Preface
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Nevermore

Preface

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

'Tis some visitor,' I muttered,tapping at my chamber door -

Only this, and nothing more.'

I was working at my desk, reading through a mountainous amount of printouts. Don't ask me what they're about, I have no idea. I swear some of them have been there since last year. I am trying to finish a multitude of assignments, chores, homework, and self interest tasks. The light off my laptop screen casts an eerie glow on my face, making me look like a ghost, casting flickering shadows of the papers on the walls. I have my headphones on, Skullcandy Lowriders to be precise. I had to work my arse off to get these, from working at McDonalds at 2-4am before school, to busking at the local mall after school. They are one of my only possessions, along with my black Naruto hoodie, my notepad and pen, and my butterfly knife. Everything else has been either given to me, passed down to me, or even stolen. My laptop is a generic laptop as part of a redundant government rollout. My desk was given to me by my parents, they got sick of me working on the couch in front of the TV. It would always be off when I work, but they would kick me off so they can waste their time on a show that they didn't even take interest in.

I hear some noise, well noise that is not coming from my headphones. I ignore it, labelling it under the category "Fights and arguments".

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -

Nameless here for evermore.

It was in in the middle of the Australian winter. Now, when someone says "Winter", you usually think of snow, rain, clouds, ham, Christmas (for you religious folk), and other winter related things. But no, in Australia, we have: clear skies, less rain than in summer, no clouds, Easter, and other things that would be associated with winter. Also my birthday, not that anyone cares though. Not that anyone could. I live with my parents and my younger brother. My parents love me… I think… Who am I kidding? They ignore me a third of the time, talk to me in a condescending way that only parents know how to for another third, nagged at for another 10%, lectured at for another 15%, and then told how lucky I was to be in a relatively well off family for the rest. My brother is going through the classic "rebellious teenage years", in other words, being as rude, obnoxious, and as big of a mooch as one can possibly get in life. In other words, my family is dysfunctional to the point of insanity.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -

This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

Sir,' said I,or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -

Darkness there, and nothing more.

I finally notice my name was being called, well, the name that I am called at home.

"Hey, Asshole! Your dinner's on the table! If you don’t get it now, I'm going to feed it to the dog!"

I hear a scraping of a knife over a china plate.

"Aaaaaand there goes my dinner, and probably my breakfast too…," I sigh, "Oh well, may as well try and scrounge up something to eat from the fridge and the pantry… that is, if they haven't padlocked it yet…"

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'

Merely this and nothing more.

I open my door, my eyes blinded by the harsh fluorescent lights that illuminate the Spartan white corridor. I look back in my room. The walls painted pitch black, seemingly absorbing light from the corridor. I had glued, rather unorthodoxly, small patches of silver glitter on my walls, attempting to imitate the night sky. The glitter reflects around the room, casting small pinpricks of light on my desk and floor, covered by a black carpet. I stand in the doorway, on the precipice of light and dark. The irony being that the darkness is more welcoming and comforting than the outside world. The darkness being more familiar, more real.

The choice is obvious, isn't it.

I grab my backpack, emptying it of its contents; some loose papers,

I sprint downstairs, through the hallways as white as bleached bones. I manage to get to the fridge. I fling the door open, trying to waste as little time as I can in the enemy's territory. I grab as many things as I can fit in my backpack, hoping that I don’t squash any of them. I slam the fridge door closed as quietly as I humanly could, and then dash over to the pantry and do the same thing, grabbing everything that I could eat. Closing the door, I hear footsteps echoing through the corridor, making it's way towards the kitchen. I panic, quickly zipping up the backpack and "legging it" back upstairs to my room.

I reach my room, slam the door shut and bolt it closed. The bolts and locks are the other things that I personally own, they keep everything that is despicable and detestable out.

I breathe out a sigh of relief, "That was close, way too close."

I walk around to the other side of my room, towards the sliver of light that has managed to infiltrate my room through my curtains. The curtains are the same colour as my room, a dark black. I open my curtains slowly, eyes taking the sunlight full on. I blink furiously, trying to refocus my eyes. After several minutes of standing in front of my window, blinking like I was a high speed camera, my eyes give in. I finally am able to look outside.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

Surely,' said I,surely that is something at my window lattice;

Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -

'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

It’s a bright day, disgustingly bright. I grimace and bear with the light. I look around. The neighbourhood hasn't changed much since I last went outside, last time being after term ended at school. I have a few friends there, most of them that I know that I can trust. Only one is actually a brony, like me, and is outward with it. Another is open minded enough to understand my love of the technicoloured ponies and their shenanigans. I don't even know if he is a brony or not, he's accepting enough to be one, but I'm not sure. You can never be too careful these days. The others just accept me for who I am, but still are against the ponies. Bringing my mind back to reality, I continue my daily observation of the surrounding area. The ground is wet, no puddles though, there must have been a storm last night. I start to close my curtains, when I spot something that is not usually there: Gandalf.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said,art sure no craven.

Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -

Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -

Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -

On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'

Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

Doubtless,' said I,what it utters is its only stock and store,

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -

Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore

Of "Never-nevermore."'

One does not simply, ignore Gandalf, especially if one is as obsessed with Gandalf as one is obsessed with ponies. I stand there, not believing my eyes. Out there is Gandalf the Grey, blowing smoke rings, leaning on his staff, peering at me with a grin that only Gandalf could do. I slide open my window, half expecting him to disappear. He doesn’t, and instead, smiles even more broadly. I give him an incredulous look.

"Good morning to you sir!" I call from my bedroom window.

"What do you mean?" he inquired. "Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning, or that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?"

I am speechless, he has reiterated the same quote that he said to Bilbo! I think for a moment.

"I mean what I say, and I say what I mean. To answer your questions: of course, yes it is, only if you choose for it to be; not really; and again, only if you choose for it to be." I answer , with a sly smile on my face.

His face lights up at my reaction, and lets out a hearty laugh, not dissimilar to Brian Blessed. "Hah, I like your style young one. I would like to continue this conversation in an easier environment though."

I blush, slightly embarrassed that I had the Great Gandalf wait for me. "Of course, of course. I'll be down in a moment!" I call out to the wizard, now leaning against the wall behind him.

"No, no. Take your time. I can chat for awhile. After all, I don’t have anything to attend to in the near future" he says, waving me off with a hand.

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,

But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

Wretch,' I cried,thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee

Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

I hurry, taking off my black PJs and putting on a pair of clean jeans, MY black Rainbow Dash (Shadow Bolt) shirt that I bought, MY jacket, and a pair of shoes. The window stays open, I've had too many experiences when my parents lock me outside overnight, particularly on the cold winter nights. I close my curtains, not wanting to heat up my room, putting me back in darkness.

My eyes adjust to the dark quickly, my parents used to say that I had the humanised equivalent of night vision; almost literally blind in the day, but like an owl at night. I pick up MY shades, if I wasn’t obsessed with My Little Pony, I am pretty sure that I would be either Goth or Emo, and then shunned by the entirety of society. I open my door, exposing myself again. My stomach grumbles at me, I sigh and pick up a box of Jaffa Cakes. I look at it, nodding in approval, murmuring something about British dwarves to myself. I close and lock the door behind me, just in case.

I stealthily make my way through the corridors, trying to be as stealthy as I could, I even favoured to take off my shoes to ensure that my footsteps were not heard. My journey to the front door was the longest 10 minutes of my life, more agonising than anything I could even imagine, having to hide when someone nears.

I reach the door. The last barrier. I open the door quickly, making sure door didn't creak like an old floorboard. I open it enough for me to slip through, and then promptly close it once I am outside. I look over my shoulder, Gandalf is still there, and it seems that he still has the same bemused expression on his face. The only difference is that there seems to be 2 black crows, perching on the gutter of the neighbouring building.

I walk over the road. Gandalf, still puffing smoke rings, looks at my shirt in a sort of curious understanding. Don’t ask me how curiosity can be understanding, my answer will just be:

"'Cuz Ponies."

He looks at me in mock surprise. "Oh no! Not the ponies!"

I reply, playing along with mock seriousness. "Yes. The ponies. You will be assimilated!"

"No, I shall not yield! I must fight the cuteness and adorableness!"

"I shall assimilate you through the magic of friendship! I will then proceed to love and tolerate the crap out of you and all your family!" I exclaim, hoping that I get the desired reaction.

I do.

"YOOOUUU SHAAAAALLL NOOOOOOT PAAAAASSSSSS!" he exclaims, slamming his staff on the wooden deck of the porch. A small spark appeared on contact with the staff, but promptly burnt itself out of existence.

We laugh, me in surprise, and him, I assume, in amusement that I got him to say the line that Gandalf is known for.

