Night Mare

My name is Midnight Snow.

In today's world, where fame is the alter at which most ponies worship, I don't know why you should care who I am. I am not a celebrity, am not related to any celebrities, have never molested nor been molested by any celebrity, and have never saved nor been saved by any celebrities. In fact, I am such a non-entity that Modern Pony magazine will not only never feature a piece about me, but would probably deny me a subscription on the fear that the black hole of my non-celebrity-ness might be enough to suck away their entire enterprise.

Though I am somewhat infamous, I suppose.

Don't get me wrong. I've never committed any atrocities nor do I have any intention to. I live my life in quiet little Ponyville, where I was born, where I was raised, and where I'll die.

What makes me infamous is my habit of not being out in daylight.

Not by choice, you understand. I have a rare condition known as Xeroderma Pigmentosa. My skin, beneath my thin coat, can't handle ultraviolet radiation very well at all. When exposed to such radiation, a normal pony's body will produce certain enzymes to repair the DNA and allow the cell to reproduce successfully. My body doesn't produce these enzymes.

What this means is that, when my skin cells' DNA is damaged by ultraviolet radiation, there is nothing to repair it and the damaged DNA will produce a mutated cell. I'm far more prone to skin cancers than your average pony.

This is an extremely rare disorder to begin with, only one in about two hundred and fifty thousand ponies have it. Most of us don't live past our teens and twenties. I've just entered my twenty-fifth year, but only because I've been so very careful.

I deny myself ultraviolet radiation of any sort. While modern ponies enjoy electric lamps and sunlight, I have candles and night. I'm not upset by this. This was simply the hand Fate dealt me and I must live with it.

Even though I don't have a job, I have income. My parents, well may they rest, worked very hard to make sure that I could live comfortably without the need for employment. As such, I have a lot of free time on my hooves. I play a myriad of musical instruments, read voraciously, and write.

Perhaps that is why I write this. Not as a record of my life, I'm not that egotistical, but to simply fill a boring afternoon. But, I digress.

Because of my condition, I can only go out and about well after Celestia's sun has vanished below the horizon. My nighttime wanderings have led the townsponies to believe that I'm some sort of madpony, freak, or monster, not something to be feared, but to be avoided nonetheless. Perhaps they tell their little foals to eat their vegetables, wash their faces, or make their bedtime or the Night Mare will come for them.

Probably not. Like I said, I'm a writer. I have a very active imagination.

You might think that my reclusive lifestyle means that I am alone most of the time, and you would be right, but that doesn't mean I don't have friends. Ditzy Doo, who brings my mail and most of what I regularly need, is a good friend of mine. She drops by every Tuesday morning, on her way to work, and picks up my list, which she fills and drops off as she's on her way home. Usually, she's in a pretty big hurry, but she sometimes stays to chat over coffee. Because of her eyes, many ponies believe she is somewhat slow, but, I assure you, the mare is quite intelligent. The books she borrows from me speak to this.

Occasionally, Vinyl Scratch, Lyra Heartstrings, and Octavia Harmony drop by and we have ourselves a little jam session. Recently, Vinyl suggested we put together an album. When I reminded her of my condition, she began to turn one of my spare rooms into a studio. The album will be released in a couple of months. My name will not be on it. I don't like that kind of publicity.

Twilight Sparkle, the town librarian and the Princess' Prized Pupil, brings me books from her collection every few weeks. She's often too busy to stop, but our friendship is special all the same.

Because I have such a thin coat, I require special clothing to cover all of me and protect me from the cold and light. Rarity is generous enough to come to me, take my measurements, and fill my orders. It's a difficult job, requiring a lot of time and energy which I'm sure is better spent elsewhere, but she's more than happy to help me and I'm more than happy to throw in a few extra bits for her.

Finally, what group of friends would be complete without Pinkie Pie? The excitable mare just sort of pops up in my general vicinity, which was a little disconcerting at first. I have never figured out how she was able to get into my house.

Though I've managed to convince her that I don't need parties to be happy, she and I have discovered a mutual love of baking and often do it in each other's company on nights when she's not busy. We sing and laugh and generally have a good time without the noise and mess of a full-scale Pinkie-patented party.

I glanced out the window and noticed that the sun was nearly down. Many ponies would be hurrying home for supper, but I would be heading out. I often suffer from cabin fever because of my semi-voluntary confinement in my house so, during the nights, I wander the streets of Ponyville. Sometimes my wanderings would take me by the park where Lyra, who suffers from insomnia, plays her lyre. I sit and listen while we talk.

Sometimes my wanderings take me around to Sugar Cube Corner, where Pinkie and I commandeer the kitchen for baking by candlelight.

Tonight, I wanted to go to the bluffs. From there, I had a perfect view of the night sky and Ponyville nestled beneath. I loved to watch the stars swirl by in their pale ribbons of galaxies. It was always so quiet, so peaceful, so perfect.

Getting dressed, for me, is an act of contortion. Most ponies wear clothes that consist of a few straps that secure the fabric against their backs and flanks. Because of my condition, my clothes must cover every inch of my body, save my hooves. I wear a pair of work chaps modified to completely encircle my hind legs and plot up to mid-flank. The chaps are made of a soft, warm and durable cotton-based material and have a complicated series of buttons and clasps to secure them around my body, leaving them tight enough to hold but loose enough to allow me to move comfortably. My jacket is much the same way, made of the same material, with a hood to cover my head. Praise Celestia that I was born a unicorn with a fairly-competent grasp of magic or getting dressed to go out would not be possible.

