My Second Chance at Teaching

by Facemelt91

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark, Human, Sad, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance, Fluttershy, Sex, Tragedy, Twilight Sparkle, Cheerilee
Length: 8811

Sometimes you get sucked deep into a black hole that you cannot climb out from. Sometimes you get desperate for a way out. This is a story about a teacher who took that way out... with surprising results.

Sometimes the choices you make impact your life in a negative way. Sometimes the things you do to fix your mistakes only serve to make them worse. Sometimes you get sucked deep into a black hole that you cannot climb out from. Sometimes you get desperate for a way out.

Surely there has to be something out there better than this? Surely this can't be all there is?

Sometimes we will take any way out we can, no matter how extreme that might be.

This is the story of what happened when a depressed teacher took that way out.

Published 2014-04-27 16:10:02 UTC
Last updated 2014-04-27 16:10:02 UTC

The easy way out

Imagine you get thrown into a vast expanse of cold water. All around you is water, as far as the eye can see. No way back to shore. No shore to make it back to. Just water.

The first thing most of us would do is panic. This is bad, as it only accelerates the process. Panicking causes you to breathe more quickly. You lose more body heat as your energy is sapped from you, and before you know it, you’re struggling to keep your head above the water despite your best efforts, you end up getting dragged under by a current more powerful than you. At this point, we might think to cry for help, but by then, we’re beyond saving, especially when we’re alone. As the fight to keep your head above the water starts to fall in the water’s favour, the inevitable happens.

We start drowning.

Most people think that drowning is simple. I’ll tell you myself that it isn’t. It’s a complex balance of different phenomena all taking place at the same time. When your face enters cold water, you immediately go into something called ‘diving mode’, any marine mammal does it instinctively and humans are no exception. What happens is your heart-rate slows down in an effort to preserve energy. Your blood vessels become restricted, causing less oxygen to get pumped to the brain. I don’t care how long you think you can hold your breath – dive deep enough into cold water and you’ll start losing consciousness within a few minutes, sometimes before you even think you need to breathe. When that happens, you’ll start breathing on your own as your body attempts to regain lost oxygen. That’s when you start inhaling water. But it doesn’t go into your lungs when you inhale it: your body is smart enough to seal off the tubes to your lungs and force the water into your stomach. You swallow the water and then you cough it up, inhaling yet more water in the process. It continues like that, this slow process of water inhalation and vomiting until your brain finally starts to die and you stop struggling. At this point, unconsciousness sets in and that’s when your lungs open up to the water.

If you make it this far, you’re usually dead.

There is a crucial moment when you are drowning, a moment where you can make a split-second decision that could if not save your life, at least prolong it. Miss this opportunity, or make the wrong decision?

No second chances.

I drowned a long time ago, but not in the sense you might think. No, this was a different sort of drowning. This is the story of my fight to keep my head above the water.

*

I’m not going to lie to you, this isn’t a story about someone with a happy life and a bright future getting on the wrong train and ending up in hell. I didn’t arrive in hell on the train. I didn’t arrive in hell on a boat. I didn’t jump from 35,000 feet above ground level and crash through into hell.

I was born in hell.

I’m not going to detail you with my childhood. I don’t want to bias you against me. Let’s just say that some things are better left unsaid. Leave it at the fact that I was bullied relentlessly for things I can’t even remember having wrong with me, and I returned home to exactly the same thing. Few know the comfort of the shadows like I do. Some people spend their lives feeling like they’re invisible – I spent most of mine wishing I could be.

Fast forward a few years and suddenly I’m eighteen, about to head off to University after scraping through school by the skin of my teeth. I started studying English. I had a long-standing dream of wanting to be a teacher, and free from the pressures of home and the bullies at school, I ploughed through my studies. I even fell in love and rented a house with a girl who was at one point, a burning light in a world that had been completely dark for many years. I was doing extremely well in my studies too. I’d always been passionate about literature, but I found that I was actually good at it as well.

But even the brightest light fades, and that too faded. The last six months of my time at University were spent living between the gym and the library. I don’t know whether any of you have ever slept in a doorway, but I have, and I’ll tell you it’s far more comfortable than sleeping in a bed with someone who can’t stand the sight of you.

Many times I came close to just giving up, shutting my eyes and let the anvil that was attached to my leg by a rope drag me down to the seabed, or locking my door and letting the razor blade do the rest. But one thing kept me going – the hope that there would be light at the end of this dark tunnel.

As it happened, I was accepted onto a teaching course, starting right after I finished my degree. I was overjoyed. I was able to return home and train to be a teacher, living with my parents (who I had recently rekindled my relationship with) and sleeping in my own room. When I graduated, I did so at the top of my class, with the highest score they’d had that year. I was feeling pretty pleased with myself, but it was a buzz that didn’t last long. I entered the teacher training course the following September and that was things started going downhill.

*

You must understand that since I had known I wanted to do something other than drink cheap cider and smoke even cheaper cannabis, I had wanted to be a teacher. It was always my dream to stand at the front of a class and teach people about the really important stuff that they needed to know, to improve their lives and help them grow. Hell, to do a better fucking job than the teachers I’d ever had did for me.

