Waltzing Matilda

Someone Posted this in the AiE thread awhile back.


>You’ve heard this song before.
>Tribute bands. How horrifying.
>It’s about to end, and you’re up next.
>Your name is Anonymous.
>And a lot of things have changed. You’re not sure how you came to this world of talking ponies, but it was a mixed blessing.
>You’re young, you’re full of energy, and you’ve been given a new start.
>You owe your new start to a unicorn named Twilight. She reminded a lot of a girl you were sweet on, back in grammar school. And she wanted to know everything about your old life and what it was like back on earth.
>And you had no problem telling her everything you could.
>…
>Except a few unsavory details.
>But it’s all okay now. You’re pretty friendly with three quarters of the town. It wasn’t hard
>Now here you are. At the end of the Summer Sun festival, with all your friends, all of you enjoying the fine vintage cider Applejack has cooked up.
>You were to be the last act. You and three other the first, playing the accordion, the second on the drums, the third on bass, and you on the banjo. You felt your song needed some brass, but that was kind of hard considering ponies don’t have fingers.
>Regardless of how many times you’ve sung back home, you still feel your stomach tie into a knot.
>You’ve spent several months writing this song. You’ve always been good at singing song, but you were shit at writing them.
>But then again, you wanted this song to be perfect. It had to be.
>There’s a lot of history behind it.
>Twilight is standing next to you watching the band play and tapping her hoof along with the beat.
>You back your chair up slightly and turn it around, to make your way to the table with all the cider.
>You barely make it a few feet before Twilight notices you rolling off.
>”Anon?”
>She catches up and walks along with you to the stand.
>”Are you alright?”
Wha? Yeah, I’m fine.
>”Nerves?”
>You smile.
Yeah.
>You tuck your banjo on the back of your chair and pour yourself a pint.
>”So are you going to tell me what this songs about?”
>You stop mid gulp and shake your head.
I think you can wait a few minutes.
>She pouts.
>There’s a slight awkward silence, before the band finishes up. The sound of cheering tells your boys back stage to start getting ready while the other band packs up.
Twilight…
>”Yeah Anon?”
Do you know why I never told you how I got like this?
>She looks over at you. And her expression goes from confusion to worry.
>She replies by shaking her head.
And do you ever wonder why there are bits of my life that I’ve never told you about?
>She cover her mouth with her hoof and shakes her head again.
>”And for tonight’s finishing act, The Rovers!”
>You give deep sigh.
Tonight… You’re gonna find out…
>Twilight remains silent as you wheel your way through the crowd.
>Ponies look back to see you coming and immediately move out of the way.
>Your heart is pounding out of your chest.
>You’ve rehearsed the instrumental, but you’ve never actually done any singing
>You’ve rehearsed the instrumental, but you’ve never actually done any singing.
>Maybe that was a mistake.
>Maybe it was, but it’s too late to go back.
>The people coordinating the festival were kind enough to put a ramp onto the stage.
>You’ve tuned your banjo. You’ve rehearsed a dozen times. You’re ready.
>You stop in front of the microphone and bring it down to your level; you smile as a few ponies chuckle in the crowd
>The Minotaur who just sand, clearly has no manners.
>you pause and look into the crowd to see Twilight looking at you with that same look of worry.
>You clear your throat.
Friends. There’s a story that I need to tell, I story not only of how I came to be this way. But of how many more came to be like me, and of how many more weren't so lucky.
>The band begins to play. And after a few notes, you begin to sing.

When I was a young man I carried my pack
And I lived the free life of a rover
From the Murrays green basin to the dusty outback
I waltzed my Matilda all over
Then in nineteen fifteen my country said Son
It's time to stop rambling
'cause there's work to be done
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun
And they sent me away to the war
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we sailed away from the quay
And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the cheers
We sailed off to Gallipoli

>The sound of your boys, playing right along with you, keep the little metronome in you ticking
>But you feel yourself getting distracted.
>Your nose itches, it's getting that itch that the spray of the ocean gives you.
>And your stomach is churning. If the stage wasn't rocking back and forth like that fucking ship, then maybe you could focus.

How well I remember that terrible day
the blood stained the sand and the water
And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter
Johnny Turk he was ready, he primed himself well
He showered us with bullets, and he rained us with shells

>Damn it not now!
>How the hell are you suppose to sing with that ringing in your ears!?

And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell
Nearly blew us right back to Australia
But the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we stopped to bury our slain
And we buried ours and the Turks buried theirs
Then started all over again

>You feel sick again.
>The smell of blood, shit and powder fills your nose.
>You can't throw up now.! You can't, you need to keep playing! Just keep singing!

Now those who were living
did their best to survive
In mad world of death blood and fire
And for seven long weeks I kept myself alive
But around me the corpses piled higher
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over tit
And when I woke up in my hospital bed
And saw what it had done, I wished I was dead
Never knew there were worse things than dying

>There's that ringing again in your ears.

For no more I'll go waltzing Matilda
All around the green bush far and near
For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs two legs
No more waltzing Matilda for me

So they collected the cripples, the wounded, the maimed
And they shipped us back home to Australia
The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla
And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay
I looked at the place where my legs used to be

>You can feel your stomach turn again.
>Only it's worse.
>Like you've been strapped to a bed and kept there while some damned ship throws you around.

And thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me
To grieve and to mourn and to pity
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As they carried us down the gangway
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared
Then turned all their faces away

And now every April I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me
And I watch my old comrades, how proudly they march
Reliving old dreams of past glory
And the old men march slowly, all bent, stiff and sore

>You can feel the warm summer air brush your face.
>You're almost tempted to stop playing and reach for your whiskey and soda next to your chair.

The forgotten heroes from a forgotten war
And the young people ask, "What are they marching for?"
And I ask myself the same question
And the band plays Waltzing Matilda
And the old men answer to the call
But year after year their numbers get fewer
Some day no one will march there at all

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
Who'll go a waltzing Matilda with me?


>What's wrong with your drummer? You're not playing a marching song. What is he doing?
>You're not marching in a parade!
>With the last note, you open your eyes and look into the crowd. You can hear ponies sniffling and whimpering.
>But all you really care about is, finding Twilight.
>Where in the world did she go?
>You start to feel your stomach turn again. This isn't good, you can't just throw up on stage.
>The sniffling and whimpering continues as you set your instrument down next to your chair.
>You turn your chair to the right and wheel your way toward the ramp.
>There's a growing energy to the crowd.
>The sound of hoof beats begins to rise, and it only gets louder as you wheel your way off the stage.
>You just need to go home.
>Your ears are ringing, your stomach is turning and you nose is filled with a rotten odor, that you've only smelt once before.
>"Anon!"
>You stop slightly
>"Anon *sniff* w-where are you going?"
I have to get home Twilight...
>"W-why?"
>You pause.
I've told you now Twilight. Now you know everything...
>"A-Anon please..."
Twilight... I need to get some sleep. I have to get up early...
>You start to wheel yourself back to your house.
The parade is tomorrow...