Left and Leaving

by Indie Cred

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Sad, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 5772

A pegasus deals with the loss of someone dear to him.

Left and Leaving is a short story about the loss of a loved one, and the emotions that go hand in hand with it. There is some harsh language in this story, so be warned. Sometimes the generally accepted faux-curses of the pony world don't convey the emotion required.

I wrote this story over about 5 hours. I started writing because I was bored, but have found it to be rather therapeutic. This story was difficult for me to write, as it opens up a lot of well hidden emotions. On more than one occasion, I had to stop as the memories I was working from became too painful to focus on.

This is not a happy story, though it isn't exactly a sad story either. A few years ago, this would have had a very different ending, but I've been trying to focus more on redemption these days. I'm not the happiest camper out there, but I'm trying to get myself better. Writing this has helped some.

Published 2012-09-24 03:24:02 UTC
Last updated 2012-09-24 03:24:02 UTC

Chapter 1

Everyone keeps asking me if I’m okay. They ask me to tell them how I’m feeling, or to just “let it out”. I’ve never been one to just open up, so I continue to sit in silence, staring at the floor. Nobody told me it was going to be like this. If I had known, things might have been different.

I was always a quiet kid, never one to make waves. I tended to sit at the back of the class, only half paying attention. I didn’t have friends, and didn’t think I needed them. I was fine by myself, and truly believed that I preferred solitude. I watched the others running around, yelling and playing. Too much noise for me. Too many ponies.

I never felt comfortable around others. I preferred to sit alone and think, or to read a book. For the most part, the others left me alone to my thoughts. Every once in a while the teacher would try to get me to join in with the others, but after a few awkward minutes of tag or foursquare, I would excuse myself and return to my spot under the tree, resigning myself to watch.
Eventually, everyone gave up on trying to get me to join in. It was obvious I had no interest in them. Obvious to everyone but one pony.

Nimble was an odd pony to say the least. She was always energetic, which would seem common, but that she took an interest in me was strange. I remember the day she showed up at our school. Her family had moved from Trottingham to Manehattan for work. Most children tend to be shy or unsure when they enter a new school, but not Nimble. She seemed excited for the challenge the new location had provided. She wasted no time in introducing herself to everyone in the class, and was quickly accepted.

A few days after she had begun at our school, she began talking to me. As usual, I was sitting in my favorite spot, under the oak tree. She sat down next to me, and without any introduction, began telling me about herself. Her family, her new home, everything. I was taken aback, this was the first time anyone had spoken to me for more than a moment, let alone telling me their entire life story. When she finished, she got up and began to walk away before pausing. “Oh, yeah! What’s your name?” she asked, as if the thought of an introduction had just occurred to her. “Umm… Vapor…” I replied quietly.
She walked back over to me, her head cocked to the side. “I didn’t quite catch that!” She said cheerfully.

“Vapor.” I replied more loudly.

“Stiiiill didn’t hear ya!”

“Vapor!” I nearly shouted, causing some of the others to turn and stare at me. I felt myself beginning to blush.

“Good to meetcha Vapor! Maybe next time you’ll say something too!” And with that, she walked away to join in on a game in progress, leaving me sitting under the oak tree in stunned silence, trying to understand just what had happened.

I had figured it was a one-time thing, but when she sat down next to me the next day, I realized she wasn’t going to leave me alone.

“Soooo? Are you going to say anything today, or am I going to have to do all the talking again?” She asked, a sly smile on her face.

“Why are you even bothering? Everybody else gave up ages ago.” I replied, not looking up from my book.

“I dunno. I figure anyone who thinks this much must have something interesting to say.”
This caught me off guard. I looked up toward her, her smile still wry.

“I don’t really know what to talk about. Everyone else is going on about cutie marks or what games they like. I don’t really care much about that stuff.”

“Okay, so what do you care about?”

“Well.. I umm… I like art…” I said softly.

“Art, huh? Well, let’s talk about that!”

She wasn’t going away, that much was obvious. She wanted to know about me, and I had no clue why. And yet, I found myself talking to her. We talked about famous artists, museums, and anything else that came to mind. Before long, recess was over and we had to go back to class. For the first time I could remember, I wished that I’d had more time to talk.

