For Krickis.
A call in kindness.
An echo in kind.
“I’ll always remember you”
Technically speaking, Sunset Shimmer was on her motorcycle, doing fifty-seven down a forty-five. The wind on her face, a chilly breeze seeping through her helmet, told her so, as did the dim lights that accompanied her on her journey to the Everton suburbs. And yet, it’d be more apt to say that Sunset was still sitting on a bench at her local nature park, staggered and grasping for answers against a future that crept up on her while she wasn’t looking—the way only lovers can.
Twilight tightened her hold around Sunset’s middle from her position on the backseat of the motorcycle, breaking Sunset from her reverie and grounding her in the present. Sunset chanced a glance back but Twilight’s face, helmet and all, was buried into her leather jacket like she always did when they rode together through the city streets. Sunset knew what to do next.
Sunset hesitated.
Once upon a time this had been a game for them. Twilight would pretend to be scared of the speed and Sunset would speed up, pretending to tease her. Both would pretend not to understand what it really meant, while savoring in the excuse afforded to them by the act.
“So… We’re talking about this then.”
Seems like we’re done pretending. Sunset turned her gaze back towards the road, shaking her earlier words from her mind in the process. Things were different now, would be different for as long as she had left. As little as she had left, she corrected.
The conversation in the park had changed things. Everything was out in the open and Sunset couldn’t pretend that each embrace, each lingering stare, was anything other than what it was anymore. Each indulgence was now an invitation on her part, an agreement to something that Sunset knew she could not deliver. Sunset had made a decision, hadn’t she? While sitting on that cold bench, her lips pressed against a warm forehead, she had made a choice.
Twilight began to loosen her grip on Sunset causing her to crank up the speed, the sharp burst causing the passenger to retighten her embrace. Sunset took a bracing breath, followed by another, yielding in to the comfort leaching from the girl leaning against her. Yes, she had made a choice. And yet… There was this embrace. Twilight’s arms held on as if it was Sunset, and not Twilight, that was at risk of being torn away by the winds and sharp turns. Her arms were shaking, unused to the strain she was exerting and tensed by...something. Sunset wanted to tell her that she had no reason to fear, that she was not going anywhere. But that would be a lie; both she and Twilight knew that now, to varying degrees.
Sunset said it anyway, and listened as her falsehood was immediately swallowed up by the roar of the engine and the whipping gales. A twitch around her midsection answered her, regardless. Sunset slowed her pace to a more reasonable speed but the embrace maintained its intensity for the remainder of their trip. In fact, it was not until they arrived at Twilight’s home that the embrace ended, and even here it took longer than usual. Sunset had always enjoyed the way Twilight lingered for a moment longer than necessary when dismounting the motorcycle as a way to prolong their closeness. There was a subtlety to it, though, that was now missing as seconds turned to minutes with neither girl stepping off the bike. When Twilight did finally dismount, Sunset noticed that she made no attempt to disguise the way she stared at Sunset, as if taking note of every detail of the Equestrian standing before her and archiving it with that incredible memory of hers.
A car drove past them, blinding headlights causing Sunset to blink. Just like that, she was back at the park, sitting on a bench staring into those same studious eyes.
What did they see in me?
“You don’t know what you’re signing up for,” she heard herself say.
“I’m signing up for you. I know you, Sunny…”
If Sunset was good at something, it was reading people and Twilight had been extremely easy to read when she had said that. She had been full of hope and fear. Desire and insecurity. In Sunset she had seen someone who had things together, who could help her in some way her other relationships couldn’t.
But that had been before the conversation.
Sitting side-by-side at the bench, Twilight had looked into Sunset again and, for once, Sunset felt like the one being read. She felt open, defenseless, as Twilight stared at her with that calculating gaze of hers. And what’s more, Twilight gave nothing away as she said,
“Don’t forget me.”
What do you see in me?
“Sunny?”
Sunset took a few blinks to reorient herself. She found herself still outside of Twilight’s home, a soft glow from the porch light illuminating the front yard in a warm orange tint. Then came the sounds, the nighttime chime of the crickets and other bugs that made the yard their home. A car could be heard driving somewhere in the distance. Sunset turned her attention to Twilight, who was still studying her with that unreadable expression.
