The Collection

My existence is a question mark. It is something I do not understand, cannot comprehend. Every day I wonder about its meaning and I wonder if there is any meaning left at all. If it was all destroyed or if there was nothing in the first place to destroy. But I exist and to me, that’s enough because to be is simply better than to not be. And I feel there is something waiting for me. Maybe it’s my light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe, maybe it’s my meaning.

I asked Desond for the Sound the other day. I won’t anymore. He did not know what I meant, he didn’t understand, and I felt embarrassed. He wanted clarification, my friends, but I assumed he had nothing of the Sound and I wanted my secret obsession to stay a secret, so I held off my questions. I also never asked him about the cello.

I played Rock today. There was a big one, and I wanted to see how many times I had to kick it against the wall until it would break. Seventy-three. Seventy-three times.

I played with my ball after that, a rubber ball I don't remember where I got it from. That wouldn’t break, but it bounced, and I thought that was pretty cool. I liked it a lot actually, and I will call it: Playing Ball.

I went to write it down but I ran out of post-its. That’s not good, my friends.

I asked Desond, but he ran all out of them. He told me his guy disappeared. I didn’t care about this and I was angry at him for changing the subject. He said there is something called a post office out West and I should go there but be careful. I said ok.

He was sick. It was clear. His green body had gray in it, his hair was fading, his skin appeared older and wrinkled. His large nose looked crumbly. I asked him about this and he said not to worry.

He told me to be careful one last time and gave me exact directions. Something about Furrows and Decker. Then I was off.

I thankfully did have my bag with me, but it did not have much. A small metal pipe I wanted to bring because it looked cool, a can of beans I saved for a while, and a coloring book. I had nothing to color it in with, so I just looked at the pictures.

In every photo there was a large mare with a flowing mane that smiled. There must have been around fifty photos in that book, and they were all populated with the large mare. There were words below every photo.

“Princess Celestia loves all the children”

That was underneath a photo of the large mare, Maybe Celestia, looking over little ponies who were smiling. I noticed they all had something on their flanks, and this confused me. I did not know what that was. A sun on Maybe Celestia, a watch on one of the children; another one had a yo-yo.

I made sure I was going the right way, and when I made sure I was, I made a left and flipped through some more pages. I saw more photos, more drawings, and I was impressed. I was confused. I needed to ask Desond what those images were.

Another drawing had Maybe Celestia staring straight outward, smiling.

Celestia Loves You!

I smiled. She smiled. We both smiled. I smiled through the gray air, I smelled ashes, I smelled smoke. I smiled at her, she smiled back up at me, and I wanted to color her in with anything but gray and orange and black. I wanted to make her green and blue and yellow, colors I knew existed, I knew were once used because of my faded antiques. But I wished to see them brighter for Celestia, to make her beautiful and ask why the sun is on her back and why it was gone and why I can barely see it through the thick gray fog. No answer. No answer. Silence.

I saw I was there. It had a sign in the window—Canterlot Mail Service. A pony smiling, with a letter in her hoof. I went in.

The walls were a faded blue, and the room smelled like burning paper. In the corner a fire raged. It was unpleasant. A counter stood to the side, and behind that I saw drawers. Drawers with possibly many things I needed. So I made my way away from the fire, careful, jumping over the counter. Blue was the place. Faded blue. It was always faded blue.

I opened the drawers and I experienced a range of emotions, my friends. I saw paper, and I was joyus, but it was filled with writing, and I was sad. All the drawers were the same, filled with papers, papers filled with words, words filled with meaning. It was too much, so I stopped. Just then, I know it’s silly, I saw letters strewed out across the marble floor, white. They blended in. I picked one up, one more manilla than the others. It had no stamp or address or nothing. I knew of stamps because I collected many.

Inside was an index card.

To remind you of Her, to cease your worries, to put your troubles aside. Remember, She is there, and She is You. Remember Her Words.

I am The Lamb To Feast Upon
I am The Center For All
I am The Equilibrium
I am Your Sun

Rejoice, be glad. Rejoice, sing. Rejoice.

I understood none of it, the writing was still too small to comprehend. But I decided to collect it, and I slipped it in my knapsack.

