Goodbye: A Letter from a Not-so-dead Man

by TheKissoftheVoid

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Human, Sad, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Other
Length: 5098

I never wanted this. To travel here,maybe, but to to be trapped here? No. Yet here I am. They tell me that the spell to send me home would probably kill me. However, with that same spell, maybe I can at least have a chance to say goodbye. . .

Ever thought about what it would mean, being stuck in Equestria? I mean, REALLY thought about it? I thought I had, but hypothetical imaginings for one's entertainment are a far cry from the real thing. Don't get me wrong, this place is even better than I thought it would be, monthly world-threatening incidents notwithstanding, but I miss my home. I miss my family. I've built a pretty great life for myself over the past year, but ever since I flashed into existence here, I've held on to the hope that one day I'd be able to return to the loved ones I left behind. Or at least I did, right up until a few days ago.
They've been trying for nearly ten months to refine the spell that can send me home into something a bit less. . . lethal. Now they're telling me they've done all they can. I can try, but I could end up anywhere on Earth, going any direction at any speed. In other words, the odds that I'll survive the trip home are pretty much non-existent.
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
Well, there's only thing I can think of. I may not be able to make it back, but if I send enough of them, maybe a message can, and if I can't see my family again, maybe I can at least say goodbye. . .

Published 2014-03-01 06:40:03 UTC
Last updated 2014-03-01 06:40:03 UTC

To the Finder of this Letter

To the Finder of this Letter

I don't know who you are, where you are, or if you can even read this, but if you are seeing this message then I consider myself very lucky. I have a great favor I must ask of you, and would not ask if the stakes were not so high. If you can do this favor for me, you will give some peace of mind to many people who've had it taken from them, and though I will never meet you, never thank you face to face, you will have my eternal gratitude as well as theirs.

My favor is this: Please deliver this message to _____ ____ _____, last known address _____ _______ ___, ____, __ _____, United States of America, or _______ _________ ____, last known address ____ __________ _____, ____, __ _____, United States of America. These are my parents, and I can't put into words how much it would mean to me to have this delivered to them.

I imagine that you're going to read the rest of this letter. If you can resist, I would prefer that you don't, but I also understand if you do. I do however ask that you not judge my family, whether it be for good or ill, based upon what you read and/or infer from what this parchment says.

With Hope and Appreciation,

Bowan Dove

To My Family

I cannot possibly express how desperately I hope these words reach you someday. The possibility is a long shot, given the size of the world and how little of it is really inhabited, much less by any who can read this message, and even less by those with the means to deliver it to one of you. Even with the hundreds of thousands of these letters I'll be sending out, it's unlikely that you will ever see one. If you are reading this though, if my words have defied the odds and reached you. . . even though I will never know it, the very thought fills me with such happiness it raises me right off my feet.

On the other hand, it is also possible that you'll see this letter, looking exactly the same, more than once. This is not some cruel hoax. As I said, I will be sending hundreds of thousands, because any less and I don't have high enough hope that they'll reach you. To write them all myself would take years, perhaps decades, and so I've asked that some of my friends here help me by making copies of the ones I do write. I can't explain the details, and I can't offer any concrete evidence. I can only state my case, and hope to the heavens that you read these words and believe them.

Not knowing is always the worst, isn't it? I can't be sure, but I imagine I just disappeared without a trace. If that be the case, I am so, so sorry. I can barely begin to imagine how horrible that must have been, and though my disappearance wasn't my fault, I can't help but feel sorry for what you've all had to go through. Hopefully by now you've been able to push through some of that pain, and hopefully this letter will help alleviate the worst of it.

I hope you'll forgive me if I don't know how much time has passed since I've been gone. Time can be a funny thing here. By my reckoning it's been about a year, and hopefully the same is true for you. If it turns out it's been a few months or a few years, then maybe this will be better timed. If it turns out it's only been a few days. . . then this will probably be devastating, and for that I'm sorry. I'm also sorry for how confusing all that must be. I wish I knew how to explain it to you, but I can't.

What follows is going to hurt, and before you read it I want you all to know this: I love you. All of you. I miss all of you so much, and writing this next part is going to be painful, however necessary it is. I don't do it to upset any of you, I do it because I have to be honest.

I can't come back. I'm sorry.

I don't really know where here is, and to be honest I'm STILL having trouble believing that this place exists in the first place. All I know is that the arrival was probably the most painful and terrifying ordeal I've ever suffered through. There are precious few here who have the means to send me back at all, and those few have warned me that the return trip would more than likely kill me. I've yet to catch any of them in a lie yet, and if my return would be anything like the trip here, I believe them.

