Scribble trotted up to the snack food, eyeing of other guests who were at the same table. He hoofed a muffin and started to munch away while he scanned other ponies to see who would like to strike up a conversation with him. Settling on a pair of stallions he put the rest of the muffin in his mouth and casually made for his targets. “Hey guys,” he muffled, embarrassed a little as he still had some muffin in his mouth.

The two stallions looked a little annoyed but humoured the Scribble by returning his friendly greeting. An awkward silence followed before Scribble broke it with the first thing that popped into his head. “So, this is a great graduation party, isn’t it?” Scribble was not stupid, he could tell they didn’t really want his company. ‘Again with those cold stares, ya think after years of being in the same class they would lighten up a little.’ The silence continued you could feel the tension in the air cold like the arctic winters in Canterlot.

One of the stallions put his cup of apple cider down on the bench, “Ya it is a great party.” The two stallions trotted off, they gave the stunned Scribble a faked smile as their form of an excuse for leaving him alone so suddenly. They made their way to a few mares that were close by and started to strike up some chatter with them, one even flexed his muscles off in order to try and impress the mares. ‘Yup…This is officially the worst graduation or any form of party for that matter that I have had the pleasure of being forced to attend. I’ve had enough trouble in this town, first chance I get I’m out of here.’

Almost on queue of finishing his own thoughts, the floor started to turn black and the outside area of bush that hosted the party began to spin out of control. “Ah…What the heck. Is everything going loco around here?” Scribble let out with a yell, as he saw everything around him go from actual objects to blurs of fast spinning motion.

The craziness of the scene was showing no sign of letting up, it only continued to get worse. All Scribble wanted was for everything to stop and let him run away. Faces of old class mates materialized around him, all stating the same line that pieced his lonely heart like shoving a tent peg into the earth. “Leave us alone!” the voices cried out in unison. “Leave us alone!” they yelled out again.

The voices would not be stopped, Scribble could not stop them. He placed his forehooves over his ears in a failed attempt to drown out the noise. “Stop it, just stop it!” Scribble cried out, with his whole voice and heart to stop the agonising words from being spoken to him.

The area only got worse, when an earthquake hit shaking the very ground Scribble stood on. “Stop it, just go away!” Scribble again screamed out, it brought him to tears. He could only look around at the ensuing chaos, before he was swallowed by the earth itself into the black nothingness.

“Go away! Just go away!” a still sleeping Scribble yelled. He was shaking in his bed under the covers. His hooves waved in all directions, trying for all they were worth to free Scribble of his binding dream.

“Ouch. ‘Ey ,Scribble. Get a grip o’ youzeself!” Sketch yelled, blocking another wayward hoof from connecting with his face. He hesitated at first but his better judgement took over as Sketch blocked another barrage off hooves while he moved in on the sleeping nightmare. Sketch had both of the frightened writer’s forehooves pinned down. But before he could say anything to wake Scribble up he took a huge buck to his hindquarters. “Okay dat does it!” he shouted, angry from taking multiple hits. He grabbed Scribble under his forehooves and shook him hard.

“Just go away, please just leave me alone!” Scribble cried out, in a tone that suggested his life was about to end.

Sketch continued to shake the sleeping pony, yelling at him to wake up. “Ey, Scribble! Equestria ta Scribble!” This time it seemed like he finally got through to his sleeping target. Sketch released his grip on Scribble while he got down from the bed.

The darkness cleared, as light slowly creped in. Scribble opened his eyes squinting a little from the nightmare he had just braved. Once Scribble realised he was awake he shot up sending the sheet flying in the air. He sat on his haunches, sweat rolled down his cream coat. Heavy breaths came from his mouth, like a tired stallion who just finished a two hour gallop.

Scribble looked left and right to quickly survey his surroundings. “Was just a nightmare,” he declared, with a heavy breath. Quickly coming to his senses, he finally realised he was still in bed and Sketch was standing next to him.

A smile slowly made its way onto Sketch’s face, his eyes relaxed, and with a huge sigh he sat on the end of the bed. “’Bout times youze finally woke up, Scribble. One mo’ dayz, an’ I has ta call da doctor fo’ ya,” he said, able to now let his mane down. Scribble was awake, and the worst of it all over.

“Sketch, what ya mean another day? Just how long was I out for, mate?” Now more confused than stressed, as he finally conjured enough strength to sit up straight with his back leant up against the bed mental.

“Youze been out fo’ two an’ a half dayz, Scribble,” Sketch replied.

“What, ya serious!?”

“Ey, don’t go blamin’ me. But I must ask, jus’ what did ya do in da first place?”

