Chapters The Day the World Forgot Me
Act I - Part I: Forgotten
I find it funny how often fate decides to throw a few curveballs at you. You never see them coming. There’s no warning. One moment you’re going about your day with the usual routine, then something out of the ordinary happens for no reason other than to hand fate a couple of easy laughs. However, it’s never enough for it. It keeps trying to trip you, delude you from your goals. No matter how hard you try, no matter how cautious you are, you will make a mistake, and there’s little you can do to prepare for the consequences that follow.
Of course, fate isn’t always a cruel mistress. Every now and again, it allows a few fortunate circumstances to arise. It may give you an extra ace up your sleeve, or guide you to the treasure you’re searching for. You just have to be there to catch the opportunities while you still can.
While everypony’s perspective on fate may differ from my own, I firmly believe that it can be both your greatest ally… and your worst enemy.
Now, I’ve been called many names throughout my life. Most of them cliché. Others badass. I prefer to stick to my own. The one graciously given to me by my two wonderful, loving parents. The mare and the stallion that raised me from the ground up. The mare and the stallion that were there when times were difficult. The mare and the stallion who forgot me, just like the rest of the cruel, cruel world. I don’t blame them. I never have. It was never their fault in the first place.
Desert Sun. Does it have a ring to it? I never thought so. I reason it’s why most ponies tend to call me by “Sunny” while I’m trying to be myself and not that doppelgänger I involuntarily transformed into. There have been numerous times where other ponies have noted that Sunny is a more feminine name than masculine. I always shrugged it off. It’s my name, and nopony else’s. It distinguishes who I am. Who I’m meant to be. I love it and cherish it because it was given to me by the greatest couple in all of Equestria.
I’m an older stallion now. My bones becoming brittle, muscle cramps escalating in number every day that I live. I don’t mind. It’s no longer an issue. As long as I have the right to share my thoughts freely and openly to the city, and more importantly, to the rest of our great country, I’ll remain content with aging body.
But enough with who I am. You’re here because you want me to tell you my story, not my philosophies on our vast universe. Not to worry, I’ll begin soon enough. Just allot me a moment to collect my thoughts and organize my emotions. It’s been quite some time since I’ve previously told this story, and I just need to remember from Point A to Point B.
Alright. I’m set and ready if you are.
I’ll begin my story on the day that the world forgot me.
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Shrill screams penetrating my ear drums was probably the absolute worst way to start my day. My bright blue eyes immediately flutter open, scanning the room for the source of the sudden outcry. My gaze locks onto my twin sister’s. She stares at me like I was some sort of alien freak. Her jaw hangs open and her eye visibly twitches.
“Harmony, what are you doing in my room?” I ask irritably, annoyed that my obnoxious sister forced me awake so early in the morning. Faint beams of sunlight penetrate my bedroom’s only window, and increasing racket from the streets below signify that it was still early morning. It was something I had gotten used to, being able to tell the time simply by listening to the noise levels of the obstreperous ponies outside.
My sister continues to glare in my direction completely slack jawed. “W-who are you?” Harmony inquires, stuttering over her own words. She takes several paces away from where I rest, like I was tempted to attack her at any given moment.
I give her a quizzical expression. Was she pulling a lame joke on me? Was today April Foal’s Day? No, it couldn’t be either of those. Harmony’s personality didn’t allow for her to attempt to gag her one and only brother with silly tricks and games. She favored to be aloof, away from as many ponies as she could, besides the ones inside our family. I stood my ground in front of the bullies when they tried to laugh and tease at us. I protected her whenever I could. We loved each other, and although we may have sometimes gotten on each other’s nerves, there was nothing in the world that we would do to jeopardize our relationship.
Reminding myself that the pony standing in front of me was my beloved sister and not one of my idiotic friends, I decide to take the non-sarcastic route to respond to her befuddling question. “It’s me, Sunny,” I reply. “You know, your brother?”
“I-I don’t have a b-brother,” Harmony claims, her body movements signaling that she was about to dart out of my room. “I-I’m an o-only child.”
“What in the name of Celestia are you going on about?” I ask, throwing my blankets off the top of me. Only, there was one problem with what I just tried to do. My hooves actually toss themselves wildly into the air, because there were no blankets to throw off. The realization that I was sleeping in a barren room hit me like the Friendship Express going at full speed. Truth be told, it almost causes me to devolve into a panic-like state. My bed, dresser, collection of trading cards. Even my autographed hoofball signed by everypony on the Manehattan Warriors! Gone! Vanished! Into thin air!