Chapter 2

I found out last weekend. Nimble had left for her work, as she often did. She was a weather-pony by trade, and had become a regional manager which required her to check up on the weather teams in the area on a regular basis. This trip seemed like any other. Someone had screwed up and now she had to go fix it.

She left Friday morning for some tiny burg in the middle of nowhere, promising to be back by Sunday. I’ll admit I barely looked up from my canvas to say goodbye, something I regret immensely. It had become routine for us at that point though. I worked from home, making my art and selling it in local galleries. She found herself constantly away on business. The arrangement wasn’t perfect by any means, but we made do. My schedule was flexible enough that when she had free time, I could easily stop my work to be with her.

I haven’t been in my studio since then, not that there’s much studio left anymore. I received the news from one of her co-workers on Saturday morning. He told me that there had been “an incident” and that he was “truly sorry for your loss”. I don’t think I even replied to him. I just shut the door and sat down in shock. The words echoed in my head. “Truly sorry for your loss”. I don’t know exactly how it started, but by the time I was finished, I had destroyed nearly everything in my studio. Canvas was torn, brushed snapped. Only one piece was left untouched. I couldn’t bring myself to look at it. I started work on it ages ago, and just couldn’t finish it. It’s missing something, but I can’t place what.

She was always stronger than me. I was very sickly as a child, and as a result I spent most of my time inside, reading. By the time I was well enough to go to a regular school, I had become closed off, uninterested in dealing with others. Though I was healthy enough, the constant sickness in my youth had taken a toll on me physically, leaving me unable to fly for more than a short distance.

She was the opposite of me in almost every way. She was constantly full of energy, zipping around as if lighter than air, never wanting to sit still. While I was quiet and studious, she was always fidgeting, wanting to do something new all the time. They say opposites attract, and I suppose we were the perfect case study for that theory.

Her presence helped me to open up to others a bit, but I never made many friends outside of her. Although I am far more comfortable making small talk with strangers now, I tend not to keep close contact with anyone. Most of the people I consider friends of a sort were met through her, usually by her forcing me to meet them.

We eventually graduated, and went our separate ways to find our places in life. I went to art school to continue my passion, and she left for the Weather Academy. I had figured that was the end of our friendship, as I’ve never been one to keep long distance contact. Then the letters started showing up. They were so conversational, as if she was right there with me. She told me about her day, about how things were going at the Academy, about all the ponies she’d met. I began writing back, and the letters became an everyday routine for us.

We kept contact with each other for four years through letters alone, both of us far too busy to take any time off to visit. Then, one day the letters stopped. At first I figured she was busy with preparations for her finals and didn’t have time to write, but after a week with no response I began to worry.

My graduation from Art School was coming up quickly, but I couldn’t focus on anything. Where was she? I became despondent, my mind coming up with horrible thoughts. “What if she’s hurt? What if she’s dead?!”

Graduation day came, and I found myself on the stage with forty others awaiting our diplomas. My mind was so bogged down with worry, I almost didn’t hear them call me forward to claim my degree. Slowly making my way across the stage, my heart began racing. I hated being up in front of everyone, their eyes staring at me. I looked up, reaching out to accept the prize I had studied so hard for. I had only just taken the paper when I heard someone yelling my name. “Vaaapooooor!”

Something slammed into me, my diploma flying into the air. There was Nimble, hugging me as I lay on the stage. I was in shock. I had no idea what to say, what to do. A chuckle rumbled through the audience, and someone began to clap. Blushing profusely, I stood up and walked off stage, Nimble’s wing over my back.

“Why did you stop writing back?” I asked, once we had found a more private place to speak.

“Well, I wanted to surprise you!” She said cheerily.

“It… I thought something had happened to you.”

“Aww! You’re worrying about me? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you liked me!” She said, that familiar wry smile on her face.

That smile… It was my favorite thing about her. It said so much without a word. It was sarcastic and yet warm at the same time. More than anything I miss that smile of hers.

Most of the guests have left already, returning to their everyday lives. They’ll feel sad for a while, but they will eventually return to a normal state, going about their business as if nothing has really changed. I hear laughter nearby, and the anger in my chest rises. This isn’t a time for jokes. I just wish everyone would leave me in peace. I don’t want sympathy, I just want solitude.

