Libraries everywhere felt very similar - it was quiet, it was peaceful, and the smell of books was in the air. From the smallest school library to state libraries, there was hardly any difference. For Wild, a library was a place where he could simply relax in a way he could do nowhere else. Despite what sometimes felt like an endless supply of energy he had, he still liked the silence of a library, which was only sometimes interrupted by quiet, short conversations and a rustle of someone turning a page. Of course, sometimes libraries were visited by harried students, but even they were affected by the inner atmosphere of strict calm, forcing them to slow down and hush themselves.

Wild had a respite from his anger, from his energy, all as long as he had something to read. He couldn’t call himself an avid reader, however - while books could be interesting, it was rare for him to want to spend more than an hour reading any book. He was simply a kind of guy who enjoyed being active. But even then, the library somehow always helped him bleed energy off, leaving him in contentment. When he was studying at school, the library was a place where he could easily do his homework even if it didn’t actually help him much with achieving higher grades. During breaks, especially the longer one for lunch, he often found himself there, reading about random things that interested him in one way or another.

This day, however, he found himself jittery and not exactly settled. When he looked at the books, he saw infinite choices among a blur of uncertainty. At first, he searched for what he knew he wouldn’t find - the answers to who he was, in body and in spirit. He had already read all he could on that, and the remaining words came from stories of dubious factuality at best and outright fiction - clearly labeled as such - at worst. However, to avoid thinking about other things, he delved into fiction anyway.

The Maiden and the Ghost was a romance story he hesitated to even look over. Romance... he never really liked, especially when it was between a man and a woman. None of that made him feel much of anything, although it became clear why when he finally figured out that he was gay. In any case, there was little useful in that book - the description of a ghost was only semi-factual, and the entire romance didn’t provide anything useful.

Lord of the Night was about all things considered dark: vampires, werewolves, ghosts, zombies. The protagonist was a young necromancer on their way to become stronger and more powerful, to break away from the chains, physical and metaphorical. It was certainly an interesting story with a complex narrative, although, once again, descriptions of beings were only based in truth. There were sad ghosts, malicious spirits, and exactly one mention of someone being able to leave a body, though the description was certainly fantastical.

However, it made Wild wonder... could he possess someone? He knew he wouldn’t want to, that felt all kinds of gross, but the very possibility was... perhaps not scary, but it made him nauseous just to think of it. However, the Nightmare didn’t manage to possess him, not how it was described in Lord of the Night. All things considered, perhaps it just wasn’t possible to do in the way the book described. Wild didn’t know whether it was a good or a bad thing. He had been lucky to return, but what if someone else was in his spot? What if someone who didn’t have his experience of rebirth was attacked by the Nightmare? Would they be irretrieavably gone? In fictional possessions, the real person was still there, but what Wild experienced, it was different.

He continued on to other books, putting the thoughts of possession behind him - they made him shiver. If he could, he would never experience that again.

Among books containing ghosts or spirits, many were children’s stories that would, naturally, be scary for them. Ghost of the Castle and A Wailing Spirit were two such books, and they certainly didn’t provide any useful or valuable information. There were also historical accounts of ghosts, including confirmed sightings and interviews. He had already looked through them, and while they were quite enlightening and also slightly terrifying, they contained nothing that resembled Wild’s own... state of being.

He wondered if he would become a ghost once he died. He had plenty of... resentment, perhaps, towards humanity. Anger aplenty, always within him, oftentimes accompanied by hatred. And while there was no certain way that guaranteed becoming a ghost, Wild felt like he would fit whatever criteria there were. However, there was a far more likely possibility, one where his soul would remain as it was forever, knowing no rest and no peace. He was already disconnected from his body, able to leave it at will and yet remain. Of course, he considered that there was still the possibility of letting himself go, but now that he thought about it... it was a scary prospect. He doubted he would ever be ready to let himself go into nothingness despite all that he carried within him.

Wild knew he wasn’t good at letting things go, yet the world always seemed eager to rip everything and everyone away from him. His parents were gone far before their time, he hadn’t seen them grow old and happy. His innocence was torn away forever. When he went to die, he thought he was letting it all go. He thought that it would be over then.

Wild would chuckle at the irony of his situation if he found it humorous, but he didn’t. Death was scary by itself, he knew, but the prospect of continuous existence with no surety of an end... that was something he couldn’t even truly comprehend.

He closed his eyes and breathed, remembering who he was. While he still lived, he was a person, and his name was Wild. He knew what he liked, he knew what he disliked, and he knew what he was and wasn’t. However, perhaps he would have to reconsider what he truly knew.

For a long time, he had thought he was evil, yet Luna told him he wasn’t, and he... not only did he believe her, he also wanted to believe it. He accepted it and put some of his horrible memories behind him. He was a sadist, and that wasn’t evil. He would probably have to remind himself of that each day for it to truly stick, but it was a start.

Wild wondered what else he would find wrong about himself that he had thought to be the truth for a long time.

