I, Fluttershy (or Autumn Without End)
They all wonder about me. I know they do. They wonder who I am, why I am. I saw it when I was a filly, and I still see it now. In childhood, it was impatience and exasperation. Now, it’s just pity. Nopony understands me, and nopony ever will. Even those closest to me – that is, my loving family and dearest of friends, whom I have somehow managed to convince over the long years that they know me – will never touch me; the real me.
The very first time it happened, I knew at once that I could never, ever confide in anypony else, and the clarity of this notion frightened me. The pain of withholding this terrible, terrible burden from my friends, in particular, is worse than anything I have endured at the hands of my nameless tormentor, but I withhold it out of love, not fear. It’s not that I think my friends will not understand, but rather that, having learned this awful truth, they will be incapable of sitting idly by and doing nothing. I have witnessed this many times before; the state of being which takes control of my friends when they sense that something is not right with me, or any one of our number. Their typically soft, friendly faces harden, a glint of savage determination entering their kind eyes, the blistering madness of devotion. Therefore, however much I try to explain to Twilight and the others that they cannot help me, they will not accept it; they will not allow themselves to accept it. Some things are best done with help. Some things are best done alone. Some things must be done with help. And, thereby, some things must be done alone.
I find myself remembering one particularly difficult conversation I had with Rainbow Dash not long ago.
“Come on, Fluttershy,” Rainbow Dash urges me, magenta eyes blazing and flicking her tail with irritation, “I’m your friend, for Pete’s sake! Why won’t you just tell me what’s wrong? I want to help you! Stop shutting me out!”
“Because it’s nothing, Dashie,” I insist half-heartedly, eyes fixed on the floor of my cottage. It needs cleaning, I observe vaguely. I simply don’t have the strength, nor the drive to be convincing in my lies. “Really.”
“I don’t believe you,” says Rainbow Dash, and she sounds so hurt that I am forced to look back up at her.
I take her hooves in mine, open my mouth to say something, change my mind, drop her hooves, and embrace her tightly instead. “I’m so sorry, Rainbow Dash. So sorry,” I say, my throat constricting as I hold back tears of remorse. Our hearts beat as one through the debility of our mortal frameworks. “It’s nothing, I swear.” I pull away from her and am dismayed to see that Rainbow refuses to look me in the eye, her gaze firmly fixed on the floor, as mine had been only moments ago. I sigh heavily and press my forehead against hers, our manes intertwining, pink and polychrome. “You know I would never hide anything from you. You’re my best friend, Dashie. If it was something important, I swear I would tell you. I swear.”
It is this that I am thinking of as I step into the throbbing, infinite darkness once more. I am as ready as I will ever be. I’ve been doing this once every two years for so long now that I can no longer recall when it all began.
At present, winter is over, and it is that time of year when nights are still very, very cold, but days are now very, very warm. It is a time of confusion and frustration, coats and scarves and hats tossed begrudgingly aside at noon, and beds painstakingly stripped by day and refitted by night. Here in the dark, however, it is forever autumn. It is cold, without being freezing, and everything feels as though it is always dying, but never truly dead. Here, there is a distinct sense of endings without end. It takes my breath away.
As I gaze at my complete and utter absence of surroundings, I breathe deeply, closing my weary eyes and opening both my ears and my mind’s eye. If you listen closely enough, here in the dark, you can hear a sort of melancholic whispering of no discernible source or direction. To me, this serves as yet another reminder of Equestrian autumn. When all the leaves have fallen, lying wet, crumpled, and forlorn upon the unfeeling grass and the uncompromising dirt, I like to take long, lonely walks through the desolate carcasses of wind-blasted trees and the molted scales of a sweet life of opulence cast aside. These discarded jigsaw puzzle pieces rustle and murmur underhoof, and it’s almost as if they are speaking to me, the lost language of a forgotten world. I haven’t a clue what they say, but I understand them perfectly, nonetheless. It is beautiful and heartbreaking in the best and only way possible.
Making my way through the now-familiar blackness, I finally see him, waiting for me. He looks the same, as always. He never changes, never ages. Long, dark brown hair, subtly kinking at the ends. Shaggy beard. Glasses. Black, long-sleeve shirt. Pleasant one-sided smile. Dark, penetrating eyes, at once like mirrors, at once like boreholes, my murky reflection falling away into the depths of eternity. He is much taller than I am, but I get the feeling that he is neither tall, nor short for his kind, whatever that may be. He has always frightened me a little, I have to admit, but I have never been able to quite place my hoof on why, exactly. It just seems to me like there’s something… not there. Looking at him is like seeing a flower without petals, a book without words, a kiss without intimacy. I don’t know what these enigmatic thoughts of mine could possibly mean, but I am certain that they are applicable, if not entirely accurate.
