The Weight of the Sun

by Logician

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark, Human, Adventure
Length: 7294

The grass isn't always greener on the other side.

(Title theme: "Perthshire Majesty" by Samuel Hazo http://youtu.be/cUQyn1e_aNA)

You know, in the past, I’ve caught myself staring up at the sky, wondering if there was another world out there, somewhere beyond the stars. I would always ask myself, “What would life be like on another planet? Would it be better? Worse?” I never thought I would live to see the day when those questions are answered. And… well… I guess I didn't.

I've been to hell and back—more than once—and it's changed the way I view the world. I still look up, but I no longer see countless other worlds to explore, where life might be better, or might be worse; I look up, and see myself staring right back. I see someone else who's been through the same ordeal. Someone else who's been to hell and back. Someone else who looks up with different eyes than they did before.

But above all, I will remember this one simple fact, to the end of my days:

The grass isn’t always greener on the other side.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-10-14 04:51:19 UTC

Chapter One

I *strongly recommend** reading the Google Docs version with the preserved formatting. I do not have time to go through and fix the discrepancies left behind by the Fimfiction importer.*

Link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ZlGGn3ZMODKJC1O8crnJo9c7KKB1mX5d_49FJI_dbkM/edit

To the brave men and women of the US and NATO armed forces serving around the world, and to their families; and to all, military and civilian, who have made the ultimate sacrifice.

The price of anything is the amount of life you pay for it.

—Henry David Thoreau.Walden; or, Life in the Woods.

Air. It didn’t matter to me that it was laden with the musks of copper and damp earth, or stank of bleach and burnt hair; it was air, and my lungsburned for it. I’d filled them completely in one hoarse gasp. My heart pounded in my chest, almost as happy as I was that it was beating once again.  I felt blood rush into every corner of my body, bringing back feeling in my fingers and toes, and shedding the stone-cold veil that I had been wrapped in just a few moments before. The unending echoes from my breathing told me that I was inside, maybe in a... a cave, or a dungeon. My eyes snapped open on their own.

I sat bolt upright, clutching my chest through a violent coughing fit that wracked my entire body. My lungs had been so hungry for air that they had nearly sucked in my tongue.Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. You’re alive. You’re okay. Just breathe... Breathe... Breathe... I held each breath for a little bit longer than the last, taking a few moments to simply calm myself down and get my wits about me. As I checked myself for injury and tested my muscles and nerves, I chuckled in spite of myself, thinking that the worst was over, that I was all right.

I was all there; I was still dressed in my uniform from head to toe, down to the REICHERT and US ARMY patches on my chest. I still had my knife, my first aid kit, even the magazine I’d expended in the firefight. I must have dropped Garcia’s rifle when I went down, because that’s the only thing I was missing. Words cannot describe how much...simpler... everything would have been if I’d only had that weapon with me, even with just the single magazine left. If I had known what I know now, I could have ended it all right there, and saved a lot of souls from a world of pain and suffering. But nothing can ever be that simple, can it?

I felt a warm liquid creeping up my ankle. I looked down. A thin, viscous, scarlet-red pool was slowly spreading towards me. I scrambled backwards out of its reach. I couldn’t evenbegin to keep track of all the thoughts running through my head as I followed the stream to its source. One by one, they trailed off as a body began to fill my vision. My breath caught in my throat.

Iknew her...

Iknew her...

Oh my god. Trixie... what the hell did they doto you?

She lay there on the cold stone floor, real as life itself, yet lifeless in a pool of her own blood. I got over to her as quick as I could, and knelt by her side. I assumed she was dead. Her throat had been slit with almost surgical precision, right into her jugular. It was barely more than skin deep, and just a fraction of an inch long, but it was deep enough that the blood wouldn't clot, and long enough to sever the vein completely.Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing, I thought.They wanted her to die slowly, veryslowly... and on their clock.

When I probed the wound, her chest fluttered, sending a small spurt trickling out.She’s alive! I clamped my hand down on the wound as quick as I could. A split second later, I was digging through my first aid kit for something to put on it. I pulled out a length of gauze and a packet of blood-clotting powder, and began dressing the wound to the best of my abilities.

