Uphill Battles

“What, are you trying to prove yourself or something? Because you know your mother and I are already proud of you. You’ve got nothing to prove, Charlie.”

“I’m not trying to prove myself, Dad. Besides this, I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself after college.” Charlie winced as he realized what he had just implied.

“...So let me get this straight, Charlie. You want to go into the Marines because you think you’ll be BORED? Did you ever think, for one second, that maybe in your effort to avoid BOREDOM you could... could die? Where would that leave us, boy? What would we do if you got hurt?” His dad was very clearly on the edge of tears, but his ‘tough guy’ persona held strong. Charlie was starting to get frustrated, but he was afraid he was in for the long haul. There was just no telling if his dad would stop being so stubborn. Time to bring out the big guns.

“Look, Dad, I wasn’t looking for your permission when I came. I was looking for your blessing, which would be fantastic to have while I’m in basic, but I guess that’s just a luxury I can’t have. I’m sorry if I’m coming off as inconsiderate, but this is something that I will not budge on.” Charlie turned, stepping off of the porch. He breathed deep, taking in the last lungful of Kentucky air he’d have in a while.

“Bye, Dad.” Charlie slipped into his Avalon and revved the engine. As the headlights flicked on, they momentarily illuminated his dad’s face before he covered it with his hands. Tears were slipping freely down the rutted cheeks, cheeks worn from years of sunny exposure. Not once had Charlie seen his dad cry, but he guessed there was a first for everything.

Charlie sped off, trying to keep his own emotions in check.

***

Twilight had decided that, like most things, the town’s recent visitor needed to be studied. She had quickly gotten over her shock once arriving at the library, and had scolded herself for acting so rashly by pushing the creature back into the mists. She called forth a reconstruction of the being again, using her magic and memory to replicate its appearance.
It was extraordinarily tall, maybe as tall as Celestia herself. It stood on only two legs, though it had another pair of limbs protruding from just under its neck. On the end of each of these appendages had been five stubby claws, which were significantly more rounded than Spike’s. It had been wearing clothes designed to hide it in the desert, so Twilight guessed that that was the creature’s natural environment.

So what was it doing here?

Additionally, it had looked gravely injured, its innards spilling out of a gaping hole in its stomach. All of this she had established in the square, though, so she focused on the image once more. It was difficult, to say the least, as the image of the creature had seemed distant and near-translucent when it had appeared before her in the market, and that effect was only doubled when Twilight was looking at a mere reconstruction.

It wore head protection, a helmet shaped device that had the same coloration as the rest of its clothing, and dark glasses over its eyes. Twilight deduced that this was to protect its eyes from the desert sun. Its skin was tanned, also from sun exposure, and was very nearly hairless where its skin was bare.
All of this in mind, Twilight set out amongst her shelves, looking for anything that had to do with a hairless, desert-dwelling biped. Much to her surprise, there was almost nothing of the sort in existence. The closest description she could find was that of the apes that could be found in the Everfree.
Twilight scowled in frustration, her curiosity and attention was fully on the visit of the being, but she could find no trace of its existence at all. She knew what she had seen, though, and she was far from giving up.

Twilight started searching for a different book, one concerning summoning spells, specifically.

***

Charlie launched into another dream,

“Fruity, start fucking firing!” Aichele yelled, trying to make himself heard over the bark of AK’s. His own weapon was expunging fie, too, directed at the nearby Café where seemingly endless insurgents had streamed from.

Freudemann, “Fruity”, popped his head from the Humvee, aiming down the barrel of the .50 cal. The cannon erupted, splitting all of the other sounds in half. The enemy fire couldn’t even be heard over the hurricane of lead storming overhead. Entire chunks of brick were vaporized where the bullets struck the wall a few insurgents were crouching behind.
Stanson kept his weapon raised, but he doubted they would receive any enemy fire with the amount of suppression being dealt. This was soon put to rest, as Stanson saw the form of an insurgent stand up in his peripheral. Charlie whirled around, firing his M16 the whole way. His bullets found their mark, hitting the enemy three times in the chest before the target even got a shot off.
One shot was all it took, however. The RPG was a little high, granted, but it had devastating effects when it struck the back of the Humvee, which lurched. Fruity fell back inside, and in turn, the .50 was silenced. At this development, more insurgents leapt from behind cover to the left of Charlie.
“Son of a bitch! Get to cover!” Aichele yelled, moving towards a crumbling wall.
Stanson started to move, too, but came to a stop when he felt an all too familiar feeling.

