...Then He Was Gone

by Monsieur-Flatterer

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life
Length: 5130

A day out of the life of a normal mare, presented to you by herself.

Twilight saved Equestria again, Rainbow Dash got a flying turtle as pet, Rarity tried to win back her sister, Applejack tried to harvest an entire apple orchard all by herself, Fluttershy had to take care of three little fillies and Pinkie created too many of herself.

These adventures are all pretty normal for them. But what about the normal, every day pony? This is a story about a mare going through a normal day, and you might discover that it's a bigger chore than one might expect. One mare, one day, one story.

Special thanks to Ictiv.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-02-15 22:20:02 UTC

Lil' Old Me

How long has it been? About five months? Yeah, that should be about it. You can see the little bump there already. I smile at the mirror, giving a nod. Because there she is, smiling back. Little old me. Messy mane, tired eyes and a big yawn. I just got up anyway, so all of this is pretty normal for in the morning. Don’t worry, I’ll clean myself up. I always do, I need to look good. But first, just look at myself, in the mirror. Give myself a pat on the shoulder and tell myself that I can do this. With a little self confidence, I can go through anything. I’ve been doing this every morning. Because I do believe all of this will end well. I’m the mother of an unborn foal. No husband, no partner and no boyfriend. Not even male friend.

Just lil’ old me and my foal.

My parents can’t help either. I can’t go back all the way to Manehattan. It’s not the kind of city I want my little one to grow up in. I can speak out of experience, because I grew up there. It was a rough, dirty city. No, Ponyville is just perfect for my child. The air is clean, the town itself is small and cozy. And there’s a ton of other fillies and colts around here. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll find that perfect stallion, willing to take care of him or her with me. But I’m not really getting my hopes up for that, really. I mean, look at me. Purple-blue mane, all messed up. Light blue coat, blue eyes, everything about me is blue! And then there’s my cutiemark, the single bluebell flower. Doesn’t even show my skill properly. Well, it kind of does. But it doesn’t exactly scream out ‘herbalist’ does it?

But look at me, babbling like some mad old mare. And about myself, even! I cast another smile to myself, I think I deserve it. Well, I hope I deserve it. I see no reason why I shouldn’t. I give my bloated belly a rub, caress it softly. It’s in there, still growing. Isn’t it truly just a wonderful thing? When I was a little filly myself, I’d never thought I had one of the most beautiful gifts just laying in my belly, waiting to hug its mother. I can’t wait until I can carry it, hold it in my hooves. I can’t wait until it calls me ‘mummy’, when it starts taking its first steps. When it goes to school for the very first time, grows, discovers its cutiemark, makes friends, graduates, finds a job and then finally has a family of its own.

And then the circle closes.

But I’m still waiting for its birth. I don’t know yet if its a filly or a colt, but calling it ‘it’ doesn’t seem appropriate. It’s like I’m talking about an object. But it’s not an object, it’s my child, a living being. But yet, I’m still calling it ‘it’. But I’m still staring at myself in the mirror here, its time to get a move-on. I turn around and reach my hoof towards the tap of the shower, giving it a simple twist to turn it on. The water rushed down on my hoof, of course it starts out ice-cold, which causes me to squeak and pull my hoof back. I stand there, waiting for the water to heat up. And once it was warm enough for me, I stepped in and let the water rush over myself.

Then the memories start flooding in. The memories of him.

That’s what I always do in the shower. Ponder. Ponder about everything. Myself, others, where my life is going, what I should do with it next. The shower always seems such a perfect moment for this. The silence, broken by the flowing water streaming over my body and relaxing my muscles. It clears the mind and gives me time to think. It’s just me and no one else. While I should be thinking about my...our future, I’m thinking about m-...our past instead. The memories of him, the memories of the father of my unborn child... The memories that are haunting me with scary, yet beautiful dreams. It gives me those mixed feelings...

...That emptiness.

I’ve been trying to fight that feeling for the few months he’s been gone. Somehow, I keep hoping he’ll just return, like that. Just pop up in my life again with some flowers and a box of chocolates. But with how things are, I probably have more chance of winning the lottery just at the moment a meteor hits Canterlot castle while it’s being attacked by Twilight Sparkle. Yeah, the chances of him ever coming back are pretty low. Why? It tears my heart apart even just thinking about it. And it tears it even more apart knowing that my little one will never have seen or touched or known his own father. I caress my belly again, as if to give it a gentle, reassuring stroke. Stressing about situations during the pregnancy isn’t good, I’ve heard, so I probably shouldn’t think about these things too much.

