fallin' (Original Edition)
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

fallin' (Original Edition)

When other ponies talked about Cloudsdale, most were surprised to find that Cloudsdale had a cemetary. It wasn’t like the cemeteries based on the ground that earth ponies and unicorns used. Fleetfoot always found that fact interesting.

From the funerals of earth ponies and unicorns, she had found that those groups mostly preferred burials and coffins. Being a pegasus, the idea of spending eternity in a coffin shocked her.

After a pegasus died, it was tradition for them to be cremated. Then their ashes would be released, letting them take one last flight before they moved on to… whatever came after life. That very thought sent a shudder down Fleetfoot’s back. She didn’t like thinking about death.

The cemetary was dotted with markers, made of enchanted materials like stone and wood, and in many shapes and sizes. They bore the names of those that passed on, who spread their wings and faded away into the sky they loved. Or something, Fleetfoot scoffed. She always thought it just sounded… sappy.

Fleetfoot wandered through the cemetery, making her way through the paths in between the gravestones. She was dressed in her formal uniform, a deep blue dress coat over a light blue shirt, complete with a row of medals over her heart and a white, black brimmed hat on her head.

She stopped in front of three large monuments near the cloud cemetary’s edge. A frown formed on her muzzle. She had been here when the first was constructed, and she returned when the second was built. And now there were three.

The funeral itself passed quickly for her. She didn’t remember much of it, other than it was like all the other funerals she had been to. The pegasi had two ceremonies: one traditional one with a wake, eulogies, and remembrance speeches, and the ceremonial release of the ashes. The last flight, it was called. She had learned all of this at her first funeral, that of her mother’s.

A chill ran down her spine as she approached the crowd gathered in front of the monuments. There were pegasi dressed in black suits and dresses, and dotted in the crowd were deep blue uniforms, the same as the one she wore.

Avoiding eye contact, she made her way to the base of the monuments. Each monument bore the same inscription, the Wonderbolts’ motto. “Who flies, lives. Who lives, dares. And who dares, wins,” she said to herself.

“Please, I’ve heard enough of that for a lifetime.” Fleetfoot’s ear twitched as a gravelly voice chuckled from behind her.

She turned around to see an ever familiar orange pegasus, dressed smartly in uniform with ehr eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses.

“Spitfire,” Fleetfoot said. “Nice to see you.”

The mare nodded in response. “Same to you. Wish it was under better circumstances.”

“Don’t we always,” she replied, turning back to the monument.

Spitfire walked to her side, following her gaze. “Well, I hate to say it, but you can’t say we didn’t see this coming.”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” Fleetfoot asked, sighing in frustration. “That everypony just expects to die?”

Spitfire shrugged. “Maybe, deep down.”

Before Fleetfoot could protest, another voice from her right chimed in. “Spits, since when do you philosophy?” Another uniformed pegasus apperered, with a white coat and blue mane. “Hey, Fleety!”

After all these years, Fleetfoot grumbled to herself, Soarin’ still loved butchering names.

“Hello to you too, Soarin’.”

The pegasus fired off a quick salute, touching his hoof to the brim of his hat. “But seriously, why are you guys talking about philosophy and stuff?”

“We’re not,” Fleetfoot snapped back. “I was just asking what Spitfire was saying.”

Spitfire sighed, adjusting her sunglasses. “I was just saying that when you get old enough, death just becomes a part of life.”

Soarin’ nodded. “I guess that makes sense.”

“How?” Fleetfoot rubbed her eyes. “How does it make sense? How can you guys just be okay with death?”

Spitfire lay a hoof on her shoulder. “Listen. You can be scared of death. I am, Soarin’ is, everyone is. But it’s a part of life, even if it’s the end of it. Let me ask you this. If we lived forever, would we do anything?”

Fleetfoot blinked at the question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that if you knew that you were going to live forever, why would you do anything at all? Now, some of us don’t do anything anyways,” she continued as she shot a glare at Soarin’, “But for most of us, we do what we do because we’re not around forever.”

“You and your philosophy,” Soarin’ said with a roll of his eyes.

Spitfire punched him in the shoulder. “The fact of the matter is that we’re not here forever. That’s what I’ve told recruits again and again. The minute we’re born, we’re running out of time.”

Fleetfoot just sighed. “Why are you telling me this?”

“You looked like you needed to hear it.”

The mare snorted. “Great. Now I feel worse about myself.”

“Aw, cheer up!” She winced as Soarin gave her a hug. “Don’t let Spitfire’s fancy words scare you.”

Soarin ignored the glare Spitfire gave him through her glasses. “I’m not trying to scare you,” she said. “I’m just telling you what I believe. And I believe that life’s too short no matter what we do. There isn’t enough time in the world for us to do everything we want.”

“You want to know what I think,” Soarin asked, releasing Fleetfoot from the hug.

“Not really,” she muttered.

“I think that if you spend your whole life worrying about when things end, you’re never going to get anywhere! Like eating a pie!”

Both mares rolled their eyes. “Of course you’d make that connection,” Fleetfoot muttered.

“No, hear me out! Life’s like eating a pie. You know that eventually you’re going to run out of pie, but if you just stay really sad because you’re going to run out of pie, then you miss the joy of eating the pie!” Soarin stood proudly with that, a wide smile on his face.

Spitfire just chuckled, shaking her head sadly. “Can’t get his mind off of pie for one second.”

Any other time Fleetfoot would have laughed, but something was still bothering her. It felt just like old times, where they would sit in the captain’s office after practice, cracking jokes and mocking the new recruits. “How are you guys so calm at a time like this?”

Spitfire’s face hardened. “It comes with the job, Fleet. I thought you would have learned that by now.”

Soarin’s goofy grin faded. “Yeah, Fleety. Trust us, we know what you’re going to. We were there too.”

With a defeated sigh, Fleetfoot lowered her head. They did have a point. “Right, sorry. I’m just… having a hard time-”

She felt two hooves, one on each shoulder. “Trust us,” Spitfire said, her gravelly voice softening. “We know.”

A tear fell from Fleetfoot’s face, disappearing into the cloud under her. “Does it get easier?”

“No,” Soarin’ answered. “It never does. And moving on and letting go doesn’t come easier either. Every one hits harder than the last.”

Spitfire nodded in agreement. “Fleet, I could tell you what I told Soarin’ when I gave him the reigns all those years ago. That the job is hard and that it messes you up. That you see the best of your team and the worst of them, and that you’ll learn to be hated. I could weave up some stupid story to tell you where everything works out fine in the end.”

“But it won’t matter,” Soarin’ finished. “Because that’s exactly the same thing I told you when you became captain. But no matter what they think of you, you’re still their friend and their still your team. And that’s why every loss will hurt. But it’s good, because it means you care. If you lose someone and don’t care...” Soarin’ shuddered as he trailed off.

“It’s like falling,” Spitfire said. “When we learn to fly, we’re scared to fall. But even after we fly, we’re still scared to fall. That fear is always there, isn’t it? Especially for the Wonderbolts. But we still fly We don’t let a fear of falling stop us.”

“Yeah… I guess. I guess you’re right.” Fleetfoot dried her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. “Sorry,” she heard herself say.

“It’s not wrong to cry at a funeral,” Spitfire chuckled. “But you know what always helps? A flight.”

A flight sounded good right about now, Fleetfoot thought. A chance to spread her wings and set her mind free.

Soarin’ seemed to agree, his ears perking up. “Yeah! Come on Fleety, let’s go flying!”

Before she could respond, something caught her eye. The group of ponies was moving away from the three tombstones and headed to the edge of the cloud. The crowd broke, allowing three ponies to advance to the cloud’s edge. A smile fell upon her muzzle. “You guys go on ahead,” she said. “I’ll be right there. There’s something I have to do first.”

Fleetfoot set off, weaving through the crowd until she ended up near the front. She watched as the three ponies turned to face the crowd. Two were wearing the same dress blues that dotted the crowd. The first, a rainbow maned pegasus, shuffled nervously. Her eyes never left the urn that lay on the cloud by her hooves.

“You ready, Cap?” The second pony of the group, a black and white pegasus, gently nudged her.

Failing to elicit a response, the third pony, a non-uniformed purple pony, cleared her throat. “Rainbow?”

Rainbow Dash blinked, then adjusted her cap. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. Ready.”

Her hesitation made Fleefloot shake her head and chuckle. It wasn’t like the carefree pegasus to be nervous, but who was she to judge? She hadn’t been much better when she led the ceremony.

The third gave a small nod. “Okay. Captain Dash, Lieutenant Thunderlane, shall we proceed?”

Thunderlane nodded, but Rainbow hesitated again. “Uh… Sorry, Twi. It’s just-”

Twilight Sparkle raised a hoof, silencing her friend. “It’s fine, Rainbow. You need to let go. Everyone here does, that’s why we’re here.”

Rainbow took a deep breath, still staring at the urn by her hooves. “I know that. But it’s hard, you know?”

Twilight lay a comforting hoof on her friend’s shoulder. “Rainbow,-”

“I remember her,” Rainbow said aloud. “I remember that day, walking onto the stage and shaking her hoof. I remember her looking into my eyes and smiling as she said, ‘Congratulations Captain.’ And I remember everything she told me about being captain and, and… And I don’t think I’m ready.”

“Hey. She knew what she was doing,” Twilight said. “She made you lieutenant, didn’t she? She could have picked anybody, but she picked you. She believes in you, Rainbow, and look around.” The mare waved a hoof over the crowd. “She’s still here, with us. In us. We’ll carry on her legacy.” She pointed to the three monuments. “We’ll remember her, just like we remembered Spitfire and Soarin’.”

Rainbow closed her eyes, dropping her head. “Yeah, you’re right. She’s gone, just like they were. Twi, does loss get any easier?”

“I can’t say that it does, Rainbow,” Twilight replied sadly.

Rainbow finally looked up. Her eyes scanned the crowd, seeing the familiar ponies in suits, dresses, and uniforms. Then, she nodded. “Okay,” she said in a small voice. “Let’s do this.”

A hush fell over the entire cemetery as Twilight picked up the urn in her magic. She raised the urn until it was eye level with Rainbow. Rainbow and Thunderlane took a step back and saluted. The uniformed pegasi in the crowd returned the motion, tears in some of their eyes.

“Okay Captain Fleetfoot,” Twilight said gently. “Time for one last flight.”

Rainbow turned to the crowd and nodded. “Who Flies, Lives. Who Lives, Dares. And Who Dares, Wins,” the uniformed pegasi shouted.

Twilight closed her eyes, doing a quick calculation to take account for the wind. She opened the jar and floated the urn over to the edge of the cloud. “Celestia be with you,” she whispered. The urn tilted, and the ashes flew off into the breeze.

From somewhere behind her, she heard Spitfire’s gravelly voice calling out to her. “Come on, Fleet. Skies are waiting.”

“We don’t have all day,” Soarin’ chimed in. “You coming or not?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Fleetfoot smiled, bliss filling her. She walked over to the edge of the cloud, staring up at the endless horizons above her. She pulled her cap down so the brim was over her eyes and turned around. The crowd of ponies was talking now, turning their eyes away from the cloud and back to the monuments. Nopony was looking in her direction, except for Rainbow Dash. The new captain stared blankly at her as she stood unmoving.

With a broad smile, Fleetfoot saluted her. Rainbow blinked and saluted back, not completely aware of what she was doing. “Thank you,” Fleetfoot whispered. She reared up on her hind legs as the noise died around her. Finding her balance, she looked up one last time and closed her eyes. Fighting the urge to spread her wings, she leaned back. And she fell.

-

End.

homebound
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

homebound

The very last train from Ponyville to Dodge Junction just happened to be the very last train that left the station. Which made it an excellent option for someone who wanted to travel unnoticed. The station platform was void of ponies, save the sleepy ticket master who closed his window seconds after sliding the mare a ticket.

Daring Do collapsed on the bench, ticket in her shirt pocket with a disgruntled sigh. She hadn’t bothered with her disguise, reasoning that it was three in the morning, the lighting on the platform was horrible, and that the chances of being recognized in Ponyville were slim. She just had to hope that Rainbow Dash wasn’t camping above the station for some reason.

Besides, she was exhausted. She didn’t want to go through the hassle of pulling her disguise from her bags and sitting in that itchy dress for the entire trip. A frown found its way onto her face. She had spent the last few days desperately searching for answers before seeking out Twilight’s assistance. Even then, she didn’t have a solid answer, but only a hunch.

But it would have to do. Caballeron already had a massive head start on her. The explorer dropped her head in her hooves and let out a much louder, barely restrained yell of frustration.

“Long day?”

Daring jumped at the voice. She hadn’t noticed that there was a mare sitting on the bench next to her. Whipping her head around, she saw a yellow coated earth pony with a cobalt blue mane. A white stetson hat sat on top of her head and a red bandana was tied around her neck. She wore a light green shirt and stared at her, concerned. “Mighty sorry,” she apologized. “Ah didn’t mean to startle you.”

As her heart rate returned to normal, Daring relaxed. “It’s fine. I just didn’t see you there.” She took a second to consider the irony of the statement. Noticing traps and finding clues were second nature to her, yet she somehow missed an entire pony sitting on a bench next to her. If this mare was an assassin, she’d probably be dead.

Luckily for her, this mare didn’t seem like any assassin she had met before. The mare chuckled. “Yeah? Ah get that a lot. But in my line of work Ah reckon that ain’t a good thing.” Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to the bench, where Daring realized an open book lay.

“Really?” Daring shifted in her seat. Normally she wouldn’t keep up a conversation with a total stranger, but she was tired and not thinking straight. And maybe she was a little curious. “And what line of work would that be?”

The mare offered a smile and reached under the bench, pulling out an old, battered instrument case. She patted the case on the side twice.

“Musician, huh?”

“Travelin’ musician, to be exact.” The mare extended a hoof. “Name’s Fiddlesticks.”

Daring accepted the hoofshake. “A.K. Yearling,” she heard herself say.

“Pleasure to meet you. What do you do, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

At that moment, Daring was glad she wasn’t wearing her pith helmet as it would have made lying about her profession significantly harder. “I’m a writer, primarily.”

Fiddlesticks’s eyes lit up at that. “Really now! What do you write?”

“Whatever I feel like,” came the almost automatic response. “But mainly adventure and action.”

The mare nodded, taking in her words. “Wow. That’s pretty cool. Any novel Ah might know?”

Daring shifted in her seat. “Probably not.”

Fiddlesticks rolled her eyes. “You underestimate how much Ah read,” she chuckled. “So, where you headed?”

“Dodge Junction, same as you probably,” Daring responded. “I’m headed down there to do some research.”

“That’s nice,” Fiddlesticks said. “Ah always appreciate some accuracy in books.”

Daring smiled at the compliment. ‘You have no idea,’ she thought. “What about you? Heading home?”

Fiddlesticks’s smile faltered at that. “No, not really. Ah am a travelin’ musician, after all. Haven’t called any place mah home in a long time.”

The pegasus blinked at that. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Fiddlesticks replied, regaining her smile. “Thing is, this is just the life Ah live. Ah’m a roamer, a free spirit. Ah go wherever Ah feel, and if Ah stay in one place too long Ah get restless. My home is wherever Ah happen to be.”

“That’s one way to think about it.”

“Ah reckon it is. Though Ah guess Ah’ve always had a soft spot for Ponyville.” She sighed, glancing behind her, towards the town center. “Ah was only here for a family reunion, you know. Ah came like Ah always do, to provide the music. Wasn’t expectin’ to get cornered by one of my cousins.” Fiddlesticks laughed aloud.

“Apparently, she was under the impression Ah was livin’ up in Appleoosa. When cousin Brae told her Ah wasn’t, she asked around and panicked when she couldn’t find out where Ah was livin’.” Her smile faltered again. “She said ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were homeless?’ Like it was a bad thing or somethin’.” She blinked, remembering where she was. “Mighty sorry. Ah’m ramblin’ again, aren’t Ah?”

Daring shook her head. “It’s fine. The train’s not due for awhile, and I’m more than happy to listen.” Inside, she questioned why she was so invested in her story, and why Fiddlesticks found her trustworthy enough to talk to in the first place.

“Well, anyways, she didn’t really understand when Ah told her what Ah told you. That Ah’m a wanderer. She offered to give me a place to stay and a job and some bits. Ah told her it wasn’t about that, and that Ah was gettin’ by just fine. Took a lotta convincin’, but she backed off in the end. But you know what, she still didn’t understand. To her, a home meant much more than a place to stay. To my family, there’s nothin’ more important than plantin’ roots, and that’s somethin’ you can’t really do if you’re in a new place every other week.” Her voice had taken on a sad tone, Daring noticed. “And that talk made me wonder what Ah was missin’ by not settlin’ down.”

As she was listening, Daring’s mind was working hard, choosing her words carefully. By the time Fiddlesticks finished her story, she had an idea of what to say. “Hey, I can understand where you’re coming from. I’m constantly moving around too. A long time ago I found out that a normal life clearly wasn’t for me. While in school, I learned a new eterm: nomad. Someone who doesn’t have a home and is always moving. I decided that I was a nomad.”

Fiddlesticks listened intently, leaning in and urging her to continue.

“My research has taken me all over Equestria. And yeah, I have a tiny little shack that I live in when I’m not out, but to me that’s not my home. My home is the badlands beyond Equestria, the deserts of Saddle Arabia, the forests of the Amarezon. To me, home is where I am. Wherever it may be.” Daring gave Fiddlesticks a reassuring smile. “There’s a phrase that I’ve thought to be pretty cheesy, but I think it might help you. Not all who wander are lost.”

The mare fell silent at that, pondering over Daring’s words. “Huh. That’s interestin’ alright. And Ah guess it does make sense.”

“And just because you’re a wanderer doesn’t mean you don’t have a shot at family,” Daring added. “It’s not something I care about all that much, but I’ve known people who did it. You don’t have to wander forever.”

