Author's Note

Thoughts are expressed in italics. Perspective shifts are denoted by the insertion of a blank paragraph.

Chapter 1: Therapy

"So... why are you here?" you ask.

She doesn't respond, instead shifting tensely in her seat, avoiding your eyes. She clearly does not want to be here.

"How about we just start with introductions, then?" You're not sure how you're supposed to kick this off, but this seems as good a jumping off-point as any. "I'm Anonymous. A human. Ambassador for Earth."

Truthfully, that position was utterly meaningless. Princess Celestia had begun the Ambassador Initiative, bringing in diplomats from other worlds. Since Twilight had discovered that portal, Celestia felt it necessary to secure peaceful relations with the other worlds out there. But she took one look at Earth, and marked its file "To Remain Uncontacted." Of course, you knew that was just bureaucracy lingo for "Not worth getting involved in that shitshow." Earth was strictly off-limits.

Still, you were brought in, as a formality. You specifically, because of your preexisting "familiarity" with Equestria. Now, you had a cushy title, but it didn't come with any responsibilities.

Until one showed up.

"I'm Miss... Eri." She introduces herself in a hushed mumble, uneasily shifting her weight from one hoof to another.

"Okay, Miss Eri, let's talk about why you're here."

In light of her continued silence, it's becoming clear that she's not going to answer that.

So, you continue, starting it off for her. "You're here, because—" You hesitate, now finding yourself similarly tense. "Because you are the first pony to attempt suicide."

You remember being summoned yesterday. Princess Luna had been wandering dreams, when she came across a particularly horrific scene. She sent her guards to seek out the pony in question. And they found her, alright. Bleeding out in her bathtub. The doctors saved her life in time. Just barely. Another minute, and who knows? But the bombshell came when the Princess had learned the act was intentional. She was mortified. Ponies simply didn't kill themselves.

But she knew humans did.

She brought you in, knowing your history, insisting that you speak with her. Help her. She told you what happened, and you could tell how deeply it had moved her. Even now, the Princess refuses to speak a word of what she saw in that dream. All you can hope to do is conjecture.

"I don't know what that means," she replies.

Why would she?

You explain it to her. "Well, a couple nights ago, you tried to kill yourself."

"So what?"

So what? So everything!

But you can't say that.

"Why?" you ask.

"It doesn't matter. You wouldn't understand. Nopony understands."

"That's why you aren't talking to a pony."

Her curiosity perks up ever so slightly. "Why am I here?" she asks.

It's a valid question. She's technically free to leave and never come back. It's your job to convince her not to.

"On Earth, we have a process to deal with... these things."

"A process?"

"It's called therapy."

This is stupid. You're not a psychologist. You don't have a degree. You don't know the first thing about helping someone.

But if you don't... who will?

"Therapy." She says it the way one does when learning a new word.

"Just like a doctor healed those wounds, we have doctors to heal the mind."

"So you're a doctor," she states.

"No. I'm not."

"Then why are you doing therapy on me?"

You give a dejected sigh. "I guess I'm not. The princess just asked me to step in."

"No offense, but I'm not your responsibility. None of this is anypony's business. Not the princess', and especially not yours." Callously, she rises and heads for the door.

You have to say something. Anything. At this point, it almost doesn't matter what.

"Please don't leave me."

The moment the words leave your mouth, you bite your tongue.

What made you say, of all things, THAT?

Muddled by your comment, she freezes and turns back to face you. "What?"

"Okay," you confess. "You're right. I don't know what I'm doing."

She watches you expectantly. Her stone-cold exterior belies her intrigue.

"I know I probably can't help you. But... maybe you can help me."

"Help you with what?"

You run your hand through your hair, uncertain how to phrase this. "I'm not like you ponies. I get that. But when I came here, I thought... I thought I'd at least make some friends."

She stares at you blankly for a brief moment, before answering you bluntly. "You don't want a friend like me."

With that, she turns and leaves.

You knew that skipping out on Anonymous like that was rude, but you didn't care. You had to get out there. Walking home now, there's only one feeling dominating your thoughts. Betrayal.

This whole situation is inane. Talking to me like I'm just a filly. Nopony cared about me before all this. Why would they now? They're violating my privacy, intruding on my life like that. Should have just left me to bleed out like I deserved. Who gives a shit if I'm the only one to do... what did he call it? Sooside?

And therapy! What a load of crap. "Doctor for your mind," nothing but a bunch of feel-good nonsense. Those humans are no different from ponies. Just taller, and... smoother.

But if that's true, why did he sound almost familiar at the end there? What was that lingering emotion in his voice? Why were you so desperate to get out of there when you heard him say that?

Throwing open your front door, you trudge through the mess of your home and collapse onto the bed.

"I'll clean it tomorrow."

You say that every day. Stupid piece of shit.

You know who's stupid? That Anonymous. Who does he think he is?

He doesn't care about you. He doesn't care he doesn't care he doesn't care he doesn

Princess Luna had no business stepping up nightly appointments between me and him. As if that'd help anypony. No way I'm going back tomorrow. No. Way.

Right?

You slump back into your chair, staring at the door she just left through.

She needed your help, and you had no idea how to give it to her. You're a failure. That was probably your one shot to do some good in this world, and you blew it.

You breathe a sigh of acceptance. Face it, Anon. You're no higher power.

Digging through your desk drawer, you fish out the one personal effect Celestia allowed you to bring over. Your old iPod. You put on your headphones, sit back, and shut your eyes.

After all... who knows what's to come?