"Greener Pastures: Past & Conscience"
By lyingcake852 (https://pastebin.com/u/lyingcake852)

URL: https://pastebin.com/duUDxuwK
Created on: Friday 29th of August 2014 07:42:31 AM CDT
Retrieved on: Sunday 25 of October 2020 01:14:12 PM UTC


Greener Pastures: Past & Conscience
-------------------------------------
It was kinda like floating in ecstasy. A dream that surrounded me in bliss and happiness. All around me was illogical things that did what it wasn't supposed to do. Pigs flew, ducks did headstands, and the rhinos had their horns up their flanks. The clear blue sky in my dream was magical. Clouds turned into cards and the birds went quack-quack as they flew with the pigs. The grass was greener than ever and the trees were the only things that made sense in that place. Step by step, the river there had candies that lived and acted like trout, which made fishing there more enjoyable. But sadly, dreams last shorter than your sleep. Ten minutes there is six hours on earth, and while my life is more interesting than my dreams, I always yearn for it every day. I guess good things must come to an end.
>*plop*
A drop of toilet water wakes me up from my slumber. In my hand is a small pistol that I stole from some bloke. The walls are green, illuminated by the light reflecting the water's color. I was in a sewer. 

"Hurgh...ugh..."
There was buzzing in my head. A headache from an injury I sustained while fighting off someone else. Speaking of which, I can hear echos from the distance. A man, calling out to his group. 'I think she went this way!' was the only thing I could hear from the man. Sitting idle was not an option. I quickly looked around for my bag, after which I check its contents. The products, the food, the gloves. 

"All set...agh..." I tell myself.
Limping was the only thing I could do there that wasn't noisy. I checked my body for any more injuries. Gunshot wounds, stab wounds, dog bites. My memory was fuzzy during the junkyard fight. Guns shooting and smoke all around. A deal gone wrong. Past was past. I tried to move on when I found out that I only got shot in the arm. I climbed out of the sewers and limped out of the alley way and avoided the public eye. It wasn't easy, but in the end, I managed. Home smelled like crap. The only thing that gave me pleasure in there visually was the paintings I did when I was bored. I threw away the bag and slept on the comfortable couch. It was a night that wasn't a stranger to me. The adrenaline of it all. I've done a lot of things in my life, and I'm barely 20. I've killed people, smuggled goods, sold both.
 It's a matter of choice for me. 
I've done this for so long that it's a part of me now. A human, wearing a mask, selling illegal goods.
My real name is...well, it's not important.  My profession is...complicated.  I am a killer, a smuggler, a seller. I'm a teenage orphan with a grade A average, I'm a two-bit backstabber with a 30,000 volt stun gun, I'm a daylight reporter and a nighttime stalker. I'm living the dream, I'm a living hawker.
 I went to the kitchen to fix myself up. Couple of bandages and painkillers and I was all set for bed. The clock was teasing me. It was 2:00 AM, and tomorrow was a school day.