Charlie felt himself slipping, and then the unmistakable feeling of free falling, a tumble from an unknown altitude. He gasped for air, feeling his body start to convulse. Sweat was pouring down his face, whether it was his dream-self or his real body he didn’t know. Charlie thought he heard a woman shriek for a second, but all other sounds were soon overtaken with the great din of air racing past his ears as he fell.

***

He was at the place again. He knew it, and he dreaded it. His last visit had been significantly more strange than its predecessor, and he didn’t want to know what this visit would have in store for him. His arrival was announced with great volume, again, but it was different. This time, the gunshot-like sound did not echo off of cobble, and was not met with the screams of the natives.

The sound seemed to have been absorbed by whatever surrounded him, but he still didn’t know where exactly that was. He had to wait a great deal of time before his vision finally started to sharpen enough for him to make accurate observations about his current position. He briefly noted that his eyesight hadn’t stopped clearing at the “distorted glass” feel it had had last time, so his vision was now intact.

When he could see, Charlie began turning. He was in the middle of a library, which would explain why his entrance was muffled. There were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, all filled with brightly colored volumes, the titles written with an exotic flourish in a language Charlie couldn’t begin to comprehend. Charlie scoffed when he caught himself wondering why the books weren’t written in arabic. Guess the people there really made me feel welcome. Charlie laughed again, Far from home, Charlie. Far from home...
The interior of the circular room he was in appeared to have been entirely wood, even with the rings of a tree on the floor. The room had a short staircase on his left-hand side, and an entrance to where his back had been at his initial appearance. Standing in front of the door was the purple horse, which Charlie couldn’t be bothered to worry about. Dreams are weird, right?

What was slightly disconcerting was the wide-eyed look the horse was giving him, which tipped Charlie off to the fact that he was entirely visible. Charlie would’ve been happy, talking with this horse would be the first interaction he’d had outside of dream-combat in a long time. Instead, as he stepped towards the horse, he collapsed, the pain of a few grams of shrapnel grinding against his spinal column unbearable.

Charlie fell onto his face - hard. He could feel the blood already starting to race towards his nose, and he groaned. He moved his arms, about to try to push himself up when two more waves of anguish hit him. One was the sharp stabbing that he felt all along his back, an immediate pain that raced along his spine from the shrapnel. The other was worse. It was a deep throbbing, one that began at his left arm and stretched towards his chest. It was terrible, like all of the blood in his veins had been replaced with boiling water. It left the muscles in the affected area numb and useless.

Charlie gave one long scream of pain before he blacked out, an occurrence that seemed to be happening a lot lately.

***

Schneider tried to comfort the woman, but he knew only time could do that. The family had finally decided that enough was enough, the torture needed to stop. The face of the woman when Schneider had delivered the news - the boy was brain dead - was almost too much. She had changed greatly in appearance since she had first arrived; from an air of hope and optimism to one of dreary perseverance, though Schneider had to admire her unwillingness to give up.

This had been a problem at first, of course, as she didn’t want to let her beloved slip away, not just yet. It had taken the doctor quite a while to convince her otherwise, which did nothing in helping his already fragile emotional status. He recalled the conversation:

“Are you suggesting that we just let my husband die, you prick?! He’s still alive, god damn it!” She screamed, attracting a few sympathetic glances from the hallway. This was a common occurrence at the military hospital.

“I am sorry, ma’am, but I am afraid that he is already dead. He will never breathe or move on his own again, only with the help of these... machines”, Schneider said, before continuing more quietly, “And you cannot keep him in here forever. I am truly sorry.”

At this the man’s wife looked up at him, tears streaking down her already mascara-stained face. The woman was naturally pale, a brunette with blue eyes and a slender figure. The doctor thought it a crime that such a beautiful person be put through so much stress. He wondered briefly what had been incentive enough for the man to leave his wife, but quickly corrected himself. Such things were not his business.

“Listen, ma’am, to be quite frank, you need to keep yourself in good health as well. How long since you last left the hospital?”

The woman sniffed once more before replying, “Uh, a week. I think. I understand what you’re saying, though. Just... give me a moment with him.” Schneider nodded curtly and sauntered from the room.

Schneider strode through the hall, looking at his folder. As he entered the next room, he found another family waiting by the bedside of another boy, an air of hope and optimism lingering staunchly around the fallen.

