Another week had passed since that fateful day in Manehattan General. One week that seemed it was a whole year, especially if said pony had a cast around one forehoof. The bookshop had been only partly open during the week when ever Sketch could spare the time.

Scribble was seated at the table enjoying a home town meal. He had placed his favourite spread with cheese in between toasted bread. With two such toasted delights laid out before his hungry muzzle he dug in. A huge bite out of the first toasted bit of perfection was all it took to make Scribble let out a pleasing moan to how tasty his handy work was.

The front door of the shop opened, to which he raised an eyebrow. ‘Funny, the shop is closed for today, only one pony other than myself has a key.’

“Ey Scribble it me! Youze up there o injured one?” Sketch cheekily called out from down stairs.

The sound of the shop door closing and being locked confirmed it didn’t matter what Scribble answered he was coming up. “Ya, I up here mate,” he groaned with a small sigh. It was D-day for Scribble after all, time to fulfil that promise he was…forced to make.

But maybe the he could get a little bit of revenge on Sketch for forcing that promise out of him. He eyed of the other toasted delight and grinned from cheek to cheek with an evil idea. “Ya just in time for brunch, hurry ya flank up here an’ grab ya tucker before it gets cold,” Scribble yelled back down stairs, evil grin on his mug.

Sketch trotted up the stairs taking in the smell of lunch as he did. ‘Mmmm, dat smellz good. Wonda what he whipped up dis time. Scribble quite da cook, but I neva tellz him dat.’ His cheeks puffed up as he tried to contain his little giggle from being known. “Smellz good. What youze make me dis time?” a hungry Sketch asked, with drool showing a little.

A scheming Scribble pushed the plate in front of Sketch as he parked his flank on the other side of the table. “This a bit of tucker from back home in Trot About Creek, we call it a Vegemite and cheese sandwich. Not many out of the area can take it, real acquired taste. So don’t be shocked if ya spit it out like a city slicker would,” he sternly stated, trying to stall a giggle.

Sketch eyed the food with some scepticism. ‘He jus’ might try an’ poison me ta get out o’ our little chat comin’ up.’

Sketch eyed the sandwich again before giving his friend a knowing glance of annoyance. “What! It’s not like it will send ya on a one way trip to nowhere.” Scribble defended, throwing his forehooves in the air as he played innocent.

Sketch slowly picked up the sandwich in question for a closer sniff. Satisfied it would not end his existence he took a bite. The taste entered his mouth like a rodeo stallion in full buck. He spat it out of his mouth quicker than it went in. “WOW! Dat some strong stuff!” he cried out, hoof in mouth in an attempt to purge the taste. “Jus’ what is dat…Poison?” he questioned in a futile attempt to get the poison of his tongue.

“I told ya mate, it Vegemite. Only really used down south in the outback towns and settlements.” Scribble wasn’t able to contain his joy any longer, bursting out in laughter at the site of his friend wiping his tongue for all it was worth. “Here Sketch, ya little cry foal.” Scribble chuckled some more as a glass of water was slid across the table.

Sketch didn’t need to be told twice, he fumbled the water into his hooves and skulled the contents with all due haste. He let out a sigh of relief for the life giving water now saviour of his taste buds. “I think youze enjoyed that ta much.”

Scribble kept his smug smile as he pulled a clipboard with a piece of paper on it. He pulled his pen out of his ear and clicked it open, applying a single stroke on the left side of the page under the words Scribble Script. He showcased this point very clearly to the Sketch, maintaining his smug attitude. “Oh ha ha. Now itz one all. Don’t think youze will get anymo’ on me,” the determined victim bellowed out I protest.

Scribble just continued to laugh it up. The victory was all his, and he was going to enjoy every fleeting second of it. “Just give it time mate. Soon I will be so far up the creek ya will have to get a motor dingy to catch me,” Scribble crowed, not letting up the laughter.

“Okay fuzz ball, it like date ey? Well allow me ta sour youze mood,” Sketch sternly stated, slamming his hoof on the table. Scribble’s cheerful demeanour flew right out the window with the entrance of the tense atmosphere. “No mo’ small talk! Spill, now, like youze promised!”

“Fine, but trust me when I say ya asked for it,” Scribble deadpanned.

“Come on Scribble, ya going to be late. Get sorry your flank into gear an’ hurry up, or my hoof will put your flank in gear!” Sugary Delight bellowed from down in the kitchen.

