Blade

The walk to the train station was fun, if not giddy. They had started off walking, but somewhere in-between Scootaloo had started skipping. Pinkamena couldn’t help but feel light in her belly at the sight of the happy filly, so she joined in. By the time they arrived, they were laughing with each other, not really knowing why but not caring. After that had subsided, they hopped on the train as quick as it had pulled in and were off to the grand city of Manehattan.

The ride was just as exciting. Hills and trees raced by, steadily becoming more sparse as the world evolved from country to city. They felt open, both environmentally and emotionally. Pinkamena hadn’t tried to contain herself at all. It was a special occasion anyway.

“What are we gonna do when we get there, mom?” Scootaloo asked at some point.

“I booked us a room at a hotel. We can leave our stuff there and look around the city. A nice mare gave me a pamphlet at the post office about places we could see if we wanted.” Pinkamena answered, digging the booklet out of her bag.

Scootaloo reached out, grabbing it and looking through the pages. Though she stopped short.

“What?” Pinkamena asked, getting the book back quicker than she expected.

“I don’t like spoilers. I wanna see all of those things for real, for the first time.”

Pinkamena understood. Now that she had mentioned it, she had wished the same thing herself, almost regretting looking over the pamphlet several times.

The rest of the ride was nothing overtly noteworthy, though internally, the two were having a thrilling party. Exploring new things, some would find a chore simply doing.

The two hopped off of the train, surrounded by hundreds. Scootaloo had never seen a crowd so dense. Pegasi flying in and out to wherever they may go, troves of business ponies flooding out of other trains.

Scootaloo held Pinkamena’s hoof through the crowd, but didn’t let go even when they had found the clear. Pinkamena made note of it, but said nothing. It was a silent agreement, saving themselves the embarrassment of having to explain their feelings to each other. They didn’t need to say anything anyway. They knew. It was a waste of their time.

“So, this is where all of the donkeys and cows and griffins came in from?” she inquired in wonder.

Pinkamena pulled out the pamphlet to find the matching picture of the enormous monument they stood in front of. Finding it, she read the box of text to the side.

“Looks like it. At least a whole lot of them.”

She had done this a couple times since they had begun their sight-seeing journey. The city was much bigger than either of them had suspected. They had planned to walk everywhere but they were exhausted by the time they had reached their third destination. So they had hailed cabs since.

They stood beside their latest cab, meter still running, taking in the sight of what the pamphlet called “The Statue of Liberty Lands”; apparently a monument to a mare called “Liberty Lands”, who helped thousands take citizenship in Equestria some good years back when the city was just a town.

Pinkamena was unimpressed by all of the statues and buildings. They had meant something a long time ago she understood, but that didn’t ring to her somehow. She didn’t look at any of the sights for long, but she did look at Scootaloo. She’d stare and wait for her to smile or start skipping or running. It felt nice to make her happy.

There was nothing selfish about it. It was a pure feeling. This was what must have driven The Voice away. Purity; making others happy, gaining nothing yourself.

They had seen nine statues, four buildings, and six monuments. Pinkamena was exhausted. Scootaloo, burned out by the sensory and emotional overload was already asleep. After it had gotten dark, it wasn’t much longer before Scootaloo started drifting off in the cab. She’d only wake up for the destinations, missing all of the sights on the way. Eventually, they had called it a night and Pinkamena had let her ride on her back.

Now, as she walked steadily back to the hotel (having run out of money for cabs), she felt the slow rise and fall of the filly’s chest as she snored cutely into her ear. Occasionally, she would unconsciously hug Pinkamena’s neck like a teddy bear.

Pinkamena felt happy. There was no shadow of pain or depression. This was a good time. The child’s innocence radiated, making her care very, very much about her safety.

As they approached the door, Pinkamena looked over her shoulder and stopped to pat the child’s head when she felt a bash and was knocked aside.

Scootaloo would have fallen off and onto the ground if not for Pinkamena’s reflexes. She caught the child in a brief panic, eyes wide and awake. Rage boiled up, realizing that this was someone’s fault. She whipped her head back in a glare.

The pony she saw was a pegasus; yellow coat, pink flowing mane. She appeared knocked away by the blow as well. Regaining her bearings, she locked eyes with Pinkamena. The glare stabbed her. She looked and saw the sleeping child and the pony she had thrown a-fluster. She gasped, putting the puzzle together in her head.

“Oh my goodness!” she said earnestly. “I’m so, so, so, so, sorry!”