And yet I don’t. I don’t want to go back to how things were before I met her. Even when I was alone in our home, I never felt truly alone. I always knew she would be coming back, that she was only a moment away, and when she returned I felt whole. She was all I needed in life.

That loneliness I felt for so long is already starting to creep back, my thoughts dark and worrying. I wish she were here. She’d know what to say to bring me back. But then, if she were here I wouldn’t need her to help me with this problem. I still can’t bring myself to cry.

Chapter 3

I’ve been sitting here alone for hours now. The guests have all gone, leaving me alone in the room with her casket. The lid is closed, and all I want is one more look at her face, but I can’t bring myself to open the lid.

I get up and move over to a nearby table covered with food and drink. The thought sickened me, everyone eating and drinking, chatting away with each other. It seems… Disrespectful. But it’s just us now, and we were never ones for much formality anyways. I pour myself a generous helping of whiskey, and sit down in the front row, close to the casket.

I’ve never been one for drinking, I prefer to keep my wits about me. Today though, I don’t really care. There’s nobody here to judge me, and I just want to feel something else. I take a large sip and the bitter taste causes me to make a face. Another pain in my heart.

She always laughed when I made that face. Nimble was far more adventurous than I ever was, and loved trying new things. She generally brought me along, saying I needed to “broaden my horizons”. That usually meant I was going to try some strange new food, which I invariably would hate. I never said no though. I would always take a bite, and I’d end up making that same face every time. I’m pretty sure she did that just so I’d make the face for her. I finish the rest of my drink and grimace.

Again, the anger rises in my chest, and without thinking I throw the empty glass at the casket.

“You promised me! You said you’d be back on Sunday!”

I put my head in my hooves and stared at the floor.

“You never break your promises…”

After we had graduated from our respective schools, we were never apart for long. We moved back to Manehattan and got a small apartment in an older district. It was large enough for the two of us and my studio, but small enough that it felt cozy. Nimble applied to be a local weather pony, and I began working on getting recognized in the art community.

At first, things were difficult. I spend days alone in my studio, working furiously on paintings, trying to find something new, something that hadn’t already been done. For the first year Nimble was the only one of us to bring home any pay. We lived day to day, barely scraping by, but we were happy.

I often became so involved in my painting that I would forget to eat, but Nimble was always there to make sure I got something in me. She was the only thing that could break me away from my art. The world could have ended and I’d never have noticed, but when she opened the door I always looked up at her. I’m almost certain that if she hadn’t been there for me, they would have found me starved, slumped over my easel.

Finally, my work began to sell. I began bringing in a modest amount, but to us it was a fortune. We had survived for so long on her pay alone that any extra income seemed like untold riches. I began hiding away some of the money I made from selling my work, keeping it in an old paint pail on my bookshelf. As I became more successful in my art sales, Nimble was able to cut back on her shifts a bit, allowing us more time together. Everything was going smoothly.

I never told her about the extra money I had squirreled away, even when things began to get tight for us. When she broke her leg, we found ourselves almost completely bankrupt. If it weren’t for her workers compensation we would have lost the apartment, but still I kept the money a secret. I had plans, and didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

“Is everything alright in here? I heard something break.” A voice called from behind.

“Everything’s fine. I dropped a glass. I’ll clean it up later.” I replied, not bothering to turn around.

I wait until I hear the hoofsteps moving away before I get up. I walk back over to the table and take the bottle, returning to my seat. Another swig, another face she would have loved.

I feel like I’m the only one who cares she’s gone. I’m the only one still left here. I won’t leave you. You didn’t leave me, at least not on purpose.

An accident, they called it. An unfortunate turn of events. Whatever they call it, it’s all the same thing. Someone screwed up and it cost her life.

They didn’t tell me who was responsible, most likely for that pony’s safety. All I know is Nimble went out to deal with a storm that had gotten out of control. Some new weather pony still being trained up managed to turn it into a hailstorm. Nimble was working on getting things under control when she was hit by a hailstone. She was knocked unconscious midair, but because of the low visibility they couldn’t catch her in time. By the time they found her, she was already gone. The doc said there was no pain. She was limp when she hit the ground.

I begin to shake, sick to my stomach. The mental image of her falling, alone. Hitting the ground. It replays in my mind until I can’t stand it anymore.