Scribble went all red on the cheek from pure embarrassment. Quietly he let out a small mummer, so low that it made the Sketch lean in and try and hear what was said. “Scribble, mind sayin’ dat again, didn’t quite catch dat?” Sketch eagerly asked, wriggling his ear a little.

Again all that came out was a quieter mumble than before. Try as he might Sketch was not going to give up on this subject. “Oh sweet apples, jus’ spit it out already will yaz!” he demanded, pointing a hoof at Scribble who was now hiding under the sheets, his scared eyes sticking out from under them the only bit of his body now visible.

“Okay, okay. Take it easy will ya. ‘Member, I’m the one who has been out of it for two and a half days, mate,” remarked Scribble, as he folded his hooves in protest. Sketch stared him down with beaming eyes, like he would shot fire out of them if he could. Scribble cowered in the corner. He contemplated his options for the current situation. ‘The nightmare seems safer than this right now.’

“SCRIBBLE SCRIPT!!!” Sketch yelled, out of pure frustration with the delaying tactics.

Scared half to death, Scribble put his forehooves in front of his face, trying his best to protect himself from the impending doom of Sketch. A moment of silence pasted. Scribble slowly brought his hooves down to see why he was not dead yet. Sketch was just sitting there staring right into his eyes. No words were needed to relay the message being sent from him.

“Well… I might off…” Before a scared Scribble could even make a start on his explanation, the down stairs bell for the shop rang. An eye brow rose on his face. “Was that the bookshop bell?” asked Scribble, forgetting he even ran a shop until this moment.

“Ya, dat it is,” answered Sketch, frustrated he was interrupted from the topic at hoof. “Listen Scribble, youze got some soup under da towel in da kitchen, an’ a few tablets next ta it. I want youze ta down both befo’ I comes back up,” he ordered, glaring at Scribble until he agreed to obey.

Scribble let out a few squeaky nods putting on his best smile to appease his new master. Sketch was satisfied he had the scaredy writer in his control. He got up and trotted down stairs to serve the customer in the book shop.

Celestia’s sun was beaming through the window making its presence known now that all other distractions were down stairs serving a customer. ‘Was I really out that long? The cold I scored couldn’t of been that bad…seriously…could it?’ The sheets were pulled back, and four hooves connected with the floor. ‘I need to stop thinking so much on these matters.’ The thought made Scribble shake his head for all it was worth, rinsing those thoughts from his brain.

On route to the kitchen Scribble noticed that the saddle bags he dropped on the floor when he went to bed were now put back on the shelve, and all the water that was in puddles on the floor cleaned up. ‘Just how much work has Sketch done around here? Running the shop and looking after me? I think I better get him a present, or at least some extra pay this week.’

Green eyes peered into the kitchen, scoping out the steaming bowl of soup. Scribble trotted up to the bowl and took a small sniff of the contents within. Upon smelling the delicious brew his stomach rumbled demanding it become full immediately. Not being able to win any argument with his own stomach he scooped up the bowl of soup, pills and glass of water on the bench remembering the orders given from the scary task master.

The bowl was placed on the table, and no time was wasted in consuming the contents within. Scribble stuck his head right in and began to slurp the yummy goodness into his hungry beast of a stomach. A meal had not felt this good in a long time, at least the Scribble’s belly agreed, first meal in nearly three days. With the soup devoured his attention was now eyeing off the pills and cup of water. Closer inspection revealed them to be flu tablets. ‘How did Sketch know I had a cold?’

“Well, if I don’t take these I will be dead within a few minutes,” Scribble grumbled, looking down the stairs knowing all too well what evil awaited him if the tablets did not disappear. He took a deep breath shoving the tablets into his mouth and swallowed, following it up with a big cup of water. “…Yuk,” tongue stuck out in protest.

Laughing came from the direction of the stairs. Scribble turned to see the Sketch enjoying a good laugh at his expense. “Well, nopony saidz it would be tasty,” Sketch laughed, making sure he rubbed that fact in.

“This your way off getting back at me?” Scribble asked, still holding out his tongue from the awful taste.

Sketch trotted up to the table and pulled a seat out for himself. He parked his flank on the chair and thought about it a moment. “Well dat be a start,” he grinned, with a cheekily evil smile.

“Oi, come on mate, no need to…” Scribble was cut off. A scary Sketch stared with intent to kill at him.

“Now I thinkz ‘bout it, dat prank score we got is now back ta even. Well not quite even. Making youze take dat tablet makes me one an’ youze zero,” Sketch smirked.

“Hey, hey that’s not…” again cut off by that evil stare.

“Youze was sayin’, boss!?”

