Dear Spike,
Have you received my previous letters? I keep sending them to you, but no matter how many I send, I never seem to get a reply! Now now, I can already hear you groaning as you read these words. Don't worry. I'm not mad at you.
In fact, I'm rather glad that you've gone out onto the world on your own. Can't say I'm fond of you wandering alone, but as Celestia likes to tease, you're more than capable of handling yourself. You've got strong fists and even faster feet!
Kidding! Just kidding. I have nothing but faith in your abilities, and if you could apply them so effectively to myself, then without a doubt, you should be able to help yourself as well. The lands beyond Equestria are dangerous, but with you charting along then, maybe they won't be so dangerous for long.
I... know this is asking for a lot, but please, please try to make some friends during your travel. You don't have to write me a friendship report—though I should be glad to read one if you should—but you should have someone watching over your back. Celestia knows that I'd watch you from the stars if I could, but a twinkle in the night doesn't exactly help with restless dreams.
So make some friends along your trip. They don't have to be anything special—the bond you create will be so on its own. Don't stop reading yet: I'm not about to lecture you on the necessity of friendship.
Just know a single friend is all that is required to brave any horror, both inside and outside us. Doubt and loathing, fear and panic, loneliness and solitude, all of these terrible but necessary conditions of life are only truly relieved by the actions, words, or presence of another.
No matter how strong these last few years have made you, Spike, there is still a calling for you to linger with the weak, even if the weak are ponies themselves. Some like to think that the small rely on the weak, but in my experiencing of princess-hood, I've found that the opposite holds truer.
If the strong have no one to protect, then what is the point of being strong? Strength alone may save you from the struggles of the world, but never in history before, has strength been known to protect us from ourselves. Intelligence and reason are poor remedies in the face of our feelings and emotions
Hehehe, sorry. This must come off as a giant rant, doesn't it? Don't suppose you miss my late-night tangents at all, hey? Okay, okay! You're a busy dragon, so just this once, I'll let you off the hook—only if you agree to the deal. It's nothing to be worried about.
The girls and I miss you something fearsome. We're all fighting about the day that you left. Remember how we measured you in-between the doors at the train station? Well, Rainbow and I have been fighting about just how tall you were that day those many years ago. She said you were a shrimp then, but me, being your best friend ever, told her she was absolutely wrong.
But we don't have a way to prove it... unless you come home.
It doesn't have to be for long. You don't have to set a date. The girls miss you so much, Spike, more than you realize. I know you may not have seen them the same way that I did, but I promise you that they think about you, that they would all drop their duties, their obligations should you come here again
But, in the end, it's up to you.
No matter what you choose to do, and no matter where you may wander off to, please do me a kindness, just a single reminder: remember that you are my best friend, and that you have friends waiting for you.
Ponyville will always be your home.
Just like how I'll always love you.
So come home soon!
Yours,
Twilight Sparkle.
The chime of the train roused me from the letter. I was sitting in a cart, alone and slightly cold, my feet up on the opposite seat of the booth. There was a window at my side, showing me the blurring grey world outside the train, though nothing was distinguishable—a heavy fog had set over the landscape, obscuring everything.
I folded the letter, and with a sigh, deposited it inside the interior pocket of my jacket. In truth, I didn't want to stop reading the letter, but the thick sensation in my stomach, the one that burned of nostalgia... it told me that I was home, even if I couldn't tell with my eyes. So I stood up from my seat, ambled across the cart, slid open its door, and stepped out into the tight hallway.
The first thing to be stolen from me was my breath. Upon leaving my room, the many windows of the cart granted me a different sight to behold. Letting my wrist lean against the glass, I gazed out to the distant city enshrouded by fog—outlines of buildings and structures sometimes pervading, but not enough to be detailed.
It was the crystal castle looming in the distance, high above the fog, that I could feel a pricking in my heart. I swallowed at once, never expecting again to see the sight, but it amazed me nonetheless. It was scary but welcoming at the same time, and I hadn't known why.
“We should be coming to a stop soon,” I murmured to no one, taking myself off the glass. I turned and began down the hallway, doors passing me by, their small and block-like windows displaying only empty rooms.
