The rainbow hammock pushed awkwardly against his wings, though the discomfort soon faded. He preferred them over the average chair. Wrapped snuggly in his cocoon, a symphony let loose into his ears. This week's work was tough. He missed his home, and had no intention of leaving this evening. Letting out a long awaited sigh he slithered further into the mouth of comfort. The sore colt's body hung lazily and the movement of the townsfolk caught his eye.
The folks of Ponyville went about their daily routines. Ponies of every color painted the town, like a reef of exotic fish. Most were dancing about the markets. It was a day as any other, bright cloudless skies lit the buildings thanks to the pegasi. Spark himself was a Pegasus, and routinely cleared the clouds as any other winged horse did. Magic played a minor role here, earth ponies had lived here far longer than any other race and the tradition stuck. Although his birthplace, Cloudsdale, hung gracefully in the distance, Spark liked it here. The air was thick and filled with warmth. Dryness in his throat stole his attention.
He poured himself a glass of orange juice and returned to the deck. The thick glass door and windows reached from the floor to the arched ceiling, revealing the scenes of the town. The building was old, but well kept. Steel appliances and granite counter-tops bled against wooden cabinets and tables. The dining room was covered in paintings of Manehatten, oceans and flowers. The deck led straight into the open-walled kitchen and dining room combo. The whole house had a very summer-beach house feel to it (part of the reason he bought it). Now nestled back into the colorful strings, the day numbly went onwards.
Strange dreams hung fresh in his memory. He couldn't create a full picture. Full thoughts hid out of reach, slinking into the darks of his mind. The sun was dancing a goodbye on the horizon; the air was cool and crisp. Sounds of chirping birds and busy hooves had died. Crickets sang their sad song and there was a heavy silence. "How long was I asleep?" the colt mumbled to himself, rubbing his nose. Tiredness washed over his body. The cold air nipped his white fur. His mind was clouded and dizzy. Rolling out of the hammock, Spark trotted gracelessly to bed.
Morning light blared loudly into the bedroom. Rays of light warmed his face and neck; a warm breeze tickled his nose. White feathers spread generously across the sheets as he stretched. His shoulders gave the usual dry numbness of morning. The sleepy colt let his wings retract, but a pain surged his mind to life. His right wing, where the base met his body stung sharply. Raising an eyebrow, he stared at it in disapproval. He was tossing and turning during his sleep, twisting the wing. He awkwardly got to his hooves and turned on the Stereo. A low hum of bass and electronic sounds flooded the room. He missed sleeping in the soft, silky clouds, where the night air was fresh and his wings could extend with no caution. Clouds were much more comfortable than any bed. Not even his stringy, sagging hammock could compare to the Pegasus heaven. Seasons were changing, night was becoming colder and colder. Spark just didn't have the fur to keep himself warm, no matter how thick the floating pillow. His parents lived in Canterlot, and there were no homes in Cloudsdale his income could afford.
His breakfast of toast and peaches now settled; he made off for the celebration. Winter was arriving, and the Mayor made a point to be on time this year. The Solstice had occurred just a week before, and the winter welcome celebration came with it.
Frost has begun to sneak into the edges of town, the air stung his lungs the second he left his home. Morning fog hung thick in the air, shrouding everything in gray. It reminded him of a book he had read; a whole city had been transformed into a hell scape, where suffocating gray smog blinded the protagonist. The thought made him uneasy. It was a gruesome book. Everypony was gathered around the main hall, where Mayor Mare was finishing the last of her speech.
"..Shall continue this tradition, in honor of our great Princess Celestia."
The Gray mare called Twilight Sparkle to the stage before disappearing behind the curtains.
Neighing and hoof stomping welcomed the purple unicorn.
Mayor mare had made her the official organizer of the wrap-up and welcome ceremonies.
She brought with her a chunk of cue cards, and they lazily followed her to the podium, boasting a transparent purple glow. After clearing her throat and waiting for the crowd to settle, she began.