But still, there they were. Something leaking from my eyes, and I was sure it wasn’t the water from the shower. I blink slightly, rubbing a hoof over my cheek to wipe the tears away. I always end up like this when I think about him. The tears come flowing in. But I need to be strong, I need to stand my ground. I might be alone, but I will get myself through this. I keep promising myself this, but in the end it’ll come through. There’s always light at the end of the tunnel. Everything will be okay. I need to keep myself going, even if its with the little things, like smiling to myself in the mirror every morning. It’s just that I miss him so much and the emptiness... It keeps gnawing on me.

But enough pondering and crying, time to wash my mane and get out of this shower before I end up all wrinkly. I always wash my hair with a shampoo I made myself, being a herblorist and all. The job has a decent payment, I can live off it. Well, it completely depends on how business is going, but mostly its alright. I like it, it’s what I do. It’s my specialty, lets say. It also helps me keep my mind off of all the other things that go on. It makes me relax. Sure, it’s just mixing and stirring natural goods together until I have a validate potion or shampoo or lotion that ponies would actually but from me. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not some sort of witch with a cauldron in which I throw newt’s eyes and frog slime until some green smoke comes out. I mostly use flowers, fruits and other things that can be found in nature, like honey. I buy the honey from the market, though, I’m not going to be messing in some bee’s nest with my own hooves. I don’t even have the proper equipment for any of that.

The foam that I created while rubbing my hooves in my mane went down the drain. I sigh and wash my coat, before finally finishing and getting out. I look at myself in the mirror again. I can’t see myself, the shower caused the mirror to get damp and really difficult to see anything in it. However, I smile to myself. Always keep smiling, it’s the little things that keep me going. I grab a towel and rush it through my mane and over my coat. My mane droops over my head, because of the water, but I’m not going to leave it like that of course. I grab my brush and start rubbing it through my hair, struggling it into something orderly. I’m not a unicorn, so I don’t have any fancy magic to levitate the brush. Luckily I’m no pegasus either, I can only just imagine what extra work I’d have to put in cleaning those wings.

Almost done now. Last few times stroking this brush through my mane. There we go, I look decent again. I can finally walk out of this bathroom, only to return later to brush my teeth. But that’s later, all that matters is now. I’m one of those mares that always listens to those sayings. One of my favorite ones is still; ‘Yesterday is the past, tomorrow is the future, today is a gift. That’s why it’s called the present.’ I try to live along that saying, but it’s not always that easy. Following anything is never easy. Same thing with a diet, you’re bound to cheat and nibble a piece of chocolate or eat some candy at some point. Still, I try. I try my best to live along that one saying. I try and keep myself focussed on what’s happening and what’s to come. The past...

The past is behind me. And there it stays.

But yet, it creeps up on me, follows me around. And occasionally, it pulls on my shoulders and forces me to look at it. It’s presence is haunting yet soothing. it wants to hurt me but also lighten my pain. It wants to be there for me but at the same time it doesn’t. It’s just too difficult to say no and turn away. It’s too hard to just run away from it and leave it behind. Its embrace is around me and it doesn’t want to let go. Sometimes, I don’t want it to, because it contains all my memories. The good ones and the bad ones. It doesn’t hurt to stand still and just think about them every once in awhile. Well, at least not physically.

But now it’s time for breakfast. I take the necessary things out of the cupboards and boil some water. Normally, I’d drink coffee with my breakfast, but everypony’s been saying that coffee’s bad for an unborn foal. So ever since I’ve found out I’m pregnant, I’ve been drinking tea. It doesn’t quite do it like coffee, in my opinion. But that might be because I’m a bit of a caffeine addict. But the tea’s been helping me kick off and I’ve come to actually quite like the taste of tea. it’s better than nothing, I guess. I pour the hot water in a cup and slowly sink the teabag in. While that was going, I pop some bread in the toaster. I get the peanutbutter out and a single pot of yoghurt. The toast pops back out of the toaster and I place it on a plate, before sitting down at the table and smearing some peanutbutter on the bread. I pull the teabag out of my cup, dipping it slightly before laying it on the side. I take a small sip, but find that it’s a bit too hot, so I place the cup back down and start eating my toast.

And so here I am, slowly devouring my breakfast. Just me. You get used to it, really, being just you. Eating in silence, not a pony to say a word to, except to myself. But i’m not the type to talk to myself out loud. Even though nopony’s around, it just seems weird to have a conversation with myself. Senseless too, really. What would I possibly tell myself that I didn’t know yet? The only thing I do while eating breakfast is focussing on chewing and planning my day ahead. Not going to open my shop at the market today, because today’s sunday. I never open on sundays, but I’ve been thinking about doing so just to make extra bits. But the question is if people will actually be interested in shopping on a sunday? No, today is a sunday like another, today is the day I restock on my products that sell the best. I used to spend the time left experimenting with mixtures and test the results out on myself. But with this pregnancy, I don’t want to risk drinking or using something dangerous. So at the moment I can’t whip out any new products, I have to stick with the casual ones.

