>Mother was never proud of you.
>It was always Incognito, your older brother, that she was proud of.
>The saddest part is that you can understand why.
>His trumpet playing was unmatched by anypony else.
>No other unicorn could muster the speed and coordination that his fingers could.
>Under mother’s strict tutelage he excelled.
>You however did not.
>The scales, the bleeding fingers, endless study.
>You hated it.
>It’s not that you hated music though, you loved music as much as they did, but…
>It wasn’t about theory for you, four four time was good enough you thought.
>You didn’t want to compose pieces, masterful or otherwise.
>You never wanted greatness.
>Or to be perfect.
>All you wanted was just for anypony to like your music.
>For her to like your music…
>But she never did.
>And so you decided it was best for yourself to part ways.
>Incognito begged you to stay.
>Said he would work with you, teach you everything you needed to learn.
>You told him there was nothing they could tech that you needed to learn.
>Just what they wanted you to learn.
>He gave you a proud smile and a firm hug.
>”Good luck out there brother, I know you will do great things.”
>He meant well, but he never did understand..
>He was just like mother in that regard.
>It’s not about greatness for you, it’s about sharing the songs in your heart with the world.
>Through your guitar, and your voice.
>Aunt Scratch took you in with open hooves.
>Despite her crazy look, she knew a lot of ponies in high places.
 
>And with her help your music reached thousands all over Equestria.
>Every concert you held was sold out.
>”You must be so proud! He’s broken multiple records!” reporters would ask your mother after you won something.
>She always responded the same, “no comment.”
>Her response to your brother’s accomplishments could have been considered the opposite, the reporters had to cut her off.
>It hurt deeply each time, but you used that pain to drive you.
>Shared it with your audience.
>Let them cry, laugh, smile, and rage alongside you.
>And for a time that was good.
>But then Incognito died.
>He was on the chariot to his next performance when there was a freak storm.
>You rushed home as soon as possible.
>Mother was a sobbing heap.
>Her black mane was soaked with tears.
>Bowtie partially torn away from her neck.
>You tried to help her, but she would only lash out at you.
>”My arthritis has taken my cello from me… the world has taken my son from me… what do I have left now?”
>Your heart was broken.
>She didn’t even acknowledge you.
>That made two members of your family. Lost.
>You stayed home, making sure she ate, that she was cared for by somepony.
>Aunt Scratch offered to hire someone to do it, but you turned her down.
>You knew it was only to try getting you back to making music.
>But your aunt is nothing if not persistent.
>”You’ve got some serious talent Anon! Listen, I’ve seen some bad things go down on someponies, things they don’t come back from. You’re strong though ‘Non, I know you can come back from this, that you can use this!”
 
”Use? USE?! This is my brother we’re talking about Vinyl! How could you ask me to use his passing!?”
>She jumped back a bit at your outburst.
>But she recovered and gave you a small knowing smile.
>As if this isn’t the first time she’d dealt with this.
>She takes off her glasses and looks up at you with her piercing pink eyes.
>"In his memory you dummy, do you think ’Neato would want you to stop making music because of him?”
>You started looking through his notes, and found the latest piece he had been working on.
>It was very little, just a few notes, but you could already feel the weight behind them.
>The potential lost in the emptiness.
>And so you had set to work...
 
>”And now fillies and gentlecolts for the first time in two years, the moment you’ve all been waiting for… Anonymous the human!”
>You walk slowly onto the stage, guitar in hand.
>The cheers of the small crowd was comforting somewhat.
>Aunt Scratch set up the whole thing when you told her you had written one song.
>Just a small event to get you up to speed again.
>You take your seat on the stool prepared for you.
>And stare out into the crowd.
>A wave of multi-colored ponies, gryphons, and minotaurs sit before you, all eagerly awaiting.
>All but two ponies at the front of the audience.
>One gray earth pony looks extremely disgusted and the other, a white unicorn assuring the gray pony.
>The sight digs at you somewhat, but you swallow it down and begin plucking the strings of your guitar.
>Lazily at first.
 
>Working away the stage fright.
>Soon enough you find the pace you want and start plucking away to the start of your song.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xPBDALW70dI
“Brother do you believe in an afterlife.”
>The crowd settles down immedaitely at your first word.
>You made no effort to hide your intent with this song.
>Just tell your feelings.
>As you always have.
>But now you have two years worth, and in a way a lifetime’s worth of feeling to express.
”Brother don’t grow up.”
”Brother please never… grow up.”
>If you had stayed, then...
>You look out into the crowd.
>Their expressions are mixed, but the feeling of understanding comes through it all.
>You’re not the only one to have lost family after all.
>Your mother’s face remains uninterested, while your aunt is elbowing her and pointing up at you.
>Then the drums begin pounding away, and the trumpet player plays while you strum along more forcefully.
>Mother recognizes it instantly.
>It’s what Incognito had left unfinished.
>Her eyes widen as you move on to the next verse.
“Just hold out against the night.”
“And guard your hope with your life.”
“For the darkness, she will come.”
“Oh and you have nowhere left to run.”
>You don’t know who you’re singing to anymore; the crowd, your brother, your mother, or yourself.
>In a way it feels like all four.
 
>Mother looks speechless.
>Aunt Scratch is putting a forearm around her withers.
“Oh but your eyes are wider than mine, but they’ll never see.”
“Just hope that age does not erase all that you’ve seen.”
>Her purple eyes summer with fresh tears and her hoof goes over her mouth.
“Don’t let bitterness become you.”
”Your only hopes are within you.”
>Your arms feel heavy.
>Your vision is blurring.
>And it takes all the effort you have to keep your voice steady as you sing.
>You can see aunt Scratch rub a hoof under her glasses.
>The gentle sobs coming from the crowd help ease you as you strum along.
>Knowing that you can share yourself with them again feels right, it feels natural.
“Just hold out against the night…”
“Guard your hope with your life…"
>The silence hangs in the air for a time.
>Gentle sniffles and sobs can be heard at times.
>You rise from your stool and bow to the crowd.
>They begin cheering, and the small crowd sounds a hundred times louder than they should.
>You wipe your eyes free of tears and see your happily mother stomping along, tears streaming her face.
>Aunt Scratch is whooping and hollering as she usually does.
>You present the drummer and trumpeter as well before making your way off stage.
>There awaits your aunt and mother.
>”Non, you absolutely killed it out there! Oh! Damn… wait! I mean…”
“It’s okay Aunt Scratch, I know what you mean.”
>She gives you a meek smile and pats your lower back.
>A little forcefully.
>Enough that you move forward some.
>Closer to your mother.
>”Welp… I’ve gott go do… uh, things. Concert ending things…”
 
>She trots of with a wide grin on her face.
>And now you’re standing alone with the one pony who stopped acknowledging you as her son for a good chunk of your life.
>In awkward silence…
>”Anonymous?”
“Yes …mother?”
>”You were slightly flat during the second chorus.”
“Oh… sorry, I was-“
>”Perhaps if you were to practice… with me… I could help you steady your pitch. If you would like my help that is…”
“Do you mean that?”
>”Of course I do. Anonymous, I was wrong to have turned away from you. I never knew that one could convey such power with simplicity. Perhaps very few musicians like you can… and you are on the verge of something gr-“
“Mother, stop!”
>She jumps back from your outburst.
“You don’t understand! You never did… I don’t want greatness. I just want to have ponies listen to me… I just wanted you to listen to me…”
>”Anonymous, I… I think I understand… This is against everything I know, but… for you, I will try to just listen. My son.”
>You fall to your knees and pull your mother into a sobbing hug.
>She holds you close and you cry tears of joy, for the family that you’ve gotten back again.