I feel uncomfortable... there must be something wrong. I stop and allow myself to acknowledge my senses... I begin to remember... how I hate such feelings. After a few idly moments, reality quickly kicks in... but I don’t feel real yet. With my eyelids still sewn together I lay there... within another’s embrace. As my eyes slowly open, the pain becomes even more real... troubles...
My ears ring, bringing forth shattered memories from yesterday’s party... It doesn’t seem real anymore. I don’t feel real anymore. If it weren’t for the dull light that shone through the curtains, the smell of wood and the sticky sensation, I would easily forget about myself completely.
I levitate my glasses from the bed-rest and magic them towards my general direction, sending something that too rested on top of the wooden furniture tumbling down. I cringe and hold my breath at the sudden noise, but am able to remain somewhat still. He mumbles something unintelligible and turns to his side but doesn’t wake up. Good.
I begin to feel... something constricting my chest. It kept getting worse until the oppressive force turned into a dull, burning ache. I remember to breathe... although I wish I hadn’t. As I set the pair of glasses in front of my eyes, the discomfort quickly subdues, leaving me be with my thoughts... this will not do.
Slowly and quietly as I woke up, I stand up to my four hooves, dragging the thin sheet that covered both of our bodies to the floor. I don’t know why, but something makes me look back at the bed. Look back at the pony who spent an entire night screaming that he loved me.
I finally take notice of his shape... another fat, greasy, old stallion. Probably twenty or so years older than myself. Another pity fuck... but I find myself wondering, whose pity it was? I can’t quite remember... so many before him... likely so many more to come. I stopped counting a while ago.
I begin remember... for how long I’ve let the hyenas breathe their steamy-hot laughter on my neck. I try my best to suppress my urge to vomit... but it is to no avail. I gallop towards his bathroom, only to stop halfway there and empty the contents of my stomach on the wooden floor. Through my purple eyes, I see the foam that is wrapping my late dinner, which stood tainted inside of me by that stallion’s... The mere sight of it is able to make me gag once more, only this time, I am able to swallow it down, making my rasp throat burn more intensely.
I slowly walk towards the bathroom... I acknowledge my existence once more with the help of my hoofsteps. Closing the door behind me, I waste no time in drinking directly from the sink. Rust fills my taste buds... but I keep on. When I feel I had enough, I dunk my whole head inside the pool that formed inside the clogged sink. The cold water wakes me even more, making me more aware... no. I quickly take my head out from the pool and look at the little framed object that stood in front of me.
There was somepony there. The stranger in front of me looks back with disgust. She seems real to me, but the way her dyed mane glimmers in an intense blue makes me snicker at how pathetically she is trying to hide herself from everypony. Fake! Her scent suddenly travels up my nostrils; the smell of old sweat and defeat... I suddenly have the urge to strike her ivory jaw with my hoof... but I stop myself. The noise of such loser crying would probably wake that... thing in the bed.
I snicker one last time at the pony before me, and she snickers back. I look away, finding her petulance mildly amusing whilst my mind begins to wander. What does she expect out of it? I suddenly feel... fear. An ominous presence everywhere, watching me; making me stay there. I shook my head vigorously, pushing the thoughts away... that’s it... that’s better. Everything’s going to be OK.
I open the door, only to find him still deep within his slumber... lucky. Magicking my saddlebags over my loin, I leave him be, closing the door behind me. The living room is as filthy as the rest of the house is... the smell... it reeks of decay. But something catches my attention; over the couch... yes.
Two small plastic bags, both contain a white powder... I remember them well. I levitate both bags over to his wooden table and tear them open. Licking the remnants of powder in each bag, I am now properly aware of their contents. Maroin... Horn Powder... Looking around to find a piece of paper that I could fold in order to make a straw, I also happen to stumble across a used needle and a spoon... perfect. Setting both items over the table, I fold some paper I found lying around and make a thick straw. I place it above the white powder I remember belonging to the Horn Powder bag and take a deep snort.
Instantly I feel myself becoming more detached... this is good. My heart pounds excitedly in my chest as I feel myself becoming less and less hollow... not good; perfect. I take another whiff at the powder and walk up to the kitchen’s sink, levitating the spoon by me. I let a few drops fill the spoon almost completely before sprinkling it with the more brownish powder. As I mix the concoction with the syringe’s needle, I snicker at those ponies who often tried to find excuses to use drugs.
Nopony would deny that the stronger stuff, like junk, would completely fuck up anypony... but they would all try to come up with excuses to use the more harmless ones, like Clove. Hah! Helps curing cancer?! Clove has a higher chance of making you develop lung cancer than a cigarette. Regenerates brain cells? Quite the opposite. I laugh at how weak they all are. There are no good things when using these. You’re killing yourself and that’s it. They are probably scared to accept such fact and force themselves to believe in lies, only to make their lives worth for the utmost purpose... except there isn’t any. Life is for dying. Nothing else.
Concentrating back on the mixture before me, I ignite a flame on the tip of my horn while levitating the spoon over its cerulean flames. When I hear the water bubbles popping, I stop and suck the liquid with the syringe, watching as it mixes with the blood cloths inside the tube. I take no time in stabbing myself with the needle, pushing its contents inside myself, not caring if I had hit a vein or not.
Judging by the decrease in the flow of time, I find out that I did hit the jackpot. Everything seems to move away from me, as I ascend from this place. If only I could define such experience in one word... Ecstasy. No... that doesn’t seem truthful at all. But as quick as the blissful feeling came, it was gone. I feel something wet dripping from my nostrils and gently landing on my forehoof. Bringing it closer to my face, I see it... blood.
This would normally scare the living thing out of me... but not this time. I will not let this little thing destroy this perfect moment. I refuse t- what? Oh, yes, my things. I levitate the saddlebags once more to my loin and walk towards the door... no, not walking. I feel that something is telling me to go through it. Before I do so though, I levitate his saddlebags and place them next to mine... I’m sure he won’t mind... much.
I turn my head and look back at myself for the last time. I can feel one single tear falling from my eye as I turn back to face the door and open it. The wind isn’t gentle on the outside... come to think of it, I’ve never felt the wind being so aggressive. I look around myself and notice that the streets are completely empty... but I shrug it off as I start to trot away from myself.
Inspired by:
Placebo - In The Cold Light of Morning
In the cold light of morning while, everyone’s yawning, you're high...
In the cold light of morning the party gets boring, you're high...
As your skin starts to scratch and wave yesterday’s action, goodbye...
Forget past indiscretions, and stolen possessions, you're high...
In the cold... light.
In the cold light of morning, while everyone's yawning, you're high...
In the cold light of morning, you're drunk, sick from whoring and... high...
Staring back from the mirrors, a face that you don't recognize.
It's a loser, a sinner, a cock in a dildo's disguise.
In the cold... light.
Tomorrow...
As your skin starts to scratch, and wave yesterday’s action, goodbye...
Forget past indiscretions, and stolen possessions, you're... high.
In the cold... light... of day.
Tomorrow’s is only a kettle...
Whistle...
Away.
In the cold... light... of... day.
None.