Throwing myself onto my hooves, I quickly dash over to Harmony. “Where is my stuff?” I interrogate anxiously. Her emerald-green eyes meet mine. We awkwardly engage in a weird staring contest, neither of us muttering a single word. Thirty seconds fly by. Then a minute. Then two. I place a hoof on her shoulder to transfer my support. She’s about to collapse. Again, I ask her (albeit much more slowly), “Harmony, where is all my stuff?”
“H-how do you know my n-name?” Harmony demands, violently pushing my hoof away. Before I could even give a simple response, she shrieks vociferously for a second time, forcing me to cover my ears in order to avoid becoming deaf. “Mom! Dad! T-there’s a stalker inside our house!”
A heartbeat later, I notice my dad tumbling through the hallway with a nine-iron engulfed in a sky-blue aura. “Whoa, Dad, it’s okay!” I shout, shaking my head. “It’s just me!”
“Who the hell are you?” Dad questions fiercely, his face flushing with anger. “You know what, I don’t care. Get away from my daughter or I’ll personally shoot you to the moon!” He takes an ominous swing with the golf club, aiming right for the side of my head. I narrowly dodge the suddenly scary-looking club by rolling to my right. Stiffening my wings, I take off into the air and begin to circle around the frustrated parent. There was close to zero room to maneuver, but it didn’t sway me from going airborne. If this were any other pony in Manehatten, I wouldn’t have hesitated to wrestle the club from their grip and knock them upside the head with it. But this was my father who was trying to beat me into next week. I couldn’t comprehend why he was trying to do this to me. I was his son. Parents should never do this to their own children, even as pranks. It’s just downright awful.
“It’s me, Sunny!” I yelp, the nine-iron smashing into the wall behind me. “Your son! Harmony’s twin brother! Your name’s Caddy! Mom’s is Pebble Beach! You’ve got to believe me, I’m your son!”
“Kid, I have no clue where you got that information, but if I ever see your face near my family again I will call the MPD. Now get the hell out of my home, you blank flank!” Dad threatens, looking like he was ready to snap my neck into two separate pieces. I have never witnessed him this flustered in my life. I knew that he was over-protective of his foals, but this was way too much.
Coming to terms that my dad was being dead serious, I speedily fly towards the dilapidated, glass window. Flinging it wide open, I hastily jump into the chilly, polluted city air. I shoot away aimlessly, as fast lightning while trying to get as far away from home as I possibly could. Unable to stifle my tears, I begin to cry a waterfall as I fly into the alluring sunrise.
End Part I
The Day the World Forgot Me
Act I - Part II: New Old Friends
My mind races in a thousand directions as I attempt to piece together the events of this morning. My heart claims that it was just a bizarre, thoroughly vivid dream. My family wouldn’t in a million years do anything like that to me. I love them. The feeling was surely mutual, no doubt about that. We were as tight and compact as could be. Nothing could separate us. But the few minutes after I woke up clarified that something was clearly amiss.
I opt to lie low in a random alley for a few hours to recuperate my thoughts. My stomach growls with great intensity as I constantly wipe streams of tears down my cheeks. The bright sun is positioned near the center of the cloudless, blue sky. I didn’t have to guess that it was around noon, meaning I normally would’ve already eaten two separate meals by now if it was simply another normal day. I remind myself that I would need to find place to get a decent meal. Water shouldn’t be an issue. There were a multitude of drinking fountains scattered throughout Manehattan, and if worse comes to worse, I could take a graceful dive into the Cherry Creek River bordering downtown. Although, the steam boats chugging along the river twenty-four-seven would be a concern I could deal with later.
Then the next problem arises. Where in Equestria would I hunker down during the freezing, autumn nights? An orphanage is the first thing that pops into mind, but I immediately shove that picture out of the way.
I audibly sigh. This was just another item on a frighteningly growing list of items that absolutely needed to be dealt with. However, luck would not run in my favor if I sat on my haunches moping about something that was completely out of my control. The mystery behind my family’s sudden eccentric behavior I could pursue on the side while I take care of any basic necessities. I steadily work myself onto my four hooves, stretching various muscles that were previously feeling cramped and stiff. I canter towards an abandoned mirror propped against a chain-link fence. Styling my lemon-yellow mane to mimic something other than a total rat’s nest, I also check my eyes for any strains of redness. Feeling satisfied with my eyes looking somewhat normal, I’m ready to turn away, but my gaze inevitably drifts to my flank.
