FAILURE

The dull chime of the clock tower announces the late hour of my departure; it is half past eleven. The streets are all empty. Sighing again, I drag my creaking wooden tomb after me, staring ahead blankly as I make my way down the dirt road that leads out of town. My mind submerges itself in the constant, gentle drone of the pebbles crunching under the wheels of my coffin. The wide array of bright colors and fancy shapes that decorate its surface suggest a most spectacular funeral. One that I intend to accomplish when the time comes.

The noise of the final crescendo begins to die down. One by one, the strobes of magical fire drifting above are extinguished, leaving the square shrouded in darkness for a brief moment.

Until that day, however, it is the only company I have on the road. And somehow, despite everything, I feel less lonely this way. I find more comfort here, away from everything else, than when I am lost in a crowd as just another nopony struggling to get through without being stomped on.

The lights slowly turn back on. I stand there at the center of the stage, motionless, head held up high as I bask in the applause that I imagine to be loud enough to rattle my bones. Behind my closed eyelids, I see a vast ocean of creatures before me, cheering for me wildly, screaming, stomping, throwing themselves all around, chanting my name as they worship it.

My eyelids droop. My joints ache. They scream at me through my nerves. I feel exhausted, to the point that I am convinced I should have collapsed long ago. Strengthened by the abuse, my heart and lungs no longer have to work overtime to keep me going. They function at a constant, mechanical rate as they sustain my body. If anything, they seem to be slowing down, convinced by my mind that I am unable to continue.

I see a host of colts and fillies as they wrestle and clamber over each other before the stage. Dozens of tiny hooves grab the edge of the wooden planks and reach out to me, only their size and lack of strength keeping them at bay.

My stomach audibly grumbles, making me cringe. The gutted purse hanging from my neck resembles its condition. It is the only organ in my body that I wish to be able to burden with something. The agony emitted by it is like a lead anchor hooked into my belly, pulling me down mercilessly into the ground. It makes me grind my teeth together. My hooves tense up, but there is nopony around for me to act out my frustration upon.

I see my name and my face plastered on every surface available around me, the colors that I wear and employ taking dominance over all others as they pay tribute to my excellence.

Despite all of these things, my hooves just drag me on, no longer enslaved by the fatigue consuming me. They move on their own, seeming determined to take me to my destination no matter what, as if they knew where that is better than even I do. Nothing can stand in their way, least of all myself.

I see father looking at me, beaming with pride. There is an odd pain in my chest when I notice something wet shimmering in the corners of his eyes.

The visions fill me with joy. I smile and hold on to them for as long as I can.

But I am a deceiver. A conjurer of illusions. And while I may be proficient at fooling an audience, even I am not good enough to fool myself for very long.

My pride has always been my source of strength. My vanity has always been the force guiding my actions. I felt powerful with them by my side. They were invincible, and they made me feel that way. All it took to destroy me was for someone to damage them.

Slowly, I open my eyes, removing the veil of my fantasy and exposing them to the truth. A vast emptiness stretches out before me, devoid of any light. The hollow void feels enervating, draining the very life out of my body. The magnificent sound of thunder is replaced by just a few whistles and shouts here and there, combined with the lackluster thumping of maybe a half-dozen hooves concealed within the darkness.

As my vision begins to adjust, I manage to make out a few silhouettes standing before the stage. My senses did not lie about their approximate numbers. They give a few more stomps and cheers, some of them even shouting my name. Then, one by one, they turn around and start drifting away, their need for entertainment satisfied for the evening.

It is only so long that one can drown out their consciousness using whatever substance that proves strong enough. Only so many times can you forget yourself in the warm embrace of someone else's body. Your nerves overriding every thought as they fire continuously from the stimulation. Your mind intoxicated by the dominance you are able to assert over the other.

They penetrate your flesh, but you penetrate their very soul. Such power should only be reserved for gods, yet I have been able to claim it as my own.

My legs are trembling. I feel it again. That tingling in my eyes. The twitching of my lips. I do my best to ignore it. My forelegs bend, and my muzzle brushes the floor as I give the most generous bow of my entire life. I imagine being overwhelmed by the deafening calls for an encore. Every ounce of my strength tries to sustain the illusion.

It isn't enough. Something wet crawls along my face. I feel it traveling down to the tip of my muzzle. The sound of each individual drop hitting the wood beneath my hooves is all that I can hear.

But I cannot escape any longer. Power is meaningless when you are weak, your dominance only extending over those even weaker.

My ears twitch when something penetrates my cocoon of despair. A rhythmic sound coming from right before me. The steady beat created by a pair of hooves pounding the dirt. My heart nearly stops when I hear a high-pitched voice calling my name. I look up, quickly wiping away the tears flooding my vision to maintain my composure. A small, purple-coated earth pony filly is standing alone on the square, cheering and stomping her hooves proudly. She then walks up to the stage all of a sudden, climbs up over the edge, and presents me with what appears to be a small coloring book, begging me for an autograph.

