This is the note that can be read from my countertop every day:
You.
What makes a pony exist?
Is it another’s belief in you?
Or is it simply a belief in oneself?
o----o
I awake to the alarm clock ringing, the incessant noise burrowing into my ears and dying there. I fail to press the snooze button, just as I do every day. Just as I will always do.
6:00 A.M.
The same time every day.
The same time it will always ring.
I pull the covers up over my head, letting the siren drown me in solitude. My lonely bed bears no partner, and by my recognition, never will. I am not saddened by it. I am not joyous about it. Ever since my beginnings, I have taught myself to show no emotion. Emotions make you weak. Emotions make you vulnerable. By no means will I classify myself as vulnerable. Instead, I am indifferent. I am stoic. If I am to look at myself in the mirror every day, then this is what I must tell myself I am. This is how I am to face myself in the world. Because the world is strange and lonely, but it is my world.
I turn over in my bed, hammering the snooze button on the clock. The worn, fragile plastic nearly shatters to pieces with the force, but it doesn’t break. It never does. Through all of this time that has progressed, the damn hunk of plastic just won’t give up and die. I’ve punched the thing with all of my might more than a few times, believe me. It never fails though. It never ever fails. Every morning, 6:00 A.M, bright and early.
But you see, the problem is, where I live, it’s always 6:00 A.M.
My alarm starts ringing again. I groan, thoroughly peeved at its insistence. I hurl the thing at the wall, where it smacks the panel with a loud crack and loudly thumps to the floor. It doesn’t matter how often I do that, however. It will return to the nightstand when I come back home.
I rise up out of bed, groggily shaking the sleep from my eyes, or what little there is. I sit hunched over on the edge of the bed, readying myself for today’s adventure... the same one I go on every day. Every single day. It’s hard to wake up, really. The only thing that keeps me going is the smell of coffee wafting up from the kitchen downstairs, pre-brewed and pre-poured into my favorite mug. Coffee must be what heaven smells like. I get up from my bed.
The smell sends me drifting out of my room, and I float down the staircase, my hooves only just scraping along the edges of the steps. They land softly on the floorboards when I reach the bottom, and it feels cold to the touch. It's always cold. I don’t really mind it. The cold never bothers me. That inviting cup of coffee never fails to warm me up anyway, and the smell of it could make angels sing.
I am lulled into the kitchen by the wondrous aroma. My coffee is always the way I like it- black. Come to think of it, it is always the way I like it because I’ve never had it any other way. What do I care? Why should I complain? Sometimes, that coffee is the only piece of warmth I have to last me through the day. I make the most of it, as I usually make the most of what I have. It’s what you have to do in this world. It is my only piece of advice.
Life hands you lemons, but lemons don’t make coffee.
I pick up the mug and I bring the dark roasted liquid to my nostrils, letting its warm touch surround me, envelop me. This is the best part of the day. This is the most relaxing part of the day, right here. I pick up the daily newspaper that always presents itself next to the coffee on the countertop. There is never anything to read from it, but it just adds that extra touch to the coffee, like a simple accentuation.
There’s that letter on the countertop. I’ve erased the message several times, but it never fails to rewrite itself when I return for my coffee every morning.
I walk into my living room and sit down in my favorite chair. It is my favorite chair, for I have owned no other. Its jungle green, velvety fabric has always been the most reassuring way to start the day, and most mornings I have revisited its gentle embrace. Today is no exception. So here I am, sitting in my living room that consists of one chair, one sofa, a table, and an eerie painting of a ship at sea up on the wall. It is the usual. It is what I am used to. It is my favorite pastime. I inhale the coffee’s aroma before I take a sip.
My coffee is delicious. I lap at it, savoring every drop of its scalding hot goodness. The daily paper lays in my lap as a sort of napkin as I lazily sip my coffee, still sure not to drop any of it. Once again, there is nothing to read in that paper. I am not surprised to say the least. There isn’t really a lot of breaking news that comes out around here. Never has been, and never will be.
Before I know it, my coffee is gone. I will have to wait until tomorrow to receive my next cup. I let the warm liquid swish around in my belly, filling my gut with its insatiable presence. I am relaxed. I am in a meditative trance. I wish that this is what I had to look forward to for the rest of the day.
What do I think about while I sit in my chair? Well, lots of things, really. I’m not one for philosophy, so most of the things that manifest inside of my head are simple, imaginative thoughts, for I have no one to tell me to think otherwise. Things like-
Who built my house?
There are approximately thirteen steps on my staircase, and I should work out more.
How much wood could a woodchuck wood if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
What the hell is a woodchuck?
Lasagna sounds like a lovely dinner tonight. Haven’t had pasta in a while.
Ugh. These flimsy wings I have don’t feel comfortable whenever I sit in this chair...
Hm. I should pick up a good book again. I haven’t read anything since Shel Stallionsteen’s last little book of poems.
I wonder whatever happened to those old drawings I made when I was little. Those crude little crayon drawings I drew always made me smile.
Suddenly, my front door creaks open. I can hear my alarm clock begin to ring again from upstairs.
It is time to leave.
I hastily get up from my comfy chair, and I trot toward my door. I wonder what adventure awaits me today. I wonder what the day’s endeavor entails.
I approach my door.
I step outside.
It is another normal day.
Another beautiful day.
I wonder who keeps the scenery so immaculate.
I’d like to know.
I’d like to meet that pony.
Because they do such a wonderful job.
