I live in a land far away from Ponyville. Actually, "Lived" would be a better word. I spent several of my foal years in an old shack by the sea. Other ponies called it Shetland, I called it home. My "home" consisted of a small, 20 foot by 20 foot shack that almost had a roof on it, divided down the middle by one wall. I am not quite sure what my birth name is, though my brother (who was my primary caregiver) always called me Pitch.

Which would make sense considering his name is Treble. If you guessed that he would be a singer-pony then you my friend get a cookie. He sang in dives mostly, he was blackballed by all of the major nightclubs for refusing to sing "Danny Colt" years ago. I always wondered why he didn't sing that one damn song, instead he put himself (and me, but I would never dare say it) through unneeded hardships. The little money he made always went to making sure that I was reasonably clean and never once in my childhood did I ever go hungry. He went hungry many times just to make sure that I didn't and if we ever had problems with each other I would always remember that fact.

As far as arguments and fights went he was always right. Our parents were not in the picture as far as I can recall, though I did ask Treble about them once; he told me to shut my mouth and mind my business.

One thing unique about Shetland: It always rained. Without fail. This was great growing up because if somepony ever felt sad they could just walk outside and cry. Let loose every bad feeling and just cry. The rain would wash it away before anypony would notice your tears and you could continue on your day. Whenever Treble and I had a bad fight I would go outside and stand in the rain for a couple hours, and when I came in for the night Treble would scold me for staying out in the cold so long and then tuck me into bed. Every night he would tuck me into bed and tell me that he loved me and would always be there for me.

Treble had a friend. This pony's name was Lollipop. I swear to Celestia, I can't make this stuff up. It might have been a nickname, but that was always what Treble would call him. He was a bright pink Earth pony with a shockingly neon-blue mane. He also never had received his cutiemark, which is understandable as he was a bit of a slacker. He was at least five years older than my brother and always had a lollipop sticking out of his mouth. I guess that cracks the mystery of where his name came from. He was always talking a big game, planning on getting famous; etc, etc.

He wanted to be my brother's manager, in itself not a bad thing; but he was always getting into trouble with the law. He got kicked out of his mother's house after the 8th time of being picked up by the boys in blue. He would always crash at our shack after being arrested. Eventually, the police would drop him off at our doorstep every time. Despite all of his faults Lollipop was an okay pony to be around. He was always nice to me but annoyingly would always call me, "Treble's foal brother." That grated my nerves as a colt but he meant no harm in it. Every time I saw him he would also give me a lollipop out of his apparently endless hoard of candies.

One day my brother came close to shattering our door as he rushed inside. He had a cell phone in his hand, which was uncommon as he never splurged on anything. He was talking hurriedly on his phone to someone, but I could not hear what exactly was being said. Just as quickly as he came, Treble ran out the door once again leaving behind dust in the wind. Needless to say, I was confused. Once he came back, looking exhausted an expression I had never seen on his face before I asked him what was wrong.

"Lollipop's is in the hospital," Treble said.

"Why?"

"He got into an accident."

At this point I was suspicious. Lollipop never got hurt. Ever. He was unstoppable, a freak of nature (if you're feeling dramatic) and he couldn't even be slowed down. We both left to go see Lollipop at the hospital and when I saw his face I felt like crying. Rather than the vibrant, round, cheerful pink that it usually was, his face was a contorted mess of blue, black and purple mixed into one giant bruise. All this wrapped into a large bandage that covered his jaw up to his skull, only leaving room to see his eye and a couple inches lower from it. He opened one bloodshot eye at me and croaked, "It's nice to see a...friendly...face." coughing between words as he said so.

"Hey kid."

"Yeah, Lollipop?"

"I got in trouble a lot."

"Yeah?"

"Am I a good pony?"

"What do you mean?"

"I realize (cough) that my activities might have (cough) given you a bad impression of me (cough)."

"You were always nice to me."

"Thanks Pitch."

The mare in charge forced my brother and I to leave after that. The next morning I heard my brothers cell phone ring. I pressed my ear against the wall to hear the conversation on the other side. After several seconds of intense focus I could finally hear the call.

"-m sorry for your loss, funeral preparations will begin within a week and we will need you to-"

All I heard next was the phone crashing against the wall and probably shattering. I laid in my bed and cried. "Thanks Pitch" was the last thing he had said to me. It was also the first time he had called me by my name. That thought alone had me burrowing my head into my pillow and sobbing uncontrollably. After an hour or two I had cried myself out and left my room to see where Treble was. I could not find him anywhere in the house. That is, until I looked out the window.

Through the thick pouring drops of water I could see Treble sitting on his haunches and even though he was at least 30 feet away I could see his shoulders shake. This was the first time I had ever seen him break his composure, and it was the first time I saw him in the rain.