As My World Burns

Chapters

Sunshine to Smoke
Ashes to Dust
And Iron to Rust
From Rise to Fall
Am I Alive at All
Smoke to Ashes

Sunshine to Smoke

Wednesday. That day when you think you’re nearing the end of the work week, but feel like it will be forever till it comes. Sure, Mondays are bad, and Tuesdays make you get back into the rhythm, but Wednesdays are the worst. The morose feeling that hits you when you wake up seems to fight your attempts at enjoyment throughout the day.

It was with this malaise that I trudged through lunch, staring out the door from the store counter with a burrito in my hoof. Nopony came in during this time. Nopony came in at all for the most part. I guess that’s what happens when you sell quills and sofas. At least when somepony did come in, they bought something that generally kept the business afloat.

Like that nice purple mare. What was her name? Light Twig? Night Light? Ah, right. Twilight. She’s a good, loyal customer, always ordering quills in bulk, almost as if she makes headdresses out of them or something. I never did ask.

Or that white mare and her constant repair orders for her Vicoltian fainting couch. I swear she flops on that thing more often than a surprised goat. It’s almost every week she comes in, demanding some new cushioning or leg replacements; and at a discount, no less! Sometimes, I wonder if she expects more from everyone else or it’s just me.

That’s not to say they’re my only major customers. Being the only store in town to supply quills and or sofas, I get the mayor’s aide coming in once a week to supply the town hall, the night club manager stopping by to replace sofas her “guests” decided to paint with their overindulgence, and the tax aides collecting reams upon reams of parchment during tax season.

What? You thought I only sold quills and or sofas? Nonsense. Every businesscolt knows to supply the other half of whatever product you’re selling. Other than the obvious two items advertised in the store name, I also sell parchment, notebooks, pillows, couch care-taking supplies, and the various other odds and ends.

But I digress. I’m sure I’m boring you at this point. It’s not like anypony cares how my business stays afloat, only that it remains open. Well, I’ll have you know I took a lot of time out of my busy lunch time to explain it to you; the least you could do is appreciate it!

Bah! If you’re going to ignore me, I just won’t narrate anymore. See how you like that.

…

“Sir? You’ve been staring at that wall for the past ten minutes. Are you okay?”

“Huh, wha?” I so eloquently replied upon snapping my head towards the voice. Oh, hush. It’s a customer. I have to narrate now.

Before me stood Twilight Sparkle. Her brow was creased as she studied me, her eyes shifting between my own. A few strands of her mane were amiss and her wings were splayed at odd angles from one another.

Wait, wings?

“Is this a bad time?”

When did she get wings?

“I’m so sorry! It’s just that this is the only time I had available to get more quills, and between planning for my parent’s visit and learning all I can about town management from Mayor Mare, I couldn’t find time in the day unless I sacrificed my allotted twenty four minutes and thirty two seconds of lunch time to come here.”

How did she get wings?

“That’s not even mentioning the party Pinkie wants to throw on Friday and the princess’s request that I learn all the noble families and their role by next week!”

Can I get wings?

“Oh, but I already used twelve minutes and fourteen seconds of my lunch break! I need two dozen quills, thirty reams of parchment, and a new sofa! How am I supposed to pick out a sofa with twe—eleven minutes and fifty-three seconds to go?!”

Better yet, where did she get them? Maybe I can close for a few days and go there myself.

“Are you listening?”

“What?” Snapping out of my thoughts of wing acquisition, I found the mare even more frazzled than when she brought me out of my thoughts last time. Now, her mane was completely tangled and her wings—still don’t know where they came from—were stretched to their full height.

“Ugh! Get me two dozen quills and thirty reams of parchment. While you’re doing that, help me find a couch to match the interior of the library in the next seven minutes!”

Having dealt with the unicorn’s rushed pace once or twice before, I ignored her angered tone and turned towards the back where my bulk items were stored. Being in the town’s library a few times as well, I knew the best sofas from which she could choose. “I have three couches for you in the back right corner of the shop, miss. I’ll be out momentarily to help you,” I said as I pushed through the storage room door.

Quickly grabbing her items from a shelf specifically marked “Twilight Essentials” directly to the left of the entrance, I trotted back to the counter and slid them onto the counter. Before I could turn to help the mare, a tan couch with leaf embroidery floated over in a magenta aura and plopped itself down by the exit as she returned.

“That one,” she said, levitating the quills and parchment towards it and dropping a pouch of bits on the counter at the same time. Then, she was out the door without waiting for me to complete the transaction and give her the receipt.

Not that I was worried about incorrect payment; she always had exact change. What I was worried about, was the proof of purchase I was required to give for any furniture I sold. And so, after counting out the bits and completing the transaction alone, I printed out the receipt and vowed to deliver it personally.

After I eat.

Oh, and I’m not supposed to be narrating to you anymore.

“Have a good evening, Miss Sparkle!” I called behind me as I left the library. It’s always a treat to visit one of my customers and see how their lives are going. Of course, I seemed to have escaped at the perfect time, as the town party mare was heading towards the library.

As much as I enjoy my customer’s company, Pinkie has this habit of rambling, even more so than Twilight on a schedule. Most seem to have learned how to tune her out, but I always feel bad about doing so with her. Sometimes, I wonder if she talks so much because she has something important to say but doesn’t know how.

Oh, you’re probably wondering why I’m narrating again. I forgave you, and if you’re still reading, then it probably wasn’t you, specifically, that was ignoring me. But if you were that guy, I forgive you.

