My Little Legacy

by Vynn the Ocarinist

Rating: everyone
Tags: Tragedy, Slice of Life, Sad
Length: 2402

The auto-biography of the Late DJ B4SS DR0P, brother and predecessor to DJ PON3

The auto-biography of the Late DJ B4SS DR0P, brother and predecessor to DJ PON3

i wrote this late at night last winter, and never picked it back up. i never heard back from my pre-reader so it never got uploaded. the last part where i left off is rather rushed, at least how i felt.

all constructive criticism is welcome. if enough people want me to continue it, i will.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-03-02 01:31:01 UTC

Chapter 1

        My name is Vincent Harmonious Scratch, but I much prefer to be called by my foalhood nickname Vynn or my stage name DJ B4SS-DROP. I will never understand why my parents settled on such an odd name. I think it has something to do with a classical musician from Equestria’s Victorian age. I don’t know.

Anyway, I’m getting off topic. I’ve been thinking about writing this story for a very long time now, and seeing myself in my current condition, I’ve decided that it was about time I actually get it started. So, let’s start with the basics.

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        I was born outside Fillydelphia on March 5th, 981 to Sweet Note and Silver Lyric. Being in the Fillydelphia Philharmonic Orchestra for the past 10 years, my family lived rather comfortably. I got my cutiemark very early on in my life, before I even started school. Being the kid of two performers in Equestria’s highest rated orchestra, it wasn’t that hard to find my talent in music. However, my parents were a bit surprised to find out what type of music I got my talent in: Dubstep. I was never allowed to listen to electronic music, so the closest thing to a bass drop was when I threw a temper tantrum at one of my parent’s rehearsals, inadvertently causing the cellist to throw her cello clear into the brass section.

It actually happened on accident. My dad was commissioned to create a remix of some random song. He let me into the studio to watch, but only with the mixing portion of the job. He didn’t want me to ruin the recording with any distractions I would make (can’t say that it wasn’t an unmerited decision). The end result was soothing. Too soothing for its own good. I fell asleep face flat on the effects panel. It didn’t last long. Within seconds I was frantically flailing my hooves across the deck of switches trying to remember which ones were on and which ones were off. What I didn’t know, was that the original writer of the song was in the room. He just stood there, bobbing his head to the beat of the explosion I thought I was making. I was panicking at the time, so I didn’t hear anything but my impending doom approaching as my parents ran in to the room.

Then he said it.

“Let the kid work. Let’s see what his sound looks like.”

I turned around and saw the faded blue unicorn with spiked black mane and tail, eyes hidden beneath tinted black shades. My parents opened their mouths to argue, but all he did was hold his hoof up and stare at me expectantly. My parents and I were missing something that the stallion clearly wasn’t. I turned to my parents. All I received was a hesitant nod.

As my panic started to subside, I began to pick out a steady rhythm amongst the chaos pounding through the speakers. Specifically, a constant loop of the beginning notes to the piano arrangement that my father had recorded. I began to bring it out using the mixer board, silencing all the other effects, noticing what each switch did as I turned them off. After a few moments, I started adding other portions of melody from Dad’s arrangement, each with a different effect laid over them. My hooves seemed to move on their own, not thinking about what to do next. The sounds consumed my senses. My mind was in a state of Synesthesia.

After 3 minutes, I just moved my hooves away from the controls and simply let the music die off on its own, ending it with an echo of the final chord. The only sounds remaining in the studio were the breaths of the ponies, and a slow, steady clap from the strange stallion that spared me of my parent’s wrath.

“When I asked Silver to do my arrangement, I expected something good. What I got instead was a stoke of genius. A fluke or not, it was well worth giving you a shot. My name is Neon Lights.” He held a hoof out to greet mine.

All I could do was stare.

“Well? Are you gonna tell me your name or what?”

With a reassuring, if not confused, nod from my parents, I managed to squeak out my name. “Vincent Harmonious Scratch.”

He took off his glasses and just stared at me for a moment with a contemplative look on his face. “Uhhh, how about I just call you Vynn for short? If not for just making it easier to remember, it might save you a bit of grief when you get to school. ‘Vincent’ isn’t exactly a common name, and other foals can be pretty cruel to those who differ from the rest.”

Needless to say, I was confused. It never occurred to me that my name was…strange. Then again, all I had to go by were the names of classical musicians I had met in my parent’s orchestra. I had barely been around other foals to recognize what was “common”. In the end I just decided to go with it and let him call me what he wanted. I wasn’t going to argue with somepony who was giving me complements.

“It’s also rather rare to see a pony get their cutiemark at such a young age. I’m guessing you’re around what, Six?”

It was a lucky guess, but that wasn’t the point.

At this point, my eyes were big enough to serve food to a family of four on. I whipped my head around to look at my flank, only to have my cornea scratched by my blue, streaked hair. It took a minute to refocus, but there on my flank was the image of what appeared to be a cross between a violin and a turntable. At that moment, I decided to do the most rational thing I could think of at the time. I made a high pitched squeal and passed out.

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What? When was the last time you saw an overly excited six year old do ANYTHING rational?...I thought so. Now back to the story.

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It was a solid 12 hours before I finally came to. Since I had passed out, I had virtually no memory of what had happened the day before. I walked into the kitchen to find my parents had gone to sleep. On the table I saw a small packet of paper.  Like any other young pony would do after their parents went to sleep, I decided to do some snooping. What I found made me positively ecstatic. It was an enrollment application to one of the biggest music-oriented elementary schools in the city: Bowing Musical Academy (not to be confused with Boewing Aviation Academy). I quickly ran to my parents’ room, bouncing up and down on their bed, and repeatedly asked if it was true.