The vast expanse of white nothingness before me stretches as far as the eye can see.
o----o
All right, so perhaps I should start from the beginning. It has been this way for as long as I can remember. My house literally just floats in the middle of nothing. It sits on open air. There is nothing in this world except for me and my house. How is this so?
If I knew the answer, I’d be forever grateful.
So, let me just give you the jist of it. My world looks sort of like a blank sheet of paper, something like this-
Did you get that? You were just looking at my entire world. Congratulations.
Now, I have been the only pony here my entire life. I practically raised myself. How is that even possible? I’m not sure. My early years are a blur. I don’t know how I did it, but I certainly don’t remember the assistance of any guardian figures. I don’t even know if I was ever conceived from the womb, as I have no recollection or proof of my parents existence.
I have been forever alone. You may ask, with no one to hold me, or love me, or at least interact with, how have I not had some sort of existential meltdown? How have I kept my head up?
How in the hoof did I receive my education?
Well, as for the first portion, I told you before that I no longer carry emotion. In my younger days, my existence bothered me. When I grew old enough to realize that only I was here, I cried. I cried because I just didn’t know what was going on. I would go through the general motions of the day, drinking the beverages given from who knows where. Eating the food offered that magically appeared on the table whenever I would turn my head. After a while, I suppose that I just became self-aware. This world wasn’t so bad, so I quickly grew out of my darker days.
As for the education, you might not like this answer. Things just... came to me. I would look at an object, and something in my mind would tell me what that object was. I’m not sure. Perhaps it isn’t even a real language I speak, but it is what I was taught... sort of... so I just continued to use it. Chair. Refrigerator. Bed. Painting. Even my name. They all just popped into my mind like a random thought you might think of while walking down the road.
When I first took the trek into the unknown (I now call it the nothing), leaving my house as a filly, I walked for what felt like miles. I trotted and trotted and trotted, but nothing ever changed. The sky, or what I was led to believe was the sky, remained its shade of brilliant white. It always reminded me of a sheet of paper, so that’s what I compare it to.
Speaking of which, I’ve even tried to write in the sky... it didn’t work.
After my many miles of walking, I was overjoyed to find another house appear on the horizon... if this place, had, a horizon. My stubby filly legs raced for the house, I was fleet-footed and athletic. Whoever my parents were, they passed on good genes.
I rounded the house to the front door and burst inside with complete disregard for manners. I checked the house for anypony, anypony at all.
The house looked awfully familiar.
Upon checking a few rooms in the house, I had realized that the house was my own. My heart sank a little bit, and I just ended up eating the decadent potato soup that was provided for me that night.
About time here. There is no such thing as time. I know what the word means. I know what night and day and calendar and clock is. So I use them relative to what I am doing. When I wake up, it is the morning. When I get outside, it is the day. When I get back home, it is the night.
It works for me, so I might as well use it.
So, back to today, back to the present. I inhale the familiar... uh, nothing. I don’t really know how to explain that part. I smile, because keeping a positive attitude is important. One hoof is put in front of the other, and before you know it, I am walking. I trot away from my front door at a leisurely place, who knows when I will find my house again.
It doesn’t matter. I will always find it.
What a marvelous... nothing it is today. I trot away, leaving my house far behind me. It is an appropriate time to let my mind wander, as if any other time would not also be appropriate. What do I think about?
I’m not sure. I don’t know why, but my mind feels about as blank as the nothing around me. Perhaps I had already thought of everything I can think of.
“Want to go for a fly today?” I ask myself. I have to talk to myself here, it keeps me from going mad. The irony of that statement is remarkable, I know.
In any sense, I unfurl my feathery purple wings, letting the nothing flow through them, ruffling them. I am not particularly a great flyer, but it isn’t to an extent where it permanently grounds me. I usually only do it on certain occasions, because of what normally happens when I fly. Today just so happens to be a day where I could grow bored too easily.
I beat my wings and easily ascend into the nothing. I float heavenly upon it, quite literally in some sense. After I have ascended to a considerable height, I stop beating my wings. I don’t fall. There is no ground. I merely continue to carry on through space.
“WOO HOO!” I shout, turning over to my back.
I do this every day. Make my daily rounds into the nothing for no particular reason. I found that, if I did not travel out here as soon as my door drifted open, my house would disappear before my eyes and I would have to trot around anyway. Upon the first time that happened, as you might imagine, I nearly died of a heart attack from the sudden shock.
My house just hoofin’ disappeared.
Since that time, however, I sometimes sit in my chair and wait for it, as if it were my entertainment for the day. It disappears and I just sit in the nothing, staring, before I proclaim, “Cool!”
So here I am. Drifting through my world. It’s quite an astounding piece of work it is.
“Is this real life?” I chuckle. I giggle to myself, because being happy is also important.
I challenge myself to do a few barrel rolls. There isn’t really a fear of failing, I don’t necessarily even have to use my wings to do it, so long as I have the momentum to carry me. I twist and turn in the air. It most likely looks very ugly. I laugh at my pitiful attempts as I perform them for my invisible audience.
“Good afternoon ladies and gentlecolts, this is your captain speaking. Welcome aboard flight 108 from nowhere to nowhere. Today, there is a gentle breeze coming out of the northwest, you may be able to feel it running through your mane because this plane has no external skeleton besides the underbelly. What an incredible flaw, the manufacturers must have been too lazy. In any sense, seat belt lights are on, so buckle up and enjoy your flight!”
Okay... perhaps I am mad.
