A Package in the Rain

by Church

Rating: everyone
Tags: Raindrops, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Sad, Romance
Length: 3504

She left me a small package. Now it just sits out in the rain.

I told myself I wouldn't bring it inside. I will never bring it inside. No matter what I do, that box is going to stay stranded out on that porch... else I only hurt myself again.

A thanks to my editor, Future, for being awesome.

cover image by johnjoseco

Published 2012-09-02 06:44:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-09-02 06:44:01 UTC

A Package in the Rain

A Package in the Rain
by Church

There it was: rain-soaked, saturated through and through, biding its time on my porch, which, in its current state, was getting blasted by heavy rains. I watched it. I eyed it suspiciously from my foggy windowpane, pressing my nose to the glass in a lackadaisical fashion, inhaling in short, rhythmic breaths. There was nothing special about it. There was nothing peculiar about it. I knew what it was. I knew everything about it. I understood what it was there for. The obtrusive package sitting on my porch was trying to change how I felt about it after everything that had happened. It was trying to make me remember. It was trying to bring me back down to earth. That’s not how I saw it, however. To me, there were much darker tones surrounding it.

To me, it was cold.

It was intrusive.

And it was a desperate attempt to get me to come to my senses.

No matter the consequences, I knew I was not going to bring it inside. I knew what would happen if I brought it inside. I would cry for hours on end. I would cry until my tears formed tiny streams that could be found flowing through the house. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it anymore. It had been a year since I opened it. I was not about to play the fool once more, to venture into that dark and mystifying place where good and evil are no longer enemies, but long lost friends. To venture into that “in-between”. I’ll regret it. I know I will.

It was wrapped in what used to be a vibrant orange wrapping paper with a perky scarlet bow tied expertly to complete the look. Now, with the rain, that orange had turned an ugly brown, and the scarlet a vulgar shade of brick. The box was soggy and sagging in spots, giving it a decayed sort of look, as if the box had been round for some time. Truth is, it had. The veranda did little to shield it from nature’s might. It was surprising to find that it hadn’t already blown away in the wind. Surprising to find that it hadn't just melted away. After an entire year, it is still there.

No matter the consequences, I won’t bring it inside. I won’t provide it with the common decency to give it proper shelter. It can rot for all I care. It is only a distant, nagging memory now. I will not give in to impulse. I will not shed a single tear for its demise. I will not let it hurt me more than it already has.

But it won’t die.

It simply will not die.

o----o

“Just open it,” she told me.

“Why?”

“Do it.”

“What’s the special occasion?”

She snorted once. “No special occasion! Just open it!”

I stared into her eyes, searching for answers, searching for something that would give her away. That face was unreadable. She gestured once more to the box sitting on my lap, urging me to unwrap the item gifted to me at random. I hesitated.

“Seriously, what’s this all about?”

Now she groaned, perhaps peeved with my insistence to know exactly what was going on. But that was me. That was just my personality.

“I promise you’ll like it.”

I gave a wry grin, turning my gaze to the box, eyeing it with much curiosity. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

I smiled. Gently, I set a hoof down on the top of the box. With tedious effort, I set about tearing the wrap off shred by shred.

o----o

I’m not bringing it inside. I’ve told this to myself over and over again, I will not bring it inside. It doesn’t deserve the comfort. It doesn’t deserve such a pleasant setting, such a warm home. It deserves violence and unpredictability, terror and darkness, much like the weather. And the weather team is most definitely getting the job done today. I can see lightning bolts clash in the distance, sparring amongst themselves, lighting the sky and fading almost as soon as they came. I can hear the echoes of rolling thunder sweeping across the valley, rumbling along like the passing of a giant bowling ball. I can see critters fleeing for cover, heading this way and that, no definitive direction as to which way provides the best form of shelter. All this I can see... and feel. By now, I have gotten very wet.

I’m not bringing it inside, but I’ve told myself I would at least share in its misery. It deserves the company, at the very least. I was right to say my veranda provides very little protection from the elements. I am already quite thoroughly soaked, and that's not the half of it. I am cold, shivering; there is a certain chill about the air that leads me to shake compulsively. My mane is messy and it hangs over my eyes, impairing my sight considerably. My response to this is to lie down, and I do just that. I sprawl out in the middle of a puddle of accumulating water. I can only just see the package through my sodden mane. It cackles at my misfortune, a misfortune which it shares with me. So I think, anyway.