I shook my head. “Guess Ponyville isn't such a tourist trap anymore.”
Something about that thought nipped at my scales, but I tried to pay it no mind. In a few seconds, the front of the train would be reaching The Ponyville Train Station, and I'd yet to mentally prepare myself for what was to come.
I went to close my eyes and begin taking deep breaths, but the feeling in my stomach wasn't going away. I'd chalked it up to nostalgia and nervousness, but a sudden lurch in the train's speed had me stumbling at the end of the hall; my body colliding against the wall.
“What the—“ Another burst in movement. Speed pressed my body harder against the wall, the pressure on my chest closing around my lungs. “W-What's happening?” Turning my head and looking down the adjacent hall, there was another door with an exit sign above it—the town of Ponyville blurring past its window. “N-No! I c-can't miss my stop!”
The increasing speed of the train rendered it impossible for me to stand on my own. There were a constant rocking and distant squeaking that made my heart beat all the faster. Turning as best I could, I was able to lean my side against the wall, and step by step, stomach clenched, I continued down the hall, breathing heavily.
During my struggle to reach that far exit, I found my mind drawn to the conductor. Why was he speeding up instead of slowing down? Last I checked, Ponyville was still a destined stop—even if no one else was getting off. I was half-way to the door now, wondering if the fog had caused him or her to miss the town.
It didn't matter because nothing was stopping me from getting off. Shuffling closer along, I groaned as I stretched out my arm to the door's handle, slipping my digits through it. Using that to keep myself straight, I stepped before the door, looking through its window. It was too foggy to see anything, but I could still make out the silhouette of the upcoming station.
“I don't have much time,” I said to myself, looking down at the handle. Gripping it tightly with both my claws, a groan escaped me as I pulled it back, feeling my muscles tense as it budged only an inch. “Come on, door! Open!”
The wind sucked through the crack, frigid and screeching, pulling the side of the door back. The extra weight caused me to raise a leg and kick a foot into the wall, using all of my lower body just to pull open this door. It worked as more wind cooled the hallways; the current almost now trying to take me.
“We're almost there!” I shouted it again. “J-Just a little more!” In a split-second, I threw my back against the side of the door and my feet on the opposite side of the frame. My body was too big to fit in the passageway, so I had to hunch forward, half of me warmed by train, half of me cooled by the slipstream of the train.
I saw it coming up against, the fog dispersing back from over the wooden station. I looked behind me, as if I could find something to help me, to maybe slow down this train, but of course, I found nothing. Sighing as the platform sped up alongside me, I did the only thing I could: inhaling deeply and throwing myself out from the door.
I wasn't in the air long. My right shoulder connected against the platform first, everything blurry as my body rolled across the wood. Everything was going so fast, and at this speed, I was worried I might have rolled off the structure.
But that didn't last too long. A few seconds of rolling left me slowing down near the center of the platform. I was laying forward, face to the ground, eyes closed to battle back nausea. I kept still for a very long time trying not to vomit, trying to ignore how light my head felt.
Minutes must have passed, and I wasn't feeling any better. I lifted my head at first, seeing the wisps of fog surrounding me. There was a wooden archway in front of me, with a staircase that just led downward. Planted on a beam across above was a sign, reading:
Welcome to Ponyville!
Author's Note
Silent Hill 2.
You may not have played the game, but chances are, you've heard the name. It's a game known primarily for its atmosphere. You don't get that much nowadays—Martain Sorcases said that greatness comes not from plot or story, but rather, the feeling and atmosphere a film is able to give.
I imagine the same translates to stories regardless of their format.
The thing that captured me most about Silent Hill 2 was the subtle loneliness that you felt. Being in a surreal world where everything was a manifestation of your psychological state—every action representing a heavier theme or evoking some backstory.
I would have liked to have done the same in this story. Just a tired Spike exploring a destroyed world, trying to find his friends.
Maybe I will someday, but until then, here is the beginning.
It's the task of your readers to play around with the potential in your own minds.
Cheers.