So when I started training, I did so with a happy smile on my face. The first time I ever taught a full lesson was a blazing vortex of highs and lows, but mainly highs. The connection I formed with that class seemed to transcend any feelings of nervousness that I’d had up until then, and for once in my life, I felt like I had a purpose, a calling even. I was meant to be there, meant to be with those students. I was dedicated to doing well, dedicated to becoming an effective teacher so that I could do right by the students. It was the only thing I really cared about. It was the only thing I think I’d ever been good at.

But reality sank in soon. Once I showed them how good I could be, that was the expectation. I set the bar high, and every time I failed to reach it again, a little part of me died inside. Sideways glances and disapproving eyes met me everywhere I go. Mockery patted me on the back every day on the corridors and feelings of shame and despair churned bitterly inside the pit of my stomach.

Every day was a cocktail of emotions. Arrive to work shitting myself. Teach two lessons while my mentor silently judged me from the corner of the room. Leave the room after the bored faces had gone and silently stew in my own self-loathing. Spend the entire day watching my back, making sure I said all the right things and towed the line properly. Dotted the i’s and crossed the t’s. Stayed. In. Line. The politics were unbearable and the bullying was worse than it had been when I was a student. It got to the point where every minute away from faces was a minute spent crying into shaking palms. How could I have been so wrong about something that had initially felt so right?

While everyone else basked in glorious sunshine, I had a black cloud that followed me everywhere. It hung over my head, draining me of life and making me feel empty. When the black cloud was around, life just seemed to grind to a halt and everything lost all meaning that it once had. Things that I used to enjoy suddenly ceased bringing me pleasure. I couldn’t eat, sleep or concentrate. My lack of concentration led to failure and failure pushed me to try harder. I stayed later and later each night, sometimes not leaving the building until after nine or ten in the evening, only to meander home with tunnel vision and aching temples, collapsing on the floor and crawling back upstairs to revise my plans for the next day. I was running on little to no sleep. I had no energy to eat. I felt like I was dying, but it wasn’t just my body; it was my soul. At my absolute worst, I didn’t feel sadness, guilt or fear, but complete apathy for everything and everyone around me. I felt utterly empty and hollow, like I was devoid of anything resembling emotions, and the night that I left the building early and didn’t bother planning my lessons for the next day, I knew I had gone passed the event horizon.

I stood in front of the class full of expectant faces, about to teach a lesson on Great Expectations. I knew what I wanted to say despite not having planned it, but for some reason the words wouldn’t leave my mouth. It was like my brain had died and wasn’t responding to what I wanted it to do. I opened my mouth and tried to speak, but all I could do was choke on the water that started running into my stomach. I was drowning, drowning on the tears that streamed from my eyes as I broke down in front of the bemused students. That was the point where I realised that the dream I’d harboured since I was a child was all for nothing. Depression had finally taken over my entire life and was consuming me inside and out.

*

The last time I ever set foot in a school was to meet with a team of supervisors.

“We imagine this is a hard pill to swallow,” said the course leader. “But we don’t feel that you are fit to continue teaching, given your current condition.”

He and four others sat across the table from me, barely even looking me in the eye as they all explained to me, in no uncertain terms that they thought I was unsuitable for the teaching profession because I was mentally unstable. They were doing me a favour by getting rid of me, stopping me from harming myself or someone else. I thought it was outrageous but they were convinced that I was a risk to the wellbeing of the children just by having me in the school, and as a result, I could no longer work as a teacher.

I didn’t return home that night. I went for a long walk in the rain to clear my head, but the more I thought about it, the more I realised that they were right. I wasn’t fit to be in the teaching profession. I was so depressed I could barely function as a human being. How could I be responsible for thirty-plus children when I couldn’t even look after myself?

Over the next few weeks, I became more and more isolated from everyone and everything that I had ever cared about. I lost all joy in everything that I had ever cared about, and life seemed to be completely devoid of meaning, and when that happens, I began to question what the point of it was. I felt completely and utterly hopeless, to the point where even getting out of bed required a tremendous amount of physical strength and courage. Life was like living one continuous day that didn’t have a definitive start or end point and as the dark cloud continued to rain, its foul water putting more and more distance between me and the surface, I felt like more and more of my soul was being sucked away into a limitless hell. The dark cloud had succeeded in filling the room with water, and the anvil on my foot had finally won its battle against the little strength I had left.

Without teaching, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to ever make a positive impact on the lives of other people. The thought of being useless was too much for me to cope with. I had endured the pain for long enough. I wanted it to end. They thought that cutting me loose from teaching was going to help me get better. They actually signed my death warrant.

With a heavy heart, I left a note for my family to read. It wasn’t a long one. I begged them to forgive me for hurting them and promised them I’d watch over them when I was gone.

After everyone else had gone to bed, I put a film on the TV and snuck out without anyone noticing. I walked for nearly two hours until I had found a quiet spot outside town where I knew I wouldn’t be disturbed. It was a small woodland area with low-hanging trees. I attached a length of rope I’d bought the previous day to a tree trunk that overlooked a park bench, stood on top of the bench and pulled the noose I’d made over my head. The last thing I remember thinking was wishing that I’d never even started teaching; that I’d waited a few years until I was older and more mature and better equipped to deal with the huge pressure. When I jumped off the bench and felt the noose pull hard against my throat. Gasping hard, I struggled for breath in my final moments. I don’t remember much before I blacked out and lost consciousness, but the last thing that I remember feeling was a deep sense of regret, and the vague hope that if I woke up, I would do so in a better place.

