The Equestrian Dream

1

They say people with different immune systems fall in love.

2

"Did you hear what I said?"

I looked up. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

One month. Like an expiration date.

3

7 o'clock. Dark out.

I came home to silence. She was reading under a dim light.

"How'd it go?"

"Great."

She looked up, excited.

"Remission?"

I smirked.

"One month."

The tears swelled. I sobbed. She put her hoof on my shoulder.

"You'll get through this... We'll get through this."

4

6 a.m. Wake up. Get ready.

Eat your breakfast. A boiled egg. Coffee.

Take 500 milligrams of Aralen, 250 milligrams of Plaquenil, 100 milligrams of Trizivir. Don't forget the prior. Paxil. Prozac. Xanax.

It's time to leave. You've forgotten something.

"Hey, haven't you forgotten something?"

I turn around.

"Oh."

She gallops up and glomps me. Sometimes it's hard.

"You seem so dejected lately."

"I know... I'm sorry."

She gives me a warm smile and another hug.

"I understand."

I'm at work. Maybe I should have taken a day off. Maybe I should have gone home already. But we need the bits. And I can't get disability. She doesn't make enough. She doesn't make anything.

"You alright?"

I look him straight in the eyes.

"Just fine."

"Alright, get back to fucking work."

He leaves. I sob.

6

It's been a couple weeks. Maybe the feeling's coming back. I can't tell for sure. Last night we watched a movie with Mel Hoofs. Some comedy. We laughed.

This wasn't like last week. This wasn't like the first week. Maybe the feeling's numbing. Maybe that's good.

I can't help but sob sometimes. But it doesn't feel as bad. It feels automatic. The natural response.

They say laughter is the best medicine. The unnatural response.

7

"I can't do this."

"What?"

"I can't fucking do this."

"What?" I don't know what she's talking about. She's trotting around the room, pacing back and forth. She walks up to the fireplace and back to the television. She turns back and looks me in the eye.

"This! I can't do this! I can't fucking do THIS."

She spreads her forearms. Her hooves present me. She can't do me. I know this isn't the funny-haha do.

Maybe I'm a bit paler. A little skinnier. I don't know. I'm feeling fine.

"Fluttershy, what do you mean? You can't do me? Haha," I ask nervously. I can't tell what she's getting at. I can't look her in the eye. My gaze darts towards everything and nothing. Just not her. I end up looking down.

"I don't know. I don't fucking know." She lowers her head to the floor.

I reach out and touch her mane. I run my fingers through it.

She backs off. "Don't you dare fucking touch me."

"What, babe?"

"I don't fucking know, but don't fucking touch me."

It comes up again. I thought I was numb. I sob again.

"I'm leaving."

She walks out and slams the door behind her.

They say misery loves company. I crave it.

8

6 a.m. Wake up. Get ready.

Eat your breakfast. Cereal. Coffee isn't good for you.

Take 500 milligrams of Aralen. Plaquenil. Trizivir. Don't forget the prior. Paxil. Prozac. Xanax.

The light is flashing green.

I walk up to the answering machine.

"You have one new message."

"Hi, this is Andy," "- And this is Fluttershy -" "Sorry we can't come to the phone right now. We're probably fucking" " - haha, shut the fuck up." "Leave a message after the tone. Beeeeeeeeeeeep."

The actual answering machine beeps. Funny.

"I'm sorry about last night. It's just... It's just that I've realized... It's just that it's been two months now, Andy. I realized there's more to this than what I was prepared for. I know that this is selfish, but I can't take it. I can't take seeing you like this, losing what I love - losing what I loved so slowly. This just isn't the way I can live my life, it will kill me. I don't think anypony could live like this. I'm sorry."

Click.

9

It's like a fucking jungle sometimes, isn't it?

It's nature, isn't it?

Pony-fucking-nature at its finest. I don't understand it.

Do I look different? Do I act different? I don't fucking know. Do I fucking care?

WhorlMart. Gold & Silver Pony Shop. Guns & Hay-mmo.

Background check. No.

Democracy. Bureaucracy. Law.

Break it.

Same guy who used to sell us weed. I don't know him well. I won't ever know him well. I hold up my hand to block out the sun.

"This here is the 1911."

He holds it in his hoof. It reflects the sun.

Daytime. No pony's watching. No pony important. The unimportant don't care.

"You need it for something heavy? Or protection?"

"Protection."

He hooves me a magazine.

"Doesn't matter anyway. Serial is filed off. Clip holds 7."

"Thanks."

"2000 bits."

It's all fucking bits, isn't it? Even at the end, you can't have enough. It's all fucking living, isn't it? Well, you can't live. It's all fucking status, isn't it? Well, you lost it. Don't get mad in front of him.

It's just fucked up immune systems. It's just fucked up diseases. It's fucked up needles. To escape this fucked up world.

I don't have enough. I don't think the ATM withdraws that much at one time.

10

One chambered. Cock it and it'll fall out. Check the safety. It's not very safe right now. Haha.

Remember the time when I was young? Remember my brother? Repression. I can't.

It feels heavy. This isn't a prop. The guy wasn't scamming me. Unless the bullets are blanks.

I can.

"He's dead and you're fucking walking out right now?"

"Look, I don't know what it is, but this isn't it. I'm leaving."

He walked out into the snow. My mother cried. I haven't seen him since.

It was nearing Christmas. He died in September. It was cancer, nothing that anypony could do. But after he passed away, the love died. There wasn't anything left between them.

Look down the barrel. Do you see the bullet? It's dark. I can't.

My mother never remarried.

Don't point at anything you don't intend to shoot.

I don't think she ever recovered.

Keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready.

I'm ready.

They say the number one cause of death from guns is suicide.

11

They say people with different immune systems fall in love. I don't think that's true. But maybe that's just confirmation bias.