He swirled his drink around in the glass. As soon as the liquid stilled, his reflection stared back at him. Still as old and tired as before.

He was sitting in the main room of his home, the only company the light of a lone lamp, his cider, and a photograph.

The photo was almost forty years old. In it, he was still a foal. He was standing on a beach, smiling (it'd been years since he'd smiled like that, he reflected), the sun sending crystalline reflections off the water. In the background, he saw the familiar, sail-like shape of the Sydneigh Opera House.

But his focus was on the stallion next to him in the photo. He was tall and skinny, with light brown fur and a long red mane and beard. His green eyes and wide smile sparkled even brighter than the seawater behind him. A black bowtie was around his neck. His cutie mark was of a trumpet, with a treble and bass clef on either side of it.

Another year, Phillip thought. Another year since I lost you.

I tell myself that it wasn't my fault...that I couldn't have done anything.

I lie to myself. It's my fault.

The stallion continued to smile back at his son. Phillip's eyes began to water.

One act of kindness could have saved you...but I couldn't find it in myself to stop that thief.

Is that all that I am? Selfish....so selfish and arrogant that I can't see past myself? A failure who only does what I do because I'm trying to make up for the fact that I was too weak to protect you?

More tears began to fall. Another year alone...another year of what I've sentenced myself to. I don't deserve anyone; I'd just fail them too. I don't deserve love or compassion. I'm just...a failure.

The silent sobs overtook him as the glass dropped to the floor, spilling it's contents.

I hate myself...

Something nudged him. Phillip opened one eye and through a blurry lens of tears, saw a mess of pink next to him. A familiar smell--a concoction of flour, chocolate and punch--hit his nostrils. Of course it was Pinkie Pie. Pinkie Pie, who was giving him a sympathetic look, putting her forelegs around him, gently nuzzling him in comforting affection.

But she...Phillip was still, unsure if or how he should react. She cares. She and her friends. Unconditionally.

Do they see something in me that I can't see in myself?

Through the pink of her mane, Phillip's eyes once again found his father's smile.

Did you see that in me, dad?

He turned to see Pinkie looking up at him. The blue eyes blinked, unsure. Slowly, he smiled.

Maybe I'm more than I think I am...if they are willing to give their love to me...

Am I worthy of that?

Somewhat hesitatingly at first, but then with more confidence, he embraced Pinkie back.

I'll try to be.

Two other faces broke out in a smile in that dark room, which was suddenly not so lonely anymore.

Author's Notes:

Another short story that I came up with. I thought of this as a way to explore one of the central tenets of Phillip's character: he hates himself. This is for two reasons:
1. He still (and probably always will) blame himself for his father's death.
2. He does not consider himself to be a good person; to him, he's still the way he was when he was a teen: selfish and arrogant, undeserving of compassion, friendship or love.

But that self-hatred is what fuels him, drives him to be who he is, do what he does.

And maybe someday...he'll find out that he is a good person.

By the way, Phil's father's name is Bobby "Dizzy" Bassline.