*

My eyelids felt heavy. I was vaguely aware of the sensations that seemed to be carrying on around me, the sound of machines, of people talking, cold rushes of air and the smell of disinfectant.

After what seemed like an eternity of white noise and empty sensations, I slowly opened my eyes and found myself looking up at a bright light.

“Doctor Stable,” someone said, “I think he’s waking up.”

Moments later, a long face was peering down at me, checking my eyes. As the face came into focus, I saw two large eyes, staring down at me. Something about the doctor looked… off. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

“Eyes are dilating normally,” mumbled the doctor. “Can you hear me alright in there?”

“Urrff…” I replied. I tried to say yes, but it didn’t come out as I’d planned. I tried again, “Urrff!”

“Can you say that again?”

“Yes…” I breathed, coughing hard. “I can hear you.” I was relieved to hear the sound of my own voice, even if it did sound a little deeper than usual.

“Alright then,” said the doctor, nodding in satisfaction. The more I looked at him, the more I tried to picture what was wrong, but I couldn’t quite work it out. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Yeah it’s…” and I stopped. My mind went blank. Name? Nothing sprung to mind. What the… what the hell was my name? How could I have forgotten my own name? “I… don’t know,” I admitted.

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “You don’t remember your own name?”

“I have no idea,” I said, utterly flabbergast. How the hell could I just forget my own name? It didn’t make any sense. I didn’t even have the slightest inkling.

“Alright,” said the doctor, taking out a clipboard, “I’m going to ask you a few questions. First of all, do you have any family history of heart disease, stroke, diabetes, asthma or any other chronic illnesses?”

“I… don’t know.”

The doctor marked off a tick box, “do you have any allergies?”

“I…” I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know. I suddenly realised that I didn’t know anything about myself.

The doctor looked down at me, slightly worried, “can you please confirm your age?”

“I have… no idea,” I breathed. My heart was thumping against my ribcage, its heavy beat ringing in my eardrum.

The doctor nodded slowly, his face was filled with compassion, almost… sadness as he uttered his next words: “No name, no age… do you even know who you are or where you are from?”

I shut my eyes tightly and screwed up my face. I tried really hard to remember anything that I could, but nothing came to mind. It was like someone had painted over my memories with whitewash. I knew something was there… but I couldn’t see it. I felt tired and slightly annoyed. Surely I couldn’t just be a blank slate?

“Do you remember anything happened to you?” the doctor asked, lowering his clipboard.

“I’m sorry?” I said.

“You came here several days ago,” the doctor said. “You were in a coma. We thought you weren’t going to pull through, but you kept fighting. Nopony has come in to identify you, so we’ve no idea who you are or where you came from, and it seems that you don’t have the answers either.”

“Wait a second,” I said, rewinding through his words. Suddenly something clicked into place. “Did you just say, ‘nopony’ has come in to identify me?”

“Yes, that’s right,” the doctor said, “we haven’t had anypony come in looking for you. The only pony who visited you was the pony who brought you here. She’s asked to be notified when you wake up.”

“Nopony, anypony…” I said, “Why do you keep saying pony?”

The doctor looked slightly alarmed. He spoke slowly, deliberately, “Because… that’s what we are?”

I felt as though somepony had hit me over the head with a brick. My stomach lurched and I vomited all over my bed sheets. Before I slipped back into unconsciousness, I caught a glimpse of the hooves at the extreme ends of my light brown front limbs. The last thing I remember thinking before I blacked out was: holy shit, I’m a fucking pony.

A second chance

Doctor’s report

Patient Name: Unknown
Previous Names: Unknown
EHS Number: Unknown
Sex: M
Species: Equine
Race: Unicorn Pony
DOB: Unknown
Blood type: O
Nationality: Unknown, probably Equestrian
Current Address: Not known
Occupation: Not known
Next of kin: Not known
Cutie Mark: Black Mortarboard on top of a book with a red, hardback cover.

Report
23/2/19
Patient was admitted at 04:48am on 23/2/19 after having been found lying below a tree. Patient was comatose and had severe bruising around their neck. Bruising is consistent with rope burn, suggests patient may have attempted suicide.

25/2/19
Patient still in coma. Bruising on neck has almost completely healed.

27/2/19
Patient wakes up. Appears lucid, though seems to have developed amnesia. Awaiting CT scan results to determine if any brain damage. No sign of any infections in blood.

*

When I woke up again, I felt a throbbing pain in my head.

I pulled myself forward and put my hooves to my aching temples, rubbing them tenderly. Then I rapidly pulled my hooves away and looked at them in awe. They were strange, and yet, they felt so… natural. It was like I’d had them all my life.

“Good morning,” a soft voice said.

I turned my head, slightly startled, to face the yellow pony who was sitting on a chair beside my bed. As I met her eyes, she recoiled slightly, hiding her face with her long mane that almost completely covered her eyes.

“Good... morning,” I breathed softly.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said the pony, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” I grumbled, rubbing my head.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” said the pony, slowly brushing her mane from her face, “You certainly look better than you did last time I saw you.”

I screwed up my face and reached up with my hoof to rub my head. I glided my hoof awkwardly through my own mane and felt around for any bumps. I took a good look at her. She was perhaps three and a half feet tall, with creamy, yellow fur and a pair of wing-like appendages that were tucked against her back. Wings? On a fucking pony? Wings? Something in the deepest recesses of my mind made me want to remember a story about a flying horse...

