Blade

Dashclad walked through the halls of Ponyville hospital. The fluorescent lights above were flickering and the air wreaked of cleaning agents and latex. The only sounds she could hear were either of her or the lights humming. She was slow, and her hoofsteps drug along the linoleum as she made her way to room eight-dash-five. Butterflies panicked in her churning stomach and her sunken heart was far too recessed into its own hole, dug by her guilt. When she reached room eight-dash-five, she stopped and put her ear to its door. She found that there was a faint sniffling going about on the other side, making her want to open it even less.

After a deep but broken sigh, she opened the door anyway.

There were around six or seven beds in the room, three to a side, but only one of them had a patient in it. On their bedside was a bouquet of flowers with some colorful note nearby. Dashclad couldn’t read, and even if she did, she could neither see it from her distance, nor care about what it said. What hurt her most about being in the room was that she knew the patient. Dashclad looked at the small plastic label on the wall.

Room 8-5: Dara “Derpy” J. Hooves

Dashclad turned back to the occupied bed and was only able to see her friend’s legs popping out from under the bed’s blanket. The rest of Derpy’s body was obstructed from her view by another pony lurched over her and twitching occasionally. It was a stallion; light-brown coat and black hair. He was crying, but not loud enough to be heard without listening.

Dash reluctantly approached the bed and hesitated to speak.

“Hey…” she finally mumbled.

The young stallion looked over his shoulder. His eyes were red and his cheeks were stained with dark streaks starting out of the corners of his eyes. He sniffed loudly and tried his best to smile when he looked to see who had greeted him.

“Oh.” He emoted hopefully. “Hi, Dash. I’m glad you came to see us.”

“Is she up?”

“Oh. No. They put her under with some of the-“

The stallion’s sentence ended abruptly by a violent twitch that made him squint one of his eyes forcefully and clench his teeth as he made a “Keethk~!!!”

Dash flinched, startled.

“Are you alright?”

The stallion motioned for her to stay back.

“I’m fine. Please. Don’t worry about me. You’re the one recovering.”

“Don’t be stupid. You know I owe you two everything.” Dash said seriously.

“You don’t owe us anything, Dash. It’s all part of being a good neighbor. Really.”

“Well fuck that! Just look at her!” She shouted spontaniously.

The stallion was silent. He turned back to the pony in the bed. His green eyes were still when he looked at her. The only noise heard was the beeping of the electrocardiograph. Dashclad heard the stallion let out a sharp sigh before he broke down. His crying was deep and quiet. It was from the pit of his soul.

“It’s times like this that make me wonder.” He got through. “Why to her, Dash?”

He tried to calm himself down so that his words were easier to understand.

“Why her? She so wonderful. She’s never done anypony in the world any harm. Why her!?”

Dash didn’t have an answer. So, she didn’t say anything.

“I mean…” He tried to calm down again. “God is supposed to love us. She’s supposed to bring good will to those who serve. All my beautiful Dara’s ever done is just be loving and caring to everypony, but she gets s-“

The stallion twitched again. This time it was so powerful that he was shaken out of his seat. Dashclad acted on instinct, lunging forward and catching him just before he hit the floor.

“Are you alright!?”

The light-colored colt was panting. “Yes.” He gasped. “Please, Dash. Don’t worry about me.”

“Are you kidding me!?!” She yelled at him. “You almost cracked your head on the floor!”

“I’m fine, Dash. She isn’t.” He returned firmly.

Dash helped him back to his seat. There was another silence for however long it took for the stallion to re-rail his train of thought.

“…But she gets shot…” He moaned. “For no reason. It just happens, these things. We can hardly pay for the rent or food as it is. With her in the hospital and no worker’s compensation, I’ve got to feed us until she gets better.”

He turned back to the bed and stared at the pony in it for a time that made Dash feel uncomfortable. Then he resumed.

“She never has a selfish thought. Not one. Not one… She loves everyone she meets and doesn’t care who they are or what they’ve done…”

He sniffled.

