Author's Note
'Bugs' still being fixed.
Eternal Darkness
?:??
Nočnà took a tentative swallow of the saliva developing in his mouth as he stumbled into the monotonous darkness in front of him. Everything was shaded in grey and black, as if the universe had gone to greyscale. The cave was darker than anything he could have imagined, he thought he could see something in front of him. Nočná stepped forwards once more, the cold and damp stone slid beneath him, sending him sliding down into what seemed oblivion.
He heard himself hit the ground right before he was knocked into a comatose state. He wandered in this world, he seemed as light as possible. He floated freely, staring at the pure white walls surrounding him. He heard someone call him, he turned his head curiously. Nočná hacked up the water in his lungs as he struggled to get back up. He had been under for, who knows how long, and he needed to get to his objective quickly. He paused, and thought about it. He had no past memory of a briefing or anything, all it seemed was he was simply born in front of that cave, and natural instinct told him to search for something inside it. He sat upon a nearby niche in the cold, damp, cavern wall. Memories soon returned to him, luckily.
He thought of his marefriend, Honeybird. She was fascinated by nature in general and often dragged him along on some nature trail, promising nothing in return but perhaps some admiration for bearing through it. She wouldn't admit that, but she knew the trails were monotonous, little there besides flora and fauna. He then violently shook his head, he had remembered what he had done last night. Tears were the only measurement of his sorrow, he hadn't killed her for the joy of it, he was forced to. He closed his eyes as the haunting images reappeared before him.
12:06AM
Nocna rolled across the bed and snuggled against Honeybird. He ran his hoof against her long soft mane and closed his eyes. She was fast asleep yet it felt like the two were conversing deeply. He smiled to himself as he thought of the day he'd propose to her.
As cliché as it seemed, he would take her out for a nice (vegetarian, of course) dinner: champagne, wine, bread, and such. There would be the soothing aroma of roses and scented candles in the air. The soft wind blowing against the long red curtains on a nearby open window, looking out into a cobbled walkway, either side with Parisian style housing. He could hear the romantic musette so clearly, the jazzy yet classy tone that so many post-Victorian countries embraced.
All those dreams, unrealistic as they were, could possibly happen in the afterlife- if there was one to embrace those who found themselves either at the end of their luck, or just giving up the hope of succeeding. Nocna knew if the afterlife did exist, it would bring Honeybird much pleasure and soothe her soul, in its purest form. Be there a god to watch her, he would gladly take her hoof and welcome her to the life after death, the oasis at the end of the long, scorched, desert road. Now he was thinking of the purpose of all these nonsensical thoughts. Ponies must've made religion to give themselves reason to live and not hopelessly throwing themselves off cliffs, like that of lemmings. Except lemmings didn't purposely kill themselves, they just misjudged the length of the field. So perhaps Ponies were lemmings, not known to them, but ending up killing themselves out of ignorance. And the stupidity of the lemming was thinking their purpose was to spread the donkey-shit they were told. So as everypony spread their stupid beliefs, naturally wars and fights accumulate, being the cliff's edge. Ponies being slaughtered over nothing more than a fairy-tale. If there was no Heaven, there wouldn't be a place for Honeybird. Temporarily he had to place his faith in such fairy tales and pull the trigger.
He lifted the small, yet deadly, silenced .22 caliber pistol up from beneath the covers. The weapon was beautiful to him, he cherished it much in the way he had cherished Honeybird. But all things must end eventually, the universe's life is ticking away every damned moment they live. He slowly directed the barrel of the gun at the back of Honeybird's head. He drew in the cold air surrounding him and slowly released it, though a silent exhale. "I die every moment I live, and live every moment I die." He said aloud, not trying to play the silent-killer card any longer. Honeybird let out an unintelligible mumble, presumably telling him to go to sleep. But that would be the last thing she would ever speak.
Click.
