You can’t help but feel a disgustingly acute feeling of déjà vu worm through your body as you stride through the barren village.
What was once a probably bustling center of life and activity felt ghostly in your presence. How long it had been since someone—or something, you quietly muse—had made its way through, you couldn’t say. Perhaps you were the ghost, treading your first steps into the afterlife. A harrowing thought, but not at the forefront of the current situation. You needed to find someone and get some information on how you got here. Though, from the looks of things, that is definitely easier said than done.
Hopping over a collapsed earthen bridge that had long ago sunken into a now dried streambed, you weasel your way into an overgrown hut-like abode. Though, overgrown feels like an understatement. Vines snake through every possible orifice in search of new things to latch on to, and probably in search of a better source of light in the dim house. Tufts of grass poke through the floorboards and all of the furniture looks as though the mold and moss had taken too much of a liking to them. The mustiness of the room starts to get to you and you cough, pulling the neck of your shirt over your nose and mouth in a vain attempt to stave it away.
You open a few of the windows, which seems to help the airflow as well as providing more light to the interior. Aside from the vegetation, everything is soaked in a layer of dust that reaffirms your thoughts of long-term abandonment, as if you needed more proof anyway.
Numerous bird houses dangle from the ceiling or are propped up by their own stands, just as devoid as expected. You absentmindedly insert your hand into the metal one, knowing that you should be stroking or scratching something. The feeling of nothing feathery to reciprocate your affection brings melancholy to join the feeling of familiarity with your surroundings. Knowing something more important is around the corner, you turn and ascend the neglected staircase, avoiding the creeky spots like second nature.
Emerging into the dank bedroom, you open some more windows and give a weary sigh at the state of the place. Seeing her room in such a condition allows a suggestion of fear to accompany the cacophony of emotions swirling around in your head. You know you knew her, but every attempt to grasp at a name leaves it slipping further away.
Her? Yes, it was a her. You knew it. A lot of them were.
But who?
You begin scouring the room for something, anything. You have to try to remember, you need to remember. How you got here means nothing to you anymore; you just need to know who.
It doesn’t take you long to find a faded picture frame on a shelf with the elusive figure surrounded by equally familiar faces. One being especially familiar. Your own. This isn’t enough to jog your memory, however, and you continue to search about the room. Eventually, you find a shoebox absolutely filled with yellowing letters, all addressed to the same individual.
Fluttershy.
Of course it was her! How could you have ever forgotten? The sweetest most caring creature you had ever met! God, the times you had helping her around the house and with the animals in her care (and time you spent away after a few mishaps with them), joining her and her friends on adventures and trips. And that smile. Now that, you could certainly never forget. You clench the picture just a little tighter and wipe your eyes with your sleeve, the room appearing just that little bit brighter.
But what happened?
You read some of the letters in hopes of enlightenment, most of them thanking her for helping one pony or another with a pet, some telling her to get well soon. Some were cards that were no doubt sent with a gift or another. Each and every letter brought memories flooding back of who Fluttershy was. There were even several party invitations, one even stating that you, among others, had RSVP’d.
If there was anyone who would know where Fluttershy would have been, it was Pinkie. All you needed was her name signed at the bottom of the invitation to know where to go. Taking a letter and the photograph, you carefully fold them into your pocket, nearly falling down the stairs as you rush out the door, bounding over the stream and bridge that connects you with your past.
Despite having found a pair of rose-tinted glasses, they must’ve fallen off at some point as you sped through the town. The disheveled architecture returned, a few of the houses crumpled into heaps of their former selves. The sights are almost enough to bring you to a stop and mourn the absolute loss of everything, but you are pressured by an innate force to continue, the constant need of remembering becoming unbearable.
You finally skid inside the bakery, shouting Pinkie’s name in hopes that, if anything is going to survive some apocalypse, it’s going to be her. With what vague memories you have of her beyond the parties and her…eccentric nature, you kind of assumed she’d be akin to a cockroach.
The most notable thing about the bakery is the stench of rotting foodstuff. While Fluttershy’s house may have been merely musty, this place was dripping with the odor of spoiled pastries and treats. Your shirt would do no good to try and block that out. The display cabinet tried valiantly to upsell the stacks of what was once cupcakes inside of it, and while it was appetizing to the flies that swarmed some of the more intact pieces, it did little to entice you.
Pushing the kitchen doors aside, you are greeted with the expectedly overwhelming aroma of filth and abandonment. You hold your breath and manage to look around a bit, finding an abandoned single tier cake with the word “WHY” piped in large cursive letters that trailed onto the countertop. Your eyes go wide and you stifle a sob as a few memories of being taught how to bake and set up parties swam to the surface. Obviously, Pinkie had done this, but why? The cake simply asked the same question.
