This is the Dream of Dreamy and Grey
The air had more weight on my back than the massive mess of papers in my weathered knapsack. Black ink was still visible on my sweaty hooves as I trotted to the place I would call home. In a sense, I was relieved to have the burden of anxiety and the papers disappear. The rumbling of thunder from ahead propelled me to move faster; I couldn’t get this important delivery soaked. Where I was heading meant that I would never get to feel the delicate drops of rain again, but this was not an ideal time for it to pour. My destination was just ahead, a building that was rather small but was about to be where I would spend the rest of my horrid excuse for a life. I walked into the police station and was greeted enthusiastically. The man behind the counter had an uncertain look on his face as if he remembered me from somewhere. I responded by slowly taking out the pile of lined paper and placed it on the desk.
“Put me in a cell. Right now.” I coldly asked, with no intention of being handled otherwise in my empty eyes.
“Miss, please explain what you are doing-” he confusingly replied before I cut him off.
“Read the whole thing, but for now, put me in custody. I am dangerous, very dangerous, and no one else can be hurt. Don't you get it? I'm a goddamn psycho.” I exaggerated, but if that’s what I had to do to get my point across, then so be it.
“If this is some screwed up way to get someone to read your novel, lady, I don’t have time for this.” the man behind the counter plainly stated. I needed something to hook him into reading even the first sentence.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of the local mafia, right? This is a police station, after all.” I said sarcastically.
The stallion simply laughed. “Yes, of course.” he replied, subtly mocking my question.
“Well, their boss is dead.” I said with serious intent.
“And how do you know that?” he inquired.
“I slit his throat with this knife” I held up a bloody shank and immediately placed it on the counter. “Looky right there, I forgot to clean it, my bag’s probably stained... I got more knives at home, wanna keep this one?” I cheerfully asked, almost flirtatiously if I didn’t just wave a knife in a police station.
The holding cell I was kept in for now had a direct line of sight from the lobby’s counter. It was probably because I scared the poor guy and he wanted to keep tabs on me. At least from this angle I could see if he actually started reading it, which he did. If there was anything I was decent at, it was writing. I knew that if his eyes were on the page, they would stay there. Maybe if my life didn’t become so screwed up I’d be an author. Now that my package was delivered I laid down on the stone ‘bed’ next to me. Heh. It was pretty comfy, at least if the nerve cells on your back were completely shot. There wasn’t much to do but wait, which brought great anxiety. I was taking a complete gamble with this decision, but if it all worked out I can finally be free from my hell. My eyes closed, but I was still fast awake. I begun to think of everything that the papers have scribbled on them, everything that’s happened, starting from the beginning...
This is the story of why Equestria sleeps alone tonight.
The ceiling of my room is the only thing I have that’s remained constant. I’ve studied every crack, bump, and strip of peeled paint and know them by heart. Even when the light is not on, I can still see every feature perfectly. The only aspect of my surroundings that I’ve memorized as well is the mattress upon which I stare at the ceiling. I’ve spent damn near my whole life on that bed, ever since the day I found out what abilities I had in my room. The day I got my cutie mark.
. . .
“You’re never going to find your special talent if you lay around all day, Dreamcatcher...” a familiar voice resounded. Lay around? If only my mom knew I was saving Canterlot from a pack of ravenous hydras, she wouldn’t dismiss my adventures. Outside was a dull and repetitious world, but here, in this room, I was anything I could ever be, if I just imagined. In the realm of my creativity, I could be a pegasus like I’ve always wanted. I doubt anypony else daydreamed as much as I have, but I’ve enjoyed every second. Right now, though, was my defining battle, my shining moment in the chronology of my dreams. I was finally going to take down something worthy of the greatest filly knight in all of Equestria. I could feel every vibration from my mighty golden sword as I annihilated the final beast. Everything seemed so real, the cheers of everypony behind me, the crowd that carried me away, and the confetti that blinded my already limited vision in this armor. It was tiring, and I couldn’t wait to fall asleep and dream of another grand quest for Dreamcatcher the Great.
Glorious slumber lasted about five minutes, as I awoke to see a smiling father. “Honey, look,” he pointed to what looked like a cutie mark... my cutie mark. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on. The mark was an ominously lit dark cloud slightly covering a bright and inviting moon.
“Daddy, I did it! I got my cutie mark!” I exclaimed while jumping on my bed.
“Yes you did honey, looks like your adventures paid off” he softly replied.
They say that you can never recognize the best days of your life, but I can assure you that’s wrong. That moment when you get your cutie mark will be one that you will never forget, and you will know it. But, since that day, things started to get a little complicated. Nopony ever understood why I secluded myself in the recess of my own conscience. I never was the most popular filly at school. I was a humble earth pony, and while most of the class was learning to fly or cast amazing spells, I was confined to something so alone.
