“How do you like it?”
The kitchen was dark, illuminated only by the faint glow of the moon escaping through the window. Tile floors grew cold during this time of night.
3 figures were sitting at a table. One was a orange filly, another a tall orange-brown pegasus, and a brown earth mare. The filly munched down on a plate full of bean nuggies.
“These are delicious!” the filly exclaimed
The mare smiled. “Well, it’s my duty as mom to only make the best late night snacks.”
“Heh, right!”
The dad smiled and put his hoof on his daughters. “Honey, do you want to go to bed now?”
The room fell silent as the filly stared at the ground.
“Well, I mean, I’m not tired...”
The adults exchanged warm glances, smiling, then looked back at the little filly. “Scoots, cmon, it’s almost 1,” said the mother.
“Yeah sweetie. Cmon. We’ll take you there ourselves,” the father said coolly.
Mother smiled wider. “Yeah. Of course.”
Scootaloo looked around the kitchen with sad, sunken eyes. “But I’m scared.”
Both parents chuckling, the mother decided to intervene first. “Honey, there’s no monsters in the dark. It’s all safe.”
A faint crickets chirp could be heard, the moonlight dancing shadows against the cold tile floor. In the room behind them, a tv played an old cartoon.
“You don’t know that.”
The mother began to sit up from her chair opposite of Scoots, walking over to her side and embracing her daughter.
“Honey, they aren’t real. Monsters aren’t in the dark. They can’t hurt you. Nothing can.”
“You will protect me?”
The dad hugged Scootaloo from the other side now.
“Of course we will munchkin. We always will.”
There was a prolonged silence now as the three ponies hugged each other in the dim light of the house. There was no faint sound of a bird, owl, branches. Nothing. The house was completely silent. And at that, almost completely empty.
Scootaloo jumped off her chair, walking over to the still playing tv. There, a cartoon of a mouse began to play.
Little Hermanos Adventures!
“That’s me!”
Scootaloo turned off the tv with no sense of urgency.
“Wash your plate Scootaloo,” called the mother behind the filly, back in the kitchen. Scootaloo now backtracked her way to the kitchen, picking up the decently messy plate, and putting it in the sink with a clang.
“Hey mom? Dad?” Scootaloo asked, not turning around to see her parents, or turning on the sink.
Sweetly. “Yes hon?”
“How come your in the dark?”
“Because we want to be with you. We want you to be safe.”
Scootaloo smiled, but still didn’t look back. “Ya know, all of my friends talk about their sisters and parents. Always talking about tucking them in good night. Talking about reading bedtime stories.”
“They’re being raised well.”
“Yeah well, we all see it. I mean, it’s clear to see how much they love them and everything. They’re not in the dark.”
The mother chuckled, a soft, almost silent chuckle. “Where did you learn all of this language from?”
“Ms Cherilee asked us to make a poem about soemthing dear to us.” Scootaloos eyes widened, and so did her smile. “Oh! Wait! Do you want to hear it?”
The father spoke now. Scootaloo did not turn to face them. “Yes, of course munchkin. You remember it all from heart?”
Not turning. Nodding. “Yup!”
“Then fire away! And then bed.”
“Ok!” Scootaloo now took a deep breath, and began.
My shelter
My shelter
How I care for you
You stand their as a statue
Of the good times we all had
But it’s all dark
And I can’t see very well
I can hear
I can imagine
But there’s nothing there
My shelter
My shelter
What’s in your dark
I want to speak to what lingers there
You keep the dark hidden
So I have to pretend
Won't it come out and play?
There was that definite silence again. The mother said simply, “Beautiful.”
The father, “Amazing.”
Drip. Drip. Drip. Scoots tears could be heard hitting against the dirty ceramic plate, making a pattern of soft drips. “Mother, father, I can’t really see you, can I? It’s just me?”
The mother spoke softly. “What do you mean?”
“It’s all in my head, right? Once I realize what’s real, everything fake just...goes away? At least, that’s what everyone is telling me.”
“Well, what’s real to you?”
“...I don’t know anymore.”
“What’s real is a delusion Scootaloo. Because the truth is that nopony knows whats true or not. They try to shine a lens onto what happens so they can go forth and make sense of the day. But what’s real is what the pony thinks is real. You feeling happy is real, Scoots. Others might not feel it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not real. You know what you know. And what do you know?”
“...I miss you.”
“Well then that is what’s real, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I suppose so…”
“And your father and I love you very much. That’s real.”
“I guess…”
“Real isn’t defined by what you can touch. It’s by what you feel, or believe you can touch. If not, then nothing is real.”
“Then what’s the word besides real?”
“I don’t know Scoots. Delving into this can make one go insane.”
“I want to be normal Mom. I don’t want to keep questioning everything.”
“Your you. That’s all you need.”
“...Mom?”
“Yes honey?”
“Can we sing together?”
“Of course.”
“Okay. You start.”
“Alright.
“Hush little baby-“
“Don’t you cry…”
“Mommas gonna sing you a lullaby…”
“And if that song doesn’t soothe…”
“Mommas gonna give some gifts to you.”
“Now hush little baby…”
“Don’t say a word…”
“Momma's gonna buy you a mockingbird…”
“And if that mockingbird don’t sing…”
“...then mommas gonna buy you a Diamond ring.”
Scootaloo stared at her plate, thankful it offered no reflection. “Thanks for singing with me mom. I can brag to Sweetie now.”
“...”
“Are you there?”
There was no answer.
There was no increase of heart rate. There was no sweat. There was no bitten lip. The only thing in that room was a sunken orange filly. She turned around, and without surprise, saw nothing was there. She looked back at the box of nuggies she made herself. She quietly ruffled her purple mane, then wiped the pool of tears around her eyes.
Maybe tommorow, they will leave the dark.
Scootaloo walked to her bed alone, and tucked herself into bed. “I wish we could have made more memories.” She couldn’t remember the last time she was tucked into bed.
She knew there wouldn’t be an answer, not when she was aware like this. “I hope you come back to me. I wish for it. I wish I could have known you.” More silence. She knew it.
“I love you.”
And for a second, Scootaloo though she heard a murmur, a whisper. But that’s all it was. A thought. A delusion. A dream.
