Procrastination

Chapter 3—Neighlor Swift Has it Rough

As Caramel ran, the little pebbles that wriggled themselves into his fur when he lay on the sidewalk shook free. His head dangled side to side, as if he were shaking his head violently to deny the reality he watched. His hooves ached from the running, as did his tongue, which he kept tightly locked between his teeth to prevent himself from crying—not that it worked. The tears flowed anyway, and the wind that rushed past his face only served to drive the pearly droplets off-course and across his cheeks. I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home…He whined and whimpered while he ran, from both grief and exhaustion.

He passed the two mares who he overheard while in Solid Water. At the sight of them, he suddenly wished to sprint over and thwack his hoof across their smug muzzles. Far too reserved for such violent behavior, he resisted. He didn’t have the courage to look back to see if Macintosh saw him. His mouth began tasting salty for two reasons. Firstly, his biting his tongue had finally drawn blood. Secondly, the urge to throw up increased while he was running.

Finally, his house came into view. Once inside, he locked the door with fumbling hooves, closed all the curtains, and stumbled into the bathroom.

His tiled bathroom had a shower in the corner, and that was his destination. On his way there, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He paused. His face was matted with tears, and he was still breathing heavily. True crying had not set in yet, but he knew the heaves would eventually come if he let them. Some of the pebbles weren’t free from his fur yet, and were embedded near his joints and in his tail. This isn’t happening. Please Princess Celestia, please come and take me away right now to a mental hospital. Please tell me I’m crazy. I didn’t lose Big Macintosh…I just can’t…

Breathing heavily, he staggered into the shower, almost tripping on the metal railways caulked to the tiled floor. He slid the shower doors closed on the rails and turned on the cold water. Since it was almost summer, the water wasn’t freezing, but it was chilling. It rained upon him and splashed on the tiles and the glazed glass doors, leaving crystal clear droplets that ranged in size from miniscule beads to pea-like. His round abdomen flexed inward because of the sudden cold, and his teeth chattered. The remaining dirt and sand washed out of his fur and trickled into the drain.

His breathing was still heavy, and he whimpered. It’s not real…It’s not real…What I saw was just a hallucination... Caramel turned the handle on the faucet to the furthest right he could manage, and slightly colder water poured on his head. Maybe I can drown myself here… Deciding against a death by drowning, he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower.

Caramel dizzily and clumsily walked directly to his dark bedroom without drying off. The air brushing past him as he stumbled down the hallway made it feel colder. The numbing of his flesh calmed him down. He fell back onto his twin bed with a flump, letting the water transfer from his fur to the sheets. He kicked out his legs in frustration, whining loudly with no words—just repeated sounds of disappointment and desperation. His thrashing hooves pulled the blankets out of their neat corners, and he wrapped himself in the fluffy blue sheets. The uncomfortable feeling of his wet fur against the damp sheets elicited another set of shivers. His bed sheets smelled musky, but he ignored it and tightened their grip around him.

I didn’t see that. I didn’t see anything. Macintosh and Thunderlane were not…doing…things…I’m crazy. I’m just crazy. It was all a dream. I’m here in my bed, and I just woke up, and I had a horrible nightmare that Mac was with another colt, but he really loves me. He loves me. He only loves me because I only love him. He stretched, simulating his waking up. He hoped with all his heart that the sun was out and Macintosh was working at the farm, looking forward to seeing his colt later that day. When he finally opened his eyes, however, it was still dark. It was still night. He was still wet. Mac was still with Thunderlane.

No…no…I can’t…He couldn’t…You couldn’t, could you, Mac? He closed his eyes, squeezing out more tears. The image of the large stallion formed in his mind. Mac? Why were you there? Please tell me that you love me…Please…? I need to hear it… The ghostly Big Macintosh said nothing. Mac…you were with Thunderlane, weren’t you…? You…you…you love him, don’t you? You hate me, right? You never loved me? I’m a horrible pony who doesn’t deserve anypony and I should die, right? You want me to die, Mac? You really want me to die? I…I…Why don’t you love me anymore? Caramel gasped. Is it because we haven’t done anything yet? Is it because we haven’t…made love? Another gasp. And you don’t find me attractive so you don’t want to…That’s why…

By this time, Caramel was sobbing heavily. His stomach tucked inward erratically as he cried, and his throat burned from the rasping sounds he made. “M-Ma…Maaaaac…” he moaned. He halfway hoped that his stallion would appear next to his bed, apologizing profusely and explaining that what he saw was not really what it seemed. In the other half of his mind, however, it all made sense. Macintosh didn’t find him attractive at all, not physically or emotionally or any other type of –ally there was. It explained why they hadn’t done anything yet. Until the party yesterday, I didn’t even know that it wasn’t normal…I should have known… Now Mac has a new colt…

He closed his eyes again, preferring the imaginative Macintosh over the real one who broke his heart. Mac…? Again, the image said nothing. Remember yesterday at my birthday party? And afterwards you stayed behind? And helped me clean up and stuff? And then…And then I asked you why you loved me so much? And then you said it was because I was so special and irreplaceable? Well…you said another word, but it meant that. Macintosh made no sign of recognition. But you replaced me…You love Thunderlane…You never loved me…But I loved you so much! I would have given you anything! I would have given you my life…Would it make you happy if I gave it to you? Would you love me? Please love me… The memory of Big Macintosh’s words—real and imagined—increased his misery. Caramel had unknowingly set forth the vortex of memories that would torture him to—and past—the brink of insanity.