Fiddlesticks chuckled. “Yeah. You know what, Ah like what you said. That your home is where you are. Sounds a lot better than sayin’ you’re homeless.”

“Well, what makes a home? Some ponies say it’s where your heart is. Others say it’s where your house is.” Daring paused. “Or maybe I’m completely wrong. I don’t know. Am I making sense?”

“Sure you are. And don’t worry, what you’re sayin’ sounds right enough to me.”

Daring exhaled. “Good. Sorry, I’m never sure if I’m making sense or not.”

A brief silence passed before Fiddlesticks giggled again. “It’s funny. I guess when you put it like that, we’re both headin’ home then, huh?”

The pegasus considered that. “Yeah. I guess in a way, we are.” The two shared a laugh.

Fiddlesticks yawned and stretched. In doing so she knocked the open book off of the bench and onto the floor.

“Here,” Daring offered. “Let me-” She paused as she reached for it. The book landed upside down, with the cover facing upwards. And on the cover, Daring saw a very familiar face.

One look at Fiddlesticks answered Daring’s question. The mare blushed and looked away, embarrassed. The adventurer quickly put two and two together, figuring out just why this mare seemed to trust her so much.

Normally, she would have been upset. She probably would have turned and left the station at that second, before the endless questions about her life and if she was real started. But for some reason he didn’t. Instead, she laughed. “So you did recognize me after all.”

Fiddlesticks rubbed a foreleg. “Ah might have. But Ah figured you wouldn’t want to deal with some crazy fan at this hour.”

“Well, thanks.”

She blinked at that statement. “For what?”

“For not treating me like a celebrity. It does get a bit annoying when everybody’s treating you like some hero. It’s nice to just sit down and have a conversation sometimes.”

“But you are a hero,” Fiddlesticks interjected. “Your books give ponies hope. They gave me hope.”

Daring shrugged. “Anyone can give anyone hope. That’s nothing special.”

Fiddlesticks shook her head. “Ah disagree. Ah don’t think someone like me could give ponies hope.”

“No, I disagree. Music has amazing powers, that’s why almost every culture in Equestria has used music in some way. You know, the ancients almost thought of their musicians as kings, and that their music was the voices of the gods. I’d say that gives ponies hope.”

The other mare sighed, staring off wistfully into the distance. “Miss Do, do you ever regret what you do? Callin’ wherever you are home?”

The pegasus thought for a second. “Yeah, yeah I do. Especially when it came to my parents. One of the last letters I ever got from them ended with ‘I hope you’ll be home soon.’ And when they passed… I guess it really made me wonder about my choices.”

“Ah’m sorry. Ah reckon that’s a bit of a sore spot for you.”

Daring rubbed her eyes at that statement before replying. “No, it’s fine. I really appreciate this. It’s been awhile since I got to have a conversation with another pony, without them constantly fawning over me.”

Fiddlesticks coughed awkwardly. “Well, Ah know you don’t like it and all, but Ah was wonderin’... it’s fine if you don’t…”

The pegasus just laughed, already guessing the question. “Tell you what. If you play me a song, I’ll give you an autograph.”

The mare hesitated before answering. “Deal,” Fiddlesticks said. She opened her case, pulling out a well worn fiddle and a bow. “Now Ah hope Ah don’t disappoint you,” she said bashfully.

“Please, any sound you can make will be miles better than anything I can do,” Daring replied as she sat back in the bench.

Fiddlesticks smiled and nodded, and began to play. Daring relaxed and closed her eyes, as the soft melodies filled the quiet air. And they sat, enjoying the music and each other’s company.

The End.
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

The End.

The sun streamed through her window, casting shadows about her room. It lit up the room nicely, casting a golden glow over the wooden furnishings. Fiddlesticks let out a sigh of contentment as she took in the serenity of her room.

It was a perfect morning, she thought. Outside, the sky was a blank blue canvas, without a single cloud to intrude on its purity. It was the perfect scene for a parade, or even a picnic. Fiddle sat up on her bed, tossing aside her blankets. She swung her legs over the side and hopped off. As much as she would have liked to lay in bed all day, she had things to do.

She liked to think of herself as a fairly simple mare, one who enjoyed the small things in life like the beauty of a sunrise. She thought of the chores and tasks that awaited her, mentally planning out where in the orchard she would have to go today.

Living in Appleoosa with her brother had proven to be an exciting challenge. Fiddle had spent the past few years learning how to survive in the desert and how to tend to the namesake of the Apple family. Still, she wouldn’t change it for the world.

Fiddlesticks crossed the room, entering her bathroom. She turned on the sink, splashing some water on her face. Her mind wandered as she did so, thinking of musical phrases and rhythms that she would put to practice on her beloved fiddle later.

Suddenly, Fiddlesticks’s eyes shot open. Her breath hitched, and she felt a strange fluttering sensation in her heart. The room around her suddenly started spinning, and Fiddlesticks had to reach out and grab the sides of her sink to keep herself from falling.

“Woah there. Breathe, girl, breathe!”

Her eyes shot up into the mirror, and for a brief second she thought she saw something move behind her. She whirled around, water drops flying off her faith, only to find there was nothing there.

After a few deep breaths, Fiddlesticks rubbed her eyes and turned around again. She stared at the mirror, and a pale yellow mare with a cobalt blue mane stared back at her. Fiddlesticks frowned, feeling her heart beating fast. “Now what the hay was that about?”

Fiddlesticks sighed, regaining her composure. She shut off the water and trotted back into her room, shaking her head. “This has been happenin’ a lot lately,” she thought. “But it’s gettin’ worse. Reckon Ah should go see the doctor.”

After drying off her face, Fiddle returned to her bedroom. She went over to her bed and threw on a light green shirt before typing her favorite red bandana around her neck. But as she turned to grab her white stetson hat she froze.

Somehow, the room seemed darker than it was before. The bright warm yellow of the morning sun was muted now, and shadows seemed to obscure the corners of her room. The sky outside seemed less blue than it had before, and even the room itself seemd darker and smaller. Shaking her head, she placed her hat atop her head and opened the door.

As she stepped out into the hallway, Fiddle felt that something was different. The house was eerily silent, and Fiddle couldn’t hear the voices of her family. She descended the stairs, unease and anxiety building in her stomach. As she reached the first floor she looked around, but everything seemed to be normal.

In the dining room, Fiddlesticks saw three ponies sitting around the table: her brother, her sister, and her marefriend. They sat with their hooves clasped above the table, staring down with their eyes closed. Her eyes went to the empty seat in between her brother and marefriend, the seat that she usually took.

But for some strange reason, she didn’t feel like joining them. Instead, she turned away from them and headed for the door. As her hoof reached for the doorknob, her ear twitched as she heard something behind her.

Looking back, she saw that a strange black pony-shaped form had taken her seat. It stared at her with pure white eyes, a crooked smile on its maw. As it locked eyes with her it stood, and began walking-- no, drifting towards her.

As it moved, she could hear a strange rattling noise that almost sounded like the rattle of sticks on a snare drum. Her heart began to race, and Fiddlesticks yanked open the door and ran out of the house.

But instead of ending up on her front porch, Fiddlesticks founder herself in some sort of office. Fiddlesticks looked around in confusion, seeing nonsensical medical posters dotting the walls. On the examination table there was a form covered in a white sheet, with a doctor in a lab coat standing next to it.

The doctor was frowning, scribbling notes on his clipboard. He didn’t seem to notice that Fiddle had entered the room. Fiddlesticks approached the table cautiously, wondering just what was going on. Suddenly, she froze. The beating of drums had started again, this time from under the sheet.

Abruptly, the same shadowy figure threw off the sheet and sat up, staring at her with pure white eyes and a hungry grin. It laughed, and the drums grew louder and louder.

Fiddlesticks turned and sprinted for the door, yanking it open and jumping through. This time she found herself on a porch, but not of her own house. In front of her was a massive expanse of apple orchards, stretching as far as her eyes could see.

An orange mare in a stetson hat waved to her. Fiddlesticks vaguely recognized her, but her mind was muddled and clouded. She absently waved back, and the mare gestured for Fiddle to follow her.

She complied, and followed her down the dirt path towards a town. As they walked down the street, Fiddle saw two ponies arguing in the middle of the road. They looked familiar, but Fiddle just couldn’t place their faces.

The first, a pegasus, pointed a hoof accusingly at the other pony, who was swaying on her hooves and stumbling. The drunk pony laughed, and the pegasus turned away in disgust.

The drunk pony laughed again and turned, making eye contact with Fiddle. Before her eyes, the pony morphed and twisted, becoming the shadow creature that was stalking her. The sound of drums kicked in again, and panic rose within Fiddle’s mind.

She turned and ran off down the street. Fiddle ran and ran, but the sound of the drums only grew louder and louder. As she rounded a corner, Fiddle found herself amidst a large crowd of cheering ponies on the sidewalk.

On the street, a marching band was making its way down the road, the drums beating out a steady beat. The band wore pure black uniforms, from their jackets to their hats, and their instruments swayed in time.

The music was loud and deafening, yet Fiddle couldn’t seem to make out the notes. The song was somber and slow, and she could almost hear a voice singing out some lyrics.
The pony at the head of the parade waved a baton high in the air, eyes closed as they led the band forwards.

At the far end, a pair of ponies wandered into the street. Fiddle recognized them as the pegasus and the pony she had seen earlier. The pegasus shouted something, tears streaming down their face, while the other pony shook their head sadly and turned away.

The pegasus stomped on the ground and shot off into the sky, leaving the other pony behind. The pony took a deep breath and began to cry. She shoved past Fiddle, running through the band and entering a building on the other side of the street.

Fiddle followed her, although she wasn’t sure why. Pushing the door open, Fiddle felt a chill run down her spine. The room she had entered was some sort of bar, with a raised platform at the far end of the room. A white unicorn was manning the booth, pumping out tunes that were both deafening and soundless.

While the bar was filled with ponies, Fiddle could only make out one face: that of a gray earth pony sitting at a booth, head in her hooves and crying. The mare wiped her eyes and looked up, locking eyes with Fiddle. Suddenly all the noise stopped, and Fiddle felt every eye in the bar turn towards her. And in the absence of the noise, she heard the drums again.

Something shoved her from behind, and Fiddlesticks came crashing to the ground. Somehow she didn’t feel any pain or discomfort as her chin came crashing to the floor. She scrambled to her hooves, looking around for her assailant but not finding them.

As she got up, she realized she was no longer in the bar, but in some sort of hallway. Rooms lined either side of the hall, with doors and windows offering her some glimpses inside.

Looking into one room, Fiddle saw the two ponies again. The earth pony was laying in the bed, listening as a faceless doctor droned on about something. The pegasus was sitting at the foot of the bed, tense and alert. Her frown deepened with every word.

Fiddle recomposed herself and proceeded down the hallway, although unsure of why. In the next room, Fiddle saw an older gray pony, sitting next to the same earth pony from before. They laughed at something the older pony said, and smiled at each other. They looked up and saw Fiddle, before smiling at her and waving. The light in their room went out, plunging the room into darkness.

With a confused shake of her head, Fiddle continued down the hall. Then, she paused. One of the doors was open. Fiddle gently nosed open the door and peered inside. The room was that of a standard hospital room, with a medical bed in the center. The recurring earth pony was laying there, apparently asleep.

As she approached the bed, however, the mare opened her eyes and looked at her. Then, Fiddlesticks realized why this mare was so familiar: she was looking at herself. The other Fiddlesticks sighed and closed her eyes again, turning away from her.

Fiddlesticks turned around to see another pony standing in the doorway. This version appeared to be a teenaged version of herself. The teenager awkwardly rubbed her foreleg, her eyes never leaving the bed.

The other Fiddlesticks turned around to look at the teenager. The frown on her face deepened, although her face softened. The other Fiddlesticks looked nostalgic and sad. She raised a hoof, as if reaching towards the teenager, but the teenager shrunk back.

Fiddle’s ear twitched. There was a faint beeping noise coming from behind her. Turning, Fiddlesticks saw a heart monitor, letting out slow, monotonous beeps. As she watched, the beeping grew faster or faster.

Suddenly, the lights in the room flickered, and in a panic Fiddlesticks whirled around to find that she was alone in the room. Her ear twitched as she heard slow, heavy hoofsteps in the hallway, accompanied by heavy breathing and the rattling of snare drums. Through the window, Fiddle saw a dark form making its way down the hall.

The form stopped and turned to look through the window. Something in Fiddle’s mind told her to hide, so she dived into the hospital bed and pulled the covers over her head.

She closed her eyes as her breathing quickened, hoping that whatever was outside would just go away. The beeping of the heart monitor grew faster and more sporadic. Fiddle heard the creak of the door opening, and the breathing grew louder.

“Dream… this has gotta be a dream,” Fiddle muttered to herself, pulling the covers tighter. “Yeah, that’s it. A dream. Ah’ll wake up and it’ll all be over.”

The heart monitor disagreed with her, the beeps merging together to form a cascade of noise. The breathing and drumming grew louder and louder.

“Just a dream. Just a dream. Wake up, Fiddle, wake up,” she muttered as her heart pounded in her head.

The hoofsteps came to a stop right next to the bed. Fiddle held her breath. The heart monitor suddenly flatlined, letting out a single note. As everything fell silent around her, Fiddlesticks took a deep, shaky breath. Finally, she woke up.

Dead!
View Online

The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

Dead!

The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was tiles. Fiddlesticks blinked in confusion, expecting to see the familiar wood paneled ceiling of her room. But the white tiles stayed, even after she rubbed her eyes.

With a grunt, she tried to sit up. As soon as she did, she felt a hoof on her stomach, gently pushing her back down. “Hey now, easy!”

Blinking, Fiddle saw her brother standing next to her, eyeing her with worry. She complied, laying back down. “Braeburn? What’s goin’ on?”

Braeburn frowned. “Rightfully, Ah dunno. You collapsed while we were workin’ the field.”

The memory shot back into her mind. She looked around and realized that she was in the local doctor’s office, lying on the examination table. Medical charts and posters lined the walls, telling ponies about their body parts and how to care for them. The smell of sanitizer hung heavy in the air.

Then, Fiddlesticks realized that something was wrong. No, something just felt wrong. The mare put a hoof over her heart, feeling it beat faster and faster. She looked up at Braeburn only to find that the room was suddenly spinning.

“Fiddle? What’s wrong?” he asked.

She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself. “Ah dunno. Dizzy. Heart’s beatin’ fast.”

Braeburn frowned at that. “Ah’ll go get the doctor.”

Fiddle nodded and watched him leave. She turned her eyes back onto the tiled ceiling and sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. How long had this been going on? She thought back over the past few weeks. Sure, she had been feeling tired and dizzy, but she chalked it up to being tired from a hard day’s work. And she had been meaning to see a doctor, but she had been so busy…

Suddenly, her eyes widened. What if something was wrong, and now it was too late? What if she had waited too long? Panic began to settle in, and she felt her breath hitch as her eyes shot around the room. Breathe, girl, breathe. You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.

After several deep breaths, Fiddle got herself under control. The door opened again, and a unicorn in a red vest walked in. Doc Holiday levitated a clipboard in front of him, scribbling notes as he walked. “Ah, you’re awake. How’re you feelin’?” he asked.

She offered him a brave, courteous smile. “Fine, Ah suppose.”

“Good, good. You gave us quite a scare when you fainted,” Doc Holiday remarked. “Tell me, have you been feelin’ ill lately? Sick, in pain, or anythin’?”

Fiddlesticks fidgeted nervously. “Uh, yeah, actually.” She flinched as Braeburn gave her a surprised look. “Ah’ve been feelin’ light headed lately. And kinda tired. Ah figured it was just all the work Ah’ve been doin’, but… well, Ah’ve been feelin’ weird lately. In here,” she said, tapping her chest.

Doc Holiday nodded, his face ever stoic. “Alright, alright. Well, Ah’d like to run some tests if that’s alright with you, see if Ah can figure out what’s goin’ on.”

She nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine with me.”

“Perfect. Lemme go grab some things and Ah’ll be right back.”

As the doctor left the room, Braeburn glared at Fiddlesticks. “Hey, why didn’t you tell me somethin’ was wrong?”

Fiddlesticks fidgeted nervously. “Ah’ve been meanin’ to, it’s just… Ah didn’t think anythin’ was wrong.”

Braeburn stomped on the ground in frustration. “But you still should have told me. Ah could have helped you, Ah--”

She held up her hoof and cut him off. “Brae, it’s fine. Ah’m a big mare. Ah can make my own decisions.”

Her brother sighed and dropped his head, his anger quickly fading. “You’re right. Ah’m sorry. Ah’m just worried about you, y’know? You’re my sister after all.” Braeburn gave her a quick nuzzle.

“Yeah, Ah know. Sorry for not tellin’ you,” Fiddle replied, “but everythin’s gonna be fine, Brae.”

“Ah know.”

There were forty seven tiles on the ceiling of the doctor’s office. Fiddlesticks knew this because she had counted them three times. Well, the first time she had actually counted forty eight, but after getting forty seven twice she assumed an error on the first count and moved on. She sighed, her eyes drifting around the room again.

Doc Holiday had run her through a battery of tests and used all sorts of spells and machinery on her, while scribbling on his clipboard and nodding. Finally, he pulled Braeburn out into the hallway to talk with him, leaving her alone in the room.

With a frown, Fiddlesticks focused on an anatomy poster on the opposite end of the room. She had already read the entire thing three times, but a fourth wouldn’t kill her.

Her ear twitched as she heard voices outside. “Doc, what’re you sayin’?”

She recognized her brother’s voice, but something about it made her frown. Braeburn’s voice usually carried a contagious cherriness with it, but not this time.

She couldn’t hear the doctor’s reply.

“But-but she ain’t even thirty yet!”

Fiddlesticks sat up, concerned.

“Whaddya mean she was ‘born with it?”

