Midnight Highway

>It's almost midnight.
>You're driving home from work on the highway.
>You got off from work at 9, but you decided to ride around town for a bit.
>Stopping at various locations and enjoying the views.
>Mixing up the mundane is always refreshing.
>Helps keep the crippling sadness away.
>Last girlfriend you had treated you like shit.
>That was years ago now.
>Your friends aren't people you can share your deepest secrets with either.
>So you've been emotionally alone for a while.
>Life has been pretty shitty.

>You've always been an emotional kind of guy.
>It never helped when a girl would show any form of kindness and for days you'd wonder if it was interest or not.
>It's a quality you wish you never had, because it just makes life harder.
>Gaining small attachments to lady friends is like putting a piece of you in every decent girl you meet.
>That piece is at the mercy of their decisions, so usually, you end up losing a part of you.
>Metaphorically of course, what a world it would be if people were constantly flinging themselves at people.
>If the 'things' were ethereal, involuntary and people could observe them, maybe the world would be a more compassionate place.
>But enough philosophy and existentialism.
>The task at hand is still afoot.
>Driving home.

>As one of your favorite calming songs comes to an end, you turn the stereo off in your car.
>Who knew arranging songs and burning CDs could bring about such relaxing emotion?
>Ahead of you, the rolling hills of asphalt and yellow paint fly by as you speed along towards your highway exit.
>You look into the oncoming lane, admiring the yellow orbs that float past in the night.
>But, two seem to be following a different path than the others.
>As the orb's container billows through the shrubbery separating the separate lanes, realization courses through you.
>You swerve hard to avoid the advancing aluminum box but your fate has already been decided.
>You hear a loud crash just before everything goes black.

>Are you dead?
>You question your continued ability to process thought.
>Well, logic states that you must be alive to process thought.
>So, alive you are.
>After a small moment, your lack of visual processing is interrupted by sudden visual processing.
>A blinding light pierces your pupils.
>You crash onto something hard.
>Something cold.
>Something...
>Marble.
>You're laying face down.
>You push yourself off of the surface and take a look.
>A look that you can finally comprehend.
>The floor is made out of tiled marble.
>Wait.
>No.
>This can't be...

>Your attention is stolen by a commotion in the distance.
>"Be ready for anything!" someone screams.
>Your eyes dart around the tile while you try to figure out the situation.
>Oh, it must be because of you.
>You're obviously an intruder in this-
>You lose train of thought as you begin to take in your surroundings.
>You're in a castle, it seems.
>Cartoony tapestries hang from the ceilings and trace regally across the walls.
>To your right, a large staircase decorated with a red carpet stands proud.
>The carpet carves a path through the room you currently occupy.
>It splits in four directions, one being the stairs you followed the carpet's path from.
>A large yellow star embedded in the embroidery of the carpet resides in the middle of the room.
>No.
>This shouldn't be possible.
>There is no explanation for these events.
>It hits you.
>There's one.
>You remember before you awoke.
>The crash.
>Gears turning in your head grind slowly.
>Galloping of hooves can be heard closing distance.
>It's true it seems.
>Or is it just a figment of your dying imagination?
>A Valhalla that can be revoked harshly from your pleading hands at any moment?

>The galloping stops ahead of you.
>You look up and lock eyes with the being that came to a stop.
>You stare in disbelief as a brown, cartoon-like pony in golden armor stares back at you with ferocity.
>"Found it!", the pony yells, tilting its head back towards where it entered, while still maintaining eye contact.
>It's real.
>The gears in your head finally come to a smooth stop.
>You're here.
>You're actually here.
>But, for how long?
>How long can a dying brain hallucinate for?
>And how long will that translate to time spent here?
>Your eyes glaze over as your head collides hard with the floor.
>"He's incapacitated!"

>Are you dead?
>No, not yet.
>Relief washes over you.
>Maybe...
>Maybe, if you've regained consciousness again, you aren't actually dying.
>Or maybe, regaining consciousness just reinforces that sad truth.
>You open your eyes and look up at the ceiling.
>Taking up the majority of your vision, is a massive white unicorn, garbed in royal regalia, standing next to you.
>On closer inspection, she possesses wings neatly folded to her side.
>Her mane, flowing in an ethereal fashion, suspends itself just as mysteriously.
>As you look to her eyes, hers respond in kind.
>Your vision clouds with refracting light.
>Tears stream down your cheeks.
>You jump up and wrap your arms around the royal ponies neck.
>Startled, she lets out a very appropriate horse noise.
>She asks, "What is wrong, strange being?"
>Your tear's flow is only increased by the feeling of soft hair caressing your face as you cry into the winged unicorn's chest.
>You sniffle and prepare to speak through your current emotion.
"I'm...I'm..."
"I'm just so happy."