***

Twilight was starting to hyperventilate. She was not one to panic, either, she was usually the level headed mind that her friends needed to counter the absurdity of their adventures:

The creature had appeared with that loud bang again, but had appeared in its entirety almost at once. Twilight was somewhat elated that the summoning spell had worked, and that she now had a chance to really study the creature up close. It was wearing the clothes still, blood dripping from the tendrils of innards that hung out. The glasses were still concealing its eyes, but Twilight was sure she could see a wash of its dark mane sticking out from under its helmet. As it turned to study its new setting, Twilight noticed a strange object that hung around its neck. It was black and about the length of the creatures arm. It was primarily cylindrical, with two handle-like appendages that were attached to it. One end of the cylinder tapered off to a much thinner tube, but the other end turned blunt and ended abruptly. Twilight dismissed it for the moment, hoping to get a definitive answer after consulting the creature.
It continued to look around, apparently unaware of its injuries. Twilight’s heart leapt into her throat when it turned straight towards her, holding her in its gaze for a second. It suddenly flinched, collapsing to the floor with a dull thud. It writhed around, screaming in agony for a while before falling still. Twilight briefly wondered if she was truly ugly enough to kill someone on sight.
So now Twilight was starting to hyperventilate. The level headed one of her friends was starting to panic.
“Oh Celestia, what am I going to tell everypony?” Twilight quickly calmed herself, recognizing that panicking would get her nowhere. She clopped over to a shelf where she thought she may have a book to help her. She scanned the titles for a moment before grinning. “The Medical Practice for Unicorns... for Diagnosing Ailments, see page 227...” Twilight read for a while before slapping the book shut and moving towards the alien. She took a deep breath, recalling what the book had told her.

Twilight used her magic to enter its mind, finding it a place as confusing as it was troubling. After entering, she was nearly floored by the flashing pain that echoed around its head. Twilight screamed one staccato note, being in the creature’s mind had put some of the pain on her, too. She tagged the pain in its mind and followed it to the source. Or sources, she guessed.

The first trail of blood curdling suffering led to its back, where Twilight felt several obstructions to the being’s natural anatomy. She held the objects in her concentration, referencing its signature with the creature’s memories. Doing this summoned some of the being’s memories linked to whatever was hurting the creature. The memories played themselves behind Twilight’s eyes; moving pictures that were displayed from the creature’s point of view.
Twilight gasped, she was seeing some form of combat, creatures of the same race were standing and yelling, while holding the same cylindrical object that had been strapped around ‘her’ creature’s neck. The creatures held their little claws on the handles and pulled some kind of lever, releasing fire from the end of the cylinder that tapered off.

They appeared to be discharging the fire-things at members of their own species. At this, she was disgusted. The Equine race was one of peace and friendship, and would never stoop to such barbarism as fighting each other. The combat was indeed taking place in the desert, and the being’s comrades were dressed just as it was. Twilight was somewhat startled when she heard one of the things scream and run from what looked like a rock, and even more so when the her being leapt on top of it. She wondered for a few seconds why this part of the being’s memory was so full of fear and anxiety, until she felt only a small sliver of the blast.

Twilight screamed, snapped out of the creature’s mind, the pain was too great. Twilight felt like spines had been driven straight through her belly. It was a searing, white-hot pain that took hold of her entire focus. She clutched her stomach, trembling on the floor of the library. After taking a few minutes to recover from the wracking pain, she forced herself into the creature’s head again, though more guarded. She had found out that shards of the exploding rock had found their way into the creature’s spine, interrupting the flow of energy from its legs and simultaneously creating the hole in its stomach.

Satisfied with this, she ventured once again into the being’s memories, deciding to follow the other pain later, as it seemed much worse. She looked through countless memories, and after stumbling on a few that brought a light blush to her cheeks, she concluded that the being was a ‘he’. She latched onto this, and set out once more to find his name. This did not take long, and now the ‘he’ was a ‘Private Stanson’, based on what his comrades called him.

Her curiosity briefly sated, Twilight began following the last excruciating trail of hurt in his body. She found the source to be what felt like a well of anguish, a well that pulled on her consciousness. The well was dark, and seemed to be absorbing Stanson’s very energy, sending it to Celestia knows. She could feel some of the memories going into the well, disappearing into the void. Twilight focused on it, trying to keep herself from falling into it.

Despite her efforts, she could feel the edges of her focus being tattered by the sheer exertion required to keep herself afloat. Her energy was being drained, too, vaporizing like sand through a sieve. With one final blast of magic, she closed the well, a flood of his memories bobbing to the surface of his mind, which was notably more pacified than when she entered. This aside, the rock-shards still crippled Private Stanson with pain, which was understandable based on Twilight’s only minimal encounter with it.

Twilight was drained, and literally collapsed in a heap, the concentration of entering Charlie’s mind too great even for the best magician in Equestria.

Twilight was not aware that she had stopped Charlie’s soul from slipping back to Earth, where he was currently dying, and by doing so had saved him. He was also trapped in Equestria. Oops.