The first slice is now down in to my stomach, so I put another two slices in the toaster before I smear the other one with peanutbutter. I have to eat for two here! To be honest, this whole situation is having an effect on my appetite. I’ve been eating much more lately. I don’t want my foal to be underfed, after all. Thinking about it makes me bring a hoof down to caress the bulge in my belly. There I go again, calling it ‘it’. I just don’t know what else to call it. It feels like much more than just an ‘it’. It’s part of me...

Part of him, too.

The loud sound of the toaster finishing pulls my out of my thoughts. i’m just sitting there, holding a knife on a half done piece of toast. Sometimes I just lose myself in my own thoughts, like I’m daydreaming. I take the toast out and place it on a plate apart, letting it cool before tending to it. I finish the current piece, slowly starting to eat it. It was only now I take my first glance towards a clock. My goodness, this isn’t a breakfast at all anymore. It’s more like a lunch. I haven’t realised it’s already this late. I need to get my biological clock back in order, judging by the time I probably woke up around eleven am. I quickly finish my toast and smear the other two pieces, devouring them just as quickly. I forgot about my tea, by now it has gotten lukewarm. But it was still drinkable, so I quickly pour it down. Now only the yoghurt left. I spoon about half of it out, trying to fit all of it in my mouth but smudging some on my lips. Fantastic. I eat the rest of it more carefully. I clean up the table and walk back towards the bathroom, wiping the yoghurt off my face and brushing my teeth. I’m staring at myself again, but this time I pull grimaces to get to those hard-to-reach spots inside my mouth. I pull the toothbrush out, spit into the sink and pull a full-toothed grin at myself. All clean, good, because I know peanutbutter has the tendency to stick to my teeth.

Finally done with all of that. Time to retreat to my personal workspace. It’s a small room with some cabinets, a cooler and a stove. Of course I have a counter, too. You can see it a bit as a second kitchen. But it’s much smaller. I put a pot with water on the stove and turn it on, to let the water boil. I smile and take out some ingredients for a generic potion. I like to call this drink the ‘potion of happiness’. Of course, it doesn’t give the effect of ponies becoming happy instantly, no matter what situation they’re in. it just lightens your mood and generally makes you feel better. It gives a little boost to one’s self-confidence. I have to admit, I’ve been keeping a bottle of the stuff for myself, but luckily it doesn’t have anything bad for the foal in it, and it’s not an addictive drink either.

The water is boiling now, time to add the ingredients. I grab a few hazelnuts and give them a good smash, so they break into smaller pieces. I throw them in the boiling water. I’m creating more of a tea, actually, but I like the term ‘potion’. And it’s supposed to be drunk cold, so. Next ingredient, lemon juice. Not too much, though, or the potion will end up sour while it’s meant to be a sweet tasting drink. So I cut a lemon in half and squeeze it out in the water, that should be more than enough. The hazelnuts are giving off their essence in mean time. Now, the next ingredient. I place a pluck of bluebell on my counter. I’m supposed to cut the tiniest piece off of it to throw in the water. But I end up staring at the flower. It’s my cutiemark too, does it mean something? Or is this all pure coincidence? It’s a pretty flower, but it looks like it’s hanging with its head down. Like it’s sad, or upset or maybe even disappointed in something.

But it’s just a flower.

I’m staring at it, not realising the brew is overcooking. I gasp and pull the pot off the stove. I need to restart, mainly because the ingredients need to be thrown in there pretty quickly and I’ve waited too long now. I pour the failed brew through the drain and filled the pot with fresh water, placing it on the stove. This time I’m preparing everything beforehand. Smash the hazelnuts, cut a small piece off the flower and I don’t need to cut another lemon, I can use the other half of the one I used for the failure. That’s pretty much it, really. I need to add some stuff afterwards, though. The water is boiling and ready, here we go. Hazelnuts, lemon and bluebell. Now stir. The brew ends up having a light brown color, still transparent. As I said, it’s like tea. But I’m not finished with it yet.