I stand up and move to the casket, reaching unsurely towards the lid. Holding my breath, I open it, revealing her body.

She looks perfect, as if nothing had happened. If you didn’t know what had happened, you’d have thought she was sleeping.

I reach out to touch her, but hesitate. I swear I can see her chest rise and fall slightly, as if in a deep slumber. I blink my eyes and it’s gone. A cruel trick played on me by my emotions and the alcohol.

I miss her touch. I miss feeling her next to me in bed, a reassuring weight by my side, her warmth that seemed to fill the room. I gently stroke her mane, exactly how I did every morning to wake her up. I half expect to see her open her eyes, that little smile on her face.

“Why not brush it while you’re at it?” Same routine every morning, and yet it always made me chuckle.

Chapter 4

I saved up what I could in that old paint pail for as long as I could, until its weight started to bend the shelf, that was when I decided it was time to put my plan in action. I left a note on the table where she would see it, and waited for her to arrive. She wouldn’t be off work until close to five, but that was fine. It gave me time to prepare.

She arrived at the restaurant at half past six, dressed up and looking confused. The maître d’ took her aside as she entered, and showed her to a table at the center of the room. A white tablecloth covered the small round surface, a single red rose in the vase at the center. She sat down and glanced around the room, seeming oddly out of her element.

After a moment, I walked over and sat down opposite her.

“How did you afford this?” She asked, seeming worried.

“Don’t worry. This is my treat.”

“But we don’t have the money for something like this…”

“We’re fine. Besides, this seemed the most appropriate place to do this.” I said, rising from my chair and bending down in front of her.

Her eyes widened in realization as I removed a small box from my pocket and opened it before her.

“Nimble Breeze, will you do me the hon-“ I began, but before I could finish she had already attached herself around my neck yelling “Yes yes yes!”

The wedding was small, with only a few attending. We couldn’t afford to put together a huge event, and didn’t have that many to invite aside from family. It didn’t matter to us whether it was a massive procession or just the two of us alone, we were together.

She kept the promise we made that day. ‘Til death do us part. She was good to her word, and even when I infuriated her with my reclusiveness, she never left.

I’d like to say things changed after we got married, but they really didn’t. We continued to work, attempting to align our schedules so we could spend more time together. We slept in the same bed, just as always, we ate together as often as possible, and she continued to make me try new things. Nothing seemed to change, other than the knowledge that we had made a commitment to each other. It worked for us. I don’t think either of us wanted anything to change.

The lights in the hallway turned off, causing me to turn around.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was still in here. I was just about to close up for the night.”

It was the voice from before. An older stallion stood in the doorway.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay.” I said, turning back to the open casket.

“I understand. When you decide to go, just lock the door behind you.” He said, and walked away.

“When I decide to go.” I don’t think I can. It’d be like abandoning her. I sit back down in the front row and unscrew the cap on the bottle. I’ll stay here as long as I can. I can’t just leave her.

Just the two of us, alone again. It’s just like it used to be. We didn’t need anyone but each other, and we were fine like that. It was amazing how even when we ran out of things to talk about, just the presence of the other was enough. It was silence, but it was a comfortable silence. There was no need to fill the void anymore.

She used to sit in my studio, watching me paint. At first it bothered me, having someone watch over my shoulder when I worked, but after a while I found it comforting. She’d sit there silently, watching me turn a blank canvas into something new. The sound of her breath calmed me and I began to focus on it while I worked, my brush strokes matching the gentle rhythm. I don’t know how I’ll be able to work without it.

The silence is becoming unbearable. Other than my breath, there are no signs of life in the building. I try to stand up to look for a radio, or anything to make some noise, but my legs fail me. The whiskey has started to get the better of me. I realize I’ve finished a quarter of the bottle by myself.

I stumble over to the casket, my vision blurred, and peer inside. With my vision obscured by inebriation, she truly seems alive now. I kiss her gently on the forehead, and sit down in front of her wooden sarcophagus.

“I’m not leaving.” I say, as lie down. “I’ll be right here.”

Chapter 5

“Sir, wake up. It’s eight o’clock.”

Someone is nudging me. I open my eyes and blearily look up to see the older stallion from the night before standing over me. I’d spent the entire night on the floor next to her.