“Stop ya hollering mum, I’m a comin’,” the young colt screamed out from in his bedroom. He gathered all the materials for his big presentation today at the school, over filling his saddle bags. He swung the heavy load over his back and trudged down stairs for a quite bite before he had to gallop for school.

Scribble came roaring into the kitchen, never one to enter a room quietly. “Oh nice, Oatbix this morning,” he cheered, parking his flank on the seat to eat the yummy breakfast.

“Ya better wolf that down fast. Ya’ve got five minutes, than out the door with ya,” Delight ordered, putting his lunch on the table.

Scribble didn’t need to be told twice to finish breakfast in a record time that would have made the Equestria records if he was being watched. He stuffed his lunch into the already cramped saddle bags and galloped out the front door, waving bye to his mother on the way.

Celestia had made a wonderfully crystal clear day in Trot About Creek. Rays of her loving sun warmed Scribble’s back as he made his way to the high school. The warm morning made him smile, feeling all cosy inside. ‘Maybe with today’s project things will finally be different…ya right, who ya kidding Scribble.’

Scribble closed in on the school somewhat hopeful today might be different. The multi-corrugated iron roofed buildings calling his name. About to enter the front gate of the school complex Scribble spotted several class mates, two fillies and a colt his age. ‘Well, now a better time than any for the “Daily Existence Test”,’ he thought, sceptical as always with this test. He approached the talking trio with a friendly smile like he normally did. “Morning, guys. Looking forward to today?” Scribble chirped with his normal cheerful demeanour.

The trio stopped dead in their hoof tracks. They gave Scribble blank stares, stating their normal response. Nothing. “Ya…um, hey Scribble.” Was all one of the fillies could muster before awkward silence befell the entire group.

“Um…we better hurry to class,” the colt said to break the silence, the trio taking that as their signal to make a hasty retreat.

Scribble shook his head in disappointment. ‘Yep, still don’t exist. Check.’ He trotted in through the gate following the others into the classroom for the start of the school day.

A loud knock on the bookshop’s door brought a sudden pause in the story. Sketch turned his head and looked towards the stair case leading down into the shop. “Ey, expectin’ anypony today Scribble?” he asked, confused as to who it could be.

Scribble shook his head in protest, just as confused as Sketch to who the pony at the shop door could be. Scribble got out of his seat to go inquire of who it could be but was stopped by Sketch holding his hoof out. “Scribble sit. I willz check it out,” Sketch ordered, using his magic to force Scribble back in his seat.

Scribble rolled his eyes in protest. “G, thanks mum”.

“No problem o sick one,” he cheekily answered, while heading for the door.

Upon arriving at the front door and seeing the pony in question Sketch’s eyes flared up and he became angry. He opened the door letting it slam on the wall of the bookshop. This got the attention of Scribble up stairs who thought more investigation of this was needed.

“Ey, Grand Estate how many darn times do I have ta tellz ya, Scribble Script is not well, come back next week!” Sketch yelled, frustrated beyond belief at Grand Estate’s tenacity. Turning his hindhooves to the door Sketch proceeded to buck the front door shut.

Grand Estate prodded his forehoof into the door demanding to be heard. “Now see here. I demand to see Scribble Script right away, my clients can’t be kept waiting good sir,” he formally addressed, making his point loud and clear.

The front door continued to go back and forth with the two ponies fighting over it like timberwolves would a cornered filly. Both of them strongly argued their points as to who should leave and who should be let inside. The commotion made Scribble come down the stairs to investigate. Estate spotted the limping writer half way down the stair case and called out to him. “Scribble Script! Scribble I just need a moment of your time please!”

Sketch was trying to close the front door on the persistent sales pony. “Go back upstairs Scribble, I got dis annoyin’ sales pony!” Sketch demanded. To which Scribble, who was taken off guard by the demand, just stood there dumb founded. “Scribble, get goin’!” was all he could yell before having a door slammed in his face and pancaked up against the bookshop wall.

“Sketch!” Scribble cried out, concerned for his friend, before he rushed down to his aid.

Estate poised himself up ready to finally address the prize he has been trying weeks to get. “Mr Script, I need just a little bit of your precise time please, to tell you…” The stumped sales pony was shocked to see Scribble and his only goal the last week limp past him in complete ignorance of anything stated or even muttered out of his grand mouth.

Scribble limped all the way across the bookshop to lend a caring hoof to Sketch. He pulled the door back freeing his injured friend from the pancake position on the wall. “Oi Sketch, ya okay mate?” he asked, helping the dizzy Unicorn to his hooves.