At that, Fiddlesticks felt a knot forming in her stomach. Somethin’s wrong. She flinched when the door opened, and the doctor walked in. Doc Holiday was frowning, his eyebrow wrinkled in worry.

Her brother followed close behind, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“Miss Fiddlesticks,” the doctor said. “Ah’m afriad Ah’ve got some bad news.”

Fiddlesticks gulped. “G-give it to me straight, Doc.”

Doc Holiday sighed and nodded. “Of course. But Ah gotta warn you, there ain’t an easy way to say this.” The stallion passed Fiddlesticks a clipboard with several papers and x-rays clipped onto it. “You’ve got a condition called dilated cardiomyopathy. It means your heart can’t pump blood because of a defect with your left ventricle.”

Fiddlesticks blinked, then stared at the x-ray photo. Her eyes skimmed the text next to it, but she failed to understand any of it. “So… is it bad?”

“Well, it’s hard to say. It looks like you were born with a heart defect, so you’ve probably been livin’ with it for awhile. But since the symptoms are gettin’ worse, Ah think we’ll need to take some action.” A grim look fell over his face. “Fact of the matter is, if we don’t treat this, it just might kill you.”

The world went quiet around her. Suddenly, nothing mattered to her anymore: not the forty-something tiles on the ceiling, not the anatomy poster on the wall, not the carefully made plans she had worked so hard over.

“So Ah’m dyin’.”

Doc Holiday grimaced at that. “Now, don’t go sayin’ that. You’ve got options. There’s procedures and surgeries we can do to help you.”

At that, Braeburn seemed to snap out of his stupor. “When can you start surgery, Doc?”

Doc Holiday shook his head. “Ah can’t, Braeburn. Ah don’t got the the equipment or education for that. You’d need to go to a bigger town with a proper hospital.”

Fiddlesticks blinked. “Like Ponyville?”

Doc Holiday rubbed his chin. “Ponyville? Yeah, Ah reckon they got the equipment and ponies.”

She nodded, but didn’t look at him. Fiddlesticks blinked again and looked around slowly. Suddenly, the warm, inviting atmosphere of the examination room had darkened. It all seemed quieter now, and a lot less welcoming than it was before.

With a start, Fiddlesticks snapped back to reality. “Right, we’ll be headin’ to Ponyville then,” Braeburn was saying.

“Alright. Ah’ll write up a report so they know what to expect. But they’ve got good ponies up there, top of the line. She’ll be in good hooves.” Doc Holiday hesitated before adding something. “And, Fiddle, Ah know this is hard news. One of my cousins lives in Ponyville now. Her name’s Freeland Holiday, she’s a therapist. Ah’ll give you her address if you ever need to talk to somepony.”

Fiddlesticks nodded again. Doc Holiday scribbled something in his paper and gave her a sad smile. “Hey now. You’ll get through this, trust me.”

Her mind went numb again. She felt herself stand up and follow Braeburn out the door, but she didn’t really process any of it. Outside, the world seemed dark and forboding. The usual warmth of the desert sands were drenched in a melancholy gray, and the sunlight from above didn’t quite reach the ground.

“Hey. How you holdin’ up?” Braeburn asked softly.

Fiddlesticks blinked. “Ah… dunno. Ah reckon Ah just feel… numb?” She rubbed her eyes. “Ah dunno what Ah’m supposed to think, Brae.”

Braeburn sighed and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hoof. “Yeah. ‘S funny, y’know? You always expect this to happen to some other pony.” He locked eyes with her. “Doc’s right, y’know? You’re a strong mare. You’re gettin’ through this.”

She nodded, and the two continued down the street. Abruptly, a blue streak shot out of the sky and landed in front of them. “Fiddle! What happened? Are you okay?” Her marefriend’s brow was stained with sweat, but the pegasus wasn’t out of breath at all.

Lightning Dust was wearing her brown jacket adorned with patches, identifying her as a weather pony. And although she had been flying for the better part of the day, she didn’t show it.

Fiddlesticks gave her a weak smile. “Ah’m fine, Dusty. Thanks.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Fiddle, I heard you fainted. Ponies like you don’t just faint while working. What happened?”

Fiddle glanced at Braeburn who only nodded at her. She sighed, kicking a small rock under her hoof. “Well… Dusty, Ah have a heart problem.”

Her marefriend blinked at that, unsure of how to take it. “Oh. Oh Celestia. Fiddle, I… is it bad?”

“Yeah. Doc said if Ah don’t get it treated it could get worse.” Even as she said it, she didn’t really believe it. “So… Ah gotta go to Ponyville or somethin’. Try and get it fixed.”

Lightning opened her mouth and closed it again, trying to process the information. “Fiddle… I…” Eventually, she gave up and threw her hooves around her, pulling her in for a tight hug.

As she returned the embrace, something clicked in Fiddlesticks’s mind. She was dying. Hay, maybe she was already dead. Her vision blurred and her body shook, and Fiddlesticks began to cry.

She felt Lightning hold her tight, like if she let go, Fiddle would disappear. Braeburn began rubbing her back, whispering in her ear. And she cried, as the realization hit her head on. She was scared. Scared to die, scared of whatever was going to happen.

Even within the embrace of her marefriend and brother she was scared. The safety that she usually felt when with them was long gone now. They couldn’t protect her from death, she realized. Nothing could.

Eventually Lightning broke the hug to look her in the eye. She put on a mask of fearlessness and bravery, but Fiddle could see through it. In her marefriend’s eyes, Fiddle saw fear. And if something could scare Lightning Dust, then chances were she should be scared too.

“You’re going to Ponyville?” Lightning asked.

Braeburn nodded. “Yeah. We’re probably gonna stay with my cousin.”

“I’m coming with you,” Lightning decided.

Fiddlesticks frowned as she dried her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt. “Lightning--”

“No,” she cut off, “I want to be with you. I want to help you. I’m going.”

Her brother sighed but didn’t argue. “Okay. Ah’ll let ‘em know to expect you. But you should probably tell the office you’re gonna be gone.”

The pegasus nodded in agreement. “What time are you guys gonna leave?”

“Probably in three days,” Braeburn answered. “Ah gotta make arrangements, Fritter too.”

Fiddlesticks frowned at that statement. She was upset, she realized. Upset that because of her, everyone close to her would have to change their plans, just to accommodate her. It made her feel weak, like she couldn’t take care of herself.

Braeburn and Lightning finished up their conversation, shooting sympathetic glances at Fiddle as they spoke. Finally, they nodded, and with one last look, Lightning Dust took off into the air again.

Braeburn patted her on the shoulder and the two continued their journey home. As they walked they past pairs of ponies, animated in their own conversations as they spoke and waved their hooves around.

And Fiddlesticks found herself angry at them. Who were they to around and laugh and enjoy their lives? Why was she the one who had to die? She gave an angry scoff, wiping some more tears from her eyes. ‘Course it’d be me. Reckon Ah don’t matter much, huh?

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Braeburn’s voice broke through her thoughts.

“Oh, nothin’. Ah’m just dead is all,” Fiddle spat.

Braeburn raised an eyebrow at her hostility, shocked. He opened his mouth to reply but quickly closed it again. Instantly, Fiddlesticks felt a pang of guilt in her chest. “... sorry, Brae. didn’t mean that,” she apologized. “Jus’ havin’ a hard time dealin’ with this.”

He offered her a smile. “Hey, it’s fine. Ah can’t imagine how hard it is for you.”

Fiddlesticks sighed, casting her eyes on the ground. “Yeah, Ah know.” She paused as a young couple walked past them. “Let’s just… let’s just go home.”

The two continued their journey in silence. With every step, Fiddlesticks was all too aware of the heartbeat that followed with each step, and she wondered which beat would be her last. And for some reason, in the back of her mind, she could hear a cadence of snare drums.

Fiddlesticks was lying on her back, her head resting on her pillow. Her favorite white stetson hat was sitting on her chest, her eyes cast upwards at the ceiling. The house was completely silent, as Braeburn was in his room writing letters to various family members.

She hated it. Fiddle was always a mare who thrived on noise, and took it upon herself to fill the silence, normally with music. But today she didn’t feel like playing. She wasn’t sure if she would ever feel like playing again.

So instead, she lay there, staring up at the ceiling. In every second of silence, she could feel her heart beating. Just like it had been beating her entire life. Yet something was wrong with it.

The idea just felt so foreign to her. She had been living her life without a care in the world, thinking that she was a normal, functioning pony, when all of that was suddenly torn away from her.

She was dying. Fiddlesticks blinked at that thought. Braeburn was right. Ponies like her didn’t just die like this. She was enjoying her life, and she had so much left she wanted to do. Why was she the one who had to die?

Her eyes were red from crying, although she had stopped a while ago. Now she just felt… numb. Empty. She wondered for a second how all of her distant relatives would take the news.

Family. The word made her sigh. A long time ago she had considered herself very fortunate to be a part of the Apple family, even if she wasn’t related by blood. She was amazed how extensive the clan was, with members in practically every part of Equestria.

But now, she wondered how many of them would actually care if she died. After all, she wasn’t really a part of them, was she? Just an adoptee who never quite fit in with everypony else. The one who was never truly one of them.

And what of her birth family? They had given her up upon birth because of financial concerns, although they did keep her fraternal sister. Fiddle wondered where Octavia was now. Probably in some big city, halfway through a tour with her beloved symphony, with no time to come cry for a sister she never really knew.

Her mother was a kind mare, and Fiddle was sure that the choice to give her up hadn’t come easily. But still, she always felt inferior to Octavia, the mare who did the same thing as herbut better.

Fiddle grunted, turning on her side. She pictured herself in an unfamiliar hospital room, drawing her last breath. Braeburn would probably be there. Her brother loved her dearly, and had looked out for her for years. Fiddle felt guilty about letting him down.

Apple Fritter would probably be there too. Being a year younger than her, Fritter had always looked to Braeburn and Fiddle as role models. She was probably at the bakery right now. Fiddlesticks wondered if she had heard the news.

And what about Lightning? Fiddlesticks cracked a smile as she thought of her marefriend. It was a chance meeting in a bar late at night, after Fiddle had played her last set. Lightning had shown up drunk and incomprehensible, trying to fight anything and everything.

Fiddle took pity on the poor mare and decided to help take her to the local hotel. Of course, Lighting threw up and passed out halfway there and Fiddle had to carry her. Their relationship kicked off after that, although if one were to ask Lightning, she would tell a very different tale.

Her smile wavered as she thought of recent events. The arguments and tensions between the two that seemed to grow more frequent as time went on. The fact that Lightning didn’t stop by for breakfast anymore. The space that had been growing in between them. Somehow, Fiddle just couldn’t picture her marefriend there, holding her hoof as she drew her last breath.

Her ear twitched as she heard hoofsteps on the stairs. The pony was moving with a purpose, and within seconds there was a knocking at the door. Before Fiddle could summon enough courage to answer, the door was pushed open and a light yellow mare appeared.

Judging from the flour that clung to her coat and mane, Fiddlesticks assumed that her sister had just come from the bakery. Apple Fritter stared at her, her emerald green eyes wide with shock. She quickly darted over to Fiddle’s side and pulled her into a tight hug.

The move caught Fiddlesticks off guard, but she eventually snapped out of her stupor and hugged her back. “Hey, Fritty,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Reckon you heard the news?”

Her sister broke the hug and nodded, wiping tears from her eyes. She began moving her hooves around. “I’m so sorry,” the mare signed out. “Are you feeling okay?”

It was strange hearing comforting words from her sister. A part of it was because she was born mute and couldn’t speak, but another part was that it was usually the other way around. Apple Fritter had lived a difficult life, due to her disability. When they grew up, their parents had spent several hundred bits to teach themselves Equestrian Sign Language, but not many ponies living in Appleoosa knew it.

But Fritter never let that stop her. She was a resourceful mare, and had developed a communication system involving whiteboards and chalk, along with a bell she could ring to draw attention if she wanted to ‘speak.’ But still, she struggled through her foalhood, and Fiddle went out of her way to comfort and help her.

Today was different. “Fiddle, you’ll be fine. I believe in you. You’re strong,” Apple Fritter signed.

Fiddle offered her a weak smile. “Thanks, sis. Ah’m jus’ tryin’ to process everythin’ right now, y’know?”

Apple Fritter nodded. She turned around, her eyes landing on the fiddle sitting in the corner of the room. She gave Fiddlesticks a sideways glance.

“No, Ah haven’t touched it today,” Fiddle said. “Don’t really feel like practicin’.”

Practice. That word struck a chord with her. Was there any point in practicing anymore? Was there a point in anything anymore? Her frown deepened as she pondered this.

“You should,” Fritter signed. “You’ve still performances,”

“Yeah. Ah guess.” The words were empty. What good would playing at parties do? Other than mock her, as ponies laughed and drank around her as she slowly faded away. Laughing at her, because she was dead.

Overtime
View Online

The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

Overtime

Why was she doing this?

White Lightning yawned as the thought crossed her mind. The clock on the car’s dashboard told her that it was currently 2:27 in the morning, and the leaves blowing across the parking lot told her that it was cold.

She should be asleep now. Her shift was supposed to be over. Right now, White Lighting was meant to be snuggled up in bed and sound asleep, stomach full after a snack of milk and cereal and a microwaved dinner.

Instead she was crammed into the driver’s seat of her squad car, drinking coffee from a styrofoam cup and trying not to spill it on the paperwork in her lap. Why? Because overtime.

Wasn’t that a good enough reason? It wasn’t like she had anything else to do. Beside sleep. And be warm. And be happy. And do things she enjoyed…

But she needed the extra bits. White Lightning frowned as she replaced the coffee in the cup holder. There really wasn’t a way around it. She had to work more to earn more… although, she still hadn’t been paid for last month’s overtime.

‘Join the Marshal’s Office,’ they said. ‘It’ll be fun, they said.’ Well… fine, nopony said it’d be fun. White Lightning rubbed her eyes, fighting back another yawn. She tried to refocus on the papers in her lap. She was going to need a lot more coffee to pull through this shift.

In the passenger’s seat, her partner leaned back in the chair, rolling her neck. “Ugh,” she groaned. Midnight Strike smoothed out the papers in her lap, flipping a page on her clipboard. She shot White Lightning a mischievous grin. “Awfully quiet night, don’t you think?”

White Lightning narrowed her eyes. She was not in the mood to deal with her antics right now. “Don’t you say it.”

“I’m just saying, it’s a great night outside. A great, peaceful night, with not much going on, you know?”

White Lightning gripped her pen tighter, a scowl on her face. She couldn’t afford this, she was already behind on paperwork. “Shut up, Strike.”

Midnight Strike batted her eyes innocently. “Well I’m just saying, it’d be wonderful if…”

Lightning glared at her with the strength of a thousand suns. Unfortunately, Midnight wasn’t deterred.

“... something happened?”

She said it. The forbidden words. White Lightning held her breath, cursing the lieutenant that assigned this walking caution sign as her partner. Five seconds of silence passed. Then ten. Just as Lightning started to breathe again, her radio came to life.

“Legend five one?”

Midnight threw her head back and laughed. White Lightning groaned and rolled her eyes, praying that the next word she’d hear was ‘disregard.’

“Legend five one?”

Shooting another glare at her partner, White Lightning keyed up her radio. “Yeah, go for five one.”

“Legend five one, we have a domestic disturbance call, sixteen Fairview Drive. Caller said something about getting thrown out of the house and is yelling ‘he’s crazy.’ Respond code three”

White Lightning cursed everything. Her luck, her job, her partner. But on the outside she sighed. “Copy, we’re en route.” She reached out and punched Midnight on the shoulder. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

“I love you too, Whitey!”

The pegasus resisted the urge to slam her head into the steering wheel and instead flicked on the sirens. She pulled the car out of the lot and they took off down the street.

Sixteen Fairview Drive was a two story house cramped in between a vacant lot and another house. The paint was worn and chipping and one of the front windows was broken. Every single light on the whole street seemed to be on, and as they approached White Lightning quickly figured out why.

There were seven or eight ponies in the street. They turned and pointed as the car approached, it’s light bar bathing the street in red and blue. “Oh great. This looks like fun,” White Lightning grumbled, her eyes scanning the crowd. She threw on the car’s spotlights and stepped out. “Dispatch, can you start rolling me additionals?”

“Copy. Any units in the area, respond code two.”

Almost before her hooves touched the gravel she was bombarded with voices.

“Right here deputy, he’s the one who started it!”

“Now don’t you listen to her!”

“Aw shut up Barnside! You don’t know a damned thing!”

If White Lightning didn’t have a headache before, she certainly had one now. “Alright, settle down!”

The crowd grew louder. White Lightning was beginning to question what made her become a deputy marshal in the first place.

“Hey! Listen, we’re going to find out what’s going on, but I need you all to calm down first,” Midnight declared.

“Listen deputy, Ah think this is all just one big misunderstandin’,” said a mustached earth pony, voice thick with a Dodge Junction accent.

“Misunderstanding? Misunderstanding?! Are you stupid?!” shouted another mare wearing glasses. “This ain’t no misunderstanding, it’s just Dusty being an idiot again!”

White Lightning wanted to be anywhere else right now. She didn’t care where. She just did not want to be here. “Okay! Calm down and we’ll take your statements individually!”

“Aw, buck off officer!” slurred a new voice. “You ain’t gonna do nothin’ here!” The drunk pony pointed a hoof accusingly at Lightning.

“Sir, please calm down, we’re here to help,” Midnight Strike cut in.

Yeah, things weren’t going well if Midnight had to be the more rational of the two. White Lightning shook her head and refocused on the situation. “Okay, who called 911?”

A purple mare cradling with a foal wrapped around her leg raised a hoof. “Ah did, ma’am.”

White Lightning jerked her head towards her patrol car. “Step over here for me, please.”

This wasn’t that bad, she thought to herself. Separate the crowd, get statements. When backup gets here have them take the rest. First things first, figure out what’s going on.