Additional tears attempt to break through, but I’m barely able to force them down. This is when Dad’s insult hits home. My dad called me a blank flank. My dad. My father. The stallion who taught me how to play sports like golf and hoofball. The stallion who taught me how to ride a bike. One of the most loathsome slanders one pony could call another, and my dad spat those two belittling words right to my face. I know that I’m a teenager and almost an adult, and I still haven’t yet discovered my special talent. But that is what families are for. To support and strengthen each other. Not to insult and downgrade. I’ve been fine living without a Cutie Mark for so long, but the terrible comments I receive every day were starting to catch up to me like a pony trying to ski away from an avalanche. If you’re not a pegasus, there’s no escape. I am a pegasus, and yet, it’s like my wings don’t want me to fly away. It’s a lose-lose situation, no matter what perspective you look at it.
Grabbing a nearby rock, I hurl the tiny object at the mirror with as much force as I can possibly muster, causing it to helplessly shatter into countless fragments. “Hey, ya’ll!” I hear a familiar, southern-accented voice call. “Is everythin’ a-okay over there?”
“Yeah!” I shout in return, chocking on another sob. “Everything’s fine!” I crane my neck to see two figures trotting in my direction, one much larger in stature than the other.
“Are ya sure?” the smaller one asks inquisitively in the same accent. “’S not every day ya see a pony break a mirror fer no reason, unless ya really wanted bad luck fer the next seven years.”
A quiet chuckle escapes my lips. “I’m just having a really bad day, needed to vent out some frustration,” I say with melancholy, scratching the back of my neck.
“Ah see. There’s no need ta explain, stranger,” the older one says, holding out a hoof. “Mah name’s—”
“Apple Seed,” I interrupt, finishing his sentence for him. “And this is your sister, Babs Seed.” The two siblings share a confused glance, glaring at me in a style similar to the way Harmony did before. Oh no, please in the name of Celestia, don’t let them forget me too!
“That’s right,” Apple Seed says with a hint of cautiousness, retracting his hoof. He raises an eyebrow, looking as if he’s afraid to say anything else. “Sorry if Ah don’t remember ya, but have we met somewhere?”“I’ve been your best friend for the last eight years, you dolt!” Nevertheless, I calm my nerves even though I desperately want to bawl on the concrete alleyway for the next two weeks. He doesn’t remember me. Babs doesn’t remember me. Does anyone remember me?
Taking an incredibly deep breath, I then proceed to answer his question. “We’ve got a few classes together at Cottonwood High. Uh… third period Algebra and sixth period Magic Theory, I believe.”
Apple Seed taps the bottom of his chin with a lime-green hoof, pondering in deep thought. His pupils shift left and right, like he’s shuffling through every mental file in his pee-wee sized brain to locate his knowledge on me. “Sorry, pardner,” he apologizes after what feels like an eternity of waiting for him to respond. “Ah’m ‘fraid that Ah can’t remember yer face for the life of me. Ah would think Ah’d remember somepony who doesn’t have a Cutie Mark, but Ah guess my memory ain’t that good.”
Unbeknownst to me, Babs’ expression instantly brightens. “Well Ah’ll be. Ya really don’t have yer Cutie Mark!” she cheerily says, though her words metaphorically stab me, inflicting a deep wound. “Just for yer information, Ah’m the leader of the Manehatten branch of the Cutie Mark Crusaders. You’re very welcome to join us to search for yer special talent. We’ve got activities and meetings goin’ on every week to find our Cutie Marks!”
“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to decline for now. I have some, uh, difficult things going on at the moment, and I really need some time to myself,” I say unhappily. I assume that Babs will be heartbroken over failing to recruit me, because I know how much this club means to her, so it’s no surprise that she utterly shocks me when she simply nods her head and shrugs it off like nothing.
“No problem,” Babs says, tossing her mane that’s continuously hindering her vision of me. “The position’s always open if ya want to come any time. Our headquarters are on 36th East over in Kings, top floor of the Bronx Apartment Complex, room 501.”