“Hello, Fluttershy,” he says, hands thrust casually into his pockets and head tilted slightly to the side, as if perpetually curious. Directly behind him is an entrance with which I am now all too acquainted, composed wholly of ever-changing light, now pink, now red, now blue, lazy tendrils of pure lustre from within bleeding into the endless black. It’s incredible, but I know what lies beyond its heavenly radiance.
“Hi,” I reply. My mouth is suddenly drier than the small sandstone cliff in my little garden, and I can already feel an echo of the horror to come seeping into my bones, into my veins. The darkest regions of my being begin to empty themselves of the terror and hurt I have buried there, and I begin to panic, but manage to get myself under control reasonably quickly, taking a few deep, discreet breaths. I have never once questioned what I am being forced to do because it has always somehow felt inherently right, and I’m not about to start now.
“You okay?” he asks me inquisitively. He hasn’t moved an inch. Well, so much for discreet.
“Yes,” I say, a little more breathlessly than I would have liked, “I... I’m fine, thank you.”
He nods. Then he turns slightly to look at the dazzling entrance to my doom, now glowing a fiery red, and then back at me. “So,” he says nonchalantly, face bathed in incandescent blood, “are you ready?”
I exhale one final time, and then stand up straight. Brave heart, Fluttershy, brave heart. I do this for my friends. I do this for my family. I do this so that hope lives to fight another day. I do this for all Equestria.
He steps to the side as I make my way toward the light, hands now held behind his back and head tilted downwards slightly, almost waiter-esque. Despite my best efforts to remain calm, my heart has begun racing like Angel Bunny on sugar, and my entire body is shaking violently. My tummy churns and aches. My eyes burn with unshed tears. Oh Celestia, no. I begin to remember. The memory of the pain is so intense that it’s just about physical. It’s not so much my mind that remembers, but my body, my skin. Nearly there, Fluttershy, nearly there. Once you’re inside, there’s no turning back. Take comfort in the inevitable.
“Fluttershy! Fluttershy, darling! A-are you all right? Can you hear me? Say something!”
Opening my eyes slowly and with no small amount of labour, I blearily realise I have a face-full of Rarity. Oh goodness, I must have fainted. Yesterday’s session was an especially bad one, I groggily recall as Rarity carefully helps me to my hooves. Eying my surroundings, I am relieved beyond measure that the two of us are at the boutique, and not in the town square or someplace else public. Wait, why am I here?
“Fluttershy!” I finally realise that Rarity has been speaking to me the entire time. “What happened to you?”
I gingerly massage my temples and push my disheveled mane out of my eyes, wincing at the familiar ache which occupies my whole body. I can no longer remember a day when it wasn’t present. What is more, and I can’t say for certain, but the pain seems to be getting worse and worse as the years go by.
“Are you listening to me?” Rarity demands, placing both hooves on my shoulders and shaking me hesitantly, as if trying to snap me out of my stupor, but afraid that I might actually snap instead. The sense of motion, despite how gentle it is, instigates the feeling that my insides are rattling about, and I yelp and whimper until Rarity pulls away, distressed. “Fluttershy,” she whispers, “p-please tell me what is happening to you…”
I slowly sink to the floor, panting with exertion. There are eels writhing, thrashing in my stomach, and something deep inside me, something I wasn’t even aware existed until all this began, tinkles and crunches like broken glass. My muscles are shallow water, and my bones are wet sand. My ears ring incessantly, and my mind has degenerated to an incomprehensible collection of nauseating colours and fragmented thoughts, themselves composed entirely of shapeless configurations. It’s all too much and too little simultaneously.
At this point, and with what is left of my senses, I perceive that Rarity, to my relief, appears to have finally given up trying to communicate with me. Instead, she wordlessly lays herself down directly behind me on the floor, and then gently pulls me into her soft, white belly. She puts her hooves around me, one about my head and the other on my side, and rests her cheek on my shoulder. I sigh, and as Rarity cuddles me, the world suddenly seems so far away, so distant, like the solitary pinprick of a star in the infinite patchwork of space. All I can feel now is Rarity and the floor of the boutique, the former a warm blanket, and the latter a deliciously cool freshwater stream. A perfect balance. I’m probably burning up, but by now, I’m too tired to give it any further consideration. I can feel the muted anti-state that is sleep settling over me, and as Rarity and I sink through the tile and become one with the earth, our limbs interlacing roots, our hearts flowering seed pods, I am suddenly aware that the two of us are now forever, undying.
