She's Always Waiting for Me
The last funeral of the day makes me nervous. Just waiting for the families and friends of the departed to leave the site, hugging each other in their arms. It's a sad moment for them, but for me... well, it's a moment of anticipation.
Pastor comes and pats my shoulder, letting me know that I can begin filling in the grave. It's a soft, but firm touch he gives every time he passes me. Such an old pony, but his faith keeps him from letting go from the mortal plane just yet. I give my ceremonial nod to him and lift the shovel with my magic, slowly digging into the upturned earth and placing it into the hole.
I keep myself from looking at the children that stare at my pale skin and thin form. It always hurts to hear their words of 'freak' or 'ghost'. What's even worse, is that I have to hear the words of parents try to convince them that I'm just as normal as any other pony.
But, this is the last funeral of the day. Hurtful words and long stares never deter me from the image of the mare that waits for me. I stop digging to wipe sweat from my eyes and lean against the shovel. My eyes shut to keep the visage of her in my head just a moment longer. So sweet, so gentle, so kind.
Opening my eyes again, I finish the job, flattening the dirt. I remove the paddy cap from my head and place it to my heart, saying a quiet prayer to this unknown pony.
"The righteous perish, and no one ponders it in his heart; devout ponies are taken away, and no one understands that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil. Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death."
I place the cap on my head and leave the site, shovel over my back. My home is not far from the graveyard, being a simple shack at the farthest end of the property. Like all homes, it could look better.
New siding, new door, new roof... yeah, it needs a lot of work. It's mine, however, so why should I complain? Just like the girl that awaits me inside.
I enter and place my shovel to the side, before looking at her and opening my arms into a hug and take her in it. She smells so wonderful and yet, so disgusting. Such an enigma that makes me long for her more.
"I've missed you, my little Patchwork," I coo in her drooping ear. She seems so tired, her face just hanging in place. I know how to cheer her up, because I had the right gift for her sorrowful state. "I have some fresh linens and string for you," I chuckle, revealing my basket and placing it at her hooves.
She doesn't react, but I know she's leaping for joy inside.
"Come on," I encourage, "I'll help you with your project tonight."
She lets me continue on my offer as I begin to place the linen on her and produce a needle. I smile and begin to work, sewing into the skin of the coat that is on her. "This color looks good on you, doesn't it?" I ask politely, not wanting to offend her if she disagrees.
She doesn't.
I continue to work, finally finishing the work as I cut the string after knotting it. The patch looks so nice on her, and adds another layer of complexity to her already growing layers.
I look into her blue and green eyes and kiss her. She offers no resistance and lets me continue on before I pull back and grin.
"You know," I whisper to her, bringing my teeth to her perked ear of interest. "We haven't danced for a week."
We clasp hooves together and begin to dance around the small confinement of the shed. By Celestia, it's magic every time we move together. She knows me just as much as I know her. I want to bring her to the bed and just ravage her, but I'm too gentlemanly to just act on instinct. I only act when she consents.
We finally stop and I move to the stove, going to cook for us. I leave her to continue her sewing and begin to boil the water in the kettle for a nice bit of soup. I occasionally glance back at her and remark at the simplistic nature she exudes, despite the complex sewing that she does.
With the water heated just right, I begin to drop the meat and vegetables inside. A few stirs of the ladle mixes them all and makes the steam rise up quickly. The look and smell seems... wrong. I watch the water as it boils everything and blink my eyes a few times before realizing that I had yet to add the spices. Chuckling at the simple mistake, I move past my girlfriend, giving me a chance to run a hoof across her mane.
I shiver in self-satisfaction, taking in the feeling of every bump, every silken strand, every curl. I see no reaction by her, but I can picture the smile that crosses her face as she continues to sew herself together.
Taking a few spices, I move in front of her and accent the movement of my body to appease her own needs. After all, in every relationship there has to be a give and take.
Splashing in the spices, I give the water another stir and extinguish the fire. I'll let the soup cool down a fair bit before we eat.
Setting up the table and stools, I keep looking to her, still busily trying to cover any red cuts that have appeared. She works so hard, and I love it. Should this be the day I ask her to marry? No. She's adamant to follow the law and will not let me show her to the world. Her very existence is an affront to the law, and she's not willing to break any rules.
Not yet, anyway.
With the soup ready, I set the bowls on the table and pour some for each of us. She finishes her final patch and moves to the table. She looks so much better than when I had entered home. Candlelight and the incense that now burns adds so much more to the night.
I eat the soup as she sits, shyly staring at me as she slumps forward. I smirk and ask, "Shall I feed my missus?"
She doesn't respond, but continues to coyly stare, almost daring me to follow through with my challenge.
Setting my own spoon down, I fill her spoon up with the broth and beef. Putting the spoon to her plumped lips, she keeps it shut. I can hear her stifled giggles in my ear, and it makes me giggle just as well. I set the spoon back into the bowl and lift my hooves up in defeat.
She picks herself up from the table and moves to the bed, prompting me to ready myself for sleep.