He did not feel the recoil, nor the ejected shell blasting out the slide of the gun, hitting him. He quickly closed his eyes, preparing himself for the scene he'd soon awake to. He opened them, perhaps too soon for him to take it. Honeybird's head lay mangled in a impossible degree, a large portion uncovered, a pool of stagnant blood inside, along with scattered bits of grey matter. Portions of her brain were forcibly ejected trough once were her eyes, and scattering on to the floor, leaving a trail of blood behind. Across the room on the classic, red and white, brick wall, were many scrapes and indents, made by the shrapnel. The round he had used was a hoof-loaded, hollow-point, designed specifically for maximised damage. All of this, in a fraction of a second was shot into his mind as a permanent image of what he had done. He once again closed his eyes. He blindly slid off the side of the bed, inadvertently stepping on some blood, and forced himself to not turn the gun on himself. He opened his eyes and opened the door, his adrenaline was running, he would not let anything stop him. He slammed a hole in the wall with his hoof, directly hitting a stud, cutting his hoof. He screamed out of pain and rage, and head butted the wall, once again hitting the stud and hitting himself once more.
He fell over forcefully, making a distinctive thud against the wooden flooring. He clambered back upwards, now all rage resolving back to depression. He slowly made himself to the telephone, picked it up and hit the three buttons which would seal his fate. 9-1-1.
"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"
"She's dead, she's fucking dead!"
"Sir, calm down. Who is the deceased?"
"My- my- my..."
"Sir, please calm down and slowly speak, okay?"
"Uh- Honeybird.. My mare.. I- I..."
"What happened to cause her death, sir?"
"It was- ... It's murder."
"Can you confirm it was murder?"
"I shot her myself... Fuck.. Fuck!"
"Put the phone down and we'll come to you. Okay?"
"Fuck.. Shit.. Why the fuck?.."
Nocna slammed the phone against the ground, sending broken plastic outwards, along with various circuit components. Everything in his world had been shattered in that moment. Life itself ended temporarily, giving way to hell itself, consuming everything in its path.
?:??
He awoke covered in a opaque, dark substance, with a distinct cold characteristic- blood. He panicked quickly, leaping off the niche and nearly impaling himself on a stalagmite. He checked himself quickly for any signs of major injuries. He couldn't be sure, though, as the visibility was pathetically low; the only light source was coming from a small opening in the ceiling, consisting of zig-zagged cracks, eventually leading to the surface. By the time the sunlight reached the cave, it was so diluted, that it'd hardly make a difference if it was removed.
What he could make out was an equine-like figure, laying on the stone floor, and a P08 along side it.
The pony had a black mane and a light grey coat. The body was decayed slightly, and the position of the hoof near the P08 and the gunshot wound to the head suggested suicide. The black, dried blood, laced the would and was scattered about on the floor.
This hardly answered his question, however. The blood on him was slightly newer, as it wasn't entirely blackened yet. Upon moving the corpse of the pony, he found a saddlebag, containing a kerosene lamp, containing a paltry amount of fuel.
?:??
The cave stretched on for eternity, true darkness enveloped the world around him. Nothing guided him but the stones beneath his hooves. Life and death had become synonymous, he lived walking in darkness, and after he was done living, he would again, see darkness. He managed to survive- not the dangers ahead of him, the past's. He seldom took more than three tentative steps deeper into the cave without shaking violently, the air was colder than anything he had experienced before. It was as if the arctic's deathly wind resided here temporarily, just to mock him. Out of melancholy itself, he raised the P08 to his head, his hoof trembling. He found the strength to pull the trigger, put his foreleg refused to stay still. He shut his eyes, and pulled the trigger.
BANG
He hit the cold stones of the cavern floor, the pistol fell down to his side. He masochistically prayed that when he opened his eyes, he'd be dead. Deep breath. He opened them, and the darkness made it seem as if he was, but he soon realised it was not so. He was very much alive- physically, but perhaps not mentally. He soon found himself hungry, and was puzzled at the thought- whatever happened before he went into the cave, he certainly didn't eat. He sighed deeply, he wanted to save the kerosene lamp for later, but he needed to find something to eat.
Thick, green moss grew along the cavern walls, its texture rough, but slimy. Nočná found nothing else but it, not leaving much option. He raised a hoof and pulled a sample off, the moss acting like seaweed, folding over his hoof, dripping water. He lowered his head and gave a quick sniff, it was absolutely repulsing, the scent of- something he had not smelled before.
Whatever it was, it brought about queasiness, its foul odour permeating throughout the air, travelling up his nostrils. He shook violently, throwing the moss down at the ground, where it make a wet smack of sorts. He felt like vomiting, but he hadn't eaten anything to forcibly eject. He closed his eyes, asking himself metaphysical questions.
