Erase and Rewind

by DuncanR

Rating: teen
Tags: Tragedy, Slice of Life, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 9758

Two ponies, equally but uniquely flawed, must decide if they have enough wits between them to cobble together a stable family. A story about trust, loss, severe neurological disorder, and ice cream.

Things happen. Nothing happens in between these things. If they did, they'd simply be things with more nothing between 'em. So how do you measure the nothing? Two ponies, equally flawed, intend to find out together... no matter how far it takes them.

This is the story that won first place in /fic/'s eighteenth write-off competition. The original story--here, split into three chapters--was written and edited over a period of just seventy two hours. I intend to add additional chapters whenever the fit comes upon me. Do yourself a big favor and check out all the other awesome entries as well!

Published 2013-06-13 23:30:02 UTC
Last updated 2013-06-13 23:30:02 UTC

Rewind

Rewind lay on her side, staring at the plaster wall beside her bunk bed. She didn't have a window like any of the other fillies, and the paint was cracked and faded in spots. The voices in the room--laughing, shouting--all blurred together into a dull roar. Tiny hooves clicked against the hardwood floor. Rusty wheels squeaked back and forth, followed by the intermittent rustling of bedsheets and laundry. She was the only filly still lying down.

"Rewind?" an older voice called out. "Rewind, are you ready?"

She said nothing. She stared at the wall beside her bunk bed, at the row of shallow lines gouged into the plaster. Seven in total.

"Has anypony seen Rewind? Check the bathrooms."

Somepony tugged on Rewind's tail. "Hey. Are you in trouble or something?"

Rewind turned over to look at the other filly--her best friend, Copper Bright, the pegasus--but ended up staring at the rest of the bunk-room behind her. The matron, the only grown up in sight, was rushing between the rows of bunk beds and glancing side to side.

Rewind let out a sigh and hopped off the bunk bed. "I'm over here, Mrs. Flaxfold."

The mare's eyes instantly locked onto hers and she rushed to her side in an instant, lifting her chin and adjusting her mane. "This isn't a joke, Rewind. We don't have much--"

"I know, Mrs. Flaxfold." She took her saddlebags off a hook on the bedpost and set them on the floor. "I packed up, like, an hour ago."

"Good, good." Mrs. Flaxfold fussed over her mane a moment longer, then went about securing the tiny, pink saddlebags to the filly's back. "They're waiting in the front hall right now. I want you to be on your very best behavior, do you hear me? Your very best."

Rewind rolled her eyes. "It's not like we've never met before... I've been visiting them every weeked for almost a month now."

Flaxfold leaned close and whispered "It's for the other children, you silly filly. Everypony else in the breakfast hall is going to see you walk out that door, and they need all the hope they can get. Please, Rewind. Think of them."

Rewind nodded.

"Very good. There's a proper lady."

Flaxfold led her out of the bunk-room and into the main dinner hall. The faded walls and long plastic tables were barely recognizable under the colorful murals and thick patches of crayon drawings. As soon as she stepped into the room, the colts and fillies all cheered and waved at her. A small pack of them leapt out of their chairs and rushed over to her: friends she'd known for years, eager to say goodbye. She went through the routine that was expected of her, smiling and laughing and hugging. It took her a quarter of an hour to make her way through the crowd and into the front foyer. A pair of ponies were already there, waiting patiently. The stallion was an earth pony with a dark chestnut coat and mane, and the mare was a powder blue pegasus with brilliant sapphire curls. They watched her approach with a mix of eager patience.

Rewind looked back at Mrs Flaxfold one last time, then stepped forward and performed a curtsey. "Good morning, mister Cinnamon Sticks. Good morning, Missus Singsong."

Singsong leaned down and nuzzled her forehead. "Are you sure you're ready to go just yet? You can stay and talk with your friends a little longer, if you like."

"That's okay."

The stallion nodded to her. "You can visit them whenever you like, of course. All you have to do is ask."

"Yeah, visit!" one of the colts called out from behind her. The children all crowded around the door and cheered her on, eager.

Rewind glanced back and managed a halfhearted wave. "Can we, uh... can we go now?"

The Cinnamon Sticks smiled down at her. "Sure thing, squirt. There's a carriage waiting outside right now."

"And we left your room just the way it was," said Singsong. "I'm sure you must be simply exhausted."

The two grownups walked to the front door and Rewind followed between them. The cheering voices continued, louder than ever, and she turned to wave back at them one last time. As soon as she stepped outside, she took a deep breath and gazed up at the blue sky above. The weather over Canterlot was always perfect. The sound of silver bells caught her attention, and she gasped in awe: the carriage waiting by the road was rather fancy even by Canterlot standards: the whole thing was made of finely finished hardwood and decorated with gleaming silver.

Cinnamon Sticks opened a side compartment and nodded inside. "You can put your bags in here for now, if you like. We'll be up front."

Rewind watched him go, then stowed her bags. She heard hoofsteps behind her and turned to see Copper Bright. She pawed the sidewalk slightly.

"So... are you really gonna visit?"

Rewind watched her for a moment. She looked back at the orphanage: it'd been her home for years.

She gave Copper Bright a gentle pat on the shoulder. "I won't be long."

"Don't say that." Copper Bright stepped close and hugged her tight. "That's a horrible thing to say."

Cinnamon Sticks waved at her from the window of the carriage. "Are you ready to go?"

She climbed into the carriage. Her mouth formed a silent 'oh' as she stepped inside and gazed at the lush interior: the chairs were covered with soft, velvet cushions and there was plenty of space to move around. Cinnamon Sticks said something to the drivers up front, and the carriage went into motion.

Rewind stroked a hoof against the seat. "I didn't know you guys were rich."

"We figured this was a special occasion," said Singsong. "We can afford to splurge a little now and again, can't we?"

"Speaking of which," Cinnamon Sticks said, "I say we celebrate! What do you think, squirt? Ice cream, or pizza?"

Rewind let out a gasp. "No!" she yelped.

They both looked at her, worried.

Rewind clenched her jaw slightly. "Sorry. Ice cream's... probably not a good idea."

"Pizza it is, then."

Singsong cleared her throat. "Actually, I was thinking we could go to a department store. Maybe get some new furniture for your bedroom, do some interior decorating..."