“Mr. Davenport?”

It seems I have a knack for getting lost in narration. Turning my head slowly towards the voice—I pulled a tendon from my earlier excursion in neck flexing—I found the town seamstress giving me a quizzical look. Her hair was done up in her usual flare, just as the rest of her was immaculate as always.

“I do hope I’m not interrupting some wise insight into pony morality,” she said with a smile.

“Oh, no, it was nothing like that. Sorry, you were saying?”

“It seems you truly were lost in thought. I didn’t say anything before getting your attention, so there was no slight accrued.”

“Ah, of course.” As much as I tried, I could never figure out the best way to interact with a pony like Miss Rarity. It was part of the reason I refused to move my business into Canterlot. Too many ponies like her.

“Well, I was wondering when you had a free moment to look at my fainting couch again. Though I am skilled with the needle, I seem to have a tear in the backing I just can’t sew,” she said, a hint of a blush forming on her cheeks.

Of course it had to be the couch again. I lost count of how many times I’ve repaired it by now. “The stitching on the back is odd, not something you’d find on clothing or any other material. It’s specifically designed to withstand pulls exceeding the fabric’s own tensile strength. I’m actually quite surprised you managed to undo it.” I don’t know if it’s because of the mare, the constant repair, or my personality, but for once I wanted to explain just how hard it was for her to damage that couch.

A sheepish grin formed on her lips as she tilted her head down and looked up into my eyes. “Can you believe three fillies using it as a trampoline?”

“Yeah, that could do it.” I decided to let her save her dignity; three fillies couldn’t rip the stitching on the back by using the cushions as a jumping board, no matter how big or how often they played on it. “Will you be bringing it by the shop, or do you want me to make a house call?”

An imperceptible sigh escaped her as she no doubt thought I believed her story. “I’ll bring it by tomorrow. Is that all right with you, dear?” Playing me up, or just a slip of the tongue?

“Of course. I’m always happy to help repair somepony’s favorite seating. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” A curt farewell later and I was trotting back to my store. I’ve been gone for two hours, now. I could have missed a customer!

…

I did not, in fact, miss a customer. What I did miss is how my shop could have possibly caught on fire. One minute, I was walking the streets of Ponyville, and the next, I was trailing the smoke billowing in the air. Upon turning a corner towards the same street my shop lay, I found the source.

Flames were billowing out from the broken storefront glass and ponies were organizing to form a bucket brigade while the rainbow-maned weather captain was ordering her pegasi into building a localized storm. The only reason I was privy to any of this happening was because of my stock-still posture as I stared toward the carnage of my shop.

Of course, I could have handled it better once I got my bearings, but by then I realized I had lost not only my shop, but my home as well. So, running around like a headless chicken, screaming bloody murder at whoever did this, was an apt reaction at the time. What happened after that wasn’t as well thought out.

During my chaotic machinations, I managed to bump into one of the bucket brigaders, tumble towards the shop, and jump through the burning glass. Then, fighting through flames and smoke inhalation, I ran up the stairs to my living space and proceeded to grab a bottle of rum and the picture of my deceased wife. To finish this lovely escapade into stupidity, I then chugged the rum and jumped out the window of my bedroom.

My conveniently placed thorn bush halted my plunge at the expense of a series of painful cuts. But, the oh-so-conveniently placed thorn bush was also oh-so-conveniently placed in front of the first story window at the back of my shop, which oh-so-painfully was spewing flames upon the branches, further burning me and adding that many more injuries. In the end, I managed to fill my lungs with smoke, gain third degree burns, and multiple minor lacerations, with only my dead wife’s picture to show for it.

Go me! was the last thought in my head before blackness came for me.

I couldn’t remember what I was dreaming about, though I could recall the emotions stirred because of them, and the only significant one was sadness. It wasn’t too surprising, as I seem to have awoken with my wife’s portrait held against my chest as I lay in a hospital bed.

The deduction wasn’t difficult. After sustaining injuries too grievous to mention, I found myself in a white room, wrapped in gauze, and covered with a white sheet. Obviously, someone saw me run in and saved me from the burning bush behind the store. I don’t recall hitting my head, so I either hit it and lost the memory of such an action, or someone felt the need to explain my stupidity in a violent manner.

Then again, they could have just been careless and let my head roll about unwatched, letting it smack into a door or something on the way to the hospital. Another stipulation is the picture, and why the nursing staff thought it fine for me to hold onto it with my injuries. That surely couldn’t have been sterile for someone suffering with third-degree burns.

Oh, yeah, burns.

“Aaahhh!” Oh, my throat hurts from screaming. “Aaaahhh!” Maybe I should stop, now. “Aaahhh!” Okay, I’m just going to stop telling myself what to do. “Aaaahhh!”

The door to my room burst open and a white-coated nurse ran in, followed by two doctors of tan and brown colorings. As the two physicians held me down, the nurse stabbed me with a needle and injected me with something. Within seconds, the pain subsided and I stopped screaming. Just before I blacked out, I saw the nurse reattach the EKG monitor and turn to talk to the doctors.

Author's Note

I have no idea where I'm going with this. Join me for the ride, won't you?

Ashes to Dust

Oh.

It’s you.

Go away.

Ugh, fine. Let me see, where was I? Oh, right, going insane.

