F A U X

Not genuine or real; being an imitation of the genuine article

Synonyms - Imitation, simulated, fake, false

artificial, unreal - contrived by art rather than nature.

By 3arlGr4y

As a child, my teacher tried to do something very inspirational for us one day. Seated in a classroom, we were told something special was planned, and everyone was excited. She brought in a balloon, limp, empty, and pretty saggy looking. It looked like a colorful sack of nothing. At first the class was disappointed. The teacher asked what everyone thought it was and what it represented. Everyone knew what it was, but nobody knew what it was a metaphor for, not even me. She then blew it up using a pump, and it created a very large balloon. It was multiple colors and very appealing. If you don't have the "air", which the teacher substituted for "self esteem," we would be small and sad like the balloon in it's inflamboyant state.

Everyone was really inspired, but it didn't really click well with me. Watching that balloon, which she taped to the classroom wall, deflate day after day from the inevitable release of air depressed me. All I got from the experience was that self esteem didn't do much but make people falsely large for a little while. That exemplifies a lot of things now, as the young adult I am now. People around me, my city, my friends, my enemies. They're all puffed up with self esteem and confidence, but many of them were starting to deflate. Either that, or they were already sad and limp. People just rub me the wrong way now a days. Behind all those grand ideas of a better life, they're just desperate to be remembered. Desperate to keep their withering balloons alive so they can feel important for a while. Sometimes, it's just classic bullying. People put others down to make them feel better about themselves. This happened to me a lot as a kid, and sometimes even now, for the color of my hair and my dull looking face. I couldn't help it, but they still needed to use me as a pump to fill their balloon with air.

It doesn't matter. Things will never change. Eventually, you're entire existence will be reduced to nothing, and you can't fight against that. Just a cardboard cut out.

Faux.

A lot of people assume I'm a pessimist because I think this way, but I'm not bothered by that. It's easier to live life if I don't have to worry about changing the world. That way, I can focus on what I want to focus on, and fraternize myself with activities that I enjoy, one of them being music. I play the cello and the piano, exemplary instruments for an average musician. I've also created numerous singles using technology as well.

They're all solos.

That fact doesn't bother me. Adding other instruments to the equation often complicates things. If one portion goes out of sync, everything falls apart, which is why so much effort goes into things like orchestras, bands, trios, symphonies, and quartets. It says a lot about my opinion on humanity as a whole.

I knew it myself. I decided. I didn't see much point in it, but I really wanted to enjoy myself as much as I could. Many people say you live life for certain reasons, and mine I was going to dedicate to nobody but myself. Yeah, I still have friends, and people who I see in favor. But they're lives will end too. We'll all just return to the dust we came from.

I'm Drake Wright. I'm a single guy, about 20 years old, living on the end of a rather empty neighborhood. I went to college for a year, earned somewhat of an education, and now live off of a job as a janitor at the local clinic, and a salesman at a convenience store on the other end of the city. Life is pretty grey and washed over for me. I often find myself repeating the same process - wake up, go to work, come home, do stuff, sleep. Often times I dub "do stuff" with practicing music, playing video games, or browsing the net. A recent fad that has been introduced to the world was My Little Pony. I didn't mind it much. It's not like I actually followed the fad, so why should I patronize it like others? I wanted to enjoy the simpler pleasures in life. I had a steady income and not much of a goal to look forward to, but I was living my life a day at a time.

The rest of the city is pretty quaint. The crime rate is high in various parts of the dark bunch of alleyways and roads that incorporate a settlement. I've settled in the safer area, but you can never be sure. This city was populated for all the wrong reasons, and I ever since I came to realize this, I've gotten bad vibes from this wrecked utopia. But I can't afford to move to some other place. At least not yet. And besides, nobody bothered me in my house at the end of the block, so I really didn't feel all that disturbed. It was like living in a dying city - I rarely went through a new day without hearing news of a robbery or murder in some school or apartment, sometimes only a few miles away from my residence. Back when I was a kid, everything was much brighter. The streets were alive with people who looked content, who wanted to be there - green trees, colorful flowers, and healthy grass. I guess the balloon just..

..lost air.

I didn't get much sleep the other night. Then again, I never get a ton of sleep. I developed a habit of sleeping late and waking up early as a kid to watch early morning cartoons and to finish composing pieces that took me the night to complete. I can say that a lot of my music as a kid was nonetheless novice work, but still decent. As usual, I washed up. After putting some water on my face, I gazed blankly at the mirror. My eyes looked empty, like you would fall straight into them and never come back out. When I was younger, I thought it looked kind of cool, but soon, many others around me perceived it as creepy. My hair was a combination of blue and grey - washed over and dull, like the city I live in. I put some clothes on, ate some cold bacon and went to work. Winter was pretty darn cold in this city.

The sky was a depressing gray, and the snow was still falling from last night. A thin layer of snow had formed over the crumbling cement that made the streets of my hometown. After several hours of strenuous selling of merchandise and cleaning of windows, I walked home, my feet trudging along the street, leaving a thin trail of footprints. But I brightened up. Today was Christmas Eve! Even though there wasn't much to look forward to, I still was heartened by the spirit of Christmas. Celebrating it with my family was fun. Now a days, I mostly had private celebrations unless a friend invited me to a party.

I took my time walking home. After all, I wasn't in any rush. My breath simmered in front of my face into a foggy vapor. I took a shortcut around the nearest alleyway, when I heard various voices shout out. Before I knew it, a flurry of snow met my eyes, and something hard hit me in the stomach. I doubled over, almost coughing blood from the impact of the hit. I fell to my knees, only to be shoved over by a pair of hands to the right. I slammed into the brick, ice cold wall of the opposite building. I was dazed with pain, but it didn't stop.