Spark could hardly hear her talking. He didn't realize she was even talking until he looked away from the dark clouds looming to the north. He was standing at the very edge of the crowd; his usual spot in the air didn't appeal to his aching muscles. Twilight's voice was soft and didn't quite echo like the mayors'.
Sitting on the dying grass, he listened attentively but could only make out her 'S' and "T's". The next few speakers were the same, until a blue Pegasus took the stage. Spark immediately recognized her as Rainbow Dash, The only pony he knew with a rainbow mane.
"This year's welcome celebration is going to be so awesome! With Twilight in the reigns, there's no way we'll fall behind!" Her voice cracked and echoed across the crowd.
Spark had worked alongside her many times clearing clouds and bringing rain in the summers. Most Pegasi were familiar with each other in this manner. Game plan was the same as last year, though minor changes with the weather patterns and work shifts. Mayor Mare returned and gave a final celebratory speech. With that, the curtains closed and crowd dissipated. Rainbow dash rounded up the Pegasi and put them to work. Spark worked his sore body pushing a group of dark clouds over the Everfree forest.
Every flap of his frost tipped wings hurt the muscles, his body begging him to stop to warm up and rest. He got to work alongside Lyric, A mare he`d known since flight camp. She was a music nerd, although not quite into the same rhythms as he was. She`d had a crush on him for a few years, and pushed a relationship on him many times.
Too often he found himself wrapped in her hooves, when he clearly didn`t feel the way she did. The only real similarities they shared were their love of music: Her purple flank brandished a music note, and Spark`s thin white fur presented a cloud with a big round set of speakers. Other than this, he felt they were an odd match.
She was loud and intrusive, irritable and quite the pessimist. Spark, on the other hand, enjoyed almost everything he did, kept to himself, and saw every mistake as progress. The only thing he truly hated was winter. Whenever they would speak, she would drown him with her depression. She relied on him to get her through the day.
He had spent more than a few nights trying to cheer her up after she fought with her parents. It made him miss his parents. They were far away in Canterlot. She should be glad she has them here with her, but for some reason she hated her life; reasons unknown to Spark. It frustrated him to no end. Since the days of Flight Camp, she remained in Cloudsdale, and they rarely got a chance to talk like this.
They chatted light heartedly, discussing their new lives and friends. They chatted on about the times they'd shared. Talking helped take his mind off his aching body and the work was done before supper.
Spark and many other ponies found themselves at Sugar Cube Corner. Mr. Cake worked diligently to satisfy ever customer. A line had gathered to the doors, every seat was occupied, and the weather outside was becoming colder and colder. Only when Celestia came did the store get so much attention. Most other stores were closed on this day. Above all the hungry ponies hung banners and streamers of every color, welcoming the winter Spark hated. Winter was important, but Spark couldn't help but complain.
Every year the frost clung to the ground grasping Ponyville in an icy grip. The trees were solemn and silently slept through the cold. Mats of white covered every inch of ground it could slither into, and cruel winds whipped chilled air into the lungs of everypony. Winter was -to Spark- the worst season. His white coat helped nothing against the cold, and his slim build helped even less. He wasn't anything like the big and muscular earth ponies. He was tall and firm, but was a kitten compared to the stallions that worked on farms.
From the moment he touched ground and said farewell to Lyric his stomach fought with his body. His wings were sore and worn out, his blue mane ruffled and wild. Half of him wanted to go directly home, put on some warm cocoa and snuggle under a blanket. If he went home now, he would beat the incoming snow storm, and his ears wouldn't have to face frostbite. The other half was hungry, lazy, and rumbling from within. It wanted food. Not peaches or hay, but sugary, chocolaty goodness: to ease his mind from the icy chill in his spine. The two factions fought a moment, but under some instinct he found himself trotting towards the glowing beams from the store he now warmly stood in.
"Might as well."
The line moved slowly, only 4 townsfolk separated him from his sugary goodness. In front of him, A Purple Pegasus stirred impatiently. The room was loud with conversation and plate clatter. The stallion at the front of the line was fussing to Mrs. Cake about something, nearly half an hour had passed and the line didn't budge. His wing no longer issued him pain, rather a null soreness. His whole body felt heavy and cumbersome. His legs were filled with sand. The sun had given its' cold farewell, disappearing behind thick walls of clouds.