I continue my venture through the nothing... and my descent into madness. I realized that I had forgotten to eat breakfast today, it was more than likely already replaced by dinner. Whoops. Oh, well, not much of a breakfast eater anyway. The coffee usually sustains me through the day. And, on this day, I keep talking to myself, keep kicking back, and I keep carrying on.
Hours pass. Hours pass by like nothing, and there is obviously a connection to be made there. Soon my house would present itself on the horizon... if there were one.
And there it is. A small speck in the distance, drawing ever closer as if it were coming to me. Perhaps it was, I suppose you can’t really know that sort of thing.
“Quick as a cat, you are William,” I say to myself. I have named my house William. In part because the house reminds me of a book I read about a butler, and the other because I like to use the expression “quick as a cat” from the same book.
As my house draws nearer, I realize that I have a problem. Now, I said before that this happens whenever I fly. That’s the only time it ever does. And here it presents itself again-
the house is upside down (or I’m upside down).
This is always an interesting predicament. Last time I missed my house, I looped under it and crashed into its back. I don’t want to do that ever again, I had to ice my shoulder for days. So, I struggle to right myself, twisting through the air like a worm on drugs. My house begins to slowly turn itself, as if it were turning on a fan blade.
“Okay, okay, I got this.”
My house gets closer.
“Ergh! Just hold on! One twist!”
My house is very close now.
“AHA! GOT IT!”
And I crash nose first through my front door.
I lift myself off of the ground, brushing off the dust that has accumulated on the floor since I left. It will be gone in the morning.
“What’s for dinner?” I ask, now making my way to the kitchen. I grin upon the sight of the eats before me.
“Lasagna? Ah, it’s like you knew!”
o----o
I awake to the alarm clock ringing. Once again, I fail to smack it... shocking. On this morning, I sort of just push the thing off of the nightstand, letting it thunk to the floor. The smell of coffee makes its way up the stairs, and it joins me under my bedsheets. I kick my covers off and poke my head out from under them, taking in a few breaths of the coffee scent before I throw myself out of bed. I trot down the stairs today in favor of floating down them.
The coffee is, as always, burning hot, but friendly. Today, I throw my newspaper over the note that sits on the counter, as I do not wish to look at it.
I sit in my chair, sipping my coffee, thinking about the day ahead. I joke with myself-
Wonder what the weather is like today...
Perhaps I should tend to the flowers in the garden. Those daisies are looking a bit sad.
Hmmm. What if my house ever forgot to turn the oven off? What would happen if my house burned down?
My front door opens, very slowly today, as if in agony. I have not yet finished my coffee. Something feels off, and I don’t want to down it before I exit. I stare at the door. Wonder what exciting adventures await me today.
I am outside, trotting into the nothing. Today, flying feels like a not so fine idea, as I almost feel under the weather. Strange... I don’t think that I’ve ever caught a cold here. Perhaps I will feel better if I just keep going.
“Those tulips are looking spectacular this year, Eddy!” I say to my imaginary friend as I pass his house. Sometimes I say hello to him, and other times I don’t. Eddy can be kind of a dick once in awhile.
But those tulips that I imagined in his garden did look lovely.
Eddy, doesn't reply, but he shrugs his shoulders to acknowledge me.
I pass another invisible house on my left, this one owned by a couple of artists. Their house is painted with a various assortment of colors, and they always appear to be working on some sort of extravagant project together.
“House looks great, guys!” I try to wave in through the non-existent window panes, “Just wish you’d come out and display the paintings every once in awhile!”
Nopony answers me.
I trot down the imaginary path of my invisible neighborhood. Everypony out on the street has a grin on their face, and they wave to me as I pass. I will usually give them some sort of compliment before I mosy on by. Sometimes, the compliment is the same one that I had used beforehoof, on some other day. They never seem to notice or care, so it keeps me satisfied to know that they are happy.
I trot to the end of the neighborhood, down to my imaginary hillside. There is a pony that dwells at the bottom of it which I had grown accustomed to talking to on a regular basis. I named her Sweets, and she is sort of an extension of myself, like my shadow. Sweets lives in a house much like my own, only it is a flat, not a two story cottage. I descend down the hillside, where Sweets can be seen tending to her plants.
“Hey, Sweets! How’s it goin’?” I yell to her. I do not receive a reply, but I imagine her response to be something like-
“Not bad! Just workin’, like always, am I right?”
I laugh, “Ah, yes, like always!”
Have I totally lost it, by way of talking to invisible individuals?
“Say, are you going to enter into the lily contest again? I’m positive you’ll win first prize,” I say to my imaginary friend. Her presence is warm and she is filled with enthusiasm.
Sweets smiles that cute smile that I’ve displayed upon her face, “Of course. Where would they be without me?”
I return her smile. I feel happier just imagining her with me, “That’s a fair question. Most likely fading away like spooky spectres, abruptly ceasing to exist.”
Sweets chuckles. Sweets chuckles an adorable little laugh that would send your heart aflutter. Suddenly, I lose my concentration, and Sweets disappears altogether.
I’m not entirely sure what happened... Sweets just chuckled, it’s what I made her do. But... I swear that I... no...
What’s the expression? Perhaps it was only the wind? I find one problem with that theory.
There is no wind out here.
I look behind me, frozen in my spot. I make no sudden motions, nor any sort of sound. After a short time of hearing nothing more, I try something that I should know would not work.
“H-Hello?” I whimper out into the nothing, “Is anypony there?”
The response I receive is similar to that of my imaginary friends.