Cinnamon Sticks rolled his eyes. "You're kidding, right? Our first official day as a family and you want to go browsing through a department store?"

"It's a shopping spree," she said. "It's completely different when you get to decide what's bought." She turned to Rewind. "I know you've stayed with us plenty of times already, but we want you to really feel like it's your room. And that means you can decorate it however you want. Would you like that?"

Cinnamon Sticks wiggled his eyebrows. "They have maple icecream. With sprinkles."

"That'd... be nice, actually. But can we do it later? I just wanna be home for awhile."

"You're the boss, squirt. But, first..." Cinnamon Sticks reached into a nearby ice-box and held up a child-sized icecream cone. "I figured you might not want to wait. It'd be a shame to let it melt, wouldn't it?"

Rewind took the frozen treat in both forelegs, momentarily dazzled. She took a small lick, and then a small bite. They both smiled at her warmly. She stared out the window and watched the city pass her by. She felt a smile tug at her own face, though it wasn't quite ready to show itself. Not just yet.

The carriage bumped slightly, then slowed to a halt. Rewind pursed her lips and looked out the window: the building nearby was covered with scaffolding and tarpaulin.

"Construction?" Cinnamon said, "at this hour? Great. We'll be here all day."

"It'll be fine, dear. There's no need to--"

Something slapped Rewind's face, hard and loud. Her inner ear spun around wildly, and a wave of vertigo pulsed through her mind. She heard crashing, splintering wood all around her, then felt cold wind rake across her coat. By the time she opened her eyes, it was all over: she was flying through the air, tumbling, and the carriage behind and below her was a heap of wreckage half-obscured by a plume of grey dust. She was dimly aware of the nearby scaffolding collapsing to the ground. Her view of the world tilted and spun and, for a brief shining moment, she was flying.

She landed on the ground, sitting on a broken panel of the carriage door, and skidded down main street with a trail of sparks. She sat on the panel perfectly upright, eyes wide, and hurtled unharmed between the rows of heavy traffic. She slowly spun in place and finally ground to a halt: the lurching stop was the most alarming part. She stared ahead, eyes wide, jaw limp.

The upper half of her maple-and-sprinkles cone slipped off and landed on the ground with a splat. She looked down at it, blinking. She stayed like that, perfectly still, until the ambulance arrived and took her to the hospital. No major injuries. A few scrapes. Her carefully styled mane was tousled and covered with powdered concrete.

The doctors spoke to her about the accident. The therapists spoke to her about her (late) foster parents. The case-worker spoke to her about her home. A month later it was the Matron, Mrs. Flaxfold, who came to the hospital to sign for her release. They rode back to the orphanage together, and they spoke--thankfully--of nothing at all. There was no crowd of smiling children waiting to greet her. No cheers of congratulation or well-wishing. Most of the others were out for the day, visiting one of the largest gardens in the city.

Rewind went to the laundry room, picked out another set of tiny saddlebags, and walked back to her usual bunk bed. Copper Bright was already there waiting for her.

"Told you I wouldn't be long," Rewind said, her voice flat.

"How'd it go?"

"Didn't make it home," she said. She climbed up the ladder and hung her saddlebags on the hook. "Didn't even make it to the ice-cream shop."

Copper Bright climbed halfway up the ladder and watched her. "D'you wanna talk about it?"

"Nah. Maybe later."

"Are you... okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm cool."

Copper Bright nodded, and dropped down from the ladder.

Rewind snuggled against her pillow and closed her eyes. She listened to the sound of her own breath for awhile, and to the creaking of the walls. Old walls. She opened one eye and looked at the crumbling plaster and flecking paint beside her bed.

She pulled the metal horseshoe off of her hoof and scraped its corner against the plaster, gouging a shallow line alongside all the rest. Eight in total. She rolled onto her back and let out a sigh.

Didn't even make it to the ice cream place.

Erase

Erase lay on his side, eyes scrunched shut. A soft, scratchy voice gnawed at him from the bedside table. He turned over onto his back, took a single, deep breath and opened his eyes wide. His eyes fixed on the calender tacked to the ceiling above him.

Right. Tuesday.

He climbed out of bed, walked briskly to the bathroom and ran a brief, cold shower. The radio continued to blare at him from the bedroom as he stepped out and went to the mirror over the sink. He stared at himself in the mirror: light grey coat. Charcoal black mane, short and professionally styled. A middle aged face. Kind of bored.

He took a shaving kit out of the cabinet and laid it out on the counter. He paused to look at the array of brushes and razors, all in a row. He stroked his chin and the sides of his cheeks.

Shower first...? He glanced at the shower, staring at the beads of water still clinging to the clear plastic curtain. Right. Shower First.

He took to razor, clipped a size three brush along its leading edge and began trimming the hair along his jaw to a uniform length. He rinsed the blade under the faucet, shook it clean, and drew the blade again. Shave. Rinse. Shake. Shave. Rinse. Shake.

Smooth enough? He stroked his chin and the sides of his cheeks. Shower First.

He glanced at the shower curtain. He listened to the radio, still faintly audible from the bedroom. Something about the weather.

Goddamned weather... come on. Give me something I can use.

He heard the announcer mention the time. Eight o'clock. He set the shaving kit away and walked to the kitchen. Breakfast was easy. Oatmeal, daisy salad, glass of milk. Food was always easy. He took the dishes to the counter and ran them under the faucet one at a time. He paused to stare at the dishes already sitting in the drying rack.

Dinner. Those are all big plates. The big plates are for dinner.

He dried the dishes and put them away, taking a moment to stare at the neat little stacks sitting in the cupboard. He nudged the desert bowls to the left, then walked to the bathroom and ran a cold shower. Fifteen minutes later, he stepped out and dried himself off. He took a briefcase off the kitchen table and went to the front door.

He put his hoof on the lever and stared straight ahead. I'm missing something. What am I missing?

He turned around and scanned the rest of his apartment. Clean, trendy furniture. Shelving full of hoof-labeled videocassette tapes. A gleaming black guitar resting upright in its frame. Nothing on the coffee table. Nothing sitting on the couch. Nothing hanging off the backs of any chairs.