Okay, so I may be exaggerating, but looking back, it seems like it. Who laughs out of nowhere like that? And who acts like doors are sentient beings to thank for opening themselves? For all intents and pur—

“Mr. Davenport?”

Oh, hold on. I need to take this.

“Yes?”

“How are you feeling today?”

“There’s a slight throb still, but I’m feeling much better.”

“Wonderful. You know, we were worried there’d be more permanent damage after that log ran you over.”

“I must have been relaxed.”

“Yes... relaxed muscles....”

“Was there something else, nurse?”

“Oh! Yes, I brought your breakfast, and there’s a letter for you.”

“Hmmm.”

“I’ll just... sit everything here, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.... Feel better, Mr. Davenport.”

“Hm.”

There. Now, I was talking about going insane, yes? Well, since I’m sure you overheard that conversation, you’ll notice I wasn’t. It was a concussion, or so the doctors believe. I think otherwise, because I wouldn’t normally conduct myself as I did at that restaurant. Really, laughing about that sort of thing.

As you have probably gleaned, I am back in the hospital again. Trust me, it’s just as boring as it was last time. I’m only talking to you because of how bored I am. Then again, you don’t speak, so I can’t see this being riveting either. How about I regale you of what happened? Mind you, this is all from other ponies points of view, but I can assure you it’s the truth.

So after leaving my meal behind and causing a scene, I began to walk down the street. If you recall, I said I tripped over a piece of construction material, when the truth was a bit different. A log the construction workers hadn’t had the chance to cut into lumber had freed itself from its oppressive rulers and decided that particular moment was a good time to come careening down a perpendicular street from the one on which I was walking.

As I was still in my fit of insanity, I didn’t hear the forepony’s yell and walked right into the log’s path. There, it hit a cobblestone that hadn’t been tamped down completely and spun, letting its momentum slam into my front legs. My head’s plan had been to meet the dirt, but instead found itself planted on top of the moving log, which pulled the rest of my body along for the ride.

Another rough spot in the road was large enough to halt the trunk’s movement, but the speed it was going allowed it to tilt, making my body fall to the side and letting my head sit squarely in the way of the falling log. Luckily, physics were on my side, and the curved stone gave it just enough of a spin to avoid hitting me again.

You already know about me getting up and such, but the conversation with the forepony was a little different at the end. While I thought he had asked me to come look at the progress they had made, he actually asked for me to come with him to the hospital. How I confused the two, I’m not entirely sure.

Needless to say, he ran to get some help as soon as he heard my response and I walked away. A few ponies followed me to make sure I was okay and led the paramedics to my room. Upon finding me unconscious, they rushed me here.

That didn’t take nearly as much time as I had hoped. Hmm... want to play tic-tac-toe? Don’t say anything if you want to be ‘O’.

…

I win. Granted, you played a few questionable moves, but I’ll take my win.

“Mr. Davenport?”

Maybe I should start narrating again so you know what’s going on. Eh, it’s just the nurse. I’ll talk to you later.

Okay, so you know how I said I’d talk to you later? Is a week too long? Is there some faux pas I have committed by not talking to you? And I know I asked this earlier, but who is ‘you’ specifically? Am I talking to myself, or maybe some spirit following me around? Are my thoughts transcending this plane of existence to entertain you? Is that it? Who are you?!

Then again, I guess it doesn’t really matter. If I’m crazy, at least I’m just narrating my life instead of baking ponies or anything. Besides, isn’t everypony just a bit insane anyway? Who thought it was a good idea to dress up in outfits to appease some made up demi-goddess named Nightmare Moon? Still, kids need something to occupy them, so I’ll let it slide.

So, I decided I’d start narrating my life again. To you. I mean, of course it’s to you. Who else would there be? No, I’m not cheating on you with some other fictitious creature. Yes, I promise. Calm down, there’s no need for that. Look, if it makes you feel better, I’ll start off with the beginning of the day.

I woke up in my hotel room with— What? “What happened with the hospital,” you say? That’s not important. What? No, I’m not skimming over things; it really isn’t important. Fine, fine, I’ll summarize:

Upon checking me over after my wounds healed, the doctor released me.

Happy now? Like I said, nothing important. They didn’t do a psych reading on me, because I didn’t tell them I’m talking to you in my head. The concussion I received was deemed safe enough for me to deal with the remaining effects at home, not that I have a home to return to. They also gave me some mild painkillers in case I still needed them. Can I get back to what I was saying now? Good.

Ahem…

…

Ah, right, so I woke up in my hotel room. There was a pounding upon my forehead door. No, wait... My head was pounding. It was the door I heard a rapping. Beyond that door lay madness, and I was completely justified in thinking that when it opened on its own and a pink pony was standing in the entryway.

Pinkie Pie strolled into my chambers like she owned them, which she likely did with how many favors everypony owed her by now. Being the only premiere party pony in town, as well as the only feelgood therapist, tended to do that. But it wasn’t her professions I was concerned about. I was worried about why she even bothered with visiting via breaking and entering.

And then she promptly left, leaving an envelope to flutter to the floor where she turned. I stared at that unassuming piece of paper in confusion. Pinkie’s antics were something I long decided to ignore, you see. But, I wouldn’t get answers from an inanimate object by asking, so I flopped off my bed and held a hoof to my head as I carried myself over to it. Upon opening it, I found a letter which read:

Dear Mr. Davenport,

I’m super sorry about what happened to you. BUT! The CMC are trying everything they can to make it up to you! In fact, they even started helping rebuild your store, and Apple Bloom is doing her best to make furniture to restock what you lost. Isn’t that great?!