I take the pot off the stove and grab a bowl, putting a sift on top of it. I pour it in, leaving the hazelnuts and the bluebell petal -which had lost most of its color- behind on the sift. I smile and look at the brew, it smells nice or at least pleasant. I add some milk, to give the brew a thicker texture. Then some ground chocolate, to make it taste even sweeter. But not too much, otherwise I have a watery chocolate milk. I then stir until I have a light brown brew ready. Now only to pour it in some vials. When I filled a fair amount of vials, I placed another pot of water on the stove, time to make it again.

This is how I spend my afternoon. Brewing potion after potion. It might seem boring, but to me, it isn’t. It puts me off my thoughts, it keeps me busy and at the end I make my living out of it. And now that I have to live through the day alone, I need that money. I just want a bright and good future for my foal, so I need all the money I can get. I’ve been making more potions than ever, somehow thinking it’ll make me sell more. But it all matters around how many customers I get. That’s what I’m mostly worried about. I’m scared I’ll have to get an extra job, but that means I won’t always be home for my foal. I want it to receive all the love a mother can give. Extra, even, for it may not receive the care a father would normally give.

I keep brewing my mixtures, sighing. I look at the clock every now and then, time’s flying by. But I’ll only stop when I know that I have enough potions for a week’s worth. By now I probably already have enough, but I always make extra just to be sure. You never know when a miracle might happen and everypony starts buying my potions. If that was only true. Business hasn’t been going well. I barely have enough to make a living out of it now, what will it be when the foal’s here? I try not to worry about it too much. Stress during pregnancies and all that, it’s not good for my foal. I need to relax. Six pm. i’ve been brewing potions for about five hours now, I think it’s enough. I’ve been inside for long enough now, I need some fresh air. Just a walk through the local park might do the trick. I pour the last bowl of the brew in a few vials, cork them up and place them aside. I clean out all the equipment I used and smile slightly to myself. It was a rather productive day, all by all. So I think I deserve a nice, relaxing walk.

I make my way out of my house, closing the door behind my. The sun greeted my, throwing its beams over my face as I take a deep breath. I set out towards the park, looking around. I wonder if ponies would notice me, but I hardly doubt it. I’m just a blue mare, with a swollen belly. An everyday sight. No one pays attention to each individual leaf of grass in a grassfield either. I trot slowly, my smile broadening. I love the outside. The park here is one of my favorite places to be. After a few minutes of trotting, I enter the park. I find myself a bench, sitting down on it and looking over the park. The trees, the grass, the pond in the distance, little foals playing around. My smile grew again, it all was so beautiful. It’s always the little things that make one happy.

But yet, I can’t help but pay attention to the ponies walking around. A happy couple under a tree not too far. A stallion playing with what would be his daughter. And I’m here, alone on a bench. Lil’ old me. Of course, I’m not the only single here. Just when I’m thinking about that, two male pegasi trotted by. A dark grey one and a black one. Each had something different going on about them, though. The one pegasus had chains around his front hooves, and the other had a very eye catching purple mane. I gaze at them as they trot by, but I could swear the purple maned one winked at me. Or is it just my imagination playing tricks with me. I blush slightly and look down. I’m caressing my belly again, as if it could just detach and run away. But I’m worrying again, now is no time to worry. I get up again and smile, continuing my walk. One lap around the park, taking in the surroundings, smelling some flowers, listening to the birds. It makes me forget my worries. It makes me feel good.

After a long and refreshing walk, I decide to head home again. I walk back through town and I notice the purple maned pegasus fly over. He took no notice of me this time. of course he didn’t, who would want a pregnant mare like me? I need to fully forget the father too, before I can move on anyway. Still, the foal needs a father. I sigh and stop in front of my door, my stomach making a protesting grumble. of course I’m hungry. I open the door and make my way to the kitchen. I look around in the cupboards, seems I don’t have much options for tonight. I’ll have to settle with a fresh salad today. I cut some tomatoes and cucumbers, clean some lettuce and put it all together on a plate. I place that plate on the table and sit down, staring at my salad.

Here I am again. At the table, but this time for dinner, not for breakfast. However, I forgot a drink. I get up again and look around at what I have around. Water, that’s it. Well, it’s better than nothing. I grab a glass and fill it up, sitting back down on my chair. I start eating, slowly. I’m not smiling, not anymore. Because I look at the chair across the table and sigh, thinking. I feel so lonely, eating in front of that emptiness. That gnawing emptiness. You can’t see it, but yet I have the feeling it’s staring me down. One lonely chair, unseated, and it bring up memories. Those horrible, yet beautiful memories. I stop eating and just stare at the empty chair, caressing the bulge in my belly.

Where’s daddy?

