To: Octavia Philarmonica, 56 Sweet Coltberry District, Canterlot

From: Vinyl Scratch, no permanent place of residence

Dear Octavia,

It was my fault. I must have known better. I must have done better. It was foalish of me. Or was it, 'foolish'? Why do we even use these words inter- intercha- um, never mind. I... I don't even know why I'm writing this. We haven't talked in, what, five years? Yes, five years. Five years, two months and seven days, to be exact. I counted. I counted each date. I have this calendar thingy on my table - I've been crossing out each date since you've left. I mean... I used to have a calendar. Don't have much stuff now, had to sell it. But that's not important.

Tavi, you know I've never been one to form my thoughts properly - you've always been there for me to talk in my stead. Even since we were foals - remember? You've always helped me out with spoken assignments... Remember that time at uni when you tried to take an oral exam for me? I even gave you the shades, and combed your mane; and that paint didn't wash out from your fur for, like, a month! Remember? ...No, you probably don't.

I understand, really. I mean, I might be not a very bright pony, but there are a few things I do understand. I understand why you left me behind. No, seriously. The Royal Cellist of the Canterlot Orchestra - ain't that something? I would've probably just messed up and ruined your career. I wonder if you're happy now. I don't know. I thought you were happy back then here, in Ponyville, in our flat. When you would play your cello all night long - just for the two of us. You and me. Or was it 'you and I'? I'm not on good terms with grammar, you know that. Then you would play in the main square, and crowds would gather, but you always played for me, only for me. You told me that. I don't know if that was true. But I still believe.

I'm not that much of a believer, anyway. Not anymore. Things have been really down on me lately. Remember the little club I used to run? They took it away. They took everything away, after the fire. You were right about the insurance - I should have seen to it. But I didn't. Remember that old oven that you told me to stay away from? It all started with that damn oven. Who knew it could start with a little spark, and end with a fire that destroyed half of town? I still owe a lot of money to the residents. I know it was entirely my fault, but I really have no money to pay them. I don't have any money, to think about it.

Living in the streets is kinda fun, you know? Romantic, even. Remember the bridge where you first showed me how beautiful the night sky could be? I'd never seen it before that night. It was beautiful. Really, really beautiful. I live under that bridge now, and every night I will go and watch the sky, just as we did back then. Only now I have nopony to share those moments with.

Applejack and Pinkie are very kind to me; they bring me some food, and Applejack even brings me a cup of cider every month or so. Those ponies... Thank you for introducing me to them.

I tried to find a job, honestly. But what can I do? I'm just a DJ, and these ponies don't want me anymore; not after what I've done to them. I can't blame them, though: you do not expect to be loved when you destroy their homes, even by accident. And the papers... They were the worst part, Tavi. "Local DJ destroys half of Ponyville"; "Drunk DJ burns down the town", and so on. I wasn't drunk. I just wanted to make some pie, Tavi. You still love pie, don't you?

I guess you don't. I mean, they sure have more... sophisticated food there in Canterlot, I guess? Like all those paellas and what-not. I hope you like them.

I know you're doing great: ponies throw out the newspapers occasionally, and I read only the Celebrities section. A celebrity. Is that what you've wanted to be, all that time? You have ponies screaming your name all around Equestria, lining up for your autographs, your records selling like cookies at Sugarcube Corner... Does that make you happy? I hope it does. That's what you've wanted, right? Fame and fortune.

But I'm just rambling, aren't I? You don't want to know that much about me, nor do you have the time to read all this nonsense. What was I talking about?

I am sorry. That day, when you ran into my room, tears of happiness streaming down your face, with that letter from Canterlot? That damn letter. Of course you'd want to move away; that was only to be expected. I shouldn't have yelled at you. I didn't mean it. Actually, screw that - I did mean that. I was just so despaired to see you leave! I thought what we had would last forever. "Friends will be friends, up to the end," you told me once. And where are we now? I guess you're not even proud to call me your friend. Because I'm not. We're, like, on the opposite sides of the lake now, and the bridge's been destroyed long ago. I... I'm sorry. Sorry for yelling at you, and hitting you, and breaking your bow... That was your father's bow, wasn't it? Of course it was. I remember: you told me.

Sometimes I think about us. Those stupid, haunting thoughts will come and never leave my head, leaving me broken and paralysed. I remember everything, Tavi.

The day we met in kindergarten. How we would escape midday sleep and go exploring the little garden around the building - it seemed so huge back then. The garden's still out there, last time I checked. But the cherry trees don't bloom anymore.