I fell asleep in less than a minute. The soft bed and the warm comfort of being safe under my home helped out. Everything was black, and all of a sudden, I'm in the middle of my little wonderland. My dream was the same as always, and it never ceases to amuse me. The garden was magical, and once again the blue skies were as beautiful as ever. I scoop the ground with my hand and began eating it. It tasted like chocolate and it looked like chocolate. I always complained in there why it never tastes as good as real life. There was one small difference that night. In the middle of the garden was a large hole. A pit that leads to the unknown. I had two choices: Stay here or jump. Obviously I jumped. My adventurous personality will get me killed one day, but I did what I did. Surprisingly, I floated down the hole due to my brown skirt that acted like a parachute. It wasn't long before my inevitable landing. Looking up from below the pit was a tiny dot of the blue sky. In front of me was an entrance with a hint of purple lighting. I walked to it and walked out of the pit through a cave. It was like a portal to another town. The sky was not blue anymore. It was purple  and the scenery was gloomy. The creatures were a mix of monstrous sludge and innocent hybrids, but neither scared me enough. I approached a cow that had an engine and a rocket built to its behind and climbed up. There, I rode the cow up in the air as it moo'd gleefully. The land I see before me is more or less a decaying version of my green and lush garden. There were statues that pointed to the volcano that spewed out burning ketchup, cats that clawed at the trees with their tails and geckos that hopped around like kangaroos. I landed the cow on a mountain where I'm greeted by a normal looking dog. The dog was toothless like Pinkie Pie's pet gater. Without question, I patted the cute little animal, much to its liking. The dog licks my face in joy, and he barks to alert someone in the hut. Out the straw house was an ailing woman, wrinkled and shrivelled. She was small. A foot smaller than the dog. I could almost step on her accidentally if not for her loud walking stick, squeaking every time it touches the ground. The woman wore a small green motherly cloak that reminded me of those clothes grandmothers wore in cartoons. Besides that, she's also wearing a sunhat that looked familiar to me. The woman looks at me and silently invites me to her home. Inside her home was something I did not expect. What seemed a small house from the outside is a mansion on the inside. Near the entrance was a coffee table, to which she invites me to. I sit on a chair and drank the tea she gave me. The home was marvellous to look at. Chandeliers were plated with gold and platinum. The walls were painted in a Michael Angelo-like design. In fact, the whole house was reminiscent of the Sistine Chapel, a church that I once visited when I was a child. The only difference was that the paintings on the wall was a depiction of my life. I stood in awe as the interesting points of my life come back to my head. The woman looks at the paintings with me, along with her dog. She only utters a single sentence to me.

>"Prosper from their grief, or grief from your prosper."

I looked at my side, but the woman was no more. Neither were the lights. The large mansion I thought I was in is now nothing more than a dark hut's inside. In the middle is a table and two chairs where a skeleton sits in peace. On the ground near it is a dog's corpse, freshly rotting and being fed on by its maggots. I went outside the hut to see if the scenery had changed. It did not. It was still purple, and the trees were lifeless. The only thing that was worth looking at was the volcano that was slowly erupting.
>*beep* *beep* *beep*
The alarm was so damn annoying that I nearly threw it on the wall, but my stressed-out body was too weak to even contemplate on doing so. I sat up and scratched my face. The mirror gave me a view of my face. A sad little girl looking with her tired eyes. I did my morning routine. Showered, washed, ate. I checked on my wound and reapplied the proper medicine to it, along with a handful of painkillers to ease the annoyance. The sun was out and the skies were grayish-blue. It wasn't as good as the one in my dreams. I walked to school, yawning like I was being taught history in gym class. Thankfully my home is close to the school. Canterlot High was a peculiar school, but then again, the world has alot of unique individuals. Some just prefer to blend in and be normal, though in this school, many of the students are somewhat out of the ordinary. I arrive at my locker room to grab my chemistry book. Doing so, I was greeted by Roman Roland, who in turn, was shaking from the seeds of doubt that he planted onto himself. He was completely paranoid over everything.

>"Mary! MARY!"
"Jeez, can you not shout so loud?" I tell him.

The morning headache had not left my body, despite the painkillers.

>"Look, I don't mean to bother you, but there's these people that's been following me all day, praising me!"
"You sure you don't want that? I mean, you ARE running for the student council."
>"That's exactly what they want me to think!" He says. "I know what my fans look like, and they don't look too innocent to me!"

In a sense, he was right. The people who are now hiding far away in the crowd are my clubmates, looking for a scoop on the student council elections coming soon. One of them just backed away while the other pushed forward.

"Roman, you may want to hide in your locker right now. I'll go talk to them."
>"Great! You distract them while I go do that." He says, giving me a thumbs-up.

Roman headed for his locker while a woman holding a camera runs after him. I grab her shoulder to stop her from doing so.

>"Ack! Watch the shirt, Mary!"
"Sorry, Photo. You know how I am with Roman and his campaign."
>"Who's side are you on?"

Photo Finish was one of my clubmates. She's in the Journalism club, better known in my head as celebrity stalking training club. Those guys will stalk anyone for a good story, and sadly, I'm a part of them.