As for where I am. . . I'm so sorry. I can't tell you. I wish I could, but I can't.

The first reason is that, quite frankly, even if I were to write it here, you wouldn't believe me. I promise. The fact that I am where I am is so absurdly unlikely that the numbers one would have to use in calculating the odds are so high I don't even know their names. It's made me have to rethink the significance of every book, comic, show, movie, and video game I've ever enjoyed. To be honest, even now I sometimes wonder whether or not I've simply gone insane, and everything that's happened in the last year has been a single, unending hallucination. For all I know I may be sitting dull-eyed in an asylum cafeteria, idly doodling these words onto a table with my finger, or perhaps even restrained in a padded cell, writing on a page that isn't there, sitting in a chair that isn't there, feeling the occasional breeze that isn't there from a window that isn't there. I imagine that either of those is literally billions or trillions of times more likely that the possibility that all that has happened has been real, but in truth, if this is madness, being separated from you is my only complaint.

The second reason is that, even if you did, and even though I trust you, I don't trust everyone who might read this before you. It's incredibly unlikely that they'd believe it either, but it's a chance I can't take. Where I am and where you are aren't ready for each other, and though I fancy myself an optimist when it comes to people, I also can't help but believe that, as a whole, humanity is divisive, suspicious of the unknown, and afraid of change. Thus to protect my new home and my old one, I have to try to keep them separate.

This is probably the hardest thing I will ever ask you to do. I hate myself for asking it, but ask it I must: Please don't look for me. Please don't try to contact me. Neither will work.

I'm sorry. Please understand. Please, please understand. I can't come back, and I can't tell you where I am, but I can tell you this; I'm safe. All things considered, this fiasco could be a whole lot worse. I'm writing this because I want you all to know that I'm alive. . . and because we never got to say goodbye.

Isn't it funny how often people put off saying the things they should have said to another until it's too late? I thought I understood that little cliche, and yet here I am, another victim to our curious inability to tell our loved ones just what they mean to us. I hope that my words bring some comfort in your pain, and perhaps stir a fond memory or two.

Mom: I wish I'd told you I loved you more. I know you knew it, but I still wish I'd said it more often. Throughout my life your support and encouragement have meant the world to me, and without the example of emotional strength and integrity you set, I wouldn't be half the person I am. I am more grateful than I can ever begin to say, and I love, love, love you. I'm sorry that I can't come back, but I promise you that I'm not unhappy here. I know that that probably doesn't do much to dull the pain, but hopefully it does more than nothing. Your son misses you, but he's also happy, thanks in no small part to the person you helped him become. Thank you Mom. Thank you. Tell your family that I love them, that I'll miss them, and tell Josh I'm sorry we won't be able to have a squash fight rematch.

Dad: I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I let us become so distant over the last several years. I'm sorry that I didn't have the courage to just sit down with you and talk out our problems. I feel like the last ten years have been a slow but steady process of drifting apart, and even though it hurt I was always too much of a coward to do something about it. Maybe it's different for you. Maybe it didn't hurt you as much, maybe it hurt in a different way, I don't know, and that's part of what upsets me; I don't know. We grew so far apart that I just don't know, and I did nothing about it. I'm sorry. I love you Dad. Even though we were distant when I disappeared, I still very much did and do love you. You were a steady, practical head when mine was in the clouds, and I know you spent a long time struggling so that Emma and I were provided for. I don't know if I ever thanked you for that, so, thank you Dad. Thank you for everything. Tell the Nanas, Papa, Jim and Kelly that I'm sorry I won't be able to visit anymore, and that I'll miss getting to watch the cousins grow up. Tell Ben not to let the girls experiment with make-up on him!

Emma: Christ, I'm gonna miss you Emma. For you, there's so much that I'm sorry I'm not gonna be there for. I'm really gonna miss seeing you graduate college. I'm really gonna miss seeing you get married, if and when you do. I'm really gonna miss all the banter you and I used to have, over the latest funny Youtube vids or awesome new songs and games. I'm. . . I'm so sorry that I can't be there for you as the years go on. It's my single greatest regret. I want you to know, though, that I am so proud of you. Over the last few years you've grown into an incredible young woman, and I doubt even my disappearance could change that. Never stop being you Emma, no matter what, and know that even though he can't reach you, your big brother is out there somewhere loving you.

I love you all, and I miss you all, and I hope you are all doing well. As for myself. . . well, apart from missing you all terribly, I'm doing far better than I ever would have imagined. I'm not hurt, I'm not frightened, I'm not even alone.