However, he didn’t believe himself ready for more introspection, so he put that thought aside and directed his mind towards what Luna said about ghosts. Ghosts were either entirely formless, a mere mist, or resembling who they were in life by taking the right shapes and colors, although, sometimes, there were discrepancies. Not all ponies were born into the right bodies, and their true inner selves reflected that in death. There were, of course, also those who didn’t think much of their vessels, and so they could be essentially anything they felt like, as much as a ghost could feel anything.

Most importantly, how a ghost looked was at least a semi-conscious decision. If Wild were to choose how he looked like, he was fairly certain he wouldn’t choose the appearance he had. A pony shape was certainly nice, and he did think of himself as a pony, but... he was just him, and his experience certainly showed that it didn’t matter what physical form he took, so why take any at all? Most importantly, he would never choose the colors he had nor the sickly, cracked appearance or the holes-for-eyes that he had. While he knew, on a deep level, that it was him, he didn’t want to be that way. However, when he asked himself what colors spoke to him, he couldn’t find a satisfying answer.

Luna spoke about free, unbound spirits, but he had found nothing useful in regards to them. Fiction could be disregarded outright, for it would only contain one’s imagination and not necessarily reality. Legends were there too, of course, but he knew relying on them would be foolish. People were all too willing to believe that a trick of the light was a manifestation of divinity. In his previous life, he had considered all those people idiots, unwilling to see the truth behind their self-imposed delusions.

Now... magic, true magic and not just clever tricks and stage mastery, was at play. Souls were, without a single doubt, real. He saw his own. He encountered beings that were spirits. To deny what happened, to ignore the implications, it would be... extremely unwise. He had never thought he was particularly smart, but even he could see that this was important.

A part of him continued to marvel at magic, at even the simplest telekinesis unicorn foals could do. Ponies lived and breathed magic, performing feats humans would consider impossible, all in a day to day life. Magic was taught as a scientific subject, which still boggled Wild’s mind somewhat. Perhaps, if he were smarter, if he had any affinity for science at all, he would study magic, delve deep into it and uncover its secrets. However, he was a person in the here and now. Dreams and aspirations had been a foreign concept to him for a very long time. His teachers told him he wouldn’t amount to anything if he continued receiving the grades that he had, and, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much effort he put into it day and night to the point of hand cramps and exhausting in body and mind, he continued to fail again and again and again until it was simpler to just give up and realize that his teachers were right.

He tried to read through Magic and You - The Basis of Ponykind but he could hardly understand a quarter of what it said. Some of it made sense like the basic description of what ponies could do and what they had tried to do yet couldn’t after thousands of years, but a lot of it was theory that would make sense only to someone smarter and more academic than Wild could ever hope to be. At least he now knew why ponies and a lot of other species were not only real but sapient - it was all magic influencing things. How and why, he couldn’t figure out even if the answers were there in that very book, but the basic answer was enough for him. Magic made talking ponies, real gryphons - or griffins or whatever spelling was correct, Wild didn’t exactly remember - and many other species, some of which he had never heard of like kirins.

Perhaps Wild would one day even meet them. From what history he had read, griffins and ponies hadn’t managed to get along for countless centuries for various reasons. At one point, over a thousand years into the past, the now long-gone Griffin Empire used to serve ponies as a culinary delicacy, which made Wild nauseous to even think about. He could hardly think about harming animals, but to eat someone... someone like Lina, someone like Artful, any of the ponies he knew, it was unthinkable. After reading that bit of history, he felt like his mouth needed a thorough wash and his eyesight bleached of the very memory of reading it.

In his efforts to replace that with something different, he had found himself in the self-help aisle. That was... not what he wanted, but... it was what he needed, wasn’t it? Wouldn’t it be nice to figure things out by himself without having to bother anyone? After looking around and seeing no one was there to see him browse this section in particular, he cautiously approached the shelves to see if there was anything of use to him.

The first book that caught his eye was titled Awaken Your Life’s Purpose. He reached out and pulled it from the shelf, then opened it. He skimmed through the book and, honestly speaking, it was disappointing. What use did he have for living in the here and now? That was exactly the problem. How could he even live in the here and now if it could be turned on its head? And then there was something pseudo-religious nonsense too, all about everyone being a part of a whole, embracing all things without judgement, and so on and so forth. With a snort, he shut the book and put it back. Whatever it contained, it wouldn’t help him one bit, and he refused to spend a moment more on it. It didn’t even talk about purpose.

Another book that caught his eye was You Are a Badass. He snorted in some humor - he supposed some people might see him that way, considering how aloof he was and the fact that he practiced swordsmanship. However, he didn’t consider himself a badass. A badass is supposed to have strength enough to overcome everything thrown their way, and Wild... he knew he wasn’t exactly strong. Nevertheless, perhaps this book would have something for him.