My saddle was almost superfluous, but it had a little lamp mounted on it. The lamp wasn't so much so I could see. I have excellent night vision. A lifetime spent in the gloom tends to have that effect.

The lamp was so that other ponies could see me as I moved about. No, before you ask, I am not that egotistical. I said so before. No, I simply don't want to startle anypony. Sometimes, when lost in my own thoughts, I can move quickly and quietly without really trying to. There have been a few instances where innocent ponies, confused or unaware of exactly who I was, have called the Guard on me, claiming that I was some kind of stalker. Luckily, most of the Guard know who I am and we're usually able to avoid any unpleasantness.

My eyes are the most sensitive part of my body. Even at night, I must wear sunglasses, but, thankfully, they are of a light tint so that I'm not stumbling about like a blind pony. My shades sat on my bureau and I levitated them over my eyes. They settled onto my muzzle and the world took on an amber tint.

I sat in a chair while I waited for the sun to set fully. Even the soft peach of twilight and predawn prove to be too much for me. I must not see the sun in its entirety. I can't and, thus far in my life, I had not.

Wait, I take that back. There has been one instance when I have gone out during daylight hours but that had been an emergency and it was only for a few moments. Still, I shudder to think of how much damage those few moments of direct sunlight did. My entire lifespan probably shortened by five years, not that it's that long to begin with.

As I told you a moment ago, I'm twenty-five. If I'm super-careful, I've got another decade in me. Maybe two, if the cards lay right. My life is halfway over.

As I waited, I wondered about what the night might bring. Even wandering the same streets that I had wandered for the past decade, there was always something new to see and experience every night. I've met new ponies, noticed new things, and had new experiences. It was rare that I made a trip up to the bluffs, where I had the best view of the night sky. I hoped to see a meteor, or perhaps a comet.

If my somewhat foalish ramblings annoy you, I'm sorry. I have been denied so many experiences in my life that those that I am privileged enough to take part in are that much more meaningful.

Finally, the last tints of the sun faded away and it was safe enough for me to head out. The late autumn air held a gentle nip that spoke of the oncoming winter. The moon was bright enough that I almost didn't need the little red lantern that bobbled above my saddle. I trotted down Mane street and turned on Stirrup street, which led past out past Sweet Apple Acres to the bluffs above Ponyville.

As I approached the vast farm, I kept hearing a low thud that piqued my interest. I looked up the dirt lane that led to the magnificent old barn that was the home of the Apple family and had been for decades. The Apples and I didn't really cross paths on a daily basis, but, when I felt the need for fresh produce, Applejack always delivered.

The orange-coated mare and her massive brother had, apparently, decided to use the Harvest Moon to finish up the last of their apple trees. Applejack glanced my way and raised a forehoof in greeting, which I returned. Applejack, for all of her virtues, often had trouble understanding me. To her, I was a lazy aristocrat that chose not to earn my own way in the world and, instead, slid through life on laurels that my parents had planted. As such, our encounters were always cordial, but distant.

I can't say I blamed her for her opinions. She was a simple farm mare who grew up simply, was taught simple morals and lived a simple life. In her world, everypony earned their own way in their own way. Those who were lazy had worked hard enough to earn that right or were born that way and were useless. I had tried to explain why I couldn't work, but, each time I did, I received a bewildered stare in reply.

Sometimes, oftentimes, I envied her. She had a long life of the world she loved and would, undoubtedly, spend her twilight years watching over her many foals, grandfoals, and great-grandfoals from the comfort of a porch and a rocking chair. All I had to look forward to was another twenty short years and a premature death after a battle with cancer that I would, ultimately, lose.

Leaving the main road, I took a narrow, steep, and winding trail up to the bluffs. The trail bordered the Everfree forest and wasn't regularly used. It was full of potholes, overgrown in places, and had random rocks and roots jutting from the dirt to trip the unwary. I was very careful as to how and where I placed my hooves as my pace slowed from a trot to a walk.

Ahead of me, dim light glowed from the windows of a small cottage on the edge of the forest. This was the home of the only other inhabitant of Ponyville who might have been more reclusive than I. Fluttershy was exactly as her moniker implied, which led me to believe that her parents had named her late, or perhaps changed her name some years after her birth. Either way, she was the most timid pony I had ever heard of. She lived in that small cottage with half of the Everfree's wild animal population. The noise must be amazing, and the smell, intolerable.

I left Fluttershy's cottage behind and continued up the trail. As I got further along, I began to feel a difference in the air. It was not something I could easily put my hoof on, but rather like a tingling sensation, like a thousand ants crawling along my coat. I felt my skin twitch involuntarily as it tried to rid itself of pests that weren't there. The sensation only increased the closer I came to my destination.

At the top of the bluffs, the trail leveled out for about a hundred meters or so before continuing on into the forest. This area was a massive field bordered by the forest on one side and a drop-off on the other. I crested the incline and stood in awe of the sight there.

Lying in the grass at the edge of the cliff and serenely looking out at the sights below, was the most beautiful unicorn I have ever beheld. She was tall and slender and her dark coat made her nearly invisible in the night. I would have missed her completely if it wasn't for the heavy alabaster cloak she wore to ward off the chill.

Her demeanor spoke of strength and grace, but also a deep sadness that she tried to hide. She seemed alone in the world, without a friend or confidant. She seemed like she had seen a lifetime of horrors and bore them all on her shoulders alone. My heart went out to her.

A loud pop broke me from my thoughts and I noticed that I had stepped on a twig, which had broken beneath my hoof.

The unicorn noticed as well.