“Trust me,” I promise, “I’ll take you up on your offer as soon as I can.” If what she’s telling me is true, I might have just found a warm place to sleep. There is still a lingering likelihood that “HQ” might just be a glorified bedroom adorned with miscellaneous items (such as a cardboard podium, and a roll call sketched in crayon), but the chance that it’s a vacant apartment lifts my spirits slightly. After finding some food to satisfy my hollow belly, scoping out this place would be a number-one priority.
The thought of a decent, warm meal entices my stomach to rumble intensely. “Whoa, doggy! Was that yer stomach or did ‘nother earthquake hit Manehattan?” Apple Seed jokes, taking a few hearty snickers. He trots to the side of me, throwing an arm in a tight grip right around the back of my neck and leading me out of the alleyway like a puppy on a leash. “Me an’ mah sister were just ‘bout to head off to lunch. The least Ah can do is get ya somethin’ to apologize fer completely forgettin’ ya.”
“If it isn’t too much trouble,” I say humbly. “Though I’m afraid that I don’t have any spare change on me.”
“It’s no big deal, stranger,” Apple Seed says, the sudden change of light forcing to cover my eyes while they adjusted to the different level of brightness. “Ah just recently found a job at a deli not too far from home. The bits are rainin’ on me like that fancy, new-fangled precipitation-thingy over in Cloudsdale.” He pauses, glancing at me incredulously. “Ah hope ya don’t mind if Ah ask ya fer yer name. Probably should know if Ah’m dealin’ with a psychopath or whatever.”
My expression must’ve been disproportionate or something of the like, because the earth pony begins to cackle manically. “You shoulda seen the look on yer face,” Apple Seed laughs like there’s no tomorrow. “Ah’m just pullin’ yer strings, pardner.”
“The name’s Desert Sun, though most ponies call me Sunny,” I inform, gently thrusting his hoof off my neck.
Apple Seed looks up and down my body. “Ah have to say that your parents struck gold on yer name. With yer bright orange coat and yeller mane, ya’ll are probably a ladies killa if ya know what Ah mean,” he compliments (to a certain degree), nudging me with his arm. The bottom of my hoof connects with my face instantaneously. Good to know that Apple Seed certainly hasn’t changed even a bit.
“I’m not one for relationships,” I state, sidestepping out of the way of a few oncoming ponies. “Never understood the following for absolutely needing to be with another pony at all times.”
“C’mon, ya’ll at least have had ta kiss a mare once, right?” Apple Seed asks impetuously.
I shake my head. “Never have,” I say.
“Hmmm… that’s a mighty big problem ya got there, pardner,” he hesitantly says, his green eyes scanning the sidewalks around us. His gaze catches the sight of a few mares around our age chatting outside of some popular clothing boutique. A small smile creeps on his lips. He grabs me by the mane, forcing my legs move against their will. He hauls me until we’re only a few paces away from the clique of mares, and somehow, someway, they’re so absorbed in their conversation, they don’t even acknowledge our presence. This is when Apple Seed makes his move. “Howdy, ya’ll!”
The three mares halt their speech, turning around to greet us. “Uh… hi?” a mare with a coat of a dark purple hue says uncertainly in a form of a question rather than a statement.
“Ah’m Apple Seed, and this ‘ere’s Desert Sunny,” he introduces. Good ol’ Apple Seed, forgetting somepony’s name within minutes of meeting them. Way to go. I suppose he should still receive an A for effort, however, since he typically forgets their name and remembers them by the first object he notices afterwards. “Would either of ya fine mares like to go on a double date with the two of us?”
Their attention periodically deviates to Apple Seed, then to me. From what I can tell, they’re trying to gauge us on a “hotness” scale from one to ten, like most stereotypical teenage mares. The three form a circle, whispering to the point where my ears could hardly pick up what they’re saying. I shift uncomfortably while Apple Seed wears an enormous grin that’s honestly kind of creepy. Babs hides behind a lamppost like she usually does when around older ponies.
“Sorry, no can do,” the purple mare declines, breaking from their huddle. “He doesn’t even have a Cutie Mark. I bet he’s some sheltered pony who never leaves his home.”
I visually recoil from their hurtful words. At least I’m able to stand my ground and refuse to tuck my tail and run like I used to do when being rejected. “Sucks that ya’ll feel that way, but Ah’m still available. And looky ‘ere, Ah even got mah Cutie Mark,” Apple Seed says, wagging his haunch to make his point.
“We don’t like you either,” another mare with a coat colored similarly to mine out gruffly states. “The city isn’t a place for country ponies like you.”