"Why am I here?" "Why does this exist?" "What is the meaning of this?"
He recoiled from the cavern wall, and spit onto the floor. "Fuckin' hell!" He sighed; he may be a masochist, but this went too damn far. He once again glared up at that damned moss, trying to eradicate it with his eyes. He had become irrational, driven by the fear of death. He wanted to live, but couldn't find himself the courage to consume 'whatever the fuck that stuff was'.
After moments of deep breaths, he coaxed himself into at least taking a bite of it. He raised another piece of moss, bringing it to his mouth. He felt violently ill, deathly even. He opened his mouth and pushed it in, swallowing it, not even daring to taste it. Despite his efforts, whatever small portion had touched his tongue left a mortifying flavour. He fell to the ground, hitting the floor carelessly. He scrambled about, attempting to throw up the moss, the flavour of it; be it possible, the memory of it. He found no such luck, that dastardly substance had already gone down his throat, beginning its journey in his digestive system. He cried, not a cry of despair or desire, a cry of pure terror, something unfathomable to those who had not experienced such emotional pain. Inside his brain, those damn neurones fired, giving him these horrible emotions. He prayed to whatever was out there- God, Luna, Satan, whatever! He pleaded for death to take him, carry him away from this world, absolve him of these sins to himself. His entire life crashed, obliterating whatever was left of his sanity, devouring his conscious mind.
Honeybird looked at him with passion in her eyes, they had just returned from a hike on a nature trail. They were both quite exhausted and went to bed almost immediately after returning home. Nočná looked back into her eyes, reaching over and stroking her mane with his hoof. He let the soft embrace of it flow around his hoof, her mane was something more than a mane. It was a slice of heaven, it flowed in golden rivers, filled with beauty. He leaned in and kissed her, mindlessly, driven by passion. She embraced him, as they kissed again. He lowered his hoof to her flank, stroking it slowly. Her expression changed to the last thing he wanted: anger. She violently shoved him away, rolling over and pulling the cover over her. All of this in seemingly less than a second. He was rejected. He was fucking rejected. He never did take lightly to rejection, by a loved one was no exception. He hit his hoof against the mattress, swearing carelessly. "Fucking shit!" He growled like a feral dog, closing his eyes. He was damn mad now, and he wasn't going to lighten up. HoneyBird hated curse words, she was a simple mare, enjoying nature and peace. She had one thing though, if you swore or pushed too far, she lost it. She flung the covers off the bed, sat up, and punched Nočná in the back. He recoiled and turned his head to face her. "Goddamn you fucking bitch! Don't you hit me!" She smacked him ruthlessly and pushed herself out of bed, and out the door. He started to calm down, his rage resolving into sadness. He called her a bitch, his only mare in the world, a bitch. He was disappointed by calling her that, but felt his actions were justified in a way.
She rejected him, because he was trying to show his affection. Maybe she was a bitch. Well, she was his bitch, anyway. He purged his thoughts, and resided in his own mind, where the pains of reality could not tread. Slumber
. Sweet, silent slumber.
Nocna awoke, Honeybird laying next to him, despite the previous night's incident. She store mindlessly to the ceiling, taking in some unknown detail.
Nocna, confused, looked up at the ceiling, expecting something interesting, since Honeybird seemed so focused. White, rough. Nothing was abnormal about the ceiling, it was the same every passing day, night, and hour. Nothing ever changed, its rough surface never dulling- its presence never invasive. It sat there always, in eternal silence. He reached over and poked Honeybird. She, instantly, looked at him, a blank, emotionless, expressionless, face. He was scared in a way, how many other mares do this shit? He assumed she was either having her period, or just angry beyond the facial-emotional limit. "Honeybird...?"
She said nothing, her eyes still not blinking. Now he was just fucking disturbed- what the fuck happened overnight?
"What shit are you doing?"
Blank stare.
Dead emotions.
Never blinking.
All these added up to only a few possible things:
A.) Dead.
B.) Dying.
C.) Brain-dead.
He scooted closer to her, putting both hooves on her, shaking her.
Immediately, she smacked him.
He recoiled, both angry and confused.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"I'm thinking, you bastard!"
"You could've at least blinked, so I knew you weren't fucking brain-dead!"
Smack.
Blank stare.
Dead emotions.
Never failing.
