was a silhouette of a person, outlined by splatters of blood. Mangled and broken.

He dropped to his knees and screamed. It was too much. It was—

Someone hugged him from behind.

“Why does this hurt?!” Flash demanded. “What is happening?!”

“Just a little longer.” Timber squeezed him tighter. “It’ll all make sense soon.”

“Where is $%^!#&*(%^?! Where is she?!”

“Not here. She never was.”

He wailed. He struggled. He banged his hands on his legs. It hurt. It hurt so much. Why wouldn’t it stop—