Deconstruction

Chapters

Dry Wall, Architect

Dry Wall, Architect

Let's wind the clock back a few more years, twenty-three years ago, I was in my second year in post-secondary, majoring in architecture, all that jazz. I think it started back in my old physics review course. Very important class, I knew.

After all, physics are the forces that make our world work the way it does. If you're to add something massive, functional and visually appealing, you'd sure as heck need to make sure it didn't break down by the constant forces of nature that are beyond even Celestia's understanding.

To ignore them is to ignore nature itself... and we can't ignore it. It's what put us here. It's the reason I'm here, speaking to you, why this whole mess happened. We can't ignore it because it doesn't ignore us.

Anyway...

"A review lesson, straight back to sixth grade," stated the university professor, "Gravity. What is our gravity?"

"9.81 meters per second squared, sir," I, that devilishly handsome young green colt, replied.

"Very good, Wall," the professor added, glancing around the class in that almost theatrical show of movement. "Judging by your generally bored expressions, you're probably wondering what this review has to do with this course."

I sat in the dead center of the lecture hall, never glancing at the other students. I couldn't speak for everypony else, but I certainly wasn't bored. To get a review on a lesson from elementary school would no-doubt result in something interesting. Something one wouldn’t have expected at the time.

"It is immensely important to keep the world's gravity in mind when you design and construct. How much mass a structure can hold depends on its own mass coupled with the gravitational constant of the world- reminded to us so kindly by Mister Wall here. The only thing more important than making a structure function is making sure the structure doesn't collapse."

The professor glanced around the classroom, suddenly expressing a grim seriousness. "I doubt I need to tell any of you why you should avoid that. As they say: the bigger they are, the harder they fall."

Nopony responded; I never heard anyone speak, anyway. I perfectly understood their silence. This was the University of Canterlot- the most sophisticated educational institute in Equestria, and home to educated ponies who certainly aren't dumb. Ponies who don't need things spelled out for them. That type of curiosity- the type that could be easily mistaken for ignorance- was for the students at Manehattan College.

"Fortunately," the professor continued, "We have the technology to bend the rules of physics a bit, ever since we made the breakthrough of 1233."

"What happened then?" A pony in the lecture hall asked. I'd say I stood corrected, but even I didn't put much care into history. Don't get me wrong, I get the importance behind it. I just had bigger fish to fry in the present, like drawing out these excellent designs I've been holding onto until I break into the industry.

Wait a minute... bigger they are, harder they fall... Did I hear that right?

The professor smiled, as if he was anticipating the question. "We discovered an efficient way to apply magic in architecture: imbuing special bricks with levitation magic. An excellent example of this breakthrough is this very city. Half of which is suspended above ground, thanks to these special bricks. Before the semester end, you all will have a chance to work with some."

Well this was new, I thought.

The class ended soon after. Everypony, including myself, packed up; ready to leave for whatever class was next for them. The corridors of the "U of C" wound around not unlike a horse shoe. The sheer number of lecture halls, coupled with fifteen floors, gave the shoe-shaped institute of education an imposing size.

I enjoyed it there. I had to, on account of living in the university's dormitories for over a year now. A young architect-to-be, I was. I also rarely left the place. Heck, my last contact with the outside world was a month prior to that class. I attended a fundraising barbeque for the Cloudsdale Flight Camp, in the courtyard between the wings. I personally didn't care much on account of the fact that I wasn't a pegasus. I contributed mainly because no matter how many geniuses we have in Equestria, we also need the other side of the progress coin. Workers, those with the physical capability to carry out the vision of the thinkers.

I remember they served roasted grass- always delicious. Too bad the nutrients are mostly burned away from the crude delicacy for students. I personally prefer my greens green.

This is distracting from disturbing news, actually. I thought about what the professor had said. I never thought about the implications that spawned in my mind as a result of the professor's quote, "The bigger they are, the harder they fall." My designs were rendered flawed.

All flawed because I didn't take into consideration the mass of the structure, coupled with the collective mass of anypony who would be inside, or on top of such structures. The constant strain of the overall weight would lead to early deterioration... and collapse.

So many designs that need to be reworked... Damn it all.

No. I couldn't let it get to me. Even the geniuses make mistakes. There was that Discord incident, caused by someponies making mistakes. Nightmare Moon, caused by somepony being a bit too smart... or something... I don't remember. Again, history was never my strong point.

I somberly lumbered up the South Wing stairs toward my next class. Nopony seemed to notice, or care. I don't blame them, really. After all, they were in the University of Canterlot for their own reasons. They paid the bits because they wanted to be there. They paid the bits to ensure they get the education they want and usually need.

The University of Canterlot was the best because it was in Canterlot. Home of the best ponies, the best spires, the monarch sisters themselves, Princesses Celestia and Luna.

As if it needed to be said, I felt sick in the gut. What if I went out there early and built the structures I had on paper so far? What would Princess Celestia think of the young architect-in-the-making after a building collapses at all?

It's one thing to build a structure to function. It's an entire other thing to make sure the structure is built to last. If only I figured that out sooner... How the heck could I make such a big mistake?

What would she think? What would both of the sisters think?

No no, focus. I just needed to add some small modifications. The imbued bricks would certainly come in handy. In this career and in this wonderful city, precision is everything. I couldn't afford anything less than perfection.

DECONSTRUCTION

Every single one of those spires in Canterlot are not just buildings. They are works of art. From the initial concept to the central theme to the planning, aesthetics or functionality, they all came from the minds of the craftsponies like myself. Princess Celestia, being a benevolent monarch loved by all, truly prized the artists and architects who ever worked on even the smallest of the spires. Every pony who worked on any spire was an artist. Only the best of the best of the best could take pride in their work around the Equestrian capital.

I, Dry Wall, architect, had the honour of officially cutting the red tape at a ceremony celebrating the capital city's latest addition. The massive skyscraper was of rather simplistic design, with perfectly-shaped windows covering a third of the circular thirty-story base. Atop the golden-framed windows and white marble walls was a humongous pointed dome, dyed purple, with gold and silver accents replicating a stylized evening sky. I designed, planned, and built the piece like a director ran the show in a studio back in Manehattan.

It was joy I felt. The same joy I always felt with every piece of red tape I ever chopped with those golden scissors. I had equipped the scissors many times, having built nine of the two hundred and sixteen spires in Canterlot. I had the most completed projects out of every other pony. The only one who had been close to that record was a retired old fart, with a measly seven spires under his belt.

This Dry Wall architect- this artist- this pony who is me- he had it all. Why the heck did this feeling of joy not last, in that case?

Back home, in a small house stationed a few blocks from the Palace, I rolled a pencil up and down a drawing board with my hoof. The very afternoon I opened my ninth spire, I was already trying to think of something new. Something to add to the "To do list" to show clients. At this point in my career with this level of popularity, a client would accept his designs only with a few interior changes.

Every year felt not as joyous. I stared at the blank sheet of paper on his desk, then picked up the pencil with my mouth instead of my magic and started drawing a tree. I preferred using my teeth over magic when it came to drawing. Come to think of it, the last spire would look like a tree... or a mushroom with a tiny head.

The design on the dome was especially nice, as was the ground-to-tip golden frame that held all those perfect panels of glass. The clients had the bits, and Celestia herself sponsored it. I sure as heck should be glad that I've had that kind of recognition and budget; that I'm officially the most popular designer with nine spires in Canterlot, and countless other designs elsewhere under my belt.

The only difference between the spires and the other buildings is that I worked to build the spires. I only sent the finalized blueprints to the other towns. Considering how busy I usually was, I had never even seen any of the outside projects.

Cross-hatching was a nice shading technique. It added an interesting texture. When applied right, it could add some real depth to a drawing. I used this very technique to add some shading to the tree. Then I suddenly remembered a project my friend pulled off a good eight years ago, a library built into a specially-grown tree. The amount of magic required to get the tree to that specific shape and size, and then the power needed to maintain tree life even after tearing its core out... That took so much effort. Easily one of the most expensive endeavours the friend had ever taken on.

Doc Shingle, the friend mentioned, seemed only satisfied with it. I personally loved it. Contrary to my typical hole'd-up lifestyle, l was there for the official opening over at that one small town. What was it, Partyville? Ponyland?

Although I wondered why that magnificently-designed library was based in a small town, when it could have been seen by more ponies if it were even on the outskirts of Manehattan. That small town was nothing- next to nothing. It was barely even an independent gallery. Who paid for it? Did Doc even get paid?

I stopped part-way through and examined my sketch, then started adding detail. Random curves to represent the sharp shadows of leaves, crooked lines to represent the raggedness of the bark, blades of grass poking up between exposed roots. I stopped before completion and tossed the sheet onto a pile of countless other drawings- left to stagnate as a reminder that I was supposed to do this sort of thing.

Those damn scissors are the only things that made me happy. I only felt this great joy whenever I got to use them, and even they were dwindling in effectiveness. I slammed a hoof onto my drawing board, and asked myself, "What's missing?" Another sheet was thrown onto the board, and I started drawing... something... I didn't even know what I drew anymore. It was abstract, nothing at all. Or maybe it was something, a more effective mesh pattern for stucco grip. I really couldn't tell.

An hour later, I was invited to go to a salt bar with two of my closest colleagues and friends.

"You look sad, Wally," Cross Brace said. Us three unicorn architects sat in a booth at one of the two salt bars in Canterlot. More specifically, the one Cross designed, about a year before I broke out of the U of C. Fake stone covered the walls, reaching up to pitch black. It looked overly fancy, but surprisingly roomy.

"Do I?" asked me, Dry Wall. I didn't much like the nickname 'Wally', but I certainly didn't have much room for any cooler nicknames.

"Yeah," replied Doc Shingle, the eldest of the trio. "Well, not sad exactly; you just look deep in thought."

Cross Brace added, "You just opened your ninth spire! You're leading the old record by two!"

"Yeah," I said, "I know I should be ecstatic."

"You're probably just feeling bored cause you've got nothing to do now," Cross said as he hailed the tender. "Let's have three more blocks, eh?"

I looked at the fresh block of salt that was placed in front of me. I remember thanking the tender in French before I took a lick of the block. The taste bit my tongue, but it was a pleasant sort of bite. Most spices tend to add a bite like that, anyway.

As I whittled away the salt, designs rushed through my head. None of them seemed to work. None of the designs seemed perfect. Nothing that one would consider a magnum opus. This wasn't going to stop either. I didn't want my friends to worry, which was why I kept my trap shut about it. In hindsight, my unwillingness to share my problems made it difficult to put this... anxiety on the back of my mind.

The hang-out of the trio of architects devolved into conversations about wives- namely Cross' and Doc's wives. "You still single?" I remember Cross asked, "Maybe that's what's keeping you down, Wall: no mares to celebrate with."

