Above Eagles

    What is death?

    It isn't what everyone says it is, I can tell you that much. It doesn't matter if you were good, bad, kind, a bully, or a villain. At least, for me that is. There wasn't a Heaven or Hell for me. I think I thought there was at some point, but I can't be sure. Was I a Christian? Mormon? Jew? I didn't know.

    In fact, I didn't really know anything. How did I get here, in this pitch black abyss of nothingness? Did it have something to do with the last image of my mind, what looked like a metal pole piercing my abdomen, leaving me suspended from the floor? I guess that was how I died. Being stabbed through the chest with some flag pole. Hopefully an American flag. God bless the USA.

    Wait... What was that all about. What the Hell's an "America?" What's a USA? And why did I use those two as synonyms? The Hell's a synonym?

    So now I'm just remembering things accidentally, and I don't even know what they are. I wanted desperately to just know what was going on. I didn't care if it was just a little information-- it could be like peeking through a keyhole of the door of knowledge, and I'd still be happy with it.

    Was this how it was like to be dead? To just float around in pure nothingness forever, my only friends my thoughts? My empty, forgetful brain? How could someone forget their entire life? Did I even have a life at one point? Is this how Liam Neeson felt in Unknown?

    I just did it again!

    If I could spit out of frustration, I would have.

    This is bullshit. I knew nothing but the basic words in my mind, along with a few advanced ones. Like synonym. Wait. No I didn't! Seriously, what was a synonym?

    I was still at a loss when something unexpected happened. A light appeared.

    It was a small one, emitting just a few particles of light in the pitch black. But it was different from everything I had experienced so far, so I instantly took a liking to it. It was about the size of a pea, a heavenly white emitting from its core. It cut through the darkness like a knife through butter, steadily growing.

    I was contemplating what a knife or butter was when something else changed. A voice was heard. It was feminine, blurred, worried, and loud. It bounced off the nonexistent walls of the nothingness I resided in, amplifying the sound until it was a constant drum in my ears.

    Wait a minute. I knew what nonexistent, amplifying, and a drum was! Something was definitely changing.

    The light got brighter, and the sound got louder, and my mind became clearer. Nonexistent was an adjective which meant not to exist. A drum is an instrument. A synonym is a part of speech; a word that means the exact same as another when in the right context. I was on a roll! My brain (which is, by the way, an important organ in your cranium) became clearer as the light followed, expanding and expanding. The voice grew more clear, and I could make out a few words.

"Where..." was one of them. After that it was blurry, until I could distinctly hear the word "...help..." After that, more muffled gibberish, until another word rang clear. "Somepony."

    Somepony? That wasn't in my ever-so richly expansive grammatical knowledge.

    Speaking of knowledge, shouldn't I remember more by now? I knew what most words I thought up meant, but there was a wall which kept my memories locked up.

    I still didn't know what an America, otherwise known as "USA," was. Or, really, what the last image in my mind meant. I presumed it was my death, but if that was true, would I even be here right now? Or was this an angel waking me from my physical sleep?

    As the voice became clearer, the light became brighter.

"No. I'm not going to just leave you here. C'mon, colt..."

    Colt? Was that a name of a person she was speaking to? And leave who where? They didn't mean me, did they?

    Then again, that would make sense. I probably fainted from blood loss or something, and they were trying to wake me up. Getting stabbed through the chest with a pole can really be a blood-spiller.

    Hopefully they had common courtesy and stitched me up.

"Nng! What the...? Why can't I fly?"

    Guess that helped a little with knowing what I was. My race flew. At least, they talked about it like it was possible.

    The light was slowing its approach now, but it still grew. Instead of a hot knife through butter (I knew what those were now!), it was like black paper being held up to a light, a dull pencil punching through its surface. It ripped away at the darkness diligently, but slowly. I wanted to cheer it on.

"...Well, this sucks," the voice groaned. I sympathized with her.