I was right to not bring it inside. It is only a stupid memory. A stupid, insignificant, awful memory- one which has plagued me since its passing. It doesn’t deserve a warm fire. It doesn’t deserve a steaming cup of cider on a chilly winter evening. It doesn’t deserve to feel the touch of another, or the gentle kiss of a lover. It deserves nothing but what it is receiving.

It is a stupid, inanimate object... one that houses all that I ever held dear.

o----o

“This is silly. Are you serious?”

She gazed at me through those wonderfully radiant eyes of hers. “Why wouldn’t I be? I wrapped it up for you, didn’t I?”

“What does that mean?”

She looked puzzled. “I’m not so sure.”

She could tell that I didn’t look pleased. I shouldn’t say that, that's not how I felt. I was pleased. She could tell I looked... uncertain. I looked unsure, like there was something holding me back. Her mouth twisted to form a half-frown.

“What’s wrong?”

I averted her gaze. I couldn’t stare into those eyes. They were gorgeous, everlasting, oblivious to pain. I felt pity to let those eyes see pain. What I felt, was pain.

“Rainy, what’s wrong? You can-”

“It’s Raindrops. Don’t call me Rainy. You know I don’t like that,” I interjected. I only told a lie whenever I felt the need to dodge a particularly tricky conversation. The unfortunate thing was, my lies never dodged a particularly tricky conversation. Why I always felt the need to implement them was beyond me.

“I know,” she replied simply.

She stared at me for a long time.

“Is this about what’s happening?” she said.

I looked up from the item that had so suddenly been gifted to me and, shell-shocked, I stared at her sternly, directly in those irreplaceable blue eyes.

“Of course it’s about what’s happening.”

o----o

It felt good to be inside again. The fire crackling before me warmed the room, making it nice and toasty, exactly the way I liked it. Next to the fire, as usual, I rested comfortably in my recliner chair. A cozy blanket was draped over my body, and I pressed myself into it, allowing the snuggly fabric to arouse my senses. It was soft and fuzzy. It notably shed everywhere, but such a mess could be tended to later. At the current time, moving from place to place would be such an unwanted burden. I was alone in my living room, peacefully resting.

I was mindful of the package on the table.

I told myself I would not bring it inside, but it was so frightened of the weather that I couldn't find it in me to abandon it. It was dying. How could I be so heartless? So I swept it up in my legs and brought it inside. Now it sits by the fireplace with me. Perhaps it’ll just burn. Burning is better than freezing, right?

It isn't of much importance, the package being here once more. I still won’t open it. I will never open it again. I don’t want to feel the pain. It was a year ago now. I have refrained from touching the package since... until now, that is. I have only brought it what it has needed to survive as time has passed. It has never left my porch. Like a haunting, vivid reminder, it has never left my porch. I don’t even remember what it was like, opening the package. The feeling is foreign to me now. All that I know is, I didn’t like it.

o----o

“You know I can’t accept this. This is ridiculous. I can’t accept this.”

She frowned. “Rainy, er, Raindrops... they said I’ll get better, but it’s just, if I don-”

“No! I won’t accept this. Please, take it back.”

I hoofed her the box. She clutched onto it with a single tear welling in her eye. I already had several forming in mine. I wiped them away with a hoof before they could fully coalesce.

She looked at me as if I was some stranger, or as if we had been separated for a vast expanse of time. We stared at each other for a long while. Neither wanted to say the next word. The moment was too powerful, awkward, even. Words could not properly remedy the situation, nor convey their meaning appropriately. But actions... actions were a different story.

In a swift, daring motion, gently, softly, she leaned over, halting her approach dangerously close to my muzzle. She lingered there for a short while, eyeing me with that loving look she’d always give. Then, sweetly, she kissed me once. She pressed her lips on mine and quickly retracted them before I could fully understand what was occurring. My lips quivered. My heart ached. This wasn’t happening.