“Watch where you’re going! She could’ve hit her head!” Pinkamena hissed under her breath.

“I’m sorry! I really mean it!” the pegasus reasoned, now matching Pinkamena’s volume.

“What are you in such a hurry for?”

The yellow girl looked to her saddlebag, then looked back submissively. “N-nothing. I’m just- I’m so sorry.” She begged.

Pinkamena let up when she recognized the look. The girl wore makeup (poorly), covering up bruises. She didn’t meet Pinkamena’s eyes entirely, almost like it hurt, anticipating the chance to look away. She kept her hooves away from anything but herself and her tail was lightly tucked. The girl was weak. She was sorry alright, sorry to have burdened anyone with her existence.

Pinkamena frowned and sighed, placing Scootaloo back on her shoulder.

“It’s alright. I’m sorry.” She said simply.

The girl was near her age, maybe a year or so older. Pinkamena had been like her when she was about ten. If she was this old without having changed, she never would. Pinkamena had no business with strangers anyway. Why bother helping what was so far gone?

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you, it was an accident.”

She began to enter the lobby. “Have a nice night.”

The pegasus was astounded by the turn-around, having worked herself up for a longer conflict. It took her a few seconds before stuttering a reply, almost too late. “Oh. Uh-…y-you too!” she squeaked.

Pinkamena nodded quickly behind her shoulder, moving toward the elevators.

The girl waited until the mare was out of sight before she entered the hotel herself. She didn’t say anything to the clerk except for a quick and quiet ‘thank you’ after simply handing him her reservation receipt and receiving the key to her room.

Pinkamena set Scootaloo in the left half of the queen sized bed in their room and planted herself in the other, turning out the lights and going to bed with minimal pillow-thoughts. She didn’t know what happened only three doors down later that night and never did. Nobody did really, because it happened all the time.

Fluttershy checked into her room, still a bit shaken about the encounter with the mare outside the lobby. She looked around the room, luxurious and clean. She suddenly thought about the turmoil she’d cause for whatever nice janitor she was going to trouble. That was her, always causing trouble, always weighing everyone down. Worthless, good-for-nothing Fluttershy.

She placed her saddlebags down by the bed, making sure not to disrupt the perfectly made and adjusted sheets. She appreciated a nicely made bed and knew the work that went into it. She had selfishly taken advantage of such a luxury until Lars had beaten it into her thick skull. After that, she was the best bed-maker she knew.

That was a selfish thought. Prideful too. Pride was a sin. She was a sinner, always had been. Her father knew what he said and meant it too. She wouldn’t question the knowledge of a god-fearing military pony, let alone her own father.

She thought too much. She wasn’t a good thinker. She couldn’t think of one time an idea of hers had turned out well. A nice husband was what she needed. He’d do all the thinking for her.

Lars would have been a good contender if he hadn’t been crushed to death at work. Maybe Garret would have been the right husband too if he hadn’t been hauled away by the police.

That was her fault. She had called them when Garret got angry at the dinner she made. It was a moment of weakness. She was too afraid to think about what she was doing. Garret loved her. She knew because he had promised. He just needed to ‘learn her good’ sometimes as he’d say. Perhaps Swisher was the right man for her. He would give the best advice.

Shut up, you talk too much.

It was true. She had nothing to say anyway.

If you had a brain, you’d get it in through that sissy little noggin that you should stop trying!

She did try too hard. Swisher didn’t need a partner; he needed someone to humbly serve him. She was too bold in that realm. She needed to let him win the bread.

Why don’t you just fucking kill yourself!? You pathetic slut!

She hadn’t done anything right in a long time and she did sometimes find herself thinking about a boy who wouldn’t teach lessons so hard.

Swisher was out with his friends for a few days, so she got her money and went to Manehattan. That was far away enough. He wouldn’t be able to get mad at her in time if she was this far away. She spent the money booking the room and spent the change on some supplies at a hardware store and a pharmacy. She didn’t think of it as much of a big deal outside of her own perspective. It happened all the time.

Carefully, as not to mess up the bed, she fished the contents of her saddlebags out and onto the floor. Picking it up, she looked at the bottle of aspirin. On the side it read “do not exceed more than 6 tablets in one day”. Feeling dirty and sinful, she downed seven tablets with a glass of water she ran from the bathroom’s sink.