After they gave me a brief lecture on why I was never allowed to wake them up like that again, they explained what happened after I passed out. It turned out that Neon lights was an instructor at the academy, and when he saw me at the mixing table, desperately trying to fix what I did, he figured he’d see what I would do.

“I’m not entirely certain I follow you, Mr. Lights. You want our son to…”

“Enroll in Bowing Academy, yes.”

“Well, while we are flattered by the thought, and I agree with you that my son’s performance was rather…impressive for his age, but are you sure that he is ready for Bowing? Most foals aren’t even looked at there unless they’re over eight or if their family has legacy there.”

“Mrs. Note, I am absolutely positive. Though his talent so far is based off of instinct, I haven’t seen a classical/electric crossover that well done in years. Allow me to explain. I have a certain mental disorder known as Synesthesia. This means that my brain crosses certain senses with others. In my case, it is hearing with sight. My eyes see can see sound as if it’s being run through a visualizer on a computer. If something is off with a piece of music being played, it stands out like a beacon. Don’t get me wrong, your son’s performance wasn’t perfect, but he was able to pick up on and fix most of the errors in that piece as quickly as I would have. That is why I chose to accept him so young. At Bowing, he will not only be able to hone his instinct, but his skill as a musician as well. And don’t worry; it is much like any other elementary school, only with some bonus music courses thrown in.”

“When you put it like that way, Mr. Lights…” my mother commented hesitantly

“Please, were all friends here. My name is Neon. And trust me; your son belongs at Bowing.”

“Ok, Neon. We accept.” Silver said with confidence

“You won’t regret it, you two.” he said with a smile.

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         And like that, I had pre-approval to be in one of the best schools in Fillydelphia and one of the best music schools in Equestria. Well, at least for ponies under the age of sixteen. I just had to wait until my seventh birthday for me to be officially accepted into the school. That year passed relatively quickly as I practiced my new-found talent and my parents searched for some more portable equipment for me to use at the school. For any other type of musician, it would be more traditional for a pony to just use the school provided equipment, but I specified in electronic music. Again, you would think “just use the school equipment”, right? But as I quickly learned from looking through other electric musician performances, every piece of equipment they used were customized for the comfort and ease of use for the musician. When the time came, I finalized my enrollment, got my equipment just the way I liked it, and began my first year of school.

        Now, if you ask any other filly or colt about their first year of school, they would probably say that it was one of the most influential years of their lives. Myself, on the other hand, wouldn’t. It is typically the year that an average pony would earn their cutie mark. I already earned my mark a year prior to coming to the school. Now don’t get me wrong. My first year was a blast. I was considered a prodigy in my field, I was headlined in the local paper as “the new face of Bowing” (or, as Mr. Whooves would say, simply the “Face of Bow”), and I was the most popular colt in my class. I had it made. It wasn’t until my second year that my life really changed. Near the end of my second semester, my mother called me into the living room. She had a big announcement.

        That was when I learned that I would be getting a new little sister. I was elated! But clearly not as much as my Dad. He heard the news, walked to his bed, and fainted on the spot. Got to hoof it to him, he had amazing control for somepony who was about to be knocked unconscious from either shock or excitement. My guess was a little of both. He woke up a few hours later, and once we made sure that he was okay, we celebrated like never before (and when I say that, I mean that a small pink filly popped out of nowhere and threw confetti everywhere).

Is it really necessary to say that word got around quickly? Answer: No. it isn’t. I made sure that everypony in my school knew the news. Everyone was happy for me and my family. My family was so busy getting the house ready and preparing for the day to come that my little sister-to-be would arrive, that we barely had any free time to ourselves outside my school and my parent’s performances. So busy, that we didn’t even notice the fact that my dad’s color had all but faded and dimmed. His jet black coat turned charcoal, and his shining, silver mane to ash. It happened over such a long period of time that not even his coworkers noticed.

That is, until he collapsed in the middle of a public performance. Neither my mother nor I was at the performance. I was at school and she was on leave because the foal would be born at any day. Mr. Neon was the one to break the news to both of us. He and my parents had become close friends over the past two years since we first met. He pulled me out of math class (to my pleasure at the time) and teleported us all the way back to my home where my mother was. I was amazed and frightened by this. Normally a unicorn can only generate that much magic in a time of great distress. My mother didn’t even have time to react before she found herself at the bedside of her unconscious husband.

I was the only one able to break the silence. My mother was staring at Dad with horror and worry in her eyes. I looked over to Neon, the first grown stallion I have ever seen cry. I was beginning to panic.

“Wh-where are we? Why isn’t my dad moving? WHAT IS GOING ON!?” I screamed as my eyes filled with tears.

Doctor Stable heard my screams and ran into the room as fast as he could. He took one look at me and my mother and bowed his head.

“I believe I can answer those questions.” He sighed. “You are at a hospital, young man. Intensive care to be exact. Your father collapsed during his performance at Fairmount Park, causing him minor injuries, but left him unconscious. We are still uncertain as to why he collapsed, but we should know that within the next hour or so. As for right now, all we can do is wait, pray, and get your mother into a bed as quickly as possible.”

This last comment caught all of our attentions. Our expressions all asked the same obvious question.

“Why?”

To that, Doctor Stable simply looked at my mother and stated “Your water broke.”