The space was better sized for a grave than a room.
A bed, a foggy mirror, and steps leading up and out.
It met his needs, sparse as they were, and was far too small to ever feel empty. Above all else, however, Aaron could afford it for the pittance he made as an undertaker’s apprentice.
Apprentice in name alone, Aaron held no love for his work and cared even less for instruction. A perfect match for his senile master, a one-legged hermit who spurned conversation. The dead, for their part, never complained when Aaron had made a mistake.
In his estimation, that put the corpses far above the ones he left behind.
Like a practiced surgeon, Aaron had thought to fix himself by removing all that ailed him.
He escaped from his teachers and guides, sparing himself from their endless criticisms.
He denied himself the trappings of his fading youth, caring not for naïve fancies.
He fled from the crutch of what was once familiar, seeking to become unknown.
Aaron’s journey ended in the seaside town of Aard’s Bluff, built in the side of a windswept hill that curved back around at the final moment to form the town’s namesake. If one were to linger upon that bluff, one would feel the salty breeze carried skyward from the sea and see its glittering grandeur.
Of course, few people did.
The young ignored the world around them, spending the coin of their forebears to feast on succulent clover and lotus that sharpened dreams and dulled the senses.
The old, like Aaron, had no time for hesitation. Every moment was filled with only that moment. From work in the graveyard to sleep in his grave, Aaron was done with fantasies… with lying to himself.
At least, so he told himself…
From the night he first arrived, Aaron’s nights were plagued by the most peculiar visions.
Every night, he’d find himself trapped in a strange world where the rules of basic sense failed to hold sway. He would be surrounded by equine apparitions of unnatural coloration. They spoke to him in words no beast should know, asking the question that no human had thought to ask him in months.
‘Are you okay?’
Faced with odd and unnatural dreams, Aaron did what many men would: Resist.
Aaron slept as little as possible, ignoring the dreams as best he could. He saw a physician and confessed to his pastor, seeking out their counsel. When exercise and prayer failed, he took to the bottle in the dim hope that his sleep would be empty and numb.
It spoke something of Aaron’s spirit, whether good or ill, to have persisted for weeks.
No matter how far he ran in his dreams, alas, there were always more ponies waiting. Wave after wave of honest concern and good intentions washed over the bedrock of his soul like an ocean carving mountains. Throughout it all, six particular specters seemed to stalk him. While these ponies were rarely all present, one or two seemed to find him each night.
’Are you okay?
On the night he finally broke, Aaron awoke to a mattress stained by tears.
Rubbing the tears from his eyes with one arm, Aaron examined the mirror in his room for the very first time. Looking into foggy mirror, Aaron could see little of his own reflection.
What little he could see, though, was hardly recognizable.
As the weeks passed, Aaron slowly forged his place in the world behind closed eyelids. A few shared words became an introduction and segued into conversation. Conversations made for new acquaintances that strengthened into friendships. Connections branched outwards through the friends of friends and those who knew them well.
Six of those new equine friend stood above all others, forming the stronger bonds of fellowship than Aaron thought possible. Each of them truly understood Aaron, much as they understood one another. They knew how to make requests or suggestions without criticizing the core of his being.
Could he smile a bit more often? Certainly!
Could he act with a bit more grace? As you wish, milady.
Could he observe the world around him? A splendid idea.
Through these bonds, Aaron came to know more of the world he held itself. A world where notions of love and friendship could be seen and held. Where spellcraft and sorcery could solve the greatest ills. Where the venom men label banality was replaced with unknowable wonders.
For nearly half a year, Aaron lived a life in service to a beautiful dream.
The empty motions of waking life washed over him without dragging him down. How could the waking world upset him when he put so little stock in it? As long as he had food and a place to rest his head, all other details could fade into the background.
Not much had changed, in Aaron’s estimation. Compared with the vibrant life he returned to every night, Aaron had always wandered the waking world as little more than a walking corpse.
This idle fantasy came to an end with a single observation.
