Ponies bustled around him; vendors debating with customers, shouts and calls of greeting as friends met friends, the laughing of fillies and colts as they played, and the swoosh of pegasi overhead. He heard the construction of a new house some distance away; the pounding of nails, the clatter of wood. He could hear the wind rustling the trees, and the chatter of various animals. He heard doors opening and closing; the talk of family in the houses, or the whispering of lovers. The clack and clink of cutlery and china at the cafe, the harsh clang of the blacksmith, the tinkle of the crystal shop. He heard masterpieces being made; brushes against easels, hammer and chisel against marble, the stomping of hooves to a beat. The world was his to listen to.
Seven Spades heard all this; his ears did not.
He stood outside Town Hall. He began walking. Each muscle moved to take him forward, to see the world in front of him. He could walk, run, crawl, anything to get him moving. He could walk down the street, or run up and down hills, valleys, and mountains. He could stoop low through tunnels and caves, or climb cliffs and waterfalls. Dive into oceans and lakes, or use his wings and fly above the clouds and higher. The world was his to explore.
Seven Spades’ mind moved, his muscles did not.
As he walked, he saw many things. He saw the resident baker putting pies on the window sill to cool off, saw the blacksmith hammering new tools in his forge, an artist painting the quaint town he lived in. A pair of ponies held hooves, sitting on a bench and exchanging kisses. He saw pegasi flying high above, and foals playing among the market stalls. Waving stalks of grains covered plateau’s and plains, and trees and other vegetation formed forests and jungles. Crystalline snow covered icy tundras and high mountain tops. Rolling clouds moved by overhead. Sand swept through deserts and beaches, and waves lapped at the shore of rivers and streams. The world was his to see.
Seven Spades saw everything, his eyes did not.
The sights came with scents, some more pleasing than others.Baking pastries from the bakery and coffee from the cafe sent a wonderful aroma. Flowery and fruity odors from the florists, and essence from the various homes. Petrichor flowed from jungles and rain, and salty air form the sea. From crisp, to sweet, to salty and smoky; the world was his to smell.
Seven Spades smelled everything, his nose did not.
He stopped to run his hoof along the dirt and gravel road that ran through the town. Hard, small pebbles, and even smaller dusty pieces of soil. He could feel hard, unforgiving rock of mountains, and shifting sands of deserts. He felt the wetness of water in lakes, and the dry, cracked earth of wastelands. Cold snow from winter and hot magma from volcanoes, spongy peat and sticky slime of swamps, fluffy clouds and goopy quicksands. From the rusty iron fence surrounding the cafe, to new shiny carriage across the street; the world was his to touch.
Sevens Spades felt everything, his hooves did not.
Walking to the bakers, he purchased a slice of apple pie. The taste of apples, a pinch of cinnamon, and shortbread crust was delicious. He tasted the sweetness of chocolate and candies, always pleasing and addicting. Bitter coffee and kale, something to stick your tongue out in disgust; and sour rhubarb and lemons and limes, something to pucker your mouth. Spicy peppers, to leave a nice warm burning in your stomach, and salty hay fries left you thirsting for a cool or hot drink. All the fruits, vegetables, spices, grains and more; the world was his to taste.
Seven Spades savored everything, his tongue did not.
He remembered all these ponies; strangers who posed as his friends and neighbors. Lime Pie, the bright green mare who ran the bakery; Health Care, the residential doctor, and his daughter, Wind Blown, head of weather management. The plum colored mare, Ms. Nights, who had a beautiful voice, and her husband, the tan and beige stallion Shaky Ground, who worked at the construction site. Shuffle Step, a cream and blue stallion, waved to him as he taught the tango to Golden Stream, the fiery orange and yellow mare laughing with delight. Coco-Nut, the resident party pony, was hanging streamers and balloons near the park. Steel Shod and Swift Justice, the resident Royal Guard, saluted him, and he returned the gesture. He could remember his mother; his created mom, Sugar Bee, a Earth Pony with a talent for beekeeping, and his created father, Thunder Runner, who was the old head of weather management. He remembered his made up memories; his birth, his first steps, school, his Mark, his love...The world remembered him, and he the world.
Seven Spades remembered these things, his mind did not.
His walking had brought him to the outskirts of town. A gray and mossy green stallion, the residential farmer Gravel Garden, waved, and he responded with a simple ‘Hello!’. He could say so many things. He could say advice, or insults. Motivating speeches, or soothing lyrics. Congratulations for a success, or a insult for an insult. Greetings for blooming relationships, and goodbyes for relations brought to an end. Whispers of secrets, shouts of joy and anger, and groans of pain and pleasure. The world was there to hear him.
Seven Spades spoke everything, his mouth did not.
Finally, he was where he wanted to be, a house just past the town boundaries. It fit the perfect home model: a path leading up to to a solid wood door, small gardens bordering it, and much open space to run around in. He thought to himself, is it still the same? Is it worth his life? He could not answer then, for he now found himself standing in front of the door, raising an off-white hoof to knock. Once. Twice. Three times. He stood awhile, before the door opened. A bright light shrouded the host. He was tired. A mare stood there. A door splintered. Seven Spades’ breath hitched; it always did now. The mare giggled, and he heard. Some one gasped. Her name was Drawn Mind. She moved to embrace him, and he felt her coat brush his, and he pulled her close, and he moved. Someone was holding his head up. Her favorite food was strawberries. She let go, showing a pearly white smile, below her royal blue eyes, framed by her golden curls and a horn, and a shiny teal coat, and he saw. Darkness gave way to a fading light. Her favorite color was neon green. He was very tired. Her smell, daffodils and lavender soap, still hung around him, and he smelled. Dirt and garbage assaulted his nose. Her Cutie Mark was a spark framed by a book. She pressed their lips together, and he felt. Something cold brushed his cheek. She wanted so much, and then lost it all. She’d left the taste of oranges on his tongue, and he savored. Water was poured into his mouth. The accident was my fault. I had to disappear. He recalled meeting her; that cafe was gone, but the memory was there, and he remembered. That face was familiar; his love. I couldn’t face it. I wanted to start over and be perfect. The mare said, “Is it worth it? Is it better than reality?” I thought for a second. I was tired, so tired. And I spoke.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry...”
Seven Spades’ body faded, and so did he.
The apartment had seen better days. No furniture, no curtains, and no lights. Windows were boarded up, and wallpaper flaked. Floor boards
showed through the patchy faded carpet. This was the same across the entire block; ponies lived in this squalor. Most blamed it on the new
technology. Virtual reality, where everything is how you want it. Always was easier to waste then work.
This one was slightly different. The door, for one, was smashed, ripped straight off it’s hinges. Another thing was the company within; two
ponies, one huddled in a corner, the other trying to bury herself in the others fur.
The one in the corner was painfully thin; ribs and other bones could be seen through a dirty white coat, and his red mane and tail were greasy and starting to fall out. The stench of waste wafted thickly in the air. The mare, the other pony, did not seem to care. She’d tossed aside the infernal device connected to the plug; a helmet equipped with a visor and built-in headphones. She’d hoped to aid him, but instead wept at the sight of his glazed onyx eyes. Her hair, done up in a golden bun, just barely hid the stump of what used to be a horn. As tears streamed from her royal blue eyes, Drawn Mind held her love close, whispering one thing, over and over, into his deaf ears:
“I'd have forgiven you, if you hadn't gone to make it a reality."
Elsewhere, the player pressed restart.
Author's Note
Some art gave me the idea.
More to come, and it will be oh so sweet.