"I just fund the club and do whatever minor thing Soarin wants me to do. Doesn't mean I'm completely loyal to you people."
>"Whatever. Look, I'm just doing what I'm told, so please just let me stalk your friend for once!"
"I thought you and the other one was tasked to do a day-by-day report on the current student council's plans for this month's activities?"
>"We were, but it was so BORING! There was no...PASSAAZZ."

She nearly lost me with her photographer lingo.

>"Speaking of which, Soren has asked for you. He's been looking for you since two days ago."
"Must be urgent if he needs me that badly. Maybe he needs money."
>"Hardly. He only needs money during printing day of the month."
"Ah well. Better head up there then. Don't suppose you have any pie left to ease his anger? I know he's pissed at me for being tardy and absent all the time during club meetings."
>"If I did, I wouldn't give it to you. Photo Finish is OUT!"

With a swift motion, she leaves. She was a weird one, but not as annoying as Trixie's way of speaking. She does do the third-person thing a lot. Well, I did not give it any more thought and headed straight to Soarin. The man was busy scribbling on the white board in the printing room. A man trying to make sense of what he wants to do. I knock on the door to announce my arrival without startling him too much. Seems that he was too concentrated on his writings.

>"Mary. You made it."
"Surprised?"
>"Genuinely."
"Hah. I'm surprised you needed me. Where's the other rejects in this forsaken club?"
>"Off doing their thing that I assigned them to. Sadly, I'm going to need your help as well." 
"Fine. How much?"
>"No. Not money."

Soren sits down by the table and gulps his cup of coffee. He then looks at me. I couldn't read him there, so I didn't know what he thought of me that day. If he trusted me or not.

"Then what?"
>"It's a simple assignment for you."
"Alright, shoot. Give it to me."
>"I need one four-twenty."
"Excuse me?"
>"Look, you're good with this topic. Drugs and botany and stuff. Not accusing you or anything, but I don't know who else to turn to. I need a three-page article on drug abuse."
"What?"
>"You heard me. Three pages. Not necessarily a report on different kinds of drugs. More on the people who survived drug addiction. I don't know if you know people like that, but I need it before the end of the week. Can you do that for me?"
"This early? Isn't printing day like, I don't know, next month?"
>"I need some options, and an editorial page would do nicely, especially on social problems like substance abuse."
"Well, I suppose I could."
>"That would be great. "
"Just one question though."
>"What?"
"Why me?"
>"Well, I just figured you'd...I don't know, be knowledgeable in...that..."
"..."
>"Not saying you do drugs like coke or heroin. Just saying that you do look like you smoke pot."
"..."

I couldn't tell if Soarin knew what my other job is, besides  the other legal job of mine which was tending to some rich woman's garden every Tuesdays and Saturdays, but I thought to myself that Soarin probably just made a wild guess.

"Well, I'll see what I can do."
>"Don't let me down."
"That would require some effort from me." I joke to him.

My world is filled with the corrupt and the the failures of this world. The assignment was easy because I knew several people who has their little stories about substance abuse. I just needed to think about who to interview. After school, I walked to the nearest burger joint to grab a bite. A nice juicy burger with delicious pickles for take-out. I walked to the side of the building and rolled myself a joint to smoke. It gave me time to think about what to do. Who to visit. The smoke from the roll calmed my senses as it gave a similar feeling of serenity and guilt. Coupled by the thick meat of the sandwich, it gave me two ideas of who to visit. There was Joe from the coffee shop, and Sombra the janitor. Joe was that calm guy in the donut business where he acts like a bartender serving alcoholics to tired workers. It gave them a bit of entertainment, and it gave him a dream, that one day, he'd own his own bar. I visited his donut shop during sunset. There wasn't any customers in the place so I just sat by the counter and decided to make myself comfortable.

"Hey Joe. Two blacks, stat."
>"Coming right up, missy."
"Looks like the place is a tumble weed joint. Not many customers today?"
>"Nah. They come in at 7:00. Don't you kids usually hang out at a burger joint, or a carnival or somethin'?"
"We all need our peace and quiet moments, Joe."
>"That's true."

Joe mixes the drinks like a pro, even if it's just coffee mix, milk and water. Flipping and spinning like he was in a talent show.