Come on. What comes next?

He walked back to his bedroom, laid on the mattress, and stared at the calender on the ceiling.

Still Tuesday? Or Tuesday again?

He closed his eyes and listened to the radio. No more goddamned weather, at least... something about a construction accident. Two dead. Something else about a new shopping mall being opened on main street. The announcer mentioned the time. Nine o'clock.

Right... Tuesday. I work. He shot out of bed and ran to the closet, shuffling through a long row of black-with-silver-trim three-piece suits. Late for work. Late. Am I still late? Or am I late again?

He scrambled to dress himself, struggling with the buttons and cufflinks and starched white collar and formal tie... earth pony problems. His superiors had quietly offered to pay for a personal assistant to follow him around. It wasn't unusual: Ponies who wore three piece suits often hired personal assistants to take care of the insignificant little details. The assistants were often unicorns. He'd politely declined. They'd insisted, because of his... because. He'd politely declined.

He ran back to the living room, snatched the briefcase with his mouth, and shoved the door open. He ran down the hall and waited for the elevator, bouncing slightly on the tips of his hooves. He lifted his front leg and glanced at his ankle. He didn't wear watches--they only made things worse--but it was a useful mannerism to cultivate.

The elevator lowered into position and the wooden accordion-fence gate slid open. He rushed inside, jabbed the ground floor button, and nodded to the mare already standing there. "Pardon."

"No worries," she said. "I'm running a little late myself."

They stood together, side by side, as the gate closed. The elevator slid down.

"So," the mare said, "how about that weather?"

The weather. Goddammit. Okay. I heard the radio when I woke up today. I hear it every morning. What did the weather mare saying? Rain? Snow? Hail? Fucking locusts, what? Why couldn't I have looked out the window before I left the apartment dammit why do I even have a window if I never use it okay look at the mare. Is this just pointless infantile chit-chat, or was she serious? He glanced at the mare. She was watching him with a pleasant smile. Oh god I think she's serious. Say something quick. Anything. Doesn't matter.

He nodded to her. "I don't even remember the last time it rained in Canterlot."

He watched her eyebrows quirk. His throat tightened. Shit. It's not raining, is it? It's not.

"It used to rain all the time where I grew up," he said, "but it hardly ever rains in Canterlot. Kind of makes me homesick when it does, but in a good way."

She chuckled. "Do you remember last week?" she said. "Talk about a downpour!"

He nodded.

"Say, I think I've seen you around," she said. "Do you live here?"

"Yes. It's close to where I work, and I like to walk everywhere, so."

"Where do you work? Anywhere interesting?"

"The palace," he said. "And before you say anything, no, I'm not famous or important. It's just a regular job."

"My stars! Even so, it must be amazing. What is it that you do, exactly If you don't mind me asking?"

He clenched his jaw. "I probably shouldn't say."

She arched an eyebrow. "Secret?"

"Boring. Excessively so."

She chuckled again. "Well I guess somepony has to do it."

He nodded again. Ground floor ground floor ground floor come on come on ground floor

"So, how long have you lived in Canterlot?"

Shit.

"Long enough, I suppose." He tapped the ground floor button. It was already lit. Was it her? Had she already pressed it before he'd even entered?

The elevator settled into place. The accordion-fence gate flexed apart and Erase slipped between them before they fully opened. "Good day, miss."

He bolted across the lobby and past the apartment building's tiny security office. The security chief nodded to him as he passed. "Morning mister Erase."

"Morning, Navy Blue." He lifted one ankle and nodded to it. "Is it, ah..."

"Tuesday, Mister Erase. Quarter after nine."

"Thanks. Is it still raining?"

Navy Blue nodded, unperturbed. "Never was, sir. Not today."

"Right. I'll... right."

He rushed out the door and ran along the sidewalk, through the bustling crowd of primped-up nobles and wealthy benefactors that always populated the palace district. It was clear blue skies as far as the eye could see--no weather at all was still a kind of weather, just as zero was still a number. His journey passed in a blur, all at once: the only way to judge his progress was to examine the degree of rumples in his suit or the amount of sweat collecting underneath.

He ran across a tiny bridge made of white marble and decorated with gold-framed panels of aquamarine, then rushed to a small and unassuming side entrance. He nodded to the two royal guards standing at attention.

"Morning," he said as he showed them his pass. "Is it, ah...?

The guard nodded. "Quarter to ten, Mister Erase. Running a little late, aren't we?"

He shrugged. "I wouldn't know, would I?"

"Of course not, Mister Erase. No offense meant." He nodded backwards. "Go on in. And good luck with the manager."

Erase froze in place, eyes wide. "Was I, uh...?"

"It's the first time this week you've been late, mister Erase, but the second time this month."

"Second time this month. Right." He rushed between them. "Good day, sirs."

He rushed through the bleak white hallways of the palace's main office district, frantically nodding to co-workers and flashing his badge to guards. He came to the central office--a massive array of cubicles, comprised entirely of desks, shelves, and fabric-covered walls. His eyes fixed on one of the high-security doors on the far side of the room: armored, sealed, and guarded.

Almost. Almost.

"Erase."

He skidded to a halt. A moment later, he looked back at the office manager standing behind him. "Yessir? Can I help you?"

His immediate superior nodded without looking up form his clipboard. "There's a minor issue with the January accounting index. Talk to Espresso and help him go through the files by hoof."

"Yessir," he said. "Anything else, sir?"

"And do try to be a little more prompt from now on."

"Yes, sir. I'm terribly sorry, sir."

"I understand the unique circumstances of your... ah... circumstances." He adjusted his glasses. "Have you considered hiring on a personal assistant to take care of all the little things? I'm sure we could put it on the payroll for you, if your doctor were to--"

"Thank you sir. I'll look into it."

"You will?" The manager reached up and lowered his glasses. "We've discussed this before, haven't we?"

"I wouldn't know, sir, would I?" Erase said with a helpless little smile. Go to hell, you old goat.

"Very well. Go on, then."

Erase turned and walked into the grid of cubicles, navigating the narrow paths and alleys. Espresso was at his desk as always, already waving at him over the shoulder-height fabric-covered walls.