“Oh, c’mon now,” Apple Seed says, desperately trying to conjure a way to impress them. “T’at ain’t fair, and ya’ll know it. Ah can be the nice stallion that gives ya flowers and chocolates, and the most badass one who can beat up anypony ta protect ya.”
“No thanks, we’re good,” the third one says. And with that, the three solemnly enter the boutique to retreat from the sight of us. Apple Seed’s head droops. This isn’t the first time that his proposals have been refused, but he’s always been the one to woo the mares with strength and decent looks. Babs jumps out from her not-so-clever hiding spot, running up to her brother and giving him the biggest bear hug she could give him.
“Ah’m sorry that you got tossed away like that, big bro,” Babs says, tucking her head into his shoulder.
“S’all right, ‘lil sis,” Apple Seed comforts, patting her on the back. “How ‘bout we go get that lunch Ah promised ya.”
The three of us remain in silence as we canter through several blocks to reach our destination, swimming our way through crowds of ponies off work for lunch hour. We eventually reach a deli which I recognize to be Apple Seed’s work place. He explains that he receives an employee discount when he has friends and family with him, which was the reason why he didn’t mind paying for my entire meal. I order one of the largest combos on the menu, scuffing down half of it and tucking the rest away for a later time.
Once we finish our lunch, Apple Seed notifies me that he’s on fairly tight schedule and has to get his sister home by one o’clock or else he’d been in a world of hurt. We bid our farewells, and I end up promising Babs that I’d come to one of the CMC’s meetings when I had the time. After they leave, I snatch a visitor’s pamphlet from the deli, which contained detailed maps on the whole city and its boroughs. I’m well acquainted with my neighborhood and its surrounding ones, but the city can act like a maze if you don’t know where you’re headed.
The warmth of the afternoon sun greets me eagerly as I once again take off into the sky with thoughts still dragging me down like a thousand ton weight. I open the map and begin to make my way to 36th East.
End Part II
Author's Note
This is just an idea that I had, something crazy that I don't think has been done before (if so, than not in this manner). Feedback's appreciated.
The Day the World Forgot Me
Act I - Part III: Pursuit at Twilight
Resting against a brick wall isn’t the most comfortable thing a pony can enjoy, but I feel strangely reliant on the additional support, even though it’s really just an inanimate object. Of course, pony companionship is something I’d much rather have at my disposal. The gaping pit in my gut that pains for somepony to talk to is almost beyond unbearable, which doesn’t make a lick of sense. It was only this morning I was forcefully kicked out of my own home and onto the streets of this grand metropolis. Why does it seem like an eternity?
What would happen if I try to return home? To be frank, I half-expect everything to return to the way it was before, like waking up from a horrible nightmare. However, I know better than that. I can tell fiction from reality, and as painstaking as it is to admit it, this is definitely real. There’s no need to sugarcoat it. There’s no need for denial. There’s no need wallow in deserted corner and cry like a foal (I already had enough weeping for a lifetime). I have to be strong. I have to be tenacious. I have to be unyielding. No matter what shenanigans fate has ready for me, I have to endure.
I munch on the last bit of my leftovers while the sun prepares to retreat before the night takes over. I used to fear the night. I hated it, because I believed the night was a symbol for darkness. Nightmares ran rampant from pony to pony, creating their greatest fears to come to life. But with Princess Luna’s return a few years ago, I’ve grown to respect its beauty for what it is. The night represents calm and tranquility, as ponies tuck themselves snuggly into their beds to gratefully rest from another long, hard-fought day. It graciously allows the ponies to recharge their indispensable energy in order to assemble both their minds and bodies for the next twelve hours of pure daylight.
Savoring the last bite of food, I toss my meager quantity of garbage into my newly acquired saddlebags I rummaged from a dumpster earlier today. The camouflaged bags look as if they’ve personally been to Tartarus and back, but hey, at least the vile odor originating from it isn’t too noticeable. I heave the bags onto my back, fastening the straps to assure that it wouldn’t fly right off me and into the streets below in mid-flight. I’d most likely ruin some poor ponies’ mane by dropping a decaying bag on top of them. Since last I checked, I stopped to take a short rest in the Bankchester borough. The magnitude of upper-class ponies roaming the area kind of irks me, but I’ve got to confess that they’ve built some pretty complacent rooftops.