You stumble back and out of the kitchen and gasp for fresher air. Once you’ve stopped your coughing fit, you continue up the staircase and into Pinkie’s room, calling her name again.
Her room could never be described as completely clean on even the best days, as there was always some stray confetti on the ground or a lone lollipop toppled next to her sweets bin. However, the sight that greeted you told you that this was far from a good day.
Deflated balloons, confetti, and food crumbs sat on every surface imaginable. A banner that used to say “WELCOME HOME” in bold cheery lettering had the first three letters scribbled out, laying wrinkled next to her bed. You sigh, picking up the banner and hanging it up on a wall. You have a sneaking suspicion you know who the banner was for, but considering the amount of time that has passed since its intended use, you figured it would be best to at least give it some glory.
The nightstand next to her bed was a completely different story. It is absolutely drowning in sealed invitations, making it nigh on impossible to know if there even was a nightstand there, but you always remember one being there. You pick one up and examine the back, noticing its recipient’s name is one you have yet to recognize. You purse your lips and tear it open, yet again reading someone else’s mail.
It’s an invitation to a party welcoming you back. While the letter is only a few sentences short, it is also filled with all kinds of glitter glue and pictures colored on. While nearly hectic in its design, it was obviously made with a lot of care and thought. You tear open another one and find the same invitation, though the decorations adoring it are slightly different, but still maintaining the care the previous one displayed. You open a few more, and while they seem relatively similar, a few deviations start to appear. A change of wording here, a dropped sentence there, even welcoming different ponies back. Soon it becomes obvious she was spending less and less time on any one given invitation, the decorations all but disappearing and the wording becoming more and more concise.
Eventually you open a letter that simply reads:
“Where are they going? Why won’t they come back? Please just come back. I miss you all. I have a party planned for all of you. Please. Come back home. Come home. Please.”
The letter continues, but becomes increasingly difficult to read as the ink at the halfway point of the letter has sagged down as if it had become drenched while it was being composed. The cause is clear, and you assault the paper with tears of your own.
How long was it like this? Why were ponies leaving? No one would just leave Pinkie that meant so much to her.
After composing yourself, you silently promise to attend, adding the previously read invitation your pocket and descending the stairs. Passing the kitchen, you notice that the smell isn’t as bad as you remembered, but you were probably just going nose blind to it. You leave the Sugarcube Corner, wandering aimlessly around the town for signs of…well…anything at this point.
Eventually, you come across a farmer’s market. Some of the merchandise remained in baskets around the stands, but there wasn’t a lot to really look at. Walking along the rows of the market, you are stopped by a particular storefront with a worn apple insignia. While you had expected apples to be the main selling point of the stand, instead, you find a plank nailed over the original stand’s description, asking for donations for the search and recovery effort. You round the stand and pick up the lone Stetson sitting on one of the stools.
Considering ponies had been disappearing left and right, it would really only make sense for Applejack to try and find them. Though, you almost expect she’d be more at home doing the searching than the fund raising—that would be more suited to Apple Bloom. So why would her hat be here? Looking again at the sign, you notice that the lettering is more childish and messier than you had previously noticed.
You catch your breath in your throat and you put the Stetson on. It never fit you well, but it will suffice. It makes you feel better anyway as you grab a conspicuously fresh apple and sprint off in search of Sweet Apple Acres, finishing it by the time you get there.
Sure enough, the fence surrounding the property is rotting and falling apart, lacking its distinct white hue. The barn was a shell of rafters and hay, but no siding, oddly enough. Perhaps the barn had fallen through morose neglect and someone gave up part way through raising a new one. You shake your head and frown, idly humming the tune Applejack taught you for such an occasion. It always made the work seem to go by so much faster, she said. You could never disagree.
Looking back towards the house, it’s at least in better condition than you’d expect, though before you have the chance to think much more about it, you notice an interesting assortment of clouds on the ground next to it. Making your way next to it and looking up at it, a drop of something wet lands on your face. You wipe it off to find that it isn’t rain, nor more waterworks from yourself, but some rainbow liquid that slowly dries on your skin. Looking up again, you notice that, while best described as “melted,” some areas of the cloud remain solidly placed. Heck, some of it even looks like marble pillars or locations for waterfalls to spout from.