Only one person besides my father understood the reasons for my constant shutting out of everything around me. His name was Grey. But we both know him better as The Legendary Grey, Loyal Sidekick of Dreamcatcher The Great. The lengthy and childish name still made me chuckle when I wrote this. His nickname for me was Dreamy, and whenever somepony calls me that, I remember his voice. We were young... sadly too young to realize we were made for each other. My favorite journey we embarked on was to slay the mighty dragon that harassed Cloudsdale. I was overly cocky and ended up in the clutches of the creature. Grey rapidly fired perfectly-aimed arrows at the dragon, freeing me from his grasps. Another one of the greatest times of my life was taking down the dragon with Grey.
Surely though, all good things come to an end.
I like to think of periods of my life as eras, similar to historical ones that you might have read about in history textbooks while at school. If my time with Grey was my Renaissance, then the years afterwards marked the beginning of my life’s Dark Ages.
I never really knew what happened at the time, how massively everything changed. I just remembered one day all was well and the next thing I could recall was that my dad was gone.
. . .
When depression hits, it is something that overcomes you faster than any other feeling your mind conjures up. It engulfs your heart and holds it captive to its unimaginable torture of emptiness. It makes you regret ever being born and showcases every shortcoming and failure on a silver platter delivered directly to your already-broken heart. It crushes your dreams swiftly and effectively, sucking every last bit of oxygen from the lungs of aspiration. When your whole life was solely hopes and dreams, nothing seemed important. Every day I looked in the mirror, I saw my once lustrously and mysteriously curly crimson mane amount to mere frizzles. I watched as my cutie mark faded, unsure if it was my currently warped imagination or the colors actually losing their hue. The ceiling I used to love has now been renovated to evoke nothing but yearnings for the past, the past where I never had any inkling to end everything. I saw my reflection in the blade, the reflection of somepony I used to know. When I flipped the knife, I saw myself now, a shadow of the former Dreamcatcher. From the corner of my eye, sunlight pierced through the window. I didn’t care to leave my shelter, it didn’t matter if I was dreaming or really up anymore; both of the worlds brought pain and loneliness.
It is impossible to dwell in a dark room while depressed and not eventually have angst creep in. The anger slowly builds up and before you can react, it overwhelms your emotions like a tidal wave. And I believed there was only one way to solve it. I needed to find what happened to my father.
A tornado flew around my room, and I was too busy in bed to notice. My mom didn’t mind because the rest of the house was worse than my abode. I grabbed my knapsack from my bed and checked to make sure everything I needed was inside. I figured there were about five hundred bits, along with a few other items, including a piece of fabric I ripped from my blanket. I knew I wasn’t going to come back, this place was like a prison, and I finally accepted I couldn’t stay. But I couldn’t bear facing my mother, who has barely said a word since that day. It didn’t matter if this took place in my imagination or in my real life, the image of my mother, a shell of a once-cheery and caring mare stuck with me forever.
. . .
I've roamed the streets hundreds of times alone before, but now they just felt empty. There were plenty of ponies out and about, but the entire town seemed different. The aroma of the flowers didn’t quite smell the same, the hymns of the birds sounded foreign, and even the ground my hooves trotted on felt so cold. I couldn’t explain it, the chill the dirt shot up my spine. The whole experience was terrifying. What made the situation worse was how crowded the town was. Never have I been surrounded by so many ponies and felt so lonely at the same time. I needed to figure out what was wrong with me. My talent, my heightened and remarkable lucid dreaming, apparently wiped itself off the face of Equestria. I lost the only reason I’m here. The realization hit home now, and the pangs of dread soon followed. I guess I zoned out while worrying about my fate, as I bumped into some unicorn walking towards the town square. His fur was a tan hue, and his mane a dark sepia. His cutie mark was a pair of glasses.
“I’m so sorry. I did not see you there at all...” I apologized, and helped him pick up the array of scattered books and papers.
“It’s perfectly fine, really. Thanks for the help.” he responded as he grabbed for the last book.
I don’t believe in love at first sight. I’m chalking it up to coincidence that we both reached for it and touched each other’s hooves. The stranger quickly pulled back and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the slightest hint of a blush. I couldn’t blame him. One thing that I never had problems with were my looks. While I never really was part of the cliques back in my school days, that didn’t mean I wasn’t loveless. Far from it actually. I was a pretty egotistical kid back then, in my dreams, and sometimes it carried over to my personality here. But ever since I graduated, I haven’t so much as gone on a date. It wasn’t my standards that held me back, but more of my fear that I would find love. The concept was frankly scary, and I didn’t feel enough of an adult to engage in something so... real. I still spent most of my day in my dreams, probably more than I did as a child. Where Grey could save me from the dragon and I could be a pretty princess that lived happily after and all that. The real world was a terrible place, one where my father ceased to exist. Why would I ever want to be a part of something so devious it could steal away the people you loved? I could just stare at my beautiful ceiling, devoid of memories and heartaches. It was my clean slate. I could be a spy, an astronaut, an adventurer. I could shut out every shortcoming and engulf myself with pure ambition.