“She’s like an angel.” He managed to say before breaking again.

Dashclad watched. She didn’t want to, but it was hard to look away. She had come to see them, and here they were. And the foulest bit of it all was that it was her fault.

Her fault.

Mizmahl wouldn’t have gone to Ponyville if she had just stayed dazed in the field and gotten her skull blown open that day she got high with Yakko and Ziccane. Three ponies would still be alive, her only friends wouldn’t have to suffer like they were, and she would have just died. Maybe even without any pain.

But it was done. It happened.

“You know…” The stallion mumbled unexpectedly. “At least we’ve got you to support us. You’re such a good friend, coming to visit and all. Dara and I couldn’t be happier that we met you.”

Dashclad’s stomach churned. His ignorance to the truth killed her. She finally got herself to look away, too ashamed to show her face.

“I uh-“ She started. “This is a lot to handle, Cherry. I’ve gotta go…”

“Oh. Well, have a wonderful night, Dash. God bless you for stopping by.” He said with a half-hearted smile.

Dashclad left the room without looking at her friends again. She left the hospital and walked back to the hotel she was staying at (and it didn’t make her feel any better remembering that her two friends had been kind enough to pay for her room). But above all other horrible things clouding her mind at the time, one thing kept coming back; it was all her fault.

Her fault.

Her fault.

Her fault…

The psychiatric ward’s lounge was calmer than Mel had pictured. Not many of the patients were making noise or yelling like he pictured, and there wasn’t a straitjacket in sight, much unlike he’d pictured. It was rather calm actually.

The only thing in the room that unnerved him to any extent was the number of patients staring out the windows at the rain. One of them had her mouth just barely agape, with her eyes fixed, unblinking at the raindrops trickling down the windowsill.

“Mel.”

Lyra broke him out of the trance this particular patient had lured him into, and he turned his head to see what his friend had to say.

“She’s over here.” Lyra said, obviously having a difficult time staying calm.

She led Mel toward the left-back of the room, which had an indoor bench and a short book case on top of a reddish rug. Sitting on the bench, was Rarity Germane. She looked better than when Mel had last seen her, but really anything looked better than her being tied down to a cot with foam running down her cheeks, screaming at the top of her lungs.

Lyra and Mel approached her and sat down on a couch adjacent to the bench.

“Hey, Rarity.” Lyra said to her friend when she turned to see them.

When Rarity smiled, Mel could tell it wasn’t real. He knew she wasn’t alright and it made him hate his own guts for not telling her that she didn’t have to pretend for him.

“Melvin! Lyra! Oh, darlings! I’m so very glad to see you both.” She beamed forcefully.

Despite knowing how unconvincing she was, she still reached out to hug the two of them. When they returned the embrace, she found it increasingly difficult to let go the longer she held onto them. Rarity was in fact very happy to see her friends. Nothing could have been better for her, given the circumstances.

“You’re huggin’ a bit tight, R.” Lyra said honestly.

Rarity replied with a mumble of sorts. Then, she shook. Mel and Lyra couldn’t see, but they could certainly hear that she started crying.

Lyra broke away from the embrace to see if she was stable, but Rarity squealed childishly like she had been startled or frightened. Mel choked when Rarity lunged at Lyra, trying to force her back into the hug.

“No, please don’t stop! No! I don’t want to go back!” She whined.

“What is it, honey?” asked Lyra, surprised.

Rarity responded with a laugh. The laugh was high but weak, quickly turning into a wail. She grasped her friends tighter, burying her wet eyes further and further into Melvin’s shoulder.

“I-I d-dd-don’t even kn-n-now what’s real anymorrrrre...” She sobbed. “I saw us as kids. I saw it w-wwith my own eyes. In the w-woods…the everwh-w-white. It wasn’t real. Oh Celestia, oh Holy god, it wasn’t even real!”

