Here's the Plan

by Arkadios

Rating: mature
Tags: Suicide / Self Harm, Slice of Life, Dark, Death, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 1555

A pony lives his last day in Equestria.

I wrote and posted this fic just under a year ago under a different account that has since been deleted. A recent fic inspired me to repost it.

Rest assured, I am no longer suicidal.

Contains: suicide

Written by Arkadios

Published 2022-01-09 23:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2022-01-09 23:00:00 UTC

Here's the Plan

Rock Bottom opened his eyes and looked at the clock on the side table by the couch. He hadn't even set an alarm last night; his single responsibility of the day didn't have to happen at a fixed time.

After a few minutes of going back over his plan, Rock Bottom got up from where he was lying on the couch, walked over to the window and, for the first time in many moons, opened the curtains with his magic. He brought a foreleg up in front of his face to keep the sunlight from hurting his eyes.

Seeing the kitchen by anything besides hornlight was a rather strange experience. Rock Bottom, once more relishing the monotony of the tea-making process, filled the kettle from the sink and floated it onto the stove to boil. In the meantime, he went back and sat on the couch.

Is this really what I want? Rock Bottom asked himself once again, like he had so many times before. Is this what I need? He tried to talk himself out of it, like he had so many times before. What if I fail? What happens then? He tried to keep himself from certainty, like he had so many times before.

Still, the result was the same: Rock Bottom had finally found a calling, and Celestia be damned if he was going to ignore it.

The kettle announced the completion of its task with a loud whistling. Teabags in the teapot, one, two, three. Water, lid, wait five minutes. Rock Bottom looked in the closet to check if everything was still there, like he had so many times before.

The manifest proved constant.

In a break from routine, Rock Bottom floated a comb from his bathroom and attempted to pull his mane into something that didn't resemble debris from a hurricane. This soon proved itself impossible, so he tossed the comb into the kitchen sink.

After what felt like five minutes, but was likely closer to three, Rock Bottom retrieved his second-favorite mug from the side table by the couch, ignoring that he'd already used it last night, and finally made himself some tea. Food didn't seem appropriate for the occasion, so Rock Bottom allowed breakfast to halt at the cup of warm liquid he held in his aura.

The couch beckoned, and Rock Bottom sat down again. The squeaking it made as he allowed his weight to settle on the cushions sent him into another episode of musing on the meaning of the rocks on his flanks. He'd never liked rocks much in the past, but another interpretation had since taken his conscience by storm.

The day's location had been a finicky matter, too. There just weren't that many places that satisfied Rock Bottom's stringent requirements. Nevertheless, he'd eventually settled on a bridge just north of town. The hoofrails there looked strong enough, and the preparations could be carried out quickly and easily.

He drained his first mug and made another in short order. The front door, which had seemed foreboding in the past weeks, now appeared more benevolent. Rock Bottom didn't smile at the idea. He decided to save the last mug-worth of tea in the pot for later, in case all didn't go according to plan.

In due course, Rock Bottom realized it was getting darkerout, rather than lighter; he'd woken up in the evening, rather than the morning as he'd previously thought. This didn't disappoint him, however. A minimum of witnesses, while not required, was more desirable than the alternative. A hissing noise attracted Rock Bottom's attention.

Crap, I left the stove on. Leaving behind a fire would be inconsiderate.

Rock Bottom finished his tea, left his second-favorite mug on the side table by the couch and looked in the closet to check if everything was still there, like he had so many times before.

The manifest proved constant.

In the past, Rock Bottom had considered writing a couple of letters, but ultimately decided he couldn't be bothered. Now, though, he was second-guessing that decision. However, there wasn't time for that now, and something that probably approximated remorse ran through his mind.

Rock Bottom had known ponies in the past, to be sure. However, in an earth pony town, unicorns tended to stand out to their classmates, and nopony seemed much willing to cross the racial gap. The jobs he'd worked since he'd graduated had proved more advantageous, but he'd quit his last one when he'd come up with something close to his final plan.

The numbers said Rock Bottom was smart. They said he was very smart, in fact, but he'd never mustered the coordination or willpower to leave this podunk town in what amounted to Outer Ponegolia. And it wasn't as though the opportunities hadn't presented themselves. Rock Bottom just couldn't be bothered, for one bullshit reason or another, to take advantage of them. He knew his plan was a waste of a mind that could have done more with itself. Disappointment was not an unusual reaction to his life choices.

Rock Bottom shook his head. He was procrastinating now, like he had so many times before. Action was the order of the day… or the night, as the case may have been.

The unicorn went to the closet one last time, not to check the things he'd been keeping such a close eye on, but to retrieve them. He loaded his supplies into a pair of saddlebags, checked that the stove was off, closed the curtains, floated the bags onto his back and left through the front door.

The little village Rock Bottom had lived in his entire life was way out in the countryside, but it had somehow avoided all the pretty bits of your stereotypical countryside. The houses had a brutalist quality to them. The paths were narrow and the greenery sparse. The fields surrounding most of the village spoke more of obligation than creation, and the "river" on the north edge of the town was naught but a foul-smelling creek.

Rock Bottom didn't bother with taking a scenic route to the bridge. There wasn't much to see in the twilight that came ever quicker in the autumn months and, in any case, the village had never proved itself much worth the extra walking.

A breeze ruffled Rock Bottom's gray coat as he made his way through the tight spaces between the underwhelming architecture. Lucky it's not winter, he thought to himself. Snow would make this way harder.

A few minutes later, the bridge came into view. It was an unremarkable affair: A wooden structure with metal hoofrails standing about 4 meters above the creek. The bridge creaked a bit as Rock Bottom set hoof on it, but was otherwise unresponsive to his presence.

Rock Bottom took a minute to glance around, looking for anypony who might try to stop him. The streets were empty, though. Nopony around here stayed out late if they could avoid it.

It was finally time for Rock Bottom to make his final preparations. He set his bag down on the bridge and floated out a rope and a roll of masking tape. With the ease of a pony who'd spent hours practicing, he bent the end of the rope into an S shape and began tightly coiling the loose end around the rest of the S shape, stopping when he reached eight coils.

After pulling everything tight and adjusting the resulting loop, he dropped it on the ground, picked up the masking tape in his magic and placed his forehooves on the rope. One by one, he leap-frogged his hooves down the rope, counted out hoof-widths. When he reached 20, he tore off some masking tape and wrapped it around the rope. Then he checked his work by stepping back along the rope, counting all the way.

If only he'd been so thorough in his other responsibilities throughout his life.

Rock Bottom nodded his approval of his own work, picked up the rope and draped it over the nearest hoofrail, taping it in place at the previously-taped position. Then he found the other loose end.

This time, he brought it to the other hoofrail, put two loops in the rope, slipped the loose end under and around the hoofrail, then back up to and through each loop, around the standing end of the rope and finally down through the loops again, He then fed the standing end of the rope through the knot until he'd removed what he judged to be enough slack from the rope that crossed the surface of the bridge.

Rock Bottom had never been a religious pony. He decided he wasn't going to start being one now. With a parting glance at the only place he'd ever seen, he climbed onto the rail, two legs over the bridge and two over the water. He then placed the knotted loop of rope over his own neck and scooched himself up to the sticky spot where the masking tape had just been.

Is this really what I want? he asked himself one last time.

A couple seconds later, he came to the same conclusion he'd reached so many times before: Yes. Yes, it is what I want.

Rock Bottom allowed gravity to pull his body over the rail.