Our school days. How you would help me with homework, and I would protect you from all those bullies who just couldn't accept you for being smarter than them. I never envied you, Tavi. Honestly. I always took it for granted: you were clever, and I wasn't; but you were my friend, anyway. "Friends will be friends", eh?

The college. Those days... Remember when we got drunk, and lost our way to the campus? You cried, and... I kissed you. I wanted to soothe you, to make you feel better. And... you kissed me back. We never talked about it; we agreed never to. But I guess now that doesn't matter. That day, I felt something inside - something warm, and fuzzy, and deep; a feeling that I wanted to feel forever. I never asked you - did you feel the same?

Our university days. You were always studying, and I would skip lectures and tutorials, and you would stand up for me when the dean wanted to expel me. If you hadn't helped me at the exams, I would have never passed them. I never thanked you properly; I took that for granted. Just friends being friends. But it's better late than never, eh? Thank you, Tavi. Thank you for everything.

When it was time for us to find a place to live, it was only clear to share a flat. You know, when we started renting that flat in Ponyville, the flat we lived in, the flat we shared, the flat I burned down... I felt a flutter in my heart. I hoped that maybe, just maybe that was a chance for us to become something more than just friends.

I gave you hints, little hints to show my affection: an occasional peck on the cheek, a little slap on the flank, my tail brushing against your fur when you walked out of the bathroom... Your soft, beautiful, wonderful coat... I can still smell the shampoo you used, can you believe it? Even though most of my surroundings are rubbish and dirty, old bums, I can still smell you, Tavi.

Bums... Who would have thought I would ever become one? Me, Vinyl Scratch, who would pay a grand for a new turntable on impulse, the pony who had five dozen different sunglasses, none of which were cheap... I can't even buy a pile of hay now. There were days when I would think, "To hell with that, I'm asking Tavi for help!"

But I never wrote. I never asked. I knew you would be angry with me. You still are, I am sure. When I broke your bow, I broke my own heart. You didn't cry; you didn't yell at me; you didn't hit me. You just took the remains, turned round and left. I still see that scene in my dreams, which are more and more nightmares now.

I love you, Tavi.

Wow, that was sudden. Even for me. I mean, nothing of what I've written above even makes sense, does it? But... I really do. I've loved you from that fateful day, back in school, when you showed me the night sky. The perfect night sky. The sky's never been the same for me since then.

No matter how hard I try to forget you, I just can't. When I broke your bow, I broke our friendship. I broke any chance of any relationship with you. I was so angry! No, I'm not trying to make excuses here; but you know what the funny thing is? Just the day before you got that invitation to Canterlot, that damn letter in a golden envelope, I had bought you something. A pink bow tie. I knew you had plenty of those; but that one was special. It had the little letters V and T on it. Vinyl and Tavi. Best friends forever. I wanted to ask you out that day, for real. I'd been preparing the speech for hours before the mirror. "Tavi, will you be my marefriend?" I didn't know if you'd say yes or if you'd turn me down. But when that letter came, when you told me you had to move... You were so happy! You had a big, goofy, ugly smile on your face that showed me you didn't care! You didn't care for us at all! All those years together, and you were so damn eager to cross it out, to just leave home and chase your career, your dream! Did you think about me for a second, only for a moment?! No. Of course you didn't. That's stupid of me to think so.

I guess you've already forgotten me by now. I'm not even sure this letter reaches you. But if it does, I want you to know one thing: I am really sorry, for everything I've done; and I love you. More than ever.

I am ill. No, I'm not talking about cold, or flu, or stuff like that. They call it, 'AIDS'. Not sure what that means; must be some new kind of disease or something. I must have caught it in hospital, when the nurse forgot to wash and steam the damn needle. I was just going to take a blood test to see if I'm safe and sound. Isn't it ironic? Getting sick when trying to keep healthy? Irony sucks. My life sucks, pretty much as of now. You know what that 'AIDS' stuff means?

A single scratch, a single cut, a light cold or flue - and I'm dead. My body just can't stand against any damn virus anymore. "Try to avoid contact with any kind of contamination," they told me. Pretty hard to avoid getting dirty when you're living in the streets and sharing meals with bums, you know?

I don't know how much longer I have. Maybe I'll make it for a few more months, or maybe I'm dead in two weeks. If it weren't for this, I wouldn't be writing to you, Tavi.

I know it's pointless, and that you're still angry with me (if you still remember me, that is), but... maybe you could drop by? Spend some time together, just as the good old days... Just as friends - I'm not asking any more of you. I shouldn't have told you that I love you. You probably hate me even more now. I... I just don't know anything, anymore. The only thing I know is that I want to see you, one last time. Or, if you don't want to see me; even if you can never forgive me - just write back. RSVP or what else they say. Just to know that you've got my apologies, and my confession.

