Once upon a young man’s lifetime, the world had been a bright and colorful event to attend. He didn’t have to constantly see in one shade or another. They all blended together, creating a true piece of art, and he was both the maker and viewer of it, as was everyone else. This had been the most important lesson he had learned from Ruby; that life was a story that you could not only tell, but also listen to, and be a part of. Life was a cacophony of enormous symphonies, a splash of fresh paint, a detailed scribble of words. Life had everything to offer and, as Ruby had continuously believed, nothing could persuade life to take that offer away.

He saw that offer constantly. Take, for example, Sunset Shimmer. He’d no doubt that it would have seemed to her, having done everything she’d done, that life would forsake her a chance to redeem herself. She seemed willing enough to, anyway. But five other girls, plus one attempted takeover, and now a boyfriend had shown her that things could be different. In the realm of all things possible or impossible, one might have assumed this was all by chance occurrence. But he doubted that. They all made a choice, to accept the silent offer of life, to continue, to rebuild what had broken.

Or, perhaps, he ought to consider the example of Adagio Dazzle. She could easily have been a bitter soul after the Battle of the Bands. She might have gotten harsher, meaner, crueler to her sisters, and perhaps they, though Sonata to a less-extreme extent, would have responded in kind. Their relationship would have fallen apart. They would have been left to die in this world, alone, if they had not been stubborn enough to persist. They could have left this world and given in to fate, to return to Equestria and face out a life sentence, or remain here and refuse the changes that had now affected them. Sonata had been the first to come around, and Adagio was the second; Aria, too, was also beginning to turn, albeit in a much slower, more biting manner, as was to be expected. They hadn’t given in and, if he had to be honest, now that he thought about it, they’d acted maturely and responsibly with what they were now offered.

Chances. That was what life gave. Chances to do better, to be better, to strive for something greater than yourself.

This was the truth that he had learned from Ruby Frost all those years ago. This was the truth that should have been at every corner, with him at every step, comforting him at every obstacle, instructing him at every problem.

Perhaps it was there. After, he had said himself that life was not known to forsake that option.

His ears were tuned to a different frequency; he listened to a far harsher voice. It screeched and scratched against his head, and he could no longer hear life’s voice.

This was the greatest lie he’d know; he’d convinced himself that what this new voice said was true.

Life called and sent its followers, and he refused to oblige either it or them. But life didn’t give up. Life was too stubborn because life knew the one truth that he knew. And life knew that he had to be shown that truth once again.

Unfortunately, he didn’t want to listen.

Artifex didn’t know why he was angry.

His hands clenched around his notebook as he tried to write, but the writing came out as shaky scribbles, and he only grew more frustrated upon each messed-up word. There were scratched out words and even phrases as he tried to put to pen what he was thinking. But with each thought came a shake, and he could write no longer than a few letters before giving up and attempting to start again.

It was late. He sat straight on his bed, the covers thrown off, the pillows placed upright against the post, and he had on his reading lamp so as to see. It might have been unnecessary; the moon shone nicely through the window that was in front of him, and because it was a clear night, he could see a good amount of detail in his room. He saw that Francis lay in his little bed, staring up at him with unblinking eyes.

Artifex glare at his pet. “What do you want? Go to sleep, Francis.”

Francis meowed gently. Artifex groaned. “Yes, I know that I’m still up. Just go to sleep.”

The cat refused, though, and Artifex could not find it in himself to force him to sleep. He groaned again. “Fine. Just don’t make so much noise. I’m trying to concentrate.”

Francis placed his head between his front legs but never once stopped staring at Artifex. Had the young man turned his head and looked at just the right angle and in the right combination of light, he might have seen a great deal of human-like concern in the feline’s eyes.

Artifex took a deep breath, then stopped, listening for noises in the rest of the house. Nothing seemed to stir. His parents had long gone to bed; it had been yet another silent dinner. He glanced at the clock, and saw that it was just past eleven again. He couldn’t remember when exactly he’d gone to bed, nor when he’d taken out the notebook. He just knew that he hadn’t been able to sleep and had returned to old comforts in the hope that they would soothe his slumber.

But they hadn’t.

Artifex let out his breath, and took up the pen again. He turned to a new page, the blankness taunting him with its silence. Struggling to not throw the book down in anger, he forced himself to raise the pen, bring its tip hard upon the paper, and began to move it up and down, left and right, so that he would form letters, and then words, and then phrases, and then sentences.

He started with a question.

Why am I so angry?

That is a hard question to answer, much to my surprise. When I stare at this page and try to mull over the possible reasons, the anger just shoots off like a rocket, and it makes it hard to focus.

