The Hollow Kingdom of Big Macintosh

Exhibit J

Certainty.

Big Macintosh never doubts the existence of a pony he has been introduced to by another pony. There are no shared hallucinations. There are no grand illusions. There are just real ponies, as real as Big Macintosh himself. This fact is a solid, certain constant for him. He doesn't question it; he doesn't doubt it.

Some hallucinations cannot be accounted for in this manner, like the days halcyon giants came to caress the mountains with their fingers or all those times he had to walk home through steamy snow on a summer's night. Those that can, inevitably will be. No ghost can escape this fate. Reality holds some sort of precedence over it.

Shoehorn was a constant companion for Big Macintosh during his school days. They did most everything together and got along famously. They were both quiet and reserved, making them a good match for one another. On the surface, there was nothing unusual about their friendship; there was nothing unusual beyond the fact that Shoehorn was merely a figment of Big Macintosh's imagination.

Big Macintosh, of course, did not question the existence of his friend. By all measurable standards, Big Macintosh had nothing to even begin to wonder about Shoehorn's existence. Even when he discovered his ability to inadvertently acknowledge parts of his imagination as reality, he never riddled out that Shoehorn was an illusion. It took him a while.

Shoehorn was not Big Macintosh's only friend. Cheerilee, the diligent filly who was seated next to him in class, was also his good friend. They talked, did work together, and even played together at recess occasionally. As far as Big Macintosh could tell, there was no difference between her and Shoehorn.

"Do you ever wish you had more friends?" Cheerilee asked him once.

"I figure I have enough friends."

Cheerilee scrunched up her face, a habit that was sure to give her wrinkles when she became an old mare. She took a sip of her juice box.

"Like who?"

"Well, you for one," Big Macintosh answered. "Shoehorn too."

"Who?" The way Cheerilee perked up her ears and leaned slightly closer lacked an air of confusion that startled Big Macintosh. He hadn't stuttered, mumbled, said the wrong name, or tripped over his words that would merit Cheerilee mishearing him. She'd heard the name, but she didn't recognize it. She had to know Shoehorn; his presence was not that invisible.

He didn't speak up in class, or even really pay attention most days. He didn't talk to anypony besides Big Macintosh and he always came and left school on his own. Big Macintosh realized he'd never heard a single pony talk to Shoehorn, talk about Shoehorn, or even acknowledge him in some form. He'd known these things all along, but he chose to ignore them.

The explanation was simple: Shoehorn is not real. His presence is not invisible, he simply has no presence. He leaves no measurable traces on the world around him. Only Big Macintosh can see and interact with him. Shoehorn is a hallucination, an extension of Big Macintosh in some sense.

"Shoehorn, he's my imaginary friend."

"Oh." Cheerilee took another sip of her juice box. "Imaginary friends don't count, silly."

Imaginary friend was a good fit. Shoehorn was a friend, but Big Macintosh just imagined him into the world. Even if his existence was far more vivid than the standard imaginary friend, the classification fit.

Cheerilee helped Big Macintosh make new friends. She introduced him to most everypony in their class. She introduced him to real ponies and they became real friends. He would not hesitate to admit that real friends are much better friends.

Friendship was an odd thing. Having one friend wasn't good enough, but after he had two friends he realized that's not good enough either. His friends had friends, so he became their friend too and increased his circle of companions. The way he was friends with one pony was different from the way that pony was friends with their other friends, but that was okay. Friendship was, in the most appropriate of terms, magical.

Big Macintosh never pointed out to Shoehorn that he was not real, but to this day he doesn't know why. It might have been because he didn't want hurt his friend by saying that. It might have been because he was afraid of what Shoehorn's reaction might be. It might have been because he never found a good point in a conversation to bring it up. It could've easily slipped his mind as well.

Life went on no matter how many friends Big Macintosh made or how estranged Shoehorn became. Big Macintosh scrutinized the ponies he knew a little closer, to see if he could find any more imposters. He was only a child, though, so chasing after the phantoms of his imagination bored him. If he was older, it could have driven him crazy. Instead, he decided to just let bygones be bygones and let his hallucinations alone. As he grew older, he discovered they had a way of simply revealing themselves in time.

Today, Big Macintosh realizes something new.

"Come on in, Big Macintosh. We'll get started once I take care of this customer."

He blinks, staring at the pony on the opposite side of the counter from Rarity. She smiles back at him.

"Hey."

"... Hey."

"You two know each other?" Rarity asks.

"Yes, we do," she responds. More words are spoken between the two mares, but Big Macintosh misses them. He is coming to grips with something. He knew the ponies he though were real can actually be hallucinations.

"Have a nice day." Rarity waves her customer off. She makes her way out the door, and she is gone with a swish of her tail, still tied up like a fish tail.

Uncertainty.