Attempting to enter the cloud house proves fruitless, however, as you quickly remember a rather distinct rule about these kinds of things. Instead, you opt to wade through the damp mist until you find something solid to clamp onto and climb on. Once you’ve done so, you find that you’ve clambered onto some marble floor which unfortunately means you cannot progress much further into the house. Thought, as you look around more, you’re not sure you’ll need to as the some of the contents of the house have fallen rather chaotically onto the ground around you.
Being that you know Rainbow Dash isn’t that messy, you wonder why her house would’ve fallen this far, anyhow. Scooping up a Daring Doo book, you open up to a random page and read a few passages, for old time’s sake. Though you could never really get into the series, Rainbow Dash constantly insisted that you give it another go, sometimes a little more forcefully than others. You check another book in the pile of household objects and clothes, letting a bookmark slip out to the floor from the cover. You pick it up and turn to the first page.
“Listen, I know you said you don’t care for these books, but I’m telling you, this one is certain to get you hooked, I promise!
Rainbow Dash”
You manage to hold yourself back as you read the subtitle of the book, calling into question what she thought would make this one stand out amongst the others. You tuck the book under your arm and make a mental note to read it later when you’ve found someplace less depressing.
Walking to an edge of the floor, you’re just about to jump as something catches your feet and causes you to fall through the cloud and onto the grass below. You groan into the haze and stand up, hobbling out of the cloud as whatever it is clings to your feet. Finally outside of the thick vapor, you remove the scuffed rainbow dress from your feet as you remember the Gala. Now those were some weird parties. You remember Rainbow Dash babbling on about how much she appreciated Rarity making it for her. You can’t remember if you ever had anything made for you to go to the Gala, though by you remembering the Gala at all, you probably attended at least once, and there’s no way Rarity wouldn’t make something for that occasion.
You at first think of walking to the boutique, but a steady few drops of rainbow rain on your Stetson make you think otherwise. Huffing once you reach the building, you push the doors open with a foreboding squeak, making you wince. The main floor is surprisingly clean with little dust coating much anything, even the mirrors managing to keep a glossy sheen. Rounding the staircase and heading to her room kept in the same state, you comment that she may have gone overboard on the cleanliness spells to keep everything pristine.
The most juxtaposed thing about the room was the human mannequin that was posed next to her bed, adorned in an outfit that was honestly only befitting of royalty. You run your hand across its silky surface, admiring the craftmanship in its breathtaking detail. You clench your free hand into a fist and scrunch your face up into a look of determination. You tear the clothes off of the mannequin and put it on, though it’s no easy task. It has been a while since you’ve been there, and you’ve changed at least enough to make the phrase “squeezing into your clothes” the perfect descriptor for the situation.
Once you’ve finished, you stand in front of the mirror and give a pose that would undoubtedly have made Rarity burst into laughter, and probably anyone else who would’ve been watching. You chuckle a little yourself at the thought, though it’s quickly replaced with silence as you revel in her gift. You whisper thank you to the mirror and exit the boutique, hesitating at the front door.
That castle was most certainly not there before. As far as you had seen, there was no giant crystal tree smack dab in the center of town before. That ends up meaning little to you as you dash towards the structure, knowing full well who it belongs to regardless.
You slam the front doors to the castle open, running through the reverberating halls in search of some sign of life. After all, this couldn’t have simply materialized by itself while your back was turned. You rush through the room with all six of their thrones—scratch that, seven, can’t forget Spike—adorned in a circle. You could never remember your way through this place, even when you visited regularly. You could’ve sworn Twilight had made you a map, but you don’t remember what you did with it.
After what felt like hours of blind stumbling through the castle, you eventually hazard upon Twilight’s room, which is now a hazard in of itself. Papers are thrown all around the room, books lay opened to their last read page, a small chemistry set lays broken to pieces of the floor.
She must’ve gone mad with all the disappearances. You pick up a scribbled note, but you can’t seem to read the chicken scratch on it, though that doesn’t stop you from feeling a knot tighten in your stomach. You drop the note and try another. And another.
And another.
Another.
You can’t read any of them. You’re about to give up when you spot a burning candle that should’ve been melted down or snuffed out ages ago. Next to it was a more solidly composed and legible note.
“I don’t know if anypony is going to find this, but from the looks of things, I’m not sure there’s going to even be anypony around for a while. Ponies have been disappearing for a while, and I’m not sure it can be stopped. It’s as if they’re randomly plucked out of existence the moment they aren’t around anypony else. You could say it started with the disappearance of Anon a long time ago, but that was years before any of this started.