He tried to converse with the mare behind him, but she shrugged him off and pretended not to notice him, mumbling incoherently. She was a light blue, almost green color, her mane a pasty blue streaked with white. Beautiful golden eyes stared lazily across the room. She had no desire to speak with him so he halted any effort. Instead, he let his mind miserably ponder the winter to come.
Above the conversing ponies and clinking cups the wind was picking up, and a frost was creeping into town. Inside the cake shop old stallions shared their tales of past years, and young mares animatedly pranced about in the warmth of the store. His mind shifted from the gloomy weather outside to scrutinizing the candy cane pillars. They were arranged neatly with the many wooden arches. Above each one, crude depictions of ponies and lollipops colorfully danced. The whole interior was dreamt up by a filly. Plaster ice cream cones marked each railing; faded yellow swirls were etched into the oak cabinets beyond the counter. The kitchen was hardly visible from where he stood, but he saw the same pink coated mare entering and coming back with a sugary sweet. Standing in the candy obsessed fillies' dollhouse was becoming more and more awry.
His eyes landed on the flank of a purple mare in front of him. She was only a neck's length from his chest, and he felt warmth radiating from her rear. A deep space colored tail hung low and flipped upwards at the point, much like his tail. He was never particularly lonely, but found his eyes scanning her thighs, testing sheepishly at what treasure her tail hid. Her tail swayed gently, revealing a new angle. His head instinctively followed, and would have craned to the opposite side had he not stopped himself. His cheeks burned as he cautiously looked around and tried to make himself innocent. He never took the time to enjoy a mare from this angle.
He had always been a gentlecolt, kept his head high and took pride in formally looking into his subjects eyes, but tonight he was too tired to care. His pride was tiring to keep up with, and this week was grueling and unrelenting. He ached everywhere. The Winter Welcome Celebration had screwed with his sleeping, his grazing, and his clopping. He would come home from pushing clouds or clearing branches and collapse on his bed. Twilights' new regiment was much more serious and taxing than the old routine. He could hardly move his wings by days end. They hung defeated at his sides while he dragged his hooves home. He hadn't had a good release since the week began, and it slowly crept into his brain and clouded his mind.
- Chapter 2 -
He stumbled into the door, fighting the snow storm that taunted and stabbed him. The door slammed shut, the crystal shutters clinking gingerly. He could barely walk. His hooves were completely numb. His wings shivered and rattled, the feathers weighed down with an icy glaze. His ears stung sharply at every twitch they made. He was soaked in invisible water, the clumps of snow blending seamlessly with his fur. His candy blue mane was speckled white, windswept across his face. Wet clacks and water hitting the wood floor rung out in the dark, empty house. Outside, the wind howled a cursed tune and beat on his windows. The sky was a grey specter, greedily devouring the moon.
"Sweet Celestia, that storm came fast!" he said between chattering teeth.
For a moment he stood, shaking, until his tired eyes adjusted to the darkness. Quickly he made his way to the bedroom. Diving under the quilt, it took a painfully long time for the bed to warm him. He lay shaking in a fetal position. He used his teeth to bring the woven blanket up to his face, and it softly caressed his ice kissed cheek.
What the blanket took away in cold, his body replaced in fatigue. Now snuggly warm, His body refused to move an inch. His back was stabbing him, his wings acting as knives; thrusting deep into his tissue. His hind legs felt like they weren't even muscles, but rather bags of sand attached to his sore rear. The second he closed his eyes, they simply shut down. The wind scratched and tore at them, and they could continue no further. Defeated, he lay like a cloth doll. Tiredness hung over him like a guillotine, the worn strings about to snap, ending his consciousness. Completely immobile, he greeted the blade like an old friend. He fell asleep in a matter of seconds.