Sketch shook of the dizzies letting his senses come back to him. “Ya man…I willz comes around.” He wobbled round a bit, before finally managing to centre himself. “But I wish I could say da same fo’ dat pony there when I done wit’ him.” Sketch gave Grand a huge death stare, intent to kill all he could think about.

“Speaking of which. What is ya problem mate? Ya didn’t even care to not hurt my friend here?” Scribble accused, pointing a hoof at the pony in question.

“I’m sorry if I up set you so Scribble, but my client can’t be kept waiting. He needs your answer soon, and it is my job to make sure he gets it,” he stubbornly stated, full of pride.

“Okay dat does it. Let me at this wise crack,” Sketch announced in his rage, all puffed up and ready to kill somepony. Sketch with a killer instinct of a timberwolf took a few hoof steps towards the un-phased sales pony. The killer instinct in him was quickly put to rest with a cream hoof shoved in his mouth.

“Hold up there a sec, mate. Let’s find out what he wants before we kill him.” Scribble calmly mentioned with another hoof pointed at Grand Estate.

Estate composed himself, clearing his throat. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted.” To which he received two pairs of disapproving eyes. “I am here on the behest of my client to ask Mr Scribble Script here to purchase his twenty five percent stake in Shimmer Shine Ranch.” Estate reached a hoof into his saddle bag for some papers to fill out.

Sketch was simply confused as to what he was hearing. Scribble on the other hoof was a fiery red mountain of molten lava. Scribble hobbled up to the Estate just as he turned to hoof over the paper work, so frustrated he took the papers in his mouth and spat them out on the floor. “Ya want me to sell my share in my family’s farm!?” he yelled, making his presence known and his point loud and clear. “Have ya lost all ya marbles mate!? What in Equestria would make ya think I would sell me share in the ranch!?” Scribble stomped all the papers into pulp on the ground, making sure none of those accursed pieces were left.

Scribble fell over in pain from stomping those papers with only three able hooves. “I say, those papers were importa…” Estate was cut off from the biggest death glare he would ever receive in his life.

“Get out…”

“I say what?”

“Ya heard me ya sad excuse of a pony!” Scribble had exerted almost the last of his energy to say his last demand. Sketch trotted beside his friend and gave him a hoof up. “It’s my family’s farm, I will not sell it now or ever! Ya hear, mate!?”

“My papers,” Grand Estate moped. “Now you listen to me. My client needs that farm and I can’t take no for an answer,” he stated with his normal pride.

Scribble turned towards the stair case and started to limp his way over. “Sketch, please show Mr Grand Estate the door, an’ inform him to neva’ use it again,” he sobbed, letting a few tears fall.

Grand Estate was more than a little annoyed by now, taking a few hoof steps towards Scribble in an effort to change his mind, only to be stopped by a grey wall of steaming mad Sketch. “I say sir, kindly move out of my waayyyyyy…” Estate screamed. Sketch simply had enough of this pushy stallion thinking he can make any demands he wanted. So he turned around, lifted his hindhooves, and gave the stubborn pony the biggest buck he could muster up. The impact sent Estate flying out the front door and across the other side of the street. He landed smack bang into a brick wall, leaving the big old Grand Estate with a big old grand lump to the head.

“An’ iffa eva see youze again I willz make it mo’ than jus’ a bump ta da head!” Sketch yelled, slamming the door to the book store shut.

Sketch trotted back up the stairs to find Scribble with the water works in full swing. He took a seat next to his friend and put a hoof over him. “So hows ‘bout youze continue where youze left off, ‘ey Scribble?” Hoping to take the his mind off what just happened.

“Okay, next up is Scribble class. Please pay attention to him as he presents his idea for the school fundraiser,” the teacher announced, waving a hoof for Scribble to take center stage at the front of the classroom.

Scribble obliged and brought himself plus all the items needed for his presentation to the front. The young excited pony set up a few posters on the black board and pulled out a few other props from his saddle bag. “I thought long an’ hard on this idea an’ I reckon ya all will love it. Has the potential to raise heaps of money an’ be fun to implement at the same time,” he announced to the class, acting like a spoiled foal getting a treat.

A few of the foals in the classroom started to murmur amongst themselves as to what this fun idea could be. Some of them to Scribble’s surprise produced some smiles in anticipation of this idea. “Can any ya all say…fun house?” Scribble now had the classroom’s full attention. Again the class started to chat amongst themselves, this time with positive feedback and points. ‘Well this is a shock surprise. They actually like my idea?’