It was her—silver mane, sky blue coat, the wand on her flank. Yet at the same time, it wasn’t her; her coat and mane were dry and brittle, matted by dirt, grime, and blood. Underneath, her skin was as white as a ghost's. She was cold. As I checked her pulse, I realized that she didn’t have much time; it faded tangibly with every beat. But it wasn’t just that; she was...emaciated, barely more than skin and bone. If she didn’t die of blood loss, hunger would have gotten her on its own within a day or two, at best.

I shook my head and narrowed my focus as hard as I could on the task at hand, trying in vain to keep all the unanswered questions from clouding my mind, questions that I didn’t expect would ever be answered. I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know why I was there. I didn’t know whyshe was there. All I knew was that I had to try and get help for her... somehow. I’d already lost Garcia; I wasn’t going to have anyone else die on my watch.

As I finished dressing her wound, I took a breath and started fumbling around in my first aid kit again, looking for anything that might buy her more time, all the while trying to figure out what I should do next. My train of thought was interrupted by a low, drunken moan coming from behind me—one that wasn’t mine, or Trixie’s. I froze.

Idiot! Always check your surroundings! I slowly turned around, almost afraid of what I’d see. So far, it seemed like everything new I observed just managed to complicate things a little more. It couldn’t have been more true this time around.

On a platform on the other side of the room stood a stallion with a light-beige coat, bound there by his hooves in thick and rusted iron shackles. He was bent over and swaying, just barely coming to his senses. He struggled to lift a hoof to massage the base of his horn, barely more than a jagged stump peeking through his groomed salt-and-pepper mane.

Eyes still squeezed shut, he shook his head and groaned, “What... what happened...?” There was a very faint accent to his speech, reminiscent of Russia or maybe somewhere in eastern Europe. His blue-gray eyes met mine, and his pupils became pinpricks. “What... what is that thing?! Somepony?! Anypony?!” He frantically searched the room, and I turned to see what he was looking for.

The room was circular in shape, framed in time-worn stone that was green with moss and mold, lit by torches mounted on the walls. I could only guess that he was searching for some sign of life amongst the unmoving and mangled bodies, numbering in the teens at least, scattered around the room. Each was covered from head to hoof in long, black robes, and a horn poked through each robe's hood.

But I didn't think any of them would be coming to the stallion’s rescue; almost all of them had their necks bent around in very unnatural positions, and a few of them were starting to create their own pools of blood. Pony-shaped silhouettes scorched into the wall gave me some ideas as to what happened in the moments before I awoke. I ignored the stallion and turned my attention back to Trixie.

The bandage hadn’t soaked through yet, which could have been a good sign or a bad one; I was no medic. I bent down to pick her up. Even though she probably couldn’t hear me, I whispered in her ear, “Hang in there. I’m getting us the hell out of here.” With a grunt, I hefted her into my arms.

She was lighter than I expected, much lighter. And cold. Very cold. I looked for an exit: a heavy wooden door lay open on the far side of the room. I sprinted through it and into the long, torchlit corridor that stretched into the distance beyond, taking Trixie away from the stallion, his cohorts, and the blood... out of the room that would have seen her end.

“Get up, you foals! It’s taking her!” The stallion’s yells chased after me, covered up by the waking moans of the others. Seconds later, I heard hoofclops echoing past me, closing in. I reached a staircase and began climbing two-by-two. Without stopping, I grabbed a torch off the wall and tossed it down the stairs. I heard it clatter; I heard a yell, and a thud. And another. And another. And then a scream of pain... two... three. Then, silence. I kept going, up the stairs.

I stopped at the top to catch my breath and collect my wits. The staircase must have descended at least a hundred feet into the earth, maybe more. I was in a long, regal hall, flanked by a number of tall and stout wooden doors on one side. On the other, moonlight streamed in through dusty and broken panes of glass, tinted by unrecognizable splotches of color, which clearly had once made up beautifully intricate murals, but were lost to the ravages of time.

I have to keep going; I have to get out of here, I thought. My energy renewed, I put the hall at my back: pursuers or no, the clock was still ticking.

I came into a massive room, reminiscent of a cathedral. I weaved between towering marble columns which stood without purpose, the rafters and roof they once supported having long since caved in and rotted away. I spotted the exit: a pair of vault-like wooden doors reinforced with rusted iron, dangling off their hinges. But as I turned, a glimmer of reflected moonlight out of the corner of my eye caught my attention.