“Are you alright?” the pony asked.

I nodded but then shook my head. “Something doesn’t feel... normal.”

“Whatever do you mean?” asked the yellow pony. “Do you want me to leave?” Her face fell slightly.

“No, it’s nothing to do with you,” I assured her, feeling slightly sorry for her, “it’s just... none of this feels right. Where I am... who I am... I just can’t make any sense of it.”

“Well, I can’t say for sure who you are,” the yellow pony said, “but I do know that you’re in a very nice hospital in a little town called Ponyville.”

The name didn’t sound familiar, “never heard of it.”

“Equestria?”

“Nope,” I said, “sounds vaguely like it’s to do with horses.”

“Well,” the yellow pony said, “that would be because it’s populated by ponies like you and me.”

There again, I got that same feeling that something was wrong. It was the mention of the word ‘pony’. Somehow I just didn’t feel right about being a pony. Why couldn’t I remember anything from before I woke up?

“You’ve lost your memory,” said the yellow pony, “haven’t you?”

I nodded, “I can’t remember anything about what happened before I woke up here.”

“I have a friend who might be able to help you with your memory, if you’re interested,” said the yellow pony, “her name is Twilight Sparkle.”

“Twilight Sparkle...” I almost laughed. Twilight Sparkle? Something about the name sounded like a joke.

“Yeah,” the yellow pony said, “and my name is Fluttershy.”

“Fluttershy,” I repeated. It seemed to fit her well, for she was a shy little thing, blushing like that with those little yellow cheeks when I looked at her. She looked dainty and fragile, like a delicate little flower.

“Umm... we can go and see my friend... whenever you feel strong enough to check out,” said Fluttershy.

I looked around me. I was in an empty hospital room with a yellow pony I’d never seen before. I didn’t know who I was and I had no idea where I’d come from. I really had nothing better to do than to take Fluttershy up on her offer. So I discharged myself and followed her out into the town.

Walking on four legs proved easier than walking on two as my head was more naturally upright when I was down on all fours. It felt almost instinctive, but then again, I couldn’t ever remember having done anything different.

The place was full of... ponies. It felt strange, but somehow it no longer felt wrong. It was like I’d come to terms with the fact that I was a pony, the pony I was talking to was a pony and all around us were other ponies, going about their daily lives. It felt slightly surreal to watch, but by the time we had reached the library – a building built into a large, hollowed out tree – I was already getting used to the idea.

Fluttershy knocked on the door and waited, looking slightly anxious.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

She blushed slightly, “I... I get nervous when I’m waiting for somepony to answer the door.”

“I thought you said this one was your friend?”

“Oh, she is...” Fluttershy mumbled, “it’s just I...”

“I get it,” I said. But did I really? How could I empathise when I couldn’t remember ever knocking on a friend’s door? Did I even have any friends? I suddenly started to feel miserable when I realised that I didn’t even know what sort of person... err... pony... I was.

Within minutes, the door was answered by a purple pony who had a set of straight bangs draped over a horn that extended out from her skull.

“Good afternoon, Fluttershy,” the unicorn said. She immediately looked at me, “and a good afternoon to your friend too.”

“Good afternoon, Twilight,” Fluttershy said softly, “umm... I know you’ve got some studying to do, and I know you umm... don’t want to be bothered but you remember the other day, the pony I found in the woods?”

“Ah,” Twilight Sparkle clicked. “This is the pony you found, eh?” She fixed me with a gaze that could be best described as analytical.

“He seems to have lost his memory,” Fluttershy said.

“Has he lost his voice too?” Twilight asked.

“Eh... no,” I replied. “I just... well...” I turned to face Fluttershy, “I suppose I get a little shy around ponies I’ve not met before.”

“Don’t I know that feeling,” said Fluttershy, blushing slightly.

“Yeah,” Twilight said, rolling her eyes. “One of the many perks of being an introverted pony.”

“Indeed,” I said, starting to feel slightly more relaxed.

“Well, why don’t you come on in? I was cooking up some tea,” she stepped aside and allowed us into the library. I’d like to have said it was the biggest library I’d ever seen, but at the time, I didn’t remember ever having been to any other library but this one. And yet the names of the books... something about them seemed familiar. Filliam Shakespeare rang a bell, as did F Colt Fitzgerald, Aldus Bucksley, the Bronte mares and Jocky Derrida.

“Make yourself at home,” Twilight said as she went to retrieve some tea. Fluttershy looked around apprehensively as I examined the vast numbers of books on the shelves. I was particularly drawn to a book by an author called Sarah Mane, who had written a very gory play about two ponies in a hotel room.

“Tea!” Twilight Sparkle said, as a cup floated over to me. It glowed with the same ethereal energy as her horn did.

“How are you doing that?” I asked, genuinely surprised as I took the cup out from mid-air.

“Oh, levitation is simple,” Twilight said, “It’s like an extension of your hoof. Most unicorns can do it. You should be too.”

“Wait, what?”

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “Have you looked in the mirror recently? You’ve got a horn growing right out of your head. Where I come from, that makes you a unicorn.”