White Lightning took out her notebook, flipping it to a clean page. “Okay, ma’am. What’s going on?”

The mother shifted nervously on her hooves, the foal still clinging to her rear leg. “I don’t know, officer. I just got home and found Sawdust and Rusty yelling at each other again. Flint and I tried to seperate them, but then Lucky showed up and kicked everyone out.”

Whtie Lightning raised an eyebrow. “Okay, and is Lucky your husband?”

“No, Rusty is.” The mother began rubbing a foreleg. “I was so scared, I’ve never seen Lucky that upset before.”

“Okay what--” White Lightning paused as the mother rubbed her leg again. She noticed that there was a strange red stain on her foreleg. “What happened there?”

The mother looked down, confused. “I, uh, banged it.”

White Lightning set her notebook down on the hood of the car and took a closer look. “Ma’am you’ve been cut. Who did this?”

The mother’s eyes darted around frantically. “Nopony! Look, Lucky’s not a bad pony! He’s just having a hard time--”

She was cut off by yelling behind her. Midnight Strike’s notebook was on the floor, and the drunk pony was in her face.

“Sir! Sir! I need you to calm down!” Midnight was saying.

“No! Ah ain’t gonna calm down! You need to leave!” the drunk pony spat.

White Lightning frowned. “Stay here,” she told the mother before approaching the fray. “Sir! Back off!”

The drunk pony whirled around, his rancid breath hitting her in the face. “Whaddya want?”

“Sir, we’re here to help,” White Lightning said in her calmest voice.

“Now, Sawdust, calm down,” cut in the accented pony. “Ain’t no point in startin’ a fight here.”

The drunk pony muttered something but turned away.

Midnight Strike picked up her notebook and sighed. “Thanks. Now, where were we?”

White Lightning went back to the mother, eyeing the cut on her leg. Looked pretty deep, most likely a knife. Then she looked at the foal, who was watching the scene play out with wide, innocent eyes.

She considered her options. The drunk pony was incredibly agitated, but the accented pony seemed able to reign him in. Meanwhile, the mother was clearly injured and she’d have to call an ambulance. But the paramedics wouldn’t come until the scene was secured. Then, what about the foal? Call foal protective services? Leave it with one of the others? And what about this Lucky? Did he have any warrants?

First thing’s first, she reminded herself. Find out what’s going on. “Ma’am, which one of these ponies is Lucky?”

“Lucky’s still in the house,” the mother replied, eyes on the ground.

White Lightning frowned. So, she had an injured pony, and the most likely suspect was still inside. This was looking less fun by the second. “Okay. Let’s-”

“HEY!”

White Lightning whirled around to see a pony standing on the porch. “GET THE HELL OFF MY PROPERTY!” Her eyes widened when she saw the shotgun in his hooves.

Oh, hell. “Everypony down!”

There was screaming and yelling. There was a lot of running and a lot of moving. Suddenly, White Lightning wasn’t tired anymore. She drew her pistol and retreated, popping the door of her squad car open to use as cover. On the other side, Midnight Strike did the same.

“Gun, gun, gun!” shouted Lightning into her radio. “Code three that backup!”

“Copy. All units, all units, officer needs assistance…”

Midnight Strike glanced at her. “What’s the plan, Whitey?”

Up on the porch, the stallion was waving his shotgun around, screaming at them. The foal was screaming from somewhere behind them. The drunk pony was yelling something back.

Things had just gone from ‘buck this’ to ‘oh buck.’ The situation was rapidly spiraling out of control not unlike White Lightning’s own life. “Put the gun down!” Lightning shouted.

“Just leave me alone!” he shouted back.

Midnight Strike’s eyes widened as she looked across from them. Ponies living nearby had heard the noise and were wandering out into the street. “Get back!”

“Legend five one please advise, what is your situation?”

“I’m gonna start shooting!” shouted the pony on the porch.

Lightning heard hoofsteps behind her. “Please! Don’t shoot him!” begged the mother.

“Lucky you damned idiot! Put the gun down!” shouted the accented pony.

“Everypony you need to get back now!” Midnight Strike shouted.

White Lightning’s eye twitched as she gripped her pistol tighter. Her headache was back with a vengeance and adrenaline was soaring through her veins. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Training. Remember your training.

First, she reached for her radio. “One suspect with a gun on the porch, multiple civilians in the area.”

Then, she turned to the mother. “Anyone else in the house?”

The mother shook her head.

Okay, that was good. If he fell back into the house they wouldn’t have to worry about hostages. White Lightning exhaled in relief as she heard sirens approaching. Two more squad cars came around the corner, parking behind them.

The deputies quickly took up position behind them, pushing the other occupants of the house back to safety.

“Cover me, I’m going less-lethal,” Lightning said. She holstered her pistol and popped the trunk of her squad car, pulling out a shotgun with a red stock.

“Look, we just want to figure out what’s going on, so put the gun down and let’s talk it out,” Midnight Strike was saying.

“No! You pigs always say that! But you never help! Never!” cried the stallion.

Lightning frowned, considering the scene before her. Shooting the stallion with the beanbag gun might just agitate him further.

“Look, Lucky. Listen to me, alright? I know that you’re not a bad pony, you’re just going through a rough time,” White Lightning said. “I know you’re upset, but I want to help you. What’s wrong?”

The shotgun wavered in Lucky’s hooves. “I… you wouldn’t understand!”

“I can’t understand unless you talk to me,” Lightning replied. She shot a nervous glance at Midnight Strike, who nodded reassuringly. “Just tell me what’s up.”

Lucky spat on the porch. “Why should I? I barely know you!”

“Well, alright. My name is White Lightning. I’ve been a deputy marshal for three years. What about you? What do you do for a living?”

The air was punctuated by the sounds of more sirens, indicating more units were arriving.

“Look, Lucky, do you really want to do this? Because I sure don’t. I don’t know what you did in the past, and right now I don’t care. You have a chance to make this right, Lucky. Do you want to throw that away?”

Lucky’s eyes flicked up and down the street. For the first time he seemed to notice the other ponies being ushered to safety. The ponies he lived with. Lucky looked around at the sea of red and blue lights in front of his home, then at the guns pointed at him.

After a minute, he tossed the shotgun aside. Tears fell from his eyes.

White Lightning and Midnight exhaled in relief. But they weren’t done yet. “Alright, good job Lucky. Do me a favor and turn around.”

The pony obeyed, turning his back to the deputies. There was rustling from behind Lightning as her reinforcements got ready to move.

“Now walk backwards slowly towards the sound of my voice.”

He did, his head low and his body shaking as he sobbed. The deputies advanced on him before placing him in hoofcuffs. Others went up to the porch and secured the shotgun.

And just like that, it was over. White Lightning lowered her gun and sighed, her adrenaline disappearing as fast as it came. She flinched as Midnight gave her a smack on the shoulder. “Way to go Whitey! That was awesome!”

She gave her partner a tired smile. The adrenaline had left exhaustion in its wake, and Lightning found herself missing her bed again. “Thanks. You weren’t half bad either.”

“Nah, that was all you, Whitey,” Midnight said with a wink.

White Lightning looked around. An ambulance had arrived, and paramedics were tending to the mother and foal as they hugged each other and cried. The street was fully shut down now, with curious neighbors poking their heads out into the street.

They weren’t done yet. They still had to take statements, compile evidence, and search the house. After that, White Lightning still had six hours to go until shift change. That thought made her cringe.

Then, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around to see her sergeant behind her. “You good, Whitey?” he asked.

White Lightning nodded. “Yeah, sarge. Fine.”

The sergeant gave a knowing smile. “Right. You did some damned good work there. Keep it up.”

“Thanks, sarge.”

“You sure you’re fine?” asked the sergeant one more time.

White Lightning blinked. “Uh, tired, I guess.”

“Well, you’re the one that wanted OT,” joked the sergeant.

“Yeah. I guess I did. I’m getting paid for this, right?”

?
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

“I don’t like it.”

The voice was loud and clear over the din of the bar. Around their table, ponies danced and chattered, the air thick with the smell of alcohol and sweat. Shadowy shapes twisted and stumbled through the bar, in between the tables and chairs.

The yellow stallion sighed, taking a drink from his bottle. “I’m aware. But it’s not like I can just say no.”

Across from him sat a grayish-amber stallion in a cobalt vest. He sighed, tapping a hoof on the table. “So one week? Is that enough time?”

“It’ll have to be,” replied the yellow stallion.

The amber stallion nodded. “And we all know what to do?”

“Yes.” The yellow stallion’s voice was shaky, but his eyes shone with determination.

“And what if she finds out?” questioned the amber stallion.

The yellow stallion took another drink from his bottle. “She won’t,” he answered.”She can’t.”

Up on the stage, the curtain rose and a spotlight flicked on to reveal a pony. The crowd gave a rousing cheer, raising their mugs and glasses to the air. The bright yellow mare in a white hat gave a deep bow before rearing up to her rear hooves. She closed her eyes and raised her fiddle, drawing out a long, solemn note.

She took a deep breath and began to sing.

“Come one, come all to this tragic affair,
No room for hope, all that’s left is despair.
Forget all the lies, and the battles you’ve fought,
That’s for the living, and living you’re not!

If you’ve taken the world and you’ve seen all to see,
Then build me a coffin, kill and bury me
So come one, come all, let’s give one last goodbye
Why bother living if we’re living to die!”

The yellow stallion’s ear twitched as the band kicked in, drums and guitars mixing with the fiddle’s melody as it grew and grew in intensity.

Around them the bar roared with life, as ponies stomped their hooves and yelled, raising their drinks towards the stage.

The mare with the fiddle didn’t react. The music flowed from her fiddle faster and faster, driving the crowd to a frenzy.

“When you’ve given it all and you’ve thrown in the rag
Put your soul in a box and your body in a bag
Broken, defeated, you can’t hear the call
All grown up just to see that you’re nothing at all!”

The amber pony flinched as the fiddle playing became sporadic and desperate, the notes blurring together. The ponies around them were laughing and screaming, climbing over each other as they tried to make their way to the stage.

“SAVE ME!”

The crowd cried and screamed, glasses and bottles crashing to the floor. They reached the hooves towards the stage, falling on top of each other.

“SAVE ME!”

They laughed until tears streamed from their eyes, they screamed until their throats burned and ached. The mare with the fiddle played on.

“SAVE ME!”

Her eyes shot open, but the music didn’t stop. She smiled, her eyes scanning the crowd around her stage. Their voices blended together, their shouts and screams indecipherable and their pleadings unheard.

“I can’t.”

The music stopped and the lights went out.

face//your fears
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

face//your fears

The other night

I had a dream

I saw your face

It scared me

And it hurt me

Because I left you

You’re not here anymore, just

A nightmare

A ghost

Do you know that I love you?

Vinyl

Octavia

I see your face

I hear your voice

And it hurts me

And it scares me

Because one day you might leave me

Your face is beautiful

Your dreams are luminous

In ways I can’t describe

And when I look into your eyes

I feel that I’m not enough

I know that you deserve

My love, I fear that I will lose you

Tavi, I think I’m going to lose you

But

I know that it’s worth it

Your love makes this worth it

I love the way you smile

And I love the way the stars shine and in your eyes.

I’m scared, but I love you.

Quarantine
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

Quarantine

To: Lyra Heartstrings
From: Bon Bon

Hey Lyra,

You probably heard what happened at work today. It was pretty frickin’ crazy. Giant monster came out of the Everfree and started attacking Ponyville. My unit was activated and we went out to try and fight the darned thing. It was pretty awesome.

We teamed up with Princess Twilight in the end. We found out that the thing, a Grimdusk it’s called, was passively secreting poison into the air. Princess Twilight had a counter potion but she couldn’t get close enough to use it.

So I took point and led my team right at that thing. It was crazy, but I did it. Threw the potion right into its mouth and that was that. But…

It turns out my gas mask was defective. Didn’t have the right filters or something. So, turns out I was breathing in all the stuff around me. I don’t want you to worry though. Twilight says I’ll be fine. She’s running experiments and stuff, but she doesn’t think it’ll hurt me.

She did put me in a mandatory quarantine though, so you need to stay in Manehattan for a couple more days. Just until they’re sure whatever I was breathing isn’t contagious or anything. It’s just for a little bit. See you in two weeks.

Love,

Bon Bon

To: Princess Twilight Sparkle
From: Special Agent Octavia Melody, Equestrian Office of Secret Services

Dear Princess Twilight,

The EOSS is requesting your assistance with regards to the Grimdusk Incident. We believe that the compound inhaled by Special Agent Sweetie Drops may pose a danger to the safety of Equestria.

In particular, we have discovered that the Grimdusk’s toxins are incredibly lethal and may be capable of reproducing even when the Grimdusk itself has died. This has the potential to become a national emergency should we fail to act. Please return my letter within your convenience.

Yours,

Special Agent Octavia Melody

To: Princess Twilight Sparkle
From: Special Agent Sweetie Drops

Dear Princess Twilight,

Thanks for checking up on me. I feel fine for the most part. Some chest pains here and there. And I’ve had a few headaches over the week, but I think I’m okay.

I haven’t coughed up blood since the first day. Also been having trouble sleeping. I don’t know if that means anything.

Thanks again for everything you’re doing.

Sincerely,

Special Agent Sweetie “Bon Bon” Drops

To: Princess Twilight Sparkle
From: Special Agent Octavia Melody, Equestrian Office of Secret Services

Dear Princess Twilight,

I would like to remind you that there is a time for morality and a time for action. As an agent of Equestria, it is my personal duty to put the safety of our citizens over that of the individual. I may not agree with this ideology, and you may not either, but we must remember the greater good. For the sake of Equestria, I hope you make the right decision.

Yours,

Special Agent Octavia Melody

Attn: Special Agent Sweetie Drops, Royal Investigative Service
From: Princess Twilight Sparkle

Dear Special Agent Bon Bon,

I hope this letter finds you well.

I would like to commend you for your actions regarding the recent incident involving the Grimdusk Monster. Your swift actions saved not only my own life, but that of the city of Ponyville and quite possibly the whole of Equestria as well.

Enclosed in this letter you will find a commendation and an official Star of Equestria, the highest honor I can bestow upon any member of an Equestrian law enforcement agency. I understand that these past few weeks must have been difficult for you and you eagerly await news regarding your quarantine.

Once again, I must reiterate that the quarantine is absolutely necessary for your safety. There is little known information on the Grimdusk, but you had been breathing whatever the compound it was excreting for well over fifteen minutes. As we do not know if there is any risk involved, the quarantine is absolutely necessary.

I understand that you are missing your wife dearly. Rest assured, the quarantine period should be over soon, as I have completed my experiments into the matter. You will be delighted to hear that I discovered that the chemical compound is not lethal.

The pains you described to me should subside within the week, but to be safe, you must be alone and you must rest. I’ve also sent you some sleeping potions that should assist you in the matter. I can not reiterate how important rest is to your recovery.

Please get some sleep after you read this letter. It will increase your recovery period substantially. Rest assured, pun not intended, you will see your wife soon.

And once again, thank you for your service, agent. I am truly sorry for what happened to you.

Sincerely,

Princess Twilight Sparkle

To: Lyra Heartstrings
From: Bon Bon

Hey, Lyra!

Good news! Twilight said I’m all good now! My quarantine’s over! You can come home again! We’ll go out and have a nice big dinner to celebrate. I’m going to go lie down now. I’m absolutely exhausted. I can’t wait to see you again.

Love,

Bon Bon

Attn: Special Agent ‘Octavia,’ Equestrian Office of Secret Service
From: Princess Twilight Sparkle.

… You were right, and I hate you for it. My conclusions matched that of your scientists.

It’s done. I sent her the letter today. She should be asleep by now. The potions I gave her are potent, so she shouldn’t wake up.

I’ve done everything I can. There’s no way around it. If we don’t act within forty eight hours, her body will start producing the toxins. She probably won’t even notice what she’s doing at first. Within twenty four hours, though, my estimates show that she’ll have killed 40% of Equestria.

There’s no other option. She shouldn’t wake up when you enter. Even if she does, the potion should keep her drowsy and non combative.

I’ve enclosed her address inside this letter.

And… please don’t ever contact me again.

May Celestia save you from the pits of Tartarus. Because I sure won’t.

To: Mrs. Lyra Heartstrings
From: Senior Special Agent Octavia Melody, Royal Investigative Service

Hello Mrs. Heartstrings,

It brings me great pain to inform you that after conducting a regular checkup, we discovered that your wife Sweetie Drops had passed away during her quarantine. Princess Twilight Sparkle is still working closely with us to establish a cause of death, but we believe it is related to the Grimdusk Incident in which she participated in.

Please know that the department is grieving with you. My very heart aches to send you this letter, as Bon Bon was a dear friend to us. She saved countless lives at the cost of her own. May her soul forever rest in peace.

I understand this news is hard to hear. Should you ever need an ear to listen, please do not hesitate to contact me.

Regards,

Octavia Melody.

sheriff's department (dead on arrival)
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

sheriff's department (dead on arrival)

The minute Twilight stepped off the train she felt that something was wrong. It was a horrible feeling, beginning with a tightening in her chest followed by a shortness of breath. She began to feel dizzy and nervously gulped. Her eyes shot up and down the platform, trying to find a reason for her discomfort.

But in a second it passed. She took a few deep breaths and steadied herself, wondering where the feeling came from and where it had gone. But looking around she saw nothing. There was a rack of newspapers in front of the ticket office, a few benches scattered around to fill in the space. And there was a yellow stallion approaching her. “Miss Sparkle! Glad to see you again!”

She recognized him as Braeburn, cousin of Applejack. He looked the same as the last time they had met, still wearing his brown vest and matching hat. But this time, he had a golden badge affixed to his vest, over his heart.

Twilight smiled at him, although she was still on guard. “Braeburn! Happy to be here.”

