Let me get this thing started by saying that I’m not one to beat around the bush about things. I generally try to move on with things before they become too deeply carved into my brain so that I can never forget them. I don’t like dwelling on the past, but as much as I hate it, there are some things that deserve to be dwelled on, things that require my thoughts at certain points in the day about my past.

As you could probably guess, before high school, my past was rather typical for a stallion. I was born and raised in Whinnisota, and have lived there all my life. I lived in a small, middle-class suburb of Whinniapolis. I grew up as the oldest of three colts to my parents. The middle colt, Drop, has always had a fascination with Vinyl Scratch, and I suspect that one day he might become a professional DJ just like she was. When we were younger, he and I never got along. We would always fight, and the fights generally landed me in my room or being grounded, which meant I won the fights. But recently, he and I have started seeing more eye to eye, combining our efforts to create music and write stories and such. We play video games together now and we hang out with each other’s friends, that is, whenever I’m home. I go to college now, so I don’t get to see him as much as I would like to.

On the other hoof, my youngest brother, Sizzle, is a spoiled brat. While I will always love him, I suspect I will always love him because he is my brother. He and I are nothing alike; he would rather sit inside instead of going out with his friends, and things in the like, although I will admit he is a good cook for his age. He is eleven years old now and my mom still treats him like a baby. He acts like it too, he wets the bed, he cries when he doesn’t get his way, and he sucks his hoof when he feels like pouting. I hope he will mature with age, but I don’t have high hopes for him.

My mom and dad met each other in college and got married their junior year, and three years after they graduated they had me, their little bundle of…“Joy?” I suppose the word “joy” is one way to put it. The only reason I’m still tolerated, I believe, is because I was their first born. I was a little asshole when I was child, not that that hasn’t changed much over the years. I guess I wasn’t so bad when I was the only child. I had a blonde mane and tail, and a lightly tan coat. Time to time I see a picture of me when I was young, maybe playing with the family pet dog, or driving my old battery operated four-wheeler.

I guess when I was very young, my parents had put me in a walker, and that is what I did, I walked. I walked so well that I guess I thought I was going to try to take on a flight of stairs. Needless to say, a baby colt that cannot actually walk without support from a walker lost to the stairs. I was lucky I wasn’t killed. The staircase actually curved around and went down further. My parents seemed convinced that, had I gone any further, I would have died for sure. I suppose that was when I first started to scare my parents. From there on out, I continued to put myself into risk. Jumping off the roof of the house into the pool, attempting to jump from the deck onto the trampoline while doing a flip, stuff like that. To be honest, I have never landed myself into the hospital, which must be an amazing feat considering how much stupid shit my friends and I would do as a way to past time in our young coltly lives.

Hah, that reminds me of a time where I got on my bike and tied a rope to a passing horse-carriage. It had stopped at a stop sign for a moment before continuing on with its course. In that moment I had, with encouragement from my friends, tied myself to the bumper of the thing to see how fast I could get going on my bike. It had a little speedometer, something that my worrysome parents had installed for me to try and take care of myself. Pshh! As if. Anyways, at first the rope-bike combo was working ok, until the carriage had turned off towards the highway. It was around this time that I started shitting myself. To this day, I have no idea why I never jumped off, but I digress, I was stupid. I start kicking and screaming and trying to get the pony who was pulling the cart’s attention, but to no avail. So I hunched down and held on for my life. The only reason I survived that encounter was because a Royal Guard Pegusi had seen what was going on and swept down and yanked me from the bike. You know, looking back on this event, I suppose most normal colts wouldn’t have gotten themselves into that kind of situation, but, again, I was stupid.

The Pegusi had looked at me like I was stupid, then asked me where my home was. I couldn’t even open my mouth because of how scared I was, so I just pointed me home. You should have seen the looks on my parents faces, priceless. Well at the time, I had never wanted to see them more in my life, but now, it was pretty hilarious. But yeah, that’s how my elementary through middle school life went, doing dumb shit and never really applying myself.

It was when I got to high school in my first year did I finally get my cutie mark. A video game controller had appeared on my flank. What the hell did that mean? I was going to be good at video games? I could have told you that, I spent 80% of my freshman year playing the damn things. And video game design wasn’t something that caught my attention as ‘fun’ so I pretty much ignore my cutie mark now, it doesn’t make me who I am, I make who I am…even if who I am is somepony who plays video games like it was a religion. I actually sorta’ tried in school my freshman year, and I acted out even more than what I used to, something I never thought possible, and the upper classmen knew and hated me for it. I got my ass beat every once in a while after antagonizing some rather large and burly stallions, but hey, I was invincible on the inside. That invincible feeling carried on into sophomore year, and that is where this story begins, second week of sophomore year. Oh, by the way, I’m Sticks, nice to meet you!