He slowly slid the cardboard box into place, pushing it back to fit snugly between the boxes around it. He sighed and and glanced at the large clock hanging on the far wall. Ten o’clock, another day’s fruitless toils at an end. Walking slowly to the exit, he ignored the others also filing their way out through the stacked boxes in the warehouse. He needed to get home. Another minute would drive him--
“Yo Fade, buddy!” somepony called behind him, interrupting his thoughts.
“Oh Celestia,” the grey stallion moaned under his breath. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning around. “H’lo, Lighthoof,” he murmured.
Fade’s lack of excitement did little to phase the brown stallion’s jovial mood. “Hey Fade, listen. We’re planning on going out tonight. PK’s just got promoted, so we’re celebrating.” He nodded to the two stallions behind him. “Wanna join us?” he asked, grinning.
“Uhh.” The sullen earth stallion’s mind raced for excuses. “I’m, um, not feeling up for it tonight,” he replied, turning to leave.
“Dude,” a young black stallion started, Lighthoof’s warning glance unnoticed. “You gots to get yourself a marefriend and lighten up--” Fade whirled around, glaring.
“I don’t need a marefriend, and I don’t need to lighten up. I just, I just...” He paused, his eyes softening, anger deflating. “I just need some time off.” He quickly turned and continued out.
As the warehouse door closed behind him, he heard a smack. “Ow, why’d you do that?” Blitz whined.
“Blitz, you idiot,” Lighthoof groaned. “Why’d you have to be such a mule...”
Fade sighed again and began his walk home. Nothing seemed to be able to shake him from his perpetual funk. He had tried to hang out with some ponies at work, but every bar crawl and random get together only deepened his depression. Each day at the warehouse only reinforced the feeling of purposelessness that weighed down upon him.
Night had fallen on Manehatten, and the business district was cloaked in darkness. Warehouses and squat office buildings lined the city’s economic hub. The pale lights hung above each door did little to brighten the street. They appeared to be more apt at casting shadow rather than providing light. The dark and dreary streets of the city echoed the slender grey stallion’s sour mood as he trudged home.
Fade kicked at a loose piece of cobblestone. He never wanted to be so pessimistic. He longed to dream again, but all he felt was a crushing apathy. There was a single exception he could find solace in. Fade was young when he discovered his love for music. It spoke to the depths of his soul and provided a sanctuary from the wearying tides of life. The recollection of one album in particular brought the beginnings of a smile to his face. The grey pony knew how he would spend his night.
Home was not far from work for Fade. It lay just outside the business district where rent was cheapest. The studio apartment was neither run down, nor terribly fancy, but served as a place to put his head down.
Fade wearily climbed the flight of stairs up to his apartment. He was beginning to regret choosing the third floor, even if it was supposedly safer. Entering tiredly, he leaned against the door, closing it behind him. “Another day, another dollar,” he quipped. Well, at least his job kept his parents happy.
The interior of the apartment was a rather spartan affair. A cheap table was surrounded by a few mismatched chairs in the small kitchen. The rest of the room was filled by a small bed, a pair of shelves stuffed with books and records, and a record player, which sat in the corner.
Recalling his plans, Fade smiled to himself. He walked purposefully over to one of the shelves and carefully pulled a record from it with his teeth. He stepped over to the record player, and gently dropped the record onto the turn-table. Sitting back on the bed, he closed his eyes. The soothingly sorrowful mixture of violin and guitar washed over him. Such a sad song, such a beautiful set of lyrics. It brought him back to when he got his cutie mark.
It had been a long day at school, especially for a colt with few friends and no cutie mark. His struggles with grades and his parent’s indifference only exasperated the bleak emptiness he felt inside. Fade was constantly on the verge of tears, which humiliated him. He was a colt, colt’s never cried. He had shut the door to his room and spent hours listening to his favorite albums.
Lying quietly in his bed, the lyrics of one song struck a chord in him that it had not before. The singer spoke of facing a wall of his limitations, and the fear that he would be unable to overcome that obsidian barrier. Then in the final verse, he tore down the wall, to be in harmony with all he was and all he was ever meant to be. Nothing had felt more true than the message conveyed in those few words, and as he tearfully drifted off to sleep, a blue record appeared on his flank, where it belonged.
With the advent of his cutie mark, Fade believed nothing could stand in his way. Reality was rarely so kind. He tried every instrument he enjoyed: guitar, piano, violin, even singing, but each attempt was a laughable failure. He snapped guitar strings, mangled piano lessons, and bent violins. His parents humored his attempts, but encouraged him to give up his foalish dreams. In the end, he did.
Now he found himself stuck in a dead end job, scraping only enough to live by, if you could call it living. Music continued to hold a bittersweet place in his heart, but listening to it did not have the effect it once did. Reminiscing about his childhood, he drifted off to sleep.
Fade awoke to a steady thumping noise. He turned over and covered his head with his pillow, but it did little to stifle the rhythmic assault on his ears. Groaning, he rolled over to face the offending device, his clock radio. The display showed that the alarm had turned on, but what had happened to his radio station?
He tapped the snooze button, closing his eyes; he would deal with it later. The thumping continued unabated. Instead, it seemed to be growing in intensity. Keeping his eyes shut, he reached over and hit the snooze button, harder this time. The sound trailed off for a moment before building to a crescendo and diving into even more thumping. He opened his eyes and glared at the radio, his hoof poised above it. Suddenly he jabbed at it rapidly, his glare gaining more and more malice, but the radio stubbornly refused to quit. Fade slammed his hoof on the table in frustration. Giving the radio what it deserved would be too expensive.
He scowled at the offending device before rolling out of bed. The grey stallion stretched as the song trailed off, commercials replacing it. Inane slogans and cheap promises droned on while he rummaged in his cupboard for cereal.
He brought his breakfast to the table, which wobbled as he set the bowl down. He needed to put something under it again. Halfway through his meal, the commercials finally gave way to the station’s DJ.
“Good morning, Manehatten!” the mare called out, more lively than Fade thought possible for a Wednesday morning. “This is Indigo, and you just heard Ponidulum’s Slam. Some might say it’s a bit loud for eight o’clock,” Fade snorted at the understatement. “I say we need louder still. Next up is Gold Dust and you’re listening to K-BBKM.” The young stallion spent his morning getting ready for work listening to the electronic beats provided by the radio, not realizing that he had forgotten to change the station.