They shook hooves. At first, Twilight felt more secure seeing Braeburn’s easy smile, but then she noticed something. His smile never quite reached his eyes. There was something hidden underneath his smile. It looked like… anger? Sadness? Worry? Twilight wasn’t sure, but she felt her anxiety returning to her.

Braeburn seemed to notice her watching him and smiled wider. “Sure wish it were under better circumstances. Thanks for makin’ the trip out here. Have a nice ride?”

Slowly, Twilight filtered out her anxiety and replaced it with curiosity. “Yes, actually. It was quite nice. But about this… thing you found.”

He grimaced. “Right, it’s at the Sheriff’s office right now. Shall we?”

Twilight nodded, and the two set off down the platform. From her saddlebags, Twilight levitated a notebook and a pencil. “So what can you tell me about this… whatever it is?”

Braeburn sighed. “Right, well a few of the sheriff’s deputies got a call yesterday. Disturbance call from some buffalo that went real screwy. Found it in his basement and took him in. Coroner had no idea what it was, but it was definitely a D.O.A. Dead on arrival.”

Twilight took in the information with a frown. “And it wasn’t a pony or buffalo?”

The stallion shook his head. “No. Well, maybe it was. Frankly Ah can’t say for sure.” Braeburn fiddled with his hat nervously. “Ain’t no tellin’ what it used to be.”

Her pencil froze. “What do you mean by that?” asked Twilight.

Braeburn hesitated before answering. “Well… when Ah said he was screwy, Ah meant it. Started ramblin’ on and on about ‘the truth’ and ‘his view.’ When we took him in, he kept yellin’ that soon we’d all see things his way.”

Twilight shivered. “So he’s criminally insane?”

“Rightfully, Ah dunno. And frankly… Ah dunno if Ah wanna find out.” A strange look fell on his face.

He fell silent after that and wouldn’t meet her eyes. Twilight would occasionally post a question, but his answers became short and vague, claiming that ‘Strongheart can answer that better.’ And although it took her awhile, Twilight finally placed the emotion on Braeburn’s face: fear.

Pictures flashed through her mind. She thought of pure black ponies, darker than the night itself, hidden in the shadows. She thought of the pictures of death that the ancients made, of a skeletal pony in a black cloak, leading souls to the great beyond.

Snap out of it! Twilight shook her head, clearing out her thoughts. Don’t make predictions before you see the evidence, she chided herself. As she pulled the notebook back towards her, she realized she had absently drawn a skull on the sheet.

With a scowl, she ripped out the paper and tossed it into a nearby trash can. What are you scared of? You’ve faced monsters far worse than this. Besides, this could be a new phenomenon never before seen by ponykind!”

With that justification in mind, Twilight held her head up higher. Her confidence wavered however as Braeburn came to a stop. “Well, here we are,” he said. Braeburn strode forward and held open the door. Twilight nodded her head in thanks and walked in.

The lobby itself was mostly empty, with only a few flags next to the doorway and rows of chairs at the edge of the room. An older stallion sat behind the desk, taking a report from another pony. Braeburn nodded at the desk sergeant and walked past him, into the heart of the station.

Twilight followed him, her eyes lingering on the posters and messages affixed to the wall of the lobby. Finally, she tore her eyes away from them to not lose Braeburn. The stallion led the way through the halls of the station, past the rows of desks in the bullpen.

“Is it always this empty?” Twilight asked.

Braeburn shrugged. “Times are rough. ‘Sides, most of the deputies are out at some big court case. Real messy scene. Coroner’s there too, but he’ll be back soon.” He opened the door at the far end of the room, revealing a stairwell.

As they descended the stairs, Braeburn’s voice bounced off of the concrete walls. “The coroner said not to start the autopsy until he gets here, but he doesn’t mind if you have a look. You know, provided you put on the protective gear and whatnot. Don’t want contaminated evidence.”

Twilight nodded, briefly recalling the introduction to post mortem analysis guides she had read earlier. “Of course, I understand.” The two reached the bottom of the stairs, and passed through a door that led to a long hallway.

On the other side of the hallway was a set of double doors. A plaque mounted to the right of the doors identified this as the morgue. Twilight locked her eyes on the door, feeling her heartbeat rising again. Braeburn kept moving forwards, forcing her to follow.

As they approached, the doors to the morgue slid open, and a blast of cool air hit Twilight in the face. She shivered involuntarily. With a nervous glance at Braeburn, she entered the room. The morgue was well-lit, thanks to several large lamps that hung above each metal slab. Two large sinks lined the right side of the room while a set of heavy metal lockers lined the other. Twilight tried not to think about what might be inside of them.

Instead she focused her attention on the rows of slabs in the center of the room. Two ponies were waiting near the only occupied slab in the room. A pony sized black body bag lay on top of it. Twilight felt her stomach churn.

“You’re back.” The voice made Twilight jump. Her head whipped around, and she saw a buffalo standing nearby.

Braeburn nodded. “This here’s Twilight Sparkle. Twilight, you remember Little Strongheart?”

“Y-yes,” Twilight stammered. Little Strongheart nodded at Twilight in recognition, but she too lacked a smile on her face. Unlike Braeburn, her face was neutral.

Twilight shivered. She wasn’t sure if it was from the cold of the morgue or the strange tension in the room. Braeburn walked around to the other side of the table. “As Ah was sayin’ earlier, the body was found in the house of a buffalo who left the tribe,” he reminded her. “They couldn’t make heads nor tails of it. We called for the coroner, but he couldn’t give us a cause of death either, mostly because we don’t know what the dang thing is. If you could shine some light on this situation, we would greatly appreciate it.”

“It is a great shame what happened to Fearless Truth,” Strongheart lamented. “He was always a bit strange, but we never thought he would do something like this.”

Twilight glanced at Braeburn nervously but nodded. “Well, I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for whatever’s going on here.” She took a step forward but recoiled when she felt a hoof on her shoulder.

“Be careful, friend,” Strongheart said. “Darkness lurks where your eyes can’t see. May fate forever be in your favor.”

The lights flickered briefly for a second. Strongheart offered her a small smile before backing away.

Braeburn gave his friend and odd look before shrugging. “Ah’ll let you know when the coroner gets here,” he said to Twilight. “Anythin’ else you need?”

“No, I think I’m fine,” she replied. In truth, Strongheart’s words did little to ease the pit of dread that formed in her stomach.

“Shout if you need us.” With that, Braeburn and Strongheart turned to leave the morgue.

A strange feeling overcame Twilight. She wanted to call out and beg that they stay. So she wouldn’t be alone with whatever was in the body bag. But inside, she knew this was ridiculous. It was probably just some strange animal in the bag, that was all. And she was shivering from the cold, not because she was scared. And Strongheart was just wishing her luck in a strange way.

With that in mind, Twilight watched as Braeburn and Little Strongheart left the room. Once the sliding doors slid shut, she was alone. “Alright then, just you and me.” She took a deep breath and shivered again. Twilight turned and headed for the supply closet to fetch the scrubs.

Halfway there she glanced back to look at the body bag one last time. It hadn’t moved. She frowned at that thought. Of course it didn’t move. Why would it? That’d be ridiculous… right?

sobriety test
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

sobriety test

Strawberry Sunrise hated apples. This was a well-established fact among the Ponyville farming community. So the fact that she had shown up to the Sweet Apple Acres Establishment Anniversary Party (hosted and named by Pinkie), it caused some heads to turn.

Strawberry herself didn’t know how she let Roseluck rope her into this. “You know I don’t like apples,” she had said. “Why would I go to a party at an apple orchard?”

“Just come,” her friend had insisted. “It’ll be fun!”

She doubted that, but she gave in and went anyway. She was not having fun. The pegasus sighed, meandering through the throngs of ponies at the orchard.

Strawberry Sunrise hated going to parties. She quickly grew bored of listening to the other Apples drone on and on about what they were doing, and ended up following Roseluck around absently. Eventually, this too failed when Roseluck got caught up in a drawn out conversation on flower types with Lily and Daisy.

With a defeated sigh, Strawberry made her way over to the concessions table, spying some bottles of hard cider. Strawberry Sunrise hated apples, but she was so bored that she didn’t care anymore. As long as it was alcohol.

Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, she snagged a bottle under her wing and headed off. She remembered there was an old barn on the outskirts of the farm, a perfect place to be alone.

The pegasus left the gathering unnoticed, trotting down the path through the orchard for a few minutes before finding the old wooden structure. It’s red walls had long since faded, and the white paint had chipped away with time. But as Strawberry gazed upon the structure, she realized there was a color out of place: a splotch of green against the sea of red.

Strawberry Sunrise hated interacting with ponies. She only really did so when necessary or unavoidable. So it irritated her that even out here she would be denied solitude. The yellow earth pony didn’t seem to care, sitting with her legs dangling off the side of the roof.

Something about her was familiar. Strawberry swore that she recognized the mare from somewhere. She glanced up the path, weighing her options. With a defeated sigh, she glanced up at the mystery pony.

“Hey!” Strawberry called out.

The mare’s ear twitched and she looked down at Strawberry. She raised a hoof hesitantly.

Strawberry’s eyes widened as she saw her face. She did recognize her.

“Hey, you’re Apple Fritter, right?”

The mare nodded, confused.

“I’m Strawberry Sunrise. We met at the bake fair last year?”

A realization dawned on Apple Fritter’s face, and she nodded again.

“What’re you doing up there?” asked Strawberry.

The mare blinked, then made a series of strange gestures with her hooves.

Strawberry raised an eyebrow, before remembering something Roseluck had told her. “Oh, right, she can’t talk.”

An awkward silence fell over the two. Strawberry didn’t know much about Apple Fritter, but Roseluck had told her some stories. Strawberry wasn’t a genius, but she had a pretty good idea why Apple Fritter was up there. “You, uh… you doing alright?” asked Strawberry.

Apple Fritter pointed to herself, then shrugged. Then she pointed at Strawberry.

“Me? I’m doing okay, I guess. Just kind of got bored of the party. Wanted to be alone,” Strawberry replied.

The mare nodded in understanding.

“Do you remember me at all?” asked Strawberry.

Apple Fritter nodded, her green mane bobbing up and down. She pointed at Strawberry and then rubbed a hoof on her stomach.

“Oh, you liked my tarts?” guessed Strawberry. When Apple Fritter nodded, Strawberry laughed. “Oh, thanks. Your fritters weren’t bad either.”

Strawberry Sunrise hated apples. But somehow, she enjoyed the fritters she had eaten last year. She could never quite figure out why, and had always been meaning to ask what made them so good.

Apple Fritter smiled. She bowed her head in thanks and then tapped a hoof on her cutie mark.

“Well, I guess it does fit you,” chuckled Strawberry. She flicked her eyes up the path towards the party, but didn't see anypony. When Strawberry looked back at Apple Fritter, the earth pony’s smile was gone. She stared at the ground, a contemplative look on her face.

“So, uh…” ventured Strawberry. “You mind if I come up there?” She remembered the bottle under her wing and pulled it up. “I have drinks!”

Apple Fritter raised an eyebrow, but nodded. Strawberry grabbed the bottle in her mouth and quickly flew up to the roof, landing besides her.

“Wow. Nice view from up here,” Strawberry said, placing the bottle on the roof’s flat surface. She rubbed a foreleg awkwardly, silently hoping that another pony would come walking down the path.

Apple Fritter shrugged again, still looking at the ground.

“You come up here often?” The question went unanswered. “Do you live around here?” Apple Fritter’s ear twitched but again she didn't answer.

Strawberry sighed and picked up the bottle. “I don’t have any cups, but… you want some?”

Apple Fritter turned away from the ground and shook her head.

“Right, you probably have unlimited access to this stuff. Since it’s made by your family and all.”

At the word ‘family,’ Apple Fritter cringed, and a pang of guilt struck Strawberry’s heart. “Oh… sorry, rough topic?”

Apple Fritter glanced towards the party and shook her head again. Strawberry took a half-step forward and felt her hoof touch something. Looking down, she saw a notebook laying on the roof. Strawberry picked it up and offered it to Apple Fritter. “...you want to talk? Or… write, I guess?”

The mare stood still for a second before accepting the notebook. She scrawled out a message and held it up for Strawberry to see. Did you want to be alone? I can leave if you want.

“No, no, that’s fine. You were here first. If anything, I should leave,” Strawberry answered.

Apple Fritter shrugged. What do you want to talk about?

Strawberry’s eyes fell to the roof and she rubbed the back of her head. “Well… you, I guess.” She took a moment to consider her options before speaking. “I remember you had a hoof in a sling when I saw you last year. What happened?”

Apple Fritter blinked before replying. Fell off the roof. Accident.

“Right… are you, y’know… feeling okay?” asked Strawberry, looking up at her again.

The mare frowned, and Strawberry thought for a second that she had ruined everything. I’m okay, I guess. Just been going through some rough times lately, Apple Fritter eventually wrote.

“Something about your family?”

Apple Fritter shrugged. They're not really doing anything wrong. They just can’t understand what I’m going through. It makes it hard sometimes, when they expect so much out of you, and they can’t understand you’ve already given it everything.

Strawberry quickly nodded and lowered herself into a sitting position. She gestured to a spot next to her. “You want to talk about it? I’ll be glad to listen.”

Apple Fritter raised an eyebrow skeptically but obliged. It’s just a lot of stuff’s been happening. I’m getting older. And it still doesn’t feel like I’ve done anything useful. Cousin Applejack’s saved Equestria more times than I can count. My brother founded an entire town in the middle of nowhere. And I’m stuck as a small town baker who can’t talk. I don’t know. Life’s just stopped being fun lately.

“Yeah, I can feel that too,” Strawberry answered. “I remember once last year when I lost my entire crop to bugs and bad weather. The month before, I just figured that everything was going just fine, you know? I mean, I was even thinking about ordering that new dress I’ve always wanted… funny how things change so fast, huh?”

Strawberry Sunrise hated analogies. She thought they were overrated and stupid. But now seemed like a perfect time to make one. The pegasus sighed, running a hoof through her mane and looking up the path again. “Berry Punch made a good analogy for it. She said that just when you’re getting drunk and having fun, life comes along to sober you up.”

A small smile formed on Apple Fritter’s face, but it quickly fell away. I just want to feel something again. But it’s like I can’t. Baking isn’t making me happy. Family isn’t making me happy. My friends aren’t making me happy.

Strawberry Sunrise hated thinking. She’d always been a mare who spoke her mind. But this time, she considered her next words very carefully. “Sometimes… I think sometimes life just goes like that. Where you just go around doing what you’ve always done, but it doesn’t feel the same anymore.” She paused, biting her lip before continuing. “And sometimes… sometimes it takes a lot to feel something again.”

A silence settled in around them. Neither of them moved for some time.

“But… sometimes, it’s not a bad thing to do something different,” Strawberry said slowly. “Sometimes a bit of change is exactly what you need.” She rubbed her foreleg again and looked into Apple Fritter’s eyes. “Last year… it wasn’t an accident, was it?”

Apple Fritter just gave her another sad smile.

Strawberry hesitantly put a foreleg on Apple Fritter’s shoulder. She was caught off guard when Apple Fritter pulled her into a hug. Strawberry blinked in shock before she automatically started patting her on the back.

She felt a few wet spots on her chest where Apple Fritter had pressed her face.

Strawberry Sunrise had no idea what she was supposed to say in this situation. So instead she said nothing, letting Apple Fritter cry into her chest.

Eventually, Apple Fritter pulled away and wiped her eyes with a foreleg. “Hey, I’m glad to listen to you and everything, but… I think you should talk to your brother about this,” Strawberry said gently. “Or somepony more qualified, anyways. There are ponies out there who can help you more than I can.”

Apple Fritter nodded before reaching for her notebook again. Can you stay awhile?

Strawberry chuckled softly. “Sure.” As she settled in again, she grabbed the bottle of cider and popped the top.

The two ponies settled down on the roof, setting their gaze over the orchard one more.

Strawberry Sunrise hated sentimentals. She thought they were sad, sappy, and stupid. But the early evening sunset was making her feel nostalgic. It reminded her of a song she used to love as a foal… how’d it go again?

She couldn’t remember. But it didn’t really matter. Strawberry glanced at Apple Fritter, who was looking up at the sky with a wistful look on her face. She wasn’t okay. She wouldn’t be okay for a long time. But at least for now she felt a little bit better.

Strawberry Sunrise hated apples. She hated their look, their color, and their taste. But as for the ponies who grew them… well, maybe she’d come to like them after all.

Ghost of You (This Ain't a Party, Get Off the Dance Floor!)
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

Ghost of You (This Ain't a Party, Get Off the Dance Floor!)

“Yo! Over here, ya big lug!”

Soarin’ whipped his head around, locating the voice that was eagerly waving him down. He pulled at his uniform collar anxiously, gently stepping over the other seated ponies before plopping down in a folding chair besidenext to Spitfire.

“Thanks,” he panted, pulling at his collar again. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“For a navigator, you sure get lost pretty easily,” Fleefoot observed.

Soarin’ rolled his eyes and scowled. Before he could say anything, though, a hush fell over the audience as the band took to the stage. The lead singer cleared her throat and tapped the microphone a few times. Coloratura shut her eyes and began singing.

“Well I never, thought I’d be around forever,

And if you die, we’ll be together,

To be in search of something better,

Well I can try..”

Rapidfire smiled at her dreamily. “After all these years… she’s still great,” he whispered. “Gonna miss her.”

Fleetfoot rolled her eyes, but caught the eye of the band’s bassist. “I’d drink to that, Rapid.”

Soarin’ shifted in his seat uncomfortably. The lights were starting to hurt his eyes, their harsh yellow almost staining the black uniforms everypony was wearing. Spitfire nudged him slightly. “You alright?”

“I dunno,” he replied. “Are you?”

Spitfire rolled her eyes. “Of course not, Equestria’s at bucking war, Soarin’.”

At the word, the service ponies grumbled and sighed. “Geez, can’t you just let me have some fun before we go?” Fleetfoot muttered.

