Nightmare Life

~A Night's Dream~

It was the crack of dawn. The sun had pulled itself gracefully over the hillside past Ponyville and beyond the great unknown, waking up the world slowly with it's rays that gently kissed the dew-covered grasses. It was this light that was the only kindness to Night Riser in the morning, a friendly "hello, good morning dear" to wake his sleepy self.

And such was this morning. The sun had risen once again, dutifully, at dawn's embrace, shedding light on the land that sang autumn, the trees bare and the leaves playfully assorted on the ground. It was this season that Night Riser woke up best to, Autumn. It was the host of his favorite holiday: Nightmare Night.

Which was, in fact, that very night.

When dawn broke so did the lids of Night Riser's eyes as he stretched and yawned from his bar that hung on the ceiling. He looked out the window and smiled. It was, in deed, a beautiful day, and such one that he would rather spend dreaming. The bat-pony liked to dream. He did, in fact, dream so much. He remembered the start of his greatest dream. It had happened one night, while he was gazing out his window, his head swirling with fantasies, and that picture he had remembered from not so long ago from that point.

It was the Bat Princess. That whole week since the night he first saw her he had dreamed of meeting her, to say hello, to know that she wasn't alone, nor he, in the world that so discriminated their kind. And it was that night he wrote his dreams down, in fact, he drew them on paper. He drew a lot of things, what with his one box of crayons, but that first picture of the Bat Princess was special. Night Riser remembered staying up all the way until dawn, using the moon for light, and drawing all he could remember of the pretty pony before his mind could let the image go. It was then his greatest dream struck true through his heart, that he would definitely meet her.

He just had to.

And tonight was going to be the night, he knew it for sure.

Quickly the pony shook his head from his recalls. His chores needed tending to first. With haste, Night Riser sped out of his room and slid down the grip of the spiraling staircase. He dashed through the hallway filled with rooms of the Master's studies, including the dreaded closet of his past, the room which held The Torture. He hadn't been there for years, and had wondered what Dr. Zoid had ended up using the old room for, or if he forgot about it altogether.

Either way, Night Riser remembered that his foalhood was filled with misery and hatred from there and from the doctor.

The pony tumbled down the staircase to the main floor, and once there, stopped at the bottom quietly and perked his ears. Attentively, he listened for the Master's breathing, which wasn't difficult considering that Zoid was a heavy snorer and that Night's large, bat-like ears could pick up the slightest noise. He then smiled. The place was his for a while.

Instantly Night Riser dashed for the cleaning supplies on a shelf. They were there, right at his nose for reaching. He remembered when he was six doing these chores, how hard it was for him to get a hold of things, how he had to cautiously maneuver the chair to see anything in the lab.

But that was eleven years ago. Now, Night Riser was much taller, and though not as tall as most stallions, was still able to reach things with more ease. The pony was still thin, however, probably with little to no muscle strength and still showing vague signs of malnourishment. Night Riser's mane, tail, and coat was a sloppy mess, the doctor cutting it crudely with a scalpel every couple months and never providing many ways for the boy to stay clean.

The other feature that remained the same with Night Riser was his flank. It was bare, with no cutie mark. This didn't bother him, however. He never knew the term "cutie mark" to begin with, Dr. Zoid never mentioning nor showing his for Night's questioning. So a blank flank was he, but that never got to his attention. In fact, none of these features really did, but they didn't matter anyhow.

Because now, Night Riser was happy. Especially today, when he would plan his escape.

First, the stallion had to get through the course of the day. He did his morning chores quickly, dusting the furniture, sweeping and mopping the floors, getting rid of spider and cobwebs, and washing the windows. The reason the chores were done so fast was so Night Riser could find the sliver in the day between then and when the Master woke that he could have peace. Peace to dream and create.

Carefully, the bat-pony put everything back into place. He bolted up the stairs, down the hallway, and up to his room, almost forgetting to close the door, but still minded it. He sat at the top in his solitary room, breathing for a while, then looking out at the still rising sun. He had time.

Night Riser walked over to a loose stone in the windowsill of his room and pulled it up to reveal his neatly arranged and secret belongings inside. They were a stack of papers, clean, others with drawings on them already. He pulled out one piece and held it in his mouth, careful not to bite through with his sharp canines. Then, he pulled out a tin box from which all the magic came from: his crayon box.

He brought these things to the center of the floor, laid the paper neatly in front of him, and with his jaw popped the lid off his box. He then chose the smallest crayons in the box, the ones he had used countless times. They were the yellow, the pink, the black, but also, the most unexpected, his blue-green. It was the most beautiful tint he had in his collection, and he was honored to use it for what he always spared it for on his papers.

Night Riser picked up one of these crayons and began sketching. He was going to be sure that this was the best picture he would draw, knowing it would be his last, for the stallion was planning that he would meet the subject of his artwork that night. The Bat Princess.

