The Hollow Kingdom of Big Macintosh

Exhibit X

Morning comes. Celestia never fails, somehow.

The reunited pair of lovers are already awake, just staring at each others' soft smile. Big Macintosh runs a hoof up and down Rarity's mane. She doesn't protest, considering how disheveled it already is. The same thought drifts through both their minds, but they wonder for different reasons.

"This is real, right?" Rarity asks, vocalizing what they both would like to know for certain. Let there be no more guessing, no more wondering, no more checking to see if the ground is still under their hooves. If doubt could just be removed with pliers and placed in a shoebox, that's just what they would do, but it doesn't work that way.

"It must be," Big Macintosh replies. "I couldn't bear it if it wasn't."

They lay about in silence a while longer. It's not for lack of knowing what comes next, but what comes next is complicated. It won't be easy, quick, or painless. There isn't even a guarantee of their effort breaking even in the end. There are ways around it, but both parties have had enough of dancing around the issue. There is an easy way out, but it's the hard way out. There is only one way out. There is only one road that might serve as an exit.

"So, how long have you seen things?" Rarity asks her next question. Big Macintosh already knows what she is leading into, but he follows along. He will grant her this courtesy.

"Probably since I could see," he answers. "From the time I was able to look at the world and decide for myself which shapes and blotches of colors were pieces of a part of a whole. Sometimes when I try and put the puzzle together, there are extra pieces. They fit without being forced, so I just thought that was how things were put together. The illusion is just as easy to believe as the reality; they aren't that different. Both please me. Both frighten me. Both make sense to me, but they won't make sense to the rest of the world. I guess there isn't anything fundamentally wrong with being misunderstood, but life is easier when everything is cohesive.

"But this isn't about anypony else, really. Nopony is master of their illusions, but I don't have to be a slave to mine. At least, I don't think I have to be. This is about putting my life in order. I don't want to wonder if what I see is real or fake, not on such a grand scale. It's a struggle, and I'm tired. I never thought I'd lose, but I'm admitting defeat. I can't conquer my illusions."

"Not on your own." Rarity takes his head between her hooves and brings him close. He can clearly see his own eyes reflected in hers. "You need help, and you need real help. You know what you have to do."

Rarity is aware of what she is asking him to do. Big Macintosh knew he'd have to, one way or another. It might mean being away from the farm for a while. It might mean being unable to go home altogether. It might mean being sent to a bigger city. It might mean he won't get to see Rarity, not for a while. It might mean a lot of things, but it does mean one thing: he will get a shot at subduing his deviant brain.

He must go to the hospital and reveal his sickness to the whole world.

"I think I ought to tell my family first," Big Macintosh says, knowing that deep down he is finding an excuse to delay. Rarity knows this, but she allows it. After waiting to be reunited for so long, this is not what she wanted to happen immediately following. It needs to happen, and that's enough justification for her to let it happen. It would be cruel to deny him the real help he needs. It would be far too cruel to look at the infection, smile, and tell him he's healthy as a giant.

"Take the day to get ready," Rarity tells him, giving him sound instruction. "And no matter what happens, I'll be there every step of the way if I'm allowed to. I won't let them lock you up and cage you like an animal."

"I don't think ponies do that anymore." He kisses her on the forehead under her horn. "But if they do, I would appreciate your help."

Big Macintosh doesn't allow any thoughts of turning back. He banishes them with the harshest words he can come up with. He eats breakfast with Rarity, and then she sees him off. Just because he has made a big decision doesn't mean the world stops turning. She has things to do, and so does he.

"I'll come by on my way to the hospital tomorrow morning."

"Don't forget." She gets up on the tips of her hooves and kisses him one more time.

"Not this time." He turns and heads home, resisting the temptation to hide in Rarity's house for the rest of his life. He could be happy that way, but that wouldn't be right. Ignorance a healthy happiness does not make.