At the other end of the room was a relic that had withstood the test of time—a monument that had seen countless ages come and go. It had six arms, evenly spaced and clad in silver; it looked like it had once held something sacred, something to be worshiped, but, like the columns, no longer had a purpose. And, like the rest of the place, nature was long in the process of reclaiming it.

 Suddenly, I heard shouts coming from down the corridor. I shook my head to clear it and headed out through the doors.

A blast of damp night air hit my face as I picked my way down the crumbling stone steps of the castle. Through the low-hanging branches of the trees which flanked the dirt path that led away from the castle, I spied a rope bridge tied across a gaping chasm, the other end obscured by a thick fog. As I came up to it, I stopped. The bridge was secured by four sturdy ropes as thick as my arm, two for the boards and two as handholds, and was as wide as I was tall. No boards were missing and the rope was intact.

 But I held fast.If this thing is as old as the rest of the place, I thought,there's no way I'll make it across. I looked down, and couldn't see the bottom. I looked left and right, searching for another route. The ravine stretched far into the distance, disappearing into the fog in both directions.It might take hours to find another way out. I don't have that long.

Swallowing my fear, I took a tentative step onto the first board. I slowly shifted my weight onto it.No creaking, popping or snapping. Good so far. The next one held, as did the next. A few breathless minutes later, I looked back, and found myself almost nearing the middle. As I put my weight down on the plank in front of me, it snapped and fell away! I recoiled, having almost lost my balance, and my hold of Trixie. When the bridge was finally still again, I slowly stretched across to the next board.

“There it is!”

“Get it!”

With no time to waste, I scrambled through the last few feet of bridge. I felt a slight bit relieved as my boots finally met solid ground once again. I suddenly had an idea. I laid Trixie down and turned back to the bridge. I knelt at the edge and drew my knife. I started sawing at the ropes, starting with the upper ones.

Snap! The first fell away.

I moved to the next. A few seconds later,

Snap! It fell away.

I started on the lower ones.

        Out of nowhere, the rope in my hand started shaking. I looked up to see a robed figure running across, towards me.

I held my hand up and shouted, “No! Stop! Go back!” The figure froze in the middle of the bridge. I heard a popping noise. The rope I had been working on was beginning to stretch.

“Go! Run!” I shouted. But the figure didn't move. The rope started shaking again. I saw its eyes staring at me in the moonlight. It was frozen in fear.

Snap!

The scream that pierced the air when the rope snapped was clearly feminine. It was instantlyscorched into my mind. I'll never forget it.

She clung to the remnants of the bridge, suspended across the chasm by the single rope. I knew the aging fibers wouldn't hold for long. Sure enough, a few breathless moments later, the last strand gave up the ghost.

The fog swallowed her up, her ragged screams echoing into the night. Then, all was quiet.

I fell back, dazed.I just killed someone. Not a spider, or a fly... I'd justkilled a living, breathing, sentient being, with thoughts and feelings, maybe even ambitions. It didn't matter if she deserved it or not, if she was the one who had... For all I knew, she was just following orders. She could have been there against her will. Maybe she was blackmailed, or a simple pawn. Maybe she didn't have a choice.

 I looked up to see the others staring down into the ravine. From the steps of the castle, the stallion shouted, “Don't just stand there! Go around!”

I shook my head again, this time hard enough for it to hurt.Focus! There's another life at stake here! I picked Trixie back up and followed the road into the forest.

It wasn't long before the forest turned on me and hid from me my only source of light. Even after my eyes had adjusted, I couldn't see more than a few feet in front of me. I lost track of the road. I wandered in the darkness for what seemed like hours on end. I was afraid to go any faster than a cautious walk; otherwise, I might’ve plowed headlong into a tree before I even knew it was there.

Fortunately, I had lost the stallion and the others not long after I disappeared into the forest. For a while afterwards, I could just barely hear their shouts echoing through the underbrush, but those began to fade until they, too, were swallowed up; after that, the only thing I heard was the breeze that whispered through the trees. Unfortunately, their shouts were also my only source of direction; whenever I heard one, I headed away from it. Without that, I began to have the unnerving feeling that I was going in circles.

I didn't want to think about it, but ultimately, I had to accept the fact that Trixie was dying in my arms. Hell, she was dying when I found her. She shouldn't have been able to hold out much longer. It was already a miracle that she held out as long as she did.