She took her head off Mel’s shoulder and looked at him directly in the eyes. Her eyelids were bloodshot and mascara ran down her cheeks heavily. There was a blankness in her pupils. Melvin didn’t know what it was, but he thought that it was helplessness; the feeling that animals must get when they’re cornered by their predator and dragged down to the ground, nothing in their heads but the swimming panic and horror as they attempt to escape the inevitable torturous end but fail.

“Don’t let me go. I don’t want to go back. I want this to be real. Please…”

Mel waited. He looked over at Lyra, who looked back with an understanding face. The two simultaneously turned back and squeezed Rarity harder.

“This is real. I promise, R.” Lyra comforted.

“You can’t prove it…” Rarity whispered sadly.

Despite this comment, the three friends sat hugging each other for nearly twenty minutes.

It was getting dark. They hadn’t had anything else to do that day anyhow. Melvin had closed the saloon and Lyra was unemployed anyway, so that was good enough for them to take such an opportunity to spend time with the one whom so obviously needed it.

“You’re sure everything is alright here? You didn’t look so happy last time we were over here.” Lyra probed, concerned.

“No, really. Everything is just fine, I promise…”

Rarity looked back at her cup of tea, but didn’t sip. She stared at it somberly.

“Don’t bullshit us, Rarity.” Mel caught. “Is there anything that’s making you uncomfortab-“

“-I have these dreams at night.” Rarity cut. “There’s this mare and she’s just…evil. I don’t know how else to put it, she’s evil and she’s followed by something even worse.”

Rarity sniffed.

“Sorry, it’s a bit hard to even talk about.”

“Don’t worry about it. Don’t ya think it’s a little stupid to think that excuses aren’t worth anything for you?” reassured Lyra.

Rarity laughed nervously, and then cleared her throat.

“This even worse…thing, well…things, plural, come out of the back of her head and starts to eat ponies in the town. After that, it gets bigger and bigger, and it isn’t long before it starts eating everyone.”

“Everyone? Like the world or something?” Mel inquired, muddled.

“I think. I usually wake up right around that part. It’s dark when I wake up and I’m always so scared. I don’t like being alone. The doctors won’t have anyone stay in with me…”

“We’ll stay, R.” Mel said without hesitation.

“What?” She looked up, surprised.

“We’re staying with you for the night. A friend’s always there; through thick and thin and all that jazz.” Lyra agreed, already willing.

Rarity’s eyes shifted from one friend to the other, as if making sure of their sincerity. She started crying. Lyra and Mel leaned in, shocked.

“Oh, what is it, darling? Is there something wrong?”

“Damn it! It’s alright, Rarity. Lyra and me don’t need to stay or nothin’ if ya don’t want.”

“No, no. I’m happy.” She said, looking up and forcing another grin. “I’m touched is all.”

Mel put on a little more sincere smile. “We wouldn’t leave you for anything, R.”

Rarity lunged for the both of them and wrapped them in her arms tightly.

“I love you two so much.”

Lyra closed her eyes. “We love you more, sugar.”

Rarity’s voice changed. She broke away from the hug and looked at Lyra as seriously as she ever had. Lyra leaned back in astonishment.

“No.” She said firmly. “You don’t.”

“W-what?”

“I love you more. I owe you two my life. I probably would have taken that gun to my head and ruined my wallpaper with my brains if I didn’t love you two enough to hold on.”

Everything was dead silent. Nobody had expected anything like that. Rarity held her stare and made sure that Lyra understood her blunt honesty for nearly thirty long, grimly disturbing seconds.

Her thoughts jumped out of the pool in her subconscious mind and punched back in as her lights turned on. When she opened her eyes, the room was very dark.

Pinkamena sat up in her bed and listened, hearing the loud and steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. She turned to her right and opened the drawer in her bedside table blindly, grabbing a box of matches after fumbling several other miscellaneous unseen items and brought them to her lap. Pinkamena opened the box and brought out a single match, then struck it on the strike panel, resulting in the room lighting up in a limited orange glow. It wasn’t enough to see past her comforter though, so she brought the burning match to the candle welded to the bedside table by wax and held it to the wick until it passed on its glory and went out. The room became brighter, just slightly, and was now just visible enough to see everything important.