The unicorn turned away from me after he gathered all of his belongings. His voice was muffled but I thought I heard another thanks. I wanted to call him back. I really did. End the long span of loneliness. But I couldn’t. He seemed too nice for somepony like me, and he also was probably lonely. I couldn’t.
I stood there and tried to cry. I wanted to open the floodgates and make a scene, right there with everypony watching. I wanted to curl up and just let the tears go. I wanted to stop holding all of this in. But I just stood there, and gazed down the street as the stallion disappeared in the stream of ponies going about their daily activities.
I thought about him. It just happened less than a minute ago, but it felt like ages ago in my mind. He was probably just like me, alone, overcome by the cards that fate dealt him. He wasn’t brave enough to ask for my name, and neither was I. The question was so close to formulating from both of us when we grabbed that book.
The book.
If I wanted to figure out what has been troubling my cutie mark, surely a library would be a great place to start. I scanned the area I was in and attempted to figure out what direction I needed to head to. East. My hooves felt sore after standing for what seemed like a couple dozen lifetimes, and each step just increased the pain. The ground didn’t help either, the chill was still there, albeit less noticeable. But it was still there. Over the loud ramblings of the crowd, I heard the faint reprise of a blue jay’s tune. The song still felt so different and unwelcoming. Further down the street, the distinct scent of a bakery filled the stale air. For a second, I thought that it was familiar, that it would detach me from the change that Ponyville has endured. The uncertainty of the wisp of cinnamon shattered that notion quickly. There was never anything with cinnamon sold there, not when I was a kid.
There was only one place I knew would never change. The only location I could find some solace in and hopefully forget about all of this.
“Artie?” I inquired as I pushed the glass door open. “You there?” As I walked into the dusty store a bell jingled in a glorious symphony above me. I craned my head to see how it was creating such amazing music.
“Ahh, the Melody Bell. Made of pure crystal. I received it as a gift once from none other than the Crystal Empire!” Artie said. The earth pony had a crimson mane and grey fur. His cutie mark was a thick-tipped archaeological brush.
“By receive, you mean steal, right? I haven’t been here in years but I know that there’s no way you could ever receive a gift from anyone, but me, Artie.” I wittily replied, knowing that my dad’s old friend would get a kick out of it.
“I have a very broad definition of gift, sweetie” he responded with a chuckle. “What brings you here?”
“I need something that can hold books and papers and stuff. Not exactly a purse, more of a bag... a-” I said before he cut me off.
“Knapsack?”
“Yes, exactly that.” I said. “Exactly that”
“Give me a second to check out the back to see if I have any more. Feel free to look around.”
As he walked away, I eyed a snow globe on the far side of the room. It wasn’t anything special, but it interested me. Inside the little world was a train station that was a replica of one that was on the edge of Ponyville. I shook the glass sphere and watched as the white particles gently floated to the bottom of the trinket.
“Here you go!” Artie shouted. I nearly dropped the thing. I placed the snow globe back on the shelf and trotted towards him.
"It used to be in the possession of some bigshot unicorn from the past or something, I don't know. I never paid attention in class." he informatively stated.
The knapsack was a faded leather, something with a history of adventure. I inspected it and placed it on my back to see how it felt. The leather was really worn out. Just how I liked it. The knapsack was my baseball glove, and even the odor of the old material added to the effect. It was perfect. “How much?” I asked.
“Unless they have zero dollar bits as a currency now, it’s free.” Artie said.
“Artie, thank you so much. I’m really sorry I haven’t visited like I said I would. It’s... just been complicated. Really complicated.” I replied.
Artie said my apology wasn’t needed and he waved as I walked out of the store. The bell sounded again, and I bobbed my head to the tune until the door shut. Then the cacophony of the town resumed, eventually forming into one drawn out sine.
Author's Note
“Stories don’t have happy endings, they just cut off the sad part afterwards”
I’ve written many stories I’ve crumpled up, deleted, or just never bother to finish. I’ve tried so hard to write a story for the masses, something that would exemplify my skills as a writer and prove to everyone that I can do something for literature. It hasn’t worked out. The writing felt stilted, over thought, and I hated every single character I typed. This is not a story for you. This is a story for me. It’s as autobiographical as I’d like anything from me to be, and was somewhat hard to type. It also means there are no happy endings.
I don't have any proofreaders at the moment, so there might be a few errors.