I remember, vividly, the last time I saw her: it was the last time I was home. Sarah was working on dinner, the smell of macaroni and cheese wafting through our small house. I was sitting on the couch in the living room, my daughter Haley perched on my lap, jeering at the screen as Trixie ran off into the night. I didn't give it much thought at the time. It was just a show for little girls, after all. I do vaguely remember wondering what might happen to her, alone at night, in the middle of nowhere. I remember thinking something along the lines of,she deserves whatever's coming to her.

No one deserves what they did to her. No one.

So maybe it was out of guilt that I felt I should do something for her. Maybe I was just doing my duty. Maybe I just felt that it was the right thing to do. Or some combination of the three. I'm still not sure.

I spotted some shafts of moonlight in a clearing ahead of me and went towards them. As I came into the center, I heard some leaves rustle off in the distance. The snap of a twig. A low, guttural, rumbling growl. I froze, resisting every instinct in my body that told me to run as fast as I could in the opposite direction. I dared to look.

A pair of evil green eyes glowed in the shadows, almost level with mine. Their owner emerged:

The head of a lion, with a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth and lips curled in a hungry snarl.

        Accompanied by two brutally muscular forelegs, which pounded the earth with every step.

        Followed by the wings of a giant bat, spread in an intimidating display of power.

        Rounded off by a meaty scorpion tail, with a stinger large enough to take my head off in a single swipe.

        All I could do was stand my ground as the beast began to circle, its eyes never breaking their lock with mine. My panicked mind started to consider my painfully limited options.

        I could drop Trixie and run, in hopes that the beast would be satisfied with her as a meal. Not only would that be a horrible thing to do, but there was no guarantee that it wouldn't come after me anyways, in search of a chase and an exotic main course after finishing an easy and unsatisfying appetizer with room for more.

        I could turn tail and run with Trixie, but the odds were stacked against me like a mountain. Even though Trixie was as light as a feather, I had no idea how long I could keep up a full sprint with any extra weight. I'd kept up a steady jog for the longest amount of time, only slowing to a walk when I couldn't run anymore, or see far enough to feel comfortable running; I didn't know how much my legs had left to give. And that was all assuming I could even run faster than the beast at all.

If this thing can smell fear, I've got to reek of it, I admitted to myself, doing my best—and most likely failing—to not show it. It was almost impossible not to choke on the stench of rotting meat in the beast's breath. I caught a glance of the beast's hindlegs out of the corner of my eye.

        They weren't anywhere near as muscular as its forelegs—they weren't exactly twigs, either—but the size difference was great enough that, even walking, its steps were less like the smooth, floating prowl of a lion, and more like the clumsy, lumbering gait of a gorilla.

Maybe the odds aren't as stacked as I thought.

The beast stopped its circling and faced me. It crouched, and narrowed its eyes. Considering the possible outcomes, I let a grim smile creep across my face.

Let's see if I'm right.

Without another thought, I about-faced and broke into a sprint, not once looking back.

        I heard a roar from behind me, and thundering in the earth. The rush of adrenaline that flooded my body when I took the first step quickly silenced the burning that had been screaming in my legs. And the fact that I was still breathing and running after the second step meant that I was at least partially right.

        That night, with Trixie in my arms and the beast pounding behind me, I was flying. My toes barely touched the earth before they were in the air again once more. I picked my path based on pure instinct alone. I ducked unseen branches, I hurdled unseen roots, I dodged unseen trunks, I skirted unseen rocks. All in time, in step, without missing a single beat in that deadly rhythm.

        Something came from behind me, whizzing past my head before snapping back, as if it was on a rubber band. I glanced back to see the beast still lumbering behind me, though farther back than I figured. It swung its hips to the side, and then flicked its rear towards the sky. Over its head flew the scorpion tail, which buried itself in the dirt just behind my heels. The beast fumbled and almost lost its balance as it tried to get its tail ready again without losing ground on me.

         I turned back just in time to leap over a log laying across my path. A second of silence and a earth-shattering thud later, I knew the beast was still hotly in pursuit. The stinger again whipped past my head. For a moment, it was illuminated by a shaft of moonlight. It glistened with a sickly yellow liquid. A drop of it landed on my shoulder, and filled my nose with the stench of rotten eggs.

        The adrenaline rush was starting to wear out. My senses weren't as crisp as they were before; my reactions, sluggish. My toes scraped over roots that I would have soundly cleared only a few minutes prior. My thighs and lungs both started to burn again.

