Lost and Listless

I didn’t remember when it started. Somehow, I would keep seeing him.

There’s a difference of seeing and being seen; our paths would cross. I’d find how, if even for a minute, we would be walking the same way. In a blur of strange, brightly-colored furred bodies, his was a respite. The brown of his coat resembled a normal horse. I’d say nothing, he’d say nothing.

What could have been exchanged? I was a stranger in a strange land, one that seemed the product of a fever dream. The incandescent movements blurred together, as ponies went about their day, coordinated and cordial all the same. Clip-clop, hooves on stone, a foreign sound I quickly adjusted as the new normal. I watched, slower than the rest. While equine faces twisted themselves in open laughter and chatter, I meandered in silence.

Even though Ponyville is a small town, if you take the roads right, they will never end. I practiced my clumsy hoof-steps, over and over, until I knew how to move properly.

I was a pony. Maybe nothing was strange at all, except myself. I could not, and can not, recall anything about my childhood. There were figments of other things, things I quickly assumed were dreams. For some reason I didn’t know my own body. For a while, I would be terrified of it. The things I desired it to do did not make sense. The reactions I’d had to the sensation of swiveling ears, for some reason had made me cry.

I had said “normal horse” right? I don’t know where that phrase came from. Filthy Rich isn’t Saddle-Arabian. Sometimes I still do that, slipping up with nonsense.

I’d wander in a stupor that many politely ignored. Without the kindness of a few strangers, and a bit of food left here and there, I would have died as I made my slow circuit, days, nights. The points of thought didn’t connect back then. It was still a dream, and the sensations never quite reached me. The damp, cold  fur plastered to my skin, dripping with accumulating insects. the noises of concern, starting as whispers but becoming louder - never so  loud, when I found myself blinking blearily on my side, unable to move.

I remember purple. Then light. Warmth flooded my body, and my mind - and I realized for the first time - I was present within my own reality. Clarity dawned as I felt the many hooves weighing me down, smelled the shampoo of their coats, heard the collective whispers and musky breathing. The stone and the soil filled my nose with familiarity. When I lifted my gaze, the colors that had seemed so piercing and threatening were now soothing to the eye.

I didn’t say anything. I breathed in, and out while I continued to be restrained. I kept flicking my ears, troubled by the itching.

There was something about a spell. About how this could happen sometimes, a pony wasn’t fully freed from the dream realm after waking up. The voice spoke gently, educated and yet filled with sympathy. It wasn’t a common, or contagious problem. Everypony was fine. Can you tell me who - oh. That was a question.

“I don’t remember,” I’d try to say, but my voice was barely more than a croak.

“Oh.” The softness of her disappointment alarmed me. I looked up. Was that bad? But she misunderstood me. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll remember soon.”

Okay.

“I feel itchy,” I’d try to say. Despite what was probably incoherent - immediately my throat burned and I started coughing - she knew what I was trying to say. Or had a guess.

“You had to be shaved so that the mange will go away,” She told me softly. “Don’t worry. Ponyville’s hospital will take care of you and make sure your coat grows in fine.”

Coat? Oh, that. Still coughing, I’d given a nod. My eyes felt so sore, and although closing them also caused them to burn, I did.

I woke up in a white room in a white bed, linked to so many tubes I thought this was another dream. My throat still burned, but for a different reason - the feeding tube was abrasive, the breathing tube also wasn’t nice. I wheezed for a while, taking deep, steady breaths, and grew to be comforted by the sound.

I felt alert, and otherwise unbothered. Cozy. Looking down, I realized I was wearing a sweater.  It was a braided, cream thing, heavy on my limbs and very warm.

However, moving was a different story.  Every limb was stiff and aching, almost numb from lack of strength. I couldn’t turn my head, and I fumbled with the sheets, trying to find any sort of purchase to turn over. I realized swiftly I was also bound to the bed.

I didn’t have it in me to panic. Maybe I should have. But I laid there, letting my vulnerability wash over me like a cool wave. I waited, idly flexing my hooves, back and forth, kneading the sheets.

Eventually someone came in. I saw the shocked, blue doctor’s expression when he realized I was awake. I fumbled for a little wave. He composed himself, one expression shifting into another as he approached my bedside, smiling carefully.

“How’s our Jane Doe? It’s good to see you’re awake.” His forehead glowed. I felt a release as white cords were unfastened and levitated above my head. I stared at them for a moment. My expression must have been funny, because the doctor chuckled, and the cloud of pale magic whisked the things away, under the bed.

“Sorry,” He told me softly. “You were restless, we had to keep you still so that you didn’t hurt yourself. Weeks of walking around town must have ingrained a habit! But don’t you worry, since you’ve come in your have definitely been improving.”

I try to make a sound, but all I can do is gurgle.