He opened his eyes with renewed vigor. His body was cleansed and pure once again. He looked numbly at the scene in front of him. How did he end up here? His mind was groggy and didn't even process that he was in the sky. His bed had melted away, into a satiny white pillow. The air was wet and warm, easily flowing into his nostrils. Carried in the wind was the smell of grapes, and along with it, the smell of sex.
The odor slipped into his senses, waking him up almost instantly. He coughed as he rose to sit on the cloud. The smell intensified. It was clearly the smell it claimed to be, forcing many memories and images into his brain. He knew the smell. Like a wild spice, the smell was both thick and pungent. It was sickly sweet and arousing, he could taste it on his lips and tongue.
Standing right in front of him was the purple mare. It was the one from the store, though it was standing facing him. He rubbed his eyes. She stayed in his vision. He sat in disbelief as she stared at him, not more than ten paces away. She stood like a statue, only her Pitch black mane and tail wavered in the breeze. White glazed eyes saw through his very being. She let cry a wicked grin of black teeth, smiling angrily at him. Her head started to twist and contort. He glanced away, frightened at the specter, and saw the blue sky before him melt into a red puddle. He looked back to where the purple ghost had been. She was gone, and not a single trace of her remained. His heart collapsed.
Her breathe was hot and smooth, like a gust of wind. It blew across the back of his neck and ear, causing it to flicker in response. The scent of her sex spiked tenfold. He had to cover his nose to prevent it from flooding his senses. His wings were simply not there, and his legs were jelly. He couldn't see her, but she let another burst of breath out, a silent moan. It rippled through his body. He was torn between a sick pleasure and pure fear. He closed his eyes, not knowing what she wanted from him. The strange figure scared him. He prayed to be home, to be away from this poltergeist. He was scared to open his eyes. He knew she was inches away from him, silently staring into his heart. A flash of hot air and overwhelming pressure flooded his lips and nose.
He was finally able to draw a breath. Like a spring he launched from his pillow and sat up to meet darkness. His head throbbed furiously and his heart raced. His eyes darted around the room. Moonlight lazily poured into the room as a calm wind whistled to him. Black teeth flashed in front of his eyes, causing him to jump. It was only a dream, a nightmare. Silence as thick as pudding enveloped the room. His exposed back tingled at the cooling sweat that trickled down his body. He planted his face in his hooves and tried to remember the receding dream. She was behind him. He felt her shadow grow across him and swallow him like a whale to krill. All he saw was darkness. Not of the dream, but his own, fabricated darkness. Her smell… He recognized it immediately. Lingering with every partner he'd had, it was universal. Mares let the scent release when in heat. Stallions released a very similar odor when turned on, both from very sensitive places. It concentrated and soaked into fabric during intimacy.
He sat shivering on his bed. His eyes began to water. He thought of Lyric. He remembered the time they spent, sneaking away from flight camp to kiss and hold each other. To lie close and talk about things they would never say otherwise. Before he had told her he didn't feel the way she did. He had broken her heart. He blankly stared at the black sky as his vision became obscure. The House was cold and empty, dark and lonely. He wanted more than anything to be away from here, away from winter, away from these beds. To be back in the clouds, the summer sun dancing and sparkling against his milky coat. To breathe the sweet fresh rain and delicate morning dew.
His cheeks became red and wet. Blankets were twisted and contorted, wrapped around his haunches and legs, damp from sweat. Clambering out of bed, he trotted light-headedly to the bathroom, his eyes still flowing tears. The light blinded him and forced his sore eyes to close, giving a tender river in a new direction down his cheek. He didn't know why he was crying. Perhaps he missed Lyric, or maybe the winter was warping his mind. Music was playing somewhere.
Steam enveloped the small orange room as the shower massaged his sorrowful body. Tears mixed with sweat, and steaming hot water washed it all away. He made himself as small as possible, trying to fit as much of his naked body under the water as he could. His legs no longer shook and his nose was becoming loose and relaxed. His throat no longer stung with each breath. His wings hung lazily to his sides, water gathering on the feathers, soaking his downy. He lifted his head to let the water spray directly against his muzzle. His candy blue mane stuck to his body and raggedly hung below his head.