They rushed forth, and like tree branches, when one emerged, the rest rustled. Caramel drowned himself in his experiences. Remember when it was your birthday, and I baked you a cake, but it tasted really bad, but then you still ate it, and you said I was perfect anyways? Also, remember when we went to see La Chupacaballito, and I got scared, so you held me for half of the movie? And remember when I got hurt on the farm and you took care of me? That was when I found out I love you, Mac…

Each memory of what he had before, and what he had lost, found a fragment of his heart and stepped on it, grinding it into the dust until it could no longer be put back together. Caramel longed to be in the past—with a Macintosh that loved him—not in the present, with nothing but pain. “Maaac…” he moaned, “It hurts…so much…” He whispered, “Please make it stop…” His words were fragmented, broken up by his sobbing.

He swiped at the red box with pink ribbons on his nightstand to get it closer to him, although it took him a few tries through his vision clouded with tears. He noticed his foreleg was drenched. The covers he had wrapped himself in combined with his heavy sobbing mixed perspiration with the water, creating a sticky coat. He ignored the uncomfortable sensations. It distracts me from the real pain.

Once in his grip, he opened the box and took out the glass statue he had spent a month creating. The glass apple was nearly perfectly curved, and under the moonlight streaming through the cracks in the blinds, he tried to make out the tiny figures at the top.

There he was. There was a happy Caramel. They love each other. They still do. But not me…Why doesn’t my Mac love me…? He held the sculpture closely, hugging it close to his chest. He squeezed more and more, wishing he could somehow switch places with the Caramel on the apple. Part of him wanted the glass to shatter in his embrace. He knew that if it did, it would fragment into millions of shards, cutting him repeatedly until he was just a wet, bloody mess on his bed. At least it would be something else other than this…this pain…Anything but this…

Caramel rolled conically in his sheets to the foot of his bed. He took a breath and rolled off, falling half a meter onto the carpet. He groaned, kicking half-heartedly until he escaped from his tangled blanket prison. His head was almost completely soaked with some sweat and water, but mostly tears. He stumbled into the hallway still sobbing and moaning his stallion’s name. Finally, he reached the kitchen.

Reaching into the top drawer below the counter table, he shuffled the contents inside before he used his mouth to pick up a smooth-edged knife with a black handle. The blade glinted in the moonlight shining in from the window, and for a moment, he could see his reflection, until it was broken up by the sharp edge. Still holding the knife with his teeth, he staggered into the living room and lay down on the carpet. The fuzzed carpet stuck to his wet fur, and made his stomach feel clammy. He reached up with his right hoof onto the table and swiped down a picture of Big Macintosh.

Seeing the image of what he had lost gave him another pang in his heart, and the tears leaked out faster. It hurts too much…I want to feel something else…He stared at the picture. Have a nice life with Thunderlane, Mac…I hope you’re happy with him… He positioned the knife above the hoof on his left foreleg and turned his head sharply, cutting past his yellow-tan fur and into his flesh. Immediately, deep ruby red liquid leaked out. It stained the fur around the cut and dripped down onto the carpet.

It burned superficially, and the slitting of his foreleg caused Caramel to wince. He opened his mouth in pain and dropped the knife. In doing so, he caught another glance at the photograph—another reminder of why he couldn’t deal with the pain of losing Macintosh. Gripping the knife in his teeth, he cut himself again, a centimeter below the first. He dropped the knife again. This time, Macintosh faded from all conscious thought. The only thing that hurt was his foreleg. He sighed in relief, focusing on the physical pain emanating—yet dulling—on his left foreleg.

Suddenly, the memory of Macintosh touching Thunderlane inundated into his mind, and he cried out in agony. I can’t… He picked up the knife and worked his way up his foreleg. One by one, he carved notches, some a few centimeters long, others much more. Rows of red lines and flowing blood decorated his foreleg. It leaked down the sides in branching rivers. It trickled through his yellow fur, dying it red, and pooled onto the floor. It hurt, but it never hurt more than the knowledge that Macintosh was loving somepony else.

The pain lessened as the cutting continued. A sense of calm crept over him, and he continued. The pain of Macintosh’s leaving him dulled slowly until it was only a weak whisper in the back of his mind. The burning in his foreleg also diminished. In fact, it was starting to become numb. Not just his foreleg…his whole body… He closed his eyes, squeezing out another tear, and let out one more moan, “Maaaac…” before blacking out.

Author's Note

As someone whose been in Caramel's position before, I know it hurts a lot. So if you ever feel like this, and you want to talk to someone, feel free to contact me, because hey--maybe a semi-stranger can help you feel better :)