I saw pens and pencils and I picked them up, I saw post-it’s, and I picked them up. I was happy now. Desond was right.

I hopped over the counter, and made my way out when I heard a whoosh from behind. I turned around my friends, and I saw a door that was hidden in the back open a notch. I did not even notice it there before, my friends, and I thought maybe it magically appeared, but then again magic no longer existed. It was a fable. And so I must have missed it, but it was a solid door of white, solid, large. Metal it seemed, and I wondered how it opened. Surely a gust of wind was not strong enough my friends. And so I was interested, interested in the dark space behind the door, and so I carefully, cautiously, began to creep my way toward the sturdy door. I finally arrived, I pulled it back slowly, and I was greeted with a wooden staircase that led down into a dark abyss. I heard wind down there, whoosing. Something was moving, a draft. Now my interest was piqued. I already experienced such a great haul, and my ambition got the best of me. So, with a deep breath, and with a confident grab of my knapsack, I went down.

The smell, my friends. The smells were so strong I thought I might puke. Oh no, my friends, simply: oh no. Dusty and moldy, but yet my hooves were driven forward. The dark became a blanket, I felt enclosed in it’s grasp. Rickety were the steps, creaking in pain as I stepped. My eyes were worth nothing. I felt my mind warped. I heard the wind now and it was saying something I could not make out. It sounded scared.

It was cool, and my hooves pressed down on hard concrete, cold, and it shocked me and my body, and the wind now was terrible. It hurt my ears. It screamed. I couldn’t find the steps. I felt myself falling from the cold and wind, the wind with no temperature, bringing neither heat nor cold, bringing talk, bringing pain and paranoia. Why was I here? I regretted it as it became an orchestra of noise, something unreal, something out of this world. I fell, I fell and my hoof reached out for something and landed on string and it was pulled. A light was switched as I hit the dusty floor.

How quick my ambition was squandered, how quick. I wanted nothing more than to flee, and with the light, surley I would be able. But as I hurriedly pushed myself up, the wind ceased. Stopped. And I looked around and saw that it was an unfinished basement, and the light casted white on all. It casted itself on boxes, cardboard, metal shelves both rusty and old. It smelled.

I glanced at a corner, to my right, where the light shined on the least. Something was there, something large, something slender. Something with legs. I saw it reaching out, I saw limbs, skinny yet long, reaching over the corner wall. I froze. The giant spider was hanging on the wall.

I felt wind again, but this time it was centered. It was focused. And because of it, I could hear it.

“The pocket locket, who came? Who came to see, with me and my pocket locket. You heard?”

A whisper, coarse and rash. I wished to say something, but I could not.

“Yickitty yam, do you see me? You see me? You see? Flee!”

I couldn't.

“Run for thee yickitty yams, run for the hills, run, my fellow, for a pocket locket, Ms. Pocket Locket indeed.”

I saw the spider twitch. It jutted out from the corner as if it was in front of something. The wind read my thoughts.

“Run for thee yickity yams, run, for ye beesmerch me with ye, run for nothing hides beneath.”

“I am not convinced.” I do not know why those were the first words I spoke.

The wind seemed offended. “I have seen ye, what ye? What ye? Come from the Yickitty Yams?”

“I do not know where that is.”

“Liar. Ye must have seen those yickitty yams, white hills, no?”

I gave no answer.

“Ye want, ye want me? Or what lies beneath or behind? Ye understand?”

“No.”

“Ye no understand? Tis for me, what nature. What nature art thee? Thee come here for me? Who told yeee? Tis treasure for me.”

My ears perked. “Treasure?”

The wind screamed. “FOR ME, NOT FOR YE!” The spider hunched, and I saw it clearer now it moved into the light. Those legs were metal, glistening with silver. It had a long black body that did indeed hide something underneath. It was large, maybe as such a closet, but the light hit off the front and it reflected.

“Naw, ye leave.”

“I heard you from upstairs.”

The voice was calmer, but unsteady. It wanted me to leave.

“Talking to me yeself, ye. Where ye from? Ye know me? Thou understand my danger? Run for thee yickity yams.”