“How can I help?” Rarity eventually whispers, so close that her tender breath brushes my ear. Or was that her lips? A question and a kiss. I think I smile, but again, I’m not sure, and for just a few seconds of atrophied consciousness, everything is fine.
“Hold me,” I murmur, my mind leaving my body far behind. "Please... don’t… tell… the others…”
All at once, I stop, my vision pervaded with light. I turn to look at him, and he returns my gaze questioningly.
“Actually,” I say, my heart thudding painfully and threatening to tear itself free of my furry chest any second now. I feel quite faint. “Can we just… talk… for a bit? Please?”
He blinks. Twice. Finally, after what may well have been an eternity of his intimidating, unimpeded stare, he smiles that charming smile of his. “I don’t see why not. Time has no meaning here, after all.”
At this moment, he stiffens, then suddenly whirls around, a look of what could only be disbelief etched onto his face. I quickly follow his gaze and find myself looking at two plain wooden chairs that have seemingly appeared out of nowhere, which, then again, is probably where I am right now, to be honest.
He spins around to look at me again, eyes wide. “Well, it appears this was meant to be. How intriguing.”
The two of us sit.
“So…” I say nervously, shuffling my soft backside on the hard wood of the chair in an attempt to get comfy, and unsure of how to begin. I fluff my wings, out of habit. This chair isn’t the most comfortable, and I’m still feeling really rather lightheaded. I’m not sure my host has had many guests before today.
“So?” he echoes, apparently unfazed by my blatant uncertainty.
“So, who are you?” I eventually ask, rubbing my leg. “I’ve always wanted to know.”
He exhales and gazes into the blackness before us, serene blue light playing over his handsome features. “Now, that is a question.” He is silent for a moment. “I call myself ‘the Gatekeeper’,” he replies eventually. He looks at me. Then he smiles. “But I’m more of a… glorified janitor, really. I only call myself ‘the Gatekeeper’ because it sounds cool,” he whispers conspiratorially, head tilted toward me.
I giggle a little at this, a soft “hmm, hmm”, right hoof over my mouth self-consciously, and wait for him to continue. It’s strange; I don’t feel quite so frightened of him anymore. I suppose that, despite his insistence that he was not in control of the situation the one time I briefly interrogated him, I still, nonetheless, blamed him for my suffering, what with him being the one and only individual I had to interact with before my obligatory torment.
“Sometimes,” the Gatekeeper continues, “folks find themselves here in my… realm, and, well, it’s my job to push them in the right direction. Which is almost always out. I am a shepherd of souls, and I answer only to the universe itself.” He opens his eyes wide and waves his hands around a little, still smiling. “A universe-whisperer, if you will.” To my surprise, I realise that the Gatekeeper appears to be making fun of himself, and I find myself liking him more and more with each new thing he imparts.
“I see,” I say, looking around. “And… what exactly is this place, anyway? Your, um… realm?”
“It has a number of names,” the Gatekeeper tells me, “but most people simply call it ‘the void‘ or ‘the emptiness.‘ It is the unoccupied space between all things.” He narrows one eye, as if deep in thought, looking at me with the other. “It’s, uh… it’s like the egg carton around the eggs. Or, um… a metaphysical train station or something.” The Gatekeeper bobbles his head from side to side a bit. “More or less.”
I nod to signify my understanding. It’s all making my poor head spin, but I think I’m following along quite well, all things considered. The Gatekeeper and I sit in silence for a while, the light from the entrance dancing over our faces, our bodies, like a soundless revelry of misplaced souls and banished dreams. After what could have been years or mere minutes, I turn to look at the Gatekeeper again, and he reciprocates curiously. I lean forward a little and stare deep into his eyes of no one determinable colour.
“Ever since I first met you,” I say softly, brushing my mane out of my face, “I’ve always been a little bit afraid of you because, I don’t know, it just feels like there’s something… missing with you. In you. Something… lost or… forgotten… or given away.”
The Gatekeeper raises his eyebrows. He seems genuinely surprised. “Well, aren’t you a perceptive one?”
I shrug modestly, unable to stop myself from smiling at the compliment, but I don’t say anything back.
The Gatekeeper runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “In short, yes. I… don’t have a soul.” He snorts somewhat bitterly. “Ironic, huh? A soulless shepherd of souls. Fun times.”
At this point in our dialogue, I am suddenly reminded of Discord, and am struck by just how alike he and the Gatekeeper really are. That outward gaiety and playfulness, but with a potent and profound hurt hidden somewhere deep, deep within, a barely perceptible undercurrent in a carefully calculated sea of jovial charm and slightly patronising chivalry.