“Walk me to the door.”
It wasn’t a question. Twilight had never been one to make demands. Images flashed of a stammering Twilight hiding behind Applejack—of that studious, bookish, anxious, meek Twilight that felt as if she’d been made of glass. The girl before her was different, more her double than herself. If Sunset squinted, she could still make her out, but it was hard to not feel brittle in her presence.
Sunset took a step towards her and the two marched the six-feet walk up to the front door in silence. Sunset pointedly stared up at the moths that circled the porchlight lamp as the jangling of keys was followed by the unlocking of the door. Then she turned to look at Twilight when she felt the latter take hold of her hand.
“I’m sorry about dropping that on you like I did,” Twilight began. “But I meant what I said. If you really have to go... and I do understand why you have to go… I... I just want to make the most of things, ok? Nothing has to change between us.”
“Sure thing,” Sunset nodded, choosing not to comment on how much had changed already. “You really should call Moon Dancer, though.”
“Will you stop,” Twilight snapped, though not unkindly. “I’ll deal with that later. I don’t want to talk about that right now.”
“I don’t mean it like that,” Sunset said, taking her hand back. “I just don’t want you alone right now. You can call Fluttershy instead if you’d like, though I don’t know how she’ll take it. I don’t think this is the type of thing you can go to your parents with, but they’re an option too.”
“And what about you?” Twilight asked. “Don’t you need someone to talk to? That conversation was kind of heavy. Maybe Rainbow or Wallflower?”
“I’ll be okay,” Sunset lied. “I don’t want them freaking out before they have to, you know?”
“Don’t want them trying to stop you.”
“Perhaps.”
A moment passed. Then another.
“Fine,” Twilight said after a while. “At least give me a hug before you go. This is a thing friends do after all.”
“Sure sure,” Sunset said, crossing the threshold into the Sparkle household. The warm air and the smell of a long since eaten dinner reached her for a second and were then quickly replaced by scents and presence of Twilight's embrace.
She smells like Lilacs.
The embrace lasted for a minute; then it lasted longer. Sunset wasn’t sure how much time passed with the two pressed together but she once again wondered what exactly Twilight had seen while staring into her, a self-conscious pit of embarrassment growing in her gut.
“Well, I better get going,” Sunset said, beginning to remove herself from the embrace. “Goodbye, Twilight.”
“Not goodbye,” Twilight said, forcing Sunset back into the hug. “Not goodbye. See you later. Right? That’s what you meant?”
A shiver carried through the hug and it was unclear which of the two it had come from. However, Sunset at once understood what exactly Twilight had seen in Sunset—what Twilight was afraid of. And what’s worse, Sunset found that Twilight had seen more than she had meant for her to.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Sunset said, putting some extra umph into the hug. “See you later, Sparky.”
Twilight let go of the embrace and offered her a smile, reassured it seemed by the strategic use of the nickname. Sunset found that this lie tasted far worse upon her tongue than the previous ones had. Not to say anything of the guilt, which only grew as Sunset mounted her motorcycle and rode away from the quiet neighborhood—away from something wonderful.
A dull thud followed by a wooden creak rang out as Sunset let herself into her empty apartment. She felt around for the lightswitch and bleared as the lights came on. A dry breath followed. She looked around her studio apartment.
I’ve really let things go, huh?
Take out boxes littered the living room table. Soda cans clustered around her computer desk. Clothes lounged on her couch and in bundles on the floor. Books lay on steps and on boxes she had once said she’d throw out but had since been converted into additional surface spaces.
She’d been meaning to clean up for a while but there had always been something else to do. Another class to study for. Another shift at the mall. Another call to make. Another crisis to fix. Another friend to help. Tidying up could wait for later, and so it did… for another day and then another.
And now it’ll have to keep waiting.
Sunset spotted what she was looking for and didn’t bother taking off her shoes as she walked across the room, grasping the hardbound journal that had been laying on the couch. A quick scan revealed no new messages since the heated discussion from a few nights back.
‘I really think you should reconsider, Sunset. You’ll always have a home here, but you have a life there.’
Sunset scoffed as she closed the book.
Not much of a life.
Her time in Everton, in the human world, had been a lot of things. It had been a chance to learn. A chance to grow. A penance. A responsibility. But a life?