I shrugged in response. I certainly didn't have the collective subject of the ladies on my mind. Reproduction and the overrated subject of "love" were the least of my worries at this point. What was the point of getting the next generation of thinker rolling when, mentally, you yourself are a mess?

"Come on, Wall," Cross joked, "There's hundreds of fine gals in Canterlot. Prim and pressed like that red tape you love so much."

I didn't really hear that, but I shrugged anyway. I was staring blankly at my salt salt block. Actually, I was staring straight through the salt block.

"Hey," Cross said. He turned me around and looked into my eyes. "You okay, Wall?" He asked.

I didn't respond on account that my mind drew a complete blank. The gears were turning, as they say, but the machine wasn't making any produce.

"C'mon, let's get you home," Doc said as the two offered to help me up.

I took one more taste of the salt block, then hoisted myself up, declining the help. The three of us, middle-aged stallions, left to raid the streets for which we built upon.

"I'd say something's bothering you, Wall. Come on, ye can talk to us about it," Doc Shingle reassured.

"I want to put it into words, really," I replied, "I just have no idea."

Doc and Cross glanced at each other, then stopped me in the middle of a street. "You know, the only reason you've gotten those nine spires done within fifteen years is because you've got no way to switch off," Doc Shingle said. "You're thirty-five, and one of the richest, most successful architects in Canterlot- nay, Equestria."

"You. Need. A vacation," Cross added.

I shook my head, "No, I've got work to do back hom-"

"Exactly," Doc interrupted. With a laugh, he turned to Cross and added, "I knew we could figure it out."

I tried to split from the duo, but both wrapped their respective hooves around my shoulders. Part of me wondered if the salt got to them.

"Wally, go to sleep once you get home. We'll pick you up and send you somewhere where you can relax." Doc Shingle continued as he kept a firm grip on my shoulder.

Cross continued, "You need time away from a drawing board. I've seen your room; No windows. For a guy who values functionality in his designs, you certainly don't have a healthy lifestyle."

I didn't like having windows in my room. My designs were mine and mine alone. "But-"

"No buts, Wall. Get your flank home and hit that sack for ten hours. We won't accept ‘no’ for an answer."

I sighed, and finally said, "Okay, I'll do it."

"You will not regret it, Wally," Cross Brace replied as he and Doc let go and left in their own direction. "Rest. We'll be over in the morning."

"See ya," I dully replied with a wave as the two friends left.

I never could sleep, despite my agreement. For fifteen years, that bed always looked well-kept, but rarely used, unless I went to lie down every once in a while. There was absolutely no sign of an impression, that anypony had ever slept in the bed. For all anypony else could tell, the bed was brand new. An obsolete brand, considering the technology of today, but new nonetheless.

That night, I tried to sleep. I laid on the bed for over an hour, with no progress. Before long, I sat back down at my drawing board and spent the next ten hours drawing. I don't really remember what I drew.

"Oh come on, Dry Wall!" Cross Brace's voice rang in my ears. I didn't know what time was it. "What did we just say?"

"Vacation, yeah. I couldn't sleep."

Cross glanced at the bed- which merely collected dust. He cursed under his breath. "Luna's socks almighty... Come on, we've got to get you out of Canterlot."

Cross Brace wrenched the pencil from my teeth using that ever-common unicorn magic. He then hoisted my insomniac flank up from the chair and carried me out.

"Good Celestia, you look like crap!" Doc Shingle exclaimed as the two of us left my rather dark spire. "Did you even have water back home?"

"He didn't sleep at all, Doc," Cross said. "Help me out, eh?"

Shingle helped Cross carry the semi-conscious me over to the hangar. There, a carriage was waiting- Shingle's own private carriage.

The pegasi couldn't help but stare at my baggy eyes being stuffed into the compartment, followed by Brace and Shingle.

"Let's go," Doc called to the pegasus pilots, whom started their lift-off run. Within a minute, they were in the air. The city of Canterlot swiftly became smaller as they flew.

"Now Wall..." Cross said, but noticed I didn't really hear him the first time. I heard the words, but I didn't acknowledge them. I was staring at a glove compartment. "Wall!"

"Huh?" I asked.

"Damnit, Wally..."

"I'm good, I'm good," I started.

"No you are not," Doc spat, "Which is why we're bringing you to the beach town of Cannonport. It's a tourist attraction even Rhinos can live to respect. You will be living there for a week or more- whatever it takes to get you well again."

"But I gotta draw," I slurred.

"The point of a vacation is to take time off from work," Cross Brace retorted, "No drawing, no designing, no building, nothing. Just relax, clear that noggin, recharge those batteries you've been straining for Celestia-knows how long. Just stop thinking about work altogether."

I didn't respond; barely functioning as-is, it's a wonder how I was able to form coherent thoughts during the flight. Fortunately, I did manage to do what his good friend said. I didn't think about drawing, or spires, or anything. It was an odd kind of pain, like tensing up a muscle and trying to hold that tension.

The flight ended a swift hour later, and the three of us left the carriage. "We got you a room already," Doc said as he and Cross slumped saddlebags over their shoulders. "They were out of single rooms, so we had to resort to a double room."

I hummed as I stumbled out of the airport runway with my two friends. We all took in the sights. Rather, I did. After all, I've never been to Cannonport. The entire place was warm, what with the heat being absorbed into the ground, and the city itself being on the ground instead of near the top of a rather cold mountain. Aside from certain parts of the residential areas, every single building had a view of the massive beach that comprised a full third of the entire city of tourism.

Palm trees, white sand, ponies on the beach and off the coast, boats. Tropical theme wear on everypony who wasn't a tourist, swimwear on those who were. "The wife'd kill me for the things I'd say about those fine young mares," Cross commented as they passed by a bar laden with ponies at least a decade the trio's junior. I concurred; they were fine-looking mares.

The conversation boiled down to Cross Brace and Doc Shingle loudly anticipating how relaxing the vacation would be. I didn't say anything. I was barely conscious as it is. All I wanted was the room and a chance to try and sleep for the first time in years.

Eventually, we made it to the hotel- a five-star piece out on a pony-made peninsula. Every window on every side had a clear view of ocean or beach. It was by far the most expensive-looking slab of steel, concrete, and glass. Being the respected architects we are, reserving and paying for a room in such a building was a piece of cake.

"Shame we still need to walk there, eh?" Doc asked with a chuckle. Brace laughed as well. I didn't get it, though.

The rich cat trio entered, and were greeted by two ushers who escorted them to the front desk. An attractive young mare was behind the counter, looking through the reservation book.

"This is for Mister Brace and Mister Shingle, correct?"

"That's us," Doc said with a friendly, if unnecessary, wave. "But we're not staying here."

"No?" She asked. Brace indicated the insomniac friend, and she almost had a heart attack. "I'm sorry, we can't accept a sick pony in our-"

"No no, He ain't sick," Shingle corrected. "The guy's just overworked."

I snorted, and noticed my throat felt ridiculously dry. I didn't even remember how or why. Did everypony else notice?

"Oh," she replied reluctantly. I was aware of what was happening, but only recently did I realise that I was being treated like a mental patient. I guess I was trying so hard not to think about work. "And who is going to be in this room?" the mare continued.

"Uh, Dry Wall, Mister Wall," I replied like an automaton.

"Okay, Mister Wall, we need you to sign here, so we know it's you in the room."

I blinked, and took the pen in my mouth. As swift as my excellent drawing, I signed the form provided. After placing the pen down, I lost consciousness.

There was rapid knocking at the door. I flinched and slowly rose from the bed. A quick glance gave me necessary information. I was in a two-bed hotel flat, obviously the one I was given by Doc and Cross. Speaking of whom, both of them were gone. They basically left me in the tourist town of Cannonport, with a dry throat.

Eh, I couldn't blame them, being almost as busy as I was.

In front of two queen-sized beds was a single kitchen counter, complete with cupboards, a sink, and one of those refrigerators you could open with a key. To the right, giant windows. To the left, a closed-off room I had to assume was the bathroom. Beyond that, the door.

I groaned and rubbed my aching eyes with the backs of my hooves. The knocking rapped on the door again, encouraging my scrawny frame to get onto my hooves and trot to the door.

With my rarely-used own unicorn magic, I pulled the door open. It's rarely used because it took more energy than using my teeth to manipulate objects. I never slept, but I did pass out often. I never felt good when I woke up from those episodes.

Kind of like that exact time. I had a headache more painful than fillybirth... But don't tell any mares that.

"Hey," came a young-sounding voice from a unicorn mare I had never seen before, "This is Room 1505, right?"

"Is it?" I asked as I looked to the front of the door. The zero was missing for some reason, but there was a distinct space between the fives.

"Well, every other room had its numbers, and I've been searching for a half hour now. Name's Winter Eve," she said.

"I'm Dry Wall," replied me. I felt my eyelids and shoulders shiver from fatigue. "Uh, friends call me Wally,"

"Are you okay?" the mare asked, "You don't look so good."

I shook my head. No point lying if my illness could be easily seen. "I don't know anymore. I'm still in Cannonport, right?"

I obviously knew I was still there. I just wanted to make sure. Winter nodded with a concerned expression. "I'm a doctor, and I'm pretty certain you're feeling very wrong."

"I'm not sick," I corrected.

"Not physically, at least," Winter retorted, raising a hoof and tapping it gently on Dry Wall's messy green mane. "Aside from your raccoon eyes. You've got something wrong up there."

"No no, it'll be fine. I just need to sleep, and relax- like Cross and Doc said."

"Cross and Doc, eh? They friends of yours?" Winter asked with a smirk.

"Yeah," I replied as I pushed myself back onto my bed.

Winter closed the door with her magic, then approached the ceiling-height windows. "Your friends must care a great deal," she said. I wasn't sure if I understood how she said it. There was a tone to it that definitely wasn't genuine concern.

"What about you?" Wall asked.

"Well, being a doctor, I'm required to be places where there are no doctors- help maintain general health around Equestria. I rarely get to see any of my old friends from my old schools. Heck, I never got to see whoever took my place for my vacation."

"Bummer," Wall replied as he closed his eyes.

"But you're here because your friends made you come here," Winter continued, "Why is that?"

"You don't know my name?" I, Dry Wall architect, asked.

"I'll admit: it is familiar," Winter Eve replied.

"I designed and built nine spires in Canterlot within fifteen years- a record in Equestria, I think... I think it was in a book..."

"Nine spires in fifteen years?" Winter looked at me with the first extreme expression I've seen yet. Prior to which, she was very stoic. "The only way you could do that is if you-"

"Never slept?" I interrupted, "I know... I dunno. I just couldn't,"

"For fifteen years," Winter repeated with a tut-tut-tut. "By Celestia... Why the hell did you do that to yourself?"

"I-uhnno" I mumbled, then coughed again.