Fluttershy was the first to vanish. Pinkie woke me up screaming that she couldn’t find her anywhere. A thorough search of her house turned up nothing; not even her animals knew what had happened. Celestia and Luna were equally confused, but asserted that they would search dutifully to return her.
Applejack was next. I can still hear Apple Bloom’s pleas to find her sister, though that eventually stopped as she…well…
We didn’t know Rainbow Dash was gone until her house fell on top of the Sweet Apple Acres barn, crushing it. Some tried to rebuild it, but that project was eventually abandoned as more and more ponies lost friends and gave up hope.
Rarity had accepted her fate, resigning to go to her boutique and lay in bed most days. If you never made yourself known to her, you could hear her making conversation with nopony. It hurt, and Spike, Pinkie Pie, and I attempted to make frequent visits. Eventually, she locked her door with an enchantment and didn’t open until she too was gone. I could’ve broken it, but I wasn’t thinking straight at the time… I wanted to be a good friend…
Pinkie couldn’t stop making plans and preparations for the next party. She did it with such ferocity, I think it was the only thing she could really think of doing at the time. Eventually, she snapped, telling me she couldn’t do it anymore and she was going to just let it happen. I tried to stop her, but you know Pinkie, faster than she has any right to be…
So, here I am now, huddled with Spike in my room as I attempt…attempted to find out was has been going on. Spike hasn’t been the same since Rarity, as one would imagine. He barely talks or eats, content to let himself wither away by my side.
As for myself, I don’t know anymore. I’m just going to finish writing this and then lay in bed with Spike, hoping that things will turn around soon.
…
I just want everypony back. I want my friends back.
Please. Come back.
I’m sorry everypony.”
You slump onto the bed, clutching the note close to your chest. You hold out for a few moments longer before completely breaking down, curling into the fetal position as you cry into the parchment.
Why?
Why?
Why?
Why did you have to leave?! Maybe you could’ve kept them from disappearing using some voodoo earth magic! Hell if you know!
Maybe you didn’t care for them enough?
Oh God, was this all your fault? Did you just abandon them outright? It couldn’t be. No one knew how you got there, so naturally, no know knew how you could leave.
You can’t think straight about anything, so you opt to cry into Twilight’s pillow for the time being.
You aren’t sure how long you were asleep. You sit up and remember the note, still somehow stuck in your grasp. You read it again, reminding yourself of the things that could’ve been.
Keeping up with Fluttershy and her sanctuary. Pinkie and her baking lessons (as well as the treats that followed). Applejack and her family sometimes needing an extra pair of hands. Rainbow Dash and her charming obsessions over the dumbest of things. Rarity’s never-ending cascade of fashion ideas to bounce around. Twilight’s fascination and study of everything.
Thinking of things to do with them only helps to bring back more memories of your times together, but they’re bittersweet this time. You wipe your face of the dried tears and stray hair, smiling to yourself.
You guys had some good times. The fact you got to experience them at all should be cherished. You resolve out loud to never forget about them again.
Suddenly, you feel a weight roll into your side and startle you. Looking over, you see Twilight snuggled up against Spike. It takes you a moment to process what exactly you’re looking at, though, once it punches through your mental fog, you lunge at her, waking her. Unfortunately, this has the side-effect of squishing Spike between you two hard enough for him to protest about it.
Twilight lazily cracks open her eyes, snapping them wide when she finally realizes who you are and what you doing. She returns the embrace gleefully, laughter turning back into sobbing as she relates her worries incoherently to you. You listen intently, stroking the back of her head and telling her it’s going to be okay.
When she finally calms down, she picks up Spike and squeezes him just the same, though it seems to have taken him a lot longer to figure everything out. For a little while, you all hug it out before returning outside to see if anyone else had returned.
Slowly but surely, other ponies began emerging from their homes, bewildered at the state of Ponyville and already making plans to return her to her former glory. Something bright and Pink slams into you, throwing you to the ground in the most welcoming way possible. You hug the sobbing pony and catch between breaths that when she saw the banner up had been pinned up, she knew you were back.
You tell her it’s great to be back through tears of your own.
The rest of your friends eventually make their way to you, taking their turns crying into one another’s shoulder and making remarks about the things you had on yourself from your trek through the town. To round things out, a group hug is called for, suffocating you in a sea of warm fur. Amidst this, you’re blinded by a flash of light. Blinking it away, you see that Spike has a polaroid camera, pulling the photo out and waving it back and forth. He hands it to you and you take a good long look at it.
You may not have belonged in this weird land of magical ponies, but that didn’t matter. You felt at home, here with your friends and the memories you’ve made with them.
And this time, you won’t forget.
