Thanks to my proofreader! Also, SageLovesLuna, my biggest fan! This one's for you .
ONE OF MY TURNS
Day after day
Love turns gray
Like the skin on the dying man.
And night after night
We pretend it's alright,
But I have grown older,
And you have grown colder,
And nothing is very much fun anymore.
And I can feel
One of my turns coming on.
I feel as cold as a razor blade,
Tight as a tourniquet,
Dry as a funeral drum...
I met the love of my life on a crisp autumn afternoon in Flight School. The leaves on the trees were turning crimson and gold, tumbling to the soft earth on equally soft breezes. From the clouds I could see nature beginning to change below, and it excited me. It was cold, but not freezing, just chilly enough to make me don that old blue scarf my mother had knit me.
Flicker was a star flyer; I was your average bookworm. She was popular and outgoing, I was a shy introvert. That day I was sitting on the cloud bleachers and working on my novel, staring at the swaying trees below as the wind blew. It was coming along nicely, an invigorating story I'd poured my soul into. My scarf whipped in the wind, my cheeks and muzzle were bright red. I shook from the cold slightly, but it was worth it to be so inspired and absorbed in my work.
I looked over to see her flying up towards me. I froze in panic, nearly dropping my pencil. I wasn't one of those lewd jocks who stared at fillies in their free time. I prayed to Celestia for mercy in the eyes of this beautiful filly.
And she was beautiful, astoundingly so. She had a thick tangerine mane that fell in cute layers, opalescent chartreuse eyes, and freckles that dotted her high cheekbones in a decorative way. Unfortunately I couldn't recognize her facial expression and in reaction my hands shook violently.
She took a seat next to me and kicked her legs back and forth in a carefree gesture. I couldn't really read her body language, but I hoped for the best.
“Hi there, I'm Flicker! Nice scarf!”
She was friendly, too friendly. She simply didn't understand that girls terrified me; I saw her everywhere. She always waved at me, called my name, or hugged me.
She was a filly. Hugging me.
I was a shy colt, and every time she hugged me I almost had a heart attack. I slowly learned to wave back, not avert her eyes, and stay calm when she embraced me. She quickly introduced me to all of her friends, and dragged me around like a stuffed animal. At first I was simply shocked, wondering what on earth she saw in me (after all, I'd always been horrible socially) but I soon grew to enjoy her affections, and grew more comfortable around her.
Flicker always saw straight through my sensitivity. I simply didn't understand other ponies, but she accepted and reacted kindly to that. I soon found myself thinking about her a lot more, even daydreaming about her. She was so adorable, so smart, so sweet, so considerate...
I was a thinker, I always had been. It greatly bothered me that my thoughts all became Flicker-oriented. One day I was in the library working on my book and pondering the very issue when she wandered in and took a seat next to me.
“Hi, Nimbus!” she greeted. I closed my journal and couldn't suppress a smile. She made me so shy!
“So, I was thinking...”
“Yes?” I asked, eagerly.
“We should date.”
I fainted.
I took Flicker to a dance, out for dinner, and all around town in the next few months. She stole my first kiss, leaving me star-gazed. She was so free-spirited and bold, I couldn't help but look and feel my best around her. The two years we dated were incredible, and I realized I simply couldn't live without her. So I did the scariest thing known to man- got down on one knee. A few days after graduation from flight-school, we were married. That was a lovely spring, and we were dreamers. I wanted to have my novel published when it was all finished, and Flicker was an activist for filly's rights.
Dreams didn't pay the bills, though. I found myself a job at the local factory, filling tubes with toothpaste. It was boring, but we got by on it. Flicker was perfect for me, and every moment I worked in that damned factory I told myself that it was for her.
When I arrived home every day she had dinner ready and on the table, always so considerate. She was always so excited to see me, calling my name and embracing me. To think I had once avoided her! Those moments made my work worthwhile. I was a blue-collar married stallion, but at least Flicker was happy.
I worked on my novel at night, an old typewriter in the living room. Flicker always sat with me and we talked about our days. She was off at protests daily, holding signs and marching like a champion. I saw her as my equal, obviously, and she always said I was the only stallion she tolerated.
Flicker and I survived a lot of things in our marriage. Right off the bat I came home one night to find a very flushed Flicker telling her mother on the phone that there was a baby on the way. For the second time in our romance, I fainted on the spot. I was overjoyed to be a father, and the delivery was quick and relatively painless. We took home a healthy female-foal whom we named Windy. I'd never been so excited in my life.
Windy was sweet in disposition, quiet and sleepy most of the time. Her development was normal, other than the fact that (just like her mother) she was wickedly smart. Little Windy had those same green eyes, and was always smiling. I could make her laugh with faces, and she always seemed to fall asleep in my arms. I loved that little girl, I loved her with all of my heart. I was going to be a great father.
Unfortunately to the grief of Flicker and I, our darling baby girl died in her sleep suddenly and the doctors never discovered why. SFDS they call it, still a mystery to the day. The acronym stands for Sudden Foal Death Syndrome, but we really weren't prepared for how sudden the death was.