He nodded at the chair across his desk, normally reserved for client interviews. "Did you have breakfast? I have an extra--"

"I had breakfast. Food's easy."

"The manager didn't tear a strip out of you, did he?"

"Nah. He went easy on me." Erase spun around in the chair and stared at the ceiling. "Probably not worth the paperwork it'd take to write me up."

"You wanna blow off the rest of today? Go to a bar or something? There's a band I like playing live all week. You won't believe the guitarist."

"I don't believe anything. You know I can't afford to." He sat upright with a concerned frown. "What about the January account? Did we... already do that?"

"I wish." Espresso rolled his eyes. "It's a total disaster. It's going to take the whole department a month to sort out the details. Nopony'll even notice if we duck out."

"What about the manager?"

"What about him? He's too busy trying to blame us for this mess. Come on, pal! When was the last time you actually had fun?"

Erase stared at the ceiling. "I wouldn't know, would I?" he whispered.

"You really don't..." Espresso glanced around, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You really don't remember? I mean... you can't?"

"I remember everything," he said. "All of it. All the time."

They sat and watched each other in silence.

"So... how long were we talking, just now?"

"We talked until we stopped talking," Erase said. "My life is a tautology."

"You know what you need?" Espresso said. "You need to get laid. That's what you need."

Erase snorted.

"No, seriously. You need it more than anypony I've ever met. I've met a lot of ponies."

He shook his head. "No. Not a good idea. At all. You know what I'm like. You're the only person in this office who'll even talk to me, and you're..."

"Yeah? What?"

Erase watched him for a moment. "You're kind of an asshole."

"That doesn't make me wrong. Seriously, you need to spend time with a mare. Even just a friend, just to talk with. Anything at all would be better than this."

Erase looked away. "Me? Married? Now who's the crazy one?"

"Not a wife, you idiot. Just a filly-friend. I know a few. Let me set you up."

Erase leaned on the desk and pressed a hoof against his forehead. "Sorry, Espresso. I know you're trying to help... but please stop helping. I've tried it before, and it never works. It just never works."

"Then you haven't tried everything," Espresso said. "You just have to keep looking. Try something new. Some kind of interaction you haven't had before. I know hell is other ponies, but seriously... the alternative is even worse."

Erase stared off into space for awhile. He reached up and loosened his tie slightly. Something new.

and

"Mister Erase?"

Erase looked up as the matron of Canterlot's "Little Treasures" orphanage waved at her from across the cramped waiting room. He set a magazine down and adjusted his tie against the collar of his suit. "That's me, ma'am."

She walked over and smiled warmly, taking his hoof. "We're so very happy to see you, mister Erase. It's always such a happy moment! I do hope the paperwork wasn't too troublesome."

"Not at all, ma'am." He nodded to the briefcase strapped to his left saddlebag. "I brought copies with me in case anything was lost in the mail. It happens sometimes."

"Well, aren't you prepared? It's quite all right. We've already received all the necessary documents, well in advance. I know the system is a terrible fright these days... it can be so difficult to get anything done at all."

"It's quite all right, ma'am. I have some experience with due process."

"Generous of you to say so. Of course, we still have one more thing to do... the most important thing of all. Come with me."

Erase froze halfway out of his chair. His throat tightened. "The most...? Is something wrong? I didn't forget to fill anything out, did I? I was very thorough."

"The most important thing of all," she said, "is for the two of you to meet each other for the first time and find out of you're a good match! I'm sure you just can't wait to meet her."

"Right, yes. Of course." He stood up and followed her out of the waiting room and down a nearby hallway. "So there weren't any problems with the paperwork, then?"

"Not that I'm aware of." She smiled back at him. "Oh, I'm ever so sure you'll like her! She's just the sweetest thing, and very well behaved. Quiet, keeps to herself, but still has such a bright sense of humor. She's always helping the other children, too... bless her little heart! How much do you know about her?"

"Not much, actually. The criteria I requested weren't exactly, ah..."

"Oh, I know. Most ponies who visit us have all sorts of conditions and requests... this color hair, or that sort of face... not too tall, not too short... the more demanding you are, the longer it takes to find a match. Some hopeful parents wait years. But all you asked for was a daughter."

"Yes, ma'am. That's correct."

"Any reason, might I ask?"

"Race and appearance don't concern me," he said. "A child is a child. As for a daughter, well... I had a lot of younger brothers. I've had enough of that to last me a lifetime."

"Oh, I believe it. Colts can be so rambunctious!" She came to a door and set her hoof on the latch. "Before we go on... how much do you know about her?"

"Not much," he said. "Female. Earth pony. No cutie mark. I know she has special needs, but not the exact details."

"What? Special...? Oh, my no. Who gave you that idea?"

"It was on the form you sent me." He opened his briefcase, rummaged through the papers, and took out a carbon-copy scroll. "Here, see? This part here was checked."

"Well... hm. I suppose it must have been a mistake. She's not a 'special needs' child at all, mentally or physically. Emotionally, though, she's had a... somewhat troubled past."

"Troubled?"

"Well, she's... you see... this isn't the first time she's been adopted. It wasn't her fault in the slightest, mind you. Not in the slightest. She had nothing to do with it. She's just had a difficult time of things. Emotionally."

"Ah." He flipped the form over. "You probably filled in the wrong area, then... the basic emotional assessment goes in section three, sub-section seven."

She glanced at the form, then back at him. "It's not a problem, is it?"

"Of course not." He put the form back into his briefcase. "I can talk to the registry about having it corrected, but it's a very trivial problem. Hardly worth worrying about."

"Er... quite." The matron opened the door and stepped inside. "Rewind, Dear? There's somepony here to see you."

Erase peered over her shoulder and saw a young child, sitting on the floor with a small pile of blocks. Female. Earth pony. No cutie mark. She looked up at him and immediately locked eyes.

The matron nodded to her. "Rewind, I'd like you to meet Mister Erase."

"Am I being audited?"

The matron glared at her. "Rewind."

Erase nodded. "Actually, you are. An 'auditing' is an evaluation of a person, process, or enterprise for the purpose of verification. It's commonly used in the context of financial or administrative records, but the adoption process is certainly an official government-regulated procedure with a thorough system of checks and balances to prevent fraud and abuse."

