Blood is not supposed to fall upwards.
I can feel it drying on the edges of my feathers. It almost tickles. It's like an itch, but not an unpleasant one. Like there's something scratching there.
I'm going into shock. It makes everything feel weird. My head is spinning. The wound doesn't hurt as much as it should. I looked at it. Why did I look at it? I should not have looked. I can't close my eyes now. It's right there. It's my wing. Dear Harmony, can I even call it a wing anymore? I'm shaking. No. Please no. I can feel the bone moving. Why doesn't it hurt?
Shock. Adrenaline. Hold still. The brain floods with chemicals to ignore the pain and allow you to get to safety while wounded. It's an evolutionary response. Stay calm. Deep breaths. I can feel it inside my lungs. No. No abrupt movements. I can't feel pain. I'll make the wounds worse. Wait. Help will come. The blood flow will slow down. Blood is not supposed to fall upwards.
Where is down? I'm looking down. I can't tell. I can't feel directions. My hooves are on the ground. I'm standing. Nothing else is touching anything. Focus. Deep breaths. I'm not sure if I can walk. I think I would fall. I don't want to look at it again. But I have to know.
I can look down. I can feel it flowing out. Pouring over my feathers and the spaces between them. I'm looking at the floor, beneath my wing. Nothing. No. No no no no. It's just taking a while. Getting caught in the feathers. That's it.
How did I get here? I can't think straight. I'm in my laboratory. I'm looking around. Everywhere but towards my wing. It's still there. I can feel the broken bones touching one another. I can feel the air against their exposed marrow. My body is telling me I should be screaming in pain. My brain is telling me it tickles.
The beaker on the table over there. Cracked. A piece broken off. It doesn't add up. No scorch marks around. Nothings else is broken. Nothing out of place. It's not enough to do that (don't think about it). It's snapped in two. How did it happen? When?
Why can't I remember? How long has it been? There's a clock around here. I looked up. Blood is not supposed to fall upwards. I was experimenting with something. I got it from Applejack. She said she found it near the edge of her orchard. Deep breaths. Keep focus. Think things through. Memories keep the mind busy. Don't move.
I was running tests on it. How did it break? I can't remember. Calm down. Don't panic. Getting nervous makes you move. I can feel something rubbing against the tendons. I'm not supposed to. How did it break? Why did I look at it?
I must have screamed. Someone must have heard. I'm not alone. They'll come looking for me. How long has it been? It can't have been too long. Blood is supposed to coagulate. Blood is not supposed to fall upwards. Maybe the wound is too big for it to close up. I must have made enough noise.
Think. Remember. Anything to distract myself. I can feel it flowing. I was experimenting. Trying to get a reaction out of it. It was about the size of a cucumber. That's the impression I got when I saw it. I must have measured it, but I don't remember the exact size. I can't afford to try walking now. I can feel my teeth pressing into each other. I can feel the air travelling through my nose. Focus.
It was red. Not quite a cylinder in shape. Slightly curved, but not quite a crescent. The surface uneven. Scans said it wasn't uniform inside. It might have been a clump of something. Maybe a patch of specific material that sunk into the ground and mineralised.
I didn't move. Something is pressing around the bone. I've never felt something touching my bones before today. It's like becoming aware of your tongue in your mouth, only a thousand times more hysterically maddening. I can tell it's supposed to hurt. It must be the blood flow. Maybe it's hardening and sliding onto it.
I can't look. I don't want to look. Help will come. I can't open my mouth. I can feel it there. It must have hurt my insides. I'm not choking, but if I open my mouth it might go into my nose. Blood doesn't flow upwards. It might go into my eyes.
Don't move. Moving makes it worse. Moving keeps the wounds from closing. Moving can worsen the damage. My legs are shaking. My muscles are sore. Try to calm down. Deep breaths. It's in my lungs. No. I can breathe. I feel something. I've never felt something touching my lungs before. Maybe internal bleeding. Careful. Maybe a broken rib. I don't want to puncture them.
I tried heating it up. To see if it would react. The tests made it look like it could be organic in composition, but it didn't look like any rock I knew. I broke off a sample, to test it. The inside was smooth, glossier than the outside. I placed it in the beaker. I tried to heat it up.
Something is brushing my hoof. It must be blood. It's not. I looked.
Feathers. The dried bone pointing away from me. I can feel it on top of what's left of my wing. Shifting. Flowing. No. Blood flows. There's no blood.
I can feel it crawling over my broken wing. I can feel it reaching my back. I can feel it trying to force its way out of my mouth. I can feel it crawling around my lungs. I can feel it scratching behind my eyes.
I look at the ceiling where it's been pooling, flowing upwards from my wound. It stares back at me.
