The Shell of the Wanderer
I've always lived a life of relative solitude. It's always been so frightening to explore the hidden realms of other people, afraid of the judgements they may pass. But, in lack of the friendship that was so rampant around me, I had one thing; I had the animals. They don't judge; they just wouldn't. Sure, they're not what most would call ideal, but I love them regardless. They're the animals that inhabit these lands. I take care of them, you see, and in return of my tender nurturing they grace me with their peaceful naivety. They're my children; my unspoiled seedlings from which I flourish.
Today I need to keep track of all the animals; it helps in my endless endeavor of aiding them. I'm trying to gather supplies for my census. Digging through my desks, I retrieve a small stack of paper. Now all I need is my trusty pen to track progress. I'm searching the depths of my orderly storage room for them, but I've scoured the deepest shelvings and stands of this labyrinth now, but to no avail. Oh dear. I seem to have come across a morbid realization: I'm out of pens.Could I delay the census until I get new ones? No, that won't do; the animals need me. I have to go out and supply myself with these things I need; I have to face this.
I'm gathering the minuscule things I need for my venture, and I'm leaving my house now. I cross the doorway, duly noting the position of the heavy wooden door, as to not be dealt it's blow back. I shut the door, then the rickety red gates, with a delicate promise to my animal friends: I'll be back.
I'm walking on this ruggedly set path; it's dirt. There's no one in immediate sight. Thank god. I'm just going to keep striding along gently, and I'm gonna get what I need. The birds are fluttering about, weaving around trees occupied by voracious squirrels in the process of a feast. They all wink at me; I'm the nice one that helped their friends, their family; maybe even them themselves. It's bliss to me; I belong in this place.
Uh-oh. The solitary clicks of my footsteps on the floor are being contested. Someone's coming. Suddenly, my head seems to take on a tremendous weight that my neck cannot support. I bow to the floor, my eyes following the gesture. My vision has been tied to the floor in front of me. I can't look to see who they might be; what if they saw me looking? My vision is gravitated away from them, due to this crucial fear. My heart begins to beat faster, in a panic. As the unknown approaches, they absorb the air around me, making it feel thin to my breath. Unsatisfied by what used to be sufficient, my lungs eventually inhale all they can. Just enough to suffice for the loss of pressure.
Finally, at the moment after the apex, the figure passes me by. Air begins to fill my lungs with the quality in which it did before, though my heart slowed at it's own pace. The weight of my shoulders was lifted, and I regained the ability to see anything but the floor. I dare not look behind me; they might notice. I'll just walk along, hoping they didn't hear my heavier breathing. It's okay though; crisis averted.
The dirt path is transitioning now, a gradient of rubble to concrete. I'm approaching town. It's a quiet weekday; I'm hoping that everyone is off fulfilling some obligations. For the most part, this fancy is tended to; but there's always some. I've spotted a group amongst the path that leads directly to town. I have to calculate my plans for continuation; I can't see anyone on the secondary path, but it's quite longer a route to my destination. Could I fly over the people? No. Not in the state I'm in. I'll take the longer path, then. It's worth it.
I'll just go left today; it'll all be okay, and I can admire the plush scenery. There's always the upsides. Town's about 5 more minutes away, but I'm willing and able to delay my entrance. I let my mind wander a bit, to explore the terrain I've made acquaintance with. I spot something peculiar in the grass; someone lost their mask. I can go get a better look; anything in the wild pursuit of procrastination.
It's an odd little thing, this mask. Hardly decorated, it wears a neutral face with hidden expression within it's pearly material. I decide to try it on; it covers my entire face. What a funny thing; I can barely see through the eye holes. A nearby pond doubles as a mirror for me; let's see how I look.
What I see upsets me; it's a blank face. It makes no effort to share it's emotion with anyone who chooses to peek, but rather it holds a tense quality. I'm just going to take this mask off, it's locking me in. It isn't a comfortable mask, and I don't like it one bit.
Alright, back to town with me. After a bit of now zestless walking, due to the earlier occurrence, I've reached the outskirts at last. There's people in there; lots of them. It's enough to stop me in my tracks; how am I going to pierce the veil of people? In a state of confused desperation, I manage to grasp hold of my remaining integrity. I stand tall. I can do this. I walk again, with a shred of confidence remaining.
I'm getting closer to the crowd now. I wish I could just fly over them, but my wings are paralyzed. My head takes on the weight it took before. My eyes succumb again to the gravity that pushes them away from the assortment of ponies that surround me. They won't bother me if I don't bother them; none of them know me, they won't come near. I just need to keep moving along. It's an airlock right now; I have to balance between gasping for precious breath, and muffling the sounds of this ludicrous effort from others. My heart is an overclocked metronome; it's tripping over it's own steps in a blitz of panic.
Just keep walking; I can escape this. Finally, after regaining some perception, I find myself in town. I'm able to find the supply store easily, nested between two other buildings. I push against the door to be welcomed with the jingle of a bell, and I make my way to my aisle without a sound. I get the nearest supply of pens. I take them to the clerk, and make my purchase, avoiding eye contact. Finally, I'm done; I can go home.
I exit with the same bell as before, and start home to the same path I arrived at; there's still less people there. I'm walking along, in my same nervous state, though of lesser intensity, somehow. It would appear as though the accomplishment of my mission is combating the discomfort within. I can walk along, head bowed to the floor, but this time I look around. My eyes eventually gravitate away from ponies when I look at them, but I can at least identify them. My legs dodge one another in an orderly pattern, progressing forward.
The pattern is abruptly broken. Time slows to a crawl as my body loses integrity, and collides with the floor beneath me. My writing utensils are scattered around me. I haven't been cut or bruised, but a frozen torrent flows throughout my blood. I look around now, my eyes temporarily broken from their restrictions, to see the ponies around me. My fall has halted their conversation, and they all look at me. I scramble to my feet again. My eyes are flooded with tears, as I hysterically grab for my scattered pens. I finally get at least half of them, before the panic assumes command, and I dart for the path home, with tears streaming behind.
I'm at the path now. I'm so tired, I can't go much further. I go out of the path's grasp, and fall to the floor again, this time in fatigue. The tears still flood my eyes, blurring my vision.
While I sat there, a wind blows. It wipes a bit of the tears away, enough to regain a bit of vision. I pull my face towards the wake of my outbreak. The group is there, in shock of what happened. This is -- odd. They're not laughing. Regardless, I can't return to that place, yet I'm too worn down to continue on. I just sit there.
My tears subside after a bit, and my heart slows with them. The tremors that pervaded my very being have reduced, and I can finally regain some composure. Though as my body raises, my head remains attracted to the neutral floor. I walk back to the path, disregarding this, to be greeted by a warming surprise. Just on the side of the path a small pile of pens. The pens I'd left behind. I turned my vision with a new found control at the town again, to catch a glimpse of a young one returning from this path back to town.
She crept up quietly, to return the supplies I'd lost in my slip. She didn't say a word, and yet she said it all, after all, it wasn't in any obligation to help with such a thing. She cared. They cared.
I stood there, watching the groups of people, just to see them resume to their daily lives. No laughter, no gossip. This unbelievable fact replenished my confidence to return home yet again.
After a bit, I turned back to the way home. I only took a few steps before I noticed a familiar curiosity in the road: it was the mask. I picked it up. On it now branched a crack, chipping away at the now penetrable veil of reservation, and offering a translucency into the depths it once cloaked.