I heard unicorn magic, a sink pouring water, and the filling of a glass. It floated to me, so I accepted it and took a long drink.

"Did you have salt recently?" Winter asked.

That's right, I did have salt, and it's been way too long since then. After the drink, I coughed once more. "Yeah... I was, uh, celebrating my ninth spire. Opened it yesterday," I replied, with eyes closed once more. The glass hovered and dropped a quarter inch onto my bed's end table.

"Oh really?" she asked, "What was it for?"

"A new proxy location for the Baltimare Fashion Press." I replied, recalling my time spent fixing dressing room mirrors onto walls, and my work in designing the large rooms with high ceilings- perfect for modeling and picture-taking, and also the custom platforms for said models.

"Cool," Winter Eve replied, climbing onto her bed. She sighed, apparently finally relaxing after a day on her hooves. I understood her completely, having trotted my own way here, while in a half-daze from the airport.

"What brings you here, anyway?" I asked over the sound of my trembling eyelids pressing together.

"I'm on vacation," she replied, relatively drowned by previously-mentioned sounds.

My darkened vision made way for a long, straight tunnel made of cones. It didn't distract me from the topic at-hand, though. "I mean this room."

"It's a two-bed room. All the single bed rooms were taken."

"Same here," I replied. "Although I figured other rooms would be open before they... uh... resorted to teaming up... uh, pairing random strangers together... with the reservations."

Winter chuckled on account of my waning ability to think straight. For once in my life, I was honestly and truly tired, and could sleep voluntarily, rather than passing out.

"All the other rooms were filled completely," Winter replied before the cone tunnels vanished, and my perception of reality phased out once more. This time, to make way for the subconscious theatre.

A hundred and eighty inches per space between floors, plus eighteen inches for each floor, complete with cross brace for security, insulation, panels, mudding, sanding, priming, painting, polish.

Not even counting the amount of vent pipe required. New barracks building, designed with superior functionality, with twice the visual appeal. That would be an excellent project. Ever since the Guard pushed back another Rhino invasion before it even started. Ever since the Discord incident, where they helped maintain order amongst the cities, they deserve it.

They do deserve it. It's been about two years since the day Celestia, her sister, and the best of the best flew to the border and forced a peaceful solution. The Guard has done so much for us.

Five floors, plus two floors per tower, plus another three for the central spire- the command center. Armoury, left wing. Adjacent to dormitories and medical wing. Head, mess hall, lobby, hangar. All these aspects to a functional military base are required. Moreso considering this is for the base in the capital city of Canterlot.

Canterlot deserves the best, because it's home to the best. The best fillies and colts, the best guards, the Monarch sisters themselves, the best architect.

Ninety feet in diameter... No, too small. The Guard deserve the best. I want this to be perfect... More than perfect... Immortal. I will achieve immortality through perfection. That is the key to happiness.

Ninety feet. Ten hundred and eighty inches... Hurm, too small. Too small. The Guard deserve the best. We all deserve the best in some way, shape, or form. We must be willing to dedicate ourselves to be the best.

The best.

The evening had arrived. The Sun was nearing the golden hour by the time I awoke. I... really didn't feel all that different. I rose from my bed, and saw Winter Eve with clear eyes for the first time. Her hide and mane were the same colours as my own: Green and dark green respectively. Back in Canterlot, I had seen and met many other ponies with similarly-coloured hides and manes; it didn't bother me at all.

She was looking at me, inspiring me to ask "What?"

"Do you know you talk in your sleep?" Winter asked.

I blinked, unsure how to respond to that. Heck, how could anypony respond to a question like that?

"You were mumbling random measurements," she continued.

"Measurements," I repeated. The Guard deserved the best for what they do every day.

"I'm thinking of going to the beach. It's supposed to be nice at night," Winter replied, appearing to drop the subject of sleep-talking.

"I'll stay here then," I replied. It was my first time with my eyes truly closed for a while, and it was during the day. Now that I managed to sleep, I decided to get a sleep schedule in order. Winter left, and I closed my eyes once again.

Part of me wanted to go with her, but personal health came first for once.

Four scars on the statue, like someone spilled molten metal over the four areas. It gave the statue an imposing appearance, even with the chiseled musculature. The subject of the statue looked like one nopony would want to relate with. Why would this one get a steel replica of himself? What had he done that was so important to Equestria? Did he spend fifteen years of his life constructing greatness upon the foundation of pony society?

How did he get those scars? Who was he? The plaque was damaged beyond repair, and was impossible to read clearly. Well, I didn't recall a name, nor did I recall any memory that could contribute to this odd vision of a statue.

There was a wasteland surrounding the statue as far as the eye could see. Beyond that were mountains. Beyond them were spotlights piercing the darkened sky.

I started to gallop in the direction of the lights, but tripped up. Upon examining the pulled leg, I discovered I was chained to the statue.

The first thought to enter my mind was "What the hell?" The second thought, "Why?" The third thought, "I don't even know this guy!"

"Should I know him?"

"Know who?"

Winter Eve appeared from behind me, wearing an 80's style mane. Curly, not straight like the first time I saw her.

"Who is this?" I asked, referring to the statue.

"He is immortal, made of iron, frozen for all eternity, unable to speak, feel, or think. He is free."

"I mean a name!"

"He is free."

"Free?" I asked, "Free what?"

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

It was the most annoying alarm sound in the world, and it did its job just fine. I sat up on my bed, rubbing the fatigue from my eyes with the backs of my front hooves. After pausing to reflect on the sudden experience of Deja vu, I turned to my left. Winter was asleep in the second bed, facing away from the windows.

It wasn't pleasant, being blinded by the high contrast of the morning light pouring into the room. The sun was still low, but the town was well-lit. Shadows cast by bungalows and buildings along the beach and dike stretched for yards. The tide was low, and nopony was out yet.

I knew this time well. Back in Canterlot, I always spent that time of day going out to whatever coffee shop was open so early in Canterlot. Pony Joe's was the only place that met such early morning requirements.

I recalled a conversation with Pony Joe, before I got my seventh spire built. However, the fact that the conversation happened was all I could recall. Now that I think about it, the subject really wasn't all that important, or inspiring.

We tend to tightly hold memories of the most pointless things, actually...

Anyway, I clambered out of bed, and trotted up to the floor-to-ceiling windows. I took in the view, careful not to look directly at the sun. Good Celestia, was it bright. The heavenly body of fire constantly bathed the land in light and heat, a very intense contrast with the moon a few hours earlier.

"It makes you wonder," Winter said. I spun around to see she was awake as well, sitting up on her bed.

"What does?" asked me.

"Does she move the sun, or does she turn the planet?" asked she.

I shrugged and replied, "Does it matter?"

"Not at all, but it's nice to ask those kinds of questions," Winter replied. "It keeps life interesting. It’s so... boring to just have faith..."

"I'm not sure I understand," I hesitantly said. It's been years since I've even heard the word 'faith'. Even now, I don't really know what it meant.

"I figured," she continued, "You slept as if you've never slept before. That doesn't seem healthy."

"Eh, I'm not sure you'd understand that."

"I'm a doctor," Winter replied with that stoic, unamused expression, "Try me."

I shrugged, wondering how best to start this, how best to word it. Should I start at the beginning, where the young Dry Wall's aspirations first came to fruition relatively late in his life? He always loved to draw. He loved geometry and math, but he never knew what he liked to draw in particular.

Soon after discovering his calling, he took up that course in the University of Canterlot, where he majored in architecture and yada yada yada. Point is: I wanted to build things, add great things to Equestria. Then I designed my fifth spire since I had my eyes opened to physics. Said fifth spire was the first to get a green light. Several months later, it was completed.

I told her this, and continued. "It was the first building I had ever designed and built, and it was in Canterlot. Most architects usually get their start building something in Baltimare, or Manehattan. I stood in front of the double doors, carrying this... this beautiful pair of golden scissors. There was red tape barring the door."

Winter slowly nodded. She didn't change her blank expression for even a nanosecond. I found it a little unnerving, but I continued.

"Princess Celestia was there, all the builders and their families, assorted ponies who came across it. I snipped the red tape in two, and then I heard cheering. They were cheering for me. I couldn't feel more proud of myself."

"Doesn't sound like a problem," Winter commented.

"I wanted to replicate that feeling, 'cause I don't feel it... ever."

"I take that back. That sounds like an unhealthy obsession," Winter replied, "There's one way to get rid of it, and that is to find an alternative."

"What do you think?"

"Your friends said you needed this vacation," Winter continued off on a tangent, "It's not helping, is it?"

I shook my head. While the sleep helped, I couldn't get those dreams out of his head. Those dreams about future projects, more red tape to cut... and that Free pony...

"Sleep-talking measurements, not really switching off. If I were a psychiatrist, I would recommend that you find yourself a hobby- something completely different from architecture or art that you could try your hand at."

"Traveling," I interrupted as he looked up at the horizon. Distant mountains reigned, divided in intense contrasts between the lit and the shrouded.

"Traveling?" Winter asked.

"My last dream," I continued, "I saw a pony I've never seen... or even heard of before. I feel that I need to find him, that he knows something."

"About your own goals?" Winter asked, "What about the pony; who is he?"

"He looked rather bulky. Worked out a lot, chiseled. Though if not for the scars on his left, he'd be just another face in the crowd."

Wall turned from the window to see Winter shrug. "Was there anything else?" she asked as she stood up from her bed.

"Yeah, you were there, saying he had it all figured out." After a pause, I added, "I've got to meet him."

Winter flinched, and blinked. Somehow, she wasn't sure if this was a good idea. "Why?"

"As you said, this vacation isn't working. I need this Free guy's wisdom."

Winter's expression made it clear that she didn't know how to respond. "I for one think that's the stupidest idea I've ever heard, but I think I'll tag along."

"You?" I asked, "But I don't know you." She didn't even know me.

"I know, but you're going to get yourself hurt if you run off somewhere. I don't want a guilty conscience if something bad happens."

"What about your job?" I asked, "Aren't you on your own vacation?"

Winter huffed in amusement. "They'll understand if I wanted to help the Great Dry Wall, Architect of Efficiency," she joked.

Then I smiled, an odd happenstance I never noticed. Together, we packed our things and left the hotel. The receptionist glanced at me and hummed to herself. I assumed she didn't care.

The day was spent around the town. We paused at a park bench so I had a flat surface to sketch a drawing of this Free pony. Afterwards, we asked around, asking if they knew or knew of the pony.

Few responded with actual words; always shrugging, shaking their head, or a negatory hum. The town soon proved to be a bad place for information- despite the tourism that could spawn gossip. Either this Free pony didn't exist, or he lived somewhere far enough away from Cannonport that any gossip about him that could rise to the surface would be buried under more local matters.

I never liked the media that way.