I got a bad test grade today, but that was my fault because I didn’t study. I was… distracted. Yes, that’s the best word to describe it. No, I’m not proud of the C-. It’s passing, but I know I could do so much better if I tried.

A grade like this doesn’t explain the anger, though. There’s too much anger; that I know for certain. So what is the root of this emotion? What caused it?

The reason why I’m thinking this over now and not, say, a month ago, isn’t because I’d only just realized it. In truth, journal, I knew there was something different about me about two weeks ago. But I wanted to push that thought away and I wanted to focus on getting through the day. I figured that it was just the stress of being the new kid, and having all these homework assignments and stuff.

But Adagio’s words from a week ago are still in my head. I’ve made Sonata worried, and Aria worried, if in a more subtle and different manner. More importantly, I’ve made her worried.

I don’t know why that means so much to me. Why, after all this time, I still feel guilty, why I still feel that cold pit in my stomach when I think about how I’ve made Adagio Dazzle feel concerned over me. I’d be laughing at the absurdity of such a scenario a month ago, but this? It is different. And I don’t know why.

Adagio reminded me that I was doing things differently, that I was acting very differently. She reminded me of what Rainbow had said. She reminded me of a different time, I think, when I wasn’t this angry.

But reminders aren’t enough. They’re just flags on the timeline. I know they happened, but I don’t know why they happened. I don’t know how they happened for certain. This history—my history—has been irrevocably changed, so much so that I don’t know where it began and where it’ll end.

Once again do I ask: why am I so angry?

When did this all begin is perhaps the best place to start answering this question. Let me think… yes, that’s right. I was much happier the first week of September than I am now. That was because it was a new school, and I had made many friends, and I was settling in as the new kid. My classes were good, I wasn’t too far from the people I was familiar with, and Canterlot High seemed very accepting of me.

It still is. I don’t get too many strange looks; it seems that, after having so many magical mishaps, the students here have grown used to newcomers showing up out of the blue. Comparatively speaking, I think I’m the most normal “new kid” out of all the new kids who’ve come here.

Therefore, something during that week, or after, must have done this to me. If, of course, the assumption that something happened outside of me to make me feel this way.

Francis suddenly let out a yawn, causing Artifex to sharply turn to him. The cat blinked tiredly, but still appeared intent on keeping a watchful gaze upon the young man. But his ears wilted at the side; he blinked slowly, and his head wouldn’t rise more than a few inches off of his bed.

Artifex frowned. “Maybe you should sleep, Francis. You know I’m a night owl.”

The cat meowed in response. “Yes, Francis, I know that you can stay up late if you want to. But you don’t want to be too tired, do you?”

Purring softly, the cat begrudgingly nodded. He lowered his head, but cracked open one eye and stared at his owner.

Artifex rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, Francis. I’m not gonna go for a late night stroll anytime soon.” He tapped his blanket. “Besides, the leg’s acting up again.” At Francis’s knowing purr, Artifex continued, “Look, I’ll go to bed soon. I promise.”

The cat didn’t respond. Looking over the side of his bed, Artifex saw that he had closed his eyes and was breathing slowly, having finally sauntered off to sleep.

He turned back to his journal, the frown becoming harder. The pen rose and fell.

I return to the party that Pinkie held for me. Mostly because I think it’s relevant, if this timeline I’ve created is any indication.

I can see it clearly. I walked to Sugar Cube Corner with Francis, and met Sonata at the entrance. The party was still being set up. Francis fled into the kitchen, where I saw Pinkie and Swift making the food. Then Francis went back upstairs, and that’s where Sonata and I saw Pound and Pumpkin.

That was where I think I felt the happiest that day. I’m not sure why. Maybe it was that hug that Pumpkin gave me. Or the fact that the Cake parents were so nice. God, I forgot to ask them how their vacation was! I’m sure it was fine.

Then I went back downstairs and waited a while, helping put up the decorations and whatnot. Sunset told me about her past, her actions, and why she came to this world in the first place. Soul and I talked about how she was a much better person because of it. I told her that “Our biggest regrets are often the biggest actions we never took.” We bonded because of that.

There was a screeching of tires and a revving of engines. We went out, Rainbow and I. We found Adagio and Aria, surprisingly, and it was altogether a pleasant moment for all of us. She came in, and was smiling, and Aria didn’t seem too intent on killing anyone, so that was good, I guess.

Adagio sat with me and Sonata. We talked. Sonata left to get something. Adagio and I had a heart-to-heart conversation about knowing each other, doing good, our true selves, and so forth. That was possible the most I’ve talked with her on anything. And… if I recall correctly, it felt good. It felt right; fitting, even. Like she was exactly who I needed to talk to if I wanted to say something.