She didn’t feel much different, so she waited patiently for a good ten minutes. She thought a lot during that time. She wished she could just turn off her brain and take orders instead of burdening everyone she met with her clumsiness and stupid ideas.

Wouldn’t be much longer before she couldn’t do either. That soothed her a little.

She thought about how angry Swisher would be when he found out she had left. She didn’t like making him angry. He didn’t need to be angry. He worked so hard and she’d always find a way to muck it up.

Then she thought about how rotten selfish she was. Going through all this trouble, almost injuring that child and angering her mother.

Her father sometimes called her ‘the little hive-whacker’. Looking back, she realized that he was dead accurate. Why shouldn’t he be? Father knows best.

Wanting to be done with thinking, she got to work one of the ropes, counting the twists and making sure the loop was on the right side, just like in Swisher’s knot-tying book he had kept from scouts as a boy. That was sweet she thought. She hadn’t kept anything from her childhood except for some scars and some bad memories. What kind of failure doesn’t have one good thing to remember about their upbringing? A perfect one. She was the perfect failure.

She tied a good noose though, she found. Satisfied, she flew up to the roof and carefully tied the other end around one of the rafters. Overlooking her good work, she smiled. So far so good. Maybe she wouldn’t screw this up. It was pretty important, after all.

Now feeling a little bit better, she took the other rope and fashioned a knot in it after tightly fitting it around her wings. She tested it, and sighed in relief when she could not move them. Wouldn’t want to chicken out at the very last second.

Smiling, she grabbed a chair by the window, positioned it under the first rope, and stood on it, grabbing the rather neat noose. Looking through the hole she could almost see the brighter saturation of a world without her. She was doing a favor to everyone. Swisher, her father, that mare she bothered in the lobby, and so on. To do something for others without gaining anything for yourself. That was no sin. It was pure.

“Oh!” she cooed.

She had noticed the bottle of aspirin on the ground.

“It’d be such a shame to waste.” She reasoned.

She reached down and picked it up, pouring the other sixty tablets into her mouth. She grabbed the glass of water and poked her head through the noose. After that, she washed the pills down with the rest of the water, opening her throat like Lars had taught her for what he called ‘sexytime’. She smiled again, remembering how that was the one thing Lars never got angry about. She didn’t like it much during, but it was always so nice to see him smiling while she looked up at him.

“Sorry, chair.” She said, hoping it wouldn’t break when it fell, and kicked the chair from under her.

By reflex, her wings tried to spring open and save her, but the struggle was meaningless. The pills were probably helping, because she didn’t feel as scared as she thought she would. Pressure built in her head and her body shook, but she was thinking pleasant thoughts. Her belly hurt from the swallowing, but she was glad she didn’t waste.

A snowstorm crept into her peripherals, slowly swallowing her vision into a final winter. Her eyes rolled back, pushed by the pressure in her head. Her tongue fell out of her mouth when her throat wanted to cough, but she only uttered a few wet and short hacks.

The lack of blood to her brain kept her from all those sinful thoughts and she felt wonderful. Her face vibrated to a jolly jig and her belly tickled sweetly. Her voice rattled, but she had meant to laugh.

Then, like a color television screen, her thoughts burst into a white glow and just as soon shrunk into a little white dot, then faded away with nothing but a statically charged screen as her throat let loose its last.

With her limbs limp and her goofy smile wide, Fluttershy died.

She got thrown into a morgue about fourteen hours later. Nobody really cared. Because it happened all the time.

Something snapped, and the connection was severed. The two twins drifted away with no overlap to keep them in place. She had been split off once again, sighing in grief.

The zebra had awoken in her hut, rattled and tired. She knew the feeling, not upset, but disappointed that there was nothing she could have done. She got up and muttered something to herself in her language of another world.

The final nail had been hammered into place. There was no likeness to the original realm any longer. Her omnipresence suffered a little every time this happened.

A curse? Maybe. Though she knew that it was an important task. None other in maybe even the whole totality of this world could handle. To keep worlds from slipping away from their template, it was quite the task.

It was somewhat comforting this time, however; knowing it was beyond her reach. She could not have prevented it she would tell herself. It was much less painful then.

So the zebra packed her things and left her hut, traveling from the Everfree to the sea, and then rafting to another place, now looking for a place to settle down in this new world. Perhaps for a purpose in place of the old one, now moot and hopeless.

She traveled out of this story, no longer having a place in this new world, now an antithesis of the old. It was pure now, in its deviation. Sadly, there was nothing left to reflect the old world that could have been.