I stand in my spot for what must be a few hours. Nothing happens. Nothing happens at all. I swear that I had heard it, but then again, it could have all been in my head. Sometimes, I play myself for the fool. Sometimes, my mind plays tricks on me, and how could it resist to? Yes. This was another trick... and a very believable one.
I warily begin to move my hooves forward, keeping an eye out. Not that anything could sneak up on me... but I had certainly read a book on ninjaponies.
For the next few hours, I tell myself that nothing happened. Nothing happened at all. My mind can be a wicked jester sometimes, as it is truly hard to stay sane here, and at times my head just needs to tell me to shut it off. Back to business. Back to the nothing. I trot along, no longer imagining things, only keeping to myself.
What do I think about for the next few hours? Laughter. Dammit. I have tried to get it out of my head, but it will not go away. I am growing sicker. These thoughts are cancerous, because they should not be thought of in the first place. Another’s laughter here is impossible. I am the only one who has laughed, cried, or screamed in this world. I am the only one here. So it is impossible.
But it still won’t go away. Just a small cackle, nothing more. It rests uninvited at the back of my mind, attempting to cause a reaction from me. What am I supposed to do about it? I keep it buried back there, but even things that you bury you still know about. The best I can do is show no reaction, which is what I have always prided myself on doing my entire life.
So nothing is given. I show nothing on my face. I keep walking, my noiseless hoofsteps inching farther and farther along. I can control everything that I do, absolutely everything.
But for whatever reason, I can’t control my ears from listening in on my surroundings.
More hours pass. More long, strenuous hours. I have heard nothing, and I have said nothing the whole time. I try to calm myself, and it should be an easy task, but I can’t seem to pinpoint exactly why I’m losing my nerves. It didn’t happen. It couldn’t happen. So... why does my brain want to tell me that it did?
My house appears in the distance. I try to think about dinner, my chair, my alarm clock, even the note on the counter. I try to think about everything but laughter, which is weird, because laughter is all you can really ask for in this world. My house’s front door seems to smile at me as it draws nearer, which is the last thing that I needed.
I sigh as I step up to my front door. The door swings open for me this time, leaving me with a few hostile thoughts after not doing so the day before. Sometimes I think that my house has a mind of its own. It supplies everything for me, so that is a fair belief. However, William has never responded to my voice, only my messes.
I steer clear of the door shutting behind me, and I prance into the kitchen. The meal tonight is tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches, along with a glass of milk and a side of dessert- cherry cheesecake. Everything looks scrumptious, on any other occasion I would have sat down and devoured the meal instantly. Today, I sit down and stare at the food before me, questioning its presence, attempting to identify its origins. But I am not a philosopher. I am only here.
“William, do you think that anypony else exists here?”
As is the norm, William does not respond. His chair squeaks under my weight: suddenly those stairs seem necessary to my fitness.
“Right. I didn’t think so either. Thanks, William.”
o----o
I awake to the alarm clock ringing. I don’t dare touch it. The accursed thing rings continuously, and today feels like a day where it will be ringing in my head for the majority of it. I toss the covers off of my body, and I proceed to stare at the ceiling like an immovable sack of rocks. What will today throw at me? The answer to that question is usually so simple.
I can smell coffee. The familiar aroma lingers in my room, and I breathe enough of it in to gather the strength to escape my bed. I roll, and I end up falling to the floor similar my alarm most mornings. The floor is cold. It doesn’t matter, the coffee will warm me up.
I stumble down the stairs and into the kitchen, where my mug of coffee can be seen steaming on the countertop, along with the newspaper that carries no news. I silently lift both of them from where they sit. I pay no attention to the note that sits on the counter as I exit the room. It must smirk deviously at my ignorance.
It must hate me.
My chair feels less comfortable than usual today. The fabric itself is smooth and soft to the touch, but there is some sort of lump in the seat. I can’t place where it is, it is just there. I sort of fidget, trying to eradicate the nuisance, but it stays there. So I just let it be.
My coffee tastes... bitter today. Not too bad, definitely downable, but bitter nonetheless. This is a strange series of occurrences. Normally everything is perfect, even the painting up on the wall seems crooked. So what do I think about?
Who painted that painting?
Who brews my coffee?
I only have names for the books I’ve read... who writes them?
Who prepares my food?
Dammit.
Now I have to tell myself to stop thinking. These devilish thoughts are going to place me in a world of hurt; I have been there, and I am not willing to go back. My sanity would take a hit. I would soon lose grip on the world, and in turn the world would grow insufferable.
So, I relax...
meditate...
no emotion, no emotion at all.
My front door lazily swings open, slowly, so the groan emitted from its hinges is heard crisply. I sigh. My head falls onto my shoulder as I hold my bitter coffee and nowhere news. Moving from my spot is going to be painful, as I am not yet ready to venture into the nothing. So I shut my eyes. I close them tight. I prepare myself, or rather force myself to get ready.
I yawn as I slink out of my chair, dropping to the floorboards like dead weight. In retrospect, eating breakfast today would have been a good idea. In the very least I could have some extra energy for the day. It is too late for that now.
The nothing beckons from beyond my door. It calls for the same routine that I have completed day in and day out.
Something in the back of my mind asks of me... will it indeed be the same routine?
I trot into the nothing, fearless and unemotive. There are no invisible neighbors or imaginary houses, just myself and the nothing, as it always is and always will be. I keep an eye out for spots of imperfection in it, blemishes in its appearance. I can’t find any, and I never will. It is perfect.