Now Night Riser always drew her the same way, but he was just so fascinated by her that he found himself creating her image multiple times, and as he grew, so did she on the paper. (He figured that since she was his age that she would definitely grow up with him too.) He always drew her standing as she had that night, her wings outstretched. But Night Riser always left her mouth bare. He didn't see her smile that night, but didn't want to draw her frowning. So he left it blank until he met her.

His favorite part was putting the last touch on her with his favorite crayon, and that was her big, shining, and innocent eyes.

After his masterpiece was complete, he put his crayons back in his tin as they were. Night Riser took time right afterwards to admire what he had done, or more so, the Bat Princess he had dreamed of for so many years. Was it really tonight that he was going to see her? A smile fell upon his face. Definitely. He had wished for the night for so long, gone through so much, he would have to see her before all else changed.

The dream left his mind in a spin through the clouded unknown. Night Riser found his eyes drifting out of his window, to the quaint town of Ponyville, and then to a wonderful fade into his own mind. His eyelids became heavy and he laid his head gently on his hooves, his breathing slowing...

* * *

"I didn't know you were taking up a new hobby, Night Riser. You should've mentioned this to me sooner."

Night Riser felt his eyes burn open at the sound of the rusty voice. Instantly his throat tightened and grasped a hold of his breath, and his coat froze. Night Riser felt a burning in his head as he came to his senses. That was when he caught his bearings.

And that was when he realized that there was somepony behind him.

Dr. Zoid.

"What have you been doing, rat?!" he screamed at the unexpectedly knowing young stallion. Night Riser jolted around and barely held a stance on his knees. He faced the burning eyes of Dr. Zoid, which he knew were reeking anger behind his goggles.

The question that was reeling through his mind was how the doctor came up to his room.

"M-master! Dear sir!" Night Riser trembled as he tried to choke back reality. "B-but how-"

"Shut your unwholesome trap!" bellowed the Master. "I bet you think this is your private sector, huh? That you have a special privacy all to yourself? Do you know who owns you, Night Riser, who owns your life?!" The bat-pony was lost for words. He couldn't do anything but shake where he was.

"Most importantly, do you know what time of day it is?!" Night Riser trotted weakly to his window, pulling his muzzle over the sill to see outside.

It was late afternoon.

"As for this disgusting habit of yours," said the doctor behind him. Night turned around. Zoid had his picture of the Bat Princess in his hooves!

"Master!" Night Riser choked.

"WHAT DO YOU MAKE OF THIS HORRID DISPLAY?!" demanded the Master. "WHO IS THIS?!" Night Riser stood in silence. "TELL ME BOY!"

"The...my...my...she's my dream," stuttered Night Riser. He was too afraid to claim her existence. His safest place for the Bat Princess was in his mind. Dr. Zoid cackled hoarsely.

"Did I raise you this way, boy?" he asked cruelly. "DID I?! To result to fantasies? What have I told you, Riser?! There is no other bat-pony, there is no other place for you out there! You can't even fly on your own still, you're so weak, you have no life, no talent, no hope! That's why you're here! WITH ME! UNDERSTAND, BOY?!" Night Riser's face fell to the floor. He felt his eyes sting in guilt, in shame, in whatever. He didn't know. But the tears fell. It was like The Torture. Only it was worse. It was here, real, and came from nowhere. He heard the sound of ripping paper and Dr. Zoid cough in his throat.

"Do you have more?" he asked. "ANSWER ME NOW, NIGHT RISER!" And there, he had no choice. Night Riser revealed the secret stash of drawings, his beloved crayon box. Dr. Zoid took all of them. He ripped all the pictures, one-by-one, disgracing each one before tearing it to shreds. He left the room with all the scraps, the crayons which he claimed he would melt at the fire. Then, slowly, he descended down the stairs with difficulty, but in a way that showed he had all the time in the world that day to be able to come up in the first place. But Night Riser didn't watch him go. He buried his face in the ground, weak and broken in front of his Master, who gave one final call.

"I'll be here for you at dawn," said the doctor, wheeling down another step. "You shall receive you punishment then, since you've kept me all day getting up these blasted steps. Better have those stupid and unworthy dreams this last night, Riser, because tomorrow will be your worst nightmare, I'll promise you that." The old pony took more minutes fumbling down the staircase, Night Riser listening to the echo of each step until the door opened and shut below.

For moments of silence afterwards, Night Riser felt the tears cease to fall and his breathing slow again. But he didn't remain sad for long. He past dreams, his foalhood wishes, they may have been torn, burned, and lost forever.

This night was his.

There was something he still had kept a secret from Dr. Zoid, more than the pictures and dreams in his mind. He still didn't know that the Bat Princess was real, that he had seen her that night. No, had had only scratched the surface.

And Dr. Zoid had underestimated his physical ability. For Night Riser, even though weak in the past and somewhat now, had been preparing for this night of escape, to leave. He was going to leave through the window, too, the wishing window.

And he was going to fly.