"Nice moves. I heard you're saving to own a bar, or to turn this place into a bar. Is that true?"
>"Hah. It's a dream alright, but it won't be hard for me."
"Yeah, now that you got it out of your system."
>"Haha...err, what are you talking about?"
"Oh, nothing. Just that I remember you in rehab years ago."
>"Oh yeah, alcohol was my vice way ba-"
"You weren't an alcoholic, Joe. You were a junkie." I say bluntly.

Joe tried to lower his guilty past by making it seem like he was an alcoholic rather than the junkie that he was before. It was a normal thing. Being a ex-drunkard was less embarrassing than being an ex-drug user.

>"Y-You got me mixed up with someone else, then."
"No, not really. You see, I remember a man who went into that church and told a story. A small story about how his wife threatened to leave him and how he lost all he had for a debt from the billing companies-"
>"..."
"So how is life, Mr. Donut?"
>"...What do you want?"
"Well, nothing really. Just some conversation. No one else here anyway."
>"Do the others know about-"
"No, just me. I was there. You don't remember me."
>"Well, you're right, I don't remember you, and I don't want to remember my past."
"I'm not gonna badger you or anything, but I'm just curious as to what happened those days."

The man stayed quiet and continued to clean some of his mugs with a piece of cloth. I couldn't read his face if he was annoyed, angry or just plain neutral. He looked around to see if there were any other people around besides me. 

>"My story ain't worth sharing. I don't want to remember how I got hooked, I don't want to remember about the days when-"
"I'm not interested in the extended past, Mr. Donut. I'm just interested in what happened with your family."
>"My...family?"
"Wife and kids? Every ex-junkie's story is always the same. They get hooked, their lives are ruined, family leaves them and they either continue to sniff or go to rehab to turn their life around. The question is, what did you do AFTER rehab?"

Joe looked at a family photo hidden from behind his counter. He had a wife and two children. Nothing out of the ordinary, but he still loved them.

>"Why do you care so much?"
"Like I said, making conversation with a man I once knew from the church rehab center. You're like an old classmate of mine or something." I say, chuckling.

Joe scratched his head. 

>"Well, it's not really much. Truth is, my wife was the one that got me to rehab after we agreed to separate for the children's sake. Things weren't that easy back then. I nearly became alcoholic too, but I pulled through, even after the effects of sudden withdrawal. It took me two months, but I managed to find a job here in the indie donut business. The hardest part was paying back my wife for all the bills I amounted from being a sufferable lowlife during my bad life."
"How'd you manage to afford this place if you were out of cash?"
>"The building was owned by my dad, given to my brother, to which my brother rented to me for a cheap price. I loaned from the bank and in a year, paid 80% of my debt. It was hard work, but it was nothing to me compared to the joy I felt when I was away from the drugs. The feeling of freedom was great. My wife still hasn't come back to me, but she hasn't left me for another guy yet. Still have the wedding ring here, see?"
"That's great."
>"Yeah. Once I turn this place into a bar, I'm gonna go and try to get back with her again."
"What about your kids?"
>"Well, my wife tried to hide the truth, but they're smart kids. They knew about my drug habit. My daughter found it easy to sympathize while my eldest son was a bit suspicious over my short recovery. In time, I'll have my family and my dream back."
"I'm glad your life's looking good, Joe. Cheers to that." I say, holding my second coffee mug.
>"Heck yeah."
*ClinK*
>"What about you?"
"M e?"
>"Yeah. Didn't you say you were in rehab with me?"
I took a sip from my cup.

"Let's just say old habits die hard."
>"You gotta stop it with that stuff, girl. It will ruin your life."

I pay the man his fee and nodded.

"Trust me, there are more lives out here that are worse than mine."

I should know. I ruined theirs.
I left the place after a customer finally arrived for his nightly cup-o-joe. Joe was a pleasant man to talk to, and for a guy with a gruff demeanour, he was nice. A couple of blocks walking, I managed to bump into a man I thought I would've have to wait till the next day to talk to. A man my classmates nicknamed 'Scruffy', 'El-Janitoro' and 'Sombrero'. He's an ex Spanish teacher and former academic head many years before. He's Janitor Sombra. From what I know from the man, he was a guy involved in a drug incident that only a few students today know about. He even knew Principal Celestia back when she was still the guidance counsellor. Probably had a fling, I don't know. Right know, he's talking to another ex-teacher in the junkyard. A man named Discord. Now this guy left the school not because of drugs, but because of some really obscure offense that even he doesn't want people knowing. The two are fairly close as friends. As the minutes pass by, Discord leaves to parts unknown, and Sombra bids farewell. I take the opportunity to try and talk to him. 