We tried again later, but after one very traumatizing accident we lost the baby. A manticore had strayed from the Everfree Forest and badly scarred her. Poor Flicker cried a lot during those times. It had been painful mentally and physically, and she felt sick constantly. I was there for her, and simply heartbroken that I would never be a father. I could have raised that foal correctly, cared and took dear care of her. I'd fantasize that Flicker could go off to protest and I'd stay home to watch our next foal, even though we'd be very poor. At this point and time I couldn't press a single key on my type-writer. The years had passed me by and I no longer felt inspired.
My sweetheart began to spend time alone. She no longer felt the same passion or energy for her cause, and she told me often. I'd catch her sitting alone and watching the news, folding laundry in solitude. Instead of a morning run she stayed at home and slept in. Every morning I tucked her tightly into the sheets and left for work, hoping for her to feel better.
Things quickly got worse. Flicker rarely smiled, slept often, and had tears dripping down her cheeks. She was apathetic at all times, and it was easy to see her covering up her emotions. Every time she saw me she seemed disappointed, sighed and looked at the ground. The sunshine of my world was fading away, and I found it impossible to face the facts.
Flicker no longer loved me.
“Flicker, darling? Please, is something wrong?” I'd ask her constantly, hoping to aide her misery.
“I'm fine, just fine,” she'd reply with frustration and shoo me away with the wave of her hand. But I was persistent.
“Are you sure?”
“Nimbus, leave me be!”
Flicker always regarded my questions with irritability. Days passed, and days became weeks. Soon weeks became months. Every conversation was fake or necessary. With regrets and heart-ache I wondered where I had gone wrong, wondered why Flicker didn't care for me any longer. I'd given her everything I possibly could, worked in a miserable old factory for many, many years. I was no longer young, I was pathetic. Nobody could look at me and expect much, the only thing duller than my conversation was my hair. It was speckled with gray like an old cat, and I was ashamed of who I had become.
I spent my days pressing a button and my nights attempting to cure the incurable; writer's block. Flicker was always asleep on the couch when I came home. I carried her to bed daily, tucked her in, and tried to fall asleep next to her. I sometimes stroked her mane or held onto her forelegs like a frightened child. Even though I talked to her as she slept, we hardly spoke beyond that. I always wished she could hear me as she dreamed. I wondered if things would change if she could.
One night I arrived home to see Flicker cooking like old times. Her mane was done up and her smile seemed genuine.
“Nimbus!” she chirped, skipping over to me and giving me a tight hug.
“Flicker?” was all I could manage to stutter. She looked like her old self, cheerful and bright. My heart filled with false hope as I took a step closer and hugged back. She made her way back into the kitchen as I began to tear up. I wiped the droplets away in a rush.
Suddenly I heard a crash reverberate from the kitchen, and accompanying it was a strange thudding noise. As I ran to inspect I saw Flicker had fallen and was sprawled across the floor. With haste I got on my hands and knees to investigate, clearing the red locks from her delicate face.
“It's this slippery floor,” she whispered.
“Truly?” I asked, lifting her to her feet once more. She nodded and leaned against me for support. I sighed and led her to the couch.
“I'll finish dinner, rest,” I insisted. Flicker smiled in thanks and snuggled into the couch like a kitten. I turned the stove off, deciding not to eat dinner, and carried my wife to our room once more. She held onto my forelegs and curled close to me. I held her tightly that night, and prayed that my universe was falling back into place somehow.
The following week I returned home one night to find her in bed, coughing up blood violently, sweating profusely, and crying out in pain. Panicked, I called an ambulance and laid Flicker out on the couch. They quickly arrived and lifted my darling away on a stretcher. I sat next to her on the longest carriage-ride of my life, and she whimpered as she gripped my hoof for comfort. I had never been so terrified. Again I prayed, prayed for Celestia to bring back the mare I still did love.
But this time nothing could help me. Flicker was hooked to an IV and given her own room, diagnosed with internal hemorrhaging from that manticore so many years ago. Her wounds had never quite healed, and she'd been aware for the longest time. I stayed up that night and watched her, not daring to waste these final moments by her side. She was still as beautiful as ever in my eyes.
Her heart rate monitor was interrupted with speech the next morning.
“Nimbus, I'm sorry.”
“Don't apologize,” I begged, climbing over next to her. She buried her head into my shoulder and I held her close.
“I was too afraid to tell you. I wanted to discourage you, I wanted you to leave so that you wouldn't-”
“I would never leave, I promised you a long time ago,” I interrupted urgently, beginning to feel that familiar fear.
“I still do love you very much,” she began, tearing up, “and there's still so much to live for.”
“I'm sorry Flicker,” I sputtered, crying myself.
“I love you, I love you, I love you...” she whispered to me, growing more and more quiet.
“I love you too.”
A static, unwavering chime filled the air. My free spirit had flown.