        I didn't see the rock, but I knew it was all over when I felt it catch the very tip of my boot and pitch me forwards.

        Trixie flew out of my arms and rolled to a stop in a clearing a few yards away. She didn't stir, or even moan in pain. The next thing I saw was the cold, hard ground coming up to greet me. My face and chest took the full force of the blow. The wind was knocked out of me.

        When I could breathe again, I turned over to see the beast slowly approaching me, with a triumphant grin on its face. I tried to draw my knife, but the beast knocked it out of my hand with a single bat of its paw, and kicked it far across the clearing with another. It stood over me with its maw agape and licked its chops, savoring the moment. With nothing else I could do, I simply covered my face and awaited my end.

        I'd already gotten all I could ever ask for, all I could ever hope for; I'd already diedonce.

Chapter Two

Google Docs version *(PROBERLY FORMATTED—HIGHLY RECOMMENDED!)*: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1RKVbUFXnINbINxf3V-Pnc-WUBWmJOXar5rcNI1Nyh5Y/edit

This is it, I thought.No more lives left. And I'm all out of quarters.

Any second now. One bite and it's game over.

Any second now.

Any second now...

        But the bite that would send me into the world beyond never came.

        I heard a bone-cracking, fleshythump, and acrash that rocked the ground.

        I opened my eyes to see the beast lying in a heap next to me, with two hoof-shaped dents in its side. In the moonlight, I could see that there were some ribs caved in where it took the blow. A thin line of blood trickled out of the corner of its mouth. Its breath came in wet, ragged and rattling huffs. I scrambled to my feet.

        Standing over Trixie was another hooded figure. It gave her a gentle nudge with its nose, to which she responded with a pained moan. I rushed over to my knife and picked it up.

How the hell did they find us?! "Get away from her!" I yelled, brandishing the knife.

        The figure turned towards me. There was no horn poking through this one's hood. A smooth, dark, feminine voice spoke to me as a leg raised up to lower the hood, revealing something I didn't expect... at all.

        "Is that the kind of tone you send, to one who did just now your life defend?" rhymed the zebra with a mohawk, and a raised eyebrow.

        I shook my head and lowered my guard. "No, I'm sorry. I just thought you were someone else, is all." I holstered my knife.  "Thank you, by the way," I quickly added. I rushed over to Trixie and checked her vitals.Thank god. She was still with us, for the moment.

        I looked up to the zebra. "She's lost a lot of blood; she needs immediate medical attention. Do you know where there's a doctor, or a hospital?"

        She shook her head. "The nearest is miles away, but do not let your hope decay. My home is close nearby; there does your salvation lie. If you want her the dawn to see, then you must please trust and follow me."

        "What are we waiting for, then? Let's go!" I bent to pick up Trixie, but a hoof on my shoulder halted me.

        "It seems paltry, this I know. But I must ask this of you, before we go:" She nodded towards the downed beast. "It will not live to see the dawn, but still I wish its pain may be foregone."

        It took my mind a few precious moments to decipher the cryptic request. Finally realizing what she was asking for, I stood and drew my knife.

She doesn't want the damn thing to suffer. Well, she's a better person than I am. Still, I knew that the only way Trixie would get any help was if I carried out the zebra's will.

        I knelt at the beast's side, trying to decide the quickest, cleanest way to end its life. It lifted its head and looked at me. There was no more primal anger in its stare; in its eyes, I saw only pain. It gave me a pitiful moan, a whining cry for mercy. The predator had become the prey. Resigned to its fate, it laid its head back down and closed its eyes. It even bared its neck for me, as if to say,

        "Please, just make it quick."

        I was... stunned. To see such a powerful, seemingly savage creature humble itself before its executioner, to see such a display of... of...deference in an... ananimal, it... well... itshocked me.

        When my head cleared, I patted it on the neck. "Well... you put up a good fight, I'll give you that. Maybe in another time, another place... I don’t know. Things could have gone differently. We could even have been friends..." I trailed off, imagining what it would be like to have such a noble beast as an ally. Remembering that time was against me, I finally put the blade to its neck, right over its jugular.

        I took three deep breaths, and held the last. I closed my eyes... and dug in. I made sure it would be over as quickly as possible.

