Why do we dream?  

Is it a way to shield us from boredom throughout the night - or is our brain trying to tell us something? Is it, then, okay to wake up in the morning and, while having the post-dream haziness, work up new melodies, or ideas? Is it a shame not to be able to control our thoughts?

And if we don’t control our thoughts when we dream, who does? If I’m my brother’s keeper, who the hell is my brother? I’d sure like to meet him. In a dream.

Each time we wake up, we feel renewed. Even better: we feel anew. Are we completely new beings, mentally, every morning that we shrug off the slavery of the dream? Or is our dreamscape a single world, even, that contains all our dreams, and links them, to give us some higher revelation? Does, then, epiphany take its roots in a dream?

Our second selves, created by dream, destroyed every time we wake up - where do they pool up? Are those us, or merely reflections of us? If I can touch the shadow, and make it mine, do I own the shadow?

And when reality outshines the most vivid of our dreams, when truth becomes so stranger than fiction, that fiction simply gives up, when our deepest desires do not come to us through toil and strife but appear, rather, on a platter, when love, the biggest of all those desires, the weirdest, the most shame-inducting and thus the most desirable, when love just springs up and flies to us from the realm of Dream where it belongs - what do we do?

Hell, what are we to do?

Nopony asked our opinion, our stance on the matter, and yet we are bombarded by dreams-come-true. When dreams come true - is it necessarily a good thing? And does it behoove us to turn away from them once they come true?

When dreams turn into nightmares… The pain that we experience is real. A nightmare does not just fade away. It’s there to haunt us. It’s there to trouble us. It’s there to hurt us. It always hurts. Your subconscious remembers. You may not, but that part of you remembers. And it hurts. When you remember the nightmare, you may trick yourself into believing that you can make it leave. But it stays. And when you are at your weakest, it will appear, and it will make you bleed.

It is only when your whole life becomes a nightmare that you finally realise that you can- no, not beat it… but live with it.

***

Silver Chord walked through the yet-unfamiliar streets of Los Pegasus, shivering from the snow. The Crystal Empire was snowy at winters, but not like this. It wasn’t the temperature; it was the humidity torturing him. But he was a Crystal citizen. He could endure any torture. Right?

Memories came back to haunt him. The terrible breakup. It was at the seaside. His father, blastingly drunk, throwing bottles at the wall. His mother, on her knees, trying to stop him, Silver, as he grabbed a long sharp knife and…

Years, years of therapy, and nothing good to come of it. Sure, he had overcome anxiety. He had almost overcome panic attacks. But what he had not overcome was fury. And what was frightening him most was that he had, slowly but steadily, become his father. At least in terms of character.

That’s Uncle Alex, she’d said, his mother, when she first brought him home. To his home. “Uncle”? He’d wanted to kill him. I have a father! he shouted. He beat his hooves against the wall. He couldn’t get used to the fact that “Uncle Alex” was there to stay. And so he ran. Now he was here, and… he’d promised himself never to fall for any mare. Any mare.

Except her.

Silver sighed and shivered, turning left into the feathered neighbourhood. Except her. Why had she kissed him? And, more importantly, why did he like it? What should I tell her? We obviously cannot date. I cannot get attached, or I’ll be hurt. Again. As per the norm. If I reject her subtly and painlessly-

“Where d’you think yer goin’?”

Silver stopped dead in his tracks. Snow crunched under the feet of the two griffins who approached him from one direction, yet keeping apart, so as to draw nearer in an entirely menacing way. “Hey, fellas,” the pony greeted the griffins, feeling his heart leaping to his throat a little. A reminder about why griffins were hated in Equestria popped into his head. He shook it off, reminding himself that these were just as much people as ponies, and that they probably wanted to ask the time.

“Yer wallet, nice’n’smooth.”

Not the time then. “Look, guys,” Silver tried to reason, taking a precautionary step back. “I don’t have a wallet with me. I just went for a stroll. No saddlebags, no wallet.” He laughed a weak, artificial laugh.

One of the griffins approached, knife in claw. “That ain’t very reasonable-like.” Backing down from the advance of the griffins, Silver gulped, his mind freezing while his body moved by sheer inertia. Is this the point I die? Sweet merciful gods, I don’t wanna die right now.

“Hey, fellas.”

The drawl came from the side, a low, growling voice that was at the same time both menacing and gentle, dispassionate and intrusive. From around the corner came a familiar griffin, smiling his beak at the other feathered. “Having a talk here with my friend Silver?” Jimi asked, wrapping a protective wing over the pony.

The griffin with a knife frowned and snarled, “Since when do you make friends with the equines, Jimi?” He still took a step back from the pony - but not from the young griffin.