While the ponies of Aaron’s dreams talked and laughed and celebrated as the best of friends, he had yet to touch any of them. To nudge them. To embrace them. To feel the physical presence of a friend by his side.
With that observation, Aaron decided that he would ask to ride a pony down the roads and across the fields of the world he had created for them. It would be a meager favor, or so he assumed.
In this, Aaron was wrong.
It was the same problem each night. Just as he would think to broach the topic of riding, Aaron would awaken with a start in his bed. The same occurred whenever he reached out for one of his friends. The dreams would continue normally as long as he kept to himself but when he sought to make physical contact, the dream would end too soon.
This single limitation, placed in a world of endless possibility, slowly boiled into obsession.
Even among his closest friends, Aaron came to realize that he was alone. It occurred to him one day, midway through preparing a body, that the corpses he handled were the only people whom he had touched in a year. While his room appeared no larger, Aaron could feel a new emptiness in the space.
After weeks off loneliness and bitter frustration, Aaron had had enough.
A feast of succulent clover and lotus to sharpen dreams and dull the senses. Aaron had spent every spare coin to his name for the sake of that one night, following the footsteps of a hundred wayward children.
It was the only way Aaron knew to force a dream to continue. If he could ride upon one of those ponies, even for a moment, Aaron knew that he could find peace in the world of dreams.
Gnashing the greenery between his teeth, the waking world slowly floated away.
For the first time he could remember, Aaron arrived in the world of ponies in the dead of night. Most of the ponies were no doubt sleeping in homes of their own as a billion stars danced overhead. A small group, however, was waiting for him.
Aaron’s closest friends had gathered in the middle of a field, their faces tired and expressions unclear. Looking among them, Aaron could see everything from faint reassurance to dire concern to vague disappointment. As Aaron watched, his friends parted to admit one final guest.
Aaron’s first impression was of soulful eyes and a flash of midnight blue. He knew that she was larger than the others, to be certain, and that her mane flowed in some unseen breeze. The full appearance of her, alas, was simply too grand for his senses to imagine.
Concealed in part by wings like some grand seraph, this new being turned to one side and waited for Aaron to move. Without need for wasted words, Aaron accepted her offer. While he had planned to reach out to a friend, the world had produced for him a steed beyond perfection.
Cool fur captured the salty breeze as she flew them up and out. Aaron took one last look down at his friends as he held on for dear life.
Higher. Faster. Farther.
As the two ascended, their destination quickly became clear.
A golden castle shimmered in the moonlight, built into the side of a mountain to rival Olympus.
The air grew thin.
The wind was cold.
They were nearly there.
Again Aaron saw those soulful eyes… a shake of the muzzle… the world turning upside-down…
Falling in slow motion, Aaron had only a moment to peer up at the glorious mount who threw him from her back… to comprehend the depths of the betrayal…
And then he woke up once more.
For a moment or two, dream and reality seemed to bleed together. Aaron’s back was aching sore and his eyes were staring up at a field of stars. Only when a cold breeze whipped across his body did Aaron regain awareness of himself.
Lifting up his torso, Aaron found himself on the bluff that looked over the ocean. His feet rested mere inches from the border of safety and a watery fate. As the young man pieced together what had nearly transpired, his hands started to shake as his body broke into a cold sweat.
Feeling unnerved but fully alive, Aaron retreated away from the edge and back through the town. He made no effort to return to the room that he could never call home, opting to wonder the streets at random as he contemplated his fate.
After a few random turns and diversions, Aaron happened upon a scraggly figure sitting on the side of the road. While he knew little of the people in town, Aaron recognized him as a father with far too much need for small coffins. Something about the man’s haunted gaze reminded him of what he had seen in a mirror a lifetime ago.
“Are you okay?”
Author's Note
Sooo... not particularly proud of this work. Been having a bit of frustration with my professional life and that ended up turning into this... somehow. Probably my first time trying to write a "sad" story, even if it isn't that sad. Oh well...
