Author's Note
This whole story was a shock. It was completely unplanned.
The song came first, and I sort of had to build a story around it. I love this song to pieces because it was so real. The song is mine, of course, so please don't touch it without my permission.
Have some feels, guys. On me.
Soon You'll Be Okay
Shining Armor, Prince of the Crystal Empire, stared out of a window. In a startlingly small and cramped room, the window was slightly open, allowing a breeze in from outside. The air smelled of the freshly melted snow and newness of spring. On a sunny, crisp spring day such as this, one might not suspect the Prince to have anything weighing on his soul. But he did, and the weight was dragging him down.
The thought of his own mortality, in fact, was quite upsetting to him at this point.
He contemplated his mortality because he was in the hospital with his mother, who looked older than he’d ever seen her look. A case of bronchitis had blossomed into pneumonia, making it difficult for her to breathe and speak. He’d raced to her, as had his sister, to find a breathing tube on her face, and a bucket by her bed for when she coughed so hard she threw up.
His mortality was punctuated by the sight. His mother was in her sixties, but she looked so much older this way. He’d never seen her look so vulnerable before, and it was frightening. It reminded him that anypony could be taken at any time. Every day his mother seemed to weaken, face growing more gaunt and eyes growing sunken. It frightened him, truly, but he never spoke a word of it, because she didn’t need his worry deteriorating her condition further.
The hospital room smelled of fresh flowers and antiseptic, sickeningly sweet and cloying. He opened the window to try and eradicate the smell that seemed, to him, to announce impending death. He glanced at the bedside table. The flowers in the vase by her bed for today- some white roses and sunflowers, were already beginning to wilt. He made a mental note to replace them tomorrow.
His mother was asleep for the moment. The bronchitis and pneumonia took a lot out of her. He, his father, and his sister rotated shifts at the hospital so that somepony would always be there. Night Light came in the mornings, Twilight in the afternoons, and himself in the evenings. Every day, like clockwork. There was never a moment when his mother was without somepony from her family there, and they kept it that way for a reason. So they all got time with her. Night Light came from seven to twelve, Twilight from twelve to five, and Shining from five to ten. Every day like clockwork.
It was these idle hours that made Shining the most anxious. When his mother was awake, even when he was doing most of the talking, he could maintain a thin veil of normalcy. He could pretend they were just talking in an odd place. But when she was asleep, the veil was torn apart and there was no denying where he was and why he was there. Idle hooves were the devil’s playthings, or so they said.
He did not know if he believed in a devil, or any god. He wasn’t sure, at this point, if he believed in anything at all. But he was desperate, and so he’d turned to prayer. Normally, magic could have helped his mother, but her condition deteriorated so quickly that the doctors were scrambling to try and do something. By the time they did, any magic they could do was rendered moot. Desperate times meant desperate measures. If there was a higher being out there that could heal his mother’s illness, he wasn’t going to object because of his pragmatic views. He didn’t care about anything except his mother getting better. So when she was sleeping, and even when she was awake, he’d pray for her to get better. It’s all he wanted in this world. The mare who gave him life- and a great one at that, to live to see more of it. But thus far, the prognosis was not optimistic. He tried to be, for her sake, but he knew she saw right through that, and saw his fear. And she pretended to be okay, even though she was obviously in pain. This little pantomime of normalcy was tiresome, but they both kept it up for the sake of trying to keep an illusion. They didn’t want to admit the severity of the circumstances, because if either of them did, the heavy hoof of death was libel to crush them.
His mother was sleeping, and he was restless. He needed to be doing something, or else the reality of his situation would come crashing down upon him, and he couldn’t deal with that right now. He used his magic to open his saddlebags. He’d brought with him a quill and ink and some scrolls in case he needed to give his family updates, he’d packed a small album of photos of his family to talk to about with his mother in case there was a lull in the conversation, he’d brought a sandwich to eat for dinner, and a book to try and distract himself when the doctors took his mother for tests. But he didn’t feel like reading.
He remembered his sister and her friends keeping a journal some time ago, and thought maybe that would help, but he wasn’t her. He wanted the outlet for his feelings, but that didn’t seem… right. He could recall music being important to him in his formative years. His mother and sister used to sing all the time. He’d loved music as a teenager for giving him the voice he needed and the words he didn’t have. So maybe… Maybe he could write a song? He pursed his lips. It wasn’t necessarily a bad idea, per se, he just wasn’t sure he could do it since he’d never tried. But, his mother was a writer, and his sister sang pretty much every day. How hard could it be?
He got out a quill and ink, a scroll, and moved his mother’s vase of flowers enough to be able to write. He allowed his feelings to come through, but instead of tears, words poured out.
The flowers on your table, Are turning brown and gray
I take them out and replace them almost every day
I don’t need the reminder, that time is passing by
And every day I look at you and think “this could be goodbye.”
I don’t believe in gods or ethereal higher beings
I just think that when we die we go to places unseen
But I’m inclined to pray to whatever one I find
Because I know that if I don’t I think I’ll lose my mind
It’s hard to see you like this, unbearable to watch
And every day that you’re still here my hope slips down a notch
I don’t know how to fix this and I really wish I could
If there is one thing that I know it’s that things aren’t like they should be and
I know that if I say a word I will cry today
So I sit at your bed, and hang my head, and silently pray
Soon everything will be okay
The sun will come and the clouds will go away
You have to be okay, I don’t know what I’ll do
I don’t know how I can live without you
You try and smile for me but I know that it’s a lie
I see the pain you try and hide lurking in your eyes
I love the eyes you gave me, but it breaks my heart to see
The eyes that tell me you’re okay are just lying to me
I’ll try and just act normal, keep things to a routine
Hoping that one day I’ll wake up and this will be a dream
I don’t live in delusions, I know you’re not alright
But if I admit it to myself I’ll never sleep tonight
I try and keep us talking right beside your bed
And I try and tell you all the things I wish I’d always said
I don’t know when our time ends, And I can’t bear to watch you go
But I know it would be much worse if you died here alone
So I keep smiling for you until the end of the day
And every day I sit by you and I always say
“Soon everything will be okay
The sun will come and the clouds will go away.”
You have to be alright, I don’t know what I’ll do
I don’t know how I can live without you
And I don’t want to make this all about me
But I’m so scared that I feel like I can hardly breathe
If you’re gone then I will feel so alone
Because no matter where I’ve gone before you’ve always been my home
Instead of laying down and already starting to grieve
I keep my head held up high because I have to believe
Soon everything will be okay
The sun will come and the clouds will go away
You have to be alright, I don’t know what I’ll do
I don’t know how I can live without you
He set down the quill, eyes scanning over the words he’d put to parchment. They felt right. He realized at that point that he hadn’t allowed himself to express his feelings. He’d been staying strong for his sister, his father, his wife, his daughter, his subjects, and his mother. This parchment was the only place he’d let himself be real. Only there could he be honest with himself about his feelings. He felt better now that he’d let it out. He rolled the scroll up and set it in his saddlebags. Maybe someday, he’d let somepony else see it. But for now, he was quietly satisfied.
He turned back to his mother, still asleep. Soon, she’d get better. He had to believe it.