Eventually, we tried a curiosity shop, ran by a young light gray pony. As Winter checked around the store, I approached the counter.

"What can I do for you?" the young pony asked in a surprisingly deep, harsh voice.

"I'm looking for a certain pony," I replied while producing the sketch. "You ever see a pony like this?"

"What are those four lines, scars?" the pony asked- responded by my nodding.

"Manticore scars on the left, eh?" he asked.

"Are they manticore scars?" You see, I wasn't even absolutely certain they were scars at the time. "How do you know that?" I asked.

"Yeah, a friend of mine was talking about how he worked as a bouncer for her."

What astounding luck. "Where?" I briefly asked.

"She said it was during a show in Ponyville, about two years ago."

"Ponyville," I repeated. It was a while since I was in Ponyville- back when Doc had taken great pains to build such an efficient library. Two years opens doors for anything and everything, but somepony in that small town must remember this scarred free pony like the clerk. "What's the quickest way there?" I asked.

"Well, flight, obviously-" the kid replied.

"I mean direction," I added quickly. I didn't have a private carriage, obviously, and getting a flight plan together would no-doubt take longer than just trotting my way there.

"Uh... West. North-west," the pony replied nervously. I never paid any mind to figuring out why the clerk reacted the way he did. Keep in mind that at the time, I needed to find this mystery stallion, and preferably as fast as possible. The longer I dawdle, the potentially farther he could go.

Neither of us bought anything; though Winter pointed out a cute shell pendant. We left the shop, made our way west. It wasn't terribly long before we left the tourist town.

The road signs were few- but effective. The path didn't wind needlessly around hills or split off into multiple directions. The trek to Ponyville was remarkably straightforward, leading me to assume supplies are constantly moved on this path. Oddly enough, we had yet to spot any carriages that may use the road at all. I couldn't help but ask aloud, "Why?"

"Why what?" Winter asked.

"This is a supply route, right?" I asked to make sure.

"I guess so. It's been flat through and through, so carriages won't lose balance that easily," she replied.

"And supply is constantly being moved around Equestria. So why aren't there any carriages around today?"

"Why does that bother you?" Winter asked.

"I dunno," I responded as he stopped to take a gander at the surroundings. "It passes the time, I guess," I lied. In reality, I wondered if something bad was happening, and all hooves on the proverbial deck were called elsewhere.

"Understandable," Winter added as she sat down on the edge of the road. I yawned and sat down next to her.

"It doesn't seem that dangerous, really," I commented, deep-down hoping Winter would decide to let me be.

"You never know," Winter assured. "We may be a utopia with a benevolent, all-loving leader, but we still have manticores, hydras, dragons, rhinos... Discord..."

Rhinos, eh? Not since Celestia and Luna forced a peace treaty and defeated Kurgan Indrik were they a problem. Discord had also been gone for months now, and all evidence that he even caused trouble had been erased as quickly as it started. Even my seventh spire- which he totaled just to watch me break into tears.

Manticores and Hydras also live exclusively in the wilderness of the Everfree Forest. They never come close to the border.

"How long ago did we leave Cannonport, anyway?" the dashing young *cough* me asked... Man, I just got reminded: Discord was such an ass...

"About five hours," Winter replied.

"How long until Ponyville?" I asked.

"It's about two day's trot from start to finish, last time I came down this road," Winter said.

I hummed, and realised the distance we would need to cover, whether a "day" meant twelve hours of light or the twenty-four hour cycle usually called a day. I didn't worry so much about making good time at that point. If there was evidence of the scarred pony's presence in Ponyville that could expire, it would have expired tens of months ago. That left the only sources of information in the forms of other ponies- who certainly wouldn't all die off within two years, surely. Anything otherwise was just silly.

Five minutes passed and the two of us continued the trek. Little happened, and the roads still remained unusually desolate. After a few hour, Carriages finally showed themselves, rolling their merry ways down the road in the opposite direction of the two pedestrians.

Heh... I had never gone up or down a big highway road before- always being hole'd up in my studio and all, or somewhere in Canterlot, or taking those rare flights to anywhere else. Never before did I take the feel of walking down the trampled dirt highway. It was a nice feeling: the earth stamped to perfect flatness as far as the eye can see in either direction the path shot down.

Still, I had to wonder: how did this Free pony get those scars? Manticores were usually not terribly hostile. Even I knew that, and I've never even been to the Everfree Forest. These thoughts and questions flooded my mind, similar to my method of designing buildings.

For instance: why use clinker? They're more durable. They look nicer. They feel like glass when it's all said and done.

What lumber to use? Exterior or Interior? What kind of idiot plans to build a functional deck with crap lumber? Everfree or Whitetail? Everfree wood is more malleable with magic. Whitetail is infinitely stronger. Concrete: what kind?

What kind of glass? How do those glassworkers curve those panels so perfectly?

Curves... Winter's got some nice curves to her... What shape... what posture... That gait... She could be a model for the Baltimare Fashion Press... Why did she become a doctor? Is she even a doctor? I've never seen her tools... What tools does a doctor use, anyway?

Overhead, an albatross hanged motionless in the high wind. I wasn't sure what the significance of it was. The large bird wasn't permanent. It would eventually die, rot away, make way for the next of kin, be it from itself or something else.

I made works of art... these spires. With proper care, they could last longer than the lifetime of Princess Celestia.

The curved walls... Winter Eve... She's a fine lady...

Hours passed. It soon got dark. I dropped onto the side of the road and began snoring. Exhaustion... what an unfamiliar feeling...

Now that I think about it, how did I even know what an albatross was?

Freedom, accomplished by none but the best. Freedom from what? Best at what? How does one know if it has been accomplished. Ponies are entangled in the technology of life, physics, the working world, and magic.

They need food, water, shelter, friends... sleep...

I like food, I like water. I build shelters. I have friends. I am sleeping.

No, I are not.

What? Yes I am.

I are not sleeping. I are hallucinating my wandering mind spelling words out before my eyes, because I have temporarily lost the ability to hear and feel.

That tastes like sweetgrass. I am imagining myself smiling.

I am an idiot. This is ridiculous. I'm being distracted reading this crap as I'm thinking it. This text appearing before my eyes at the same time I think them. I can't even understand what I'm thinking as I'm reading what I just though- I went cross-eyed, I think.

Where's Winter? She can't hear me.

No. Focus. I must focus. Stop reading- Freedom, accomplished by none but the best. Freedom from what? Best at what? How does one know if it has been accomplished?

How does one know if it has been accomplished?

This is ridiculous. I'm being distracted reading this crap as I'm thinking it.

Cross Brace is a funny name.

Doc Shingle is a funny guy.

Winter Eve is a damn fine mare.

A damn fine mare.

Wake up.

But I'm not sleeping. I was listening to gossip about... Free... Freedom, accomplished by none but the best. Freedom from what? Best at what? How does one know if it has been-

I woke up, obviously. I had been slapped by something. That something turned out to be Winter's hoof. "Pervert," Winter stated in that ever-present dialect, "Calling me a 'damn fine pony' like that. What in the world is wrong with you?"

"I wish I knew," I mumbled, "What were you doing, anyway?"

"I saw you collapse, so I just sat and watched out for dogs or something."

"The whole night?" Wall asked.

"No," Winter replied, "After a few minutes, you started sleepwalking."

It was too dark for me to make out anything, aside from the star-studded sky and the barely visible bright stone road. "Where are we now?"

"Ponyville was in the distance from the past hill we went over. We should be there by the next afternoon."

I stood up, but felt my muscles fail completely. I really wasn't used to this much walking for obvious reasons.

"You're thin, but you're out of shape," Winter laughed.

"Laugh up a storm, please," I joked in response, which was met with nothing- aside from the mare's continued laughter from before.

I didn't sleep during my real rest. All I did was crush my eyelids together. The rumbling sound helped to drown out the designs that lingered in his head. There was no time for work. This Free pony must be found. He must, he must, he must.

Winter trotted off to take in what scenes she cold amongst the darkness. The sky was perfectly clear, save for every one of the bright lights in the heavens. Stars, and a moon shrouded in complete darkness. Every constellation that could possibly be seen from this side of Equestria was visible.

The view was stunning. Princess Luna never disappointed. "Personally, I fancy myself a day pony," Winter commented. "How about you?"

"Insomnia, remember?" I said.

"What about before?"

I rolled onto my back to see the stars myself. I honestly didn't remember. A time without living like a dead pony felt so distant... fifteen years, almost as long as my career was.

"Did your parents know?" Winter asked.

"No," I stated. I instinctively shook my head, but I later realised Winter couldn't have seen it, "Still don't."

"Why not? Fifteen years and friends who do know, how couldn't your parents?"

I didn't respond. I was searching the stars for a familiar shape, or anything to get my mind off of the question.

"Oh," Winter finally muttered.

I stood up once more. This time, my legs felt better. We continued down the road once more. The visibility was generally poor, but the road was bright compared to the grass and foliage on either side. It was impossible for us to lose the track.

"By the way," Winter said, "I'm officially AWOL, so don't talk about me to anypony."

"Got it," I replied half-heartedly. I heard the words, but I didn't put them together into a coherent thought. At the time, I didn't even know what AWOL meant.

We continued, with Ponyville still far in the distance. The sky above Ponyville was not bright, unlike any city in Equestria. That subtle, dull, yellow-green light that contrasted rather strongly against the pitch-plack of the unlit earth and foliage.

"Should we have taken a train?" I asked. I still couldn't believe I had forgotten that we had locomotives.

"Nah... I like walking," Winter replied. After a pause, she asked, "How about you? Do you like walking?"

"I rarely leave Canterlot. Every time I did, I flew," I replied, "I haven't walked this much before."

"You get used to it," Winter continued, "After long, your legs start to ache, but you're already in a rhythm. I always get a song in my head, keep my pace to the beat."

"What kind of music do you like?" I asked.

"I'm partial to old rock and roll, the slow kind where the artist cares more about making a nice sound or several. Then he rolls with it or them. No lyrics, no message."

"What point would it serve?" I asked.

"The same point all art serves," Winter replied.

I hummed in acknowledgement. After a few seconds of silence, I said, "I don't get it."

"Can't force that kind of knowledge on somepony," Winter sighed.

More hours passed. I wasn't certain about what to talk about now. I mentioned the carriages, the road we were taking, the environment. What else was there to talk about?

Silence... save for the wind shuffling the surrounding trees. The rustling sound flooded the area. The sounds were eventually steamrolled to the relative background by Winter asking a question. "Why do they use the phrase leaf-shaped?"

My eye twitched in response, and then I glanced at her, wondering what the doctor meant. I wanted to say "I'm not sure what you mean," but Winter appeared to understand the suddenness of the question.

She continued. "There are hundreds of thousands of leaf-bearing plants. Few of them have similar leaf shapes,"

"It's usually accepted as the same shape as a spade from a deck of cards," I replied.