Rewind pursed her lips.

The matron cleared her throat. "Well! I'll leave you to get to know each other a little better. I'll be right down the hall, so give a shout if you need anything at all."

Rewind frowned. "That's it?"

"Do please be polite," the Matron said. She left the room, leaving the door open.

"I can't believe she left me alone in a room with you so soon," Rewind said. "It usually takes a month just to get the paperwork done."

"I've already seen to everything," Erase said. "I submitted the forms and documentation well in advance. It's possible to save a lot of trouble if you send things directly to the registry office instead of going through all the usual channels." He unhooked the briefcase from his harness and set it on the floor between them. "I also brought a full set of copies with me just in case."

"Just in case," she said.

"Yes. Just in case."

"Just in case what?"

"If I knew in advance, it wouldn't be 'just in case'." He opened the briefcase and began arranging papers on the floor. "Medical report. Six reference letters--one from a family member, two from friends, and three from work. Police clearance and criminal background check."

Rewind stared at the last sheet. "Criminal background check?"

"Yes. Criminal background check."

"You work for the government, don't you?"

"Yes, actually. I do a lot of paperwork." He tilted his head. "How did you know?"

"You have three references from work, but only two from friends." She squinted at the criminal background check. "Anything juicy in here?"

"Nothing significant."

"Nothing?" She arched an eyebrow. "Isn't nothing at all even more suspicious than something little?"

He nodded. "In fact, requesting a background check on yourself is itself seen as a slightly suspicious act, and they make a note of it on your record. When you specify that the check is required for adoption purposes, it isn't noted as a negative. The only way to examine your own record without also making it worse is to attempt to adopt a child."

"So how do I know you're not a serial killer or something?"

He shrugged. "You can't. I guess."

She looked up at him.

"It's impossible to prove a negative," Erase said. "More accurately, an inability to disprove does not constitute proof."

"What about the home test?" she said. "Did the matron tell you about that?"

"Yes. The matron has already evaluated my parenting skills and general competency. She wouldn't have introduced us otherwise."

"So you passed?"

"I passed."

"You passed."

"I passed."

"You passed?"

"I passed."

"You passed?"

"I passed."

Rewind pursed her lips. "Quit it."

"Quit what?"

"You have absolutely no sense of humor, do you?"

"I keep it in a jar at work, generally. It's a huge hassle having to check it at the front door every time, so."

She watched his face. Watched his eyes.

"Did they tell you everything about me?"

"They didn't even tell me your name," he said. "That's why I'm here. To talk with you. I wanted to hear it from you."

She glanced at the door, then back at him. "If you adopt me, you'll die."

"Why? Are you a serial killer or something?"

"No. Probably. But I've been in and out of this place eight times so far." She leaned closer and whispered. "They always die, and it's never my fault.

He frowned at her. "Who's fault is it, then?"

She shrugged. "Nopony's fault. It just happens."

"May I assume that's your 'emotional damage' then?"

She rolled her eyes. "Is that what they call it?"

He furrowed his brow. "So you're not emotionally damaged?"

She looked down at the pile of colorful wooden blocks. "You get used to it after awhile. My real mom and dad died when I was just a little baby, so I don't remember them. The first time it happened, I cried a lot. The second time, not so much. It was all downhill from there, I guess. I hardly cry at all anymore."

"If you abandon a foal in the wilderness at night," Erase said, "they cry a lot. But then, if you leave them alone long enough, they get very quiet. It's like they just give up after awhile... stop wasting energy, and stop drawing attention to themselves. It's a defense mechanism."

"How'd--"

"I read it," he said. "It's one of the few things I know that I haven't proven to myself empirically. I think it's normal to stop crying after awhile. I think you're normal."

"Thanks for the sentiment, at least." She turned the medical report around and squinted at it. "High cholesterol, allergy to crimped corn, vitamin C deficiency... and severe neurological disorder resulting in dementia, hyperthymesia, schiz... schizo...

"Schizophrenia," Erase said.

She looked up at him, clearly unamused. "Do you take pills for it?"

"Yes," he said. "Vitamin C supplements. Every week."

She set the medical report down. "Severe neurological disorder."

"Yes."

"You're, like, a lunatic. A real lunatic."

"Is that a problem?"

"You just weren't what I was expecting a crazy person to look like."

"What were you expecting?"

"Not this. You look normal. Like... too normal. Abnormally normal." She tilted her head. "How did you make it through the home test? No. How did you make it through the front door?"

"I'm a higher functioning lunatic," he said. "It has a severe impact on my personal life, but it doesn't prevent me from being a productive and self-sufficient citizen. I have a job. I pay bills. I cook food. Productive. Self-sufficient."

She looked at the open door again. Longer, this time.

She shuffled closer to him. "So, you're like... a crazy person? What sort of crazy?"

"It's hard to describe."

"But it won't stop you from being a good dad?"

"The opposite, actually. It makes me an ideal parental guardian. It's also what makes me an ideal employee for the government."

"And you're not afraid to die?"

"Moreso than I was before I came here? Not really."

"Hmm." She rubbed a hoof against her nose. "One last question: why do you want to adopt?"

He stared off into space for a moment. He then shrugged.

"Well at least I won't get too attached to you." She stood up and tugged on his hoof. "Let's go talk to the matron. You can tell me about your crazy brain stuff on the way."

"Thank you, miss. I'll try not to disappoint." He shuffled the papers and reports back into his briefcase and attached it to the side of his saddlebag.

Erase walked down main street, carrying Rewind on his back as they passed through the heart of Canterlot's upper commercial districts. The little filly twisted her head all around to look at the gleaming storefronts and glittering billboards.

"What's with all the rubbernecking?" Erase said. "Don't you live here?"

"I don't get out much. And whenever I'm adopted, they always stick me in a carriage. No time for sightseeing. So, do you flip out or something? Like, yell and scream for no reason?"

"Not because of my disorder," Erase said. "My job, though... sometimes I'm tempted."

"But I thought you said you were good at your job."

"I can deal with my job just fine. Ponies, not so much. Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?"

"I'm fine. Thanks, though." She watched a passing carriage, studded with rubies and gold filigree. "Do you see things that aren't there? Hear voices?"