“Since he is not Equestrian and, thus, not responsible for the racism equines treat us with?” Jimi suggested reasonably, letting go of the white unicorn. “Cut the guy some slack. Our friends Underground,” he emphasised, “took a deep liking to this here colt. So how about we let him go and go grab a beer or two?”

Before the griffins could reconsider, Jimi lowered his beak to Silver’s ear and whispered, “Run.”

So Silver sprinted, and galloped, and he knew that, after this mind-shattering experience, there was a certain matter to tend to. Something he could have lost today. Something that, instead, he was about to find. He ran to Her.

***

Vinyl was chugging her beer when the doorbell rang. Since Octavia wasn’t home (which meant less pestering from the cellist), it fell to her to open the door. And that, she did, levitating the bottle like she had once levitated little Glissando, with care and love.

“Missis Scratch!” the guest greeted her, rose-cheeked, sweaty, breathing heavily. “Good afternoon! Is Gliss home?” The young stallion stepped from hoof to hoof uneasily. I have to see her. And tell her! If I...

Vinyl blinked. “Slidey’s off to meet a friend. Silver, right?” Vinyl yawned, looking over the unicorn, his white coat weirdly wet from the snow. Is this the colt Slidey fancies?.. Well, I am not a specialist here but he seems… nice? Reproduction-wise, I guess.

“Ma’am, I.” Silver froze, panting. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “I need to see her,” he blurted out. “I really, really do. May I come in?” he enquired hopefully, already raising his hoof.

Vinyl shrugged. “Sure.” She motioned at the flat. “Welcome to our humble abode.” She sipped the beer and stepped aside, letting the young stallion in. “Will you have a beer?” she suggested, trotting towards the kitchen.

“A tea, please,” Silver replied with an uneasy smile. She… she does realise I’m sixteen… right? He walked into the kitchen, watching the mare pour him a cup of tea. She remained standing while Silver sat down and blew on his tea to cool it down.

“Listen, let’s get straight here.” Vinyl immediately winced at her own wording. “I am her mother, so of course I know Slidey likes you.” Silver almost did a spit-take on his tea. “Yes, yes, don’t pretend to be oblivious. I know she kissed you. Now, I am a filly-fooler,” Vinyl said without the fear that used to follow such words long ago - but without the pride ponies had come to associate this with. “I don’t know much about colts-and-fillies relationships. But I can say this.” She tapped her hoof against the table sternly. “If you are going to reject her, please be mild. And don’t lead her on. I want for my daughter to be happy. So if you have to break her heart, do it now, while it’s still young and while she hadn’t spent much time with you.” She glanced at the white unicorn, who stared at his cup of tea. “You got me?”

“I got you, Missis Scratch,” Silver replied, staring into his cup. Then he raised his head, and Vinyl saw determination in his eyes, firm determination she hadn’t come to associate with teenagers. “But I won’t reject her. Because I think… I like her.” He smiled. “I really, really do.”

***

“And then I kissed him.”

Gliss walked alongside Golden String up a near-vacant street, fighting her way through snow with relative ease. The scarf was itchy, but at least it was providing the necessary warmth. Snowflakes swirled around, having lost control of one another, drifting apart. Like Mom and Mother. The young guitarist sighed.

“Wow.” String fell silent for a while, accompanying the filly in the general direction of her home. “So,” she asked finally, “did he use tongue or-”

“String!” Gliss blushed, looking around as the two came up to Gliss’s block of flats, lest some neighbours hear them. “I mean… No. No he didn’t.” But I wish he did. “It was I who kissed him, remember?” She sighed and hugged her friend tight. “Thanks for listening, String.” The young mare chuckled. “Well, now to come home and think on what to do.”

“I wish I could give you some advice.” Golden String winced as if in pain. “But, honestly, only you yourself can figure it out. Though, I do have one piece of advice.”

Gliss rolled her eyes. “Let me guess. ‘Go for the balls’?”

String smiled. “Yes, that too. But my advice is: tell him. Don’t wait for him to confess that he likes you. Tell him and let him tell you whether he likes you or not. Be the first.” With that, the bassist blew a kiss to the grey mare and ruffled her black-and-blue hair.

“Bye, String,” Gliss whispered and entered the house. As she ascended, she wondered if she’d adopted more from her mothers than just the looks. Adopted. It was weird, what with most foals of same-sex couples being adopted, and, with her, it was… She was the genuine article, the genetic product of her mothers, and-

“What are you doing here?” Gliss whispered almost breathlessly as she saw Silver behind her mother. “You-” You shouldn’t have come!

“Gliss.” Silver came up to the young mare from behind Vinyl’s back, not shameful in the slightest. He smiled his best smile and wrapped his hooves around the still tense filly.

“I like you.”