Pinkamena scanned the room, looking for whatever might have woken her up. She saw the dresser, which had a terrible nightmare crawling all over it.

She groaned, aggravated.

It was just The Voice, playing a stupid prank on her. She ignored the creature and looked out toward the window at the end of the left side of the room. It was closed, and nothing was visible out of it other except blackness. The rest of the room was empty.

Pinkamena sighed and lied back down on her back, closing her eyes.

*Creak*

Pinkamena sprung up and drew a large carving knife from under her pillow in a single swift motion. She silently rolled out of her bed and slowly creped to her door with masterful prowess. Pinkamena waited without breathing, putting her ear to the wall. There was a quiet pitter-patter getting closer to the door. She backed up against the wall opposite to the hinges and raised the knife. Sure enough, the door creaked open and someone entered the room.

Pinkamena came out from behind the door.

“Wrong house!” she said aloud.

Scootaloo turned around too quickly from her fright and tripped on her own hooves, crashing to the wooden floor screaming.

“I’m sorry! I’m sooooorryyyy!!!” she wailed, horrified.

Pinkamena gasped and dropped the knife immediately, which struck the floor with the blade’s tip and made it stand up. Pinkamena got to her knees and helped the squirming filly to her hooves. Scootaloo was frantic.

“I had a nightmare and I-…I just thought it’d be okay if I came up here and…” She didn’t look Pinkamena in the eyes. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, Ms. Pie, I’m so sorry.” She wept.

Pinkamena looked at Scootaloo and once again saw herself. She flashed back to her childhood and her bedroom melted into her parent’s, and she saw herself by her father’s side of the sheets, tears running down her cheeks too.

“But-b-please, daddy!”

Her father’s voice echoed and stung her ears. His words seemed not unlike poison.

“Oh, for Celestia’s sake. Shut you’re goddamn little mouth.” He hissed. “It’s your fucking brainsick. You’re just hearing things cause you’re crazy.”

“Please daddy, please…”

“I will smack you, Pinkamena. I swear to god I will.” He spat.

Pinkamena left the room, still crying, and made her way back to the terrors and darkness in her room. She remembered the fear, the dread that she experienced. It was worst when she was going back to her room, knowing that not only was there no one to protect her, but nobody who cared.

Pinkamena snapped back to the present and saw that little Pinkamena had turned back into Scootaloo. Scootaloo was still visibly upset.

Pinkamena leaned further down, closer to her guest.

“Sure is good you came to me, kid.” Pinkamena whispered.

Scootaloo cocked her head, confused but strangely calmed.

“Monsters won’t come anywhere near me. They’re scared.”

Scootaloo’s frown slowly corrected itself into a grin of amusement. Pinkamena helped her up and headed back to her bed, coaxing Scootaloo to follow. Pinkamena got under the covers and Scootaloo shyly followed. After both were under the covers, Pinkamena looked at the filly, who was obviously quite happy. Scootaloo looked back up and smiled widely.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Pie. I promise I won’t bother you like this again.”

“No.” Pinkamena insisted. “You need to do this more often. You’re lucky, kid. My dad never let me sleep in his bed.”

Scootaloo couldn’t respond. She was obviously very grateful because instead of saying anything more, she threw her arms around Pinkamena and squeezed as hard as she could, closing her eyes. Pinkamena didn’t return it, but she patted the child on the head.

Pinkamena turned to her right and put out the candle, making the room pitch-black once again. She lied down, feeling Scootaloo do the same, and closed her eyes to sleep.

About five minutes later, Pinkamena was about to drift off when Scootaloo turned on her side and sleepily wrapped herself around Pinkamena’s side. Surprised, Pinkamena lifted her head and turned over her shoulder, seeing the filly’s rough shape, her eyes closed and smiling. She was asleep.

Scootaloo mumbled quietly, dreaming.

“I love you, mommy…”

Pinkamena thought for a moment. Then, she smiled and closed her eyes to sleep.