"Yo guys, get this guy over here!"

One by one, the amount of punches and kicks aimed at my face and chest grew. I tried to defend myself, but my arms and legs were quickly bruised from shielding my chest. I was lifted by the shirt, a thin guy with a shaved mohawk and a lip piercing gave me a threatening snarl.

"Who said you could just walk in on our crib, huh?"

I couldn't respond. I was catching my breath. Bad choice, I got a hard punch to the cheek, sending me almost flying into the wall again. Various bystanders whooped and egged him on.

"You gettin' robbed, nigga!"

"Mmm! How does it feel, son?"

"Dyed his 'hair blue, the emo cunt!"

I couldn't think of any way to get out of this. My forehead was bleeding, and I felt like all the bones in my body were fractured. In blind confusion, I picked up a steel pole leaning on the side of the wall and swung wildly. I must have gotten a good hit, because the grip on me was released. I quickly used this chance to blindly shove my way past the lowlifes and run.

"Yo, catch that nigga!"

I could hear the crunch of the snow, the others running after me. The cold was unbearable, but I didn't stop running. Cold sweat ran down the side of my cheek. I was quickly running out of breath though.. my oxygen was depleted from the beating. I needed a way to lose these morons, and fast. The split second they lost sight of me, I slipped around the corner, and slid against the ice-cold wall. They all ran straight past as I panted to catch my breath. Their echoing shouts and screeches, I could still hear for miles. My neck was frozen, my eyes were dilated with exhilaration and pain. I checked my body to see for any signs of permanent damage. It hurt to walk. It hurt to breathe. I was shivering uncomfortably, but I trudged along, trying to make my way back home. Snow was falling quicker now, but I couldn't stop. Stopping in the middle of nowhere in a city you couldn't even recognize was only asking for more trouble. Eventually, my legs couldn't support myself anymore. I tripped and fell into snow.

It was cold and wet, but I couldn't feel it. My very fingertips felt raw with cold, and my entire body felt numb. Was I going to die here? The jacket I wore was ragged and dented, and couldn't keep out the scalding winds that scorched my body, especially in the places I was bruised. I lay there uselessly, my arms and legs uselessly dangling there like extra baggage.

I don't want to die..

I don't want to die..

Suddenly, a noise reached my ears. It sounded high pitched. I raised my head, trying to get a better view in the snow. A few feet away, I saw a cardboard box.

It squeaked.

I paused. Did the box just squeak? Suddenly, I was aware that something inside was moving.. what was it? And how did it talk? Struggling, I tried to get to my knees, but only succeeding in falling forwards a bit. Now that I was closer, I noticed something small, yellow, and pink crawled out of the washed over brown box. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I knew what I was looking at.. but I couldn't process it. The fact that it was there, that it even existed, surprised me.

Staring at me with hurt, somewhat teared up eyes was a small filly. But it wasn't just a horse.. it was more bright, more animated, and looked like it came straight out of a.. cartoon?

She had a pink mane and a yellow frame. I thinked hard and tried to remember her name.

Rainbow Dash.. Rarity.. no..

"Fluttershy," I spoke, without thinking it.

She perked up. The vanilla-colored pony recognized her own name. She could understand me - but she didn't say anything back. I hesitated, then, reached out with a single, thin hand. She clenched her eyes and tensed, suddenly very scared. I felt her mane. It was soft unlike anything I had ever felt before. It was there - real. Fluttershy stayed fearful for a moment before relaxing, and eventually, actually smiling at me.

Suddenly, I couldn't help it. I smiled too. But a million questions were running through my mind as I stroked her head. How was she here? Why was she here? Despite looking very happy, she shivered uncontrollably. I sympathized with her - the snow was still falling, and the temperatures were freezing. I couldn't leave her here.. so I picked her up, took off my overcoat and wrapped her around in the soft linen. As cold as it was, I felt a warm spread to my fingertips that I hadn't felt before, and I found the strength to stand. As I held her in my arms, I realized that she was really chilled to the bone. She was shaking like she had never felt so cold in her life, but the heat eventually seeped through. Fluttershy fell asleep - eventually, her head dropped on to my arm, and her body rose and fell with her breathing. It pained me as a young adult to think this but I couldn't help it. She was unbearably cute. I looked around. I was only a little bit away from my house. After a few minutes, I walked to the front door of my home. The porch was decorated with some christmas lights I bothered myself to set up. I gave my house a look over. I wanted to take good care of it - it was like preserving my memories of it with my parents, keeping my dreams alive by not letting it fall to the standards of the city I lived in.

I pulled out my keys - fumbling with them and inserted one into the lock. I paused. I felt like I was about to enter a life that I would never be able to escape from. But hey, it wasn't plastic. Nothing about it was falsely large or anything. It was my responsibility to now take care of Fluttershy, and I took it upon myself. Heck, I didn't know anything about that children's show, nothing about taking care of others.. but she saved me. I didn't know how, but she rescued me, and it was now my turn. Nothing about that is faux.

I turned the keys and opened the door.

-Sidenotes

This was a sort of rushed intro, but hey, I tried to produce an interesting effect. So here you go, all. A fic some might call a variation of My Little Dashie with Fluttershy. That's totally okay- that's where I got my inspiration from. However, I want to make this story unique and original in it's own way, and not just a sequel.

I've seen A TON of these out there, but I haven't really read a good one. Or at least, one that I think is interesting enough. So here's my go at it.

Side sidenote: I DON'T SUPPORT VIOLENCE OR RACISM SO PLEASE DON'T HIT ME