Anyway, I came to wish you good luck on getting better. Since you’re reading this, that means I most likely stopped by and then left without a word. I know how much my voice grates on your ears, and your headache really doesn’t need me to make it worse. I have a proposition for you, however.

I was planning a surprise party for you to help cheer you up! This one is on the house, of course. But then you got hurt even worser and I don’t want you to feel obligated to come to your own party. I mean, if you don’t show up, we won’t have the guest of honor, but I’m sure I can wing it. Anyway, the proposal.

Pack up and leave Ponyville. Start up your business somewhere else and leave us be. I’ll even pay for the trip. Or you can stick around and keep bringing the rest of us down with you.

I’ll be waiting at the party.

With Love,

Pinkamena Diane Pie

I stumbled back to my bed and collapsed on it, and that is where I am now as I talk to you. I need to make a decision.

Author's Note

Blah blah blah, sorry for the wait, blah blah. I've written it three times now and I don't want to do it again. Check the other stories or my blog if you want the details.

Also, I STILL have no idea what I'm doing with this story.

And Iron to Rust

But why do I have to decide? Who is Pinkie to bring me an ultimatum like that?! I’ve had my home burned, the place I built my life around with my wife, and I’d sooner fall to Tartarus if I let her tell me what to do!

I threw myself onto my hooves and banished my headache. Looking out the window, I felt determined more than I had ever felt before as the sun shone down on Ponyville. The nice day was about to turn dark.

Turning away, I snatched my pills from the nightstand and took two. As I waited for the medicine to take effect, I threw on my coat and stuffed the letter inside the inner pocket. It was given to me by one of the residents who visited me in the hospital, since you must know. The door slammed open at my touch and closed with as much force when I walked by.

The trip was a blur, but I set upon Sugarcube Corner without incident. I’m sure I confused the ponies I had walked by. They weren’t important. This was between Pinkamena and me.

“Pinkamena!” I shouted as I slammed through the building’s dual-hinged doors. The place was decorated in streamers and balloons, and that pink mare was there, attempting to hang a banner over the counter. At my shout, her head whipped in my direction and a big smile grew across her features.

“Davenport! Oh, you’re way too early!” She hopped off the ladder and teleported into my view. Like, she literally warped time and space to appear so close to me she took up every inch of my vision. “Shoo, shoo. The party can’t start now; I’m not ready,” she said as she started shoving me back out the way I came.

Or that’s what I expected her to do when I came barreling in!

The party was already in full swing by the time I had arrived. So, with my shout, I found myself looking back at nearly the whole town staring back at me. I’ll never understand how so many ponies could fit in one area, and I should have known what Pinkamena would do.

“Davvy, you made it!” came the sweet voice of Pinkie as she sashayed her way through the crowd, a cheery smile plastered on her face. Once she was past the other ponies and only I could see, that grin fell into a sneer, but only for a second before she turned back to them. “Everypony, the guest of honor has arrived!”

Cheers erupted throughout the building. She gave me one last look over her shoulder, then disappeared as ponies rushed forward. I was surrounded by a million words ranging from happiness at my recovery to hopeful platitudes about my home. They quickly mixed inside my head as I tossed fake gratitude left and right and pushed my way through.

“Pinkamena!” I called again, and the crowd quieted and parted for me. Before me stood the Elements of Harmony, or the bearers at least. Just as those incompetent foals had a group name, so did these six mares. They all bore smiles, as if they weren’t in on it.

“Pinkamena, you dare tell me what to do?!” I started, then spun on the rest of them. “And what of you five? What is this about kicking me out of town and bringing the rest of you down? Do you honestly expect me not to think you all had a hand in this?”

The mares faces all turned down, either confusion or indignance on their faces. Except Pinkamena. She still had that grin on her face, and it took me till now to understand it was one of victory.

I knew what she was doing, now.

“Davenport, wha—”

With a raised hoof, I cut Twilight off. Then, without a word, I turned and walked away. Away from the ponies, away from Pinkamena, and away from everything I once knew.

Her plan was perfect: get me to lose my calm by which the town knew me. A shopkeep is only as good as the reputation he holds, and no matter how I worked it, there was no way whispers wouldn’t travel if I stuck around and explained myself.

Why? Because she is Pinkie Pie, Element of Laughter. If I showed the letter, she would have denied it, and her friends would believe her over a broken stallion who had lost everything. If I somehow managed to get them to listen to me after that, I would dig myself in a deeper hole by insisting it was her. They’d think me insane, and who wouldn’t? I lost my home, my business, and have injured myself on multiple occasions through means I could have easily avoided.

So, if you don’t mind, I think I’m going to lie here and stew in my misery.

…

...

…

Zzzzzz.

From Rise to Fall

“...Davey…”

Ugh, you’d think I’d be able to sleep in peace.

“...Davey, come on.”

Wait…

“Get up, sleepy head.”

Is that…

“Davey, really. You can’t lay there forever!”

Petals?

My eyes shot open at the thought, but was instantly closed for me by the excessive light pouring in the window. Part of me wanted to roll over and ignore the world after that, but there was a chance of seeing my Petals again. Lifting a hoof to block the light, I eased my eyelids open, and there she was.