    The light was blinding now, attacking my eyes with a vengeance. I held my hand up, covering my sight from the offensive glow.

"Woah--!" the voice squeaked, followed by the sound of wood scraping against fur. Instantly afterwards, a dull pain made itself known in the back of my cranium. I groaned out of pain.

    ...Wait a minute.

    I heard that. I made a sound! I instantly tried to speak to the newcomer, but I was at a loss for words.

    Literally. I couldn't speak. I didn't know any words. I mean, I knew how to think words, and I knew what they meant, but there was a wall between my brain and my mouth. It was like a barrier in my vocal cords. It was frustrating and hard, but I tried to say a simple phrase to the unseen individual, anyways.

"...Herrer," I heard myself mumble.

    Great job, me. You just won the award for worst "hello" ever.

    The voice was silent for a while, the light tantalizingly close. I wished I had legs so I can leap to it. In fact, I did try, but no reward for my efforts was present.

    "He's alive," the voice mumbled, flabbergasted. "Okay, dude, let's get you to safety-- NNGH!!" The voice sounded aggrivated as the sound of something hitting the floor reached my ears. "Why can't I fly?!" she groaned. "Well, this sucks... Okay, dude, you're gonna have to help me out here. Can you hear me? Can you walk?"

    There was a fine line between those two.

    I tried to nod, and I did! I could feel the tension go into my neck, my head moving up and down in response.

    The individual seemed to realize her own mistake. I could hear her emmit a low chuckle. "Uhh.. Aheh. Sorry. Which one?"

    Okay, time to talk again. Just a simple 'hear.' It should be easy! One sound, one syllable.

"...Hehr," I heard myself gurgle. I was a pro at subconscious speaking.

    Wait. Did I just gurgle? Was something in my throat? She seemed to notice that, too, as she gasped.

    "...Ohh, this is bad," she whispered.

    "Wuh?" I half-mindedly slurred.

    Instead of responding, I heard the individual pace in front of me. The footsteps were irregular and had multiple hosts for the noise. She probably had more than two legs. I did, too, maybe. I didn't know what I was.

"What am I gonna do?" I heard her mumble under her breath. "I can't just drag him. I can't fly. The hospital's back in Ponyville. And he's bleeding out! Aww, buck..."

    Okay. Three things.

    First of all, Ponyville? If I could have burst out laughing, I would have. That's so stupid! It's like a colony of hampsters naming their nest Hampstertown! Or a group of humans, calling their home Man-City!

    Second of all, apparently I was bleeding out. From what? Was it because of that pole that's most undoubtedly stuck in my chest? Probably.

    Thirdly. Did she just use "buck" as a swear? Pfft. Mormons and their swearing substitutes. Everyone knows it's f--

    "Okay..." the voice stopped her rambling, resuming her conversation with me. "Hey, dude, can you hear me? Just nod if you can."

    I nodded. It was easier than before.

    "Okay... You're not gonna like this. But you have a giant hole in your chest. And for some reason I can't fly... I'm gonna have to drag you to a hospital. I could totally lift you, but I don't wanna jostle you too hard."

    Was that last part an insult or a compliment? Okay, she was either bragging about her strength or I needed to bulk up. Probably the latter. Floating around in an oblivion of nothingness can prove troublesome for exercise-- OW WHAT THE SHIT-BUCKETS?!

    What felt like a foundation of nothing suddenly burned itself down, gathered the ashes in a jar, and threw that jar off a skyscraper. This hurt! It felt like my body was a community forest, and the pain was a massive forest-fire that destroyed everything in its path! It started from the middle of my chest, the virus spreading out until my body was engulfed in an ocean of extremely salty waters.

    Just a few short moments ago I was dreaming of a body. Now I was cursing it, along with whatever could inflict so much pain! That pole should be damned to Hell!