“Just let us have this one moment, Spits, without you talking about the damned war,” Rapidfire said.

As the song progressed into the chorus, some of the other soldiers stood up, taking the forelegs of their partners and leading them to the dance floor. The mares giggled and laughed, trying to hide their blushes while the stallions smiled and led on, trying to mask their hidden fears.

They spun in slow circles, as the guitars rose and fell in time with Coloratura’s voice. The uniforms and dresses blended in with suits and ties, making a wave of color that seemed to glide up and down the hardwood floors. The crash cymbals and the bass notes carried on, giving a solid base for the rest of the song to stand on. But all Soarin’ could hear was gunfire and explosions, mixed with waves crashing against the shore and the scream of the wind in his ear.

Soarin’ didn’t want to be here anymore. He watched as the band continued playing. Coloratura kept singing, though she gripped the microphone stand hard. Her eyes remained closed, though her voice began taking on a hoarse quality as she sang louder and louder.

“It’s the end of the world,
Or it will be for me,
Cuz you are never comin’ home, never comin’ home
Never comin’ home, never comin’ home…”

The rest of the band shifted on their hooves nervously as each musician hazarded glances at the seated ponies. Daring Do swiped at her eye, throwing her off the beat a little bit but quickly recovering. Spitfire watched her sadly.

Caramel ended up breaking completely, tears streaming down his face as he attacked the drumset. The drops disappeared into the pure black uniform coat, unnoticed by the world. Soarin’ couldn’t bear to look at him anymore.

Instead, he glanced up at the banner hung above the band. Thank you to Equestria’s Bravest! it read. Where would we be without you? It made Soarin’ want to cry.

“And all the things that you never ever told me,
For all the words that are always gonna break me,
Never comin’ home, never comin’ home
Could I? Should I?”

Spitfire reached over and gently nudged Soarin’s shoulder. “Time to go,” she muttered. The four stood up, making their way out of the aisle. The dance floor was empty now, as the soldiers and their lovers assembled on either sides, facing the stage. Their eyes were downcast and their faces blank.

Soarin’ tugged at his uniform collar again. The auditorium door seemed so far away now. But they pressed on, past the still forms of their friends and families who stood still as statues.

As they walked out the rear of the auditorium, Soarin’ glanced back at the stage. The band had left their instruments now and gathered around a sleek black coffin. They picked it up and began marching off stage, while Coloratura fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face as she screamed out the words.

“And all the things that you never ever told me,
For all the ghosts that are always gonna haunt me,
Never comin’ home, never comin’ home,
Never comin’ home, never comin’ home,

For all the lies that they’re ever gonna tell me,
And all your smiles that are ever gonna haunt me!
Never comin’ home, never comin’ home,
You’re never comin’ home, never comin’ home.”

With a sigh, Soarin’ turned away from the concert and followed his friends out the door. It wasn’t a party.

can't
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

can't

fifteen.

shouts in the darkness. forms, moving within the smoke. bursts of fire, filling the air. smoke. everywhere. in her head, in her lungs.

lighting dust coughs. she tries to sit up. can’t. crawls forwards, out of the wreck. ponies crouch and cower around her. pointing. shouting. screaming.

she tries to stand. can’t. tries to crawl forwards. can’t. metal bar blocking her way. someone notices her and tosses her a gun. points in the other direction and shouts something. can’t hear.

she looks. she sees shapes moving in the smoke and she understands. she raises the gun and fires a burst. one form falls.

fourteen.

her vision is blurry. the gun is shaky in her hooves. she meets spitfire’s eye, who gestures for her to get down. can’t. have to keep fighting.

more forms in the dark. she points and shoots. points and shoots. points and--

a pony falls nearby. misty fly is down.

lightning tries to get to her. can’t.

thirteen.
can’t move. just cover.

explosion from nearby. she barely hears it. the company medic is next to misty now. cover them. lightning raises the gun again. she fires again. another form drops to the ground.

she looks up. helicopters are flying through the sky above them. not friendly. can’t shoot it down.

twelve.

contact right.

lightning turns her attention to the right side. someone else is down. the medic moves away from misty, but she’s still lying on the ground.

eleven.

ringing in her ears. can’t stop fighting. can’t stop shooting. contact front.

ten.

soarin’ is down. spitfire grabs him and drags him back to cover.

nine.

contact right. cover that side. lightning pulls the trigger and nothing happens. spitfire pulls a magazine out of her combat vest and tosses it over. last mag. make it count.

eight.

a helicopter is descending near them. more hostiles. the spotlight cuts through the smoke like a bullet through a window.

seven.

her hearing’s starting to come back. she hears a voice over the radio.

six.

broken arrow, broken arrow.

five.

copy. it’s been an honor. lightning raises her gun again and fires a burst into the smoke.

spitfire is down.

fleetfoot is down.

midnight strike is--

contact left. contact right. contact front.

four.

right side, right side--

heavy contact front. keep fighting. can’t stop. can’t stop. can’t--

three.

shot, over.

shot, out.

two.

the gun is empty. can’t fight anymore.

can’t go home again.

one.

lightning looks up.

splash, over.

splash, out

zero.

never should have come here.

I'm Not Okay at the O.K. Corral (I Promise)
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

I'm Not Okay at the O.K. Corral (I Promise)

“Do you like it out here?”

I blink at the question. “What?”

“I mean, you’re not from here, are you?” Caramel sighs, drawing a circle in the sand with a hoof. “You’re from Ponyville, right?”

“Yeah.”

“How were things over there?”

I shift on my hooves. “Well… it’s a shitty little town, I guess.”

He laughs at that. “I’ve heard the stories. So what do you think of life out here?”

I raise an eyebrow. “It’s… fine, I guess.”

Caramel gestures to the sands around us. “Really? What do you think of all this?”

I look around us. Besides his car, there’s literally nothing around us. Just a few cacti and tumbleweeds blowing by in the distance. Appleoosa’s the closest town, and even then it’s miles away. Nopony there’s going to hear gunfire from out here.

“Pretty, I guess.” I don’t know what the fuck he wants me to say. I’ve never been the type of mare to enjoy nature.

Caramel smiles. “Come on, Raindrops. Be honest.”

“Killjoy,” I reply. “My name is Killjoy.”

His smile falters, as if he remembers now why we’re out here. “Right. Sorry.” He sighs, wiping his forehead with the back of his hoof.

Caramel’s never been the luckiest pony in Equestria. I haven’t known him for that long, but he's gotten into more scuffles than I have, and for my line of work that’s really saying something. My eyes fall to the sand that’s swirling around my hooves. “So… how’s Sasssaflash?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. We haven’t talked since the breakup.”

I wince. “Oh, fuck. I forgot about that.”

He waves his hoof dismissively. “It’s fine.”

We fall silent after that. There really isn’t that much we can talk about.

“So, uh… fuck. You know I have to do this, right?” I finally ask him.

He nods. “Yeah. Don’t blame you. We all gotta do what we gotta do.” He goes over to his car and opens the passenger’s side door. A black briefcase is sitting on the seat, its golden clasps gleaming in the desert sun.

“How many bits are in there anyways?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Dunno. Never opened it.” Caramel smiles again. “It’s funny. I thought I was finally catching a lucky break, you know? Should have known better.”

I shrug, reaching for a cigarette and my lighter. “Well, the Vultures are pretty fuckin’ stingy with their money.”

“I know, but I didn’t think they’d contract the fucking Dusk Watch to come after me.” His eyes fall to the sand again. A wind blows through the vest he’s wearing.

I take a drag of my cigarette, touching the brim of my hat with my hoof. “Well… at least I found you before they did.”

Caramel sighs. “Maybe. I mean, it’s the same outcome anyways… for all I know they already got Sassaflash. Those fuckers are going to kill everyone I know just to find me.”

“You really think that doing this is going to stop that?”

He shrugs. “I dunno. But… it’s better than the alternative, I guess.”

I take another drag of my cigarette, weighing the options in my head. I’ve taken hundreds of contracts in my life, some of them legal and some of them not. I’ve fired more bullets than I can count, and I’ve taken more lives than I’d like to admit. But… fuck, that doesn’t make this shit any easier. Sometimes I wish I listened to mom and picked a different job.

Caramel kicks at the sand again. “So… how do you want to do this?”

“I don’t know if I can fucking do this,” I mutter.

“You have to,” Caramel insists. “Please. You know I wouldn’t ask you if I had any other option. But Twitch won’t do it. The cops aren’t going to help.”

I frown. “That still doesn’t make this shit any fucking easier, Caramel!” I stomp a hoof in frustration.

He doesn’t say anything, and for a second the only sound is the wind. “Killjoy,” he says softly. “You’re the only one that knows about Toffee. I… I need to keep her safe. If I go to anyone else, they’ll find her.”

“So this is your fucking solution?” I shoot back.

“Yes. Are you going to do it, or not?” He gestures at the briefcase of bits in his car. “Because that’s not going away any time soon.”

I sigh, sticking my cigarette back in my mouth. “Just… fuck. I don’t know if I am.”

Caramel sighs. “Then there’s one way I can make this easy for you.” He reaches under his vest.

He never stood a chance. There’s no way in hell he can outdraw me. And the kicker here is that he fucking knows it. Before he even brings the gun out, mine’s already drawn and aimed. He locks eyes with me and gives me that sad fucking smile that he’s always had.

Double tap to the chest. Just like they taught me. He falls to the ground and the gun falls out of his hooves. The gunshots rip through the desert but years of experience mutes them. I go over to him, watching as he gasps in pain. Two red holes are in his vest now, and a pool of blood stains the sands under him.

But he smiles. He fucking smiles. “Thank you,” he whispers.

I don’t answer. Instead I raise my revolver and aim it at his head. He doesn’t need to suffer. He’s suffered enough already.

I don’t even remember pulling the trigger. I blink, staring down at his lifeless corpse. Holstering my pistol, I take a step back and sigh. I throw my cigarette down into the sand and dust it off. The sun’s still high in the sky, beating me down with its heat and judgement.

Sometimes, I fucking hate this job.

I turn back to his car. The briefcase of bits is still staring back at me. With a sigh, I pop the trunk to the car. He was thoughtful enough to bring a shovel. I shrug off my jacket and toss it inside, hazarding one last glance at his body.

I feel like I should say something to him, even if there’s no way that he could possibly hear me. I don’t fucking know. It just feels like the right thing to do. But then again, who the fuck am I to talk about doing the right thing?

So I say nothing and turn away from him.

I start digging.

COCKtail
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

COCKtail

It was a perfectly calm day in Ponyville.

“FUCK!”

The birds were chirping and the sky looked about the same as it always did.

“SHIT!”

Strawberry Sunrise decided to enjoy her evening by making a nice cocktail.

“FUCKFUCKFUCK!”

She took out the ingredients and put them on the counter.

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!”

As she put together the drink, there was a knock at the door.

“FUCCCCCCCCK!”

It was Twilight Sparkle. She did not like cocktails.

“SHIT FUCK SHIT FUCK SHIT FUCK.”

When she saw Strawberry making a cocktail, she FLIPPED THE FUCK OUT and started BREAKING SHIT all up in her business.

“WHYYYYYYYYY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN MEEEEEEEEEE!”

Don’t let this distract you from the fact that in 1998, Buck Showalter intentionally walked Barry Bonds with the bases loaded.

i don't love you
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

i don't love you

The sun beat down relentlessly on the hillside, over the small grove of trees and over the town that hid in the shade of the mountain. It fell over its thatch huts and its residents as they lurched about in the summer heat.

It shone over the meadows and the brooks and the rivers and the forest, ignoring their complaints and disgruntled comments. Relentless and steadfast it shone on, knowing that nothing in the world could ever stop it.

Except that wasn’t entirely true. As it drifted lower and lower into the sky it began to feel tired. Which, of course, was odd: after all, it had been doing the same job for a millennium with many more to go.

But today it hesitated. It fell lower and lower into the sky, hearing the cheers of the river as the sun’s rays stopped stealing its water, and it felt the sigh of the wind as it blew through the meadow. It watched as the flowers began to unfurl and collapse, waiting for the sun to rise again and bring them to life.

It felt the rhythm underneath the earth and the soft voice of the sky, and it watched as clouds parted politely as the last of its rays made their way to the surface.

On the opposite end of the sky, the sun watched as the moon began to rise, its eerie glow filling the sky.

And for a moment, the sun didn’t want to go. But it did, of course, as some strange force pulled it deeper and deeper across the horizon.

The moon seemed to waver a bit, as if caught off guard by its appearance. Why are you here, it seemed to ask.

Because…

The sun wasn’t sure how to answer. How was one to explain that they were tired, though they had seen the beauty of the world, and that they were cold, though they were burning and warm, and that they were lonely.

The moon didn’t know. It shifted uncomfortably as it ascended, averting its gaze from that of the sun’s. You shouldn’t be here, it suggested.

Below them the river kept flowing and the wind kept blowing, oblivious to the dialectical that was currently happening miles above them.

It was almost time now. The sun knew this. It knew it shouldn’t be there still, in the sky. Now was the moon’s time.

But yet again it hesitated, once again unsure why. It wanted to reach out to the moon and ask… something.

Because…

The sun continued drifting: a denouement to a wordless story. In an act of desperation it reached out again, throwing a word out against the stars. Please.

There was no reply. The sun set a little more and asked again. Please.

The moon hesitated. Eons seemed to pass as both froze in place, unsure of how to continue. Please, the moon finally said. Stop talking to me.

And that was that. The sun disappeared across the horizon and forgot about its worries and its feelings of loneliness. It dipped below the surface and was forgotten, leaving the moon to rule the skies as a solitary queen, with an army of stars in waiting.

And the world moved on. The nocturnal creatures chirped and hissed and howled, prowling about in deep underbrushes and distant forests. And the ponies slept and dreamed the night away, tucked away in their warm beds.

Because…

Because.

In the royal palace, Princess Celestia blinked once. Then she blinked again. At times the sun would speak to her, whispering sweet nothings and meaningless phrases in her ear. And at times the moon would speak too, in its quiet and subdued ways.

They would speak to her and she would listen. But never once had they spoken to each other.

Celestia looked up at the moon, squinting into the darkness. She felt like something was staring back at her.

Maybe because it was.

Party Like It's 1890
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

Party Like It's 1890

“I want a sandwich, so make one for me now!

A duck’s a duck and when it’s not

Then we might say it’s a goose or something

Look over there, your mom’s a mare

A hammer is a tool you see

I knew a bull his name was Drew

He died because he ate some glue

Panda, panda, panda, panda

Yes, Equestria, yes!”

Celestia’s eye twitched as Vinyl put the microphone down. “Um… take five, please.”

The Princess’s Own nodded and set their instruments down, stretching and leaving the room.

Princess Celestia cleared her throat and turned to Vinyl. “...what was that?”

Vinyl beamed at her. “That was my version of Equestria Forever, from the year 1890. I think it’s perfect for this ‘90’s party you’re doing. Nothing screams 1890 like a good old fashioned military march played by a huge brass band!”

Celestia sighed. “...I was referring to the year 1990.”

“... shit.”

Said the Sea to the Night
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

Said the Sea to the Night

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Lightning Dust sighed as she breathed in the salty sea air from the ocean in front of her. An endless expanse of greenery surrounded her and a few stray leaves passed her by, lost like stars to the night sky.

“I’ve missed this, you know.”

She glanced up at the moon and wondered if Luna was watching her tonight. Lightning shivered and tightened the scarf around her neck. A small black jar sat in front of her, resting gently against the grass.

Her teeth chattered against the frigid cold of the night as a breeze from the sea passed through the hill. “Well, here we are.”

She rubbed her eyes and felt a heavy weight against her wings, exhausted from the weeklong journey. Her eyes fell to the jar at her side again and she frowned, touching it gingerly.

“You alright, mom?” came a quiet voice from her right.

Lightning’s ear twitched and she tried to smile. “Y-yeah, fine, champ. Don’t sweat it.”

Star Dust shifted on her hooves uneasily. “Are you cold at all?” She started to unzip her flight jacket, the patches and insignias just black shapes in the dark. “Here, take my jacket--”

Lightning waved her off. “No, no. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“... okay,” replied Star Dust in a voice no larger than the grains of sand underneath her hooves.

Lightning took another shaky breath and picked up the jar in her hooves. “Alright, here we go.” Her voice cracked like a glass window. “So, uh… I miss you. I miss you a lot, more than I could ever say. You… you were always there for me. Pulled me up when I was feeling down. Reeled me back in when I lost myself. You were my anchor, my spotter, my biggest fan… and above all my friend. I…” she swiped at her eyes absently. “I’m honored you chose me as your wife.”

The tears fell freely from her face and she didn’t try to stop them.

Her daughter hugged her tightly with a wing and cleared her throat. “Hey, mom. I hope you can hear us. We’re… we’re doing alright, I guess. Could be better if you were here with us.” Star Dust’s voice wavered like a leaf in the spring wind. “But… yeah. You always were there for me. I’m sorry for all the times I fought with you, for all the times I pissed you off. You loved me and I love you. Always will, mom… always will.”

Lightning took in a deep breath and released it in a choked sob. She felt Star Dust grip her tighter and gently guide her down the hill. Lightning felt the sand crunching underneath her hooves and heard as the roar of the waves grew louder and louder.

Star Dust took the sky and returned quickly with a small cloud in her hooves. She placed it on the ground and helped Lighting on top. She didn’t fly anymore on account of her missing wing, but at least she still had her cloudwalking abilities.

Lightning gripped the jar tight and glanced down over the edge of the cloud at the black rolling waves. Star Dust pushed it forwards, and they flew through the air smoothly and easily. The wind blew through Lightning’s mane as it had so many years ago, when she took to the air for the last time.

It brought with it a bittersweet sense of regret, one that she had tried to suppress for years without much success. She didn’t know how Fiddle could see past her mistakes, but against the odds, she had. And she loved her.

