Replay

by DrySpell

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life
Length: 2009

A story of repetition.

This is the story of repetition, and how it can break a young stallion. This is a story of Echo, a stallion who's life repeats constantly, but refuses to tell him. This is the story of a system that needs to be fought against and destroyed.

This is the story of Echo, a stallion who breaks free of his monotonous life.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2016-12-13 21:10:18 UTC

Cycle Broken

Everyday, I’d get up at half past six, eat breakfast, and leave the house. I’d walk to work, which takes about thirty minutes, and I’d start assembling. Small bits of plastic go into larger bits. Then, down the line to more assembly to be made into toys for young foals to break in a week.

I’d get off of work at five-thirty and arrive home by six. The sun is dull by then, and the sky is flooded with oranges and yellows and reds. Everyday, I’d look up at it and call it beautiful. Then I’d retreat into my home.

I'd cook my dinner and eat it quickly. It's not much, anyways. Then I'd go to bed at 8 so I could wake up early, but I never have. I always wake up at half past six.

And it's always going to repeat.

The same day. The same weather, same places and same beautiful skyline every single day. It drives me mad. Or, it does now.

I couldn't ever recall if I'd woken up at the same exact time, it eaten the exact same thing at the exact same speed. I couldn't. And if you'd asked the old me what he'd think, he'd say that I shouldn't have recalled it. Doing the same thing over and over is peaceful, he'd say. No surprises anywhere.

But I’m not the old me anymore. I'm the new me, a stallion who can look directly at an eccentric mare with captivating blue eyes. A mare who's smile seems to be wider than her own hoof. A stallion who has a sharp pain running through his mind like a kitchen knife with a vengeance.

“Hi!” she yelled. It didn't help the pain, but the new me didn't particularly mind it. I greeted her as well. “Where are you headed? Can I tag along?” I wanted to tell her that I was going to the factory: dangerous work, that. But I couldn't remember. Right then, I just had thumping headache and a swim in the mare’s eyes seemed like the perfect medicine.

I don't know, I told her. She didn't seem to mind my forgetfulness, instead opting to bounce up and down. Easily excited, I noted. And she smiles a lot. I’d never tried smiling. It seemed foreign when I did it, so I stopped quickly.

“You can come with me then,” she’d said. “I'll show you around since you look new.  I don't think I've ever seen you around before, and I would know!” She told me about knowing everyone, and a I raised an eyebrow. Being a friend to everyone must be tough, I responded. She nodded like I'd solved the most complicated riddle and seemed to shake with even more energy. “Boy, is it! But it's also so much fun!” Watching her, following behind her. It shook me. It made my head hurt.

I put a hoof to my head to soothe the pain. It didn't work, but I did manage to tap my horn. Horn, I thought. Why do I have a horn? My mind was sent into a spiral of pain, and I was forced to stop in my tracks. I was forgetting something. I know now that it was the old me, clawing his way up the hell this mare had banished him to. But despite being little more than a baby, the new me fought back, gaining extra help from the mare’s eyes.

“C’mon, silly!” said the mare. “Sugarcube Corner’s thataway!” The new me nodded, and followed the mare once again.

Sugarcube Corner amazed me. I was overcome with an emotion I didn't understand then, and the new mare giggled as I gawked at her home. “Cool, isn't it? I work here, and live here at the same time. It's like working under home!” Her laugh was bad in a good way. She snorted and gasped but it inspired a smile in me. Sort of like she was ingraining herself in me. I kept smiling until she looked at me. Then I turned away and my pale cheeks flushed red, thinking about how ridiculous I must've looked when I smiled.

I asked her if she was going to take me inside or what, trying to divert the attention off of me. She giggled again and pushed the door open.

The interior was just as eye catching as the exterior. Tables and chairs, the walls, ceilings and floor were all done up in some kind of decoration. There seemed to be color practically dripping from every crack and crevice of this place. I felt like a sore thumb then. What was my bleak black and white color scheme doing in a place as amazing as this? The mare jumping in front of me is what focused me again.

“Pinkie, you're back!” I blinked, and the mare was suddenly more than a pair of blisteringly amazing blue eyes and a faultless smile. Her coat and mane were shades of pink, and her entire body gave off a bouncy, fluffy, fun look. I looked to who had called her, another mare, and saw the two hug. “You'd been gone for a while. I was just about to go fetch you.”

As the two spoke, something small touched my hind hoof. A Pegasus colt, no older than a mere toddler, clung to me, flapping his small wings gently. Then, I was lifted off the ground cleanly. My hind hooves had been caught in a magic field. I swung at the ground gently as my headache came back. I suspect it was just me being disoriented. I groaned softly, and called to Pinkie. She looked and could help but laugh. The other mare was similar to Pinkie. She laughed too.