"No, I don't hallucinate. Not so far, at least."

"Does it hurt?"

"Not physically, no."

"Do you forget stuff? Like, amnesia? Or alzheimers?"

"It's the opposite. I can't forget. Ever."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Like photographic memory?"

"It's called hyperthymesia, or 'highly superior autobiographical memory.' It's sometimes called 'piking.' I can remember absolutely everything that's ever happened to me, perfectly."

"But that's a good thing, isn't it?"

"It's too much of a good thing," he said. "Can we talk about something else, please?"

"I guess. Where do you work?"

"Why?"

"Because you said you were good at your job. I kind of want to know what sort of job would be perfect for a functioning lunatic."

"I work at the palace."

There was a moment of silence. He looked back and realized Rewind was staring at him wide-eyed.

"Not everypony who works at the palace is a functioning lunatic," he said.

She arched an eyebrow. "Does it help?"

"It helps me." He glanced across the street at a fancy sandwich shop. "Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?"

Rewind frowned at him. "Are you sure you remember everything? Because that's the twelfth time you've asked me if I'm hungry. You get the same answer every time."

"Sorry."

"And when I say no, you apologize. Why do you keep asking me?"

"Food is usually easy for me. It's a physical sensation instead of just raw, abstract information. It helps me cope, so I'm comfortable with it... I try to plan a lot of my daily routine around regular meals."

Rewind tilted her head. "But you can't tell if I'm feeling hungry."

"Yeah. It's a little frustrating."

She patted his shoulder. "If I do get hungry, I promise to tell you."

They continued in silence, walking through the bustling crowd.

"Hey," Erase said, "would you like a snack? Luxury food?"

"I could snack. What did you have in mind?"

He turned around and pointed across the street at an ice-cream shop with a cheerful, carnival-themed facade. Children were crowding around excitedly, tugging their parents along.

"Ice...?" Rewind shook her head. "Oh, no... no-no-no-no no. Frozen dairy is a terrible idea."

"If you're lactose intolerant, they have non-dairy sorbet. It's like frozen fruit-juice."

She smacked her hoof against the back of his head. "What do you have, a deathwish or something? Out of the eight pairs of foster parents I've lost, three of them were ice-cream related. We were either eating ice cream, we were at an ice-cream place, or we were on our way to an ice-cream place. That's how it always starts, you know: Ooh, ice cream! Yay! Then, the screaming."

Erase looked back at her. "If you don't want any, you can just say so."

"Three! Three out of eight! That's almost, like, a one in three chance of dying."

"It's a thirty-seven point five percent chance. Which is, admittedly, horrific. Except for the fact that the statistical probabilities you're citing are completely unrelated to our current situation."

She smacked the back of his head again. "No arguing. Let's get out of here while we still can."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not sure what's more disturbing: your tenuous grasp of statistical probability or your misunderstanding of cause and effect. Unless there's a clear and present reason for it, what happened to your previous foster parents has no bearing--none whatsoever--on what will happen to me."

"Three out of eight! Come on!"

"How many of your foster parents were male?"

"Well... half."

"Then I already have a fifty percent chance of dying because I am male." He shook his head. "Actually, it's worse than that: one hundred percent of your previous foster parents have died, so I'm already guaranteed to die as well. The pursuit or achievement of an ice-cream related goal can't possibly make things worse."

She crossed her hooves and pouted. "It might kill you sooner," she said. "Would you rather die in a day, or die in a year?"

He glowered at her.

"Time." Her expression softened. "It has something to do with time, doesn't it? Your crazy brain problem, I mean."

"Come on." He glanced left and right, waited for several carriages to pass, and stepped onto the thoroughfare. "There's nothing to be afraid of. Nothing more statistically probably than being struck by a bolt of lightning."

"Ponies get hit by lightning, you know. It's a thing that happens."

"And it is no more likely to happen to us while eating ice-cream than at any other time."

Rewind looked around the street, eyes darting about. She finally pulled her mane over her eyes and hunkered down.

"There. We've arrived."

She looked up at the ice-cream place directly next to them. She stared at the counter, at the rows of chilled tubs arranged behind the glass. "Huh. So we have."

"So? What would you like? Pick anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

She arched an eyebrow. "Anything?"

"Anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

"Quit it."

"Quit what?"

She stared into his eyes, lost in thought. "You really can't remember, can you? You can't remember the same thing more than once."

"I can't forget," he said. "What kind of ice-cream would you like? Pick anything."

She peered at the tubs full of colorful, whorled frost. Her gaze lingered up to the display above the counter, and she scanned the massive list of extravagantly named flavors.

"I waaaant... a quadruple birthday surprise banana split, with rocky-road, pink bubblegum, cherries-jubilee, fudge brownie, peppermint, raspberry cheese Louise, covered with chocolate sauce on one side, strawberry syrup in the middle, and butterscotch on the other side."

"A quadruple birthday surprise banana split?" Erase peered up at the listings. "It serves twelve."

"I'm aware."

"It has fireworks on it. It comes with a complementary clown."

Rewind--still lying crosswise on his back--lifted her nose and crossed her front legs like a distinguished lady. "You said anything."

"No. No, you can't have an entire birthday surprise."

She stuck her bottom lip out. "Why not?"

"You don't need it."

"It's ice-cream," she said. "Nopony 'needs' it at all. It's a treat."

"It's bigger than you are. It'd melt before you could finish eating."

"I'm gonna share it."

"It's not healthy for you."

"It's ice cream. If it's not healthy, why were you offering it to me in the first place?"

"It's not your birthday."

"There are like, twenty kids here. What are the statistics that just one of them is having a birthday today? And remember to take into account this is a shop that sells birthday themed treats."

Erase worked his jaw back and forth. "The statistical probability is... non-trivial."

Rewind continued to watch, patiently.

"It sets a bad precedent," he said. "If I give in to every demand you make, you'll become more and more demanding. It will stunt your psychological maturity as you grow up, and you'll become a bitter, selfish, irresponsible mare who throws a tantrum whenever she doesn't get what she wants. It will completely destroy your ability to lead a normal adult life."