Everywhere the water hit, slowly was peeling off the tired, defeated Stallions sorrows. Warm, smooth droplets rolled along his body, massaging his muscles, quieting their sobs. Each breath drew relief, warming his cool lungs. Music played softly into his soaked ears. It didn't matter where it came from, he was glad it was there. It was melodic, a hopeful symphony of piano and strings. It made him cry. He missed his parents. He missed his friends from flight camp, the soft clouds. He missed Lyric, but most of all, he missed summer. It was morning before he Left the sweet kiss of the shower.
That familiar sensation filled his ears. It had been a while since he really got to sit down and listen to music. This morning he had nowhere to go, and gladly spent it in bed, warm and refreshed, with his high quality ear buds softly caressing his mind. He lay sprawled across some pillows he had arranged. He didn't have a body pillow, so he improvised. The beige walls glowed brilliantly in the morning sun. He listened attentively to the sounds filling his ears, his eyes detached from his senses; closed and dormant.
He hugged the pillows, cuddling the imitation pony. Electric beats and deep bass flooded his ears, numbing his mind. He had loved music ever since he had been a colt, when he first got his mark. Painted on his flank was a dainty little cloud, bearing a round headset on it.
It symbolized both his love of music and his care for clouds. Clouds weren't simply weather plots, but finely crafted pieces of art that painted a sea of blue. Spark, when young, played like he too was a nimbus, His white form a brilliant cloud against the sky that was his mane.
He leapt around his home and gleefully fluttered about his ceiling, pouring rain and thunder when angry, and brought rainbows and a spot of shade when happy. The grey pillows held his home up, created the walls around him, and obeyed the Pegasi like pets. They hung carelessly in the sky until herded elsewhere, being requested to rain or create some shadows.
Spark had, of course, left his sky-grazing days behind him. Envy of the white bubbles was replaced with a sort of compassion. He sometimes would talk to the clouds, when the summer heat was warm and bright. Much of his time was spent aloft a silky blimp, mumbling and confessing to them.
He felt more at home in a single cloud than he did in Cloudsdale, or even in his paid home. He loved to look down from his nest and watch the ant sized ponies and model houses. His milky coat and bright blue mane let him take shelter in the clouds, hiding him from his troubles.
The skies beyond his bedroom were grey and hostile, but his head pumped and his ears shook with the music. He was full of energy despite his poor sleep and troubling dream. Music had this strange way of making everything in his life disappear momentarily. When a beat broke into his head, all thoughts stopped, any concerns melted away.
Thick beats and heavy bass fed his hungry ears. Music to him was a drug, and he was hopelessly addicted. The Winter Welcome Celebration had ripped his free time, and only now, with winter wrapping Ponyville in a tight grasp, could he once again drift into a music induced stupor. Spark without music was like toast without butter. He quickly became grumpy and irritable when left to face the day in silence. He was not the most outgoing of stallions; around strangers he was shy and awkward. Though around his few friends, he was loud and open. One of his greatest friends, who had been his pal since they were colts, was Lance.
Lance was a dark brown stallion of Spark's age. A thick black mane sat spiked on his head. His pronounced chest and meaty legs held up a stunning face of eloquent features. He was well groomed and always had a smile on his face. Giant bright grey eyes marked his plush brown coat. Lance and Spark had gone to flight kindergarten together, and had been friends ever since. Lance moved on to Advanced Aeronautics, He loved flying far more than any pony Spark knew.
The white stallion would always have to fight through a rainbow of fillies to get to him. When not in their classes, the two were crowded in females, most giving their attention to Lance. He was tall and strong, talked smoothly, and boasted a charismatic face. His features were strong and square, and constantly radiating confidence.
Spark let his memories flood his mind as the music drained away his nightmare, filtering his thoughts, catching and disposing of his many regrets. He could let his mind melt away, and span his attention to the sounds booming in his ears. Clear thoughts became ungraspable. The delicate balance of sounds filled his fuzzy noggin, drowning him in a forced flood of calmness.