Well, perhaps, in a way, that's not true. In a way, I am completely alone. However, I'm alright with that now. I may be alone, but, even though it's taken some time, I no longer FEEL alone.

To be completely honest, I'm happy here in a way that I've never been before. Remember Kauai? Remember what I used to say about that place? Being there heals your soul. Well, being here is the same, and then some. Everything feels a little fuller, a little brighter, a little, well, better. The only way I can really think of describing it is innocent. There's this inscrutable purity in the land, everything, and everyone in it. That's not to say there aren't jerks, snobs, and petty people here, but they aren't nearly as bad as the ones back home, and somehow it's hard to stay mad at them, even when they cross your path.

The people here, once they gave me a chance, have been incredibly accepting. I'll admit there were some, shall we say, hiccups, at first, but since then everything's been wonderful. We are. . . very different. In fact, I'd call it a testament to their tolerance that they've accepted me as well as they have. Given, in all the most important ways we aren't different at all, something which I'm a bit ashamed to say that they've been better at noticing than I have, but the differences are still pretty hard to ignore at times.

For starters, I'm a giant here. With a few exceptions, all of the locals are very short and lightly built, and I'm not exaggerating when I say that compared to the average citizen here, I'm probably twice the height and well over twice the weight. Needless to say, it's hard not to be intimidating whenever I walk into a room.They also tend to be a bit hairier than I'm used to, and I in turn look almost bald to them, especially since I still prefer my mane in a buzz-cut. Some of them find it a bit unnerving, just like you might find it unnerving that I wrote mane instead of hair. Sorry about that. Colloquial term that's kinda stuck with me. Finally, there's the issue that almost none of the people in this place eat meat. It's about as taboo as taboo can get, and the fact that I can and have eaten meat is a pretty touchy subject. I have to admit though, I realized pretty quickly why they don't. Mom, remember when you couldn't eat meat after you read that article about how smart pigs really are? Remember how much crap I gave you over that? Let's just say I get it now. I can't even think about a steak anymore without it being accompanied by a voice with a mid-western accent accusing me of being a monster.

Bad should-be-jokes aside, my complaints about living here, apart from being separated from you guys, are all fairly trivial. Eating meat here is, needless to say, a problem, and because of that I had trouble getting enough protein early on (cheese and eggs are friggin' expensive here). Luckily for me, eating fish is considered acceptable, and as a result I've actually become a damn good fisherman! I used to think bow-fishing was stupid, too. . .

Technology here is, well, inconsistently developed. There's a small part of me that misses the internet, but because of how. . . I guess the term would be "magical", everything else is here, I don't miss it nearly as much as I thought I would.

One thing I DO miss is my music collection. My iPhone didn't survive the trip here, and so I've been stuck trying to recreate some of my favorites as best I can. Though I'm sure they aren't perfect duplicates, a couple have actually become really big hits here, and I've made an impressive sum of bits off of that. I promise that, to this day, I still give full credit to Lindsey Stirling, Muse, Depeche Mode, Beethoven, and a few others, and if by some impossible chance this place is discovered someday, I have their royalties waiting for them.

You guys will probably enjoy knowing that I'm still singing here. In fact, I'm singing more here than I ever was back home. These people have an extraordinary feeling for music, and apparently I'm good enough to be a big deal here! Thanks to my voice and the songs from back home, I've met pop stars, elite ensemble members, even a chart-topping DJ! (Regarding those last couple, while hanging out with them I have confirmed that I am still a giggly drunk. Never would have guessed classical musicians knew how to party like that.)

As for what else I've been up to, well I've been up to so many things it's hard to put them all down here. Apart from my size and strength advantages, I'm a lot more, um, dextrous, than the natives. Heck, some of them might as well be trying to pick things up with hooves! As a result, whenever I get bored, there are always odd jobs I can do where my strength and nimble fingers give me an edge. Sometimes I fix things, sometimes I work at spas as a masseur, I even bounce at clubs from time to time. Thanks to a lack of transportation technology, and for a couple of months, a desperate attempt to stave off grief by relentlessly working out, I'm easily in the best shape I've ever been in. I even took up martial arts several months back. There were some challenges in finding an instructor, but it's coming along well now. For reasons that no one can really describe, I'm resistant to most of the. . . "techniques" that these people can use, and I'm hoping to capitalize on that, just in case.