"Ola, Sombra. Got a bunch of boxes there. Need any help?"
>"Gracias, girl. I could use the help. My house isn't too far off from here." He says with a nice smile.

I grab the two boxes and went on to escort the old man to wherever he lives. 

>"So what are you doing at this hour? The sun had just set."
"I'm secretly a drug dealer who just so happened to walk by."
>"Haha. Right, and I'm the rightful heir to Camelot's throne."
"Well you could be. Camelot's only a model now."

We both laugh.

"So, you know the junkyard man?"
>"I do. Old friend of mine."
"Wasn't he an old teacher in the school?"
>"Hah, I wouldn't know much about that. He doesn't like talking about it."
"Figures. What about you?"
>"Hmm?"
"Well, I kinda heard that you were an ex teacher in the school years ago."
>"Now where would you hear such a tale?"
"A few students here left and right."
>"Well, I'll have to admit, they thought of me more highly than I remember. Haha."

Sombra leads me to the school's back yard, and by back yard, I mean the track field. There's a small trailer close by and then he asked me to put down the boxes near it.

"This is where you live?"
>"Surprised?"
"Proximity-wise, yes. It's so close to the school." 
>"Helps with my job and my  sleep
"I don't...I mean, I was expecting someone like you to be living in an apartment. Don't you have enough money for an apartment?" 
>" The principal was gracious enough to give me the privilege to park it here."
I've lived here for years, and only now did I find out that Sombra lives in the school. More specifically in a small trailer not too far from the school's backyard. 

"Jeez."
>"Just put 'em there."
I set down the boxes and sat down by the rocks, pretending to be tired. I looked up to the aging man and asked him a question.
"So, what did you mean about what you said? Weren't you a teacher?"
>"In my dreams, I was. Truth is, I'm was only a simple desk typist and archiver. I did teach some spanish to a few kids, but it was just a casual thing."
"So what got you into the janitor business? I mean, isn't a desk job more...prestigious than this?"
>"It's a long story."
"I'm all ears."
>"Ho ho. That's a first. Why so interested?"
"Truth is, I've heard rumors. Rumors of you getting fired due to a drug-related incident."
>"I see. You from the Journalism club?"
"More or less. If you want, I could keep this one off the record. I'm more or less curious."
>"Well, whether or not the people would know, I guess it doesn't really matter."
"So what happened?"
>"Before I tell, I'll ask you. What do you think happened?"
"Hmm?"
>"Come on, who do you think I am? Legitimate question." He says with a calm voice.
"Well, I think that you simply walked through a bad route when you were a drug addict, and you got lucky when the principal still gave you a job."
>"That it, then?"
"W-Well, yeah."

The man lets lose a laugh so loud it scared off the squirrels.

>"That's a lovely story. A bit too much if you ask me."
"What then?"
>"Five years ago, I was an office worker for the school. You know, record and print stuff. Nothing prestigious, a bit tedious but it gets the job and the grade pay done. Then one day, the spanish teacher got sick for a week so the school hired a subsitute teacher. Now here's the thing. The substitute teacher was a bit of a creepy-looking guy. One day I found him alone with a student selling...well...a packet of something. One thing led to another and I got framed for drug peddling. Turns out that the guy was smart enough to think of a failsafe by planting some of his stash near my small office. It was a complete embarrassment for the school. Luckily, there was little evidence to incriminate me or the substitute, so he got off scott-free while I got sacked without criminal offense."
"What happened to that kid who bought the goods?"
>"Don't know. He never said a word even when he was threatened expulsion. Pretty sure he transferred out."
"No police involvement?"
>"No. The principal didn't want it. She didn't believe that I did it, but she had no choice."
"Then...you left the school?"
>"For a while. Only came back two years ago. She was nice enough to offer me a job. I was already a thief by then, stealing purses, trying to survive. After the job offer, I laid low, happy enough to be making a decent wage."
"So then all that was just...a misunderstanding?"
>"More or less."
"...How do I know you're not just trying to save reputation by telling me a false story?"
>"That's for you to decide. A story's only a story if no one believes it. Do you?"
"I know a liar when I see one."

