Chapters "'BANG! With little more than a feeble groan of pain, he fell onto the cold concrete, quickly losing blood and consciousness. He didn't even get to say good-bye."
~~~~~~
I've always wanted to start a story like that, honestly. It's hard for a writer to come up with new ideas. But seeing as I have only recently moved to Trottingham, it's expected for me to take a while to find inspiration to write. My name is Ink Flow. I am a writer. Here is the story of how I died.
I remember the day I moved to Trottingam. It was a cloudy day, as forecasts usually say about the city. I watched quietly as burly pegasi brought my possessions into my newly purchased apartment. They said it would take about an hour to get everything into my floor. I didn't mind; I'm a patient pony. Ponies passed by me, a few waving at me with a welcoming smile on their face. Others just ignored me and cantered on. As I looked down the street, I could see several other apartment buildings, a small park by the corner of my block and a café on the opposite side of the street.
For me, that was all I needed. Open space (park) and coffee (café) always helped me relax and focus whenever I wrote a story. I look back to the pegasi movers, who were nearly halfway done unloading their truck. I sighed and searched my saddlebags for one of my books. I may be patient, but that doesn't mean I can't be bored. I pulled out my latest novel, Fires of the Past. I scowled a bit at the cover; while writing was a fulfilling profession; I hated having to write my stories. It wasn't because they weren't good, it was because of what they told. I'm not a very creative mind, I'm not well versed in making original stories. When I do write, I base my stories on my past. It's something that I rightfully hate having to do, but there's no way else for me to be true to my Cutie Mark (an open book next to an inkwell).
How did I get my Cutie Mark? Simple, I loved to tell stories as a kid. Even as I began to mature, I'd volunteer at the local libraries to read to the foals and fillies off Manhattan. One day, I decided to write a fanfic of one of my favorite stories for a contest. It took me hours upon hours to write, but it was worth it. I didn't even notice my Cutie Mark appearing the night I finished writing until I went up to receive the trophy.
Enough about my Cutie Mark though. Like I said I hate writing stories. Ponies everywhere praise me for writing such realistic stories filled with drama, action, and romance. They didn't know that the stories behind the stories were true. I had lived through each and every one of my stories. And I have the feeling that this may be the last ever I'll write.
"Um," spoke a pegasi mover. "Mr. Flow, we're finished unloading and put your belongings were you wanted them."
I wasn't really in the mood for conversation. I was reading and reminiscing of my past pains and blunders. I simply nodded and gave the stallion a reasonable amount of bits. He walked away, seemingly satisfied by the pay. I looked up and watched as their truck pulled away. I was alone on that sidewalk, but had the feeling that some pony was watching me. I shuffled it off and entered my new apartment. It was pretty nice. Large windows facing the park and Twin Tails River; a pretty sight to lose my thoughts in.
I came to Trottingham for that very reason: to escape. My past is dark, as one can tell, and the fact that I can only write with my past as a plot would most likely make me a sitting duck to those who hated me back in Manehattan. I had become an easy target, a sitting duck maybe. I didn't plan to stay long seeing as I could be tracked down very easily if I made myself obvious.
I sat down my writer's desk in front of the windows. My only companion for 8 years, a typewriter, sat regally on top of it. I willed my magic to take control of the device and began to think about a very sad, painful time of my life. This would be one my audience might l love; they love my sad romance novels. I was about to start typing when somepony knocked at my door.
"Hello?" A mare's voice called from behind the wooden barrier. It was familiar, maybe one of those voices that we all seem to recognize, but still belongs to a complete stranger. I opened the door to see a white mare with a light pink mane and tail with a nurse's cap on.
"Can I help you with something?" I said, tired from waiting outside. "I'm quite busy and-" the pink haired nurse hugged me.
"Ink Flow, it's actually you! I've missed you so much!" I could feel tears soaking into my coat.
"How do you know who I am?" I query.
She wiped away a tear. "How could you forget your best childhood friend? What are you doing out of Manehattan?"
And so, began my troubles, I looked around and saw eyes in every shadow, watching me. So, they've finally found me. I think to myself, then look to my friend. "Come inside," I open the door for her. "There's a storm coming."
She entered the apartment with a confused look, then dropped it once the door was closed.
"You saw them?" I nodded.
"You do know how much shit you're in, right?" I nodded.
"Ink, they're using me, I just need you to play along. I'm hoping that might help us both out of this problem."
I turned and walked over to a cabinet."
"In that case, Redheart, my dear friend," I opened the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of wine and two glasses. "What do you say we catch up a little?"
Author's Note
Currently writing this via my iTouch. Quite difficult for me to type this way, but I don't have access to a computer right now. Hope you enjoy! And I'll try working on it a bit in my school library.