"Who decided on that?"

It was my turn to shrug... Heh, she and I had done quite a lot of shrugging in that past day. "Celestia, somepony predating Celestia," I guessed, "I'm not sure."

"Should we care?" Winter asked.

"I don't suspect so."

Winter huffed in disappointment. "I guess that's a good answer as any."

I stopped once more, and said, "I'm sorry, I just don't get you. Why are you asking these pointless questions?"

"How do you know they're pointless?" Winter asked playfully.

Inside, I cringed. My blood started to boil and my stomach knotted. Why did this pony care to tag along, let alone be this annoying. All these awkward situations, topped off by her selfishly leaving her selfless duties to Equestria. This road wasn't dangerous at all. I didn't need a bloody personal doctor!

Why me, of all ponies? I wanted to ask it, but Winter pointed out Ponyville on the horizon.

"Wow, that was quick," I commented, completely forgetting my annoyance. "Almost too quick."

Ponyville was as small a town as I remembered last time I was there. All the expensive-looking buildings coupled with cozy-looking thatch roof cottages. It was peaceful, without a smidgen of a doubt. I figured the population could only change little over the course of two years.

"I'm going to go look around," Winter said as they entered the town. Before I could acknowledge, the mare was gone.

I stopped caring because my legs ached, telling me I really needed a place to stay. Obviously a motel or something would be around. This was a small town, after all. I galloped lightly around town, ignoring the aching and looking for such a place. Eventually, I found a place I thought was familiar. A giant bed-shaped building Doc Shingle designed. It was cute, and very noticeable- definitely features one would want in order to advertise their business without resorting to boring old text on a slab of plywood.

Who the heck managed to pay for such a complex design? The Mayor? The owners? Even today, it just baffled me how that tiny town managed to pay for such intricately designed buildings. They had more attention to detail than most spires in Canterlot.

I approached the door and knocked.

The double-doors opened. The strong smell of a delicious noon-time meal reached my nostrils, At that moment, I realised that aside from the salt block and the glass of water, I had never eaten for the past few days. Celestia knows how I managed to survive that long, especially considering how much trotting I had done.

"Good afternoon, eh?" came a stallion's old, soft voice. Before I could react, I felt my hoof being shaken by an older workhorse. "Hey, you look familiar," the workhorse said, "What's your name?"

"Uh, Wall," I replied rather fluidly, "Dry Wall; architect."

"Ah yes, you're friends with Doc Shingle!"

I nodded with a smile, and the workhorse announced, "Welcome, Wall. I'm Patrick. What can I do you for?"

My stomach growled for the first time in days in an effort to remind me that I hadn't eaten at all. I wasn't sure if my stomach growled before and I just never noticed. Either way, I became hungry as all hell.

"Eesh, sounds like you didn't eat at all," Patrick commented with... it sounded like disappointment for some reason. "Stella's making lunch. Come sit at the table."

I was directed to the right, and sat down at said table- a large piece with eight chairs, but big enough to accompany twice that if need be. "Do you know everypony here?" I asked as an old mare arrived with a large plate of roasted nuts and grass.

"Yep," Patrick returned, "Ask us later. Go on, eat."

I barely managed to refrain savagely devouring my assigned share of foodstuffs. It was really good; absolutely delicious. I made sure the older couple knew it.

Patrick and Stella took their own seats, opposite from myself. "Now then," Patrick said, "What can we do for you?"

I produced the sketch and handed it to the old couple. Both of them looked at the sketch, then at each other. I noticed the surprisingly concerned expressions on their faces.

"How do you know him?" Patrick finally asked.

I responded with a shrug. "I don't. I saw him in a dream."

"Is that a Unicorn thing?" Stella asked.

"Usually in relation to their cutie mark," Patrick replied, "I wonder if the library's open."

"It should be," Stella said.

I already stood up, already determining what was to come. Patrick stood as well.

"We'll be back soon," Patrick said, giving a loving kiss to Stella's forehead.

"Take your time," Stella replied with a smile.

Patrick beckoned me to follow, and they left the bed & breakfast. Along the way to the library, I took note of even more expensive-looking buildings. A giant fancy carousel, a massive circular town hall, dozens more thatch-roof housing of a Dutch style. Doors split in two, upper floors overhanging above the tiny porches.

I understood the advantages of the Dutch door. It was too bad most clients didn't. What I definitely couldn't understand that clients did, was who in their right mind would live in a bloody gingerbread house covered in fake icing and all? That had to be the most expensive-looking setup in the entire town, and it's nothing more than a cafe.

I spotted Winter, who got a face-covering hat from somewhere. We nodded to each other in acknowledgement. I figured she didn't want to be seen by the doctor who would have been moved here. I understood her completely, and I also had my own crap to take care of.

Anyway, Patrick and I got to the library.

That library- I remembered- had a different style of door. Double doors on the bottom of the half-door. Similar to a barn, but smaller, so it couldn't fit carriages.

Patrick knocked on the door of the giant hollowed-out tree, and was soon answered by a young purple female. The upper door swung outward. Her highlighted mane almost made it difficult to see the horn.

She glanced between the two of us before she greeted the more familiar face. "Hi, Patrick."

"Howdy, Twilight," Patrick replied. "Do you have any books on dreams?"

"Dreams?" Twilight repeated. She turned to the multitude of bookshelves. "I could check," she replied as she trotted further inside.

Twilight called "Spike!" and followed up with more hushed talking. As Twilight and "Spike" got to work finding the book, Patrick leaned on the outside wall and sighed.

"What was in the dream, exactly?" The old horse asked.

I told him, obviously. "A big desolate field," said I, "surrounded by distant mountains. Beyond that were spotlights piercing the sky. I was chained to a statue of that scarred guy."

Patrick hummed. "Well, you're connected to him somehow."

Hail Captain Obvious, I would have said. Fortunately, I didn't want to appear rude. "I've never even met him, or seen him," I instead added.

"Then why care?" The older one asked.

"He knows something," I replied. I didn't mention Winter, however. She said not to talk about her to anyone, after all. I'm a gentlecolt for Pete's sakes.

Twilight returned, carrying a book with magic. Even though it was normal telekinesis, I, being a unicorn, could sense intense power from a distance. Then I realised that I had felt it before. Sometimes when I was given a surprise visit from Princess Celestia.

You already know, it was the same filly at Her Majesty's side. Twilight Sparkle, I think her name was.

Anyway, Patrick accepted the book and started reading it on the porch.

"Do I know you?" Twilight asked to me.

I shook my head and replied "You've seen me before."

"You're Dry Wall, aren't you?"

"Okay, you do know me."

"How are you doing?" She asked.

I blinked. Why would she ask that? Did I physically look unwell? Winter mentioned raccoon eyes, but I figured they'd have faded since I've actually had sleep. I thought about the last time I looked in a mirror... then I became aware of the fact that I never did.

Ever think about that? The sudden registration in the mind that you don't even remember what you even look like? Then you have that niggling crave to find one yourself.

Wait, where are you going, doctor?

Sorry about that.

Patrick hummed as he turned the pages rapidly, looking for the right chapter. "Nothing but records and theories," he muttered aloud, "Symbols, emotions... Nothing about images of ponies you've never seen before. Especially not vivid images."

"What is this for, anyway?" Twilight asked.

"You remember Kurt?" Patrick asked to the purple one, who pursed her lips in uncertainty. "You met his sister back in Canterlot, I remember you telling me."

Kurt... Was that the free pony's name? What a simple name, thought I. Somehow, containing one more letter, was all the less complicated than my own name. Dry Wall... Heh... I'm named after a slab of limestone and paper. Ever notice that about some ponies? They're sometimes named after objects or concepts.

Before Twilight could answer, a baby dragon pulled himself onto the half-height double doors.

"Kurt?" the dragon, who I assumed was the 'Spike' Twilight called for, asked, "I haven't seen him since last time he was here."

"When was that?" I asked.

"About two years ago," the dragon said.

"What about most recently?" Wall asked.

"That was in the Canterlot Palace," Patrick replied, "He just up and vanished."

"Where?"

"The better question is why," Patrick said.

"Alright," I replied, "Thanks." I left rather quickly, and passed by Winter- who began to follow.

"What's happening now?" Winter asked.

"I'm going home."

Fine mare, with fine ideas... interesting ideas. A spire made entirely out of pop cans, the aluminum cans that often contained that carbonated soda the teenage fillies and colts drink like it was out of style. Lightweight, durable, malleable. Fill the cans with insulation, improve heating efficiency.

That would be an interesting design. Stupid on a practical standpoint, but interesting. That's what art is about, though: The interesting and the unusual. Instilling certain reactions and emotions into the audience. Everypony who's ever called themselves an artist must learn that that is how things are done. It's not about the money, or the fillies, or anything.

Art is an abstract aspect of society, life, and culture. A few hundred years ago, a young stallion named Coltaire once said "I may not agree with what you say, but I will fight to the death your right to say it."

Even those who hate have the right to hate. However, for the sake of fairness, they require legitimate reasons to do it.

Everything needs a reason. Everything needs purpose, or it will sit and turn into dust, or for somepony to throw it away, or recycle it into something with purpose.

Even those fancy paper weights aren't useless. They hold down paper, and they add an extra finer detail to complement a room, or become a focal point on the desk when one is stressed.

What is my purpose? Why am I here? What will this all accomplish?

My purpose is to build and create. I am here because I must find Kurt. I must find his wisdom. This will accomplish my life-long happiness.

I woke up, comfortably laying down on the side of a road. Winter was still sleeping, so I took the time to examine the surroundings. Canterlot sat stop that massive mountain an hour's gallop away. Everfree Forest sat nearby, with its ever-useful lumber. Nopony actually goes into the forest to cut the trees. They instead replicate similar conditions to Everfree, and speed the growth process with magic.

Then it hit me: How did I get here? I spaced out as I left Ponyville, then woke up right next door to Canterlot. I assumed I sleeptrotted again, but my muscles should have ached- which they didn't.

I sat down once more, trying to remember what Patrick said. Sister of Kurt, Canterlot Palace. That was all I had to work with. Shouldn't be a problem to get in the palace. After all, I had status with my spires alone, and I remembered designing some improvements to the many balconies riddled along the sides.

Winter shuffled, and opened her eyes. "Good morning," the doctor said.

"It's getting close to noon, actually," I corrected.

"I'm going to have to stay here, you know that, right?" She asked.

I still didn't know what AWOL meant, but I regardless decided to ignore her odd behavior. When you've been with Winter for a few days, you get used to it as a quirky personality... or something...

"Come back soon," she said before returning to sleep.

I nodded, and galloped toward Canterlot.

Two guards at the entrance to the massive city of spires. Both didn't seem to acknowledge the architect's existence. Was that protocol? It made them seem unnecessarily imposing. Were there actual public threats that warrants such a stoic attitude from its service ponies?