Feather Soft, my wife, stood over me in all her splendor. She looked exactly like I remembered her. Well, the few wrinkles that appeared as her condition worsened weren’t there, and she didn’t favor her front-left leg, but you get the idea. Her rich golden coat shone beautifully, like she just left the shower. Going by the way her sage green mane hung heavy against her withers, I think she did.

I laid there, staring into her purple orbs, lost in memories. When we met, the dates we had, the confusion and pain of finding things we didn’t agree on… meeting her folks, proposing, getting married….. Then, she giggled, and the world returned.

We were in our room above my store. There was my nightstand with the picture of us on our honeymoon. Over there was the shared dresser, a tossed aside bow tie dangling its edge. In the closet was our luggage from when we returned.… That’s right! We just got back from our second honeymoon!

“Davey,” she called with that sweet voice of hers, that hidden giggle carrying it into my ears. “Get up, slowpoke. You need to open the store.”

A smile graced my lips, then. Only she could make work sound like something new every day. I told her I was up, and she tittered again. “Sure you are,” she rang as she sashayed out the door, swinging her flank all the way. Mmm…

Hey! Don’t look at her like that. She’s mine.

I ran down the streets like a crazed antelope. My hooves pounded the dirt beneath me as my velocity cooled the sweat pouring down my brow. There were glimpses of ponies skittering out of my way as somepony called behind me to slow down.

Like I’d do that right now. My wife was in trouble!

The hospital loomed on the horizon, but it never drew closer. Even as I put on more speed and felt my balance start to shift, it wouldn’t move. Why couldn’t I get closer? Move!

A rock jutted out of the ground suddenly, catching my leg before I could adjust. The world spun end over end as I tumbled, then everything went white.

Then faded into the hospital room.

I was gasping for breath. The doctors were trying to shuffle me out, but I could do nothing but stand there. She was on the bed, wires and hoses hooked up to her like a machine, and I couldn’t think. A security guard stepped in and dragged me forcefully out by my tail, but I didn’t feel a thing.

A doctor stood before me, explaining… whatever it was that caused this. I didn’t hear him, and I wasn’t particularly good with lip reading, even if I was aware enough to try. His lips stopped, then he put a hoof on my shoulder and shook his head.

The halls disappeared in another expanding cloud of white till it was just the two of us. His coat slowly shifted to gold, then his mane lengthened and turned green. The last things to change were his eyes and lashes, and she replaced him completely.

“Davenport.” Her voice sounded weary. “Davenport, you can get through this.” Oh, so weary. “Please, Davey, keep moving.”

“But I want to be with you, Petals.”

A sad smile graced her lips at my nickname for her. “And you will be. But not right now.”

“Can’t I stay with you?”

“Not yet,” she said with a shake of her head.

“Why?”

“Because…”

I remember that word well. We had our arguments, like any couple, but we worked through them. Eventually, an agreement was reached. If we ever had something to say or do, but didn’t have the words, we’d say ‘because’ and that was it. It was our way of saying ‘just trust me.’ Now, she was telling me to do just that, but I didn’t think I could. Just this once, I couldn’t.

She must have saw the pain in my eyes grow harder. “Davenport, listen to me,” she said with every bit of authority she had over me. I nodded my compliance.

“I know it’s hard. I’ve watched you every day, and you’re miserable. I can’t stand to see you like that, Davenport. So the shop burned, so the townsfolk aren’t what you think they used to be, so the life you built with me is gone. It’s okay.” She reached out to me, but didn’t let her hoof touch my coat. “You can start over, Davey. I won’t be mad. I promise.”

“But…” I tried to grab her hoof, but she pulled it away and shook her head.

“Look again, Davey. Don’t let your mind trick you. I love you too much to let you do this anymore, so—”

“No…”

“Please—”

“Don’t say it, Petals.”

“Move on.”

With that, her body turned to dust and drifted away, slowly blending into the white space around me, and everything shifted to black.

I opened my bleary eyes to the hotel’s wood ceiling. The sun shone through the window and lit the room ablaze in morning reds. It was apt, I would say, to how I felt. My mind was clearer than I remember it being in weeks, but I couldn’t remember my dreams. A fair trade, I decided.

A new day has begun, and I intend to make the most of it. Pinkamena, most of all.

Am I Alive at All

Petals hadn’t shown herself in my dreams in a long time. Reliving those moments were bittersweet, I guess. Still, I don’t remember her ever saying anything about letting my mind trick me. Maybe she’s on to something…

I hunted for the letter Pinkie gave me. I might have thrown it out the window in my rage. It was open, too. Looking out of it only gave me the view of town from the second story, ponies wandering about freely. My old store was to the south of here, so I could make out the sounds of construction easily with the northern wind.

A pony caught my attention. It wasn’t a sound or movement, but more of a presence I felt, and there she was. Her eyes bored into mine, giving me the distinct feeling I was a villain soon to face his reckoning. Squeezing my eyes shut and vigorously shaking my head, I ducked back into the room trying to clear my head.

The letter lay on the floor, peeking out from the bed like a child hiding from monsters. Maybe I was. Don’t suppose you know what that’s like, do you? The monsters of the Everfree were pretty obvious, but what if you couldn’t see them? No! Focus!

First, I need to make sure this said what I read. There might be something there that would clue me in to Pinkie’s antics, or a way to fight back, or maybe I’m insane. What did it say before? Could you tell me if this sounds right?