I think it thought I was something else. “I don’t know what you are. I am sorry.”

The wind took offense. “They call moi la Skinner, the Skinner. Flesh is me passion, ye understand. Ye know. So leave me be, leave me bee for ye skin.”

I was petrified in my stance, after this statement. It would take my flesh, it wanted to. If I turned, I was afraid I would be attacked. It was cold, I felt the tension. It was easy to discern. It would not let me leave.

“I have no skin.”

“No skin, no skin for moi? Ye levee with no skin, ye exist? Liar.”

“No.”

“Nothing for ye here, ye leave.”

I slowly slipped my knapsack off.

“Ye have skin, ye lie to me. I should kill ye.”

I said nothing. I felt something cold and metal and I knew it was the pole. I gingerly took it out.

“I speak. Moi speak and ye shall listen. Turn and leave now and I won't kill ye, ye understand? Understand moi dialect?”

I knew it was lying from the cold, from the wind and the way it leered at me, it nipped at me. Even if I backed away I was sure it would follow after me. I thought about it’s name, the Skinner. It sounded boastful, prideful.

“You are the real Skinner?”

“Of course I am. Ya thinck moi lie? I no lie like ye.”

“I have heard legends of the Skinner.” I have not.

Again, the air tensed and the spider in the corner eased. The pipe hung in my right hoof,barely off the ground, hiding it from the monster.

“Ye should have. Moi was deadly. Ye heard me origin?”

“I don’t recall.”

“I was cast away, ye I was, true that. Cast after a foul pickett by la Princess. She mad at meh for simply pacifying meself. Ye know?”

“Yes.”

“All must pacify ourselves somehow, don't ya reckon? I reckon so. I do.”

“I see.”

It did not stop. “I would hunt these pony folks, hunt em, and skin em, hang em on my wall. I was no bother to nopony. But no matter, moi was cast. Cast with no sight. Ya see, my tarturus friend, cast away.”

“Right.”

The wind continued. “Ye know, I was mighty suspicious of ye, thought you were out to steal me treasure. Knowledge goes well. I’ll be making ye a deal.”

My back stiffened. “What kind of deal?”

I was sure if it had a face, the spider would have smiled. “Ye give me that backpack, no problem. No problemo. Righteous time, ye here? Ye told?”

I knew it would seal my doom, but I could not do that. In this world, all a mare can have is her possessions. What they own and found, what they identified with. No children or cousins or friends, only your items that represent you. Currency was for giving, items were for trading. But to give one up…giving away a possession would mean giving away your soul. So I could not say yes, my friends. I simply could not. And now I knew the next course of action.

“I cannot do that, and I will be off. Please let me go.”

Before the wind could pick up again, I turned around, and the fur on my neck stood up. The wind growled, and I heard metal scraping, and I knew it was in flight, whoosing. Closing my eyes, because I was oh so afraid, my friends. I turned around and swung, and whiffed air. A second didn’t go by before I felt myself tackled to the ground. As I fell I swung the pole again and the sound of metal against metal filled the air. There was nothing musical about it; it was unpleasant. I opened my eyes now and I had trouble seeing. It was on me, black body hovering, no face, no nothing, just black shape. Its rods placed around me. One raised.

"ETIS MINE ETIS MINE ETIS MINE!” fdfproicsnhcspscpjaddpjdjopadpojad

I dropped my pipe, I looked up and I saw it was behind my head. The wind kept screaming, and I reached out a hoof and grabbed hold of the pipe. I turned around and I heard a whoosh and I saw red. The metal leg stabbed into my right eye, and before the pain could fully register, before I could hear it threatening to skin me alive and boil it and eat it and to kill everything I ever knew, I shoved the pole upwards. I felt it squeeze into the body with a squish sound. I felt it writhe on the pole. Now the pain kicked in, and I was pushing upwards as I felt my eye bleeding, I felt it giving way. It screeched, the monster itself screeched, an agonizing sound, piercing my ears, and I screeched back. I yelled “this is what you fucking get!” I felt liquid splash onto me, and I heard it curse me, and I felt it get slower and slower with it's movements. The liquid burned, it felt like tar. Tears or blood ran down my eye.