“My dear Fluttershy,” Discord begs me, his inverted “tea of cup”, as he likes to call it, hovering at his side, long forgotten, “I implore you.”
I shake my head firmly. “Discord, no.”
“If somepony is causing you distress, I promise that I can sort it out with minimal… discomfort. For me,” Discord persists, lips curled into a serrated smile. A small, pony-shaped doll appears in mid-air next to him. Without looking, Discord snaps his fingers, flipping it upside down, and then swiftly dismembering it.
“I said no, Discord,” I say, trying my best not to show the resentment. I sip at my tea, glaring at him as I do so.
Discord’s ears droop, and his face falls. Literally. I look down at his detached head, lying on my faded turquoise rug sternly. “Fluttershy, you know that it so distresses me to see you like this,” Discord’s head imparts mournfully. “You know that I’d do anything for you. Anything to make you happy.”
In the background, the doll juggles its own limbs, a self-contained circus, a living joke.
I sigh, looking down at my hooves. My head is really hurting. “Of course, Discord. Of course I know that.”
“Then what,” Discord pleads, reattaching his head, “is the matter?”
“Look, Discord, sometimes we feel sad or afraid for no apparent reason at all,” I tell the adamant draconequus patiently. “There’s really nothing you can do about it, so please, please, please don’t concern yourself. Some things are just best dealt with alone. That’s just the way it is.”
Discord opens his mouth, shuts it, then sits down. The verbal component of our conversation may finally be over, but Discord’s eyes betray the endless stream of questions, propositions, and pleas he no doubt suppresses. I am reminded of my belief that nothing is ever truly over. Furthermore, my tea has gone cold.
“Well… who were you before all this? When you had a soul, that is?” I now ask, having emerged from the depths of bottomless recollection.
This causes the Gatekeeper to laugh, and I am more than a little taken aback. “Before, Fluttershy? There is no before,” he chuckles. “I have always been like this, and I always will be. So it is with you. So it is with all life. Existence is recurrence. Consistency is everything, and everything is consistent.”
I frown. “W-what do you mean?”
The Gatekeeper looks at me, and I recognise that barely concealed condescension. “What I mean, Fluttershy, is that do you even remember when you began doing all this?” He indicates over at the entrance. “Dragging yourself here to suffer every two years? I mean, really?”
“Well, no,” I admit. “But surely–”
“But nothing,” the Gatekeeper interrupts me impatiently. “Neither one of us has never not been doing this.”
The Gatekeeper and I sit in silence once more, and I fear our conversation might finally be over, but after the entrance has changed colour five more times, my host speaks anew. “Would you like to know why?” he asks. “Why you have to go inside there?”
I feel myself nodding numbly. “You said that it was for the betterment of my world,” I say weakly. “That if I didn’t suffer, Equestria would.”
The Gatekeeper does his little head bobble of ambiguity again. “Well, yes. But also, no. You see, your selfless deed is what, in fact, keeps your world alive.” He looks at me, and I vaguely perceive the acceleration of my heartbeat. “Now, this may be a bit difficult to understand, but Equestria is inherently imbalanced. The overwhelming goodness of your world is not sustainable with regard to the natural order of all things. Thus, your one million years of abuse inside that” – he points at the entrance – “is the price which must be paid to correct this disparity.”
By now, I am trembling from head to hoof. “But... but what is that?” I squeak. “Where does that… that entrance lead to?”
“That, my dear, is the sum total of all pain in the universe,” the Gatekeeper answers grimly. “It is known as the Mutual Affliction.”
Once again, silence descends. I stare at the entrance, now a dazzling purple Rarity would die violently for, and the Gatekeeper looks at me without looking at me.
“So,” I say, having regained the power of speech, “it has to be me, and me alone, that does this, yes?”
“Correct,” the Gatekeeper replies. “I have been led to believe that you are the purest being in all creation.” He utters a short, incredulous laugh. “By rights, you shouldn’t even exist. But I guess that’s the balance.” The Gatekeeper’s eyes become somewhat misty. “A droplet of brightest light in an ocean of blackest hurt…” he murmurs. He looks at me again. “In this regard, you are the most important pony in all Equestria. You are the focal point, the very nucleus of your world. Without you, well, there would be no Equestria, would there?”
“Oh my,” I whisper. It is all I can manage at this point. I knew the truth would be truly awful, but this I never imagined.
The Gatekeeper looks back at me, a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, you know how when you’re young and selfish, and your parents will insist always that the world doesn’t revolve around you?”