We calm down and I offer him a jaffa cake. He takes one, and munches on it happily.

"So," he says, "I assume that you are a brony?"

I feign surprise. "Really? What tipped you off Sherlock?" I say, indicating at my shirt

He chews on his pipe and strokes his beard sagely, "That, my dear Watson, is for me to know, and you to find out."

I chuckle, "I never thought that one of my favourite characters would steal my favourite comeback. But I digress, yes, I am a brony. I may not seem it, or even show it, but I am a brony nonetheless."

"I see, so, lets start again from a sane conversation starter. How's life?" he inquires, tilting his head ever so slightly.

I give him a deadpan look. "…. Really? You honestly want to know how my life is?" I say, hoping that he doesn’t continue with the subject.

"You hate it?"

"My parents care about me as much as they would care about the state of their neighbour's front lawn, I have to padlock my room to stop my family from ransacking my room, I have only a handful of possessions that are actually mine. My room is the only haven I have from the cruelty of my own home that I live in! I am only 15 years old, and already have suffered from 4 deaths in my family in the past 5 months!" My tone turns haughty, "People complain about their lives, not having enough money, not having a job, not being able to buy something that is completely unnecessary. People turn on each other at the slightest opportunity of a promotion or even an extra few dollars! People die on the street, begging, searching, scavenging for food or money. What do people do? They turn their heads, ignoring the dead. They leave the cleaning up to the maggots and carrion birds. We are blinded of the evils of this world by own greed. Wars rage in countries that have been transformed into battlefields, devoid of any life. The end of the world would come, and people would be too engaged in their sins to even hear the herald or see the signs."

I could continue, but I choose not to. I have already said enough.

Gandalf stares at me and my outburst with a mix of emotions. Impressed, fearful, understanding, and maybe satisfaction?

I turn to leave, wanting to bottle up the emotions to vent later. I hear the floorboards creak behind me, and a hand on my shoulder. I turn around, and see Gandalf looking at me in an almost paternal way.

Prophet!' said I,thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -

Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -

On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -

Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Prophet!' said I,thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -

`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

"Sick of this life?"

I nod, not wanting to look him in the eye, "I hate it. Humanity is a despicable as the evils of this world. The evils of this world have been born from our minds, our minds as dark as the life we live and endure."

"Want to start again?"

"Hah, not a chance. This world is the same for everyone, no matter who they are. Rich or poor, male or female. All of us will experience the same things over and over again, from one life to the other. Even the sheltered will experience the same things as the exposed."

"What if it was someplace completely different?"

"I'm not sure I follow you."

"What if it was somewhere not in this world?"

I stare at him, mouth agape. My mind is a flurry of thoughts and emotions. "You mean Equestria? The land of the happy and free? The home of the only pastel equines in the universe?"

"Not exactly, but yes, the very same."

"What would happen if I say yes?" One thing that I have learnt though my life: There's always a catch.

"You will still be you in mind, soul and spirit. But you will not be how you think you will be in body." The crows are now perching behind Gandalf on the handrail of the porch, side-by-side, one looking at Gandalf, the other at me. "I can send you there, but with a few conditions."

"Name your price."

"You will need to complete tasks that I give to you and set. You will be my eyes, my Thought and Memory are not..." he pauses, "appropriate or durable enough to complete the tasks. I will give you the skills and the knowledge needed to complete the tasks, but I will not give you too much information." He pauses, choosing his words carefully it seems. "You will simply observe everything. Knowledge is power, and power is necessary for this day and age. I'm sure you understand that."

"I understand, but I have a few questions."

He tilts his head, encouraging me to continue.

"How will you send me there?" I inquire.

He nods in approval, "Tis a valid question. Continue your day as you would usually do. Mention this discussion to no-one. Tonight, you will sleep. When you wake up, you will be there. I cannot assure you that you will be in a situation that is perfect, but I am sure that you will adapt."

"Secondly, do I need to bring anything?"

He looks me over, "Just wear what you are wearing now, it will be rather fitting to be wearing that when you get there."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Again, all will be revealed in time."

I sigh, receiving answers but also causing more questions. I look down, needing something to eat for me to think over. Only one left. I smile.

"Mr Gandalf, Mr Gandalf! We're down to our last jaffa cake!" I exclaim, mock shock and horror on my face, imitating the accent of Samwise as best as I can.

One awkward silence later, we both burst into laughter.

"My boy, you are starting to grow on me!"