Dear Mr. Davenport,

I’m super sorry about what happened to you. That fall must have been a doozy! I remember when I fell down the quarry as a filly… BUT! The CMC are trying everything they can to make it up to you! In fact, they even started helping rebuild your store, and Apple Bloom is doing her best to make furniture to restock what you lost. Isn’t that great?!

Anyway, I came to wish you good luck on getting better. I may (or not) have heard something from somepony about a thing that you may (or not) have. Since you’re reading this, that means I most likely stopped by and then left without a word. I know how much my voice grates on your ears, and your headache really doesn’t need me to make it worse. I worry my friends are the same way, really. But that’s the thing with thoughts! They aren’t always right! I built a pedal-copter on my own, and if I had listened to my head that wouldn’t have happened! Sometimes you just have to throw your mind in the gutter!

But then it’d get dirty, and nopony likes a dirty filly, so maybe just zip its lips instead.

I have a proposition for you, however.

I was planning a surprise party for you to help cheer you up! This one is on the house, of course. But then you got hurt even worser and I don’t want you to feel obligated to come to your own party. I mean, I know you don’t like them, but we can’t have a party without the guest of honor!

Please come. Everypony’s hoping to see you. We do love you, even if you don’t think so. But… if you decide I’m not worth it… that the townsponies aren’t important… pack up and leave Ponyville. Maybe you can start up your business somewhere else and leave the past. I’ll even pay for the trip if you really think it’s for the best.

I’ll be waiting at the party. Please…

With Love,
Pinkamena Diane Pie

The letter fell from my hooves. Again. I have weak frogs, okay?

No, that’s just me trying to counter this feeling. I feel… wrong. My head is pounding, and this letter doesn’t match. I can understand how I could have read it wrong; she didn’t exactly make it all that cheery, after all. But… how did I do that?

I’ve never had issues with my head before. I can remember customer’s orders with perfect clarity. Alonso’s first lines in act 3, scene 3 of The Tempest was clearly, “Old lord, I can blame thee, who am myself attached with weariness to th' dulling of my spirits. Sit down and rest. Even here I will put off my hope and keep it.” Why would I read something like a simple letter wrong so easily?

Is it a universal redact? Maybe my life is a story and the author got bored, so now he’s rewriting things to suit him. Are you the audience? Well, I hope you’re entertained, because I’m not having it!

Maybe this is how the letter actually read, maybe not. It doesn’t matter, because I’m going over and getting the answers from Pinkie herself! If this is a story meant to entertain, I’ll keep it going. If this is how life threw my dice, I’ll move on. I can’t justify living with a mental illness so great that I can’t even keep track of time! Find me at Sugarcube Corner, dear audience.

You’re back. That was strange. I actually lost whatever this feeling is that tells me when you’re around. Sure enough, you found me here in front of Sugarcube Corner. I have to say, this building really doesn’t make sense when you compare it to the surrounding area. As I stepped toward the door, I had the uneasy feeling of being uninvited. Still, I needed in there, so I pushed through it and heard the familiar chime of the doorbell when I entered.

“Welcome to Su…” Mrs. Cake trailed off when she noticed me. I can’t say I blame her if my memories of the night before are accurate. I tried my best to look mollified before responding to her silent question.

“I’d like to speak to Pinkie, if I may.” Mr. Cake poked his head out of the kitchen behind the counter. “I may have said some things, and she’s the only lead I ha—”

“She’s upstairs,” he said flatly. “Announce yourself before entering, and if you upset her like you did last night, her tears will be the last thing you see.”

That… did not sound like Mr. Cake. His wife was more the alpha, but…

Shaking my head again, I thanked them for the opportunity and climbed the stairs. It was easy figuring out which room was Pinkie’s, and not because of the heart-shaped carving on the door. I heard voices on the other side that were clearly those of her friends. Knowing them, I steeled myself on the other side and knocked, saying my name clearly when one of them asked who it was.

The room muttered, shuddered, and maybe even blubbered, before the door opened to the sight of Twilight glaring at me. “We’ll be downstairs.” Yet another threat against my person, and I haven’t even done all that much. Right? Well, everyone took their time leaving the room, each eyeing me like a snake in the grass as they passed. Rainbow Dash even did the eye-hoof thing, because that hasn’t always been contrived.

I never actually got the okay to enter, and it would be rude to disturb a mare’s room, so I watched the others clamber down the stairs. There may or may not have been humming and rocking on my hooves while I waited. At this point, I probably should have looked at least, and I know you would, but I was nursing a headache that’s been bugging me since… I don’t even know now.

“About three days ago, I would imagine,” came the voice of Pinkie, no, Pinkamena. Why was her voice not grating? It almost seemed soothing. “You can come in, silly.” There it is. What is going on?

I stepped into the doorway to see her sitting on her bed. Her… pet was in her lap as she stroked it like some villain I remember from my colt years. She smiled as I closed the door behind me, and I decided that wasn’t a good idea.

“It took a while for us to get here, hasn’t it?” she asked in that soothing voice again, setting the alligator? aside and walking to her window. “What do you think of the letter I left for you? Did you find it well enough?”

“Considering I watched you physically drop it off in front of me and beat a hasty retreat, I’d say so. The more important question is why you are acting like yesterday didn’t happen, like you’re some villain in a B-play, and everypony else is pissed that it did happen.” I eyed her carefully as she started pacing, stopping now and then to inspect a ribbon or some such party supply.

“Hmm, let me ask you a better question.” She moved towards me, her eyes a still pool of… I don’t know. Such a deep blue, though. Captivating.

