The Things That Could've Been
What time is it, the mare does not know. She sits alone, and forgotten, imagining what could've been, and how she got into the mess she had. The weather is raining down hard onto the mare, but she does not feel it, despite her nakedness. She stopped feeling long ago. The day ends, just like every other that ever was, and time rewinds back to start of the day, before sunrise. The raging storm stops, and the worn wooden bench she is sitting on dries. All that remains of what was before is the darkness of night, the dim light of the old rusted lamppost, and her, like it had time and time again.
Time.
That word, so cursed yet so wonderful to that mare. She is able to see through it, into all deviations of its existence. She sees herself wake up, in that same house, and leave. She sees herself confused, angered, and depressed. Countless times had she gone through this day, failing every time. The mare remembers the trillions of loops where she studied and studied on ways to escape the madness.
One of her duplicates sits besides her. Another destroys the bench in insanity, splintering it into pieces, untouchable. Infinite memories of her roam the town, each in a different state of mind, yet all with the same wish: to escape what they think is a prison.
Was the mare really so blind, she wondered, she only focused on escaping her current state for eons? In all of eternity, the same day played over, and over, and not once, not once in all of the expanse of time she was given, did she ever spend it wisely. As if on cue, one of her copies looks over at a group of ponies nearby, out for a midnight walk together.
The doppelganger takes a few steps closer to the varied group; a baker, an athlete, a dress maker, a veterinarian, a farmer, and a student turned teacher. Another copy looks at two musicians, heading home from a rave, and yet another at a donkey and his wife, back from their honeymoon. All duplicates shake their heads and turn away.
It had to have been relative eons since the end of the endless loops, when she sat down here on this rickety bench in the middle of town and never got up again. The baker turns towards her, and walks over to the mare.
"What are you doing here?" the baker asked, tilting her head slightly to the right.
The mare on the bench did not respond, for she could not.
"Helloooo?" the baker says. "Anypony home?"
The baker waves her hoof in the mare's face, but no response comes.
"Huh. Are you a statue?" the baker questions.
Again, the mare does not respond.
The baker turned towards the rest of the group, who were waiting paitently. "Hey, girls! Come look at this statue!" she calls out.
The others walked towards the unmoving mare.
"Are you sure that's a statue?" the athlete asks.
"Poistive, look!" the baker claims, producing a cupcake and waving the pastry under the still mare's muzzle.
"Huh, well that's odd. Ah've never seen anythin' like it," says the farmer.
"Why, the detail on this is exquisite! I must know who produced such a lifelike work of art!" exclaims the dressmaker.
The teacher lights her horn. "Hm... I think it's alive!"
"Are you sure?" asks the athlete, gesturing towards the baker, who is bouncing on the mare's head.
The teacher looks at the scene and thinks. "Hm... maybe I'm wrong. We have been up all night, after all."
The baker hops down, and the group leaves. Once again, the mare is alone with her thoughts, like she has been ever since her gift of endless time expired. Nopony would even glance at her the rest of day, this the mare knows. She supposes the few moments the odd group notices her was what has kept her sane over eternity, despite the fact she doesn't know their names. She doesn't even remember her own anymore. Nopony does, not even her family. Not that they ever really knew in the first place.
Hours pass in darkness before the sun rises, and the town is soon filled with the bustle of her copies and the ponies who live there. The mare can do nothing, except mentally hang her head in shame, the shame of her failure. Something had given her more time than she ever could imagine to spend, and she rejected it. Now she was frozen for eternity to this bench, on this cold fall day. She sees one of doubles jump off a building, and sees ponies fail to save her. She sees countless others move towards the bench and sit, not to lament but to study. Ponies ask them questions, and her copies shoo them away.
Morning turns to noon, and the mare remains forgotten. Failed attempt after failed attempt escape shows, as the town is blasted to nonexistent bits and pieces. The town is teleported high into the sky, yet remains on the ground. Ponies around her suffocate, burn, and drown, while others walk peacefully, oblivious to the carnage around them. This used to confuse and frighten the mare, lifetimes ago, but she grew used view of all her loops at once.
She wonders how in all of eternity, infinite lifetimes and possibilities, she never once bothered to try to make a friend. At the very least, she would have somepony to remember, to smile mentally a bit whenever she saw them pass by. Rather, however, she spent eternity denying the gift she was given. She lived in ignorance and terror of the chance to to live each moment to its fullest, to make a friend. It was wishful thinking, but perhaps even making a friend would end the loops.
Alas, it was not to be. Day after day after day passed by, and she wasted every last one of them. Every chance to be somepony, to live, to dream. She wasted every hoof stuck out for her, every attempt to hang out with her. Worst of all, she had wasted her life, her life which was generously extended, her life which was full of opportunities.
She ponders the things that could've been. An adventure into the forest, a trip to faraway lands, a battle against evil, or just a simple winter day, close to her friends. Perhaps she could've worked as a stand-up comedian, a scientist, an astronomer, or a miner. The possibilities she had wasted were endless.
Eons she had sat on this old bench, and eons she would likely stay. Perhaps she is dead, and now spending eternity in purgatory. Perhaps this is Tartarus, and this is her torture, or maybe long ago, when the loops started, she was in heaven, and died there.
Finally, as the sky fades to evening, she wonders why she did what she did, why she ignored every chance to truly be alive. The copy that had sat next to her at the beginning of the day sat still quiet. It gets up, and oddly enough, turns to the mare and smiles. It turns back towards the town and leaves. To this day, the mare never can remember why she got up that specific day, sat down, only to smile at nothingness that evening.
The mare longs to be free, to have one more chance, but she knows her chance was long ago passed. All she can do is sit down and lament her actions, forever and ever, desperately wishing she was smarter so long ago. She shakes herself out of her thoughts. Most copies are gone, and all ponies have gone back into their houses. In her thoughts, she did not realize the storm was coming.
What time is it, the mare does not know. She sits alone, and forgotten, imagining what could've been, and how she got into the mess she had. The weather is raining down hard onto the mare, but she does not feel it, despite her nakedness. She stopped feeling long ago. The day ends, just like every other that ever was, and time rewinds back to start of the day, before sunrise. The raging storm stops, and the worn wooden bench she is sitting on dries. All that remains of what was before is the darkness of night, the dim light of the old rusted lamppost, and her, like it had time and time again.
Time.
Author's Note
Spend the time you have wisely.