"I hope not! I don’t want to be cut out!" *Ba-dum-tish*

I offer him the jaffa cake, of which he takes, and we calm down. I look around, wondering what time it is, and notice that the sun is nearly touching the horizon.

"Oh wow, really? Is it really this late?" I wonder, swearing that it was midday when we started talking.

Gandalf accepts the jaffa cake, and puts it down next to the crows. "Seems like it. You had better get home, before your parents make your life any harder."

I tilt my head to the side, "So I'll see you…?"

"Midnight tonight, it'll give you time to tie up any loose ends here, and let you sleep in your new body" he answers, finishing my sentence for me.

"I'll see you then, then." I say turning back towards my home-that-isn't-homely.

I walk back over the road as he waves me off. I walk to the front door, which seems to be closed. I curse under my breath, but then remember that I left my window open. I look up at my open window.

"Roight, time to cloimb." I say to myself in an extremely fake and over the top Aussie accent. I crack my knuckles and start to climb, humming This Day Aria to myself. Hours of rock climbing and parkour does wonders to a person. I manage to climb up to my window and I hang there for a moment, pondering about what I would be in this new world. I ponder this to myself for a while, only snapping back to reality when my arms started to hurt.

I pull myself up into my room, hiding behind my still closed curtains. I cautiously peek through a gap between the curtains near the floor. Too many a time I have done the same as now, climbing back into my room through the window, and finding my room basically ransacked. Sometimes even arriving back when my parents or brother still in my room. Luckily, this time, no-one is there, the padlock on my door seems to have worked this time.

I stand up and sigh.

I look out the window, checking if the wizard is still there. He is, so I decide to watch him for a while, wanting to know how he will actually send me there.

I watch him turn around, breaking the jaffa cake in half. He then places the halves in front of the crows. The crows look at the food, tilting their heads in curiosity. The one on the left picks up their half and starts to eat it, staring at Gandalf as if it was trying to catch his attention. He turns to look at the bird, and says something. I try my best to lip read, but I'm too far away to accurately tell what he is saying. From his hand gestures, I can tell he is talking about me, pointing up to my room.

"Great, I'm trusting a loon that talks to birds, how delightful." I say, cynicism dripping like melted butter.

I turn back to my room. I find comfort in the chaos, an order in the fray only understood by me. The stack of paper stacked not intrusive, but ordered like a filing cabinet. The erratic stacks of CDs not disorganised, but arranged in order of use or want. This is my realm. The room is a code, and only I know the key. The knowledge in an order that makes sense only to me, like the Da Vinci Code, but without the action. The information in an order that gives more insight than if it was organised. I can walk over to a pile and pick a piece of paper out of it, and end up holding the paper that I needed, intentionally or not.

I look at my watch, 2300. I still have an hour.

I sit at my computer, talking to other bronies on IRC. They are the only people who listen, who understand. On IRC, we take on a different identity: a sofa pony, a changeling search engine, various colours, a Sausage Lieutenant, a siren's song, a broken heart, a princess of the night, and a particularly questionable pink pony. I could go on forever. These people have become my family, they don’t criticise me without reason. These people that I have probably never met in real life, care about me more that my family does. We look out for each other, if someone has a problem, we try and help. We are accepted for who we are, I have my problems, and so does everyone else. We understand each other.

I realise with a shock. I'm not going to see them again.

I already miss them when they haven't been online for a day, and now I'm never going to see them again.

I have to say goodbye.

It took 30 minutes. Saying goodbye, and not mentioning anything about where I'm going, besides "somewhere far, far away" and that "I won't know if I am going to talk to them again", and avoiding questions. I log off, not wanting to worry my friends even more than already, and turn off my computer.

I lie down on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I lie there for awhile, thinking. About what? I don't know, I'm just thinking. Thoughts drifting from one thing to another, but never staying long enough to capture my attention. I bring my watch into my vision, 23:45. So close, but yet so far away.

I roll onto my side, looking at my room for what will probably be the last time. I spring up from my bed, and stuff everything that I own into my pockets, hoping that they will come with me to Equestria.

After this frantic rush, I lie back on my bed. I should get to sleep, it's close, only 10 minutes left. I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, feeling my eyes grow tired, and then close.

I fall into a deep sleep, too deep for me to lucid dream, but not deep enough to be in the REM stage. I surrender myself to the void, the ocean of darkness tempting me. It will take me where I need to be, where I need to go.

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted - nevermore!