That turned out to not be true at all. In fact, he was almost angry enough to throw this book across the entire library and then tear it apart - it was that useless. All the attitude of ‘go get it’ and ‘you’ll get what you want if you want it hard enough’ would certainly appeal to his younger self, but his younger self was an inexperienced idiot who knew nothing, certainly not what being helplessness was. No matter how hard he wanted something, it would remain out of his reach. He was extremely lucky to not be raped to death, and he knew the author of this book knew absolutely nothing about suffering, certainly not anything that he had gone through and survived, and not at all because he wished it to be true.

The absolute worst thing was when he stumbled on a part about getting an expensive carriage service. It was so mind-bogglingly out of touch that he would scream in frustration if he could and if he disrespected the library hard enough - the book presented a situation where there was a carriage service one couldn’t afford, and yet it would be good to go through with it anyway. As the book said, `I don’t see the money, but I believe it’s there and it will be mine dammit!’ What expensive carriage services had to do with being a badass, Wild had no idea, and he didn’t think he would find an answer to that. In his life, he certainly didn’t think about... the equivalent would perhaps be an expensive car. Before he died, he could hardly afford a pair of shoes, and a car wasn’t even on his mind.

He gave the entire section a stink eye, considering that it may just be completely useless if these two examples he randomly picked were anything to go by. He snorted as he walked away - as if he didn’t wish hard enough for things to go his way. Even magic couldn’t manifest his desires, and this book certainly gave no mention of it in so far as he could read it. As far as he was concerned, You Are a Badass belonged in the toilet room in case toilet paper ran out and water wasn’t available. Awaken Your Life’s Purpose would perhaps have a second place to that.

Wild wished Artful was here in the library - maybe he could’ve provided some good suggestions, considering that Artful, for all Wild knew, was in the Royal Orphanage for far longer than him, and he was certainly better put together than Wild could ever hope to be. He didn’t know if Artful had ever gone to any kind of therapist for whatever issues he might have, but any advice from him would, at least, not be as bad as... that. Or perhaps Wild and Artful would simply find some board game or play the same one they played when they first met. Anything would be better than the self-help section.

Curiously, he had yet to see Artful this day. He hadn’t been there in the cafeteria while Wild was there and neither could he be found in the library. However, Wild knew not to presume - it wasn’t like he knew much about Artful’s schedule or life. And yet, he found he missed the young stallion’s presence. He was certainly shy, yes, but he had a pleasant voice Wild could listen to as the pegasus talked about one thing or another. Aside from that, Artful had yet to cross any unspoken boundaries that Wild had placed around himself, so that endeared Artful to him.

And, of course, there was also a bit of... physical attraction. Wild believed he locked it tight, at least for the time-being, but he had to admit he was still experiencing it, still feeling it. It wasn’t to Artful specifically, perhaps, but the young pegasus seemed to have some attributes a part of Wild found... nice to look at. The color scheme of white and blue was pleasant on the eyes, and Wild secretly wondered how those wings would feel like if he touched them. The glasses perched on his muzzle made him look... kind of cute.

Those were all fleeting thoughts, nothing more, certainly nothing he wished to focus on. His life was complicated as is, he didn’t wish for it to be complicated even further. Relationships, physical or spiritual, weren’t something he was knowledgeable about, and he didn’t particularly want to experience them anyway. Being together with someone meant sharing burdens, and his own was far too large to inflict on anyone else. He had already cried enough about it, and he couldn’t imagine what other ponies would experience if they learned about him. Perhaps they wouldn’t even want to... sleep with him, if he ever actually came to that. After all, he was... well, perhaps his body was clean of any stench or stain, but his spirit bore what happened to him. No, it was simply best that he didn’t allow anyone to get close, certainly nowhere close enough for any intimacy to take place. Besides, he didn’t believe he would even be able to initiate or receive any intimacy in the first place. He knew it was supposed to be pleasant, but all he had experienced was pain intermingled with a sense he couldn’t even describe as anything other than wrong.

He shook his head at those thoughts. Romance, intimacy... why did those things have to arise again? Why now? Was it because of whatever happened to his soul? Or was it something that happened to his body while he wasn’t in it? Some sort of a restart, a reset, something of that sort could be possible, although he really had no way to tell.

Whatever the cause was, he didn’t have to think about it for too long.

“Here you are!” Precision cheerfully chirped as she found him, “Now c’mon, we’re all gathering, I’ll show you where.”

Wild nodded and put away all the other thoughts. Romance and intimacy didn’t matter to him. If he told himself that often enough, it would come true. Fortunately, now he had something else to focus on, namely the game of paintball. From what he had heard of it so far, it could prove to be fun.

He left the library and his thoughts behind. Whatever choices he would have to make about the mess that he was, it would be later. This paintball thing, he knew, wouldn’t touch any of it, and he would be grateful for that.

Author's Note

The self-help books referenced here are real. I have not read them, and Wild's impression of them are based on the reviews that I've read. In truth, they're supposed to be read thoughtfully, not taken as absolute truth, but Wild doesn't really know that.