I unhurriedly trot to the edge of the roof, taking a gander onto the paved roads a couple hundred feet below me. The ponies milling about imitate tiny ants, like I could take my hoof and squash them individually. I silently chuckle at the thought, crushing the city like an experimented mutant totally out of whack. Once I’m through with my silly imagination, I nimbly leap off of the roof like a pegasus participating in the Equestrian Games. My dexterous wings unfurl, and the air resistance that follows allows me to effortlessly guide myself through the remarkably clean air that’s sluggishly dropping in temperature. Yep, this is probably the one and only place in Manehattan where you can thankfully consume oxygen and not have to worry about dirty pollution entering your lungs.
The activity above-ground startles me as numerous groups of pegasi fly to and fro, trying to dash away from something. In the far distance, an airborne carriage is pursued by a group of ponies dressed completely in midnight-black apparel. While my eyesight isn’t the greatest, the last bit of sunlight shimmers on several shiny images displaying above the weirdly- garnished ponies. I count four of them in total, one abnormally larger than the others. It strikes me as odd, because only earth ponies could ever hope to reach that ginormous size. How his wings are keeping him afloat without tiring perplexes me to no extent. Allowing curiosity to get the better of me, I decided to follow the carriage that’s heading straight for downtown.
Keeping a comfortable space between myself and the runaway carriage, I continue to twirl left and right, scarcely dodging other frenzied pegasi who’re letting their panic override their sense of direction. However, my wings start to beat increasingly faster, enforcing me to dart across the sky at a breathtakingly swift speed. My brain furiously commands my wings to immediately decrease in momentum, but it’s like they have a mind of their own. Performing tricks I never knew I could perform before, I zigzag across the air, leaving a faint lemon-yellow trail in my weak.
My vision hones like an eagle, and I’m able to depict the scene that I’m quickly catching up to. Bankchester Banks: We’ll Keep Your Money Safe, No Matter the Cost! the side of the carriage reads in bolded, golden lettering. It doesn’t take an idiot to put two and two together. I’m actually trying to force myself into the middle of a robbery!
“Stop, stop, stop!” I desperately shout as if it would make my wings listen to reason. Either they didn’t hear me, or simply chose to ignore my pleas as they somehow escalate in speed! Craning my neck to inspect my rambunctious wings, my peripheral catches a glimpse of a picture adorned on my flank.
“Is… is that a Cutie Mark?” I ask in utter disbelief, an insect accidently flying into my gaping mouth. Though it’s difficult to tell, I believe it’s a pair of wings circling around what looks like a blue and green planet. Am I seriously destined to circumnavigate the globe? Whatever the image literally indicates, my pure adrenaline overwhelms my excitement as I head-butt the side of one of the robbers, causing him to slightly spiral out of control.
The robber smoothly regains his composure, his undivided attention turning in my direction. I gasp in horror when he sheathes a sharp, pointy combat knife between his yellow, crooked teeth. Given that this was any other circumstance, I would’ve been withdrawing like the entire Royal Guard was out to bust my ass. However, my emotions overtake any logical thought. I feel nothing but hatred and anger towards the bandit, and I would gladly plunge that knife into his heart given that the opportunity arises. My unwanted hostility greatly frightens me, but it’s like my entire body is now driven on autopilot. The previous Sunny has disappeared—a duplicate taking his place.
“Phoo’ tha hull ‘er ya?” the bandit sputters in incomprehensible mumbo-jumbo. He darts head-first, wildly slashing the knife at my throat. Outmaneuvering him is an easy task by tucking my wings and briefly descending in elevation. The bandit gives me no time to retaliate, however, as he copies my trick and closes the distance between the two of us in less than a second. This time, the knife thrusts for my eye but my reflexes are astonishingly quicker. I punch the bandit on the left cheek, the path of the knife now of no harm to me.
I expect the bandit to involuntarily drop the knife as well, but as fate wills, he manages to keep it intact between his rotten molars. The two of us tangle in a mid-air ballet as we swoop left and right, up and down. His attacks are unrelenting, and I find myself fatiguing to the point where each sharp turn causes my wings to scream in pure agony. My new self ignores the pain. Pain is weakness. I cannot let this two-faced loser get the best of me. I may be young, but I have the advantage of its agile body at my disposal!
As the radiant sun eventually fades into the horizon, our battle is still at its peak. Dozens of incandescent street lights illuminate the dark sky above. Vision becomes marginally impaired, but the silhouette of my aggressor keeps me going in the fight. The skyscrapers are drastically increasing in size as we continue to head in that general direction. A second bandit notices the absence of his co-conspirator, and sets his crosshair on my neck as well.