I stood up from the ground and walked back home, but not before looking back one last time.

"...and you're not one. I hope one day you find some justice for that."
>"Why would you believe me, girl?"
"Because I've been lying all my life, and I know a deceiver when I see one."

Sombra tips his cap as he goes inside his trailer. He was right about his story, save for one detail. The truth is, I already knew his story from Principal Celestia, but she didn't tell me directly. I found it in her journal. She made alot of deals just to keep old Sombra off prison. They were really close friends, and she knew he was innocent. Damage control was another thing, and she had to act fast, which caused Sombra's downfall, something she never forgave herself for. The journal I found was simply a plus one to a job I had near the school. I needed the records to the school's security system and just happened upon her journal. Now why would I ask the man about his story if I already knew about it? It's an intriguing story when told by someone, but from the mouth of one of the characters in the story, it's a different thing. Drug peddling was a serious business, and he could've ended up in jail if it weren't for Celestia hiding evidence to save his ass from a prison-sentence. Whether or not it was from a guilty conscience or to save the school from bad publicity, it saved Sombra from another horrible life. Joe on the other hand, was another case. Truth be told, I never met him in some rehab or a church. 
He was my client.
He never recognized me because I wore a mask and several other things like goggles, dark-yellow duster, a black mask and a russian hat. In fact,  Joe never mentioned his family or his trouble until the day he had to bid me farewell. He was one of my close customers so we had some sort of friendship in that time. Once he guilt-tripped me, I wore another disguise and, one thing after another, I managed to guilt trip him by tipping his wife off about his habits. . He never figured out who I was, or how his wife found out, but we both got him into rehab. It was the day I found my weakness. My job was...illegal, but I still had my sympathy for the others. I lost a client that day. In retrospect, it wasn't much of a loss profit-wise. Time and time again, I'd go through the same phase over and over. Morality is such a nuisance to my job. Then again, I deserve the torture anyway. Joe reminded me of redemption. Sombra reminded me of second chances. I don't deserve neither. I've done worse things. I've killed people, smuggled goods, sold both. Funny thing about the two was that they were both connected to me, in a way.  Perhaps it was fate that brought me to talk to these fine people. To remind me that I'm not too far down the rabbit hole, that I could still climb out of it. The stars up in the sky reminds me of my dream.  The old lady was right about one thing. I prosper from other people's misery, and there is no redemption for me if I keep on working with this job of mine.

Even if I did stop, someone else will take my place.

Arriving home, it was already 9:00. I finished the three page article in less than two hours. It consisted of a slightly-changed summary of Joe and Sombra's lives and sent the article to Soarin's e-mail account. However, I changed both their names to protect their private lives. Wouldn't want Joe to lose some of his student customers if they were too politically correct to accept coffee from an ex-junkie.
 I stared out the night sky and changed my clothes into my...business outfit. One more bandage change to my bullet wound. One more night to survive. Don't know what I'd expect tonight. I thought to myself maybe I'll meet another Joe like Joe. Maybe I'd meet another poor sap like Sombra. As I finished tending to my wound, I looked at my mirror and saw my reflection as I slowly covered it with a ski mask with a hole, and a pair of goggles. An ushanka to top it all off. 

The night will repeat as always for me. My job is what defines me. At least, that's what I believe. Today I saw some of the life of an ex junkie and a man framed by a junkie. Such is the life in this line of work.  My false name is Mary Sweetleaf.  My profession is freelance.  I am a killer, a smuggler, a seller. I'm a teenage orphan with a grade A average, I'm a two-bit backstabber with a 30K volt stun gun, I'm a daylight reporter and a nighttime stalker. I'm living the dream, I'm a living hawker.