        Its eyes snapped wide open, and its pupils became pinpricks. Its breathing accelerated as its blood emptied out onto the ground. Its eyes glazed over as it inhaled for the last time. With one final wheezing, bubbling exhale, it died. As a final show of respect—whether for the beast or for the zebra, I'm still not exactly sure—I closed its eyes.

        I wiped my knife on a patch of grass and holstered it. I picked up Trixie and turned to the zebra.

        "After you," I said flatly.

        The zebra gave a grateful nod and turned, motioning me to follow before bounding off into the woods. Without another second to lose, I started after her.

        After what felt like a few hours—though, in reality, I'm sure it was only a few minutes—we arrived in a clearing, dominated by a large tree with windows and a door carved into its fat trunk.

        The zebra opened the door for me and said, "Come in, and watch your head. Lay her down, upon the bed." She nodded towards a bed in the next room.

        I went around the cast-iron kettle hanging over a pile of ashes in the middle of the room and laid Trixie down on the bed in the back. I checked her pulse again.

        "I can't feel her pulse anymore, but she's still breathing!" I yelled over my shoulder.

         A loud crash came from the other room, and I went to see what the zebra was up to. She was rushing back and forth, collecting bottles of assorted sizes containing dried herbs and berries of all kinds, none of which I recognized, from shelves all around the room and emptying their contents into the kettle, which she had already filled with water and was bringing to a boil.

        I barely had time to notice that she had taken off her cloak. Around her neck and legs jingled number of thick and heavy golden rings. It was a wonder that she could move that fast with all that extra weight. They looked to be permanently fastened.

        By the time the mixture was bubbling and frothing, it had turned a soupy, sickly green. It didn't smell much better than it looked. It had an uncanny resemblance to the witches' brews of nursery rhymes and fairytales. It seemed oddly appropriate, considering my situation—stuck in a fairytale, of sorts.

        "What is this stuff?" I asked.

        After rounding up all the empty bottles and giving the mixture one final stir, the zebra answered in rhyme, "A recipe passed down from the zebras of old; the knowledge to make it is an honor to hold. It is a legendary potion, which draws its power from life's great ocean. It will light a fire in her blood, and bring back her life in one great flood."

        She looked me in the eye, and her tone grew frighteningly serious. She spoke slowly, and deliberately, as if to be sure that I didn't miss a single word:

        "The need for balancecannot be spurned," she stressed. "Where water is drawn, itmust be returned."

        The metaphor wasn't lost on me, as exhausted as I was.The potion requires blood, I realized grimly. I drew my knife and rolled up a sleeve.Mine's as good as any, I suppose. But as I readied the knife over my palm, I hesitated.How much, though?

        The zebra stopped me by putting a hoof in my palm and pushing it down and away from the knife. With the same hoof, she gave the blade a gentle tap, bringing it to my attention. I hadn't noticed that it was still caked in the blood of the beast.I guess I didn't clean it very well, I thought.

        "You sure that's going to be enough?" I asked, giving her a questioning look.

        She gave me a silent nod in reply.

        I let my sleeve down and turned the knife over so that the point was towards the liquid. I slowly dipped the blade in. My eyes widened as the mixture flashed to a familiar crimson as it started to fizz around the knife. When the fizzing stopped, I withdrew a clean blade polished to a mirror finish, as if all the time spent in the grating Iraqi desert had simply been washed away. It seemed oddly... symbolic, but I haven't had a whole lot of time to ponder it since.

        "I guess I owe that beast some thanks," I commented as I sheathed the knife again.

        "Then by 'beast', you should call it no more; its rightful name is 'manticore'," the zebra said as she came out of the pantry with a wooden bowl and ladle balanced on her nose.

        "I guess I owe thatmanticore some thanks," I corrected as I took the implements. I filled the bowl to the brim and took it back to Trixie.

        I sat down on the bed and took her head in the crook of my arm. It didn't take much to pry her jaw open as I lifted the bowl to her lips. I started pouring the liquid down her throat while massaging it with the other hand to get her to unconsciously swallow. When the bowl was empty, with not a single drop spilled, I set it down on the table next to the bed and checked Trixie's vitals.

        Something was wrong.

        I hadn't been able to feel her pulse the last time I checked. That wasn't the problem.

        "She's not breathing!"