“I’m sorry, but it’s time.” He said, a mournful look in his eyes.

I stood up slowly, my back aching from lying on the hard surface for so long. I took one last look at her, and he closed the lid.

“The service is in an hour, sir. I suggest you get something to eat. There’s fresh coffee in the lounge.”

I nod absentmindedly, and walk out into the hall. The sunlight streaming in through the windows hurts my eyes, causing me to squint. I make my way to the lounge and pour a cup of the warm black liquid before sitting down on a nearby couch.

“Are you ready to go, sir?” The older stallion asks.

I realize that I’ve been staring at the wall for nearly forty-five minutes. The coffee has gone cold without me taking so much as a sip. I set the cup down on a table and follow him out into the street. We walk in silence to the nearby graveyard where everyone else is already waiting. As I approach them, they fall silent, watching me as I take my seat at the front of the group.

An open wound in the earth, marring the perfect green of the surrounding area. Suspended above the hole is her casket, waiting to be placed within. Seeing this makes everything finally feel real. They’re taking her away from me. Putting her where I can’t get to her anymore. Where I can’t see her.

I stare straight ahead, focused on the closed lid. The pastor gives his eulogy, but I don’t hear a word of it. I just stare.

“…As is custom, we lay these roses over the casket as a sign of our love for the departed.” The pastor says, and looks to me.

I snap out of my reverie, and rise from my seat. Gently, I pick up a rose and place it in the center of the coffin, before stepping aside. A line has formed behind me, all of them waiting with their roses ready. Ready to say goodbye and leave forever.

I watch as each of them steps forward and places a flower over her, some pausing for a moment to whisper a word or two at the box. After a few minutes have passed, everyone has taken their seats but me. I stand to the side of the hole, watching as she is lowered slowly into the ground. I hear sobbing around me, but I can’t look away from her, disappearing before my eyes. Inch by inch, she’s leaving me forever. A soft thud signifies the end of her journey, and the crowd slowly disperses.

I can’t leave. I can’t bring myself to tear away from the sight before me. Two stocky ponies move forward and begin to fill in the hole. The dirt showers down on her wooden tomb, slowly being covered up, as if a secret to be hidden away. I sit down and watch the two work.

Bit by bit, the hole fills in, until the only proof she was even there were the brown patch in the middle of all of this green and the simple headstone atop. One of the workers walks over to me and places a hoof on my shoulder for a moment. I look into his eyes and see true empathy. Without a word he removes his hoof and the two walk away. Again, we’re alone. I’m alone. And I can’t even see you now. All I have left is this small monument.

I don’t how long I’ve been sitting here, staring at her final place of rest. The sun begins to set, and dark clouds are forming overhead. I find myself wanting it to rain. It seems appropriate. Rain at a funeral.

As the first few drops begin to fall, I lay down on top of the patch of earth revealed in front of her tombstone and close my eyes. I can’t bring myself to leave you. You never wanted to leave me. The rain grows more intense, and lightning crackles in the distance. I shiver, but I don’t care. I won’t leave you.

I awake to find myself being carried by someone. It’s dark out, and the rain has almost ceased. I struggle to get to my feet.

“Let go of me! I can’t leave her!”

They pull me away, still struggling. Two pegasi, an older grey one and a younger one, blue with a teal mane. Their grip tightens, and I give up my attempt to escape them. They pull me out of the cemetery, releasing me as we exit the gates. I move to return to her, but the older one blocks my path.

“You need to come with us.” He says, his voice stern but reassuring.

I relent and follow them to a nearby all-night diner. They sit down next to each other, and I take a seat across from them. The younger one won’t look me in the eye. The waitress brings us some coffee and I notice we’re the only ones in the restaurant.

“Go ahead, son.” The older pegasus says to the younger.

The young pegasus looks up at me, his eyes mournful and watering. “I’m sorry…” he says, his voice breaking. “It’s all my fault.”

I look at him, confused, as he continues.

“I lost control of the storm. I don’t know what happened, but things started going crazy… Before we knew it, we couldn’t get it under control, and that’s when the hail started…”

He paused for a moment, looking down at his coffee. “She was trying to fix my mistake… If I hadn’t…” He began to sob.