I move to the mirror and check the chin for any stray hairs and promptly shave them off with a knife. A simple brush of the teeth with his toothbrush, a simple comb through his hair. I was truly plain and uninteresting as I continued to stare at myself.
Then, I see her posed for me on the bed, waiting for me to finish up. For me.
I move away from the mirror and make myself comfortable on the bed with her cold body right beside me. I kiss the side of her face and hug her close before shutting my eyes.
I love every square of my Patchwork.
Author's Note
If you want to listen to the song, here's a link - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J7WmGQ_VemU
"How are you, Patchwork?" I ask, feeling the morning outside call out for me to awaken.
I always hope to catch her awake, but its always so early. I know it's greedy of me to expect her to open those sweet eyes of hers to look into mine, but I lead such a hard life and she, being a housemare, has so much to care for. Giving a kiss to her head, I pick myself up from the bed and stretch out. The soup from last night seems edible, though it may need some added water and a bit of fire underneath it.
Moving the pot to the stove, I add the water and light the stove. Today was collection day, so making sure I get as much strength in my body is needed. I look to Patchwork and sigh in contentment. Such a wonderful mare for a stallion like me. Never argumentative, always open for something different happening in her life. I don't know if such a perfect creature should be with me, but I still see her in this shed every night.
I begin to boil another pot of water and produce a sponge to wash away the dirt and grime from last night. Looking over to the mare of my dreams, I muster the courage to try and shake the sleeping monster from the bed. She remains still, despite my efforts, but her eyes now look to me in a pleading way.
"It's time to wake up," I softly whisper to her, lifting the sponge from the water with my magic.
She stirs and sits up, letting me see her in her bare wonder. I feel the stir within me, wanting to take the next step and make her mine forever and ever. Still, I hold back the urge and press the sponge to her soft and tender skin. She needs so much care, and she trusts me with every thing I do with her.
"What shall I get for you tonight, I wonder?" I ask to myself, not wanting to reveal the surprise that I would plan for her.. She has been telling me that one of her legs feels sore, perhaps something to remedy her pains will suit me for a gift to my lady.
Placing the cap on my head and putting the shovel to my back, I open the door gently. Along with collection day, comes the paycheck from the graveyard owners. It is a day to be glad, and I put the smile on my face.
The journey from the home to the entrance of the graveyard is a winding path, crossing many a stone and wooden marker with names of the fallen and long gone. I wave to some; knowing that though they may not see under the dirt, they feel my presence as I walk near them. Others, I feel a sense of hatred and anger, making me stop and look to them. I bow my head and place a hoof to my heart, knowing that stealing from them was something that was a disservice to them.
My moment passes and I move on. If they were to truly take their vengeance on me, then so be it. I've taken the scorn and fury of spiteful ponies as I grew, and I am unafraid to be despised and ignored once again.
Soon, I reach the entrance, the owners waiting for me with their list of the incoming guests, as they call them, to the grave site.
The gentlemanly earth pony, Richest Treasures, retired adventurer and wealthy stallion gives a tip of his top hat to me. "Pale, we have a lot of guests coming in for today."
"Nothing that I cannot handle," I respond, bringing the trusted shovel from my back and placing it in front of me as I lean against it. "Is the number 20? 30? 50? It matters not, for I am strong in my young age and my back remains sturdy."
The mare beside Richest, gives him a glare. She is much younger than the stallion, no doubt a mare only out for his money and power. It pains me to see the old stallion not understand that his love will not penetrate the heart of this cold woman. Her name is Gold Digger, and she exemplifies all that is wrong with the present times. No true talent, no faith in herself, only in her words and nubile body.
The old stallion laughs his hearty laugh and refocuses on me. "We expect only 7 today," Richest explains. "Though, if we were to get those numbers, then we'd surely need to raise your pay!" He reaches into his coat pocket and procures the bag of bits for my efforts. "But, your fare of 750 bits will suffice for your efforts, won't it?"
I lower my head, and prepare to ask the question that has been forming over the last month. "The pay is fine," I shakily begin. "But, the home that is on the edge of the property," I point to my shack, worn and tired, "I would request that it may be fixed instead of my normal pay."
The stallion seems to think on my decision, but the mare comes to him and says something in his ear. He frowns before giving another look to the shack and then to me. "I'm afraid that the cost would be too much for what I am to give you," he says with a little hesitation.
"If I am to do it myself," I respond, sucking in my chest and standing straight. "Then I shall do it."
The stallion only nods and hands me the bag of bits. Enough to get some lumber and a door, at least.
"Point me to the sites," I say, already making plans for the collection after the shade of night fell.
***
I dig the final grave, feeling the weight of the world push on me as I attempt to pull up from the earth's grip. Pastor looks on, impressed that I had not once used the magic that I was gifted with to do the deed. I breathe in the air as I flop to my back, looking to the blue sky and sun above. Celestia has given myself and the world a sweet reward with the sun's rays warming it.
I had not anticipated the day to be so hard on me. Collection will be a harsh project this night.
"The Princesses have blessed this day, have they not, my son?" Pastor's warm and worn tone speaks out, prompting me to look at him from the ground.