    I heard myself let out a pathetic whimper, but it was drowned out by the sudden ringing in my ears. I felt my gums go numb as my stomach flexed, my dinner just waiting to be shot out of my mouth. I gagged, drooled, and cried as I felt grass being dragged from under my body. Or, I was being dragged over the grass. I didn't know, and I didn't care. I just wanted to throw up yesterday's dinner, lunch, and breakfast.

    The distant light turned red as it suddenly engulfed my vision. At first, it was a faint maroon and white. But after a while, it dimmed to a special sight.

    It was special because it was real. I had my vision back! I did what anyone else would have done: took in my surroundings.

    Big mistake.

    Around me were trees, a full moon over my head as it illuminated the forest I was in. In front of me was what mortified me. It was a small pool of blood, a stream connecting my body to it.

    A stream of blood! Coming from my body! How long have I been out?! More importantly, how much blood did I lose?

    This was nothing like the video games. In video games, you'd hear the main character merely groaning as impossible amounts of blood spilt from a pea-sized gun wound, the audience gasping in surprise. There's no audience in real life, and this was obviously not a petty shot to the dramatic-effect button. This was my own blood, literally spilt on the floor in front of me! How was I alive?!

    My mind became fuzzy as my head instinctively turned to the floor, my dinner, lunch, and maybe even some breakfast spewing out of my throat. The residue littered the ground below, repainting the floor from green to Peaches and Cream. All energy was sucked out of my system as my head fell to the side, no intentions of lifting it back up present.

    "Dude!" I heard from behind me. Ms. Doesn't-Know-What-This-Feels-Like obviously saw my puking experience. I grunted a response, my equivalent of saying 'You try seeing this much of your blood on the ground.'

    The pleasurable sensation most people felt after upchucking was easily drowned out by the mere shock of suddenly being the unfortunate star of a first person shooter. My blood was making a stream. That fact bounced around in my head like a tennis ball, as I was unable to think of anything else. I felt like fainting, although that would just be redundant-- I spent the last who-knows-how-long unconscious, and I was not in the mood to return to the black corners of my mind.

    "Don't faint," the voice behind me pleaded as I was dragged away, the stream of blood thankfully getting thinner the further I went. "I don't wanna do this on my own."

    Way ahead of you.

    To keep myself from dozing off, I attempted some small talk with the individual. I moved my jaw up and down, side to side, as if stretching for a work-out. Talking was equally hard, though, so it counted. With a deep breath, I focused on talking rather than my body's innards making a miniature Amazon River. I would ask a simple question first. 'What is your name?' But the barrier in my throat made itself known as my mouth failed to recognize the words my brain did.

    To my mind, I've been thinking words since I was born (whenever that is.) To my vocal chords, words were new, strange, and hard to articulate. My next sentence rang true with that last statement.

"Wuh ihs... yo nom?" I mumbled.

    I'm an idiot.

    "Huh?" the voice behind me questioned. "Y-you know what, it doesn't matter. Don't try to talk anymore, you might hurt yourself."

    So her name will remain as Ms. Doesn't-Know-What-This-Feels-Like. Gotcha.

    My mind started to dwell back into the familiar ground of unconsciousness, but I fought it back. Instead, I focused my attention on staring at the ground--

    I threw up again, emmitting a "C'mon, dude!" from behind me.

    Dammit, me. Find something else to focus on.

    My half-closed eyes slowly turned upwards. The moon was shining brightly above me, its white glow illuminating the forest as the trees blurred in and out of focus. For some unknown reason, it calmed me. The pain soon subsided as I went numb, lost in the gentle glow of the huge, white circle in the campus of black known as the night sky. I barely felt anything as my attention wasn't on the bloody grass anymore, but on the inverted dalmation coat above.

    I didn't seem to notice as the trees above thinned out. I was lost in an abyss of white. The numbness in my body spread out like an eagle's wings as my eyesight thinned.

    I heard my rescuer yelling as she set me down on the grass gently. I didn't care, though. My mind was a blank sheet of paper, the moon a hand, and its glow the pen. It was drawing a masterpiece. My head began to sway at the artist's strokes, following his masterful penmanship with a drunk-like enthusiasm. I didn't care if my tracing wasn't exact. I just wanted to follow it.

