Noise.
So much noise.
It comes from every direction, assaulting my senses. I look around and see dozens upon dozens of ponies, all laughing and talking. Dad and his brothers are rambling. Sis and some children scream as they run around. They stomp with every step they take, the carpet doing nothing to reduce the sound they produce. Up and down the stairs they go, never once stopping for a second to take even the slightest breath.
I sit here, on a bed. My head spins and my mind races. I've retreated into a bedroom, hoping to escape the noise from outside. Beyond the blue walls that surround me however, I can still hear it all. The door is shut and my ears are safeguarded by a pair of red headphones that I bring nearly everywhere I go.
Yet the insanity that comes from beyond that door is somehow more than enough to pierce it.
I levitate over a pillow and bury my head beneath it. I'm not one to hide under things as my back isn't the best in the world. Surgery does that to you. Besides, I find it rarely works. But, desperate times call for desperate measures.
I bring the ends of the pillow down onto the sides of my headphones. It does little to help, but every bit helps. The thunderous stomping of the children makes me think that a SWAT team has entered the house.
Crash
I jump. Perhaps I wasn't crazy to think a SWAT team had arrived. I hear several of those who were socializing run to the source of the sound. I know exactly what happened though. Mostly thanks to the ear-piercing cry that shot through the air. I contemplate for a second if the walls are just cardboard cutouts. No, nonsense. I'm sure that would block out more sound than these do.
I sigh. So, another get together for the family and another child hurt because they run amuck and break something. Truly a gracious time. Hearth's Warming wouldn't be complete without such an event.
No, I can't think like that. It's not nice. It's mean. Or is it? After all, I'm just being honest and truthful. Is being honest and truthful mean? The truth does hurt. I guess I'm right. Yeah, I am.
I listen to the sounds of my family members as they help the children. I hear something about running into something that held a vase. Oh well, so much for being careful like they'd promised.
I take the pillow off my head. It's frustrating to keep it held down, even with magic. My dirt-colored mane is a mess, no thanks to the pillow. For a few seconds, I enjoy the reduction in the chaotic nonsense that has plagued the air. I know it will inevitably return and that I'll once again be brought to the mercy of it.
Or… am I in control of it all? Could I just retreat farther into the house? Perhaps I can tell them to be quiet. No, no. I shouldn't. This is a holiday. I can't tell them to not have fun.
I can't overthink these kinds of things. Doing so often gets me worked up. Or am I already worked up? I did retreat here because I was getting annoyed. Mom told me to do so. She knows when I'm getting irritated. My muscles were, and still are, tense. My eyes were darting around. My mind was racing. I had begun to pace a lot.
Noise.
So much noise.
It's still going on. It's only getting worse.
Colors. Suddenly, everything feels a lot more vibrant and intense.
Smell. The smell of food has become much more apparent and assaultive.
The world's become lopsided. I feel dizzy. Lightheaded. I fall backwards and stare at the ceiling. I feel as light as a feather. It's like I'm flying. Yet my head feels heavy.
The laughter and yelling outside continues. Cacophonous as ever. Joyful as ever.
The world feels like it's closing in on me. My breathing increases. It's rapid. It's short. My mind is racing. My head hurts. My heart beat causes my head to throb.
I take a slow, deep breath through my nose. Slowly, I exhale out my mouth. I lay back on the bed; my head in the pillow. I once more stare at the ceiling.
It all hurts. I feel like a train has hit me. I can barely remember how I've gotten here. It all happened so quickly. I feel lost.
As I lay there, I hear three sharp knocks at the door. I turn my head and tell whoever's there to come in. There's little emotion in my voice. Rarely is there. At times like this, being alone is what I desire.
Mom opens the door. She looks concerned. It actually fills me with some sense of joy. She walks in and closes the door. She asks how I'm doing as she trots over. Deep down, she knows and my response only confirms that.
Mom sits down next to me and rests a hoof on my mane. She tells me that we’re leaving soon. For the first time in the entire day, I felt joy fill me. I smile, and she smiles back. We embrace in a hug, and she asks if there's anything I'd like. I shake my head, and she gets up.
Home. A place that's normally quiet and tranquil. A place I feel most comfortable.
Sure enough, we leave not too long after. The trip to the train station is as boring as it is painful. The sounds of New Colt City fill the air. Ponies yell, dozens of carriages pass by, and more than a few trains depart, their whistles tearing through the air.
But soon enough, we arrive at the train station. On board, we all take our seats. I take one by the window and rest my head against the side. My eyes are heavy. My mind still races and my head still spins. I can still hear the echoes of the day in my head. A few moments later, the whistle blares. As the train departs, I close my eyes. Mom rests a hoof on mane as I slowly drift off to sleep.
For the first time in several hours, there is no noise. There is no screaming. No yelling.
There is only peace.
Peace and quiet.