“Okay, mom,” whispered Star Dust as she landed on the cloud next to her. “It’s… it’s time.”

Through blurry eyes, Lightning watched as Star Dust placed the jar underneath her hooves. Gently, Lightning picked it up and carefully undid the lid, not having the strength to look inside. “Fiddle… I hope you knew how much we loved you, and I hope you know how much we miss you.”

Star placed her hooves underneath Lightning’s. They gently tipped the jar over and Lightning watched, dull and numb, as the ashes of her wife poured out, taken by the wind and flying over the ocean.

Lightning bit her lip as more tears welled in her eyes. She turned to look at Star Dust, seeing her try to stay strong and be brave. But the facade crumbled away when their eyes locked, and her daughter seized her tightly and sobbed into her coat. Lightning hugged her back and cried as well.

The waves crashed below them as the moon watched over them, a silent bastion in the night. The stars twinkled above them and carried with them a song, one of loss and one of love. And the waters below answered with a song of their own.

And through it all, and through it all, we’ll find another way, said the night to the sea.

Well tonight, well tonight, we’ll live to find another day, said the sea to the night.

Carry on, we’ll carry on, until we meet again. And when time loses count and the world sees its end, we’ll find a way to love again.

The Death of Daring Do
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

The Death of Daring Do

The End.

My editor once said that only bad stories start with ‘once upon a time’ and end with ‘the end.’ I took that advice to heart when I started writing, but now the irony has caught up with me. Because I can’t think of a better way to sum this up than ‘the end.’

“So this is it, huh?” The words slip out of her mouth faster than the streaming waters of the Amarezon River, but with the intensity of a poison dart flying through the air.

I stifle a grunt and roll my eyes again. “Reckon so,” I say, ripping out another piece of tape and slapping it to the side of the box. Satisfied that it won’t fall apart in transit, I take a step back and sweep the room with my eyes.

Dozens of other brown boxes stare back at me. The paper-thin walls are peeling now, unveiling the hideous wallpaper that’s hidden underneath it all these years. A cool breeze flows in through the window, and it would have bellowed through my curtains if they were still up.

Sorry, Word Smith, but this really is ‘the end.’ The end of many things, now that I think about it. The end of my career, the end of my livelihood… the end of Daring Do.

“What’s on your mind, kid?” I finally ask, turning around.

Rainbow Dash is hoovering in what used to be my living room, her eyes darting around like she can’t quite process what she’s seeing. I suck in a breath and fake a smile at her. “Hey, chin up, kid.”

“But you’re quitting!” she blurts out. “The greatest adventurer in Equestria is quitting!”

I shrug, kicking one of the boxes at my hooves. “Dash, we’ve been over this. I don’t have much of a choice anymore.”

“But… But who’s going to stop Dr. Caballeron? And who’s going to save Equestria from the clutches of Ahuizotl?! And who’s--”

I hold up my hoof, cutting her off. “Rainbow. There are ponies who can take care of that stuff now.” The sentence leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, even as I try to put on a brave face. “Besides, it was about time anyways. I don’t think my body can take much more of this lifestyle.”

“So you’re quitting? Daring Do is going to spend the rest of her life shackled to a desk?” Rainbow points an accusing hoof at me. “That is not the Daring Do that I know!”

“Well, that Daring Do is dead,” I snap at her. “She’s been dead ever since Celestia went out and founded her anti-smuggling task force and basically made it illegal for me to do what I do for a living! Those stupid government flunkies murdered Daring Do in cold blood, danced with her coffin, and spat on her grave.”

I kick the box at my hooves, and pain shoots up my leg. “Gah! Stupid typewriter,” I curse. I’m tempted to pick it up and slam it against the wall.

“Daring--”

“Yes, fine, I’m giving up, Rainbow! It’s over for Daring Do,” I spit out. “From now on there’s only A.K. Yearling, Department of Commerce. I’m a quitter. Does that make you happy?”

An eerie silence falls over the house, far worse than the dead silence of a cave deep below the surface. I bend over and poke at the box, wondering if the typewriter’s still in one piece. A few years ago I valued this thing greater than I did my own life. But it isn’t worth anything now. There isn’t a single story I could ever write that could give Daring Do a happy ending.

It’s funny, really. Daring Do’s lived through every threat in Equestria. She’s broken bones and had concussions, she’s tough as nails and stronger than steel. And Celestia just killed her like you’d kill a housefly.

“Hey.” Her voice is softer this time. “Sorry. I didn’t realize how hard this must be on your end.” Rainbow’s eyes fall to the ground and she shuffles on the spot where my rug used to be. “I shouldn’t have called you a quitter.”

“It’s alright,” I mutter, trying to shake the pain out of my leg. I look around the shell of my house again, at all the barren walls and boxes. It reminds me of a blank canvas, waiting to be painted on. “Never spent much time here,” I say aloud, “but I’m going to miss it here.”

“Yeah.” Rainbow sighs, her ears drooping a little bit. “I just… I can’t believe it’s really over for you.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Me neither. I never thought that this would be how Daring Do dies. By the evil hoof of bureaucracy.”

That gets a dry chuckle out of her. “Well, who knows?” she asks. “Maybe Daring Do will fly again someday.”

I stare out my window, at the distant trees and flowers, and at the world I used to take for granted. For a long time, I thought that I was invincible. Because I’d climbed the mountain, proved everyone who doubted me wrong, and got my dream. I thought there was nothing in the world that could stop me. So I guess I got comfortable. I got cocky. I didn’t realize that you can only live life on the edge for so long before you get cut.

Daring Do is dead, but her job sure isn’t complete. There’s still a lot to learn and a lot to discover out there. And I know for a fact that there’s still millions of treasures and artifacts waiting to be found. But for the first time in my life, Daring Do won’t be the one to find them.

That’s probably what stings the most.

The OO
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

The OO

“Equestria died yesterday.”

Rarity blinked slowly before leaning back in her chair and taking off her reading glasses. “Sorry?”

“Equestria died yesterday,” Twilight repeated, studying her hoof carefully. “But somehow, we’re still here.” Twilight looked around, as if taking in the world for the first time.

Rarity blinked again and folded up her newspaper before setting it on the table. “Well. What makes you say that, dear?”

“Because I remember it,” Twilight said. Her ears twitched as she looked around the crowded cafe terrace. Ponies in the middle of their lunch chattered around her, without a care in the world. “I shouldn’t remember it. At least, I don’t think I should.”

Rarity pushed a teacup towards Twilight. “Twilight, you look horrible, dear. Please, take a drink.”

Twilight pushed the cup away. “Not now. Listen, something’s wrong, Rarity. I should be dead. All of us should. But we’re not.”

“Why don’t you start from the beginning?” Rarity offered.

Twilight slouched forwards and sighed, rubbing her temples. “I was carrying out experiments in the library yesterday when I noticed something. An anomaly.”

“An… anomaly?” asked Rarity. “Where exactly?”

“Everywhere,” Twilight said. “In everything. In all of us.” She shifted in her seat slightly, glancing around her nervously. “So I looked further. Cast some spells. Whatever happened here happened yesterday.”

“Yesterday, you say?” said Rarity patiently. “And what exactly happened yesterday?”

Twilight paled. “We died,” she whispered. “I saw it all happen. Everything was gone. There was nothing left… nothing except for them.”

Rarity said nothing.

“The OO. They did this,” Twilight said.

After a second of silence, Rarity laughed. “The OO? Dear, that sounds like an obscure band name more than it does a threat.”

Twilight’s face darkened. “Rarity, this isn’t a joke! They set up bombs underneath every major Equestrian city! They wiped out all of ponykind in a day!”

“Mm-hm, and why would they do so, Twilight?” asked Rarity, tapping her hoof on the tabletop. It wasn’t like Twilight to act this way, she thought.

“That’s just it! I don’t know!” Twilight slumped in her seat and growled. “I looked around and could only find some mention to ‘a threat’ that had to be stopped. So their ‘solution’ was just to kill everyone!”

Rarity reached across the table and put a hoof on Twilight’s foreleg. “But, dear, how are we still alive if that’s the case?”

“I don’t know,” Twilight repeated. “The OO, whoever they are, have magic and technology that eclipses my own. They rewrote reality, Rarity. They killed the world and brought it back to life again. And they could most certainly do it again.”

Rarity rubbed her chin, raising an eyebrow. “...dear, I think you need some rest. You seem awfully frazzled,” she suggested.

Twilight frowned but nodded slowly. “Right. Yeah. I’ll go do that.”

Twilight knew that Rarity wouldn’t be back in her boutique for a while, and she knew that Sweetie Belle was off with the Crusaders somewhere. The door was easily unlocked with a simple spell, and Twilight snuck her way through the shelves and ponyquiens.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and with every step she took she thought that she would explode. Her eyes darted from side to side, as if any second the still ponyquiens would come to life and jump out at her.

She came here yesterday. She had traced the source of the explosion to Rarity’s boutique. She prayed to Celestia that today, she wouldn’t find what she had seen yesterday. Eventually, after a small eternity, she crossed the room to reach the door to Rarity’s basement.

Before yesterday Twilight wasn’t even sure if Rarity had a basement. But now, that brown wooden door was etched forever into her mind. She held her breath and pushed it open, descending the staircase.

The stairs creaked and groaned with every single step. When her hoof touched concrete, she took a nervous breath and lit up her horn. Her heart fell as light bathed the room.

In front of her was the same device she had seen yesterday: one of twisted metal and pulsing with magic. Wires snaked across its surface and through the floors, disappearing behind panels and warning stickers. In front of the console was a single red button.

“So you do remember.”

Twilight whirled around to find Rarity standing behind her, a sad smile on her face. Twilight dropped into a defensive stance, lighting up her horn as she did so. “Rarity! You… you’re one of them!”

Rarity dipped her head slightly. “I suppose I am, yes.”

Twilight growled, her horn glowing brighter. “Why? Why would you do this?”

“Perhaps I should tell you about the OO,” Rarity replied evenly. “Twilight, what do you know about the science of reality?”

“Wh-what does that have to do with anything?”

Rarity laughed. “Everything, my dear. There are many theories, are there not? String theory, for example. Or the idea that we are one of many realities, walking down a branch picked by chance and fate?”

“What are you getting at?”

“I’m saying, Twilight, that all of those theories are true, and all of those theories are wrong.” Her smile slipped away. “Yesterday, Equestria died. You are correct on that front. But what you failed to realize is that the day before that, Equestria died. And the day before that. And the day before that.”

Twilight’s heart felt like it would leap from her throat. “What?”

“Reality, Twilight, is not something that plays by our rules. Or, any rules that we can make anyways. One day it works, the next, not so much.” Rarity shrugged. “It’s just the way it is. But the fact of the matter is that every single day, it shifts. It isn’t always noticeable, but other times entire pages of history are rewritten.”

A strange, burning feeling of dread was building in Twilight’s stomach now.

“Surely you’ve noticed,” Rarity continued. “Earth ponies are suddenly pegasi the next day. Cutie marks change and appear on the wrong side of a pony’s leg. Names and family histories shift, and places come and go. You know this is true.”

Twilight wanted to believe that Rarity was lying. But her mind wouldn’t let her. Because she had seen and felt what Rarity was describing. She had seen familiar ponies that were the wrong color, types, or species. She had noticed the contradictions, the inconsistencies, and the mistakes. But she chose to ignore them. “Rarity,” Twilight whispered, fear leaking into her voice. “What happened yesterday?”

“You happened,” Rarity replied. “You figured out what was happening. You tried to fix it, and in doing so you doomed us all. So, we acted.”

The room began to spin around Twilight. “But… I…”

“You made a failsafe,” Rarity continued, drawing closer to Twilight. “We expected you did. You’re far too smart to do otherwise. But since we couldn’t tell you yesterday, I’m telling you this now. Equestria dies every single day. But the next, it awakes reborn and anew. You just don’t realize it.”

Twilight felt like throwing up. Her vision blurred and she had to gasp for air. Through her haze and fear, she saw Rarity staring back at her with calm, friendly eyes. “It’s okay, dear,” she soothed. “Today, we die, but tomorrow? Why, tomorrow, we can try again.”

She went over to the red button. Twilight didn’t stop her. The world vanished in front of her.

“There you are, Twilight!”

Twilight looked up to see a trio of unicorns heading towards her.

“Moon Dancer is having a little get-together in the west-castle courtyard. You wanna come?” asked Twinkleshine.

“Oh, sorry girls. I’ve got a lot of studying to catch up on,” Twilight replied before bolting away, leaving the confused unicorns far behind.

Once she was far enough away, Twilight paused. A strange thought had appeared in her mind, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to force it out. Quickly, she pulled her notebook from her saddlebags and jolted down the phrase that was plaguing her: The OO.

Strange. Something to look into another day, perhaps.

But before she continued, Twilight hesitated, glancing backwards before proceeding. She wasn’t sure, but she could have sworn that Minuette had a blue coat, not a green one.

YOU FUCK
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

YOU FUCK

“No, go on.” Zontan leaned back in his chair, giving a half-lidded stare to the pony across from him. “Say it. I dare you.”

Flutterbot and Eli exchanged a nervous glance, gripping their spears tighter.

“Okay.” He took a deep breath and began to speak. “Honestly, you can’t keep muting people for no reason--”

You have been temporarily muted in Quills and Sofas Speedwriting for forever by zontan#2778
Because of: yes I can.

Disenchantment
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

Disenchantment

I had plans. I guess we all do. It’s kinda funny to think about, really. It’s like those silly childhood dreams we’ve all had. You know, the ones where we want to be astronauts or soldiers or movie stars or something. Or… maybe you don’t know.

…

Yeah. Well, life never works out like that, does it? I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. How we don’t really stop to wonder what’s really stopping us from going there, getting that dream. I mean, sometimes it’s really closer than we think, but we just… let it slip away. Like everything else.

…

Well, I’ve just been doing some thinking lately. Not like there’s much else I can do. I just want to know that I’ve lived a good life, you know?. But… I’m not feeling it. I’ve been trying, though, looking back at all my memories. But there’s nothing there. Looking back it’s just so…

…

Yeah! Disenchanting. That’s the word. It’s like, fuck, I could have done so much more with my life. I could have done so much differently. Like, instead of going to that stupid party, maybe I would have remembered to study for that god damned midterm. And maybe I wouldn’t have gotten kicked out of college. And… and maybe I’d die being something more than a 7/11 cashier.

…

It’s not that I didn’t try. Because I like to think that I did. That’s kind of why I adopted Freddy, too. Best damned friend I could ever ask for. But… you know, he died, and… and that was that. And looking back now, everything I did to try and change the world didn’t really work.

…

It’s frustrating. Because I really did want to make my life meaningful. But I didn’t. Maybe I wasted too much time. Maybe I wasn’t brave or strong enough, I don’t know. But I guess I just took life for granted. Figured I had a full life ahead of me to become who I want to be.

…
What, with this? Yeah right. Who’s going to listen to what I have to say anyways? It’s just going to be another fucking sad song, with nothing to say. I mean, if I never listened to those stories, who’s going to? I’ve given up. It’s… it’s too fucking late now.

…

Look, I… I spent my entire life doing what I was told. They said go to college to get a degree, so I did. They said major in business, so I did. Look how that turned out. They told me to sit down and shut up because I didn’t matter. For a while, I guess I did. But, for real. I’m one person. It’s just stupid to think that I could change the world. I’m fucking nobody.

…

Just… just go away. I don’t care for what you have to say. You don’t scare me anymore.

…

Linda? No, I never told her. Why should I? She’d just laugh. She never loved me anyways. Probably because I took her for granted like I did with everything else. So I went out, drank and partied. Look how well that turned out for me.

…

No. Nothing did. Not the drugs, not the beer, not the smoking. It just made me feel worse. Why do you care? You’re not my psychiatrist.

…

Really?

…

I don’t know. I mean… I wish I could have done things differently. It’s so funny to think that I could have turned my life around if I knew it was going to end like this. It’s funny, I’ve spent all twenty four years of my life living up to die in a hospital bed.

…

Huh. I guess I’d tell him to wake up and stop taking things for granted. To sit up and listen to what those at the end have to say.

…

To those at the end? I dunno. Guess I’d tell them it’s okay, because they can rest now. They don’t have to worry about who they were anymore. I still have to, though. But… not for long. Right? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?

…

Tell me one thing. What’s on the other side?

…

Heh. Oh yeah, I can believe that.

…

No, I guess I’d rather not know.

…

I… I guess it wouldn’t hurt.

“Were you talking to me?”

Oh, hey Doc. No. Just… talking to myself. Hey, could you pass me my phone? I need to make a call...

Strawberry Sunrise Eats a Metal Pole
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

Strawberry Sunrise Eats a Metal Pole

“Fuck it. I am going to eat a metal pole.”

“Honey, no,” said Cherry Berry.

“No. I’m eating this pole. You can’t stop me,” said Strawberry Sunrise. She marched up to the lamppost outside of their home.

“Why.”

“I am going to eat this metal pole.”

“Honey,” said Cherry Berry.

Strawberry knocked over the metal pole.

Seconds later, Twilight Sparkle landed in front of her. “Stop! You can’t eat a metal pole, Strawberry!”

“I am going to eat a metal pole,” Strawberry Sunrise said.

“No! You can’t!”

“I am going to eat this metal pole.”

“But…”

“Twilight. I am eating this pole.”

“Okay,” Twilight said, standing aside. “I am kind of curious as to what’s going to happen.”

Strawberry went over to the edge of the pole and took a bite out of it.

“Holy shit, she’s eating the metal pole,” Twilight said in disbelief.

“Honey, why,” Cherry said.

Strawberry didn’t answer, she had a mouthful of metal pole.

“What does it taste like.”

“It tastes like a metal pole,” Strawberry said after swallowing.

“I see.”

“It still tastes better than your stupid fucking beds though.”

“Listen.”