Although, sometimes ignorance is easier. Applejack makes it abundantly clear how angry she is when he tells her, Applebloom, and Granny Smith. She is angry, but she's scared, perhaps even more than Applebloom. He spends the rest of the day telling them how everything will turn out just fine and attempting to explain how he became and item with Rarity. It's difficult, but when night falls the Apple household proves it will stand through this adversity.

Big Macintosh tucks Applebloom in, puts a blanket over Granny Smith where she dozes in her rocking chair, and says goodnight to his oldest sister. He enters his bed exhausted from having to explain himself and comfort his family, but he is satisfied. It is the satisfaction of having done exactly what is right and having no regrets. It is the kind of satisfaction that is commonly believed to provide instant, deep sleep. Nopony can touch his sleep.

At least, nopony should have been able to touch it.

"So, that's it then?" It's Shoehorn. Big Macintosh doesn't know what he's doing standing in the middle of his room; it isn't the bathroom. He doesn't appear to be doing any business, so he doesn't mind too much. "I kind of hoped we could go on coexisting."

"This is an unneeded burden," Big Macintosh says to his hallucination. "I have other things to worry about other than 'is this real' or 'is that fake.' I can't go on like this."

"Yeah, I thought you might say that." Shoehorn's image fades away, something he could do only because he is a hallucination. His disembodied voice still speaks. "You think there is a limit to how real we can be, but you're wrong. Your mind can provide everything you'd ever need and more."

From the corner of his room, two more hallucinations walk in through the darkness. He clearly recognizes the images: Cheerliee and Rainbow Dash. He is certain he hasn't been imagining their existence, so he's confused about why they would appear. Between Shoehorn's words and the looks imposed upon the false ponies' faces, he figures it out.

"So, is this your final stand?" Big Macintosh asks the disembodied voice.

"This is your final stand," the voice tells him. "This is you trying to convince yourself that you could live with your illusions."

"But I don't even get it," Big Macintosh complains. "Why Cheerilee and Rainbow Dash? Wouldn't Rarity make more sense?"

"You harbor some attraction for Cheerilee, you know this to be true. There exists a part of you that relishes the thought of seeing her submit herself to you, and the same could be said for Rainbow Dash. Out of your sister's friends, she's the only other mare you ever romantically, or rather lustfully, considered." The voice goes silent for a moment. "But you didn't choose Rarity because you can have the real one."

"Doesn't that prove that there isn't any point in this?" Big Macintosh asks. "I prefer reality to illusion. Illusion can't feed me, my family, or anypony I love. Illusions won't pay the bills, watch the weather, or reliably tell me when I'm right and wrong. Besides, it doesn't matter how real they can be. If worth is measured in how real something is, reality has illusion beat. So why go through the trouble?"

Big Macintosh waits for Shoehorn's voice. He half expects never to hear again, but the two mares are still eying him hungrily from across his bed.

"Well, maybe part of you wants to have a threesome with Rainbow Dash and Cheerilee. Ever thought of that?"

Big Macintosh finds it is he who is speechless now.

"I guess I do... but I don't want that."

"You don't want what?" Shoehorn's voice asks him.

"I don't want to want that."

"Wanting not to want it doesn't change anything," the voice says, scolding him with a bitter tone. "Don't think you're high and mighty; you're no more a saint than the next pony, harboring such thoughts."

"But I've got to try and be better," Big Macintosh says back to the voice. He lays back on his pillow and closes his eyes. There is nothing to see or hear. There is nothing keeping him from sleep, not really. "That's what will make me better."

Big Macintosh waits quietly in the darkness. He does not open his eyes to see if the mares are still there. He does not call out to Shoehorn to ask if he is still watching. He honestly tries to sleep. He doesn't want to continue on with his hallucinations, but one last remark passes unbidden through the air.

"We are here until you get rid of us. It's not over until it's over."

After that, the night passes by quietly. No sound, real or imagined, stirs Big Macintosh from his sleep.