It is always perfect.
My pace is a brisk one, as if I have somewhere to be, as if I am late for an important meeting. I haven’t had one of those in years (yes, I have been late for a meeting before. When I was very young, I worked as a savvy salespony *wink wink*). At least I am getting my exercise in so I don’t have to think about those stairs. Dessert tonight will more than likely have something to say about that, however.
What do I think about? Well, since I was on the topic, my younger days I suppose. I was such an adorable filly back then, and I had an off the wall imagination. In fact, I think that those were the days when I invented my invisible village.
Eddy, the dickhead- a representation of evil after reading Hoofer’s ‘Odyssey’.
The painting couple- conceived from my imagination upon my sudden interest for the arts.
Gerda- a character derived from Grimm’s ponytales: specifically the witch from Hansel and Gretel.
Howard- the gardener, made up when I desired to start my own botanical garden.
Of course, Sweets- an extension of myself, what I would imagine my best friend to be.
I was a silly foal. I was a foalish foal. Back when the world made little sense, back when I had to make sense of the world. My creativity certainly kept me going. Gosh, now I think back to those crayon drawings again. Where did those go? They must have been swept out of the house just like everything else has as time persists. Why didn’t William just lock them away in a box somewhere for me?
A couple of hours pass, or so I think. Nothing has happened, just as I suspected would be the case. My mind safely wanders again. I have successfully composed myself and have rid myself of fret and worry. I swim through my thoughts, finding random memories and ideas in the crevices of my mind.
I remember waiting for the bus when I was little. I never actually got to see one, but they were in my picture books, and something struck me that that is what normal foals did. I would sit on the corner, or what I pretended to be the corner, and I’d just wait for the bus. On some days, I remember sitting there for what felt like an eternity. What a ridiculous thing to do, wait for a bus that didn’t exist. Is it really so different from what I do today? Heh, I suppose I’ve never lost sight of my foalhood.
On other days when I was young, I would have a book with me. Books came around every so often, more often when I was little. They would present themselves on my nightstand whenever I woke up in the morning, every one of them something that I hadn’t read before. When I finished them, they’d disappear. So when I was young, I would carry a book into the nothing, and I would sit and read it or just gallop along with it in my grasp. I’ve read Shakespony, Stallionbeck, The Stallions Grimm, and Dr. Shoes. Never had a favorite I might add. I enjoyed every one of their company, and I’d even sleep with them some nights.
“Need a good book again...” I murmur to myself.
More hours pass. Something in my head is telling me to take off and fly, but my better judgement takes that thought and shoves it into a box in the back of my mind. I might as well just jump continuously until I reach a good height. I can climb without leaving my hooves leaving the flat course I run. It is essentially the same as scaling a mountainside or climbing a flight of stairs, the nothing just doesn’t let me fall. It is kind of silly, however, as it is not like it will ever get me anywhere.
So I trot. I trot farther into the nothing, letting my imagination run wild again. My better judgement has told me that this is okay. I have begun to construct a sort of utopia out here, way out in the nothing, about a half day trot through the day. This world is so clean, so I feel as though a city built amongst its void would be ideal. I am making that city. I am the architect, the mayor, the police and the judge of my city. It grows when I imagine it to grow. It disappears when I want it to disappear.
This is where it starts, this is where it begins. There is a great drawbridge that gates the entrance to the community, and of course I have the key. Two guards stand alert at the entrance, attentive and aware of my approach. The white walls of the gate blend in with the surroundings as the guards open the gate for me without a hitch. My key does not have to be used under normal circumstances.
When I trot inside of my city, there is a long and winding road that leads directly up to the main castle. The road splits off to other parts of the utopia along the way, but sometimes you don’t even notice those alleyways, as the breathtaking sight of the castle dominates the skyline. Ivy and other assortments of plant-life line the houses that line the street. The simple cottages of the townsfolk add a piece of hospitality and friendliness to the community, which is why I added them here in spite of grand mansions and such.
Normally townsfolk and fancy looking ponies can be seen crowding the street I currently trot down. Today, I imagine it to be empty. A utopia entirely to myself: what an incredible thing to be a part of. I am relaxed. I am in control. Should I build more today? Perhaps I should decorate the interior of the castle, add a few medieval touches. Why not? It’s my town.
The town is almost straight out of a storybook. I wanted the town to be perfect, so what better place to derive an idea for a utopia from? Those books always ended happily ever after. My utopia will end up happily ever ever.
As I near the castle, I realized I had forgotten just how huge the castle doors were (how is that possible?). I imagine them to be about ten of me fully stretched from foreleg to hind leg. I trot up to them, the sheer height of them dwarfing me, the intricately carved pattern into the wood a grandiose display of craftsponyship (or imagination). Every time I am here I have carved something new into the wood, some sort of insignia or emblem. Today, I just push open the doors to the inside of the castle.
“Well isn’t that interesting, it’s exactly as I envisioned it,” I joke.
I imagined the inside of the castle to have one grand ballroom at the entrance. Most of the rooms in the castle are blank, as I don’t know what to throw up on the walls yet, but I have the layout designed. At the far wall, there are two separate winding staircases that lead to different parts of the castle, including guest rooms, the throne room, and a banquet hall. I guess that when I designed the place, I had a sweet spot for the old ponytales of grand, medieval-like castles, so that is what mine takes after.
