My eyes flashed open from the pain as the migraine started its attack. Its force was unrelenting, its hatred for me clear. It banged on my skull, stabbed the brain inside with hot nails, and threw the broken pieces around my head.
All I could do was sit on what I felt was a chair, and grit my teeth in a desperate attempt to control the pain. Tears blurred my vision, and the agony in my forehead clouded my thoughts. I did not know who or where I was, or my purpose here. All I knew was pain.
Then, in a split second, the migraine was gone, leaving no traces that it ever arrived in the first place. My head was now clear, and the tears that shrouded my eyesight seemingly evaporated. Still, I closed my eyes, convinced it would come back for more if I let down my guard.
I waited for what felt like hours, but the suffering thankfully never returned. Cautiously, my eyes opened. Slowly the room appeared to me and once it was in a clear view, I immediately began studying every feature it offered. It was a small room- no bigger than a child’s bedroom- that was bare of any furniture or decorations. There was no sign of any light source, despite the room seeming well lit. There was no door anywhere that could have served as an entrance or exit. What caught my attention most of all, though, was the red velvet that covered every inch of the room; even the ceiling was this soft, red material. The velvet combined with the light to give the room a red, ethereal glow.
I was sure that I had never visited this place before in my life; at the same time, the room seemed strangely familiar. Perhaps in visions. Dreams. Concrete memories floated just outside my cognitive reach. I closed my eyes and tried to remember who I was, where I was, and why I was here.
In bits and pieces, memories returned to me, bringing small bits of information as they came. Other memories-older ones- teased me, almost begging me to reve in their past. I refused, as they were ancient and forbidden. I only remembered the recent ones, the ones that proved necessary to my bizzare situation.
When I gathered all the memories I needed, I finally understood. With a massive sigh of relief, I sank into my chair properly; the soft material of the seat comfortably supported my flank. I stretched my aching forehooves, which I unknowingly had gripping the handles like a vice. I opened my mouth to whisper it, to make it all the more real:
“My name is Twilight Sparkle, and I am dead.”
This room was empty of everything. Of substance, sound, smell. It was just me and my chair.
I closed my eyes to dive even deeper into my memory, but this time I needn’t bother. My own mind worked itself and conjured something up from my memories, even the old ancient ones I had not touched in centuries. These forbidden memories opened up themselves, and I could not stop myself. I opened my eyes to find the once bare room now completely transformed.
The scent of hidden pastries and cakes filled my nostrils. Sweet and delicious. Party streamers, posters, and hats hung from the walls, almost absorbed in the fluffy velvet walls which, curiously, had not changed. Balloons of all different colors (red, green, and blue just to name a few) were trapped on the ceiling, roaming around the surface aimlessly. I heard a piano play a merry song somewhere past the velvet, and I could even hear voices singing along with muffled lyrics.
I paid little notice to these changes, just enough to realize they were there; instead, I fixed my attention to the new pony that sat a few feet before me.
Her pink, poofy mane; her large blue eyes that appeared to see everything; her large, infectious smile that stretched from ear to ear on a face with a lighter pink than her mane. Memories I had long forgotten had been brought back to the surface of my cognition. I feared the remeberance would feel unpleasant, downright painful, as I had worked so hard to stow away these memories. Instead, I wept tears of joy at the relic that I once called a friend. A friend who I knew had thrown the craziest parties for all ponies and events. A friend who could always make anypony smile and laugh, no matter how bad their day could have possibly been.
She had died long ago.
“Pinkie Pie,” I say, the words sounding dusty yet familiar. I return her smile graciously. “It’s been too long.”
My friend giggled as her eyes shined in the mysterious light. “Well of course it’s been a long time! I’ve been here for… well… a long time, that’s for sure!”
I wanted to run over to her and give her a hug; I prayed she wouldn’t collapse into dust, that she was at least somewhat real.
But I just sat, and another question rolled off my tongue. “But… why you? Why not anypony else?”
Pinkie just shrugged, her smile never-ending. “Ask yourself, silly! I’m here because of that noggin, after all.” She then leaned in towards me, her eyes darting in every direction as if worried somepony might be listening to our conversation. Pinkie Pie whispered, “But if it was up to me, I wouldn’t think about myself for too long. Might make you start to feel bad. We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”
I nodded as I considered her words. “You’re right Pinkie. My memories are… failing me right now. I just remembered you and…” I paused to rub at my watering eyes before sniffling and continuing. “Anyways, it’s good to see you again. I hope you’re, uh… alright here.”