Well, I did wonder how Kurt got those scars from a manticore of all creatures. Now that I thought about it, the statue did capture the free pony's musculature. It resembled the build of the guards I had seen around Canterlot.

The streets were relatively empty. It wasn't the general lunch time yet. This was good; I hoped he wouldn't come across anypony familiar, like Doc or Cross. The estimated vacation time was supposed to be a week or two, not four... five... days? He couldn't remember how long he had been away from the drawing board now.

The trot to the palace was short. I soon arrived at the large steps leading to the giant double doors. Guards were stationed between every column, staring imposingly into space like the city gate guards.

Personal opinion, but they needed to relax, take a vacation.

I approached the gates, and was stopped by the two closest guards. "What business?" The one on the left asked.

"I need to speak with someone's sister."

The guards looked at each other with expressions that would dominate in card games. "Someone... not Her Highness," the one on the right finally said.

"Yeah, somepony named Kurt. I need to speak with his sister," I added as I produced my drawing.

Both guards examined the picture. Even with their stoic faces, I could almost hear steam building up from within the guards. The left guard remained while the right one went inside. I wanted to ask "What's happening?"

The right guard returned with another two, who escorted me to the royal gardens. So many trees and plants, with creatures of all shapes and sizes. The diversity boggled my mind. This wasn't a garden; it was a national park tended to by the gods.

"Hello, sirs," came the voice of yet another young mare. Earth pony, red hide, blue mane, covered in dirt and scrapes from constant care put into the absolutely massive collection of life. The messiness would appear attractive to some young colts, but that wasn't my taste.

One guard approached and whispered to the young mare, who shot a concerned look to me, then back to the guard.

"How do you know Kurt?" She asked as she shot her glance back at me.

I looked at my drawing once more and told her I didn't.

The mare approached and offered a hoof to shake. Usually I'd be reluctant to shake a dirt-encrusted hoof, but frankly, I had dusted up my own hooves quite nicely the past few days. "I'm Kaia," she said, "Kurt's sister."

"Dry Wall, archite-"

"I know. Everypony in Canterlot knows," Kaia interrupted, "What I can't figure out is how you know him."

"I don't," I repeated, "I saw him in a dream."

"A dream?" She repeated in disbelief.

I nodded, "This drawing was the way I saw him." I held the drawing close with my magic.

"And you're coming to see me, because..." She paused, waiting for me to finish.

"I'm looking for him," I finished.

Kaia shrugged.

The shrug didn't tell me much, so I asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Until recently, I haven't heard from him in two years."

Recently, she said. Two years, she said. What exactly happened that caused this two year gap in contact with family? I mean, I haven't heard from my parents in years, but... well...

Anyway, Kaia beckoned me and the two ever-silent guards to follow. We entered Kaia's sleeping quarters, a surprisingly comfortable and large shack. The young mare produced an envelope from a desk in the corner. Obviously hers; it was the only desk.

Within the envelope was a card. Between the card wings were the following: a pressed orange tulip and seven words: "All of a sudden, I miss everyone."

I remember the tulip, because I had seen it before. Lemme see if I can remember it... Well, you should know. Your report already listed off the regions where those damn things grow.

Of course she said, "Yeah, it usually grows in the Northern half of Equestria."

"Well, I'll take that information over Somewhere in Equestria," I muttered. Oh! now I remember where I had seen the tulip. It was during a sale in a corner flower shop in Stalliongrad. The intense hue of all the oranges, yellows, creams, and green stood out amongst the stone and steel architecture of the efficiency-centered city of the North.

Poor city, it had been struck multiple times by foreign threats over the city's lifetime since its establishment. Rhinos, the occasional Dragon. It was things like that when the ponies started basing their designs over structural integrity and durability.

I liked that city very much.

"Stalliongrad's pretty nice this time of year," one guard said, "We could take you there."

I asked why before politely declining the help. If I got a flight, I'd be leaving Winter behind, unless I talked about Winter- which wasn't what she wanted.

"We're also looking for Kurt," the guard replied when I asked why.

I lied, saying I could use the walk.

The guard shrugged. "Very well. We'll inform the Garrison stationed there to lend support on this pony hunt."

Deep-down, I wondered why the Royal Guard seemed enthusiastic about searching for somepony under the request of a complete stranger. What did this Kurt guy do to warrant that subtle anger amongst the guards?

Regardless, I at least acknowledged the offer. Without another word, I left the palace, then Canterlot. I rendezvoused with Winter once more, and we trotted north.

I never saw Doc Shingle or Cross Brace along the way. I personally didn't want to see them. All they would have done is try to get me out of this crazy quest to find a pony I had never met or even seen before.

You know those ponies outside those doors? You know, the other inmates in this damn place? The ones in the mess hall? Yeah, Doc and Cross would've gotten me out with those jacket-wearing nuts years ago.

Anyway, Stalliongrad was a few days trot as well. I didn't remember how many days. Neither did Winter for that matter.

The past afternoon was, for the most part, silent. Winter had an entire playlist of songs in her head- which she hummed and recited aloud. Said playlist included some psychadelic-sounding lyrics.

I was rather curious, and desperate to spark a conversation. My own silence was starting to drive me nuts. "Who wrote that one?" I asked while Winter hummed a strangely familiar song.

"An old goat named Floyd Gilmare," she replied.

Heh... goat...

I remembered the name, Floyd Gilmare. I also remembered designing a stage for that grizzled old stallion, and attending the following concert.

"I went to every concert," Winter said, "Well, I couldn't help it. I was assigned for emergencies for his road trips by the Princess. Good thing I love his music."

I nodded. Remembering the one concert I was at, it was excellent escapism. Then it hit me: a new idea.

Escapism... maybe I needed music to help me sleep, I thought. The night came, and Winter continued singing. Unsurprisingly, I managed to fall asleep much easier with Winter singing to herself.

"You know Celestia then?" I asked.

"Do you?" She returned.

My eyes were still shut. "She's asked me for some projects, like redesigning the palace balconies and drawing out an effective stage for Princess Luna's return ceremony. She's also endorsed two of my spires."

Winter hummed and then asked, "Why do you think you did it?"

I thought: was this another one of those annoying, useless, pseudo-philosophical things? I decided to play along one more time. Annoying or not, it was still conversation. "Because she asked," I replied.

"What if she weren't Princess Celestia?"

"Because she asked."

"And you overwork yourself because..."

At this point, I didn't have an answer. I could say I did it because I wanted to, but then Winter would ask why I wanted to. After that, I would theorize about happiness; pointless in itself because Kurt the Free one apparently had the real answer to happiness.

Then again, I only knew Kurt would probably have an answer because I basically told myself. The pause continued as Winter and I approached Whitetail Wood.

"Am I insane?" I finally asked.

"Yes," she sighed.

... Hurm...

Yes, she said. Of course, I wondered how she could know that. "Who are you, really?" I asked in response.

"If you can't figure it out, I can't tell you," Winter replied.

I felt tired, and decided to sleep on it. I wanted to think about this conversation with a clear mind. The closed eyes turned into television screens for my soul.

The purpose of everypony is to be happy. That is why the Royal Sisters rule the way they do. They mingle with the subjects, being warm... nice... even with complete strangers.

What is happiness? Happiness is to be completely content with life. To accomplish something with purpose. Are the two answers related?

I'm... happy... with the construction of my buildings... my art. But happiness is supposed to be long-lasting, isn't it? To achieve happiness is a permanent thing, right?

Kurt, this Free pony... He would know. He would know.

There was a coffee can.

A street cut off the road, creating a T-shaped intersection. No carriages were present. Dust and dirt had collected evenly across the large cement pathways. There was a rusty coffee can sitting in the center of the perpendicular intersection. From the can sprouted steam escaping extreme pressure, holding up massive, bloodshot eyes. Lidless, they stared at everything in the area. A corner store, a workshop, a institution, two restaurants, a public carriage transit station, a train graveyard.

The trains weren't trains. They were buildings, felled like trees, strapped onto the railway platforms. They were dead. All of the precious works of art were dead.

As the eyes met creatures that appeared suddenly, they died, turned to dust, picked up by the wind and scattered to hundreds of thousands of places. I inhaled, and got the idea that every time I breathed in, I also consumed remnants of hundreds- nay- thousands of ponies... and more than ponies.

They turned into dust, and were picked up by the winds to be used and discarded by us. Does that make us selfish?

Would I be the same, someday? Dust to be collected on some pointless object? To be ingested, rejected, forgotten? All despite my works of art? What did the felled buildings mean? I worried... I worried very much about it all.

The eyes began to turn toward me.

Morning was here. I thought I was done for when the eyes were about to do the same to me what it did with everything else. My breathing was panicked. Eventually, I managed to calm down, then realized that... well, hey! I couldn't have died. It was just a dream, like all the others! Insignificant electrical signals to the brain have no chance to physically revert a large multi-celluar organism into dust.

Lies, man. All lies.

"Winter?" I asked. My view shot around the area. The mare doctor was nowhere to be seen. "Winter?" I called again.

Still no response. I was sitting alone on the side of a gravel road, turned to solid dust from decades upon centuries of stamping hooves. Nothing watched over the road and me but the tall hardwood trees of Whitetail.

Strong wood, very solid. Very useful for frames. Not as malleable as Everfree wood. More suited for not so showy aspects of the building, like the steel beams hidden by limestone panels and drop ceilings.

I glanced up and down the road for a sign, something to help direct me. I didn't know which way was north anymore. My thoughts were still scrambled from the dream and Winter's lack of presence, but I managed to collect them once more. There was mildew on the ground, so I figured it was morning. The sun is on the East. Using that logic, I found my direction and started galloping further north.

In my mind, I wondered why Winter left without me. I mean, she promised to make sure I didn't get injured. Winter didn't seem like that kind of mare who would do something like that. Maybe she went ahead to spot potential travel problems... Then again, she was still a complete stranger who couldn't be read at all.

I continued the gallop, despite not being used to running. It made me wonder if I should have taken time off of work or school to keep in shape. Upon consideration, and looking at my own chest, I was a boney feller. No meat, 'cause I rarely ate.

My stomach growled again. After all, my last meal was back in Ponyville. In hindsight, I still wonder how I survived that long without nutrition.

I swiftly got rid of that anxiety like anypony would: by trotting off the road and taking a few mouthfuls of grass to munch on. As I swallowed the green, fiber-laden common food, I figured that I must have done some sleep-eating to keep myself fed. Heh... silly concept.

I called once more for Winter, despite the futility of it all. She was gone before I even woke up. Who knew when she left? She could be all the way at Manehattan for all I knew.

Minutes of galloping turned into hours of trotting. my energy was spent, on account of my obviously poor physicality. By mid-afternoon, I stumbled onto the side of the road and into the shade of surrounding trees.