It couldn’t have even been five minutes since our tussle began, but every second lasts a day as now I have to evade the assaults of two independent raiders. Playing defense gains me no ground. Every strike and parry drains me of that much more precious energy. My reserves aren’t far from depleted. The effects of burnout create a distinct downfall on my performance; knives inching closer to my neck with every motion intended to sabotage my ability to bypass their merciless attacks.
No more freaking games. No more freaking evasive spirals. No more freaking bandits. It’s time to end this stupid fiasco right here and now.
My wings retract, and gravity’s unrelenting pull begins to tug me towards the pavement below. As I expect, the two bandits follow suit in order to create the momentum to keep up with my mind-boggling speeds. My mane flows around like crazy while I’m perilously trying to catch one simple breath. The hard concrete inches closer, and closer, and closer. Sensing that the bandits are almost within reach of me, my wings unfurl, and I narrowly miss the pavement by propelling at a ninety-degree angle. The strain torments me with pure misery, but my daring plan works. Both ponies are unable to perform whatever the hell I just did, and both inevitably crash into the pavement, creating two distinguished craters. At the very least, they’ll have a severe concussion. I don’t know if I killed them, but I if I did, I’m bewildered with the fact that I’m okay with it. They tried to steal from others, and they deserve the pain that follows even if it costs them their lives.
I speedily catch up to the bank carriage only to see that the final two bandits have broken off their pursuit and are nowhere to be seen. My nerves begin to calm when I see that we’ve entered the perimeter of the downtown area of Manehattan. Enormous buildings loom over me, and the intensity of their proportions make me feel very, very small. But small can have its advantages. Like making me less of a target for others to hit when they’re trying to bury a jagged object deep inside my flesh.
The carriage begins to sink in height as it skids to a halt in front of the tallest skyscraper in the city. Bankchester Corporations is written in incredibly bright neon lettering at the top of the towering building.
“There’s got to be something more than money in that carriage. There is no way those bandits would be trying to coordinate a robbery of that size if it was just a bunch of bits,” I hypothesize, landing onto the streets myself, knowing if I follow too closely I might be mistaken for another bandit. A multitude of bodyguards swarm the carriage, a plethora of crossbows and swords drift through the air as I detect that the majority of the tough-looking bodyguards are unicorns. The peculiar scene draws an enormous crowd from all over the area. Hundreds of ponies then encircle the carriage in hopes to catch a glimpse of what is inside.
My personal bubble immediately collapses as the close proximity of all the other ponies suddenly causes me to feel a distinct sense of claustrophobia. Even with the boisterous chatter of the mass of ponies, my ears perk up when the sound of sirens wailing reach my eardrums. Somepony must’ve gotten word to the MPD about the attempted theft, else there would hardly be any other reason for them to arrive on the scene.
Five personnel carriages slowly force their way through the growing crowd and beside the Bankchester transport. Several BELT teams flood out of the carriages adorned in heavy black armor, wielding police batons and riot shields. The colossal policeponies effortlessly drive the crowd away, barking orders for all civilians to disperse and carry about their business. Many walk away without a fight, but there’s still an embarrassingly large group that refuse to leave the premises. A few pegasi even try to fly over the wall of policeponies, only to be efficiently detained and into custody by taser bolts shot from the unicorn BELTs.
Deciding that whatever the carriage contains is not worth getting thrown in jail for, I violently shove surrounding ponies out my way and proceed to shoot off into the night sky, my wings begging to take a longer break. I disregard their request. I’m not in the mood to worry about their well-being. If they become injured, I do not care. My mission is accomplished. The bandits have been swayed from their objective. I hate them. I hate my friends. I hate my family. And most of all, I hate myself. I don’t understand why I feel these heinous sensations. They’re here, residing within me, and I just naturally have to let it drive me.
Flapping my wings over and over and over again, I ultimately reach the familiarity of the Kings borough after twenty minutes of continuous flight. Sweat beads down my face, but I don’t bother to wipe it away. My only goal is to reach the Bronx Apartment Complex that I scouted earlier in the day.
34th… 35th… 36th…
Taking a sharp left turn, my eyes are instantly drawn to the worn-down building at the end of the block like a moth to a light. I circle around the building several times to double-check for any suspicious activity. Feeling satisfied that nothing seems out of place, I land on the rooftop, the brittle concrete scraping against my hooves. My knees give in and I crumple onto the cold concrete beneath me. The concrete, it’s so, so cold.