He nodded. “We’ll get those things out now that you’re conscious. The biggest hurdle is over, now that your body is well-rested, fed, and hydrated. You might be feeling some muscle weakness and nausea. We’ve had to dose you up with antibiotics and vaccines to make up for your lack of medical records. With the state you were in, we did not want to take any chances.” He grinned and laughed again.

The doctor turned out to be Lifeline, and he called in Redheart, his nurse, to assist him in removing the tubes. As the plastic slid out, I struggled not to cough as I felt a tickle deep within my chest - fortunately, where my throat didn’t burn from dryness, it was completely numb, and again all I could do was sound like a baby.

I knit my brows and try to speak anyway. I wind up blowing a spit bubble when my mouth didn’t cooperate.

“That enchantment will fade in several hours,” Lifeline said to my plaintive grunting. “It’s harmless and just made it easier to keep the tubes in you without any reactions.” He grinned even wider, eyes crinkling.

“Line, don’t laugh at her,” Redheart scolded, her voice tired and gentle.

“I’m not,” Lifeline retorted. “I’m simply pleased by her development.”

Redheart rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t mean you should make that face while she’s struggling. It’s demeaning.”

“I was not.”

The white mare gave a little snort, and smiled in my direction. “Don’t worry, he really does take his patients seriously. He just doesn’t understand the way he looks sometimes.”

The doctor frowned lightly, walking now around to the foot of my bed, apparently to leave. “What’s wrong with my face?”

“Everything,” Redheart broke into a giggle.

Lifeline’s  ears folded. “Well with that, I won’t save you the last piece of pie in the fridge.”

“You won’t have to, I already ate it.” She grinned behind her hoof.

Lifeline tossed his head in amusement, smirking before using his magic to adjust his glasses. “For shame, Redheart.” He looked at me. “I’ll return later to see how you’re doing. Redheart here will be staying to change out your bedpan and deliver more Get-Well cards.”

Cards?

I laid back with the barest nod, not wanting to see how my toilet-business looked and smelled. A pang of emptiness hit me, I didn’t know what it meant other than that I felt used to relinquishing power to others. It was sobering to realize I had emotions with no story, associations with little background. My existence was more than perceiving things and engaging in conversation. As a pony, I had come from somewhere. I had been, and I had gone. There was an untouched, unknown tome about my life - and of which, I could remember little.

Time passed. I let my body be manipulated to be moved and washed on the doctors’ schedule, and pretended the enchantments lingered longer than they should. No one asked me questions until my third day of being awake, when a sea of cards surrounded me from well-wishers in the little town. Turns out, I had been walking around for a month out there before I collapsed. No one had known what to make of me, only that I became a fixture in their routines that had steadily worried them more and more. Out of privacy, and also from lack of response, they hadn’t intervened except to offer bits of food and drink. And now, a number of them felt guilty.

I pulled together the facts from the cards and scraps of paper that were sent. It was all too surreal that anyone would have cared about me.

I was staring at a bad crayon drawing when the doctor and nurse entered in tandem. After I had first woken up, they had divided their schedule so only one visited at a time. It was probably because, as Redheart told me, everypony was relieved I had made it through the critical stage of my recovery.  Now, they looked in concern, both at each other and at me.

“Now, you’ve been here for three days without sign of speaking,” The doctor began gently. “The Nurse and I have both noticed your fixation on the cards, and the decline in your mood. We would like to help you. If you remember anything about your identity - anything at all- we would like to know so that we can give you the care you need. Do you remember your name, or your family?”

I think about this, long and hard. Debating, wondering what qualified as a “memory”. Sometimes, throughout the day, I would hit deja vu, or feel like I was catching a glimpse of something in my mind’s eye, just out of reach. So much would escape me, things familiar with no name, tangents clipped off and muted, without any sound. Loss. Always loss.

It bothered me that I’d had to relearn my own body, how to walk, chew, and hold things. I didn’t ask questions, didn’t know after all, what I was doing wrong until someone -somepony-reacted

I shook my head.

“Canterlot,” The doctor began. “ Manehatten, Cloudsdale, Trottingham, Appleloosa - do any of these places sound familiar?”

I took a moment to run them over in my mind. Nothing comes to mind except manes, clouds, hooves, and apples. I shook my head again when they perk their ears, maybe expecting me to say something.

The nurse seemed terrified. She turned to whisper to the doctor in hushed tones, and after a quiet conversation between them, and a bit of patting, Lifeline smiled at me. It looked a little strained.

“Good to know, good to know,” He said. “I won’t lie, that is a bit...Concerning, but we have several professionals who have expressed interest in your case, so expect to meet new ponies soon.”

I nodded, and with hopeful, pained looks they departed. I frowned, realizing I was alone, wondering if my sense of loss was spreading. They were tense, worried now. And although they continued to persevere, they were hurting themselves over me. What if I never remembered anything?

I started daydreaming, wondering if I had an identity, what that would be.