Pinkie blew a raspberry as she slouched in her chair.“Pftttttt! To tell you the truth, being dead ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. It’s all just one big waiting game, Twilight. You see, we’re all shoved in this one giant room. All of us that are dead, I mean. There’s this clock on the wall in front of us, and all we ever do is stare at that clock. It takes a while for it’s hands to move, but when the tiny hand budges, a bunch of new ponies join us! If we know them, we even give them a greeting. Then we wait for the next batch of ponies to greet.” The smile was starting to get on my nerves.
“The room keeps getting bigger to fit everpony. but it hasn’t gotten bigger in a long while. The clock says it’s been midnight for a while now, and I’ve started getting anxious. Greeting ponies is just in my nature, y’know?” She then turned away from me and looked at the party materials attached to the velvet walls. “Can I ask you a question, Twilight?” She didn't wait for my affirmative. She just kept rambling on.
“Doesn’t this whole room scream ‘party?’ That's what it seems like to me, at least.”
I was desperate to change the subject. I tried to move on.
“Hey Pinkie, I love seeing you again, but I know why I’m here. I remember that now.”
Pinkies looked at me again. “Oh really?”
“Yeah,” I say with false confidence. “That… thing. It told me I could get what I wanted. Start anew. Didn’t tell me much after that, but…”
“Doesn’t sound like you understand the mess you’re getting yourself into,” interrupted Pinkie Pie. “Are you sure you remember everything?”
“Yes of course I do,” I said, quick to defend myself. “I remember that encounter very clearly. I was just told very little about it.”
“Then why’d you take the offer?”
Visions of dust and dirt and sand whirled through my mind. Abandoned towns and crumpled mountains were hidden in the dunes. “I couldn’t stay in that wasteland. There was nothing left.”
And just why is that? I started asking myself questions I already knew the answer to.
“Because I failed everypony,” I said out loud. “It’s all my fault.”
You’re right about that Twilight. You’ve ignored it for too long.
“No, I’ve always known it was my fault. I’ve just never looked at the details.”
Coward.
Liar.
Stupid
Bastard.
I started to remember.
“Alright, enough of that you silly filly!” Pinkie’s cheery tone cut through my self loathing, and for a brief moment I felt better.
“Now Twilight, this is very important,” Pinkie continued. “I want you to help rebuild Equestria from the ground up. You are the most qualified pony to do so. Even when that place was long abandoned you stuck around hoping by some miracle, life would grow again.”
“Wait, I thought I was dead.” I say, frowning with confusion.
“Not exactly,” Pinkie Pie said, and then chuckled. “You’re not exactly alive either.”
“Then what am I?”
Pinkie Pie was now staring into my eyes, the red glow of the room dancing across her features, and I began to feel fear. The friend I had remembered was gone. This was just a hollow duplicate. It’s eyes were fake. It’s mane was fake. That damn smile was fake. I felt like I had been trapped, just like those balloons up on that ceiling.
Pinkie took a while to open her mouth, but when she did, the words came out definite and final. I could find no cheer.
“A constant. The one constant that builds and destroys the world. That is your new task. You’ll help repeat the cycle, and keep everything in order. Then, when the time comes, you’ll finally rest. But only when the job is done.”
She narrowed her eyes, and I felt horrifically seen. My mind was on the fritz. Half forgotten memories were flashing through my mind, and I was starting to make out the details. That piano was growing louder, but the song was no longer happy. It was slower and distorted. The voices still sung along, incomprehensible as ever. I was sure I had gone insane…
A balloon popped. I nearly jumped out of my seat as my instincts turned my gaze upwards.
The balloons were gone.
I bit my lip. My mind raced. There had to be a balloon up there. They couldn’t have all vanished with just one pop. “Pinkie? I, uh… don’t think I can do… whatever you want me to do.”
She didn’t answer.
“Pinkie?” Against my better judgment, I turned to look.
Pinkie Pie was frowning. The entire bottom half of her face- from muzzle to chin- had been absorbed by her mouth; her teeth were disturbingly white and straight, looking out of place from the rest of her mouth.
What unnerved me the most was the frown itself. It’s edges exceeded well past Pinkies face, somehow hanging off her borders by nearly an entire foot. A black ink soon began to drip from those edges, and an impossible waterfall formed. The velvet floor absorbed the ink when it fell, it’s mild red color shifting into a midnight black.
I sat petrified in my seat as my senses were continuously assaulted. The piano and voices were screaming at me; the pastries now smelled rotten; ripped up posters and crumpled streamers laid broken on the floor. The light had reflected off the ink and bathed the room in a dark and sinister glow.