    My vision became blurry. I let a small smile cross my face as the moon's rays touched down on my face. I felt myself be picked up by more individuals, although it was only distant.

    I dozed off to the feeling of flying away.

    You know how, in most stories, when the main character faints it says the cliché, overused line 'My eyes fluttered open' when they wake? Well, I can tell you right now that is not how it works.

    This is how it really goes down. It all comes back to you, at first dully. My feelings came back before anything, and I was suddenly aware that I felt fuzzy everywhere. What felt like the thinnest blanket on the planet was over me, and I heard blurred talking. I tasted copper in my mouth, and when I opened my eyes (no, they did not flutter), my vision was blurry. I could, however see white. I also smelt chlorine, for some reason, and had no memory of what had just occured.

    After that, you enter the second stage of waking up. It all crashes down on you.

    My eyesight, hearing, taste, feeling, memory, and everything else and what felt like even more was suddenly prestine. I groaned out of shock, my ears picking up the gutteral sound perfectly. When I opened my mouth, I could taste the fresh air rush in. The chlorine in my nostrils was replaced with a slight, lemony scent. The thinnest blanket of all time instantly became an ordinary, cotton-made sheet as my eyes picked up my surroundings. I was in a hospital bed, a curtain on both sides of me. And then came the pain.

    The forest fire from earlier had been put out, but it was still smoking. My body held a dull soreness now, contrasted greatly from my previously out of control pain. Was I on some sort of drug, fencing off the fire coming from my chest?

    My chest.

    I tried to throw my arm across the sheets, to pull them off, but I lost all control of the apendage the moment my shoulder flexed. My body was now an ice cube, panic instantly flooding my system tumultuously. Was I paralyzed?

    I heard myself whimpering, and instantly cut it out. I knew that I should go slowly. With hesitance, I lifted my arm an inch from the sheets. It complied, and I was tempted to dash forward with it, but I knew sudden movements were now restricted to my thoughts. I slowly levitated my arm above the bed, its movement like a ghost. That was when it came into my vision.

    It was a furry, peach-colored, cartoonish hoof.

    ...I honestly didn't know what to expect. I had a knowledge of what things were, and what words meant, but absolutely nothing beyond that-- my own species included. I was a newborn in this new life, yet I hosted an experienced mind.

    To my surprise, I had feelings in my fingers. Curious, I moved my thumb. Nothing changed on the hoof, making me wonder if I truly did have fingers, and if so if they were just invisible. I curled my index finger, which made the hoof turn downwards. Finally, I curved my pinkie. The hoof tilted to the left.

    I had three, invisible fingers under a furry hoof. Curious.

    I did some more finger exercises, stretching and bending them so the hoof above moved in various places. It was weird, but at the same time, natural. My body was a long-forgotten house, and this was my first visit, only to remember this was where I grew up.

    I planted a hoof on the edge of the sheets (it looked as if the fur was just wrapping around it), grasping the blanket. I briefly examined the way my hoof curled around the sheet before lifting it. From someone else's view, it could easily qualify as breaking the laws of physics-- lifting an object with a hoof, no opposable thumbs in sight. But they were there.

    I lifted the covers from my body, slowly and carefully. I had to tilt my head (which was quite large) so I could peer at my torso.

    I was wearing a gray-green hospital gown. The pain was coming from under the gown, obviously, so I pulled my collar forward to peer down at the source of the pain.

    It was all I could do to keep from painting the bed Peaches and Cream.

    In the center of my chest was an ugly scar, patched up by so many stitches I lost count after two hundred. The blackness of the wound could still be visible, between the two wrinkled sides of fur. Besides that, I got a good look at my left arm, which had various tubes leading into it. The clear plastic which the tubes were made of revealed red liquid flowing in and out of my body, courtesy of a machine standing on what looked like a metal coat rack next to me.