        My training kicking in, I rolled her on her back and leaped up on the bed, straddling her with my knees. I put my ear close to her mouth, but I couldn’t hear anything, not even a faint wheeze. All I could hear was the pulse pounding in my own head. I tilted her head back to open her airway, and then, pinching her nose shut, I gave her two quick breaths mouth-to-mouth.

I laced my hands over her sternum and started pumping.

        Two breaths, thirty compressions, one hundred beats per minute. Every few repetitions, I would check her pulse, spit out a curse, and continue. It wasn’t long before I had exhausted my vocabulary, and then I went back to the beginning and started again.

        I heard a flurry of hooves and more clashes from the other room. The zebra charged in and shoved me off of Trixie. She crushed a small bundle of herbs and berries between her hooves, and they began to spark. She jammed her hooves into Trixie's ribs, and Trixie's entire body leaped clear off the bed!

        I heard a sharp intake of air and a myriad of quick breaths before it slowed down to normal, and then I was finally able to catch mine when I realized that I had been holding it the whole time, and pick my jaw up off the floor.

        The zebra yielded, and I leaned over Trixie and checked her vitals one last time. She was breathing, and her heart was beating as strong as ever. With a sigh, I plopped down next to the bed and reclined against it. The zebra sat down next to me.

        "I think that's enough excitement for me tonight," I chuckled. I turned to her and added, "Thanks for all your help. I'm James, by the way." Without thinking, I took off a glove and held out a hand.

        To my surprise, she gave me a hoof and shook. "Zecora is my name, in trade; and I am glad that I could be of such an aid."

        "Nice to meet you." Zecora nodded in reply. I let my head fall back against the edge of the bed.  It figures that she tries to say as much as she can without using words, I thought.I wonder if their whole race speaks in rhyme.

I sat there for ages, letting my exhaustion gradually overcome my will to stay awake. As I fought the urge to let my eyes slam shut on me, I slowly began to realize how deafening the silence had become; the only sound in the room was Trixie's soft but constant and rhythmic breathing. Zecora still sat next to me, motionless. I looked over, and she was... staring at me—more precisely, at the top of my head, at my helmet.

        "Is there something on my head?" I asked, feeling the top of my helmet.

        She reached up and touched a hoof to my helmet, inspecting it. She rhymed, "Something I could not noticeoutside in the dark; seeing it just now gave me a slight start."

        "What are you talking about?" I unbuckled the chin strap. I removed the helmet and held it in front of me. Once again that night, and it wouldn't be the last, my breath caught in my throat.

        I marked two perfect holes, going through the exact centers of the front and back of the helmet. The back was torn inwards and the front was blown outwards, with a line of dried blood staining the camouflage all the way down to the rim. Gasping, my hand instinctively shot to the back of my head. But all I found was unbroken, greasy hair and an intact, sweaty scalp. My forehead was equally unscathed, save for a few scratches from branches whipping me in the face.

        It's... unnerving, finding out how you died, after the fact. In my mind, I could see myself dashing for cover, with that little Iraqi girl clinging to me. I could see, behind me, the building where he was holed up, sitting there, his rifle perched on the railing. I could see the glint of his scope, and the flash of light as he took the shot.

        It seemed so... personal. I could have just as easily been killed by an IED that my humvee drove over on the way to the ceremony; I could have been standing next to a suicide bomber as he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the button; I could have easily taken any one of the thousands of bullets whizzing through the courtyard that morning.

        Of all the soldiers there, he singled me out;he decided that it was my time, that he was going to play God. He took the time to plan his shot, took the time to compensate for the wind and my own movement. And when he was ready, he steadied his hand. And he pulled the trigger. No longer did I feel like a victim of war, like another fallen soldier, caught in the crossfire.

        I felt...

Murdered.

        "May I ask, if I dare: what made those holes there?"

        I let my head fall back against the bed again. My vision started to swim as the side of the mattress—which must have been filled with something very soft, maybe feathers—cradled my stiff neck. It was extremely tempting to simply pass out, then and there. But I had a question to answer.

        "A little chunk of metal, about yea big." I pinched the last joint of my index finger to roughly estimate the size of a bullet. "Flying so fast, you can't even see it." I sighed. "That's what we use to kill each other where I come from." I saw Zecora nod solemnly, sympathetically, yet knowingly, out of the corner of my eye. She didn't ask any more questions; she understood.