Then, out of the pool of slimy blackness, a hoof rose. I watched in horror as a figure, dripping in ink, pulled itself out of the pool; first a horned head, and then the rest of it followed. It rose like a demon exiting Tartarus, its limbs long and stiff. When it stood, it’s crooked head turned to stare at me. I expected to feel a strong sense of hatred emanating off of those eyes, but instead I felt… nothing. It was as if it never stared at me at all.
It trudged over to my chair, and I found that I could not move. Truth was, I wanted that thing to come to me, to possibly end this hell I put myself in. The screaming was unbearable, and the memories were coming in fast.
The thing's face startled me as it pressed its ink covered head to mine. I lost track of it for a moment, and it caught me off guard. The black was cold as ice water, and it made its way down my entire body.
It enveloped my skinc acting like a thin sheet of armor. It burned from the cold, and I had to scream. It burned my chest, my hooves, my wings; everything that had once been my very own was covered in something completely foreign.
As the ink dripped off the thing’s body onto my own, I could finally see it’s face. I gasped. What I saw was a broken version of myself, with wrinkles tugging at chapped lips, black voids where eyes should have been, and a grayed, whispery mane. I could only identify it was myself because I could finally see the things with wings outstretched on her sides.
The ink reached my face and filled my mouth and my muzzle so I could no longer scream. It tasted bitter. Before it coated my body entirely, I saw my broken self’s mouth crack open, and out came a voice as old and loud as the wind: “I am sorry, but I must rest. Do not worry though, for death is eternal, yet you are not.”
I had no time to ponder her words before the ink blacked me out, and everything that had once been on my mind was stopped to a halt.
Then, in a instance, it began again.
Berry Punch was running from something invisible. She winced as rose bushes pricked at her hooves and tree branches she hadn’t bothered to avoid smacked at her face. Yet no matter the pain, she continued to run away from something she was sure was out to get her.
The moon illuminated nothing from its place high in the sky; Berry Punch ran in near complete darkness. Her hooves ached with every step, but still she moved on. She had to hope that wherever she was going, it would bring her to safety.
Her hind legs suddenly snagged on a root, and the mare fell to the ground. Her face smacked against the dirt, and for a second she saw a flash of white. Something warm dripped down her muzzle, and a pain raged a war inside her head. She tried to stand up, but yelped as she put pressure on her left hind leg.
It was busted.
Cursing at the ground, Berry Punch began to crawl. Grass and dirt was ripped from the earth as she put all her power in saving herself.
One of her hooves brushed against what felt like a tree, and Berry Punch threw herself upon its bark. She slid along the exterior of the tree so that if the creature was following her direct path, it would not see her.
Hopefully it would be stupid enough to leave without exploring.
For a forest, the environment was surprisingly silent. Cicadas and crickets made no signs they were even there, and despite feeling a cold wind press against her prespirated fur, the wind’s rustling made no sound. Berry Punch could only hear the sound of her own hurried breathing and her pounding heartbeat.
Berry Punch sat there, her head slumped against the trees base, and slowly began to calm herself. Despite the pain in her forehead and bum leg, the mare started to gain hope. As her body slowed itself, her mind was filled with hope and visions of taverns and virgin mares bedrooms. She smiled as she convinced herself she’d see the sun again, and that this would all recede as a bad nightmare.
Perhaps it was the alcohol that still ran fresh in her body that gave her such foolish hope.
Suddenly, Berry Punch felt the tree move against her head. She went to turn around, but I didn’t give her the chance.
Her head fell to the ground with a dull thud. The rest of her body soon followed.
Forever pretty now.
I stared at the serene image for a while before the body dissipated into the darkness, as well as the moon I had set above.
I would be the only one who would ever see this headless corpse- in the real world, the drunk would be found in her bedroom, surrounded by dozens of empty gin bottles and chunks of vomit lodged in her throat.
That was her death. What I had just given her was a bridge to her new life.
The decapitation was entirely unnecessary, but it was one of the few ways I could satiate my growing anger. I knew it was only time before I met my friends in my own world, and I dreaded that inevitable moment. Dread turned to rage, and rage turned to meaningless violence
The ponies I tended to now gradually became ones I recognized from my own memories- this individual being one of them. Everytime I remembered something, I received a viscous migraine, each one as terrible as the first one in the red velvet room. I could not stand them, yet at the same time I could not keep them at bay. I was a slave to my own mind.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. There was no time to dwell on the future. I knew I could not avoid it, nor could I change it. I closed my eyes, and sent myself to the next dead soul. Just as I had since the beginning.