I nod again, just as numbly as before, my little heart beating away.
The Gatekeeper smirks. “Well, in your case, they would be wrong.”
“But… if I have to be inside there for one million years, how am I not… old or… dead by now?” I ask, shivering.
“Because,” the Gatekeeper sighs, “like I said, time as you know it does not exist here. That’s why every time you return home, you realise that no time has passed at all.” He scratches the back of his head, scrunching up his face. “In fact, me saying one million years is probably misleading. It’s only one million years if we were to apply your perception of linear time in your world to the absence of the very same thing inside the Mutual Affliction, which, in being a repository of another non-physical phenomenon, does not adhere to time. Unfortunately for you, however, this is more accurate than one would hope, what with you actually being able to perceive time both as a naturally occurring circumstance and as a linearity. But I can see that this is all well over your head, so let’s just say that the process defies any and all rational explanation and move on, shall we?”
I’m not sure why, but at this point, I begin to cry. My body is shaking, and my tears flow freely. Perhaps I have finally come to terms with the gravity of my situation. Either way, I’m not okay. Not okay at all.
“Oh,” I hear the Gatekeeper say. “Um…”
“They all think I’m shy, that I was brought up insecure or incompetent, but it’s not that. It’s not that at all. Not by a long shot,” I sob into my mane. Everything hurts. “I’m just so, so tired. Every second, every minute of every day. And always so s-scared. Remembering the pain, and always expecting it to come back. None of them have any idea.” Through the tears, I can vaguely make out the Gatekeeper, still sitting next to me, shoulders tense, hands clutched tightly together in his lap. He looks rather helpless.
“Inside there, they all just tear me apart over and over and over again,” I continue inconsolably. “It goes on for so long, and when it’s finally over, I feel like there’s nothing left of me. N-nothing at all. I feel so empty and alone and like I’ll never be whole again. Do you know what that’s like? Being completely destroyed, and then sent back to your loved ones a b-broken toy, inadequately repaired and missing only the big, red gift bow? Unable to ever tell them what’s wrong?”
“No, I don’t,” the Gatekeeper replies softly. He tentatively reaches across to me with his right hand, but then thinks better of it and withdraws, placing it back in his lap. “But… I’ve, um… I’ve been inside. The Mutual Affliction, that is. Only once, though.” His voice is hushed and his words awkward. “I… I think it gave me a soul, but I can never really be sure.” He looks over at me, and the expression on his face makes me realise that I’ve finally met someone who understands, who has any idea of the horror that is my existence. “Either way,” he continues, “it was agony. Pure agony. Indescribable. I felt like I was being ripped to pieces, just as you said.”
At last, I stand, and the Gatekeeper follows suit, still looking uncharacteristically awkward. “Right,” I finally say, wiping the last of my tears from my face, one final sniffle, “all of Equestria in my hooves, then?”
The Gatekeeper nods, hands back inside his pockets, as if nothing ever transpired between the two of us. I suddenly realise that our chairs are no longer there. “Nothing’s over until everything’s over, Fluttershy,” the Gatekeeper says, a little sadly, “but until that day comes, you are all that stands between your world and total oblivion. It’s all up to you, and it’s always been that way, whether you knew it or not.”
I nod, surprised by my sudden onset of tranquility. I look up at my host, who is looking back at me with his usual interest. “Gatekeeper, thank you for this talk,” I say. “It’s been, well… if not completely pleasant, then certainly helpful.”
The Gatekeeper kneels down so that the two of us are level. He places his hand on my cheek, looks deep into my eyes. “I’ll see you in one million years,” he tells me softly.
I’m fairly certain I manage a smile. “That soon?”
My new friend rewards me with a hearty laugh. “Exactly,” he replies warmly. “That’s exactly right.” Lightly kissing my forehead, the Gatekeeper allows his lips to linger there momentarily while he gently runs his fingers through my silky mane. As he slowly stands, I make my way into the light. Looking back one final time, I see him smiling at me. “I’ll be waiting,” he says, and hearing this, I take one more step and feel it pulling me inside, swallowing me whole.
I know who I am. I know my purpose, and I know what I must do. Nopony may ever understand me or know of what it is that I do for the betterment of all, but they will continue to cherish me unconditionally all the same, and I think that’s important. I think that’s precious. It will keep me going as what’s left of my soul is charred, what’s left of my body is torn to meat, and what’s left of my love is devoured raw.
I suddenly realise that leaves are at their most beautiful when they are dying, and my little heart swells. Here in the dark, it is forever autumn, and so am I.
And then it begins.