When there was only a foot between us, she sat down and motioned for me to follow along. I didn’t want to. She was emitting such a strong feeling of malice, I would have rather ran, but she seemed to know what was going on. With a resigned sigh, I did. She smiled. I sighed again.

“What.”

“Have they ever responded?”

“What?”

“Maybe not directly, but you could sense their intent, haven’t you?”

“Pinkie, wh—”

“They are the fourth.”

Author's Note

The only one I'll be putting the author's note on the bottom. I figured what I had written stood on its own well enough to be a sort of mini-chapter at least. Of course, if you don't know what I'm talking about, here's a doobly doo about it.

This one was also a lot of fun to write. I don't really have too much bad to say about it, actually. I mean, yeah, the longer it went, the harder it was to make some semblance of a plot going, but I never intended there to BE one. This was my let off steam story, really. I just write whatever I want all chilled out and yes, filled with ennui. It was actually a running joke there for a while after what the commenters were saying, I liked mentioning it so much it stuck around.

As you can see from the chapter though, it kinda went a little.... strange. For all the practice it was giving me in dialogue, I absolutely hated it. I felt like the story was going into Stupid-Land where King Idiotis the III reigned or something. I couldn't think of a way out of the hole I dug, though, and here's where the chapter sat for years. I Just don't really know what to do with it anymore. There was a flicker of a plot I was dreaming of, where Davenport finally accepts his life as it is, where all this was because he had been suppressing his hurt. There was even a moment where someone would actually mention that they were surprised he opened his shop back up after the weekend of his wife passing.

I guess that's where I was going with it. Just a pony filled with hurt learning to accept what happened at least enough to stop bottling it up inside. I'm sure you can imagine what that kind of ending would have been.

And that's why I never got rid of the Slice of Life tag. Death happens, and you need to be ready for it, to accept it, and to move onward into your own future. It's life, right?

Anyway, for the last time (for this was the last of the stories I cancelled, did them all in a single sitting) I'm sorry I couldn't write the stories you all enjoyed. I've tried coming back a couple times, and the last few blog posts show that, but I can't get invested anymore. I'm sorry. Thank you.

Smoke to Ashes

A knock came upon my door—it was the hotel’s door, but I have the room for the month, so I claim ownership—and woke me from another night of fitful slumber. With as much gusto as somepony just waking up, I told the offender to come in. Granted, it came out more like, “Ghe oin, ‘t’s pen,” but they seemed to understand anyway, as a nurse peered in from around the door.

Oh, I should probably explain how I am currently staying in the town’s only hotel and not in the hospital recovering. Stuff happened, it’s been a few days, I don’t care to tell you. Take your pick. I’m too tired for in-depth narration.

The mare said something that no doubt was supposed to make me feel better, or chipper, or something about the situation, but I rolled out of bed without listening. I’d heard it enough already. It wasn’t like I’d feel better because of some words somepony says. I have to want to, and that isn’t going to happen.

Shuffling over to the nurse, we went through the usual morning procedures that has defined my life since... the incident. I wasn’t depressed about it; after all, I did manage to save my wife’s portrait and the fire was covered under the town’s “CMC Incident Insurance” or whatever they called it.

Yeah, they found out how it happened. Apparently, some brats came by while I was away, hoping to get some cutie marks out of helping me run the store, then proceeded to let themselves in unannounced. Not knowing I was there, and I certainly didn’t know they were going to show up, things happened. It’s interesting that even though the town officials have put the blame on them, there’s a distinct lack of evidence to support it. I guess if the fillies are involved in any way, it’s covered in the insurance.

“How are you feeling today?” the nurse asked, still going through the motions. She wasn’t one to care what my response was, and I certainly didn’t care about her own thoughts on the matter, though that didn’t stop her from telling me when she first showed up those few days ago.

“Meh,” came my reply. Since I woke up the second time in the hospital, I tended to avoid using my voice as much as possible, throat being sore and all. The mare, having grown to understand my different grunts and moans, nodded wisely, though I am unsure how one can wisely nod in acknowledgement.

“It seems you’re still having trouble sleeping. Luckily for you, the zebra living in the Everfree brought our order of sleep aids this morning.”

Quirking an eyebrow at her terminology, I glanced out the nearby window to see the sun far into the atmosphere above. It was odd, considering my fitful sleep should have awoken me much sooner, or the years of getting up early would have told me the time.

“I’ll leave the bag on the table. The instructions are easy enough, so I don’t expect you to have a problem,” she said, walking over to the mentioned table and dropping a white bag upon it. “Your wounds are looking well. Try to get out for some sun at least, though. It might make you feel better.” With a nod back at me, she strolled out the door and closed it gently behind her.

You might be wondering why I’m even narrating at this point. You might not, but whatever. Simply put, talking to imaginary ponies in my head feels cathartic. Not really sure if there’s more than one of you, though.

I’ll get one thing straight right now. I am not depressed. I am not full of ennui. I am simply content, or I was until the incident. If there’s a stage above depressed, but below content, that’s where I am right now. I’m certainly not bored, though. It just seems like it.

Really. I’m not.

Okay, maybe I am. But it’s only because there’s nothing to do while I wait for my shop to be repaired. Looking around the room, there really isn’t anything for me to do. I could get started on figuring out the costs involved in reopening the store, but I don’t feel like it right now.

…

I’m not depressed!