I am too stunned to react at first. My muscles tense up, and I take a deep breath as I prepare to throw myself into my usual majestic act. I stop myself at the last moment. Seconds pass, and I just stand there, staring at her awkwardly. Her wide smile and friendly expression is unwavering as she looks up at me, eyes filled with admiration.

There was no sense of accomplishment when I saw his decaying form shriveled up under the thick blankets. No sense of superiority when I heard the most desperate struggles of his entire life for every additional breath. No amount of condescension as I watched the water bleeding out of the sockets of his skull. The great tremors of his sobs running through his chest and head. No desire to interrupt when his voice could no longer rise above a gentle whisper.

I shake my head, letting out a strained laugh as I place a hoof on her shoulder. My horn lights up, lifting the book that she is holding up to me out of her grasp. I then levitate one of my spellbooks out of my bag behind the curtains and bring it out before her, opening it to the very first page. She gasps as I begin to manipulate the ink with my magic, reshaping it into the curves that form my signature.

I place the book in her still outstretched hoof, then stuff the one she gave me into my bag. She just sits there, jaw hanging, staring at the gift in disbelief. She then notices me slowly walking off the stage and trots after me, almost dancing with joy. I fold up the side of the wagon as soon as we are inside, then throw off my costume into a pile next to my cot while I give her a moment to take in her surroundings.

Maybe I deserve this. Maybe I don't. Maybe nopony in the world truly "deserves" anything. Who should be the judge of what a pony deserves in return for their actions? If anything, that sort of privilege is something no one should be allowed to call their own.

No, there is no such higher judgement. Life simply deals you a certain hand, then tells you to live with it. And I have not gambled very well with my own.

Her excitement brings a smile to my face. I give her a few more minutes to explore my abode to her heart's content, then escort her out through the back door, giving her gentle a pat on the head before saying goodbye. I strap myself into the shafts at the front of my wagon, then start grunting as my body strains against its weight. Slowly, the dead husk of my career begins to lurch forward.

She stares after me with a confused look on her face, holding my book to her chest tightly. Through my gasps for breath I can hear her calling my name again, worry creeping into her voice. I don't look back.

My legs almost buckle under my weight as I finally halt in my self-inflicted march. I throw off the belts tying me to the shafts of my wagon as I look around. I am standing on top of a small hill overlooking the town that I left behind. There is no more sound, save for the droning buzz of the crickets around me. Only a few streetlights remain lit to provide a faint illumination for the streets of the sleeping hamlet.

I couldn't have asked for a more kind and respectful audience. Yes, this will have to do.

I deploy the stage again, its individual elements snapping into their respective positions on their own, as always. The years of constant use do not seem to have been able to wear out the mechanisms just yet. The wooden planks creak under my hooves as I walk out from behind the curtains onto the stage once more, taking position at the center. The moon shines brightly in the cloudless night sky. It becomes a spotlight for me, announcing my presence on stage. The noise of the crickets around me seem to fade into complete silence.

My lips curl up into a soft smile. This is it. One last, brilliant performance to take me where I need to go.

I take a deep breath, then rear up. My hind legs, my whole body is trembling from the exhaustion. My horn lights up as I focus my magic, mentally aiming it toward the equipment hooked up around me.

That's it. No need to rush. Just like you always do it. Concentrate on the end of each fuse. Raise the temperature. Be careful not to—

A sharp stab of pain in my skull makes me scream. There is a crackling sound as the tip of my horn begins to vomit tiny sparks. The aura of light around it flickers, then dies out completely. I fall to the ground, my hooves clutching the sides of my head as I roll around and whimper from the agony.

Minutes pass before the pain becomes tolerable enough. I manage to sit back up, my still throbbing skull making me wince with every inch that I move it. I blink away at the tears filling my eyes as I attempt to pull myself to my hooves. My limbs wriggle about in a futile struggle. They are no longer able to obey me. I suck in the air through my teeth, trying to focus my magic instead. The pain in my skull intensifies, my horn shooting fire straight into it. There is no other response.

I start shaking my head as I laugh despite myself. My tears are flowing freely now, not even making me grimace as I let them go.

I guess that's it, then. In the end, it seems even magic has failed me...

I lie on my back and gaze up at the stars. My silent audience stares back at me, their gentle flickers voicing their demand for the show that they have been promised. I close my eyes, nodding to them in response.

I apologize for the delay. It is my fault. Why did I ever waste my time with an illusion? After all, the products of science have never failed me before.

My hoof reaches for the box of matches lying next to me.

I rear up, throwing my forehooves into the air. A final, brilliant explosion illuminates the night sky with a thunderous roar. For but a brief a moment, the bright flash allows me to see every one of their faces. I smile as I take in the sight of awe frozen into their expressions. Their wide eyes. Their heads turned up, jaws hanging limply from their skulls. I feel myself shining, blinding them with the same light as the kind that my illusions create, burning with energy that could rival a deity.

Father would have been proud.

Author's Note

The "recommended videos" actually brought up the "peanut butter crackers" scene one time...

Is that supposed to be a sign, or something?