I can’t look at him. I get up and begin to walk towards the exit, but the older pegasus begins to speak. “If she hadn’t been there, things would’ve been worse. We would have lost several of the weather ponies out there.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I reply, my voice like acid. “You fuck up, and she pays the price?”

The young pegasus averts his gaze from me.

“There was nothing we could do. She was in the center of the storm. We couldn’t see her.”

“Then you weren’t trying!” I yell. “She died out there. Alone. Did any of you even try to catch her?!”

“We couldn’t even see her. We didn’t know what had happened until the storm had started to clear.”

“Then what fucking good are you?!”

The staff is staring at me, but I don’t care anymore. “You let her die fixing your fuck up, and now you’re here to tell me you’re sorry?! You want me to forgive you for taking my wife from me?!”

“We just want you to know the truth.”

“Well that’s just great! Thanks for that! Now get the fuck out of my life!” I yell, and make my way to the door. “You’ve done enough damage. Just leave it at this.”

I walk home slowly, my stomach feeling like it’s been knotted. I open the door to our… my apartment, and sit down on the bed. It’ll never be the same again. Waking up next to her, our conversations over breakfast, that comfortable silence, it’s all in the past now. Nothing I can do will ever bring it back. I lay down on the bed, breathing in what’s left of her scent.

Chapter 6

I wake up with the sun, its light filtering in through the window above the bed. I reach over to stroke her mane, briefly forgetting the last week. Grasping only air, everything comes back in a rush. I sit up, and stare at the empty spot beside me, where she used to lie.

It hurts too much to look any longer, so I leave the bedroom and go to inspect the damage I’d done to my studio. Paint stains cover the floor in large splotches, torn canvas everywhere. I step inside and a paintbrush cracks beneath my hooves. There in a corner the unfinished piece leans, still waiting for its completion.

I pick it up and remove the cloth covering it, before placing it on the easel. I’ve been working on this same painting for three years. Every once in a while I’ll try to finish it, but nothing ever comes. It sits there, mocking me.

I never let her see this one. It was the only piece she wasn’t allowed to look at. “You’ll ruin the surprise” I’d say. She hated that. On more than one occasion I caught her trying to sneak a peek under the cloth, and when I’d ask her what she was doing, she always looked like a child who had been caught sneaking a cookie from the jar. After a while, she stopped trying to sneak in, but that didn’t stop her from asking to look. I could tell it was driving her crazy, but it was my own little revenge for all the things she’d made me eat while she laughed.

I’d intended to let her see once it was finished. I thought I had more time. The thought of her never getting to see it complete tears at me. I have all the time in the world to finish it now, but no one to show it to.

I don’t know what I thought this was going to be like. I suppose I thought we would last forever. It’s a ridiculous thought I know, but it really felt like we could make it. I sit down in front of the half-finished canvas, staring at it as it stares back at me. It seems like a mirror of our life together… Half-finished, stopped before we could paint our picture.

My stomach is complaining, but I don’t care anymore. I can’t tear my eyes away from this incomplete work. I have to finish it. I waited too long, I can’t wait any longer. It wouldn’t be right.

Again my stomach cries out, causing me to double over, and I realize I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning. At this point I’d be happy to eat whatever disgusting thing Nimble would have put in front of me. I’d be glad to, just to make that face for her again. To see her sly little smile come out.

A flash of inspiration hits me. How could I have been so blind? I begin digging through the scattered remains of my supplies, looking for anything that had survived my rage. After a while, I came up with a handful of brushes, and various small cans of paint that had been in the closet, and therefore safe from my rampage.

I pulled my chair close to the easel and set to work. My stomach stopped complaining, realizing that something more important was happening. I wish she was here to watch, but if she had been here, I wouldn’t have let her. I wouldn’t want the surprise to be ruined. The sun had begun to set as I placed my brush down and stepped back to look at my work.

Nimble lay in our bed, the sheet half covering her. I was stroking her mane, lying next to her. Her eyes were half closed as if just awaking. The early morning sun shone gently through the thin white curtains, giving her a faint glow, a wry smile on her face.

Nobody told me it was going to be like this. If I had known, I would never have let myself open up to her. I’m grateful no one told me about this pain. If they had, I’d never have had this life. I’d never have met the woman I loved, that I still love even now. She may be gone, but I’ll never forget her. That smile will always be there, undying love shining through.