Rewind cleared her tiny throat. "Unless you make it clear that this is a super special occasion that doesn't happen every day. After all, you adopted me: I get to live in a real home and have a real dad. That's even more special than a birthday, and they only happen once a year."

Erase stroked his chin. "...And the quadruple birthday surprise is explicitly designed for birthdays, which gives us a solid benchmark to compare against other significant socio-cultural events."

The mare behind the counter top offered him a little wave. "Excuse me, sir? May I help you?"

He stepped up to the counter. "Yes, miss. I would like a quadruple birthday surprise banana split, with rocky-road, pink bubblegum, cherries-jubilee, fudge brownie, peppermint, raspberry cheese Louise, covered with chocolate sauce on one side, strawberry syrup in the middle and butterscotch on the other side."

Rewind arched both eyebrows. "You weren't kidding about the hyperthymesia, were you?"

"Yes, sir!" said the clerk. "Where would you like it delivered?"

Erase nodded to the nearby patio tables set up on the sidewalk. "Here is fine."

"And who is it for, exactly?"

"Everypony."

Rewind looked up at him. "Everypony?"

"You said you were going to share it. Besides, it would be unethical to expect children to accept treats or favors from a complete stranger. If the treats or favors are offered by a nameless, faceless commercial organization instead of a nameless, faceless individual, the burden of social accountability is preserved."

"So it's okay for kids to accept candy from nameless, faceless commercial organizations?"

"Not intrinsically. But they are subjected to more rigorous laws and regulations than nameless faceless individuals."

"Fair enough," she said.

The clerk passed Erase a form which he filled out promptly and efficiently. They sat at a patio table and waited until a mare--dressed in a polka-dotted costume and with her mane tied into long, rainbow colored braids--came out from behind the counter pushing a trolley. There on the trolley, surrounded by stacks of paper plates and aluminum noisemakers, was the grand centerpiece itself: the quadruple birthday surprise banana split. The massive frozen treat resembled a tiny mountain range in all but size: A row of sparklers spritzed and sparked across the uppermost peaks, and it's frontal surface was emblazoned with the words 'Happy Birthday, Everypony!' printed in hard candy icing.

It took some time for the implications of the word 'everypony' to fully settle in. Rewind winced as the children stampeded around the treat, screaming and laughing. The clown cheerfully distributed smaller bowl-fulls amongst the gathering, including some of the grownups. The desert was barely half-eaten by the time the feeding frenzy settled down, and the clown continued to juggle, sing, and dance to the delight of the crowd.

"I can't believe you didn't just say no, 'because I say so'. That's what parents are supposed to say."

He looked at her, alarmed. "Parenting by fallacious argument? Sounds a little fascist, doesn't it?"

"Nevermind." She nodded towards the crowd of smiling colts and fillies, crowding around the trolley while their parents mingled nearby "This is just disgustingly cute, you know. Were you doing this on purpose? Is this a plot to make yourself seem quirky and adorable?"

Erase looked at Rewind. "Aren't you going to have any?"

"Nah. I'm not hungry. What about you?"

"I don't really like ice cream."

A faint smile tugged at her lips. "Yeah."

Rewind rode on Erase's back as he walked through Canterlot's residential district. She held a sparkler in her hoof and watched the tiny white arcs drift through the air randomly.

"It's always a pair," she said, "and always heterosexual. They're always rich and important, too, but that only makes perfect sense... this is Canterlot, after all."

"What about their reasons for adopting?" Erase said. "Any pattern there?"

"Five were for medical reasons. Three were because of barren mares, and two more had a high risk of birth defects or complications."

"What about infertile stallions?"

"Nah. It's usually easier just to go visit a sperm bank or something." She looked up and watched a small squadron of royal pegasus guards fly overhead. "I guess a mare giving birth is more life-changing than whatever it is the stallion does."

"How'd they go?"

"Varies, but it's always accidental. Collapsing bridges, falling cranes, out-of-control carriages... this one time there was a gas leak or something. I just woke up in the hospital the next day."

"So there's no pattern? At all?"

She frowned. "This is so werd... I feel like a rich old lady blabbing on about all her ex-husbands."

"You don't talk about it much?"

"I used to talk to my thearapist about it all the time, but we eventually decided there wasn't much more to be done about it. I already know how to cope with loss and depression. Everypony else either doesn't wanna hear it, or they just want to stare at me like a freakshow." She shuffled her hind legs and turned to look at him. "You're different, though."

Erase nodded back at her. "I live by deduction. If we can figure out a pattern or trend, then we can do something about it. If there is no pattern, then it's all a big coincidence and you can stop worrying about it completely. Either way, it's better than not knowing."

"Patterns and trends, huh?" she said. "Well a lot of them seem to involve ice cream. Carriages, too, but that's kind of a given. Everypony in Canterlot owns a carriage."

"I don't own a carriage. I walk everywhere."

"Really? Is it because of your crazy brain problem?"

"I just like walking. No matter how long it takes, it doesn't bother me. I just start walking and then all of a sudden I'm there."

"What about waiting in long lines?" Rewind said. "Does that bother you?"

"What do you mean by 'long'?"

Rewind shrugged. "I mean long. What else do I mean?"

"Long can mean two things. It can mean a long time or a long distance. If I wait in a line that takes a very long time, or that moves very slowly, I don't even notice it. But if I get into a line that has a large number of ponies, snaking back and forth, I get a little agitated... it seems long to me, even if it isn't."

Rewind turned to look at him, ignoring her sparkler. "You can't tell time, can you?"

"That's correct."

"Do you know what time is?"

He glanced back at her. "Do you?"

"I'm serious."

"So am I. I dare you to try and explain the idea of time without actually using the word time. Or words that denote a unit or passage of time, like 'minute' or 'earlier'."

"Time is... the amount of..." Rewind clenched her teeth and rolled her eyes. "The amount of... stuff... that happens. Between... other stuff."

"So 'time' is the same as 'distance'?"

"No." Her eyes widened. "Wait... maybe it is."

He smiled at her.

"Well, what if somepony tells you the time? What then?"

"What if I told you it was your birthday yesterday, and you got a lot of presents, and you were very happy? Would that be just as good as actually having a birthday?"

She scowled at him. "No. But maybe if you had somepony follow you around and tell you the time, it might make things easier for you."