I glanced over at the large mirror that hung between two bookshelves. Indeed, sitting atop my head, growing out between my short, brown mane was a horn. I reached up and touched it with my hoof. It felt slightly sensitive, tingling from the light impact. I turned my head to face a book that was lying flat on a bedside table. As I thought about trying to levitate it, a strange power started to course through my body and the book suddenly flew from the table towards me, forcing me to duck down to avoid being hit in the face by it.

Twilight Sparkle intercepted the flying book and carried it back to the nearest bookshelf. “Maybe you can get some practice in later,” she said, looking quizzically at me. “For now, I want to try and see if I can unlock your memory. Please take a seat over there,” she pointed at a couch across the other side of the room.

I ambled over and lay down, resting my front hooves behind my head.

Twilight Sparkle sat next to me on a small stool with Fluttershy occupying a chair some distance behind her.

“Now, just relax,” Twilight said. “I want you to try and think back to the earliest image you remember.”

I closed my eyes and thought hard. Twilight’s horn started to glow and I began to feel sleepy. As I started to drift, images started flooding into my head.

I saw faces. Faces with eyes, mouths, ears. They looked strange... uncanny. Possibly even bizarre. The faces were talking, laughing, shouting, screaming. I experienced fear, doubt and loathing all at the same time. I opened my eyes, panting a little.

Twilight slid me over a piece of paper and a pencil. “Draw me what you saw.”

I took the pencil and started to sketch on the paper. I was drawing without thinking, going purely on instinct, working quickly. I entered a trance-like state, scribbling over different pieces of paper. Fluttershy sat by and watched in amazement as I produced dozens of images that had been locked away in my subconscious.

When I had finally finished, the pencil had been worn down to half its previous size and I had occupied an entire floor with my artwork. I stepped away and breathed deeply.

“What are all these... things?” Twilight asked, inspecting an image that showed a bipedal being.

“I saw them,” I said, “they were everywhere.”

She picked out three images and showed them to me, “is that a chalkboard?”

I studied the image I had drawn. It showed an upright stick figure standing in front of a large, rectangular object, holding up what looked like a pencil or a piece of chalk. “I guess it is,” I said with a small gulp. I could barely even recall the image that had made me draw the picture.

“And this,” Twilight said, showing another picture of the same stick figure wearing a set of black robes and a flat topped hat, “this looks like somepony has graduated, only they’re not a pony.”

I nodded.

Twilight pointed at my flank, “have you seen your cutie mark?”

I leaned around and inspected my flank. There, on either side, was the image of the same, flat boarded hat, a mortarboard and behind it, an open book.

“I’ve never seen it before,” I said. “What does it mean?”

“Everypony gets one,” Fluttershy explained, “it symbolises what makes that pony special.” She showed me hers – three butterflies together in unison. Twilight Sparkle’s was a series of stars.

“Fluttershy has an amazing talent with animals,” Twilight explained, “I have a talent for magic. You appear to have a talent for art, but that’s not reflected in your cutie mark.”

“What does my cutie mark mean?” I asked, apprehensively.

“Well, I’m going out on a limb here, but I’d say it represents intelligence and knowledge, perhaps of books, literature maybe,” Twilight offered. “Do you remember anything about perhaps going to college or...” she glanced down at the piece of paper of the stick figure in front of the chalkboard, “teaching?”

I studied the image and shook my head. “I don’t remember anything.”

“You look like you are around about our age,” Twilight said, “old enough to be a graduate, probably old enough to be a teacher.”

“You think I was a teacher?”

“I think it’s possible,” Twilight said, “your cutie mark suggests a scholar, and the way you talk... you have a very neutral tone. The sort of tone you might use with a student. The way you dictate your sentences is... careful. Like you’re being mindful of what you’re saying.”

“You can get all that just from listening to the way I talk?” I was impressed. If the pony was right, she was very insightful.

“I’m just being perceptive,” Twilight explained. “I could be wrong, but even if a pony loses their memory, the one thing they can’t, or at least, shouldn’t be able to lose is their cutie mark. You still have yours.”

“What about this image?” Fluttershy asked. She held up a picture of a stick figure dangling from a tree branch by a rope that was attached to his neck. There was a bench next to his feet.

I shook my head again, “that was the last thing I saw.”

Fluttershy and Twilight exchanged glances.

“I think that these pictures tell a story,” Twilight said. She started shifting them around on the floor, trying to put them in order. “This... figure is present in all of them. I think these are your memories. I think this drawing is of you.” She held up the image of the stick figure standing in front of a chalkboard. “I think you were a teacher and I think...” she swallowed hard, “I think that something happened to you.”

“What?” I asked, shaking slightly.

She passed me a picture of the stick figure sitting down with his head in his hands, a black cloud literally hanging over his head, raining down on him. “What do you see?”

I studied the image, “I see somepony who was very sad. Lonely, maybe.” I sat down on the couch and put my own head in my hooves. “Are you saying that the figure in these drawings is me?”

“It’s possible,” Twilight replied. “There are powerful and mysterious forces at work, ones that we sometimes cannot explain.” She smiled slightly, “I’ve had to learn the hard way that not everything can be explained by logic and reason.”

“Like Pinkie Pie,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah,” Twilight rolled her eyes. “I can try a more powerful spell and help you remember everything, but I’m worried it might hurt you. Especially when I consider that last drawing.”

I looked down at the miserable image of the stick figure, dangling by a rope from a tree.