    Add all of that, mixed with the pain of having to flex a part of my body which had a hole straight through it, and you've got a recipe for a new paint job for the floor. As I was leaning over the bed, my mouth opening and gums numbing, I heard a door open from behind the curtain to the right of my bed. I shakily swallowed the bile in my throat, unwanting to experience such grotesque first impressions. Hoofsteps were heard as the individual's hooves clopped down on the tile floor, making its way to me.

    I drunkily pulled my head back up, the effort making me groan.

    The curtain beside me was pulled aside. Once again, I didn't know what to expect. Standing beside me was a cartoonish, white pony, wearing a medic cap. She actually looked quite human, considering her species. Her head was considerably large compared to her body, cyan blue, large eyes peering at me. She even had a clipboard in hoof, once again breaking the laws of physics as she balanced her body on three legs. Not only that, I kid you not, but she also had eyelashes.

    That was it. I knew where I was. Ponyville, the capital of stupid names.

    "Hello," she greeted pleasantly. "My name is Nurse Redheart. You're my new patient, via the Ponyville Hospital." She held her clipboard up to her face, standing on her hindlegs to lift a pencil up to it. It was actually quite adorable. "I have you down for a deep laceration on your infrasternal notch and dorsum. My colleagues have already stitched up your wound, don't worry. If you don't mind, I'd like to take a look at it."

    I nodded, waiting patiently. Redheart walked up to beside me, dropping to all fours to walk, the pencil clacking against the floor with each step. She stopped beside me. "May I?" she asked, gesturing to the covers.

    I felt a little insecurity of having a stranger see me in a state like this, but this was a doctor after all. It took a lot more effort than I thought to sit up. I had to plant my forehooves firmly in the bed, pulling myself into a sitting position. My chest was instantly sore from the effort, making my breath quicken.

    "Take it easy," Nurse Redheart advised. "You'll feel a little queasy at first. It's all normal. Take this." She handed me a plastic bag, which had the word "Bile" inscripted on it. How comforting.

    I groaned as I pushed my legs over the bedside, something itchy scraping against my backside. I looked behind myself to see that I had a brown-colored, bushy tail. I flicked it out of recognition, and figured it was something to hold onto if things got painful. After placing the bile bag to the side, I flicked my tail forward, grabbing it with my hooves.

    "Don't worry. I'm a professional," Redheart chuckled as she leaned forward, pulling down my gown so it was now a pile on my lap. She peered at my injury, not even flinching at its grotesque form. I suspected she's seen much worse. She put her hooves on my shoulders, gently rotating my torso and leaning in so she could get a good view at my back. She spent some time back there before returning to her original spot, writing something on her clipboard.

    I leaned forward to check what it was. That's how I figured out I couldn't read.

    "What can I call you?" Redheart questioned, her pencil in hoof.

    Was she asking for my name? Oh, great. I didn't even know the first letter! As a solution, I stared at her awkwardly. After a few seconds, she glanced up at me, an eyebrow raised. "Your name, Sir."

    I had to tell the truth. She was a nurse-- her job was to help me. Maybe she could even tell me what to do now? No, that was wishful thinking. For now, I'll just be honest and see where it gets me.

    Great. Time to speak. I hesitated, hearing a low whimper in my throat again. I wanted to kill that thing.

    Nurse Redheart got a different message as she looked up to me, smiling sympathetically. After writing something down on her clipboard, of course. "Hey, don't worry. I know you might be confused, or scared. But I'm here to help. Please tell me your name?"

    Okay, that was adorable. She definitely deserved a winning attempt. I looked her straight in the eye, and I spoke. "Ey dunu."

    Redheart tilted her head. Meanwhile, I was thinking of how much I'd like that spear now, so I can end this humiliation.

    I cleared my throat, my eyes not leaving hers. With my hooves, I gestured to myself. "Ai," I sounded out, pulling my hooves to my chest. "Domt." I shook my head slowly. "Noe." I tapped my noggin. My hoof came in contact with what I guessed to be a mane.