Now that I look at this letter, I see that I shouldn't have written it. It makes no sense; but when did I ever make sense? I could've written more, much more, but the sun's already setting down, and I'm running out of paper Twilight gave me.

I'm sorry, Tavi. I love you. I will always love you.

~Vinyl Scratch

The brown stallion put the letter on the desk, lighting a cigarette. The old, yellowish-brown colour of the paper formed a bizarre blend with the surface of the dark brown desk, which was filled with piles of similar worn-out letters. He rubbed his chin, looking out of the window for a moment, and pressed the button on the plastic device that was conveniently installed into the desk, just at the corner.

"News," he said, leaning in, and let go of the button, leaning back in his chair.

In a moment, an young orange stallion rushed in, concern evident on his face. "You wished to see me, sir?"

"When was this letter due?" the brown pony asked without greeting his interlocutor.

The orange stallion approached the desk, levitating the letter and looking through it, his pupils running from the left to the right quickly. "Four years ago, sir," he replied, visibly not perturbed by the letter's contents.

"So what is it doing in my 'Not delivered' folder?" The brown pony took a puff, glaring at the unicorn.

The orange pony staggered back a little. "The addressee had moved by that time. To Manehattan, if papers tell the truth," he added, his memory running through the facts connected with the famous Octavia Philarmonica.

"Why wasn't it returned back to sender then?" The smoke was slowly filling the room, trying to escape through the half-open window.

"Um..." The orange unicorn shifted from hoof to hoof uneasily. "There was a problem with the delivery, sir. We got hold of the letter three months after it's been sent, and by that time..." He shook his head, following his employer's gaze, which was now fixed on a bird that was sitting on tree branch, just out of reach. "The sender was already dead."

"Oh." The butt of the cigarette made its way to the ashtray, smouldering ash still emitting a thin thread of smoke. "I see. You're free."

Once the brown stallion was alone, he looked at the letter attentively, while playing with his lighter. "Every day, same routine..." he mumbled. Finally, he sighed and placed the letter in the ashtray, setting it on fire.

***

The sun was bright, blindingly, painfully bright as Octavia sat down at the small island of grass in the surrounding dirt, carefully placing her cello nearby. She would come here every Sunday, and play for hours, and cry, until her eyes went dry or until her hooves could hold the bow no more.

She sighed, smiling sadly at the grey gravestone, which stood out from the others at the cemetery, being clean and shiny, while the others were dull and dusty. Just as their residents, Octavia thought, looking at the golden inlay in the form of a vinyl record. Vinyl, why didn't you tell me?

She sighed and moved closer to the grave. "I hope you liked this piece. It used to be one of your favourites, if I remember correctly." Octavia sighed again. She was doubting her memory now, after all these years. "Why didn't you tell me, Vinyl?" she whispered, each word coming out as in pain. "Why didn't you write to me?" She felt tears one more crawl into her eyes, blinding her vision, which was now blurry and muddled. "Why didn't you tell me you were ill?!" she exclaimed, breaking into sobs. "I would have forgiven you, I would have taken you here, to Canterlot, I would have found the best doctors, I- I- I!" She fell on the ground, exhausted, both physically and mentally. In a few moments, she found the will to look up again. "I would have told you that I love you." Tears ran down her cheeks, tickling at her chin, but she couldn't care less. "We could begin anew, we could- we... Did you ever love me?"

The grave didn't reply, standing prim and royal, reflecting the sunlight.

"Did you... Did you remember that kiss?.." the grey cellist whispered. "Ever since that kiss... You didn't write me because you were angry with me..." She chuckled sadly. "I was angry, too." She looked up at the blue sky, not a single cloud covering its lazy glory. "Damn that bow," she said suddenly. "Damn that invitation. I should have stayed with you! What do I have now? Nothing, just fans and crowds cheering my name... I should have stayed; we've been together for so long... No wonder you were angry..." She kissed the grave, her eyes closing instinctively. It felt as if she were kissing Vinyl, making up for all the lost moments. "Did you ever forgive me?"

The grave remained silent.

Octavia sighed and got up. "I guess I'll never know." She placed her cello onto her back, adjusting the case carefully. "Same time next Sunday, then?"

Receiving no reply, the cellist stood in place for a minute, looking at Vinyl's grave. Her best friend's grave. Her ex-best friend's grave. It was the least she could do for her, when she found that the white DJ was dead, from the papers. She trotted away, a single tear crawling down her cheek, losing its trail in the already wet fur.