“If it was me,” Twilight said, “I’m not even sure I’d want to remember.”

I sighed. The disheartening realisation started to hit me that not only did I not know who I was or where I had come from, I had no money, no home and no friends that I knew of. “What am I going to do now?”

“Well,” Twilight said, “I’m going to speak to my mentor, Princess Celestia, about this.”

“A Princess?” I repeated.

“Yeah,” Twilight said, “she’s kind of... in charge of this land, which is called Equestria, by the way.”

“So I’ve been told,” I glanced at Fluttershy. “But what am I going to do? I don’t even know where I live.”

“You aren’t from around here,” Twilight said, “and your accent is hard to place.”

“I think what he means is,” Fluttershy cut in, “that he doesn’t know where his house is.”

“Oh,” Twilight breathed, “well... I guess I could speak to Princess Celestia today...”

“No need,” Fluttershy said, turning to face me and smiling warmly, “he can stay with me until he finds his hooves.”

“Thanks,” I said, “but I’m probably better off alone.”

“Where else are you going to go?” Fluttershy responded, “I found you, I took you to the hospital. I feel responsible for you.

“Nopony is better off alone,” Twilight said. Her face had lost its inquisitive edge and had become more empathic.

“Are you sure about that?” I asked.

“I felt the same way once,” Twilight said, “I was wrapped up in my studies and thought that I didn’t need friends. I had no time for anypony other than myself. I didn’t realise that I was depriving myself of something wonderful.”

“Twilight and I... we’re both quiet ponies,” Fluttershy said, “and everypony needs time alone, some more than others, but nopony should ever be alone.”

“I see,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say. Here I was, alone in the world and two ponies who I hardly knew were extending friendly hooves based on what... an inkling?

“We need to give you a name,” Twilight Sparkle said, “something that represents you. Do you have anything in mind?”

“Erm...” my mind went blank. I’d been trying to remember what my name could have been. The thought that maybe I didn’t even have one hadn’t crossed my mind. “I have no idea.”

“Fluttershy?”

“Umm...” Fluttershy was stumped.

“What about... Reader?” I suggested, tracing my hoof over the spine of a heavy book, “I like reading.”

“So does Rainbow Dash,” Twilight Sparkle giggled, “but Celestia forbid we ever call her out on it.”

“I like it,” Fluttershy said, smiling.

“Reader...” Twilight said, nodding. “It will do, I guess.”

“Hey, it’s me who has to live with it,” I pointed out, quietly.

“Yeah,” Twilight said, a slight smile spreading across her face.

“Well, Reader,” Fluttershy said, “we should head home. It will be dark soon.”

“You sure about this, Fluttershy?” I asked.

“Oh, of course I am,” Fluttershy replied, a slight blush spreading over her little cheeks. “I normally have a lot of animals in my house, but because they’re all hibernating for winter, it gets a little empty.”

“I see,” I said. For the first time that day, I think I felt my heart beat faster as I looked at the yellow pony. Her cute little face and those big, round eyes. They radiated kindness and warmth. I hardly even knew her, but I could see she was a beautiful pony, both inside and out.

She blushed all the more when she realised I was looking at her and turned away rapidly, “erm... shall we get going?”

“Yeah,” I replied, exhaling deeply. I said my goodbye to Twilight Sparkle and followed Fluttershy out of the library.

*

“You can sleep here,” Fluttershy said, pointing to a comfy looking sofa in her living room.

“Looks lovely,” I replied.

“Tomorrow we’ll go out and find you a job,” Fluttershy said, “I have a friend who owes me a favour.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked. “And who’s that?”

“Her name is Cheerilee,” Fluttershy said, “She is a teacher at the local schoolhouse. The other day she mentioned was looking for a substitute to do a couple of afternoons a week.”

“Wait a second,” I said, holding up my hooves as I sat down on the sofa. “I don’t know if I’m capable of teaching.”

“Twilight thinks you were a teacher before you lost your memory,” Fluttershy said with a shrug, “I trust her judgement. I’m going to speak to Cheerilee tomorrow and see if we can sort you out a part-time job, at least until you get back on your feet. She’ll be happy to have the help.”

I nodded, then felt my stomach growling. It occurred to me that I hadn’t eaten all day.

“Oh dear,” Fluttershy said, dashing through into her kitchen, “we need to get some food into you, mister!”

Before I could protest, Fluttershy was presenting me with a glorious looking plate of salad and cold pasta. I gobbled it up within minutes and felt pretty darn good afterwards.

That night, Fluttershy tried various different things to try and explore my memories. First, she broke out a chess board. I didn’t remember ever having played chess, but somehow I knew how the board worked and was instinctively able to match her in a game. We played a second round and I beat her handily. Next, we played cards: several games of blackjack later, I had discovered that I was able to count the values of the cards and predict which cards would emerge with some degree of accuracy. We played Scrabble, and I found that I knew words that Fluttershy had to explore the deepest recesses of the dictionary to check out.

It was after midnight by the time we had finished our final game of Trivial Pursuit, with me having answered every question correctly, and we were both exhausted.

“Wow,” Fluttershy breathed, “for somepony who has lost his memory, you sure as heck know a lot.”