“I want you to take it. Please?”

I couldn’t say no.

“N-no.”

I was heartless.

She slumped. I could almost hear her heart break. I hated her like this. It was despairing to even think of her like this. I was being torn apart inside.

“Please take it,” she mumbled morosely, “it would mean a lot to me.”

I stared blankly at the box that housed her gift to me.

I could not suppress the tears as they began to fall.

o----o

I won’t open it. No matter how many times it beckons me, entices me, I won’t open it. It's tantalizing. It’s a tease. How could I be so stupid as to give in to its spell? No. I won’t. Not this time. After a year, I am strong. I am unwilling to open the blasted package. It is only filled with painful memories, nothing more. It’s a washed up old cardboard box that never knew its rightful place. Pity. Pity it only goes to waste here in this house. Pity it only goes to waste here on my lap.

I won’t open it. I only want to look at it, to feel it again. I feels dirty and wet. It feels lonely and disowned. Deservedly so, I disowned it. Looking back, that doesn’t feel like the right thing to do. But, to me, it was the only thing to do. I didn’t want it. I didn’t deserve it. So what was I to do with it? How could I keep something that I didn’t deserve? That’s the problem. I was unworthy. Now it sits and rots, waiting for the day when someone who deserves it will have it. I don’t deserve it. I shouldn't have it.

It’s a painful memory to possess.

She just loved me too much.

o----o

“It looks pretty, doesn’t it?”

I nodded somberly, wiping away the tears at all too startling a rate. It was beautiful. The gift was stunningly beautiful. In all my years, I had never seen anything like it. Such fanciful craftsmanship, such refined work. It was powerful as well. I could feel the power from it coursing through my veins. Such wonderful beauty, and it was only going to go to waste.

“Please smile, Rainy... I’d like to see a smile.” She grinned.

The nickname didn’t bother me this time. I attempted futilely to form a smile. The thin smirk spread across my face must have looked more menacing than amiable. I didn’t know whether I’d appear cross with her or not. I wanted her to smile, but I did not wish the same for myself.

She giggled to relieve some of the tension. “It’s not so hard... is it?”

Wrong. It was hard.

She could tell I was having a rough go of it. Her smile vanished from her face. It was replaced with a look of disappointment, of longing, even. I had given it to her. I needed to take it back. It didn’t suit her.

Something had to happen. Some sort of consolation had to come of this. Here was this gift, this glorious gift given to me by the one I loved so dearly, and I had little appreciation to show for it. I felt worthless. I felt sick. Was there nothing I could do? No. There was something I could do. I remembered that actions spoke louder than words.

Grabbing her, and noticing the shocked look on her face, I reeled her in and hugged her. I wanted to hug her ‘til she was blue in the face. I just squeezed her. I cried on her shoulder. She had to understand how I felt.

“Don’t leave,” I whimpered, “p-please don’t leave me.”

She accepted my embrace, though it must have been hurting her. I don’t think she ever turned down a hug.

“I’d never leave you! Why would you say that?” she replied perkily.

She was dodging the situation. She was dodging it in her own way. I decided to change the subject a bit. She had to understand.

“D-don’t you r-remember how we m-met?” I said through sobs.

“Of course I do, silly, Rainbow Dash introduced us! Why?”

“D-do you remember h-how well we got along?”

“We’re here now... right?”

By now she was rubbing her foreleg up and down my back in an effort to get me to calm down. I couldn’t calm down. I was shaking rather violently. I was an absolute mess. I couldn’t help myself. Everything was unclear, including the future, the past, and the present. I didn’t know how to handle myself.

“B-but d-do you...” I paused, trying to find a way to word what I was about to say appropriately. “Don’t you remember w-what you said a while back? That day, in the r-rain... you r-remember what y-you said, right?”

She knew exactly what I was talking about. She, inexplicably, always did.

“Yes.”

“A-and do you r-remember what it w-was?”

She nuzzled her face against my mane. “We’d be together forever,” she said.

“R-right!” I stuttered, spluttering like a fish. “And you p-promised, right? I k-know you did. An unb-breakable promise. What kinda p-promise was that?”