All around this room was evidence of Sunset’s efforts and of her struggles—evidence of plans, of failures and successes. Sunset Shimmer had survived in this world. But had she really lived? Would she ever be able to? It was always to the next plan, to the next challenge, the next setback. And if it wasn’t the world or happenstance, it was Sunset herself. Ever the ungrateful, ever the unsatisfied, Sunset always seemed to look ahead, not around. This world was too small for her, her human skin too taut.
Book in hand and taking nothing else with her, Sunset walked back across her room, passing in front of a mirror—a flash of association bringing forth memories from long ago. A different mirror, a greed for power and unearned wings, a throne room of shattered silence and hearts. A hurried escape, a banishment.
Your pony skin was taut as well.
“Don’t think of that,” she mumbled, hastening her pace towards the door. “Don’t talk yourself out of it now.”
As she reached the door she took what was meant to be one last look into the building and expected to feel a pang of…something. This building had housed her for a very long time and looking at the guitars and pictures definitely showed her growth of character. And yet, while the girls might remember this as the coolest place to have a sleepover, Sunset looked upon it and saw only the countless lonely nights. The lonely days. The solitary existence.
She took one more look at the table, which she got in the hopes of inviting people over for dinner more often, then the couch and the TV, both bought to cater to the one thing about this world that made things the slightest bit bearable. But life moved on. They all had their own families and priorities. And so, this building saw life once, maybe, every other week. Every other day, Sunset ate alone.
And soon, most of them would be leaving anyway. So what if she left first?
The girls will come looking for you. That stopped Sunset in her tracks. Twilight has a key. Do you really want them to remember you like this?
Echoes of laughter rang out in her ears, permeating through the walls as the ghosts of better times made their semblance known. Sunset knew the longer she stayed, the more the fire in her stomach would dim, that fire that she needed to carry out what she had decided to do. And yet, as visions of games and parties played before her eyes, ill fitting overtop the mess that had accrued in the previous weeks, she knew there really wasn’t much of a choice. The girls had given her a lot. The least she could do was make sure they didn’t have to clean up behind her.
Placing the journal by the doorstep, Sunset made her way back into the kitchen area where she gathered some trash bags before beginning to clean. She began with the take-out and the empty cans, followed by the cardboard and other such trash. Then she tackled the laundry and other obvious mindless tasks. Finally though, came her school books.
Sunset carefully grabbed each one, skimming the page she was on before placing them back on the proper bookshelf, taking in the subject, the topic, the purpose of each tome. By the time she was done with this task, any fear that she would be unwilling to carry out her chosen task was gone. Instead, a cold numbness and clarity had enveloped her.
There were a lot of problems that Sunset struggled with. She felt guilt over her past actions. She felt disconnected from those around her. She always felt like a guest, never a native. She always felt lonely. And yet, ironically enough, it had been redemption which had finally undone Sunset Shimmer.
Sunset had always had a purpose, an end to reach, a goal to meet. This was neither a good nor a bad thing, but rather a core component of Sunset’s essence. Her younger self had been driven to alicornhood. Later, she had been driven to revenge and control. After that, it had been to redemption. Always an end. Always a goal. Always a purpose.
But ever since she had found redemption, there had been no goal to meet. Sunset had been adrift, looking for a sign only to find that there were no more tasks at hand but those she made for herself and she no longer felt she knew how, if she ever did at all. Attempts at finding a goal floundered and sputtered. Dead ends built and passions never flourished. School subjects shunned her like scorned muses and every attempt to build on her talents ended with eventual disinterest.
No matter what road she looked upon, she saw no future worth walking to. And with no future to work towards, with no past to build upon, and with a present coming to a close, Sunset felt herself steady in her decision.
Might as well close it on my terms.
Not too long after that, the work was done and Sunset found herself at her doorway once more. Taking a look across the apartment, she now saw the appearance of a well kept room, bereft of any of the signs of despondency she had gone out of her way to hide in her daily life.
Just one more thing to take care of, she thought, taking out her cell phone from her pocket. She placed it on the table to the side of the door, leaving it behind to avoid any last minute temptations. She then picked up the journal, turned off the lights, and then made her way out of the apartment one final time.