    Nurse Redheart wrote something down on her clipboard before looking back up to me. "...You don't know?" she implied. I nodded vigorously, before another idea came to mind.

    "Ai cumt speekt vur wil," I said, before realization hit once again.

    "Excuse me?" Redheart asked, giving me a confused look.

    I pointed to myself. "Aie." I shook my head. "Campt." I opened my mouth, pointing to it. "Speek." I didn't know what to gesture when it came to 'very well.' Luckily, though, the nurse caught on. Her hoof shifted to her clipboard, scribbling something down once again.

    "So, you don't know your name, and you can't speak very well?" she deduced. I nodded, before pointing to my head.

    "Noe memrie."

    Nurse Redheart knew what I said instantly, which was an achievement. "You have no memory, either." She put her clipboard down on the desk beside me, holding a hoof in front of her face. "Please keep your eyes on the hoof." She slowly shifted it to the right. Confused but dedicated, my eyes followed as she also moved it left, down, up, and diagonal. She wrote something on her clipboard.

    "So, you're not drunk, or on any hallusive drugs," she acknowledged. "Yet you slur when you talk, have no memory, and you don't know your name. Alright, Sir. Let's work our way backwards. Do you remember how you got your wounds, at least?"

    I wasn't completely sure, but I was sure enough to nod my head. "Uh pul ou sumtheen." Without waiting for the tilt of her head, I elaborated. "A pole," I said slowly, making a straight line with my hoof. "A pole... stabd mu." I mimed something sharp going through my chest, feigning pain. "...an wend ou thuh ofur sid." I gestured to my back.

    "So, you're saying a pole ran you through?" Redheart looked at me for a while, before turning away, deep in thought. "You have no memory of your past or your name. You can't speak well. You're not drunk. And you were stabbed with a pole..." She turned back to look at me. "Are you lying to me? That is a federal offense."

    "Noe!" I defended myself. I was starting to panic now.

    Nurse Redheart rolled her eyes, sighing. "I'll get somepony else to work with you." She started to make her way from out of the room, before there was sudden whispering behind the door. They only lasted for a second, however, as the door opening acted as a mute button.

    "Nurse Redheart," a voice spoke from behind the curtain. I recognized it as the voice who saved me earlier. Redheart also recognized it, although her face showed surprise as she saw the pony in the doorway.

    "Rainbow Dash, I am in the middle of a procedure," Redheart informed.

    "He really was stabbed through!" Dash exclaimed as she trotted to Redheart. I got a good look at her-- she was a cyan pony with a rainbow mane and tail, along with maroon irises. She also had feathered wings.

    I pretty much quit expecting anything by now.

    Nurse Redheart sighed, looking at me. "Rainbow Dash, I'm afraid that's just not true. He would be dead if it was. A pony simply cannot survive a wound that destroys so many vital organs."

    "Listen, you're a doctor, you do your job well, and I respect you," Rainbow Dash said. "But I carried this stallion through the Everfree, and he did have a hole through his body! I can take you to the spot I found him, if you want-- you wouldn't believe how much blood there was! He left a pool, and a stream. A regular pony can't lose that much and survive, but he did."

    In the hallway, I heard a feminine sputter as the host held back puking. I sympathized with her.

    "Miss Rainbow Dash, you know I can't believe you," Nurse Redheart sighed. "I respect you as a mare, and I know what you've done for him, but I must ask you to leave."

    "Wai..." I said shakily. The two mares looked at me. "Le' er stey... Plees. She cun cont as mai viziter."

    The two mares seemed to understand what I was saying. Rainbow Dash looked into Redheart's eyes firmly but respectfully. The Nurse returned her gaze, before sighing.

    "Hear me out," Rainbow Dash stated. "I know that you don't believe me, and I respect that, but I am telling the truth when I tell you this. He had a hole through his chest."