The walls are bare. Can’t have that, can we? No, a castle needs to be extravagant and beautiful... in the very least extremely large and impressive. So, starting with the interior of the ballroom, I begin to decorate.
I start by placing a decently sized marble statue of a stallion reared back on his hind legs in the far right corner. I line the walls with a series of torches, lit to shadow the statue and anypony else in the room. Then, I place a fountain in the center of the room, where I immediately make it spout water from its openings.
Hmmmm. I take the fountain back out. This is a castle, not a mall.
“What next... what next...”
I put up some knights in shining armor, they sit under the torches, guarding the ballroom. It might be awkward to have them stare at you while you dance, but what do I care? Deal with it.
“Um, I suppose that we could use a space for a band.”
I imagine a small stage set into the room, put in the far left corner for a proper orchestra to sit. Overall, the room seems to flow smoothly. The middle of the floor is left open for dancers and merrymaking.
“Now all I need is somepony to dance with,” I say. I smile, thinking of a beautiful stallion offering me his hoof for a dance.
“Nah, I like to dance by myself.”
*heh heh*
Wha? Did I? No...
Suddenly, I lose focus again. My utopia falters, and it starts to crumble away.
No. I hold it up. It didn’t happen. It couldn’t happen.
I heard nothing.
Sweets must be here.
Yes, there is Sweets, she is over by the stallion in the corner.
She laughs at some sort of crude joke she is thinking of.
I draw in a sharp breath, and I hold up my world.
Nothing. Happened.
*You’re such a crack up!*
My world dissipates altogether.
No way.
I heard that.
I swear it.
Loud and clear.
No. No. That is impossible, that can’t be.
Can it?
Shut up! Shut up!
“Is anypony there?” I call into the void. The nothing stares back at me, almost insultingly, “Please, I heard you, I swear I did!”
Nothing answers back, and nothing steps out to show itself. It is only myself in the nothing.
“I heard you! This time I know that I did! Who are you? Show yourself!”
Again, nothing. The possibility of another residing here is killing me now.
“Stop hiding! I heard you! I know it!”
Then, I see a small speck present itself in the distance. Is it somepony else? This is unreal. Perhaps my world has adopted another. I cannot believe it. I hold my breath, awaiting the arrival of this stranger.
A tear forms in my eye. All the years, I have had nopony else. This world is all that I have known. I just now realize that I had been lonely. Maybe this pony is from another dimension. Maybe this pony can take me to faraway places. The possibilities are endless!
The speck starts to get bigger...
and bigger...
too big.
No.
No, this is too soon, it can’t be here already.
My house has come to rescue me from my hopes.
“No! I’m not ready yet! Stop! Stop! Somepony else is here, I know it!”
My house gets closer, so I turn and run.
“Please! I need to find them!” I scream as I gallop in the other direction. I stop myself as an approaching speck can be found in the direction I had turned. William is everywhere.
“No,” I say somberly. “No, please, I must do this!”
I turn again, and suddenly William is right there, right in front of me, having snuck up on me. His door opens, forcibly inviting me in.
“STOP! NO!” I shriek. I am sucked in through the house’s front door, and the door slams shut behind me. The musty smell of the floorboards makes me sick.
I get up from the floor, and I scramble back to the door, kicking and clawing and scratching at it. I try the door handle, but it is locked.
“WHAT ARE YOU HIDING!? WHAT’S GOING ON!” I yell. The sound bounces off the walls and seeps into the wood.
As is the norm, William does not answer. The smell of dinner wafts its way into the room, filling my nostrils as if that were an appropriate response. It is not one.
I am alone again, and I never thought that I could feel so lonely.
o----o
I awake to the alarm clock ringing, a never ending cycle of monotony and bleating noise. I find it hard to say that I indeed got any sleep last night, my mind was working like a clock, and I just opened my eyes upon the smell of coffee.
It doesn’t matter. I am up, and I am ready.
I wriggle out from my covers and I exit my bedroom, where I find the stairwell and I quickly trot down it. I enter the kitchen, where a mug of coffee sits on the countertop along with the news, and a plate of eggs on the table that will go untouched. The note gets ripped to shreds on this morning. It will be back the following morning, but I’m looking forward to a different tomorrow.
I snatch the mug of coffee from the counter, plus the daily news. I imagine the news headline to read “mysterious pony found in the nothing”, but as always, there isn’t anything there. Dammit. I need to relax, simmer down some. I can’t. So what do I think about?
William, open the door.
Open the damn door, William.
I sit in my less than comfy chair, already dreaming about the day ahead. I heard somepony, I know that I did. This was not my mind playing tricks, I heard it. I am going to find that pony today, and then I will know once and for all that I am not the only member of existence.
My coffee does not even taste like coffee today. It tastes like tea... sour tea. I reluctantly down the first swig, and then set the mug on the table, displeased with it for the first time ever. It doesn’t matter. Perhaps they have coffee where this pony is from... if this pony is indeed from anywhere. That door just needs to open.
C’mon, just open already.
Just do it.
I hear a click in the door, and that is all I needed. I leap from my chair before the door even fully swings open, and I race for it. The floorboards groan under my hooves as I gallop toward the door. They’re gonna have to deal with that, because I am poking my head outside in the next instant, trotting into the nothing to begin the day. An exciting adventure surely awaits, and I could not be more excited to get started.
I steal glances over my shoulder, making sure the house is not following me as I distance myself from it. It seems to be getting smaller and smaller. I am safe. My pace is quick, and for being out of shape, it is sort of surprising. I suppose that desperate times call for action and desperate measures.