She shuddered, recalling everything from that day. It was a great day. It was rainy, and cold, and dreary, and awful, and vicious, and despicable outside.

But I had her.

And the day was perfect.

I felt a tear-drop trickle down from her cheek and land squarely on my shoulder. “A Pinkie Promise...” she muttered.

o----o

I won’t do it. I can’t do it. It would be stupid of me to do it. After an entire year of refraining to unwrap it, I will not succumb once more to its taunt. It wants me to. It always wants me to. It will never let go of me. It has me. It owns me. It’s something undefinable, like a power that lulls me to a state of naivety, so that I may open it one more time. But I won’t open it. It would be stupid of me. I can’t. I won’t. I can’t. I won’t.

Yet... there are sodden scraps of what used to be bright orange wrapping paper now lying on the ground.

Have you ever felt a feeling so strong it just shook you to the ground? Have you ever been so overcome with emotion that you've felt as though nothing else mattered but a simple, uncontrollable feeling? Have you ever felt as if your heart was being tossed around like a rag doll, as if it belonged to someone or something else, and you had absolutely no control over it, like a small foal playing with a toy dump truck?

It is not a welcome feeling.

The gift was beautiful, stunningly so. The ornate design looked expensive, and to continue to shy away from it all these years seemed a frugal thing to do. Yet, I still did it. I couldn’t handle it. I knew I couldn’t. But it won’t go away. The memory won’t go away.

So I started to cry.

Hours passed. Hours passed where I just stared at the item in the package in disbelief, in utter horror and unbelievable sadness. The walls turned to ice. The blanket grew frigid, and the fire blew out. Any candle lit inside of the house was put out with only a small trail of smoke left in its absence. It was dark and stormy inside of the house. It was no different than being outside in the sheet of pouring rain.

More time passed that I didn’t know what to do with. I finally brought myself to pick up the item, chucking the sodden box away in disgust. I turned it over in my hoof, a beautiful piece of jewelry, a necklace, crafted with the finest of gems, a master of their trade must have designed it. That wasn’t all it was, however. No, it contained much more. It contained something vital, something of great importance.

It contained a part of her.

The moment was so surreal. I couldn’t tell what was up or down anymore. Any rational thought was washed away by pure, unimpeded emotion. I was drowning in it. There was no escape. I needed to let time transpire, to let it all play out. I had nothing better to do. I never did. So, I held up the necklace, letting it shine in the little light there was, so as to let me get a proper view of it.

There, affixed to the thin chain of the necklace, were three gorgeous stones, finely crafted and tailored to fit the desired look. They were each carved to look like a balloon.

I didn’t want this anymore. I’ve tried several times to place it around my neck, but have failed to do so every time. Part of an element lives within this necklace. It feels like a sister to the real thing. I can’t wear it. It is much too powerful, and in more ways than one.

Fitfully trying to clear my eyes, I got up from my recliner, setting the necklace down on the table in front of me. I crossed over to the far corner of the living room, stumbling over the furniture until I had found what I needed. I grabbed the items and drearily found my way back to the recliner.

I set the items down on the table:

Some tape.

An empty box.

A spool of scarlet ribbon.

A roll of vibrant orange wrapping paper.

Setting the necklace down in the box, and parting it with a few more tears, I gently closed the lid. I neatly wrapped the box with the orange paper, making sure that it looked proper and presentable. Then, with an expert hoof, I tied the ribbon into a perky bow and finished off the piece. It looked nice, prim, proper. It looked exactly the way I had received it one year ago.

It was still raining outside. It was hard to discern what were tears streaming from my face and what was rain anymore. Not that it mattered. Nothing did. I was standing outside with the fanciful package. I stared at it through my own aching eyes. She was gone.

With an exasperated breath, I set the package down on the veranda, where the elements immediately began to play with it. Maybe this time it would just blow away. I could see that happening. It would just blow away like a forgotten memory, just vanish, utterly disappear. Maybe it will just get up and walk away, walk to a pony who deserves it much more than I ever did. But this will never happen. By Celestia’s sun, this will never happen, because I know one thing, one all important thing that makes it so...

she Pinkie Promised.

And she never breaks a Pinkie Promise.