“I… said… that is completely fair. I couldn’t agree more, mate,” Scribble muttered, faking the best smile he could muster to the Unicorn that held all the cards.

“Dat said, I still not lettin’ youze dodge da topic from befo’.” Sketch’s tone became more serious while he folded his forehooves. He looked straight into Scribble’s eyes, giving off the same death stare as before.

Scribble let out a sigh before he addressed Sketch. “I was late coming in from my date, okay. It was raining, and I suppose getting myself soaked for a few hours didn’t help.” Scribble confessed, not really happy he had too.

“An’ what else youze not tellin’ me?” questioned Sketch, curious as to what else his sick friend might be hiding.

Silence was the only response that Scribble gave, he just sat there and stared up at the ceiling. Not wanting to make eye contact, or even acknowledge Sketch’s presence in the room. But those deadly staring eyes just would not go away. Try as he might, Scribble could not win this fight. “And… my date kind of,” sliding off into a mumble.

“Come on Scribble, tellz me, kind o’ what?” Sketch stubbornly asked, practically being able to foresee the incoming answer.

“She no showed, okay. Happy now?!” Scribble yelled, as he took all his frustration out on Sketch. “Didn’t show up at all! The date I had been looking forward to all week didn’t even show her flank! Just left me sitting there watching grass grow at the café!”

The declared information made Scribble come to tears, the water works factories inside his eyes pumped into overdrive. “I haven’t had a date in before Sketch, and now… I just can’t take this anymore!” he cried out, as he slammed his head in the table repeated times.

“I had no ideas dat youze have it so rough,” Sketch added, shedding a tear of his own.

Sketch talking snapped Scribble back into reality, somepony was in the room while he was confessing deep feelings. “Oh sorry mate, where are my manners. I shouldn’t be crying over something so trivial.” Scribble uttered, wiping his tears away with his forehoof.

“Ey, it’s okay iffa youze wanna talk about it,” Sketch pleaded, wanting to know more, wanting Scribble to open up and be honest with him.

“No, no. It’s okay. Seriously mate, I’m fine,” Scribble insisted, putting his forehoof out to stop Sketch coming to comfort him. “Besides I have to get down to the shop and back to work, ya been covering my flank for nearly three days now. I will be galloping circles if I didn’t finish the day off for ya,” Scribble insisted. He pushed his seat back and began to trot towards the stairs. Scribble staggered and fell on his face, right in front of the stairs, his strength sapped from days of being sick.

Sketch cared too much to see his friend in pain, and propped Scribble up holding one of his forehooves over his own back to balance the wobbly writer. “Come on, dat is no way ta be actin’. Youze goin’ right back ta bed. Nowz!” Sketch demanded, the tone in his voice like a royal decree.

The strict but kind hearted Sketch put the sick friend back into his bed. “I’m sure youze can tuck youze self in, Scribble. Now get some rest an’ I can take care o’ da shop,” Sketch sternly stated. “Oh an’ befo’ I…”

Scribble dawned a smile as he cut of Sketch mid speech. “Yes, yes Sketch, I promise to not leave the bed,” he laughed, rolling back into the sheets.

“How do youze keep doin’ dat… Youze know whatz jus’ forget it. I don’t want ta knowz,” a puzzled Sketch blurted out. He turned for the stairs and trotted down while he mumbled to himself, trying to figure out how Scribble kept doing that.

Another hot day was dished out by Princess Celestia, the blazing sun scorching all those who laboured in the fields below. The high humidity didn’t make things any better for pony’s who lived in Trot About Creek. It was a small little farming community down under in the southern parts of Equestria. The town and surrounding area were known for three things, the hot sun, bushlands and sugarcane farms.

The Sugar family ran the sugarcane farm here in Trot About Creek, a quaint and happy place known as Shimmer Shine Ranch. One of the biggest sugar farms in all Equestria, it lived up to its nickname of the Sweetest farm in Equestria, although some (Apple family) would argue that point. A cherry red filly with twirly indigo and iris coloured mane galloped into the farm house. “Mum, dad it’s from Scribble, it’s from big brother!” the excited filly claimed, as she jumped up and down on the spot. She held a letter in her mouth eager for her mother to read it to her.

The jasmine yellow coated mare with a raspberry red mane laughed at her daughter. ‘That filly has way too much energy… Oh no. She hasn’t been eating those sugar cubes again has she?’ These thoughts made her panic, with sweat dripping off her face. “Sugar Rush, sweetie, ya haven’t been eating those sugar cubes again… have you?” her mother asked, worried about what the impending doom of an answer could be.

The hyperactive little filly shook her head, she started to blush red. “Um.. no mum. I haven’t eaten any cubies at all,” the filly hesitated a bit, while starring at anything but her mother’s eyes.