“Hello? Can anypony hear me?” I call out. My voice carries into the nothing, but I can’t tell how far. I wonder if they’ll be able to catch anything at all.
I listen. I don’t get a response, not even a whisper or a squeak. It’s a bit disheartening, but I have a long day ahead of me. I try again-
“Hello? Please, I know that somepony is out there! Anypony?”
Again nothing.
Perhaps I have to get farther out for them to hear me, or for me to hear them. So I embark farther into the nothing, my mind wishing and hoping for something extraordinary. Something is going to happen on this day, I just know it. Is this the day that my crazy routine ends?
I am getting emotional again, when I promised myself I would never again show such a thing.
A couple hours pass where I have trotted along, all the while calling out into the void and awaiting a response. I haven’t received one to my dismay. I stand hopeful that something will break through, and that sooner or later something will happen.
What will happen if I find that other pony? What if the other pony I find isn’t even a pony? What else exists? There are a lot of questions buzzing around my head today, most of them seem strangely philosophical.
Is there another dimension, another realm?
What will happen to mine if I exit?
What if their reality is worse than mine?
Does another’s company really outweigh everything else, all that could happen?
“Can anypony hear me?” I try again. Still nothing, I am surrounded by a blank sheet of paper. Now, I am a bit more anxious, “You have to be out there somewhere!”
I stop in my place for a couple of minutes. I listen intently, completely immerse myself in my surroundings. Somepony is here, and I am going to find them. If it kills me, then so be it, I will have died knowing.
“This is unbelievable. They have to be here somewhere,” I say to myself.
I continue to trot forward, my hairs sticking up and my nerves on high. I need to find the spot where they can hear me, or where I can hear them. I can’t wait until the end of the day, it will be too late. I need to find them now. But, where is that place?
I trot for another hour and still no luck. By this time, doubt has started to creep into my mind, nestling itself into my skull. I have tried to push it away, but the things it says just seem so truthful and heart-breaking.
What if you were just imagining everything?
Nopony else exists here, only you.
If somepony else was here, why make their presence felt now?
It is something to think about, but not something that I wanted to think about.
“Hello! Anypony! Please tell me that you aren’t a figment of my imagination!”
Nothing. I can feel a solitary tear form in my eye.
“No... this can’t be.”
I’m down, but I will not give up. I slow my trot down, just listening now. Listening to any vibrations or whispers or faint voices in the nothing. If they are here, I will seek them out.
Another hour passes. I haven’t said anything, I have only listened for their voice. They don’t seem to be very loquacious today. Perhaps I had scared them off last time. The thing is, I don’t think that they even heard me last time. So how could that be the case? No, I’m just not in the right spot, I need to keep going.
“You aren’t making this very easy,” I say. “You know we could have had this over with a few hours ago.”
The voice seems to carry. I freeze in my spot. I make no sudden movements. I flick my ears around to various locations in the nothing, trying to pick up on something. Had I heard something? False alarm? Oh, I’m so jumpy. I need to relax.
No, wait.
It had to be.
It couldn’t be.
Could it be?
I listen in closer, my ears acute to any sort of noise traveling in here. What do I hear? Nothing. Nothing, that is, to the unattentive observer. But, remember...
There is no wind out here.
“Hello? Can you hear me? Hello?”
There is no clear answer, but something is traveling through the nothing, I can feel the disturbance. It seems to be growing stronger as the days continue. All of a sudden, my doubts are gone. Somepony is here, and I am getting very close.
I trot again, my hoofsteps making no noise, but my mane jostles around to my annoyance. I hear something in the nothing, I know it. It has to be here, something tells me so.
“Can you hear me!? Hello!?”
The disturbance can be felt coursing through my veins now. The feeling is getting stronger with each hoofstep. I want this now, interesting how my mindset could change in two days time. At first, nothing. And now... the possibility of the discovery of a lifetime.
“Is anypony there?!”
There is a definite buzz in the nothing. With each hoofstep, everything grows stronger and more pronounced. I am positive that I can hear incoherent whispers floating around my head, taunting me. I burst into a full on gallop.
“I can hear you! Answer me! Please!”
*yay*
There it is! I definitely heard that. I don’t think that it is the same voice from yesterday, but it was very faint, so I can’t be sure. All I know is that I heard it, and it was not my own. This is crazy. Somepony else is here, and I thought that only I existed, or perhaps that I was even the last source of life. All that is going to change.
I am teeming with excitement.
“I hear you! Can you hear me? Please! I’m here!”
*louder*
Did I hear that correctly? Contact! This is unreal! There are two of them! I need to find them now, I just need to find them.
“Hello! I’m here! Can you hear me?!”
*yay*
Did they hear me? Did they? I don’t know. Come on! Use your lungs Lily!
“I’m here! Where are you!? I can’t see you guys-”
*LOUDER*
Yes! They can hear me! I just need to be louder! I just need to get my voice up there.
I inhale a deep breath, and I prepare my lungs for the job.
“HELLO! PLEASE, COME OUT! WHO ARE Y-”
*yaaaaaaaay*
One of them cut me off for some reason or another. I’m not sure what happened there, perhaps the two are coming in from different universes. I will try them again.
“HELLO! MY NAME IS LILY BLOSSOM! WHO ARE YOU, AND WHERE ARE YOU?”
I wait. There is no immediate response, maybe they are thinking of one. They obviously speak my language, so there shouldn’t be a discrepancy in translation.