The clouds slithered away, letting the sun glisten on the freshly powdered snow. Even the frost, it seems, had sunk away. The sunlight poured into his room, embalming his milky coat in vibrant hues. Little white hairs danced in the sunlit air around him. He rubbed his nose as the sunlight kissed it, warmly brightening the room.
Winter hung around like a bad omen. The usual strolls and leisurely flights of summer were shoved in the closet, kept at bay by the mounds of thick, freezing snow. Dreams were slowly fading into nightmares, the phantom horse attacking him each night, Forbidding sleep.
The kitchen glowed gloomily, sadly pouring light onto his candy cane mane. Weeks had passed since the Winter Welcome celebration, since he last talked to Lyric. His hooves clinked and clacked against the plates he was washing. He found it straining to stand on only two feet. His thin white back arched as he stood, lazily thinking.
Lyric was, to him, a strange but comfortable pony. She was almost all one color, pasty purple and deep blue. Bright violet eyes matched her coat, though she always had a worried look on her face. She had many fights and arguments with others, including Spark. He searched the soapy waters and pulled out a new plate.
Thinking about her didn't help him any. Winter was depressing enough; he didn't need left behind friends to haunt his already crippled mind. The last few weeks were slow and painful, leaving the house only when he had to. The clouds he loved had turned vile, becoming sickly grey and spewing forth little white crystals. The ground was covered in mats of clumpy snow.
Dishes clanked and the music in his ears shifted pace, picking up a violent beat.
He sighed angrily. He wanted something soft and comfortable, something to whisper 'It's OK', and be as mellow and down as he was. He switched it off. The thick silence of night quickly ate the echoes. For a moment there was nothing. Sound just stopped existing. A rush of depression seemed to soak into his bones, marinating his muscles in stress.
"Spark? You in there?" a muffled voice sliced into the silence.
Chapter 3
He dropped from his hind legs and began trotting to the door, wet hooves clonked against the wood floor. She saw a white head poke out from the corner inside, and a dim smile grew across her face.
"Lyric? What are you doing here?"
His voice fought the wind, in a battle not heard from inside.
"Can I come in?"
"Uh, sure."
What was she doing here so late? What could possibly have convinced her to come to his house, stand outside in the freezing cold, and call his name?
"Parents." She explained.
Her violet lips touched the cups' edge, sipping some of Sparks' ever-present cocoa supply.
"I just couldn't handle that… I had to get out, so I came to the first pony I could think of, you."
She sat on the couch, watching the white Pegasus fumble with the fireplace behind a curtain of blankets.
"That's very sweet of you" he said, without looking away from the stubborn logs.
"…But did you really have to fly all the way here? From Cloudsdale?"
His white coat lit up suddenly, catching her attention from the swirling bubbles of milky cocoa.
Orange slowly melted into the room, painting the wooden walls and paintings in warmth.
"Well, I didn't want to go to just any pony!"
Spark sat down beside her, and listened intensely. The cool night air fought with the fires' beaming warmth, creating a confusing battlefield across the white Pegasus. His ears stung with an icy chill, his thighs burned numbly. Half his body was warm, the other frozen. It perplexed his sore body and was difficult to shut out.
The violet winged horse blushed a little and looked at her audience. The room around her was dimly glowing, the orange glow of fire the only light in the room, casting long shadows and spray painting Sparks' side in orange. Bright blue hair sharply stood against the blackness behind him. His mane was happily loose, flowing upwards, much like her favorite wonderbolt: Soarin. In fact, he was a lot like him.
He was very easy on the eyes. He was always pronounced and 'fact-of-the-matter'. He was charming and polite, and ultimately adorable. From what she remembered of him, He was always around fillies. There would constantly be a group of adoring fans around him and his friend, Lance. Small off-white freckles dotted his nose and under his eyes, making a line of cute little circles. His mane was always in some crazy British fashion; wind-swept up and tastefully messy. His belly was slightly beige, yellow downy mixed with white, creating an incredibly soft looking pillow.
He sat upright, like a cat watching a mouse. His brilliant blue eyes pierced her, sympathetically searching her eyes for a glimmer of happiness.