I can hear it already asking. What do I answer to it? Where is daddy? I don’t know, little one... I’m so sorry, but I just don’t know. Lets just hope he’s at a better place, where he’ll always watch over you. I’m so sorry, that you never got to know him. That you never got to play in the garden with him. I’m so sorry, that you’ll never be able to sit on his lap while he tells you a story out of your favorite book. I’m so sorry that he can’t help you with your homework. I’m so sorry that you’ll never be able to run to your daddy after finally getting your cutiemark, and proudly show him what you can do.

I’m sorry that he never even knew you existed.

Because I never had the chance to tell him...

If I had the chance to see him and tell him one last thing, it would be that. I would tell him he was going to be a father. But I don’t think that chance will ever be there. And I don’t think the empty chair will listen. But is he’s really watching over me, then he should know. I’m pregnant, you’re going to be a father. I softly mutter that to myself, feeling a moisture over my cheeks as I stare at that empty chair. I can still see him sitting there, enjoying his meal while laughing at his teasing jokes. He’d finish his dinner and tell me he loves me. On which I always reply...

“I love you too...”

I can’t handle it anymore and I break out in sobbing. I push the plate out of the way and lie my head on the table, feeling my shoulders shake with each sob. I miss him so much, knowing he’ll never return for me, or for his unborn foal. Yet, I keep promising myself everything will be okay. Another sob, my cheeks are getting really wet now. All while I’m caressing the bulge on my belly. It feels good letting everything out once in a while, the flow of emotions that I’ve been cropping up for weeks. The stress, the problems, the memories... All tugging on my shoulders.

But I’m a strong mare.

I sniff and sit back up, grabbing a napkin and wiping my wet cheeks, getting rid of the tears. I then blow my nose and shove my plate back, continuing to eat as if nothing happened. I have to admit, I don’t feel good. Not with my past hanging on my shoulders. But I try to shake it loose. I try to fight. Sometimes it just wins, and this happens. ‘Where is daddy?’ Something I’ve been wondering since the day of his departure. Of course he didn’t do it out of free will. It was forced. All he did was protect me and his unborn foal, from which he didn’t know anything about yet. I was going to tell him that night. But I never got the chance.

I shake my head slightly. C’mon, lil’ old me, stop with those nasty, depressing thoughts. Think ahead. The foal needs a name, it needs a room. Oh, I will have so much fun designing a room for it. But first I need to know if it’s a filly or a colt. I’m hoping for a colt, but a filly would be just as nice. If it’s a colt, I’ll name it after its father, of course. If it’s a filly, well, I don’t know yet. I need time to ponder. I need to focus on giving it a future, giving it all the love it deserves. Think the past away. It’ll know its father, even though he’s not around anymore.

I finish my salad and my glass of water, but I don’t feel like doing the dishes now. I just slip the plate and glass in the sink and head off to bed. I feel tired. I’ll read a book and then doze off. Hopefully I’ll have some nice dreams tonight. I slowly climb up the stairs and sigh, turning in the first door on the right. I walk in, looking at the king-sized bed, bedside table on each side. His side has a picture of himself on the bedside table. I put that there, as a reminder of him. I slowly slip under the covers and grab a book from my bedside table. ‘Morning Never Comes’, written by a stallion called Ivory Ink. Not really reading material for how I’m feeling right now, but I’m hooked on the book. Just a few pages, then I’ll sleep.

After reading through a good block of pages, I feel my eyelids get heavy. I take a glance at the clock, ten pm. It’s early for me, but I feel tired. I close the book and slip it on my bedside table, turning on to my side, facing his part of the bed. I lie my hoof over his part of the duvet, as if he was lying there with me, whispering sweet words to me and promising me everything will be okay. I nod slightly, fighting back my tears. It’s been two months now, that I’ve been sleeping on this bed alone. Two months, but I still miss him as much as on the first day. I just can’t let go. What happened on that one faithfull day...

Is it okay to blame anypony?

Is it okay to blame myself?

He did it to protect me. He never wanted me to get hurt. I know it was the strength of love that drove us to that situation, but I can’t help but blame myself. If I hadn’t been so stupid and blunt, he’d still be here. He would really lie next to me, and whisper real sweet words to me. Just accepting that he’s gone is so hard. He’s gone, but yet I can still feel his presence. Yet, I still have a part of him within me, growing to a foal. It’s scaring me. I don’t like the pathetic mess I’ve become, whimpering and crying under my bedsheet, while my hoof is hopelessly searching for his arm body to hold. But he isn’t there, he hasn’t been for two months. I’m all alone. All alone with nopony to help me except myself. I close my eyes, wanting to drift off to sleep. Just to wake up again the following morning to smile at myself in the mirror...

...And promise myself it’ll all be okay.