“Pumpkin!” she said. “What did I say about lifting ponies?” I was immediately put down, dropped on my stomach. The other child, the unicorn, mumbled something in baby speak before flashing onto my back. The pegasus flew just behind her, adding weight. I slowly got up and walked over to Pinkie and the mare.

“You guys are going to be troublemakers when you grow up!” said Pinkie, taking the foals in her arms and handing them to the other mare. I muttered but no one else heard. The mare, their mother, I think, turned to me.

“So, who's the new stallion in town?” asked the mare. “I'm Mrs. Cake. Me and my husband run this shop.” She was painted before my eyes. Her hair was a swirl of dark and light pink, and in the shape of a cupcake top. Her coat was blue and eyes of light pink. I tried to introduce myself, but my voice got stuck in my throat. Why… who am I again?

“He’s… He’s…” Pinkie gasped loudly. “I’m so sorry! I've never asked your name!” I chuckled and waved a hoof in dismissal. Im Echo, I said. It sounded fake, but felt right. It just escaped my mouth. Pinkie grinned nonetheless. “Echo… cool name!” It seemed like her saying it made it real.

I smiled too, and the pain flared again. The old me doesn't like smiles, can't understand what they were, and what they meant. He doesn't like the unknown. He doesn't like surprises.

“So, Echo,” said Pinkie, taking my attention again. “Where else do you want to go? I mean, you probably don't know any places cause you're new, but if you do...” I waved my hoof and told her to lead the way. She complied with a skip and a bounce, continuing to talk about all the things Ponyville had to offer.

I left the place with a proud smile, beating down the old me into the pits of the hell of my mind.

“And that,” said Pinkie, out of breath. “Is the complete dictionary said backwards!” I clapped my hooves together and congratulated her performance. I continued following after her all day, and it was a day well spent. We searched a library with a seemingly endless amount of books, went adventuring in the Everfree Forest, and had a surprise party that she planned herself (somehow). I was well along being tuckered out.

We'd slowed ourselves to a slow stroll through the streets. The sun was about to dip into the horizon with a splash and eventually go under. The oranges and yellows and reds were dancing across the sky, and I wasn't shy about looking. I asked Pinkie what she'd thought about it.

“Hm,” she'd said. “It's great! Like a big painting that keeps changing!” I'd reflected on that as I walked, staying silent as I did.

After a bit, I called for Pinkie's attention and she turned to face me. I told her what I really wanted to her to know: She was an amazing friend. I really cherished what she'd done for me, and I wanted to say thanks. She just smiled like normal.

“There's no need to thank me!” she answered. “I'm happy to be your friend, Echo!” I smiled again, but the pain never came. It's as if Pinkie had reached inside of me herself and threw all of it away.

The day had been chaotic, and if I could do it again, I would most definitely, I thought. The sunset, I said. It is great. It's beautiful.

And I wonder how different it’d be now if I hadn't.

The pain that had been dormant had flared up, twisting my vision in a spiral of agony. I tried to call out, get help from the one pony I'd ever befriended, but she continued along, bouncing without a care in the world. I felt betrayed, forgotten even, but as I looked at my hooves, I realized I was actually leaving.

I was disappearing.

“Wasn't I walking with someone?” she said. “Oh darn. I'm always so forgetful with these things!”

I'm screamed in panic. I didn't want this. I wanted to stay and play with the only friend I've ever had. I yelled that it wasn't fair, bawled my eyes out until my throat ached and my eyes felt dry. But in the end, I was back on the same trail I took everyday.

I headed in my home and was whisked off to bed. It was nearing 8 after all. I couldn't miss my deadline.

I went to bed at eight, hoping to wake up earlier, but I never do.

I always wake up at half past six, and I always will.

Because I will always repeat.

Everyday, I get up at half past six, eat breakfast, and leave the house. I walk to work, which takes about thirty minutes, and I start assembling. Small bits of plastic go into larger bits. Then, down the line to more assembly to be made into toys for young foals to break in a week.

I get off of work at five-thirty and arrive home by six. The sun dulls by then, and the sky is flooded with oranges and yellows and reds. Everyday, I look up at it and call it beautiful. Then I retreat into my home.

I cook my dinner and eat it quickly. It's not much, anyways. Then I go to bed at 8 so I can wake up earlier, but I never do. I always wake up at half past six.

And it's always going to repeat.

But there are days where I do remember. When I choose to fight. And I'm writing right now because I want to remember. Whatever keeps me here might not let me read, but when I do, I will remember.

I will remember Pinkie and her eyes. I will remember her smile, her home, and her friend, Mrs. Cake. I will remember the walk we had, and the sunset we shared just before the end.

I will remember. And one day, I'll be free if this monotonous tune that is my life. I will break the instrument that plays it. Then, and only then, will I become me again.

Only then will I be more than an Echo.