    Nurse Redheart didn't seem convinced as she retorted. That was when an idea presented itself. It would be stupid and extremely painful if it was done wrong, but it'd prove Rainbow Dash right. Plus, I kind of wanted to see if Redheart had seen anything like what I was about to show her.

    As the two mares were in deep conversation, I brought my hooves up to my stitches. It was quite difficult getting a hold of the string without the luxury of seeing my fingers, but I eventually had a good grip on the end of it. I bit on the nearest thing to me (my tail) as I pulled it through. It felt like a worm traveling through wet soil, the garden heaving in pain. I pulled for what felt like way too short of a time, before my hoof pulled away from the hole, string in toe.

    A sinkhole opened up in the garden. I gasped out of the excruciation of having air rush through the innards of my body, the stench of decay instantly filling my nostrils. I panted out of pain, but it felt as if a barrier was blocking out the breath. I had to take quick gasps of precious oxygen, suddenly worried that I'd drown in the air around me.

    However, I wasn't done. I reached back with both hooves, undoing the stitches. The stretching of skin opened up the hole in my chest, more fresh air hugging the sensitive muscle. For what must've been the hundredth time of the day, I whimpered.

    Nurse Redheart heard me. She turned to me from her conversation with Rainbow Dash, her eyes widening out of shock. "What are you doing?" she shrieked, dashing to the side of my bed.

    I pulled the string, bringing a new meaning of pain to the dictionary. Now, Redheart could see perfectly through the hole in my chest, and the wall behind me. Rainbow Dash also stared. I puffed my chest out, my body shaking with the extreme soreness which attacked my system.

    Nurse Redheart took a moment to finally gain her bearings, swearing under her breath. "Celestia-damned idiot..."

    I didn't know what to expect.

    Nurse Redheart seemed to stare at nothing in particular as she turned away. For a long while, she said nothing, before turning back. "I'll get my colleagues to stitch you back up again." With that, she walked out of the room.

    I was left alone with Rainbow Dash, her eyes just as wide as before. I smiled sheepishly. "Sheh noes noaw."

    "What the buck were you thinking?" Rainbow Dash breathed, stumbling to the side, as if about to faint. But she caught herself almost immediately, giving me a stare. "...You should be dead."

    "Ai'm juss az comfoods," I admitted.

    Rainbow Dash nickered under her breath, but that was the last of her humor. She gave me a firm look, her maroon irises glaring into my own. "Who are you, truly?"

    I looked away. "Ai dunno."

    Rainbow Dash shook her head slowly, trotting behind the curtain. "Listen, Dude. I appreciate you proving me right, but I was fine the way I was. You pretty much broke the laws of biological physics, so I'm not exactly 'inclined' to believe you're just another pony. You need to be truthful with me."

    Great. Now Rainbow Dash thought I was lying. I really wanted a nice, long nap right now.

    Rainbow trotted back to my bed, carrying a desk mirror in her mouth. She sat it on the foot of my bed. "Okay, dude. I just witnessed you tear a hole through your chest to prove me right in a disagreement with a nurse. There's something wrong with that mind of yours, obviously. But there's no way you can forget your own name." She tilted the mirror so it was pointed at me. "This should ring a bell."

    For the first time in my short-lengthed memories, I saw myself. However, I wasn't looking at my face or body, I was too busy staring at the red-lined hole in my chest, the pillow's whiteness clearly shining through. I knew that vomiting would not only be painful, but also repetitive, so I held it in.

    For some ungodly reason, I was still alive without a heart!

    I already knew about the injury, and had seen the front for myself, but this was an entirely different sight. To see the pillow behind me, through my own body. A lethal part at that.

    I instantly felt nausea, fatigue, and guilt. Guilt for letting the poor Nurse Redheart see an injury like this, especially when it goes against her entire life's work.

    "I know the injury's ugly, but I'm asking you to look at yourself. See if you can recognize yourself."