I have to admit, Redheart was a sight for sore eyes. It's been almost 8 years since I last saw her, 8 years since I left Manehattan. We shared drinks and old memories like two friends do. She became a nurse at Manehattan (she did have that Red Cross cutie mark). Ever since we were little, she loved helping others. I learned that she also lives in Trottingham, and is the head nurse at Trottingham Medical.
"So," Redheart began. "What has the illustrious Ink Flow been doing since then?"
I took a quick sip of my wine and set the glass down on my desk, next to my typewriter. "I've been running. Writing and running. I'd write when my past wouldn't stop harassing me, run when something suspicious and familiar came up, causing me to move. And I have a good feeling my stay here will be cut quite abruptly."
"Unfortunately." Red responded.
I looked out my window at the Twin Tails River, how it flowed towards the Great Sea just West of Canterlot. Manehattan was very far away.
"My life has been quite bland and simple, despite the occasional intrusions." I continued. "And I'd like to keep it that way, honestly."
"Heh, if only." the pink nurse shook her head and emptied her glass. I telekinetically refilled it, resulting in an empty wine bottle. I raised an eyebrow; I was only on my second glass, she had about five.
"Quite the tolerance you have nowadays." I remarked with a smirk. "Not the innocent little Redheart I remember."
The white mare shot me a poisonous glare as I laughed. "It was one party! They never told me that the 'Wonderbolt' was alcoholic."
"Oh, really?" I was still smiling. I haven't smiled this long in a while. "Did you finally realize it during or after you got up on a table, started to dance, and sang your rendition of 'Ballad of the Crystal 'Fucking' Ponies'?"
I laughed again, this time wiping a tear; that particular memory was hilarious to reminisce about. However, Redheart wasn't the only one here with some past blunders.
"At least I didn't make out with my cousin." She retorted with a smug smile.
Now, THAT really shut me up. Damn, she remembered that? "C'mon Red, it's not like she knew anyway, Octavia was quite drunk, perhaps she thought I was that Vinyl filly."
Red shook her head, and laughed. "Tavi told me that she actually remembers you kissing her, and that you were the drunk one trying to kiss her."
"Hey now, no need to get to the actual details." I said, trying to stop the situation from getting worse. I finished my wine glass, just in case, though. Red heart continued.
"You even kept moaning and calling Tavi, 'Luminara, my love!' You though you were kissing your fanfic character!" She began to howl with laughter. I decided to retort with my own memory, now that I was alcohol fueled.
"At least I didn't puke on the Manehattan Mayor's dog!"
"At least I didn't get lost in the mall and start crying at 12 years old!"
"I wasn't the one who became gothic and antisocial!"
"Yet you're the one who became the coward and ran away from everything!"
I don't know why, but I lunged and tackled her to the ground. I wasn't thinking, nor did I know what was going on. It was most likely that she didn't know either. I came back to my senses to realize that we were locked in a deep, romantic kiss. Her eyes were closed, obviously enjoying it. I mentally shrugged,and let my very light tolerance to alcohol break, letting everything turn black, yet warm with the heat of Redheart and me cuddling on the wooden floor of my apartment.
The studio apartment was cold and silent, except for one room. Slight moans and gasps could be heard through the door, heat centralizing from a certain spot in the room, the creaking of a wooden bedframe sounded against the walls. The collective moans of two ponies sounded through that room on cue with a passionate, sweet release.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I awoke in my bedroom. How I ever managed to get here whilst being intoxicated, I have no clue. The soft material of my pillowcase was a welcoming feeling. I tried to sit up, but felt a weight on my chest. I looked down and saw Redheart, still fast asleep. I barely remembered what happened after our kiss, so I can only assume that we did have sex. I could smell musk and sweat on the bed fabrics, confirming my guess.
I sighed quietly and gently pushed Redheart to my side. She stirred a bit, but stayed asleep. I could hear the pitter-patter of a gentle rain on the windows. I looked around my bedroom; it was quite dark. There were no lamps, just this bed and a dresser for my clothes. The only light source came from the Sun through the smaller window, though I enjoyed writing by the moonlight.
I got out of my bed and walked back to my large office space, where Redheart and I had conversed about a few hours ago. I looked out the large, rain covered windows at the distorted view of the Twin Tails River and the gray sky that loomed above everything. I walked over to my desk and sat in front of my typewriter.
I let my magic take hold of my years-old companion and began to type. I don't know what I was doing; I just let my mind and magic flow together and let the ink make sense of itself. I thought of what was going on, how my past was finally catching up to me, and of Redheart. I sighed and paused at the thought of her being used by them . I began to grind my jaw a bit out of anger, before closing my eyes and letting my magic take hold of my mind completely.