“I can’t explain it,” I said, looking through the trivial pursuit cards. I knew all the answers. Complex mathematical equations, obscure questions about historical figures, questions about art and literature, geography... I knew things I wasn’t consciously aware of knowing, but somehow, as I read the questions, the answers appeared in my brain. “I just... know.”

So why couldn’t I answer the one questions I really needed to know the answer to: who in the hell was I? How did I end up here?

Fluttershy made hot chocolate for both of us and we sat on the couch that would become my bed.

“It’s nice having some company,” she said softly, “especially the quiet kind.”

“I take it you have a lot of noisy friends?”

Fluttershy nodded, “I daresay I might have met somepony who is even quieter than I am.”

“That’s why I’m worried about tomorrow,” I said, “you’re going to put me in a room full of foals that I’ve never seen.”

“You’ll be fine,” Fluttershy said, finishing her hot chocolate, “anyway, we’re just going to meet Cheerilee tomorrow. I doubt she’s going to make you teach.” She stood up and touched my shoulder. I quivered slightly under her hoof, “don’t worry about it.”

I nodded at her, “goodnight, Fluttershy.”

She smiled when I used her name. “Goodnight, Reader.” She rose up and fluttered into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

I lay back on the sofa and allowed myself to drift off into a pleasant sleep.

*

Miss Cheerilee was a purple earth pony with a pink mane. She sat across the desk from Fluttershy and I in the schoolhouse.

“Let me see if I can understand this,” Cheerliee said thoughtfully, “you think you are or may have once been a teacher, but you’ve got no memory of ever being a teacher?”

“That’s about the long and short of it,” I replied, “somehow I have an in-depth knowledge of Equestria’s educational and pedagogical system.”

“Who was Spencer Neighgan?” Cheerilee asked me.

“Erm... collaborative learning,” I replied, racking my brains, “think-pair-share?”

Cheerilee nodded. “Do you have any experience working with young foals?”

“I suppose I must do if I’m a teacher,” I replied, “but until yesterday, I didn’t even have a name, so I don’t really remember.”

Cheerilee smiled slightly, “well, we can give you a trial. If the students like you and respond well, I’ll let you have the job.”

“Just like that?” I said, surprised.

Cheerilee grimaced, “Nopony else has even bothered to ask for an application. I want to go down to three days a week, but it’s not possible if I can’t find another pony to teach in my absence. Apparently nopony else has the patience to deal with my students.”

“So you need somepony to cover two days?” I said. “What do you teach them? I mean... how old are they?”

Cheerilee smiled, “Ponyville is a small place. Most of the children we get start school when they reach the age of seven or eight. They stay with us for a few years until they move on to the community college, or find work.”

“I see,” I replied, “does that not get complicated when we have more students arriving each year?”

“Well, that’s why we have a system,” Cheerilee said, taking out a list of names. “Mornings from nine to twelve are for the younger students. Afternoons from one till three are for the older students. On Friday, the older students have a full day of school, while the younger students get the day off. You’d be taking them all day on Friday.”

“What would you have me teach them?” I asked.

“At the moment they’re studying Macbacon, by Filliam Shakespeare,” Cheerilee replied.

“I know it,” I said, “very well, actually.”

“And in mathematics, we’re studying linear equations.”

“Interesting,” I said, visualising the method for solving linear equations in my head. “It sounds like fun.”

“Oh, it is,” Cheerilee insisted, “but it is very hard work, hence why I need to go down to three days for my own sanity.” She exhaled deeply.

Fluttershy and I exchanged glances.

“So,” Cheerilee said, “tomorrow afternoon, I want you to come and teach a lesson on linear equations. If the students like you, you’ve got the job and you can start on Monday. You can sit in all next week and observe me with the younger students. You’ll only have them on Thursday morning, but they’re quite a handful. There is a particularly challenging group of three who are... trying to establish their identities.”

“They’re called the Cutie Mark Crusaders,” Fluttershy said, “and they’re very sweet foals!”

“Indeed,” Cheerilee said, slightly exasperated, “but they’re a bloody handful. I’m usually exhausted by the time it comes to the afternoon, so the quality of my teaching goes down, and I think the older students are suffering for it. By Friday I’m about ready to hang myself.”

I glanced down at my hooves. “I see.”

“But if I can get just a couple of days off a week and know that my students are in good hands, I’ll feel a lot better on Monday morning,” said Cheerilee. “I’ll be around to help, of course, and just speak to Pinkie Pie if you ever need a teaching assistant for the younger students. Fluttershy and her friends sometimes lend a hoof too when we’re ever doing a field trip or a large project.”

I nodded at Cheerilee, “I’ll have to go away and think about this. Come back with a lesson prepared.”

Cheerilee smiled, “just be yourself and don’t worry too much about it. Your job is to try and explain how to do linear equations without making it too soul-destroying or boring. Some of the more able students will be able to manage them. Others might require more support.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said. Fluttershy and Cheerilee stood up. I followed and shook hooves with Cheerilee. “It was nice to meet you, Miss Cheerilee.”

“Likewise Mr... Reader, is it?”

Fluttershy nodded, “That’s what we decided to call him.”

Cheerilee smiled as she looked at me with a set of large, round eyes. “Well, I hope you find what you’re looking for, Mr Reader.”

I smiled at her, not quite sure what she meant. “Thank you.”

*

“Alright, you lot,” Cheerilee said sharply, above the sound of students entering the classroom through the front door. “Settle down and take your seats, please.”

