Remembrance for Failures Like Me Is Existent [unedited]
The rain was something Sweetie Belle hated. She could never understand why other ponies enjoyed it, or even preferred it to the bright, joyful luminosity of Celestia's sun. It was rather weird to even appreciate the rain for nothing other than it's purposes of watering the land for it to continue to live; even then, it was still undesired. It left up to lazy days of things that couldn't be accomplished, or ruined deadlines for an unlucky pony's day. She digressed mentally, for it was so unbelievably hazy that she swore she could see herself across the street of Ponyville, just a few steps from the near-ancient (in her adult standards, now) Sugarcube Corner.
Sugarcube Corner. She rolled the name around in her head as she stared through the window of the recently made library to accommodate for Princess Twilight Sparkle's not-so-recent inauguration as a princess. Sugarcube Corner was a name. A name she loved to say or even be told she's going to as a foal, and even as a teenager. It was where she grew up and made tons of friends. Friends, relationships, bonds with Scootaloo, Apple Bloom.. and even Button Mash.
Button Mash. She rolled the name around in her head, her vision unfocused and unclear. A name she used to love to say or even be told she's going to be hanging out with as a foal, and even as a teenager. It was where she matured and was appreciated as a normal pony - not as a pop star, not as a foal, but as a pony.
Now? All it reminds her of was her utter failure. Ponies could claim Sweetie Belle as one of the greatest singers and one of the most iconic international icons to exist, but even then, behind the curtains, behind all the appraisal.. she couldn't disagree any more. Just what was she good for? She could inspire and save millions from their sorrow, but she couldn't even save her most special somepony. What was she then? She couldn't be a success, no, she failed like everypony else. She utterly and royally fucked it all up.
But when she picked up that note that her soulmate- and yes, her soulmate -she couldn't even believe the words she was reading. A poem dedicated strictly to her, followed by a message to her. It wasn't anything special, really, just a few stanzas of his apologies and best wishes for her. The real thought provoking was within the message itself:
You brought so many ponies joy and inspiration, and it was all thanks to you. You gave fillies, foals and even adults so much happiness and hope, and I only hope you do it some more.
She couldn't read as clearly after that, her tears had been stained on the neatly flat paper, barely crinkled and only by the delicate touch from her hooves picking it up to read it after the initial shock of the incident. Even in his worst mental state possible, he still believed in her. When his walls collapsed around him, and he sat there drinking the poisoned tea like it was just another casual day as she would imagine by how she found him, he still thought of her dearly and still knew she could get through it. Even then, Button would often speak to her, "I really do hope you get big 'n famous, Sweets. I really do."
Those thirteen words was all that she could remember in her most stressful of days, and one of the most difficult things to hurdle over in her head. He'd repeat that nearly every time they conversed up until their stardom came flying at her, and then he would be her brick wall for her to vent to, and the soft pillow for when she needed it most.
She selfishly ignored him. It was her fault. She was so busy focusing on herself and her issues that she never asked Button about him. Yet, he never complained. He just smiled and listened. Like she should've. She should've done something! She's just a stupid selfish bitch! How many other ponies did she ignore? How many-
It's not your fault. I made this decision on a clear conscience. My mother did this the same way, too.
Sweetie Belle blinked, her throat tightening as she pondered those three sentences she just now remembered. Her lip quivered as she fought back a remorseful shudder, her elbows planting themselves on the desk she was residing at to keep the façade she had of a strong-willed mare from crumbling and breaking down in a damn library of all places. A library! Couldn't her stupid ass self just stay home-
Don't beat yourself up over this. Nopony was supposed to know. I can't carry on with the mental pain. Yes, call me an angsty young adult, or an edgelord. I just can't take it, nothing works. But just know that it was never your fault.
She exhaled shakily. She could do this. Sweetie Belle has been through worse! Not really, but she was just saying it to amp herself up back to neutrality within the raging turmoil that is her mental state. All Sweetie had to do was keep herself composed in public and eventually the wounds of this tragic event would heal. Except it's been nearly a year now since the incident. That was the hard part. It was already a year since her chance of keeping him here with her was gone. Now that was selfish thinking, as well.
Never thinking of others, Sweetie. Opposite of your sister.
Sweetie dipped her head back briefly to prevent the watering tear ducts from potentially smear her mascara should she unknowingly shed a tear. A tear not for the realization of the fact that nearly 365 days have passed since Button's death, but rather the fact of how normal everything used to seem two weeks or so after the incident.
She pondered this before, and couldn't help but resent the denizens of Ponyville for so easily tossing aside his life and memories as nothing but another stallion who committed suicide, but as a pony who wasn't helped when they needed it most. It disgusted her, yet, she did not offer assistance to this pony even as they were in her face, talking to her.
Acting completely normal. As if nothing was wrong.
She felt her legs pick themselves up, her body on auto-pilot to search for the nearby exit, which was down the row of tables followed by a sharp right and a clear straight way for the doors. Her eyes stung at the corners, irritating her but also increasing her sorrow furthermore as her paces became uneven and speedy, quick to exit a public library filled with scarce amounts of ponies. She had to get home. She had to let it all out.
Her hoof flicked the umbrella over her head as she stepped out, her hooves making sharp and crisp clip-clop sounds as if they were high heels. Traversing down the three steps, she stopped briefly as a muddy fog of brown jumped at her right peripherals, freezing her in her step as her eyes went wide slightly. She turned her head, adjusting the umbrella subconsciously as rain was trickling onto her haunches, and her breath hitched in her throat.
Through the thick, dense rain, she could make out a faint, brownish figure with an unmistakable auburn-orange mane and adult-sized beanie with his adult-signature 8-bit styled bow tie around his neck, along with the out-of-place but natural black mustache that framed over his upper lip. Button Mash, and he was in the middle of playing what Sweetie has come to know from that pose over her lifetime as an old-school JoyBoy, sitting next to a bald colt who was mirroring his action, and a middle-aged Love Tap looking over her son's shoulder.
Stuck in a trance, Sweetie barely registered the inattentive wave that Button made at her before the waving hoof quickly latched itself back onto the JoyBoy, his tongue sticking out as cutely as she remembered in the rain, just before an elderly stallion walked through their location, completely dissolving the scene before her, a few paces away.
Sweetie couldn't move, nor could she breathe until she inhaled and exhaled audibly, her eyes wide as she glanced back and forth to ensure she wasn't dreaming, promptly kicking her foreleg which, in her defense, really hurt. She let out a small squeak in pain before glancing back at the place in the street where the rain had made the image.
A tear softly slid down her cheek, a smile of pure joy washing over her features.
The Rain seemed no longer Hideous, rather Beautiful.
Author's Note
but, while most cannot win against depression so easily, those they affect can heal.