I felt my magic tapping away at each metal key on the board. I was a musician, and the typewriter was my piano. My imagination was locked, this device was the key. My past eats at my soul constantly, this is my way to heal. I type and I type, letting it all go into my story. I don't care if ponies find me anymore. If this is where I die, then so be it. I think I've done enough to say I deserve it.
"I figured this is where you'd walked off to." Redheart's voice cut through the background of my mind. I acknowledged it, but kept my silence and kept typing. I heard her hoofsteps in the background, a hoof on my shoulder, but still I typed. I figured that she would only bother me until I actually responded. I sighed and let go of the typewriter.
"Yes?" I turned to her, a bit irritated.
"What are you writing?" She queried, she was reading the paper the was coming out of my device. "Another story?"
I shook my head. "I'm just letting out some angst."
"Really?" She said. "Because it looks like somepony needs some way to relax. And right now, that pony needs to get out of the house. NOW." She was completely serious, and kept a serious face as she trotted towards the door. I was about to question it when I felt a very cold feeling crawling up my spine. I went back to my room to get a sweater, and returned to her by the door.
"Is there anywhere we can go for a little while?" She asked.
"The little cafe on the corner. You don't have to explain, I think I know what's going on." She nodded, waiting for me to lead her out.
It had stopped raining, but the sky was still gray and dark. I had no watch, and the Sun was obviously blocked from view, so I had no idea what time it would be. Red stayed by my side silently as we walked to the cafe. There wasn't anyone walking at this time, so I'd have to guess it was still early.
Redheart kept looking around, a look of fear on her face. I was also paranoid, but could not feel any eyes on us. We made it to the little corner shop, which was thankfully open. I payed for two coffees and gave the other one to Red. The mare didn't really drink it, just pushed the foam cup around her side of the table we sat at. I took a sip of the coffee, welcoming the warm liquid to give some comfort.
"Do you remember anything from Manehatten?" She asked, breaking the silence and finally taking a sip of coffee.
"Like what?" I asked back. She looked into my eyes with her pleading stare.
"Please Ink, I don't want to die like this, we can't just run away from them like you always have." She pushed.
I accepted. "Exactly. I'm tired of running. They want my life, they'll have it." Redheart gasped at this, great concern on her face.
I continued, "But that doesn't mean that they won't be having problems as well. We can still fight. They haven't followed us, and I can only assume that they're meddling at my apartment. We can only expect some kind of trap or something of the like."
Redheart looked at the window, as rain once again started to strike the glass with an uneven rhythm. "Why?" She asked after a short silence.
I raised my eyebrow and replied, "Why, what?" There was so much going on, what could she possibly want to know now?
"Why do you write? I recognize the stories; we lived through each of them." Her sad, gray-blue eyes looked straight at me, trying to read my soul. I took another sip of my coffee and thought a bit before responding.
"Ever since Manehatten, I've been having nightmares. Every night, tormenting me with my past, leaving me distraught and weak." I looked straight back at her. "I had to find a way to let it all out. So I wrote it all out. All I could remember from my first run, how we were almost nearly killed. How I felt, and what I had to do in order to escape everything. It hurt to recall the events, and I hated having to do so. But it was the onyl way to bring my nightmares to an end. Until lately, at least."
Now Redheart's eyebrow was raised. I continued, "I had a bad feeling about moving here, I could tell that this town wouldn't bear me well. And look where we are now: In a little coffee shop, hiding from the very people trying to kill us since our youth."
I looked down at my coffee, my demeanor a bit sullen. "I wish I could have taken a better path, maybe even ended it all when I had the chance. Anything but this life, I'd take it." I looked to her, and put my hoof to her cheek. "And I would have killed myself before letting you get involved with all of this crap."
Her eyes were rimmed with tears, but she wore a small smile. "We've given them enough, I think. We should see what they've done." She proposed, before trotting to the door and throwing away her coffee. I followed her actions and continued by her side back to my apartment.
We reached the stoop when a faint click sounded. Suddenly, BOOOOOM!!! a large explosion erupted from my door. The next thing I knew, I was staring up at the sky, my body numb from the pain. I could hear the sound of talons against the wet cement. "Ink Flow, you talented, cowardly bastard." I heard a gruff voice near me. The face of the speaker came into view: it was a grey plumed griffon, with a long scar that ran down the left side of his face, crossing over his eye. "We finally found you. It's about time you paid back for your little parting gift from Manehatten." He pointed to the scar.
"Fuck you too, Grissom." I replied, spitting blood at his face with the small amount of strength I had. He wiped it off before turning to speak to someone behind him.
"Take the whore nurse as well. That'll be enough torture for him." I wish I could punch him, but my body was still numb in shock from the pain. Grissom then put a small handkerchief to my mouth. After a few seconds, I saw nothing but black.
Author's Note
Hey, update on Ink Flow! I'm on writer's block for Three Best Friends right now, so I'll try to work on this one.
