Advertisement
Not a member of Pastebin yet?
Sign Up,
it unlocks many cool features!
- I have my friends.
- My friends have me.
- They are there for me; they will always be there for me.
- They promised.
- I am there for them; I will always be there for them.
- I promised.
- The hard-packed dirt underneath my hooves comforts me.
- The earth is my home.
- I walk to the first of my friend’s houses.
- She’s not there.
- Her joyful laughter is silent; the sound of her laughter isn’t filling the air like it should.
- She must be out.
- She always seems to be out now.
- She is out cheering up other ponies.
- I wish she… No. I’m fine. I’m always fine.
- I promise.
- The town is alive and well; I blend into the crowd with ease. Ponies are everywhere, crowding me, closing in on me, everywhere I look. Noise, noise… noise! They are shouting at me; they hate me. They tell me I should have done something. They are suffocating me; I can’t breathe. The urgent need to flee is rising. I need to get away!
- My eyes slowly close; my eyes slowly open.
- The town is deserted; night has fallen long ago.
- My breath leaves my lungs in a shaky rush, but I don’t remember holding it. My sweating coat feels clammy in the night air as I walk to my next destination.
- It’s not far away, but it feels like miles.
- The sounds of running machines echoes hollowly from the inside of the brightly lit building.
- Or maybe it doesn’t echo at all.
- Maybe the lights are off.
- Maybe they will always be off.
- No, she must be out. Busy. She’s always busy making herself perfect. I should wait for her, but I have other ponies I must visit.
- I look up into the sky. The night is completely clear. The moon shines brightly out of the perfect sky. The stars are in their perfect places, arranged to form a beautiful display of constellations.
- There isn’t a cloud in the sky.
- Not one.
- There are no rainbow fountains flowing; there is no house.
- She must have moved it.
- She is probably sleeping in a tree; she likes that.
- I’ll find her later.
- I promise.
- Walking, ever walking. Always walking, searching. My bones grow tired, my muscles weak.
- I’ll rest when I find them. They need to see me; I need to see them. I need to be there for them; I need them to be there for me.
- The tree. The library. My friend must be home.
- The lights are off; the door bounces open and shut in the light wind.
- The door is unlocked so I let myself in. If she didn’t want visitors, then the door would be locked, right?
- The library is exactly as I remember.
- Dusty. Disorganized. Disrepaired.
- She would never let it stay like this. I walk up the stairs, for I must wake her; the steps are old, and they groan weakly in protest as I apply pressure to them.
- Her bedroom is empty; his basket is gone.
- She must be with the princess, or—
- No.
- She is with the princess, but she will be back soon.
- I slowly trudge down the stairs.
- My eyes blur, and I stumble. Water pools in the corners of my eyes.
- It’s only the dust.
- Just the dust.
- Nothing more, nothing less.
- Just dust in the wind.
- I promise.
- My leg creak as I straighten them. I regain my footing. Ignoring the dust, I leave the library and close the door behind me, latching it for the night.
- I walk.
- And walk.
- I follow the winding path. The dirt is hard, so hard. The slight incline feels like a mountain. It makes me want to stop and rest, but I must visit her.
- I look up; I see her house.
- The animals chirp; the birds sing; the lights are on; her quiet humming reaches my ears.
- Nopony is home.
- She’s in the forest, tending to the animals. Of course she is.
- She has to be.
- I slowly turn around, my head hanging low. Leaving the house behind me, I don’t look back. I don’t look at the broken windows, the holes in the wall, the caved in roof. I don’t.
- Walking.
- I don’t look at the library either. I don’t see the state of disrepair, the lack of use. I don’t look, I promise.
- So tired.
- And I definitely don’t look at the beautiful sky; I don’t look for the cloud house that isn’t there—that hasn’t been there. I would never look.
- But I’m fine.
- The abandoned shop doesn’t even make me blink. I don’t even see it. I don’t see the boarded up windows, the boarded shut door.
- The knife in my chest doesn’t hurt.
- The store that isn’t happy anymore. I don’t look at it. I can’t look at it. So I don’t.
- I promise. I don’t look.
- They aren’t home, none of them are.
- But they will be soon.
- I promise.
- Every step is a struggle; I’m so tired now; my bed calls to me with the voice of an angel.
- The trip home is so long, so tiring, so painful.
- The spotless door to my perfect house is flawless, not a single blemish on it.
- It falls off its rusty hinges as I push on it.
- It shatters upon hitting the ground.
- Shattered, broken.
- But not like me; I’m fine
- I’ll fix it in the morning.
- I promise.
- My stairs creak even more than my joints do.
- The door handle to my room is worn from countless years of use. I step inside my room and walk over to my cracked mirror.
- It’s cracked, broken.
- But I’m fine.
- I promise.
- I trace the lines in the mirror with my eyes.
- I follow the lines with my hoof.
- A sharp pinch comes from my hoof. A bead of red forms, and it drips down my leg.
- I focus my gaze on the pony in the mirror.
- The haggard face that stares back at me is not my own. Her eyes are bloodshot; her face is scarred; her eyes are tired; her hat lies in tatters atop her head.
- I watch a tear leak out of the pony’s eye after she sees a picture of her smiling friends tucked in the corner of the mirror.
- A daring stunt master who died in a poorly conceived trick, her body was utterly destroyed. The pony in the mirror can still feel the blood on her face; she was there to watch her. She tried to convince her to not go through with it.
- A studious librarian, some say it was a misfired spell, others don’t. The pony in the mirror may never know.
- A shy caretaker who disappeared into the forest on a dark night, never to return
- A stunning fashionista, she simply died from a heart attack; the doctors pronounced her dead on arrival. There was nothing anypony could have done.
- A happy, joyful partier sent on a diplomatic mission to a foreign country. Nopony knows what happened to her, but at least she died in the arms of a beloved. The pony in the mirror can only hope so.
- And she is there too, the pony in the mirror. She’s so happy there; her friends surround her.
- But those are her friends, not mine. The mare in the mirror is sad but not me.
- I’m fine, I’m always fine.
- You can trust me, I’m fine.
- I promise.
- And I always tell the truth.
- “Cross my heart... and hope to fly…. Stick a cupcake… in my—”
- The pony in the mirror can’t stop crying. Tears pour down her face, matting her fur.
- My eyes blur, I lose sight of her.
- But I’m fine.
- It’s just the dust.
- I promise.
- I wipe my eyes, the pony in the mirror comes back into view.
- I walk into the shower.
- I exit the shower.
- I leave the water running because I can’t turn it off; my hooves are too weak, too shaky.
- It always runs.
- The sound of waste, of want.
- The sound comforts me.
- I promise.
- The mare in the window... she wants the knife.
- I hate her.
- I promise.
- She wants this to end.
- I hate her.
- I promise.
- I am not her; she is not me.
- I promise.
- She is sad, but I’m fine.
- I promise.
- I walk back to my room.
- I answer the call of my bed.
- I fall asleep.
- I don’t stay awake; I don’t stare at the knife.
- I don’t stare at the pony in the mirror; she doesn’t stare at me.
- I promise.
- I’m waiting for my friends; I’ll wait as long as it takes.
- I’m the Element of Honesty.
- You can trust me.
- I’m fine.
- I promise.
Advertisement
Add Comment
Please, Sign In to add comment
Advertisement