Gradually, the students filtered through the door and sat down at their desks, eyes facing the front expectantly. The occasional glance wandered over to the strange pony standing awkwardly next to Cheerilee with a set of papers in his hooves.

Cheerilee waited until all of the students were silent and facing her before she started speaking again, “Thank you. Now, we have a very special guest with us today. I’d like everypony to say good afternoon to Mr Reader.”

“Good afternoon, Mr Reader,” the students chorused.

I smiled sheepishly.

“Mr Reader is going to be teaching us all about the mystical properties of linear equations,” Cheerilee said.

A few students groaned.

“Mr Reader is very knowledgeable about mathematics,” Cheerilee said, “he’s also a bit of a literature geek as well, or so I have heard, isn’t that right, Mr Reader?”

I nodded my head nervously, “Oh yes, Miss Cheerilee. Total literature geek.”

A few of the students smirked. The older fillies seemed to be eyeing me up, whereas the colts just seemed relieved to have another male in the room.

“I’m going to hand over to Mr Reader now,” Cheerilee said. “Let’s all be really nice and welcoming and show him our best behaviour!” With that, the purple pony moved away to the back of the classroom and let me have the floor.

“Afternoon, guys,” I said, taking a piece of chalk and wandering over to the blackboard to write the title of Linear Equations, “I’m going to have to apologise in advance for my horrific handwriting, but if you could all open your numeracy books and just write me that little title, we’ll get started.”

I waited until they had all written down the title and then I wrote the following expression on the board:

3x-22=8

“Now, I just want to check where we are. I want everypony to pair up with the pony sitting next to you and find the value of x in that equation,” I instructed them. “Show your working – thirty seconds, go!”

The room started buzzing to life as the students talked with each other. I worked the room, peering over shoulders and checking progress and learning names. Within a few seconds, two fillies had managed to solve it and I hoof bumped them both on my way back to the blackboard where I wrote down three more expressions:

5x+8=33
3x=9
2(x^2 )+ x=55

“If you finish, I said, try your hoof at these.” I made my way to visit two colts at the back who appeared to be struggling.

“You alright, guys?”

“I don’t get it,” said the smaller of the two colts.

I broke the first equation down for them. “Try doing the inverse – eight plus twenty two is...?”

“Uhh... thirty?”

I nodded at them, “yep. And three times something is thirty; any idea what that something could be?”

I was faced with two blank expressions. Whispers of “ten” started to circulate around the classroom.

“Oh!” shouted one of the colts, “Ten!”

“So x equals...?”

“Ten!” said the other colt, happily, scribbling down the answer.

“Well done, lads,” I said on my way back to the front of the classroom. I raised my hoof and spoke over the discussion in the room, “Alright, three, two, one, face me!”

The students had their eyes on the board expectantly.

I picked on two colts at the back. “Could you two gentlecolts give me the answer to the first one?”

“Uhh... x equals ten?”

“Well done, Bucky,” I said, writing that down on the board. “Anybody get number two?”

Several hooves shot up. I picked on one group at the left.

“X equals three?”

“Brilliant work, White Lilly,” I said, writing it down. “Anyone get the next one?”

A couple of shaky hooves went up from the fillies at the front along with an even shakier hoof from a filly at the back. I decided to go for her, comfortable that the two at the front would probably have the right answer. “Yes, go ahead, Chardonnay Smiles,”

“Well, umm. We had a disagreement,” explained the little filly. “I said it was x equals five, but Star Swirl said it was x equals eleven.”

I smiled, knowing exactly where Star Swirl had gone wrong. “Alright, Star Swirl, why did you think it was eleven?”

“Well,” said the filly, “In the brackets I thought it was X times two, which would be twenty two. But outside the brackets there’s a two, so that means we double it,” she nodded as I wrote her discourse on the board. “Then you add another x which would be eleven and that makes fifty-five.”

I nodded and smiled, “your working is excellent. You obviously understand how linear equations work.” Then I grinned at her friend, “but you made a mistake.” I drew a circle around the little two above the x inside the brackets. “This little two? It means we square the number. That means x times x, not two x. So, your friend, Chardonnay was right.”

Star Swirl nodded. Chardonnay Smiles looked happily at the board.

I smiled at the students. I could feel the buzz of the moment coursing through my system. I was starting to feel more alive than I had ever remembered feeling. I felt a warm sensation on my flank and I glanced at it as I turned around to write the next stage of the lesson on the board.

My Cutie Mark was glowing.

*

After the students had left the classroom, I breathed out deeply. I found Cheerilee looking at me with a large smile on her face. “That was interesting,” she said. “You’re good with them.”

“Thank you,” I replied, clearing up my papers.

“Do you want the job?”

I nodded, a big grin appearing on my face, “absolutely.”

Cheerilee breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ve got them all day tomorrow. You can come in and observe them do some art and life skills, then you can teach some more linear equations because frankly I detest mathematics and then we could maybe team-teach them a little bit of Macbacon. Perhaps we could do some drama?”

“Sounds fantastic,” I replied. “I’m going to head over to Twilight Sparkle’s library and pick up a copy of Macbacon.”

“You did good today,” she said, “I’ve not seen energy like that in a classroom for some time now.”

I smiled warmly at her, my mind racing ahead to the lesson I could do tomorrow, “me neither.”