"It might help a little. But all I know about nine o'clock is that it comes after eight and before ten." He stopped by a street corner, glanced left and right, and crossed the road. "To me, it's just a list of numbers with nothing in between. I'm good with lists."

"What about nine-thirty?"

"Makes no difference. It goes on the list, right between nine and ten."

"But it's half as long as nine. It takes half as long to get there."

He looked back at her. "What kind of 'long' do you mean?"

Rewind stared back at him. She looked back at her sparkler, just as the last few spritzs of light flickered out. "That's messed up."

"Time isn't real anyways," he said. "It's just a sequence of events... a list of things. There's nothing in between those things. Ponies just use time as a way of measuring all the nothing between something."

"But if it weren't for time, everything would happen all at once. How could somepony live like that?"

Erase continued walking, quietly. Rewind bit her lip and watched the back of his head.

"Is that what it feels like? Everything that's ever happened to you... it happens all at once, all jumbled up and out of order?"

"Happened," he said. "It all happened all at once. The older you get, the more stuff you know. The more stuff you know, the smarter you get. But if there's too much stuff, it becomes harder to sort through it all. It makes it harder to use the stuff you really need. Most ponies forget all the stuff they don't need. But I can't forget."

"What about right now? You're doing stuff right now, aren't you?"

He shrugged. "There is no now. By the time we know something, it's already happened. All we have are memories."

"I could help you," she said. "I could follow you around, and tell you what's really happening."

"It wouldn't work."

"Why not? Why?"

He stopped walking and carefully set Rewind on the sidewalk. "We're here."

Rewind looked up at the huge, rectangular apartment building. The whole front wall was made up of balconies and windows arranged in a curious geometric pattern. The sign across the front of the building, build directly over the three sets of double-sided doors, read simply "Lieu Vague" in large, block letters.

"This is your home?"

"My apartment, yes. The government provides it free of charge, as part of my employment contract. They pay for all my living expenses too. It's a lot of paperwork, but I don't mind."

Rewind stared at the row of front doors. Glass and steel. Concrete and stone. She looked at the other nearby buildings, then glanced down each end of the main road. She looked up at the sun, already two-thirds through it's usual path.

She looked up at Erase. "Aren't you going to tell me to hurry up?"

"What's 'hurry'?"

"It's doing stuff faster. Which is doing the same thing, but in less time. And time isn't real. Right. Sorry." She looked down at her hooves. "This is gonna take some getting used to."

"It takes as long as it takes."

"That's dumb," she said. "It's just a way of saying the same thing over again." She lowered her voice, affecting a mature tone. "You gotta grow up before you get older. We'll get there when we get there. Because that's how it is."

"It's called a tautology: a unique individual, an unexpected surprise, a novel invention, past experience, positive improvement--"

She pointed up at him. "How much does a pound of feathers weigh?"

He nodded. "How far is a hundred miles?"

"I don't want to go inside," she said.

"Why not? I have a room set aside for you. Don't you want to see it?"

"I've been adopted eight times before. Three of them died at the ice cream place, or on the way to the ice cream place. All the others died before we even got home."

"So?"

"So... this is your home." She pointed at the apartment building. "If we cross that street, that's where you're probably gonna die."

They stared at the smoothly paved street in front of them, at a point roughly halfway across.

Rewind looked up at him. "Are you sure you wanna do this?"

"I cross this street every day. Several times, in fact. Nothing bad has ever happened to me on this street."

"Yeah, but this is different. It's me."

"So?"

Rewind ran in a little circle around him, her tiny hooves clicking against the sidewalk. "But it's your whole entire life we're talking about! Aren't you worried about what would happen if you died in the middle of a street, right there, for no reason at all?"

"That's... not impossible, but it is very unlikely."

She pointed a hoof at him "To you, maybe, but to me it happens every single time. It's a sure thing."

"Crossing the street will only... well, strictly speaking, I'm not sure how long it takes to cross the street. But I do know it's a very trivial activity, and that it's extremely unlikely for anything significant to happen in between."

She stamped a hoof. "But it's not about time! What if crossing the street is the thing that makes it happen? It won't matter how long it takes."

Erase glanced back over his shoulder. "Do you think we should annul the adoption? Take you back to the orphanage?"

"No. I don't want that."

"Then should we go inside and show you to your room?"

"I don't want that either." She pawed at the sidewalk. "Do you think... maybe... we could just stay here?"

Erase's brow furrowed. "Here?"

"Yeah. We could just live right here on the sidewalk from now on. You wouldn't have to die, and I wouldn't have to go back to the orphanage. We could just stand here. Forever."

"It wouldn't work," he said. "I can't comprehend the passage of time, so the idea of 'forever' is meaningless to me."

"That means it wouldn't bother you. You could just stand here forever, and you'd never get bored.."

"I might get hungry or tired," he said. "But even if we could stay here or the rest of our lives, I wouldn't remember it as anything more than a single thing we did together. It would be meaningless."

Rewind's ears drooped. "Oh."

He pointed across the street. "Conversely, if I die while crossing the street with you, it doesn't matter how brief the moment is. I'll remember it just as perfectly as everything else that's ever happened to me."

She looked up at him. Her ears perked up slightly. "Really?"

He stepped sideways, right next to her. "Don't think of it as time. Try think of it as distance."

"Whaddya mean?"

"That's how I cope: I try to think of 'time' as 'distance'. When I walk to work, I try to remember the landmarks." He pointed at the road. "If we cross that road together, and I die halfway across, then it means that I spent the rest of my entire life with you. Which is what I promised to do anyways when I adopted you."

Rewind stared at the edge of the road, just under the lip of the sidewalk.

"So if this is the last thing you ever do... then it'll be your last memory."

"I suppose so."

"And if this is your last memory, it'll seem real to you. We'll be crossing this street, together, forever."

He opened his mouth to speak, but paused to stroke his chin first. "I suppose so. I'm not sure what that would feel like."

Rewind nudged her nose against the side of his knee, then stepped out into the street. "Come on. Maybe things'll go differently if I'm the one bringing you home."

Erase glanced left and right, then followed after her. They reached the middle of the road in--what seemed to him, at least--no time at all.