Which is weird considering who she is and what she’s done. I’d daresay we’re friends, though there’s some level of… tension between us. But I don’t know if it’s bad or good; it’s just there.

Back to the party. Yes, we talked. We talked for a pretty long time, and the talk grew intense. But it was nice when it finished. We waited a little more because we were expecting No Clue to show up.

Artifex paused as he stared at the last sentence. He felt something in his head click. In an almost fervent manner, he reapplied the pen’s tip to the paper, even as he felt some odd, sinking feeling of dread sink deep into the pit of his being.

No Clue.

Nostradamus “No” Clue.

He never showed up.

I remember now.

He never showed up.

And…

And I felt… bitter, for some reason.

Like… like I’d been… I’d been…

Ugh. I can’t recall the word.

We tried to pass it off as him being busy but…

No, that wasn’t it.

He did show up, for a second.

But he drove past. Or rather, his mom did.

I never met his mom before. Hmm. Maybe… no, don’t start making assumptions like that, Artifex.

Do I have his number? I don’t remember if any of us did. Pinkie said she’d sent him an invitation, and if I know Pinkie, it isn’t like her to mess up the address, especially when it comes to parties.

So the conclusion, journal, that I can now make, is that I’m angry that No Clue didn’t show up.

But…

But that’s…

That’s stupid!

Even I know that’s a dumb thing to say!

There is no way that’s all there is to it. I mean, holding on to this anger for a month due to one little incident? What gives? That… that isn’t like me. I know it isn’t. At least, it shouldn’t. Not even with the truck driver was I this angry. And not quite with Discord.

Still, that does seem to be the most apparent conclusion, given the facts. But still…

Journal. I saw Clue yesterday. He was with two others, but I don’t think I quite recognized them. Only one looked vaguely similar, but from where I don’t know. We bumped into each other pretty hard. Dropped this—you, actually. I think he said something but I didn’t hear him—or at least I don’t remember hearing him say anything.

I tried to get out of there really quick.

I’m not sure why.

Artifex stopped. He stared down at the page, at the words, the sentences, at what he had written. He knew there was more to it than that, but this seemed like the perfect place to stop.

I’m not sure why.

That summed up everything that he felt, now that he thought about it. He wasn’t sure about anything. So much had changed, so quickly, so subtly, and in such a way that he hadn’t cared to confront it in the slightest until now.

That felt wrong.

But I’m not sure why.

Briefly putting down the notebook, he closed his eyes. He remembered the faces of his friends, but they appeared differently now. Their eyes were full of concern, big and wide, and they seemed like they were pleading for him to do something. Each had their own frown, their own set of tired features; had this been because of him? How many sleepless nights, if any, had he given them unintentionally? How many times had he made them worry?

Had they worried? Of course they had; that was what friends did.

But he hadn’t worried. He hadn’t even given in to their worries. What did that make him?

When he opened his eyes, he saw his room. But all of a sudden, it felt much colder, lonelier. Even with Francis’s breathing coming softly, piercing the silence of the night, Artifex could not shake the feeling that something was missing.

His room was dark. Only his lamp and the light from the moon illuminated it. His bookcase was dark; his blankets were dark; his desk was dark. In the glow that came artificially and naturally, even he, pale-skinned, white-haired, bright-eyed, felt like he was nothing but a masked shadow, portraying itself as having color.

When he breathed in and out, it felt like the air rushed in and out of him without bothering to stay. He felt empty, devoid of being.

And I’m not sure why.

The pen felt so much heavier like it had mysteriously been filled with lead.

Things have to change.

I don’t know what exactly, but they do. Whether those things are me and my attitude, or something else. Things have to change. They just have to.

If I truly am so angry and so filled with despair that I am pushing away the once chance that life has given me to get back on track, then perhaps I haven’t learned what it means to be alive yet. I thought that the scars on my wrist had taught me enough; have they not said enough?

But that doesn’t matter, does it?

I’ve been doing wrong by my friends. I’ve been hurting them. I didn’t see it until now. And I still don’t know why this happened.

It can’t just be because No Clue didn’t go to the party. There’s more to it than that. There has to be.

Things have to change, journal.

I think I have to make that change.

Artifex went to sleep. His mind was filled with the relentless thoughts, the crushing emotions. They bothered and pestered and hounded him at every turn in the dreamscape, and his nightmares grew more harrowing by the hour. They didn’t let up until the morning came and shook the shadows from the walls.

Even then, it still felt cold and dark.