fake oceans

by TheRedFox

Rating: everyone
Tags: Tragedy, Spitfire, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Soarin
Length: 1339

The room is white. The ocean outside is blue. Everything is okay.

The room is white.

The ocean outside is blue.

Everything is okay.

An entry in a Sofa and Quills Speedwriting Panic Fiction round, where it placed first!

The theme was 'I know you're lying, but...'. Written in the span of half an hour.

Published 2020-04-17 03:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2020-04-17 03:00:01 UTC

white and blue

The room is white.

The oceans outside are blue.

He can hear the waves crashing outside against the rocks. Even if he can’t see them.

He can almost imagine the cool morning breeze as he spreads his wings, standing on a rock over the waters.

The room is white.

He knows this because he’s been here before. It’s a small little room in the corner of the hospital. There’s probably a bouquet of flowers in a vase next to him. He doesn’t know for sure, but he can make a guess.

The oceans outside are blue.

He knows this because he’s swam in them before. The ocean can calm him in a way that almost nothing else can. He can’t explain it. Nopony’s ever asked him to anyways. He can hear the waves crashing on the rocks.

Hey. You awake?

Her voice is soft, but he knows it’s her.

Yeah.

She shuffles on her hooves. How are you feeling?

Okay. He shifts in his bedsheets, grasping for the blankets and pulling them up higher to his chin. I still can’t see.

Oh. The doctors say it’ll get better, you know.

He smiles. I know.

She walks closer. He knows because he can hear her hoofsteps on the floor. The others miss you. We all signed a card. I know you can’t see it, but it’s got your name on it. And it’s got a lot of blue and white. And your cutie mark.

She pulls a chair up to the side of the bed. He knows because he can hear it dragging across the floor. She doesn’t say anything for awhile. Are the doctors treating you okay?

Yeah, he answers. It’s fine. The food isn’t that great, but it’s better than nothing.

The room is white.

The ocean outside is blue.

He knows this because he loves it here. When he retires, he wants to buy a nice house on the oceanfront, where he can go for long walks on the beach every morning and see the ponies walking their dogs, and see the boats in the distance, and see the kites that foals fly in the sky.

You’re going to get better, she says. Trust me. The doctors said that the surgery is working. It was a long shot, but the odds are in your favor.

He nods. Or, he thinks he does. He can’t really tell. All he sees is white and blue.

I know. How are the others?

They’re doing okay. It’s a lot to take in, you know? You scared us good back there. It took Fleetfoot three days to stop crying.

He laughs. It’s hoarse and scratchy, but it’s real. It's truthful, as much as the room is white and the ocean blue. I miss them.

They’ll try and visit. He hears her shift slightly in the chair. We’re all getting an award. From the Princesses. For saving Cloudsdale.

Who would have thought that a Weather Factory accident was capable of doing so much damage?

I don’t know.

Is anyone else hurt?

She doesn’t answer for a little bit. Yeah. Misty Fly’s gone deaf in one ear. I don’t know if she can stay on the team. I have to talk to her about it later.

Oh.

The room is white. The ocean outside is blue. He wants to believe this. He wants to believe this so desperately, because if he believes it, he just might believe that it’s true.

Hey, you’re going to get better, she says. This is just temporary. You’ll be back in the air in no time.

He doesn’t answer. How long has he been here? He can’t tell. Is he awake, or asleep? It’s hard to tell. Am I going to die?

It catches her off guard. He knows this because he can hear her feathers rustling in surprise.

No! You’re going to be okay! Soarin’, don’t say that!

Why not?

She doesn’t say anything and the room grows ten times bigger. It’s still white, though. But it’s empty. It’s full of things that might be there or things that might not. Furniture that could be there, but could also be elsewhere. It is full of possibilities, but there is no truth.

The ocean outside is farther away than it was yesterday. He knows this because he can feel it inside his body. He can feel the scarring all over his body and the pain inside his joints. He can still hear the waves, though. But they aren’t the same.

But the room is white. But the ocean is blue. It just isn’t right.

He played cards with her once, in a white room just like this one. Training accident. Hit the ground hard. It was her lying in the bed that time, and him sitting in the chair. They played blackjack and poker and other games.

The doctors told him it was complicated. They used big words and concepts that went over his head. They pointed at charts he didn’t understand and made promises he wasn’t sure that they could keep.

So he went into her room and played cards with her. Told her she was perfectly fine. Told her that she was strong. And that she’d survive a whole lot worse.

She wanted something very different than he did. She wanted to go back to the country. Maybe own a nice ranch somewhere and grow some crops. Somewhere where the press couldn’t find her.

He grunts and tries to sit up. Are you still there?

Yes.

Okay. Are you going to stay long?

As long as it takes.

The room is white. He hates it. The white used to blind him because it was everywhere. It was just empty.

The ocean is blue. He hates it. The blue is everywhere, and it suffocates and drowns him. He can’t breathe. He tries, he tries to make it to the surface. But he can’t.

He’s trapped. Trapped between a sea of blue and a sky of white. Torn between truth and lies. He wants to ask a question but he thinks he knows the answer already.

Did anyone die?

What?

Anyone. Did anyone die?

No. We saved everyone. No casualties. They say we were lucky.

Were we?

I don’t know.

He knows everything he needs to know now. The words she says don’t mean anything to him. It’s how she says it that tells him. He sinks his head back into the pillow. It’s probably white like everything else.

He takes a deep breath and counts to ten. Then he laughs. This laugh is soft and rounded. Because he knows now.

The room isn’t the same one. He knows because he can hear the voices outside, whispering his name, and he can feel the eyes lingering on him through the open door. He knows because the faint beeps coming from his bedside are softer, quieter than they usually are. He knows because he knows.

The ocean outside is fake. He knows because the sound of the waves is monotonous, not free and relaxing. He knows because every hour it starts over. He knows because he owns this record at home.

She’s lying.

He knows this because of the tiny tremors in her voice, and the hesitation and doubt that lurks in every word she speaks. He knows this because she’s acting differently. Scared. For him? He doesn’t know.

She’s trying to be strong. She’s trying to be brave. He knows this because it’s who she is.

Hey, Spitfire?

Yeah, Soarin’?

I know you’re lying.

The blue is getting lighter now. The ocean is farther away than ever. The white is growing in intensity. Soon it will be all he can see. Soon it will be all he knows. It will be all he is.

Spitfire. I know you’re lying, but… keep talking. Tell me everything is going to be okay. If you say it enough times, it just might come true.

She cries.

He does too.

The room is blue.

The ocean outside is white.