The old stallion. Who can really say what he has experienced? What kind of struggles had he survived to reach this point of his life? It made me so curious to who was truly behind the clerical collar that hung around his neck.
"They truly have, Pastor," I respond, giving a smile to him. "And I'm grateful for it."
He sat beside me, letting me have company for the short while before he would begin his part of the day. It gave me comfort that he would be there, if only for a few minutes, and listen to my concerns.
"Your home," Pastor began, his focus on the shed that I would go to every night. "You said it requires some repair, correct?"
I sigh and lift myself up to look at him, sitting in front of him. "It does, Pastor. I fear for the night that rain will come and wash it away."
Pastor gave his smile to me, the same smile he would give to others that needed hope. "If it were to come to that, I can assure you that a home in the church can be made for you."
I feel the warmth of his tone, and then feel the cold realization that she would not be able to come with me.
"I appreciate your generosity, Pastor," I begin, trying to find the right explanation that would not offend him. "But, my home is..."
Pastor only nods and gives me the soft and firm touch that I had become so used to. "I understand, Pale, my son. Your home is where you have built your life and existence. It is why when others leave the mortal plane to soar into the greater heavens above, they feel that building of life, laughter, and love crumble before them."
We go quiet, listening to the birds and wind.
"Do you remember your first burial, Pale?" Pastor asks.
I close my eyes, thumbing through the pages of experience that have built up for me and I stop on one. "I do."
Pastor looks carefully at me as he speaks, "Do you remember how many were at her site that night?"
I gulp, feeling the memory come to life in my mind.
"Pastor, no pony is here," I say, trying to find anything that could resemble a pony hiding in the shadows.
He looks to his book and hums to himself, "I fear that you are wrong, my son." He shuts the book and looks to me. "She has two ponies with her this night."
I look at him in confusion before he motions me to come closer to him and the open grave. Looking down, I see the casket and the face that sleeps soundly within. She looked so sad, and my heart went out to her.
"Have any of us wish to say final words to this pony that now lays before us?" Pastor asked, letting the heavy question hit hard against me.
I do not know where the words came from, but from my mouth, I began. "The righteous perish, and no one ponders it in his heart; devout ponies are taken away, and no one understands that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil. Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death."
I continued, kneeling to look closer at her serene face, "I know nothing of you, nor would you have known anything of me. I only can pray that in your passing, that others will feel shamed for not seeing you this night, under Luna's moon."
I kept knelt as a silence fell once more, and heard Pastor begin to speak his passage.
I had not listened, I had only kept my eyes on her. She shouldn't have to be treated like this, not like a simple body with no one to grieve or remember her past. All I felt was the sorrow between the two of us, and then the touch of Pastor on my shoulder.
"Close the casket, my son," Pastor calmly spoke. "Her body must return to the earth."
Before I lifted back to my hooves, I leaned further down and whispered to her; just under the capability of hearing to the old stallion's ears.
"I will return for you, I promise."
I sniffled, remembering the ache in my heart as I had to shut her away and place the dirt on the casket.
"It has been three years since that day, Pale," Pastor spoke to me. "Three years and your devout work has not let you beyond the gates of this place. Do you feel that you've shut yourself out to the outside and not let a moment to yourself to fly past the cage that you have crafted for yourself?"
I chuckle, but understand the meaning of what he says. "I'm afraid that I have little beyond this place, Pastor," I tell him honestly. "My parents had left me on the steps of Canterlot's castle and from there, I was meant to walk alone. Every study, every class, every action, I had nothing to myself except me."
Pastor nodded knowingly, perhaps thinking back to his own past hardships as he searched for an answer. "Surely you had someone to admire towards or strive to be," he reasoned.
I looked down to the ground, ashamed to even answer that question, so I lied. "I was enthralled with Celestia," I answered. "Such grace and power, able to carry herself without making it seem difficult or challenging."
Pastor gave a look to the entrance and noticed the pall-bearers and groups of mourning ponies behind them slowly approach. "Come, my son," Pastor spoke, grunting as he got up. "We have work that must be done."
I nod and pick myself up as well, readying for the day ahead. Then, I focus back at the mare that lay in the ground three years ago, her body slowly changing as colorful squares cover her, ears being lost then reattached, eyes carefully placed, spools and spools of thread.
I keep my eyes shut and my heart beats loudly at the remembrance of digging the mare out from the grave and pulling her out.
"I have you now," I say, letting the full weight of the mare fall on me. "I understand you're weak, but stay with me."
I struggle in each step to bring her to my home, but I know she would be protected there with me. Her struggling breaths match my own as I finally open the door and place her on the bed. She looks so weak, helpless, and alone, just like me. I notice a cut on her ankle and bring out a needle and thread. "It's okay," I quietly cry. "I'll fix you. You don't need to be alone anymore, my Patchwork.
Author's Note
Read the Horoscope for today and it read "You feel open to new things, and should find that you acquire an audience once you start talking about your new interests. It's awkward at first, but starts to get really interesting later on." Yeah, sounds about right.
