(Bat) A Feeling of Finality - 2

>The chirping of birds fills your ears as your eyes crack open.
>You feel unrested, almost like you overslept.
>The room around you is incredibly blurred, almost as if you were blind.
>That was kind of normal, considering the way you felt.
>Speck must have already gotten up, as you couldn't feel her weight against you.
>Last night must have been an amazing party.
>The wedding was incredible in and of itself.
>You blink, and a slight feeling of dread starts to wash over you.
>As your vision slowly returns, you notice that you aren't in your bedroom, nor any room of your house.
>Several monitors are hooked up to your chest and fingers.
>Several waste tubes are also hooked up to your body.
>What happened last night?
>You try to lift your head, but the muscles in your neck refuse to answer.
>The same happens with your abdomen, as you try to sit up.
>It's almost like a paralysis.
>Panic starts to set in, until someone walks into the room.
>Her soft voice soothes you.
>"Well. Good morning, sleepyhead."
>You try to crane your neck to get a look at her, but your muscles refuse.
>"Let me help you with that."
>A button clicks on the side of your bed.
>You feel your head and abdomen rise into a sitting position as the bed rises beneath you.
>Your breathing intensifies as panic encroaches you once more.
>What stands before you is not a pony, but another human being.
>"Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."
>The woman sits on a small stool beside your bed.
>"Do you remember me?"
>You notice how dry your throat and mouth feel as you open your mouth to say no, but shake your head instead.
>"Well, either way, welcome back to the world of the living."

>You feel sick to your stomach.
>Her voice is a sickeningly sweet nectar that threatens to poison your mind.
>This was all just a dream.
>Just a horrible dream.
>You were going to wake up soon and be back with your family.
>Your friends, your loved ones, your p0nies.
>You were going to wake up any minute now with Speck in your arms.
>But, something that scratches at the back of your mind tells you otherwise.
>That scratching almost forces you to turn your head to the right.
>The air you breathe catches in your throat as you see a small picture of you and your friends.
>The same picture you found in that tower in Canterlot.
>So many questions were racing through your mind.
>Where were you?
>Who was this woman?
>Why was that picture here?
>"Are you alright?"
>You turn your head back to her, and only now do you focus on her traits.
>She has pale skin, almost like it's rarely been touched by the sun.
>Dull orange hair, almost the color of a dying leaf.
>Dark blue eyes, something close to a turquoise.
>She raises an eyebrow.
>"Can you speak yet?"
>After a failed attempt, you shake your head.
>She offers you a glass of water.
>"Are you thirsty?"
>You nod and take it from her.
>As the cool liquid flows down your throat, she takes your hand in hers.
>Almost reflexively, you squeeze her hand.
>She has a very comfortable presence, and you can't explain why.
"Where am I?"
>"You're in a hospital. We found you unconscious in an alley a few weeks ago."
>A few weeks ago.
>The last thing you remember is the wedding, when you kissed Speck.

"A few weeks..."
>"Mhm. We found some things on you. Someone that said they knew you brought that picture."
"Who? Who knows me? I haven't been in this world in years!"
>She giggles and shrugs.
>"Don't know. They just came up to the front desk and asked to put that picture in here.
"I... I need to talk to the Princesses. Where are they?"
>"Princesses? Oh! You mean the stuff in your journal. Quite a story, I have to say. Ever think of getting it published?"
"It's not a story! It's my life!"
>"Mhm. You authors sure do get crazy about your stories. But, we don't have any princesses here. This isn't... "Equestria," I think you called it."
>The realization of it all hits you like a freight train.
>They were gone.
>It was all gone.
>You strain to speak.
"Where is it?"
>Your raspy voice scratches at your ears.
>"Where is... what?"
>The woman stares at you with a very quizzical look.
"My journal! Where is it?!"
>She nervously points to the table beside your bed.
>You lean over and grab it, flipping it open to a blank page.
>Any blank page would do.
>Your hand swiped across the page, readying to write.
"I need a pen."
>Your voice went from one of anger and confusion, to calm and melancholy.
>Writing.
>That was your stabilizer.
>The nurse handed you a pen, and you started to write.

>You write, and you write.
>Every single word that you scratch into your journal details every day, every minute you spent in Equestria.
>Not a single detail is missed, not a single moment forgotten.
>You write without stopping, long into the night and through the next day.
>By your third night without sleep, you've written everything from when you first met Speck, until the very last moment that you saw her.
>Each page is stained by your near-constant tears, be they tears of joy, sadness, or anger.
>And as you finish writing, as you place that final period on that final page, you look up, and out the window.
>The moon hangs low as if to taunt you.
>It stares at you, and all you can do is stare back.
>The memories you shared with your batp0ny.
>The memories created with her and your filly.
>All of it, captured and detailed between the gibberish that the girl had written.
>With wide eyes and a stern jaw, you nod silently with a smile.
>Even as your tears pour down your cheeks, you smile.
>Because that is all you can do.
>She wouldn't have wanted it any other way.
>And you wouldn't trade any of it for the world.
>The journal falls closed as you set it in your lap.
>Your thumb, however, catches between the final pages.
>Almost as if something screams at you to do it, you turn the very last page over.
>A very short message, in almost illegible writing, reveals itself.
>Your sadness comes back in full force, causing you to cry harder than you've cried in a very long time.
>A very familiar phrase is scratched into the page.
>"Even though, someday, we might be gone, we'll always be with you.
>Love,
>Speck and Sirocca."
>The journal drops into your lap, your head dropping into your hands as you cry.
"I love you, too."