You know, I read a report somewhere that sunlight helps the body produce a vitamin or something that helps create energy. Far be it from me to tell Canterlot scientists what’s what, but I certainly don’t feel better just from staring at the ball of gas Celestia has fun throwing around. I’ve been out here for hours, watching ponies go about their day, and nothing miraculous has occurred within my body to make me energetic or happy.

Then again, if it was that powerful, we probably wouldn’t have built houses with teeny tiny viewports that only allow a small bit of light through. If it was, though, it probably wouldn’t have affected me anyway. After all, I’m not particularly sad or unenergetic. I just feel like not doing anything.

I already know what you’re going to say. It’s why I stopped narrating last time, so don’t even say it.

Since I did leave you again, I’ll fill you in. I’m currently sitting at a small bistro around the corner from where my shop is being fixed. After getting cleaned up, I decided to follow the nurse’s recommendation and get some air, only getting so far as a few steps before realizing I was hungry. So, with that hunger, I stopped at the closest restaurant; and no, I did not know I was so close to my shop. I probably just happened to be walking in that direction because of muscle memory.

In a rare moment of awareness, I saw Ms. Sparkle trotting my way. For once, I won’t look like an idiot, and don’t you dare bring up the incident. Her countenance was one of empathy, and I knew what the conversation would be steered towards before she opened her mouth.

“Mr. Davenport, it’s good to see you out. How are the repairs coming?”

“Eh, going, I guess.” Okay, I’ll admit I could have worded that better. Give me a break; my voice is still sore! I even have the hard-boiled detective vocalization going on.

“I’m so sorry about what happened,” Twilight said, bringing the conversation exactly where I didn’t want it to go.

“It’s al—”

“If I wasn’t in such a hurry, I wouldn’t have left you to work through the transaction. And if I didn’t leave you to do it alone, you wouldn’t have had to bring me the receipt. I feel horrible, and it’s all my fault those fillies—”

“Ms. Sparkle!” I yelled, getting her attention at the cost of my healing throat. Coughing, and hearing a muttering of apologies from the mare before me in response, I settled what I wanted to say. “Ms. Sparkle, it wasn’t your fault. Don’t think like that. ‘A series of inexplicable events,’ and all that, right?”

“...Yes,” she replied at length. “Yes, of course.” Somehow, I feel like my joke failed. And just like that, the conversation teetered into an uneasy silence.

I don’t know why I try, sometimes. This mare is as complicated as those up in Canterlot, only without the uppity feel. It’s trying, talking to somepony. I don’t remember it being like this, back when my wife was around.

And with that thought, I tilted my head down to stare at my unfinished salad. It was daisy and cucumber. Not the best combination, if I had anything to say about it, but I’m also not a cuisine expert, either.

“Twilight! There you are,” came an excited voice, obviously Pinkie Pie. Everyone knew her voice, and I mean everyone. Cranky learned that real fast.

“Oh, Pinkie,” Twilight said after recognizing the newcomer. “Sorry, Mr. Davenport. I need to help Pinkie with—” A pink hoof introduced itself into the lavender mare’s muzzle.

“Shhh! You’re not to tell a soul, Twilight!”

“Mmph,” she replied with a nod, earning herself a free jaw once more. After working it free of the taste of hoof, she nodded again. “I’ll see you later, Mr. Davenport?”

“Sure.” With that, and a narrowing of the eyes from Pinkie in my direction, the two mares walked away, most likely towards Sugarcube Corner.

…

Well, staring at my food won’t make it eat itself, though wouldn’t that be a treat to see. A real development in cuisine, I’d wager. “Food that eats itself!” would be the slogan, with “Feel full without any of the guilt” as the selling point to all those mares wanting to go on a diet.

Heh. Hehe.... “Ahahaha!” Before I knew it, I was laughing out loud, drawing looks from passersby and fellow diners alike. I didn’t care; for once, I was enjoying myself. I stepped away from the table and continued my laughter down the street, leaving my meal and payment behind.

But isn’t it just like life to kick you every chance it gets? Not ten paces later, my guffaws were halted when I tripped over a log in the middle of the road, adding new lacerations over the recently healed ones when I slid across a section with knots in it and landed on a loose section of gravel. Certainly, the lumber wouldn’t be there without a purpose, and up strolled a pony with a hardhat.

“Are you daft?!” he hollered. “I was yelling for you to watch out!” As soon as he took a good look at me, however, he changed his tone. “Oh, Davenport, it’s you. We’re working as quickly as we can to get your shop straight, and this log just happened to run away from us.”

See what I mean about life kicking you? The material that is supposed to be used to fix the hiccup in my life attacks me, just as the original incident did. You have to wonder just what I did to make my shop hate me to make it attack me even when it’s being repaired.

Regardless, I scrambled to my hooves and faced the forepony. “It’s okay. Wasn’t looking where I was going. Thank you for your hard work.” With a nod, I turned and headed back to the hotel, ignoring the stallion’s calls for me to see the work in progress. I really didn’t want to see the store if it has such a vendetta against me.

The rest of the trek back was uninteresting; I’m sure you don’t want to know about it. But I’m going to tell you anyway! I walked back—with a limp, as the pain finally started settling in—was treated to a “how-do-you-do” by the receptionist, fought my way up the stairs since ponyville wasn’t advanced enough to consider an elevator for a two-story building, and bumped into my door until it opened. That was nice of the door.

Now that I think about it, I don’t think that pony was asking me to see the store. My head feels funny.

…

“HAHAHAHA—”