“Sssuuugggaaarrr Rrruuussshhh, don’t ya lie to me, little filly,” her mother enforced, she closed in the distance on her little bundle of joy.

The sound of the front door being opened drew attention from both mother and daughter in the kitchen. “Yay dad is home!” Sugar Rush screamed, bolting out of the kitchen.

A medium sized sturdy stallion entered the front door, his coat was Golden yellow with an auburn red mane. He sported a brown Akubra hat on his head, and a cutie mark of three stalks of grown sugarcane. No sooner has he taken a few hoof steps into the house, then a fast blur of cherry red zoomed right at him and bull tackled him to his back.

“Dad, ya home early today! Yay, now we can play!” Sugar Rush yelled, almost deafening her father’s ears. The cherry red ball of excitement jumped up and down on her father’s stomach, this made the farmer flinch a little.

He grabbed the hyperactive filly in his forehooves in order to stop the stomach pain. “Okay ya little ball of fluff, let dad get in first and see ya mother, than we might have some time to play your fav game, okay kiddo,” the farmer told his daughter, as he put her back on the wooden floor.

The hardy stallion spun round and lifted himself to all fours, he stretched his hooves a little before making for the kitchen, followed by the little cheery red filly. “Oh, an’ guess what dad? We have a letter from big brother. Mum, was about to read it an’ now you can hear it to. Come on dad, hurry up!” she blurted out, and darted into the kitchen in front of her father. The hearty stallion just smiled while he shook his head.

“Look mum, dad is home, can we please read the letter now. PPPLLLEEEAAASSSEEE!!!” the little filly pleaded.

The stallion laughed at his little filly, then greeted his wife with a kiss on the lips. “Hello my sugary darling. How was ya day?” the farmer asked, with a smile.

“Ya, how was your day Sugary Delight? Must off been good ya got a kiss from Blazing Cane. How was it? Do tell me all about it?” the cheeky filly asked, trying to be grown up and posh.

Both parents stop dead in their tracks. Her mother and father gave the cheeky little cheery red Sugar a disproving stare. “Young filly, how many times do I have to tell ya? Ya call me mum, an’ your father dad. Now, any more cheekiness out of ya little miss an’ no letter from ya big sib,” Sugary Delight declared, holding the letter from Scribble like a hostage.

The tension in the kitchen reached a boiling point, as the cheery red cheeky filly slowly lowered her head to the ground and let out a little mumble, barely audible by anypony else other than herself. “Well, young filly?” her mother again questioned.

“Okay mum. I promise. No more cheekiness… I’m sorry, mum, dad,” the little filly sobbed, sad for being scolded.

“Well I should think so young miss, glad ya learnt ya lesson,” the caring father sighed. He picked up his little filly and placed her in a seat at the kitchen table. “Now, how about we read that letter from ya brother, huh?”

The filly’s baby blue eyes lit up, all tension from a moment ago forgotten with her usual flare and zip returning. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!” she screamed, as she gave the seat a workout by jumping up and down on it with pure excitement.

Sugary Delight dropped the letter on the table and tore the end of the envelope off. She carefully pulled the letter out and straightened it on the table.

G’day All

To my loving parents an’ special filly, I wish ya all well and hope life has been pleasant on the farm. Manehattan had been an interesting and new experience this last year. My book shop is still popular, an’ I’m brimming with business an’ new ideas. Still hold hopes of releasing a major book series, but for now at least I get to work with books. Sketch is going good an’ says hello, he is a huge help an’ becoming a nice friend to work with.

I have started visiting the local orphanage an’ sharing wonderful stories with the young foals, they love it, having a blast anytime I tell them a good old yarn. They always beg me for one more. Ya know nothing is more important to me than what I do for other ponies bringing them joy. I must say I do miss ya all, but not so much Trot About Creek. Manehattan is turning out to be a good choice after all. I even have a date coming up in a few days, trust me she is quite the beauty… An’ yes mum, you will like this one, I promise.

Anyways, I have to fly, so catch ya all round.

Ya loving son, Scribble.

P.s. Check the rickety old shelf in Squishy’s room. She probably got a stash of cubies in there.

“Um, I forgot mum, I got homework I must do,” Sugar Rush sceptically stated, trying to quickly escape the kitchen.

“Freeze young filly!” her mother insisted, she grabbed the little filly with her forehoof. “Just what was this about a secret stash of cubies, little miss? Ya know you’re not supposed to be hiding those sugar cubes in ya room.”

“Cubies… Nope, no idea what ya talking ‘bout, mum,” she lied, as she darted past her mother and made for her bedroom down the hall, mother in tow.