I gasped for breath, and the liquid I knew nothing about seeped into my mouth. It mixed with the blood and my mouth was full of the taste of pesticide. I spat it out and I squealed for help, but I did not need it anymore. As my eye screeched with pain of a million suns, the spider stopped moving. It's final words were hard to distinguish. It sounded as if it said to enjoy it's curse. And I tossed it aside, and once I did so, I immediately began clutching my right eye.

It was wet to the touch, and my voice echoed throughout the post station. I vaguely remembered Desond warning me not to scream. Some would come, not to help. But it didn't matter to me, I needed to scream. I had to. It was all I wanted to do, was to scream and scream until my throat was sore, until saliva mixed with blood.

I could squish my closed eye socket, it almost sucked my hoof in. I knew then my eye was gone, and the pain and screaming subsided. My other eye could open now, and I realized how fucked I was. I lost something. I lost something valuable. I lost my eye.

I tried to translate that. It did not take my collection. It took a piece of me. I didn't know which one was worse.

Then I passed out.

~

I dreamed of white. I dreamed of the white sea and it looked beautiful and I dreamed of pomegranate and apples and I dreamed of oranges that were so juicy coming from the white sea out in the white sea out there with the fruits of labor and I saw her in the deep end and she was eating pomegranate hmmm yum I love it she loves it the waves hit the shore the shore is sand the shore is rocks not white but close but the sea oh the sea is white with oranges and apples and pomegranates and the voice out in the sea says stop it says no it says dont come because I'm not finished and I dreamed myself telling the voice no asking the voice why and why and it said because I had to save them and I said how they said figure it out and they said one must fight in order to live nothing comes easy without suffering they said no love comes without loss I said ok they said eat not the pomegranate to live out there I asked why it said go I said ok and the breeze came and I smiled and I looked down and blood dripped and I couldn't see anything and I was falling and I couldn't wake up.

I saw her there, the mare of my dreams. My life. My light at the end of the tunnel.

~

I woke in the basement. I was lying in a pool, of what I was not sure. I did not even try to open my right eye. I knew. My left saw the light, much dimmer now. I smelled of chemicals. I smelled of it. Oh no my friends, this was less than ideal. My left eye could blink and move, so ok. I slowly got up, my right side aching. Everything ached. I felt caked in something. I saw something in the corner where it once was, what it was protecting. A large mirror stood in the corner. My poor knapsack was ruined, its black cloth spread across the cold floor. The beans were opened up, ruined, so was the coloring book. Most of the post-it's were destroyed too, but a wad of maybe ten still survived. It's funny, I couldn't remember why I needed them. I put both things in my mouth, which tasted disgusting, and picked up two pieces of cloth. After struggling for twenty minutes, I was able to tie it around my right eye, and then tied the mirror to my back. I started up the steps, creaking. Nothing came for my screaming. I did not know whether to be delighted or depressed. And so I trusted I knew my way, my gut was usually good with these things, as I staggered in the street, and I prayed to Maybe Celestia that nothing would show up, that everything would be dead like the Skimmer. Skinner. Whatever.

I found the square, I saw Desond, and he was smiling until he saw me. His mouth made a weird “o” shape.

“Holy fuck Octy, wa’ da fuq happned?” He glanced over my back. “Is that a fuqing mirror?”

“Don’t worry Desond. It doesn’t matter,” I said through the items in mouth.

“Octy, ya have black fucking shit all over yaself. What the fuq Octy? What the fuq! Here, take some water.”

“No, Desond, no, not for free. Let me pay for it tomorrow.”

“What are ya talking bout? Fuq? Take it!”

“No.”

“Octy, quit fuqing around, jus take-”

“I SAID NO!”

He was taken aback and looked down sheepishly as I walked on.

“Jeez Octy, wa happened?”

I said nothing, and I knew I was crying this time.

I walked into my theatre and I felt relieved. I felt at home. I put both the notes and mirror next to my bed. I saw how truly horrible Iooked and I wondered why I did not take the water, and I think it’s because it was not mine, and I went to sleep thinking maybe I would give up on taking things from others. I wondered if I owned anything at all.