    I nodded numbly, my gaze turning to the stallion in the mirror. But I couldn't look away from it. The hole in my chest was a magnet, my pupils the metal. The rest of my body was a balloon, bouncing my gaze away when I tried to look at myself. I did something that was becoming a habit.

    You guessed it. I whimpered.

    I wanted to reach into that hole and pull out my voice box. Honestly, I was angry. I guess I was always furious at this horrible day, but that final, gutteral sound lit the fuse.

    Why was it so hard to talk?! Why wasn't I dead?! Why did I have a lethal hole in my chest?! I was going to ask why this was happening, but the words caught in my throat as my pathetic mouth had to articulate the foreign words slowly.

"W-wai iz.." I started, but never finished. The anger spiraled out of control from my damaged heart, touching my limbs. They had an instant reaction, my arm jolting up and back handing the closest thing to me. I heard a metallic clang, the machine to my left slamming to the floor violently. As it clattered to a stop, my rant wasn't over. "Wai iz fis hapnin?" I spat. My own voice angered me.

    Rainbow Dash flinched at the velocity of my hit. I was still panting out anger when something warm dribbled down my chest. I looked down to see that the hole in my chest was bleeding, the thick liquid dribbling my fur red and leaving a serpentine streak down my body. Even that angered me.

    The door behind the curtain swung open, hoofsteps exploding inside.

    "What's happening?!" an unfamiliar, feminine voice questioned. Rainbow Dash gave the host of the voice a look, smiling sadly.

    "...He's just angry," Rainbow Dash answered. "Everything's fine."

    You bitch.

    Another voice spoke up. Hers was a lot more quiet, but rang with earnest concern. "We heard a crashing sound... Are you sure everything's alright?"

    "Yeah," Dash nodded, glancing to me. I glared back. "Sorry about that. The Nurse should be coming back by now, though. We should leave."

    There was murmered agreement, followed by the sound of the ponies exiting the room. Rainbow Dash picked the mirror up with her left wing as she trotted to the damaged machine, balancing it back on its feet. There was a dent on its side. Dash then put the mirror in a drawer on the desk beside me.

    "Sorry," she murmered, before trotting away. "I should've given you some more time to recover. Maybe another time, huh?"

    I looked away. Dash sighed as she trotted out of the room, the door closing behind her. That was redundant, however, as the door opened moments later. More hoofsteps clampered in the room. I merely looked down as Nurse Redheart and her companions filed in, surrounding my bed.

    The other two nurses, one a stallion and the other a mare, both stopped dead as they saw my injury. Nurse Redheart snapped them out of their trance with a clap of her hooves. "Let's get to work," she commanded, trotting to me. She held up a muzzle-piece, made of some sort of thin fabric. It was plated with some kind of a clear metal, probably made for protecting it from the constant face plants with the ground it had when the holder trotted. "Hold still, Sir," she informed me, putting her hoof on my forehead and placing the muzzle-piece on mine. She retrieved a glass container with a dropping cap on the top, pinkish liquid sloshing as its tip was placed on the muzzle piece. Redheart gave it a tap with what I was sure was an invisible thumb, before a single drop fell on the fabric of the muzzle-piece. Instantly afterwards, I felt mist on my snout. My mind numbed.

    "You're going to feel a little tired," Redheart said gently, giving me a reassuring look. True to her word, I felt my eyelids grow heavy. "We're just going to stitch you up again. This time, don't rip it out to prove me wrong in some unnecessary argument."

    Meanwhile, one of the doctor's horn glowed momentarily, before flickering and dying. She gasped, tried again, and failed. "My magic won't work," she complained, tapping her horn.

    "Are you... sick?" her partner asked as he pulled on some medical gloves. Or socks, from the way they were worn.

    The mare shook her head, genuinely confused. Focusing back on Redheart's request, I nodded half-mindedly, the world blackening as, for the third time of the day, I lost consciousness.

    I dreamt of cyan birds catching on fire and dying slowly.

    Fuck Rainbow Dash.