I don't want you to worry, but I won't lie to you guys either, things here can be pretty chaotic. It seems that at least every month or two there's some new and looming catastrophe that, at a glance, looks like it could spell the end for everything, and yet it never does. Heck, most of the locals, small and seemingly vulnerable though they are, just take it all in stride. Still, it serves as a good motivator to keep up my fitness and martial arts training. I'll probably never need it, but one might as well be prepared, right? Better to be able to defend myself and mine if need be.

On that subject, you should know that I've made a lot of friends here! They come from all sorts of professions, backgrounds, and walks of life, and yet all of them were willing to help me when things were bad, and have made my time here a whole lot more livable.

The one I probably see the most calls himself Pony Joe. Weird name, I know, but he's a totally awesome guy, and I usually just call him PJ anyway. He runs a doughnut shop here in the capital city, and we meet there once a week for late night story swapping over coffee, something I've taken to calling Joe at Joe's (which annoys him to no end). He brews a pretty mean cup of coffee, which I guess is no surprise because as far as I can tell he NEVER SLEEPS. He claims that he's the only one who works here, and even though I wanna call bull, I've never seen an employee. Regardless of that, he slings the best buttermilk bars this side of ANYWHERE, and has a new story about hilariously intoxicated customers every time I visit.

Then there are my musical friends, Vinyl and Octavia. Vinyl's that super popular DJ I mentioned, with whom I've collaborated to make one of the biggest hits this place has ever seen (with credit to Muse). Her easy smile and laid back attitude were instrumental in getting me out of my depression when I came to terms with being stuck here. Yes, that last sentence was a pun, no, I didn't intend it, and yes, now that I've noticed it I absolutely felt the need to comment on it. Anyway, when we first met I was still being pretty reclusive. Apart from my music collabs and occasion odd jobs, I rarely left the suite that I call home. She found that out during our first project together and LITERALLY dragged me out to one of her clubs that night. There was drinking, dancing, a couple fights, a spontaneous musical number, and a cake heist that made the next day's headlines. We've been good friends ever since. . . I'm not making this stuff up. Is it any surprise that I sometimes wonder if I've gone insane?

As I said, there's also Octavia, who in many ways is Vinyl's opposite, which is interesting because the two are best friends. Octavia's calm where Vinyl is loud, demur where Vinyl is exuberant, and their musical styles couldn't be more different. Octavia is a classical composer and tremendously skilled cellist, which is rather amazing because. . . well, suffice it to say she has an interesting handicap with regards to playing a string instrument, and is infinitely more skilled than anyone with that handicap has any right to be. She's not what you'd expect out of such a prestigious musician. She's so focused, so driven, and when she plays you can tell that she's pouring everything she is into the music, and yet she's one of the most approachable, easygoing people I've ever met. She's actually joined Vinyl and I on a couple of our outings, and once, on a dare, proceeded to drink us both under the table as if it were nothing. Like I said, not what you'd expect.

My best friend is also the first one that I made here. Her name is Zecora, and she's really something else. She's warm, accepting, welcoming, witty, and always seems to see things on some deeper, more mystic level. I don't really get to see her as often as I'd like; she lives in a rather dangerous area of forest, and the closest town is a little place where the residents aren't quite as accepting as the ones where I live. Ugh, there are three sisters that own a flower shop there who still act like I'm going to kill them every time I'm in town. There's also one there who puts me on edge a bit. Whenever I pass through she always seems to pop up and proceeds to bombard me with every sort of question you could imagine, and every time I catch her looking at my hands as if they were the most fascinating things ever. She isn't BAD per se, but she's a bit too stalkerish for my comfort. Alas, I digress.

Zecora was an outsider too, when she first came here. In fact, from what I've gathered, the folks in the nearby town treated her in much the same way they treat me for a while. I imagine that's part of the reason she was so willing to help me when I needed it. In the beginning, when I first arrived here, I was hurt, confused, and utterly terrified. Because I'm so obviously an outsider, most drove me away, but not Zecora. Instead, she took me in, gave me food and a bed, and promised to do what she could for me. She helped me as much as anyone here in the early days, when I was still coming to grips with the situation, and any time I've ever asked for her help she's been there. I don't think I would have made it without her.

On a semi-related note, I've also become something of a master at the game of rhymes, something for which my long suffering companions can blame her.