A few more precious moments are wasted. Something is wrong. I no longer hear whispers or feel any sort of disturbance. I can’t feel their presence anymore, it is as if they just vanished.
“Hello!? Are you still here!?”
Nothing. All that I can feel is the void of the nothing. This can’t be. This can’t be, they were just right there.
“Is anypony there?” I whimper.
No response.
Legitimate tears begin to form in my eyes now. Damn me. Emotions make you weak. Emotions make you vulnerable. Am I going to have to classify myself as emotionally compromised?
Suddenly, a speck can be seen in the distance. I know what that is.
“No! No! Not yet! They’re here! They’re here!”
William draws nearer.
I panic, I beat my wings and ascend into the nothing. I loop and do tricks and fly faster, but everywhere I turn William can be seen approaching me head on. It’s as if I am not turning at all.
“No! They’re here! I know it!” Tears are streaming from my cheeks. They evaporate as soon as they hit the nothing.
It is unavoidable, inescapable. William gets closer with each wingbeat, and he isn’t even upside down or crooked, he just comes to me.
“Quick as a cat you are, William,” I sob. I am thrown into his front door, where I end up face down in the floorboards while the door slams behind me.
I don’t smell dinner. I don’t care. I am crying into the floorboards, letting my emotions flow freely. Curse me. Damn me. I must be sick.
Wait... why don’t I smell dinner?
I slowly lift my head, wiping the tears away with a hoof. I look into the kitchen entryway. Something is amiss here. Things have gone amiss for the past two days.
I wearily pull myself to my hooves, shaking off the dust. I stare into the kitchen with puffy eyes. What is going on? I... I suppose there is only one way to find out.
I walk into the kitchen, and I look to the table. I gasp.
Th-there they are...
my drawings from when I was little...
randomly here?
I cross to the table to get a better look. There are six drawings in all, and they are all a bunch of ponies I had made up in my head when I was little. I lift one of them from the counter, gawking at how long it’s been.
‘Twilite Sparkl’, the first one reads in crude hoof. It shows a picture of a purple unicorn with a navy blue mane and pink and violet highlights.
I set the paper down and look at the rest of them. Suddenly they are here? Why? What’s going on?
“What are you trying to tell me?” I say to my house. I get no response, and now it bothers the hell out of me.
“WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME?!” I scream.
Then, the kitchen sink gets thrown at me.
Literally.
It screams over my head, narrowly missing me. I shriek, covering my head instantly as it crashes against the wall.
Then, chaos reigns.
Pots and pans fly out from the cupboards, darting around the room and shooting off the walls. The table before me flips over, scattering the six drawings around the room. Miscellaneous items that I didn’t even know I had in this household start to join the pans in the air, jetting from room to room now.
Me? I’m screaming my head off, cowering on the floor.
What do I think about? Nothing. The last thing I know of before blacking out is me in a state of utter fright.
o----o
I awake to the alarm clock ringing... from upstairs. I struggle to lift my heavy eyelids. My head hurts. I groan as I lift myself from the floor of my kitchen, and the sight is atrocious.
Pots, pans, everywhere. They have stuck themselves into the walls. For the first time ever, William has not cleaned up the mess. How... strange.
The familiar scent of coffee cannot be found. The morning’s newspaper and my mug of coffee are missing from the trashed countertop. Even the note cannot be seen. I‘m in a state of disbelief. How... strange.
I stumble out of the kitchen, and I look at my chair in the living room. It has been tipped over, and is in full recline. I didn’t know it could do that. How... strange.
Then, I look out my front door. How strange. It is already open, awaiting my exit. What is it trying to tell me?
I squint into the nothing beyond my door. At first, it is only the nothing I see, just a sheet of paper. But I look harder. Something is there... I think. Isn’t something there? I really strain my eyes now.
No way.
Is that?
Yes.
There is an ink blot on the paper.
I rush to the threshold of my house, and I peer into the nothing. Yes, it is there. A hole in reality, a rift in the world. It has to be. Those ponies... had they found me an escape route? Had they found me a portal?
There is only one way to find out.
I ran.
I ran toward the hole in existence.
Tears streamed.
My heart fluttered.
It yearned,
it bled,
it beated.
I ran.
I ran to the edge of the universe.
I ran to the hole.
It would fit me perfectly, it was the ideal size.
It was made for me,
and I for it.
It neared.
I could peer into its black void, a welcome sight.
This was my chance.
I jumped.
I took a leap of faith.
I shut my eyes.
I prayed.
I could feel it, it was passing through me.
It was so cold.
I shuddered,
I winced,
I prayed.
I passed through the portal completely.
My world was behind me now.
I opened my heart,
my mind,
my being,
my eyes...
I sank.
It was black.
Everything around me was black.
No.
No, this can’t be.
I turned.
My portal was gone.
I stared into the abyss.
The endless abyss.
No.
My emotions had finally gotten the best of me,
and I said that that would never happen.
I cried.
I cried with intense longing.
I felt another’s presence, from somewhere far away,
staring at me in my black box, as if the world had suddenly been turned off.
I cried as they watched.
I cried in the dark by myself.
Suddenly, a light flickered on in the darkness. A neon blue sign emerged from the dark, making its presence truly felt. The sign, in bold letters, read:
You.
What makes a pony exist?
Is it another’s belief in you?
Or is it simply a belief in oneself?
My heart ached.
I wanted it to stop.
Because I could never win.
And I forgot my existence as the void surrounded me, washing me away in an endless twilight.