A soft smile curled on the corner of her mouth. After all, she had just done a good thing—left her friends an untarnished memory.
A cloudy night sky crested above the school as Sunset crossed the street. Slivers of moonlight peaked through the gaps, illuminating the ground in brief flashes and a dreamlike haze. A cold wind, far crisper than should be expected for Spring rushed through the campus, giving the illusion of cheering or howling as Sunset stepped towards the statue that overlooked the front entrance—a welcome home or a warning.
Sunset looked between the dark clouds overhead and the shimmering dew on the lawn and found the scene eerily familiar. Memories and reality blended seamlessly somehow, the night a replica of when she had arrived in the human world. Looking back at the statue, she waited, expecting to see a younger Sunset crawl out, startled and frenzied upon the concrete walkway to begin a journey that would take the girl through some of the best and the worst experiences imaginable.
The statue remained still, however, its surface unbroken, and the only Sunset Shimmer present that night was not the one there to begin a journey, but rather the one there to end it.
Sunset tried to step towards the statue, but found herself unable.
You always knew it would be like this, she thought, her heartbeat in her ears. Deep down you’ve always known. There was no future here. Not for you.
Another attempt. Still no movement.
Coward.
And she was, indeed. Sunset was scared. She could accept as much. Her grip tightened on the journal.
Back at the park, when Twilight had found out that Sunset was planning on leaving, Sunset had come to a decision. She had to leave that night. By now, the rest of the group had to know. If not, they would soon. They would try to stop her, convince her to stick around. And even if they didn’t, maybe Sunset would convince herself. Sunset could not allow herself to take that chance.
This is what’s best for everybody. They’re getting too attached. If Twilight…
Sunset closed her eyes and took a deep breath that felt hollow in her lungs. The scent of lilacs mixed with the scents of grass in the air.
If Twilight is going to have a future, I cannot be indecisive.
She looked upwards at the towering figure and took a faltering step, then another, then another until she reached the base of the statue. She extended one hand and ran it across the smooth stone surface, finding it to distort into interdimensional ripples at her touch. On previous occasions, this had intrigued or even delighted her, but this time the effect caused Sunset to pull her arm back as if burned by a hearth.
“At least she’s still keeping it open at night just in case,” Sunset muttered, staring at her hand. It was shaking.
This is it.
She made to step forward but was once again unable.
This time her thoughts went to her friends, sleeping soundly and hopefully unaware of what tomorrow would bring. They would want an explanation.
It felt inadequate. To leave without saying something. Anything. For a moment she regretted leaving the phone behind, while knowing that any text message or phone call would have resulted in her being talked down.
Without an explanation, they would go to her place and find nothing. After that, they would surely come here, only to find the portal permanently closed. No way to contact Equestria. Their adventures, nothing but a memory. Surely they’d want something to remember her by.
Sunset pulled at her sleeve as an idea came to her. She then pulled off her jacket and laid it on the floor in front of the statue, with all the reverence she could muster. This wasn’t the jacket the portal had given her. This was made by Rarity, earned by friendship, and a symbol of her growth as a person. And here it was, in the place where she landed. The place where she crashed. The place where she rose again. And finally.. The place here she—
They’ll be ok. I’ve left them a memorial.
She shivered in the breeze, as she stared at the jacket for a minute or so. Memories from when she got it flashed briefly through her mind but with great discipline she managed to quiet them. Sobs rang out into the night.
And then, it was time.
Shaky hands readjusted their grip on the journal. Watery eyes fixed their gaze straight ahead. Unsteady steps regained the ground that was lost while setting up the last-minute shrine. A broken voice tried to speak, but the sobs would not stop. Instead, on some unspoken count, Sunset stepped through.
Then there was an abrupt silence save for the wind and the subtle scraping of leather as it was pushed across the concrete. And all that remained was the many things that Sunset Shimmer left behind.
Author's Note
It's an extended metaphor, you see...
Thank you all who read this short little piece and thank you to Krickis for giving me the privilege of ending your story. Personally, I think her ending is a more fitting stopping point but when someone tells you "I won't let anyone write a sequel to this but you," well.. You take it, right?
And if you read this without reading Something About Sunset... um... spoilers?