Four Score
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

Four Score

“So how do you think we did?” Roseluck asked, swinging her legs over the side of the wagon.

Lily poked her head up over the side of the hole. “What do you mean?”

“You know. Out of all our jobs, how would you rate this one?”

“I dunno. Top three, maybe?” Lily said with a shrug. She seized the shovel and began digging again. “But this could be the fastest one we’ve done if you’d help me.”

“No way,” replied Daisy with a roll of her eyes. “I dug the last one.”

“So? Usually I’d have Rose helping, but she’s still… y’know,” Lily said, gesturing vaguely at the bandages around Roseluck’s chest.

Daisy slumped forwards with a sigh. “But my forelegggggs! They hurrrrrrt!”

“Shut up. Stop complaining,” Lily snapped. “You didn’t even do the hard part, you just sat there while Roseluck did all the work.”

“Fine,” said Daisy with a defeated sigh. “But you better cut me some slack for the next one.”

“You never answered my question,” Roseluck said.

Daisy tilted her head in confusion. “Huh? Oh, right. Uh…. I’d say probably fourth place.”

“Fourth?” questioned Lily.

“Yeah. I mean, it was a lot… messier than our other ones,” Daisy said. “And yeah, Roseluck got hurt, but I still think it went pretty well.”

“Pretty well?” echoed Lily. “We almost lost our contract!”

“But we had fun!” counted Daisy.

“Hi girls!” The flower ponies froze as a new voice called out to them. Twilight Sparkle trotted over with a friendly wave. “What are you up to?”

“Oh, hi Princess,” Lily said, climbing out of the hole. “We’re just digging a hole.”

“That’s a pretty deep one,” Twilight noted, peering over the side. “Are you planting something?”

“Yep!” Roseluck said with a smile. “Real big tree that’s coming in soon.”

“That sounds exciting,” Twilight said, clapping her hooves together. “I can’t wait to see it.”

“It might take awhile to grow,” Daisy replied, shifting her shovel in her hooves.

“Of course,” Twilight nodded. “The biggest plants always do.” A strange look crossed over her face. “But stil, it’s getting kind of late. You should probably head back soon…”

“Is, uh… is something the matter?” asked Roseluck nervously.

“No, no,” Twilight said. “Somepony was just reported missing in town, that’s all. I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually. It’s probably nothing to be concerned about.”

“Well, I assure you that we feel perfectly safe with you watching over us, Princess,” Lily said reassuringly.

Twilight smiled and laughed. “Thanks, girls. Well, I better get going then, I’m going to meet Fluttershy for some tea. See you later!”

The three waved as Twilight continued down the path into the Everfree forest. Once she faded from sight, they let out a collective sigh of relief.

“Some lookout you are,” Lily grunted as Roseluck.

“I never saw her!” insisted Roseluck. “Plus, we’re way out from the main path! How was I supposed to know she’d come this way?”

“Look,” Daisy said, holding up a weary hoof. “Let’s finish this up, before she comes back. I think the hole’s deep enough anyways.”

The three nodded, and Roseluck lifted the cover to their wagon. Daisy hopped on and helped her throw off the tarp covering a large, red-stained bag. The three worked quickly to pull the lumpy bag out from the back and toss it into the hole, where it landed with a thump.

“Fourth best my ass,” Lily grumbled, dusting herself off. “We could have done better.”

“Whatever,” said Daisy tiredly. “Let’s just fill the damn hole before Twilight comes back.”

Violent Synthetics
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

Violent Synthetics

All she had to do was press ‘play.’

It was a silly little tape recorder, worn down from years and years of use. The icons mounted on the buttons were faded and barely visible in the dim fluorescent of the room, but she knew where they all were by heart.

It was a silly little tape recorder. Vinyl Scratch knew this. The whole world knew this. So why did it scare her so much?

Maybe she knew the answer. Maybe she didn’t want to believe it. It didn’t matter.

She had owned a lot of equipment over the years. Turntables, record players, vinyls themselves, instruments… everything had come and gone in the course of her life. Save for this silly little thing.

Her hoof hovered over the play button. All she had to do was push it down. Or light up a spell with her horn and activate it. But she hesitated.

Vinyl lowered her hoof with a defeated sigh. She picked up the recorder and turned it in her hooves. There was a crack that ran down the right side, from the top to the bottom, but it still functioned. Probably.

She looked out the window as a violent clap of thunder shook the city. It didn’t faze her. The rain poured down in a muted cascade outside of her boarded up window.

Vinyl frowned. She pushed the play button, and the recorder came to life.

The scratchy sound of a violin came out of the speakers, a crude imitation of a beautiful sound. It rose and fell in time, letting out beautiful melodies in a series of mellowing chords.

She sat there for a few more seconds, staring at the tape recorder in her hooves. Halfway through the song she slammed the pause button and ejected the tape.

A strip of scotch tape had been applied to its surface. The words ‘HBD Vinyl’ had been written on it in black marker.

Vinyl’s ears drooped. The gift had been given to her fifteen years ago. Things had changed since then. They always did, didn’t they?

She returned the tape to the player and pressed play again, becoming a frozen statue in the darkened room. The music swelled and rose, through static and haze, before dipping low again and crescendoing to one final, held out note.

The music ended, and the tape went on for a few seconds in silence before a voice began speaking.

“Happy birthday, Vinyl. I know you aren’t quite the fan of classical, but I do hope this composition can put a smile on your face, in the same way that your work puts a smile on mine. However little I understand of it, that is.” The voice laughed. Vinyl didn’t react. “I’m not quite sure what to call it yet, but know that it belongs to you, my love. It always will. I look forward to our future, wherever it may take us. I love you, my dear.”

Vinyl pressed the pause button. She blinked a few times before rewinding the tape. She pressed play again.

“Happy birthday, Vinyl.”

She sped it up a bit further.

Fifteen years ago she put the tape into the player for the first time, and when she heard the song she cried.

“I’m not quite sure what to call it yet, but know that It belongs to you, my love. It always will. I look forward to our future, wherever it may take us. I love you, my dear.”

Vinyl hit pause again, scowling now.

Fifteen years ago she hugged her marefriend and thanked her for the gift.

She rewound the tape.

“I love you, my dear.”

Again.

“I love you, my dear.”

Again.

“I love you, my dear.”

Thirteen years ago, Octavia moved out of their house and never looked back.

“I love you, my dear.”

Vinyl threw the tape recorder across the room. It bounced off the wall and clattered to the ground with a new crack in its casing.

She walked out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

“I love you, my dear.”

Fake Your Depth
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The Alley Outside of 7/11: An Anthology

Fake Your Depth

There was a burning candle in her room. She watched as bits of wax drip down its sides, gathering in a small pool at the base. The light bounced across the room, casting shadows about her bedroom walls in a serene dance with the darkness.

Lyra paid it no mind. She stared up at the ceiling, hooves crossed on her chest and head resting on a pillow. A murky darkness surrounded her, leaving her like an island in a black sea. The silence that persisted was deafening, and the darkness so overwhelming that it clawed at her throat and eyes.

It pressed against her chest and squeezed her tightly, leaving her gasping for air as she shot up straight. She could hear the roar of blood in her ears and the banging of her heart as it threatened to fly from her chest.

And she wanted to pull the blankets up over her head and hide.

And she wanted to drown out the world and fall asleep at least.

And she heard a voice that wasn’t hers whispering through the darkness.

She was not the real Lyra.

The pony raised a hoof to her face shakily, feeling the curvatures and smoothness of the mask she wore. It was subtle and green, the same color as her fur, with painted bright eyes and a goofy painted smile.

Waves of darkness crashed around her island, threatening to drag it deep below the waves. A tsunami crashed over her and she was drowning the darkness.

The pony that wasn’t Lyra balled up and sobbed into her hooves as the silent waves crashed around her.

And we will all fall

Like leaves through the summer air

In an endless search for tomorrow.

That rain will fall from the sky.

Keep me floating, keep me breathing

Until I drown and die.

Laughter graced her ears as she squinted against the pale morning light. Octavia held a napkin up to her mouth politely while Vinyl burst into another round of giggles. “Funniest thing I’ve seen all day!” she snorted.

Lyra offered a small chuckle at that, sipping from her teacup and taking in the sounds of the cafe. But even as she sat there, smiling and nodding along, the warm rays of the sun failed to cut through the invisible water around her.

But with a great effort she shoved her head above the surface, keeping in time with the conversation. Laughing. Nodding. Drinking and eating.

“Dear, I swear. You’re going to give poor Noteworthy a stroke,” Octavia said to Vinyl, swatting at her shoulder.

“Might turn him into Chokeworthy,” Lyra said with a smile.

There was a ripple in the waters around her. The conversation tampered off around them, and Lyra glanced between her friends desperately.

Octavia was looking down at her cup, stirring it gently. Vinyl was playing with her food, and Bon Bon was trying to flag down their waiter.

Perhaps they hadn’t heard her. Or perhaps they didn’t find it funny. Lyra didn’t know.

The noise returned as Octavia sat up straighter. “Have you heard what happened to Sugarcube Corner?”

“Didn’t it catch fire again?” Vinyl said, leaning into the table.

Bon Bon waved her hoof dismissively. “Uh, yeah, minor grease fire, I think. Pinkie put it out right quick.”

Lyra took a deep breath, feeling her mask weigh heavily on her face. She pushed it up and propelled herself above the murky waters to smile. “I’m more impressed that she didn’t make the fire bigger.”

The mares giggled at that and the pony that wasn’t Lyra grimaced.

“Oh Lyra, I swear, sometimes you are just too much,” giggled Octavia good-naturedly.

“Yeah, you’re hilarious, girl,” Vinyl chimed in.

Bon Bon gave her a light shove. “Lyra, be nice to the poor mare,” she said, clicking her tongue in faux-disapproval.

And through the noise and the waves, the pony that wasn’t Lyra heard something shift beneath the iridescent waters. A thin white crack formed in her mask and she wanted to cry.

“Yeah? Why should I? She beat the best dessert maker in all of Equestria,” the pony that wasn’t Lyra siad, nudging Bon Bon with a wink.
Bon Bon giggled, blushing slightly. “Oh, shush, you flatterer.”

“Hey, I’d never lie to you,” she said as she sipped from her tea, the pang in her heart not breaking through the surface.

“I know,” said Bon Bon, genuinely.

And the pony that wasn’t Lyra felt her mask crack a little more.

As phantoms lifted

You up into the air

Where I couldn’t reach

And I couldn’t feel.

The waves crashed against my abandoned island

And clouds began to dot

Your paper mache skyline

I wanted to cry

But all I did was drown.

Lyra watched as the chaos of the farmer’s market unfolded in front of her. Ponies called out their wares and prices, offering their produce at steep discounts to try and outsell their rivals. It was a strange battle, one that Lyra never quite understood.

So she stood to the side while Bon Bon purchased some fruits and vegetables, chatting with the vendor as she did so. Lyra felt a slight envy as she watched her skillfully talk and smile, keeping in perfect tempo with the conversation.

Lyra was never the best at reading ponies. She was always amazed at ponies like Bon Bon, who seemed to be able to fit in quite effortlessly and be so well-liked.

Bon Bon left a few bits on the counter and scooped up her bag of produce, sticking it into her saddlebag. “Alright, I think that’s enough for the week. Anything you want to get before we go, Lyra?”

Lyra gulped nervously but tried to hide it. “How about some ice cream?”

Bon Bon giggled and waggled her ears playfully. “It’s too early for ice cream, silly.”

“It’s never too early for ice cream!”

And Lyra dipped deeper into her personal ocean, staring up and watching as raindrops splashed against the surface. She opened her mouth and a stream of bubbles climbed their way to the surface.

“Hihihi!” Lyra and Bon Bon recoiled as a mess of pink suddenly filled their visions. “Did someone say ice cream?” Pinkie Pie asked, bouncing in place eagerly.

Bon Bon recovered first. “Pinkie, please stop doing that!” she panted. “You’re going to give me a heart attack!”

“Hey, Pinkster,” the pony that wasn’t Lyra said. “You’ve got some sweets for me?”

Pinkie giggled, producing a minty cone of ice cream from thin air. “Yeppers! I always come prepared!”

Bon Bon rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s very kind of you, Pinkie, but I think Lyra’s had plenty of sugar recently. I don’t want to have to drag her to the dentist again.”

“Aw, come on, Bon Bon, you never let me have any fun,” the pony that wasn’t Lyra pouted.

Bon Bon threw her hooves up in the air in surrender. “Fine then! Just don’t come complaining when you have another tooth ache.” She reached for her purse. “How much should I pay you, Pinie?”

“Oh, nothing at all, silly!” Pinkie said, passing the cone over to Lyra. “Lyra’s such a great pony that I’m always happy to do things for her!”

And the pony that wasn’t Lyra felt her mask crack a little more. It snaked through the surface like a river, reaching from her chin to her eye. “I’m not a great pony,” she thought. “I’m arrogant, I’m cruel, I’m rude, I only think about myself. Why do you think I’m a good pony?”

“Yeah, I’m just the best,” the pony that wasn’t Lyra said pridefully, licking at her cone. It was cool and burned against her tongue.

Bon Bon giggled and nuzzled into her neck. “You really are, Lyra. Don’t ever change.”

“But I need to. I need to change. Because this isn’t me,” she thought.

“Never in a thousand years,” she said.

She sank a little deeper into the sea.

So sing me to sleep

And leave me to die

In this empty, homely field

Of death and all its friends.

And let me sink

Down and down

Into a sea of everything that I fear

And everything that I love

I opened my mouth to breathe

But you took my breath away

And all I could do was drown.

Lyra stood in her bathroom, staring into the mirror at a face that wasn’t hers. She held a shaking, trembling hoof to her mask, touching it gingerly and tracing the cracks along her face.

It wasn’t her face. It wasn’t her life. It wasn’t her.

The darkness of the room crashed around her, the waves roaring in her ears and pounding against her body. She took deep, ragged breaths, feeling herself unravel with every second that passed. Lyra gripped the sides of her sink as nausea kicked in heavily, while the pony that wasn’t Lyra laughed at her through the mirror.

Lyra couldn’t breathe. She clawed desperately against the waters, trying to tread against the unforgiving waves, but just before she’d break the surface, the waves would push her down just a little further. Lyra opened her mouth to scream and her lungs filled with water as her vision blurred and her body floundered.

Trembling, she reached up for her mask, wanting to tear it off and toss it aside like a discarded piece of garbage.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Lyra froze, staring at her reflection.

“Do you really think you can just stop pretending?” the pony that wasn’t Lyra asked, snide and arrogant. “Do you really think you’ll be accepted, when they see you for who you are?”

Lyra frowned, unsure of the answer.

“Your life depends on your mask. Without it, who are you? You think I’m the imposter?” The pony that wasn’t Lyra laughed. “No. Without this mask, you are the imposter.”

And the pony that wasn’t Lyra reached through the mirror and dunked her underwater, holding her down in the river. Lyra tried to struggle against their hooves, against their magic and against their grip. But she couldn’t.

She couldn’t.

And when she opened her eyes she was alone. Blue filled her vision, stretching for miles and miles around her. She was floating, submerged in the water completely, with the surface so many nautical miles above her.

Lyra gave up. She let herself drift in the abyssal ocean around her, hearing the distant noise of life above the surface. With an empty sigh, Lyra let herself sink deeper into the ocean, lowering her hooves away from her mask.

When she opened her eyes she realized she was crying. She dried her tears with the back of her hooves, Biting back the nausea and discomfort.

The door to her bedroom creaked open. “Lyra?”

Bon Bon’s voice was soft and gentle, like it always was and always would be. It was natural and smooth, reminding her of the wind and the sun that never seemed to warm her body. “Yeah?”

“Are you alright?”

Lyra trotted out of the bathroom slowly, not bothering to spare a glance at the mirror. She sighed quietly and pushed her mask further up against her face, putting on a thick, plastic smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I heard you crying,” Bon Bon said, drawing ever closer to her. “Lyra, if something’s wrong, I need to know.”

“No. Nothing’s wrong. I’m okay, Bon Bon. I’m fine.”

But as Lyra looked up, she saw Bon Bon’s face cutting through the waters above her, like a bright beam of hope reaching out to her. Her light began to warm her, opening her eyes and clearing her minds, fighting back the oppressive darkness and burning the water away.

She began to tread to the surface.

“No, Lyra, your eyes are red.” Bon Bon stroked Lyra’s cheek gingerly. “Please, let me help you. What happened?”

“Nothing happened, I’m fine, Bon Bon. I’m…”

And Lyra broke through the surface, taking a massive gasp and coughing up water as air finally reached her lungs. Her mask exploded, fracturing into a million little pieces.

“I’m not okay, Bon. I’m really not.” Lyra closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I think that everyone thinks too much of me. They think I’m somebody that I’m not. And that terrifies me.”

And Lyra looked up at Bon Bon, letting her finally see her for who she was. She held her breath, half-expecting to drown again.

Bon Bon pulled her into a hug. “Oh, Lyra.”

Lyra was shaking as she returned the embrace, finally able to breathe again.

“Lyra, I love you for who you are. You’re not someone you’re not, okay? You’re just Lyra, and I love you,” Bon Bon whispered.

“But I’m not, I’m an imposter,” Lyra murmured into Bon Bon’s shoulder.

Bon Bon pulled back and looked at Lyra carefully. “Lyra..”

And as Lyra stared back, she realized that Bon Bon too was wearing a mask.

“You’re not alone in feeling like that,” Bon Bon said, pulling off her own mask and smiling at her genuinely. “I know you, Lyra. And I love you. Nothing’s going to change that.”

Lyra hugged her again, finally able to breathe again. And for the first time in a long time, she was able to smile.

“Thank you.”

May the wind blow by and bless our hearts

And may the world find a way

To move on without us

And when I’m far away from home,
I hope you’ll keep me close

Somewhere in your heart

Until I drown and die.