“Scribble…Scribble…SCRIBBLE SCRIPT!” his teacher yelled, snapping the frightened writer out of his own little world. Scribble came to and faced the direction of the yelling voice to see his teacher a little confused. “Now ya back from ya own world. Care to explain more ‘bout this interestin’ idea?”

The whole class was on edge for more of this wonderful idea, all eyes glued to Scribble who proceeded to fulfil their request by explaining in great detail how they would pull of the perfect fun house. From events in the house itself to how they could implement it when the show came to town in three months. It took thirty minutes for the sales savvy Scribble to convince the rest of the class that this was the idea they should do for the fundraiser. All class mates raised their hooves making the vote official that Scribble’s fun house idea is what this year’s project would be.

“Well now ya all like my idea we need to start figuring out who is gonna be doing what in this festive event,” Scribble delegated, pulling out his checklist of positions that needed to be filled. The response from the class was one that surprised the him, but he knew he should have seen it coming. The class fell so silent you could hear a pin drop. Faces of all the students spelt the story, awkward looks saying they loved the idea but helping Scribble was something unconfutable for them. ‘And reality is now back, classic Scribble real classic. Ya should of known it was too good to be true blue.’ Scribble scanned the class for another couple of seconds before asking again. “Anypony…anypony at all?” The only answer he would receive was a still silent classroom not obliging. Scribble summoned all his courage to speak his next line. “Come on guys, I can’t do this all by my little lonesome.” He pleaded with his class, hoping beyond hope that just this once he could finally be accepted.

Students stared at each other, none of them wanting to be the first pony to put a hoof up to help. Seeing that nothing was going to change the teacher decided to step in. “Okay all, I’m gonna call out numbers an’ whichever one you get is your job for the fun house,” the Unicorn teacher announced, levitating the list from Scribble’s hoof to her own. She started writing numbers next to jobs on the list while the class groaned in unison at the idea of forced labour.

The fire of anger came into Scribble, frustrated at the fact his class mates weren’t willing to help him with the fun house. He turned his hindhooves to the pops sitting next to him and bucked. Papers and some cardboard cut outs flew in all directions. “Just forget it!” he declared with anger in his heart, storming out of the classroom. The teacher tried to stop the enraged pony, her pleas falling on death ears as Scribble was long gone into the wind too far away to receive any audio message.

“Wow! Dat rough pal. Was it like dat fo’ youze everyday?” Sketch asked, saddened by the tale he just heard. He took out a tissue to try and stop the water in his eyes from becoming a new river.

“Pretty much, ya. I admit, that was a more extreme case, but I had that kind of rejection daily mate.” Scribble let out a small sigh before continuing. “Least ya have an’ inkling as to why I have all those nightmares now.”

“Well dat does explain a lot. I knowz it musta been hard ta tellz me all dat,” Sketch said caringly while he trotted around the table and put his forehoof on Scribble’s shoulder to comfort him. “But I proud o’ youze fo’ doing so Scribble, ‘cause now I can help youze.”

Scribble knocked the Sketch’s hoof off his shoulder abruptly. “No, ya can’t mate. I will always be alone.” Scribble in his frustration turned to face the wall, avoiding eye contact with Sketch.

“But I can help youze Scribble.”

“Ya only feel sorry for me is all Sketch, an’ that why ya now all like a mate, an’ I help ya an’ so on!” Scribble yelled, letting out years or anger and remorse. “Just get lost will ya.” He pointed a hoof at the stairs down into the shop to make his point.

Sketch was determined not to be kicked out of the book shop. “Come on Scribble I jus’ want ta help youze is all.”

Again Scribble demanded that he vacate the premises, and do so immediately. After which Scribble trotted to his bed and jumped in ignoring anything else the Sketch said or did.

Sketch got the message loud and clear. He trotted down the stairs with tears on his face and locked the shop door behind himself. Scribble sobbed when he heard the door shut. There he lay in his bed unable to anything else but feel sorry for himself, and horrible for hurting a friend.

It’s not that Scribble didn’t consider his co-worker a friend, it’s simply he wants a special somepony or a very close friend who was more a brother/sister to him. The thing he wanted most in life was just that, somepony special to spend it with. A lonely life was no fun, and even amongst those who were friends he still had no true blue ones.