        Don't get me wrong: I missed Earth, terribly, and I still do. There's a lot of good things that mankind came up with. Cars, airplanes, computers, the Internet, medicine, space travel, the list goes on and on. But war sucks, any way you spin it. I wasn't in Iraq to fight. Hell—half the time, I didn't even carry a weapon. Before that day, I hadn't fired a single shot since basic training.

        I was a translator. I was there to promote peace, cooperation, and friendship—to avoid fighting at all costs. But words only go so far; I learned that the hard way. And when words didn't do the job, I stepped out of the way and let the guys with guns and the knowledge and will to use them take over.

        After a few minutes of silence, Zecora stood and went into the other room. I heard the light clinking of glass as she finished cleaning up the mess from our mad scramble earlier. Left to their own devices, my thoughts began to wander and run together until they were one big, congealed blob in my mind, with no hope of unraveling their many knots and tangles.

        The urge to close my eyes was once again overtaking me, and this time, I surrendered.

        I awoke to the pleasant feeling of the morning sun warming my face. It was so bright that it blinded me through my eyelids. I opened my eyes and saw nothing but clear blue sky above. I took a tuft of soft, luscious grass in each hand, savoring the feel and the smell of it. It was a welcome, soothing feeling, like the previous night had been nothing more than a vivid, exhausting dream, and all my troubles lay behind me, with nothing but peace and quiet ahead.

        I sat up and found myself in some sort of grove, lined by thickly leaved trees in rows. It seemed like an orchard, man-made, but had since been abandoned and left to grow wild; it retained a certain amount of order, and yet, it was unhindered, without control... it wasfree. There was a natural serenity to the place, the kind that made me feel like I could have lived out the rest of my life there, without any more sorrow, or pain, concerns, or regret.

        I realized that I was completely and utterly alone. I couldn't hear any birds chirping or any insects buzzing. In fact, the only sound to speak of was the slight rustle of the leaves, fluttering in the morning breeze. The ground curved upwards, and I started to climb towards the top. The far hills were beautifully picturesque, rolling green and only dotted by the occasional tree. The most distant ones seemed like they were almost painted onto the sky itself.

"My little pony..."

The little angelic voice drifted through the groves to my ears on the wind. It came from everywhere, like a simultaneous echo, and yet it came from nowhere, like it had been whispered into my ear.

        "My little pony..."

This time, the twinkling notes, like wind chimes, possessed a clear direction. It sounded like it had come from a few rows over. I cautiously picked my way through the low-hanging branches.

"I used to wonder what friendship could be..."

Suddenly, it came from behind me, from the row I had just left. I snapped around, and caught a small human silhouette, the shape of a little girl about the age of my daughter, skipping through the trees. I only saw it for a second, and so I wondered if it had just been a figment of my imagination.

"Until you shared its magic with me..."

It sounded like it was in my head.

"Big adventure..."

"Tons of fun..." The words simply slipped out. I hadn't realized I was following along, anticipating the next line. I didn't even realize that I knew the song.

"A beautiful heart..." The reply came from directly ahead of me, the top of the hill. I started running towards it.

        "Faithful and strong!" I cried, running out of breath. The hill was much taller than it originally seemed.

"Sharing kindness... it's an easy feat..." The voice was joined by more mature version of itself, almost Sarah's age. It hadn't lost any of the angelic chime.

"And magic makes it all... complete..." I trailed off as I stopped.

        The sun shone over the hill so bright that I had to shield my eyes. When my pupils adjusted, I saw, at the top, the silhouette of a grown woman, knelt down, her arms outstretched. A little girl dashed into her arms and was swept up in a loving embrace. The held each other for what seemed like an eternity. Then they broke, and both turned towards me. The little girl, still in her mother's arms, waved at me, and after a second, her mother joined in. Without using any words, they called to me, beckoned me. I waved back. My energy renewed, I started up the hill again.

        I was blinded by a flash of light. On a far peak, as distant as the sun itself, I spotted a familiar glint near the top. My stomach turned and the hair stood up on the back of my neck. I yelled and waved frantically, pointing towards the danger. The mother and daughter continued to wave calmly back at me, oblivious to my cries. I panicked when I realized that I wasn't getting any closer.

        There was another flash, bright as day. A cloud of smoke blotted out the sun.

        "GET—!" But before I could finish, everything went black.