Despite the fatigue, I couldn't sleep. My eyelids were shut tight, but I still saw things as bright as day.

Those eyes in the sky appeared, staring over me and out in the distance.

I don't even remember thinking remotely straight at this point, mind you. I scrambled onto my aching hooves and attempted to run from the eventuality that the eyes would turn to me. In a panic, I tripped and rolled down a steep hill, initially hidden off-road by the surrounding trees. I plummeted, and impacted hard between an abandoned den and two trees. Shockingly enough, there was no cracking. I felt no bones breaking.

There was still immense pain, and my lids shot open. Exactly like the vision, I did fall a few feet and wedged myself between the den entrance mound and the trees.

I groaned as I tried to push myself out from the wedge. With my hooves up in the air and no way to turn my shoulders, there wasn't any way for me to pull myself up.

Instead, I attempted to force myself out by trying to jump from my back. This resulted in absolutely nothing. Maybe if I were a Shaolin Colt, I could've tipped onto my hooves in a snap.

Well, I kept on trying, shouting in frustration as I did. Lots of swearing was involved. Not good for this wonderful society. Neither of the trees had branches low enough for me to grab. After a while, I wheezed and slumped backwards. I just needed the blood flowing to the head, needed more oxygen to the brain. I needed to think on this, like an escape artist in a straight jacket.

I tried to reach the mound with any one of my hooves. Only one could, so I started wildly digging around the dirt pinning his shoulders. Bear in mind, I never went camping, except for that one time with mum and dad, when I was seven.

It was all a blur, really.

As I dug, I took a look around at the current environment. The forest was thick, much like Everfree. The trees were not Whitetail, however. These trees bore needles. Soft wood, but not as malleable as that usually found from the trees in Everfree.

The needles were a deep, but dull green. Dust had collected from all around the globe for the entire lifetime of these trees. The canopy held absolute control over the sunlight, so the only things on the ground were needles, dirt, and prints from all manners of creatures.

And hoofprints, Wall noticed. Massive, fresh-looking hoofprints.

In the distance, beyond the two trees he was wedged against, Wall could see a strong orange hue.

I couldn't have been that lucky. There was no way it was that easy. Unfortunately, due to my position, shouting was a real pain to pull off.

"Help!" I shouted when I had dug away all the dirt I could, and still couldn't move.

I was tired, and couldn't call for help anymore. If you can't beat 'em, get comfortable. I closed my eyes once more. Rest was definitely required.

It was a really nice villa. Giant custom-made tree trunks cut out and layered like well-shaped rocks on a beach head. This villa stretched for several meters, only to be surrounded by solid wood stretching to infinity.

The only light came from lanterns hanging from taller wood platforms and the walls surrounding the villa. It felt more like a walk-in closet, now that I think about it.

I clambered around the giant wooden steps. They sounded hollow, but there were no doors. Who built this place? I asked aloud. I'd never seen it before, or even drawn it. It looked rather nice, like a parkour pony's dream gym.

The only door in the area was a short door between a chest-high corridor on one far end of the villa area. I hoisted myself up to the corridor and opened the door.

Inside was a bedroom. Winter was sleeping in the center of the queen-sized bed. She was surrounded by frames containing abstract pieces. All of which, I remembered fondly. Sketches of nothing and everything covered almost every inch of wall space.

"Welcome," she said with her eyes closed.

"Where am I?" I asked her.

"You are in your dream home," the doctor replied.

Well, I had to admit: I really liked the design.

"And who are you, really?" I asked.

"Haven't you figured it out yet?" Winter sat up, but still had her eyes closed. "Have you ever looked in a mirror before?"

I shook my head, "Not since U," as in the U of C. Even then, I wasn't sure if I had seen a mirror.

Winter pointed a hoof to the left.

I turned to see a standing mirror in the corner. It had a beautiful, ornate copper frame. I approached, not able to see myself until he stood directly in front of the mirror.

Winter was the reflection.

"No..." I muttered, my voice suddenly raspy and hoarse.

"I know, you must be so disappointed in your dream girl," she said over my attempted screaming. Only a weak whistle emitted from the back of my throat.

"That's all you were, a wet dream," I wheezed. Heh heh... you know, that sounded absolutely silly.

"A wet dream, sure," she concurred, "That's irrelevant for now. Why are you here?"

"It's a dream. I didn't consciously choose to be he-"

"No no, in the other dreamworld."

"The real world?"

"Is it?" Her eyes opened. They weren't her eyes, specifically.

Same old Winter, even though she's confirmed to be a figment of my imagination. Instead of challenging her, I decided to follow her previous statement on trying to keep things relevant.

I remembered what happened before. I fell down a steep hill, and got trapped between the hill and some trees.

"You're certain about that?" Winter asked. She was referring to what I remembered.

We stared at each other. Myself in uncertainty, Winter in a stone face that was also strangely seductive.

"Wait a minute. Once I realise I'm dreaming, I'm supposed to wake up, right?"

"Well, you're kind of under the influence of chemicals released into your system as a response to the immense pain you're really feeling."

"Then I can control it," I added. "Wait, how do you know that?"

"How do you know that?" She asked back, "How do you know anything about psychology? How do you know how to be a doctor?"

She had a point, though. I never took up a medical course, yet I knew the functions of adrenaline at least. In fact, I never saw Winter practice any doctoring. Any object she manipulated, she did so with her magic. I shook my head and started to concentrate.

Easy for me, being an artist who enjoys working on one project at a time. I closed my eyes, and then opened them again.

Those eyes were back, off in the distance. They were staring at Canterlot. The capital city... my home city... began to rot. Even the marble and gold, materials known to be invincible against time, turned dull and crumbled.

I screamed, but no sound came out, save for the weakest of whinnies. The eyes paused, and began to turn.

I ran. A disembodied visage of Winter appeared in front of my eyes, moving with my gaze. She stared into blank space. No matter where I turned, the image remained in the same relative position.

The eyes tore across the landscape. Before long, a colossal cavern ceiling lowered swiftly over top. It blotted out the sun, and reverted the entire country beyond the horizon into a literal cavern. It was still flooded with light, but the plants all died out instantly, and turned to ash.

"Wally," she said in a monotone voice. The ever-present face did not move, save for her lips and only the subtlest of movements from her jaw, "Everything is dead, Wally."

Gravity shifted, and I tumbled to the cavern ceiling, and somehow still did not wake up.

My eyes shut tight, but Winter's face didn't vanish.

The visage turned gray, with a dull cyan mane. The thing that was Winter wrinkled up to skeletal proportions.

"Don't leave me," she begged, "Don't leave it all behind."

I finally woke up.

"Why are you running away?"

Four jagged red lines on a burgundy coat. A navy blue mane let out for nature. Judging by the dull red streaks, the pony in question could use a haircut. He was staring at me, expressing concern and confusion at once.

"You have problems, man," Kurt said.

"Kurt!" I gasped. As I tried to sit up, I felt sharp pain. With a grunt, I lay down again.

"That would be the kink in your back, not the bruising. I'm surprised you could sleep in the position you were in." The massive red pony stretched his neck, emitting subtle popping sounds. "Although it does beg two questions: Why were you there at all, and how do you know my name?"

"I've been looking for you," I replied.

Kurt rose from his imposing sitting position to a downright fear-inducing stance. "Was it Celestia who sent you? Luna? Baton?"

"What?" I stammered.

"I'm not going back there," Kurt hurridly chanted to himself. "I won't go anywhere."

I stared at Kurt in disbelief. This was the guy I was told would know the key to happiness. What was this pony talking about? "No," the architect replied.

"I can't go back. I won't go back," he chanted.

"I said 'no', Kurt," I said.

"How do you know me anyway? Have you met Kaia?" Kurt rushed up to my face. Our snouts were mere inches away from each other. I could clearly see that Kurt himself hadn't had much sleep himself. Raccoon eyes as well. "How is she?"

"I saw you in a dream," I finally confessed in an effort to stop the big pony from rambling on.

"A what?" He asked.

"A dream," I repeated, "You know about freedom. What are the secrets to freedom?"

Kurt blinked, and then blinked again. The massive horse backed away and sat down on the opposite side of the room.

"Strange," Kurt said.

"What?" I asked.

"I was told the same thing."

Silence filled the room, giving me a chance to examine it. Simplistic design, only possible for a pony who was able to work with bare-minimum materials and bare-minimum quality tools. It was clearly the work of an amateur.

Despite that, I had to admire that there was no leaning. The house stood perfectly straight by itself. The problem was that it was not built to last. I gave it until next spring before the house became a real bad case of "a fixer-upper."

The only picture frames on the walls were store-bought, and had old pictures that appeared to be charred along some edges. The pictures were of ponies I had never met before- except for one picture, with Kaia, a younger-looking Kurt, and an even younger colt between the two.

Aside from the bed and table, the furniture was crap. The dresser was loose and uneven, and there was no plumbing. "I'll be honest," I said, "This place is a dump."

"I never liked those fancy buildings in Canterlot myself," Kurt replied, the first words from his mouth since his own reveal of secrets. "What was your dream like?" He asked.

I described the dream in as best detail as I could. I even produced the drawing, now smudged from being stuffed in my mane for so long.

Kurt slowly nodded as I described the open wasteland, and the spotlights beyond the mountains, and being chained to the statue. He then began to describe his own dream.

"I dreamed I was a pegasus," he began, "The wings felt weird to me, but it allowed me to try what I wanted to try. I flew up, and just... went wild. Twists and turns, flying low, flying high. I passed over houses, watched as little fillies and colts looked up at me and waved. I waved back," Kurt huffed and grew a smile onto his face like a warm mustache.

The smile vanished as quickly as it came. "I flew higher and higher, and somehow I could breathe beyond the atmosphere. I flew to the stars."

Wall didn't care to mention that space was empty, and thus air-pushing flight would be impossible. This was a dream, after all.

"Celestia appeared, with Luna, mum and dad," Kurt continued, "They wanted me to come back."

"What did you do?" Wall asked.

"I kept going," Kurt replied, "I didn't want anything to do with them anymore."

"That's freedom?" I said, "That's happiness? Being a pegasus."

"No," Kurt replied, "That's not what I figured. Freedom, to me, is isolation from nature."

Stupid idea from a meathead. I was grateful for his ability to get me back on my hooves, but that idea was still stupid. That's why I planned to leave and continue to Stalliongrad soon after I got better.

"That being said," he continued as he massaged my knotted-up muscle back to normal, "It really doesn't exist. Not even the Sisters are free. Not even Kurgan."

"As for happiness, it's whatever you make it out to be."

He saw me off, obviously not really caring about my well-being. I didn't want him to. His information was downright useless to me. I knew that happiness was whatever you made it out to be, which basically confirms that those scissors are the key.