There is one other that I'd like to mention. Luna; One whom, as far as friendship, I'm not really sure what to call. When we met, I had no home. She offered me one more luxurious and comfortable then I could have even conceived of at the time. When we met, I was a pariah that most people still feared. She, despite having a list of duties as long as I am tall (not to mention a minor language problem), spoke tirelessly on my behalf, and gave me opportunity after opportunity to prove myself trustworthy. It's thanks mostly to her that the general public accepted me as quickly as they did. Most of all though, in my darkest moments, when the wounded animal inside of me took control, and all I wanted was to hide myself away from the world and wallow in my pain, she wouldn't let me. No matter what I said, no matter what I did, she never left my side. When I asked her why, she told me that she knows what it feels like to be so overcome with loneliness that it consumes you. That she knows what it feels like to be an outcast. That, regardless of how difficult it is, she won't stand idly by and watch another soul go through that alone.

It's funny, in a way. I've known about her own struggles since before I met her, but I never really got to see who she'd become because of them until she was helping me with my own. I guess that's not really relevant any more, but it certainly seemed so at the time.

What IS relevant now is that, for some reason that I can barely begin to comprehend, I've caught her eye. The very notion has had me reeling every since she told me. She's the second most powerful person in this place, with a legion of guards and skills that, in spite of witnessing them myself, I still have trouble believing, and for some reason she's interested in pursuing something with me. Given, I suppose I should have known better than to dedicate my premier performance of "Moonlight Sonata" to her (thank you Beethoven), but I didn't really count on it affecting her it quite this way. I've done quite well for myself here, but when one stands next to her, well, it's awfully hard not to feel unworthy.

As for my own feelings. . . they are conflicted. She's so different from me, everyone here is, and even though I don't want to let that affect the way I see them, I can't help it. She is also much, MUCH older than I am. And yet. . . and yet I can't pretend that I see her as just another friend. She probably understands what I've gone through better than I do, and she's never let me face it alone. She takes some getting used to, but once you get to know her, she's kind, giving, amazingly intelligent, witty, extremely fun, and though hers is a different kind of beauty, it would be a bald faced lie to say she isn't beautiful. . . see? I can't even describe her to you without sounding like an amorous teenager. I wish you guys could meet her.

Truth be told, I think that apart from wanting to see you guys again, my greatest wish is that you could see this place for yourselves. It really is like something out of a fantasy tale. There's so much I wish I could tell you, so many things I wish I could describe.

I don't know if you guys remember this, but the ultimate compliment I could pay to something back home was to call it "magical". To pry that word out of me, something had to bring a sense of peace and fulfillment so great that it drowned out everything else, and before I came here, I think I was only able to say it of three experiences I've had in my entire life. Here, though? Here, I've seen things that have made me weep. I've witnessed things of such impossible beauty that they brought me to my knees.

It's actually rather ironic that I can't call this place magical without being redundant, but my feelings are the same, and so I do it regardless.

This place is magical, in every possible way.

Do you guys remember my poem? I think my experiences here are best summed up in those closing few lines:

I have seen, I have seen

I have felt, and I have been

I have walked in the footsteps of gods and spirits and found something akin to wonder

It is those elusive paths where dwells contentment

I wish that I could share this place with you. I wish that I could see you all again. I wish that I could introduce you to all the people who I now call my friends, that they might be your friends too. I wish I could do so many things. I can't though.

I just want you all to know, more than anything, that even though I can't return, I want you to find happiness. Though it's taken time and struggle, I've found mine. The entire point of this massive ramble is that, although I still miss you all, I'm doing okay. More than okay. My ambitions back home paled in comparison to the adventure that was dropped in my lap, and even after a year the excitement I feel is as strong as it ever was. It would be stupid to say "don't mourn me", especially since I've done plenty of mourning myself, but please, please don't feel sad for me. Don't fear that you'll ever mean any less to me than you always have. I'll never stop missing you, I'll never forget you, and I'll never, ever stop loving you. No matter how much time may pass, and no matter how much distance divides us, you will always be in my heart, and until the day I die your voices will keep me company in my dreams.

Find your happiness. Let that be my last request: No matter what, please, please find happiness

I love you

Bowan Dove

Author's Note

Here's something I've been thinking of writing for a while now. I've always thought about how I would actually feel if I found myself stuck in Equestria, and part of the reason I wrote this was that I wanted to explore that. It's been an interesting and emotional ride, with a little bit of shameless wish fulfillment toward the end there. What can I say? I'm a Luna fan.
If something seems vague, it's probably on purpose. If you have a question, feel free to ask me.
In case you're wondering, Bowan Dove is an anagram of my name that I occasionally use when writing. I thought about putting anonymous, but at the end of the day, this is about me, and I wanted the character's name to reflect that.
Any comments, constructive criticisms, and naturally likes and faves, are always appreciated.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. Truly.