They were the key. Scissors, of all things. Heh heh...

I looked back to see Kurt kick a tree in half, probably for firewood. That guy had some pretty crazy strength. Crazier than you think I am.

Then I was in Stalliongrad. You have the report. You already know I entered the Builder's Guild building and met a pony with plans. That pony was the mayor of Stalliongrad. Powerful pony in a place that was far away from Canterlot.

Stallios, what a handsome colt he was. Pressed suit jacket with a tail that reached across his dark gray hide. Sharp glasses, white mane combed back and all that crap. He was my age, but you probably already knew that. After all, you read the profiles. I don't even know why I describe anypony anymore.

He had plans: a massive multi-purpose tower that could see and be seen for miles. Considering Stalliongrad's history, it would’ve be advantageous to have a tower that could see the rare invaders coming. At the same time, the building should also be imposing, while also promoting a good lifestyle.

We exchanged words, and he gave me temporary living quarters and a blank cheque. I remember the last words he said on the first night in Stalliongrad.

"You'll find that being a god can be much fun."

The entire center of Stalliongrad was cleared out of old, inefficient buildings, and all citizens were put in their own temporary living spaces until the tower was complete. In which case, they got first dibs when moving in.

Fair stuff, I thought. The drawings were done. I poured every drop of knowledge I had into this project. So many orders of those levitation bricks. So many bricks.

This was a blank cheque. I didn't know how Stallios could afford it all, but I didn't care. I was lost in a trance. That trance I had whenever I was working.

I was back to normal, in a way... 'Cept this time, I've had sleep. This feeling of working again after doing nothing for over a week... I felt good. I never dreamed again, because I never slept again. I had work to do.

Honestly, you wouldn’t know the feeling unless you were even there.

The tree-like structure was massive, all metal, all secure. It would take the efforts of the Gods to fell such a magnificent building. Roots reaching hundreds of miles down, branches reaching across the city, magically-imbued to never falter, never fall.

The metropolitan juggernaut of Stalliongrad looked akin to a well-spread city, built under the shade and protection of Yggdrasil itself. A colossal tree of steel, wood, and tremendous amounts of rune-imbued stones. It was a massive collection of homes and shops, spanning over the entirety of downtown Stalliongrad. Multiple gardens on every edge more than replaced the single city park in the center of the North City of Equestria.

With three more trees of similar design, I could've given Stalliongrad an entire second level of city.

I was proud of it, man. My magnum opus took a baffling two years to complete. That blank cheque, all the available ponies and resources. Stallios did a good job overseeing operations and making sure I didn't get limited beyond the rules of the universe.

Speaking of whom, the old goat himself approached me as I trotted through one of the many gardens of this... humongous, beautiful metal tree. "Well done, Wall."

"I've got to do better," I muttered. I could've done better. I could've done more. Blank check aside, this tree needed more polish, some nearby buildings removed so I could add a better finish. It'd take another 15 years to get more trees build, and the required wood finish in place, fused together and preserved. I had more that I could do, but they told me it was enough.

"Don't tell yourself that," Stallios retorted, "Nothing can compare to this masterpiece."

I sighed. If that were true, I wouldn't have wanted to make a forest.

"Come on, I've still yet to pay you," Stallios beckoned.

There was nopony else around. I should have expected the black sack thrown over my face... but I didn't. I didn't expect anything after that. After a while of forced movement, the sack was thrown off, and blinding light flooded into the rods and cones in the backs of my eyes.

"I'm sorry, Wall. I don't want you making something better," Stallios' false-sounding regret reached my ears.

You got the report. You should know what happened next. I saw that flickering shine of the corkscrew.

That pain... Hhhh... You wouldn't understand the feeling of having something penetrate the membrane that sealed my iris. The fluids flowed out, all over my cheeks, down my neck. I was conscious for only a few seconds from there.

My eyes... They took my eyes... They took my prized gifts from my mother and father. Gifts Celestia Herself endorsed. With my eyes, I could see what I draw... and now they're gone... All because of the ego of somepony I don't really know.

To hell with egos...

The subconscious theatre was all I have left... and nothing was playing. No ill-timed comedies, no tragedies, no dramas...

Winter... I see Winter... Why did she have to be not real? I... I miss her... I wanted to meet her for real... I wanted to see something lovely for real, fall in love, live for the moment... I'm thirty-seven now... I should have settled down years ago. I could have avoided getting my eyes forcefully plucked from the sockets. I could have avoided building a giant steel tree...

"A good mess we've gotten ourselves into," Winter's voice echoed in my head amongst the pain of the missing eyes.

"Indeed," I replied, feeling the ground before sitting down on what felt like soft grass. For some reason, I didn't feel thankful that she appeared for the first time in years.

"You already know what this all means, right?" Winter asked.

"It means I can't work anymore," I replied, "I can't draw, let alone design... or build... Can you get me to Kurt's place?"

"I'm a figment of your imagination, Wall. I can't help you."

"Where am I?"

"I know as much as you. Pay attention to the ground. You're in a grassy field. There aren't even distant voices, or humming electronics. If I had to guess, you're somewhere outside of Stalliongrad."

She turned out to be right. Logic was a nice thing, you see.

"Hello?" I called aloud.

A few minutes passed, and I called again. This didn't seem to get my blinded ass anywhere, so I stood up and sniffed the air. It was clean, no trace of manure or machinery.

Instead, I tried to determine the wind direction, using the knowledge I applied to building the tree. "Stalliongrad's in a Westerly wind area... so that would mean this way's North..." I turned, but stumbled on account of inexperience of trotting blind. "Damn..."

"Hello?" called a distant voice- it was Kurt. Of all ponies, it just happened to be Kurt.

"Kurt?" I called.

Heavy galloping approached, followed by sudden brakes and some whispered words I didn't catch, but assumed were a different language. "What happened?" Kurt asked.

"I'm free, Kurt," I babbled.

"There's blood on your cheeks. Did... did somepony do what I think they did?"

"I can't design or work anymore," I giggled, "I'm free from the torment of trying hard for unachievable things."

"No... No no no, this isn't what I meant at all," Kurt muttered as he hoisted me onto his back. "For Celestia's sakes... What did you get yourself into?"

My face numbed from pain as salty tears spilled out. I laughed, and then Kurt pulled me in front again and slapped me across the noggin. "Focus!" the burly red one shouted.

I fell unconscious once more. That was one powerful hoof Kurt had.

I then saw things clearly. The subconscious theatre was my key to happiness. Whatever I crave and desire, I see in metaphor and symbols. I feel good about my immense intellect if I can determine the meaning behind it all.

Yggdrasil. That was the tree I had been drawing repeatedly. I drew many trees- all of them different and strange. I used the one I drew that one night after my ninth spire. I used that one as the base for the World Tree I built.

From that point, I knew what happiness was- No, what it is! Having something fun to do! Fun! FUN!

To live... is to live.

I told myself this as I looked in a mirror. I stood on top of my magnum opus tree, able to see out for hundreds of miles. Canterlot was barely visible on the horizon.

I was in the stratosphere, isolated. Nopony was around.

Then came the eyes. I looked at them. They were staring at the tree I had constructed, and it began to crumble.

Stalliongrad was crushed under the falling chunks, but many remained standing. The entire canopy split into many pieces, but remained floating.

The eyes shot its glance up at me. I laughed.

Suddenly sapped of power, the bloodshot eyes fell to the ground, and were ravaged by a massive sea of black vines snaking between the ruined and intact buildings of Stalliongrad.

The vines began to spread across Equestria, covering everything. I remained atop my floating metal piece, far above the world.

Equestria crumbled to dust, and there was nothing I could do. I didn't want to. I mean... what could I do? Jump in? What would a stupid action like that even do to a massive world-eating thing?

The pieces began to rise higher and higher. The blue world shrank, and vanished into darkness. I continued floating in space. The floating pieces seemed to know which way to go.

I was free. I was happy.

I wanted my eyes back...

Now you know the rest. Kurt brought me to Canterlot, He didn't need to, but he did. He risked his isolated lifestyle to make sure I didn't die in the middle of nowhere.

He was right, though. Happiness is a facade. It's only what you make it out to be. One life to live and all that. It is merely what you make it out to be.

I'm not crazy. I shouldn't be in this cell, in this asylum. I just evolved mentally and emotionally. I'm not saying it because I'm trying to dignify it. I'm a graduate of the University of Canterlot. I should have the ability to mentally step away from something and understand it.

Anyway, thanks for listening, Doctor...

"No problem, Mr. Wall." the doctor said.

I smiled, knowing it was good to hear a real voice. I then said, "Tell mum and dad I'm sorry."

"You can tell them yourself if I word my report correctly," she replied.

"No," I muttered, "I can't see them like this."

"Last I heard, the eggheads in the Baltimare Hospital are making some breakthroughs in eye surgery. Maybe we could get you a new set and get you back on your hooves, back to drawing."

"Nah," I replied, feeling the wall of my 9-by-9 cell, "Breakthroughs always have flaws to iron out."

As the doctor's hoofprints faded into the distant corridor outside the cell door, I added under my breath "I kind of like it here".

I felt my way near the door and got down to eating the rather well-prepared meal. The texture and taste told me it was simple grass. Not crispy, so I assumed they were fresh. It rather surprised me how much care these ponies put into feeding those who really aren't contributing to society due to physical or mental incapability.

I wondered where Kurt was. He wasn't around when I came to on the stretcher, approaching the asylum from an emergency carriage.

Doc and Cross hadn't written. They probably didn't know I even came back.

My friends continued the course, unaware that Equestria was falling apart, and Stallios took my pride.

I should have gone out for some salt with the guy. I probably could have identified his personality, and figure out the guy wanted something powerful to represent himself.

No... this regret isn't me. I don't have regrets, aside from one...

I wanted that tree felled.

Winter's visage appeared before my eyes... My subconscious eyes, that is.

"Hey," she said.

"You don't exist," I immediately replied, trying to turn away.

"This isn't what you want, Wall."

"You're right. I want the Guard to crack down on Stallios and I want Yggdrasil torn down."

Winter nodded. "For now, we can't do anything."

"You're a figment, and I'm here, slowly dying..."

"Not exactly," She said.

"What?"

"Goodbye, Wall. Next we meet, you'll be free."

I said nothing. Instead, I glanced among the beautiful forests my mind conjured. I awaited the time when the visions finally ceased forever. A short, meaningless life, but I left immensely impressive things behind.

Who was I kidding? Nothing could break down those spires, not while ponies had use for them. They can’t be brought down and buried completely. My legacy will survive several thousand lifetimes.

Regrets aside, I was happy. Though I knew I could do more than the massive tree, I was happy.

THE END

No, this can’t be right. We can’t have this at all. Looks like I need to make a move for the first time in years...