Using my final supply of willpower, I sluggishly come to a stand and make my way to the door that leads to the staircase of the top floor. Every step is torture at its finest. So cold. So cold. Twisting the brass doorknob, I manage to swing the door wide open, allowing me entrance to the interior of the dilapidated building. Stumbling down the short staircase, I find myself in a hallway seemingly barren of any life. From what I can tell, there are only a few rooms on this floor.
504… 503… 502… 501…
Room 501 is without a doubt heaven on Equestria. Though I have precisely zero clue as to what’s on the other side of this door with paint chipped in various places, all I want to do is walk through the door uninvited and wail, “I’m home!” But this isn’t my home. I have a home. With my family. Which is where I belong. But they don’t remember me. The world doesn’t remember me. Am I just a phantom? A ghost that serves no purpose?
No.
I am a pony. I have a beating heart and a working brain. I can walk and talk and think and love just like any other pony. So why is this happening to me? Why, oh why?
I lift a hoof, gently knocking on the door three times. No answer comes in reply. I try again, albeit this time much more obnoxiously. Again, no response. This means either two things: The lot is vacant as I suspect, or this is the home of Apple and Babs Seed’s family, and they indubitably don’t want to deal with random strangers who lurk the hallways at night. It amazes me that after eight years of knowing Apple Seed, I never bothered to ask where he lived.
As I previously did before, I ever so gently twist the door knob, prying the door open inch by inch. It’s unlocked! This can’t be the home of Apple Seed. A good family would never forget to leave their door unlocked where bandits from the outside world can waltz inside. Bandit. The word tastes like acid on my tongue.
The light switch lies turned off near the entrance of the door. I flicker the switch and a lone light bulb dimly illuminates the main room. Angling my head to the right, the sight of a clean, spotless bathroom welcomes me. A hot shower sounds rather lovely, but I’m unsure that my body can support my own weight for much longer. I glance to the left, where I see a tiny bedroom with several unoccupied sleeping bags and pillows strewn about the floor. Smiling that I’m finally at my destination, I slam the door shut behind me and drag myself into the room.
I toss my saddlebags aside, grateful that this day is almost over. As I’m about to snuggly tuck myself into a sleeping bag that’s a few sizes too small, my eyes catches something horrifying. “What in the name of Celestia?” I ask myself in astonishment. My Cutie Mark! It’s gone! I can’t fathom how this is even possible! Since when did anypony lose their Cutie Mark immediately after getting it? How? How? How?!
Maybe it was just my imagination. My mind playing tricks on me.
Figuring that this is a controversy I could solve in the morning, I torpidly lay my head onto the pillow. Sleep hits like a tsunami in a matter of moments.
End Part III
The Day the World Forgot Me
Act I - Part IV: The Filly Troupe
Morning arrives faster than I originally anticipate, the sun’s repulsive glow catching my ocean blue eyes off guard. An arm instinctively shoots upward to block the bothersome glare. My skull throbs, my muscles ache, my wings done in. The memories of the last night are fuzzy, passing me by like a vivid blur. I desperately stimulate the banks of my passive memory, trying to grasp at least a few glimpses of what happened. Only select visions come to mind — and I puzzle together the events the best I can — but to no avail.
With the feeling of hope slowly draining throughout my system, I awkwardly wiggle out of the sickeningly pink sleeping bag, not wanting to head out for another day on the streets. An offensive stench wafts my nostrils, my throat slightly gagging in reflex. Although I’m unable to tell if the aroma is emanating from my B.O. or the saddlebags lying idly in the corner, I figure a quick dip in the shower wouldn’t hurt anypony a bit.
I sluggishly leave the bedroom and gently shut the bathroom door behind me as I enter, careful not to alert any of the neighbors that there’s an uninvited guest crashing in a nearby apartment. I twist the handle, arctic water pouring all over my body. Stifling a yelp, I immediately leap out of the chilly liquid like a frog. It’s so cold…
The feeling of the frozen water triggers a memory, and the events of last night replay in my head like a motion film you’d commonly see in a theater. Anger, disgust, abhorrence. There are only a scarce number of adjectives that could be used to describe my mental state of the previous night, and each one relies on revolving around the word hate . None of those words portray me. I’m simply not that type of pony. It’s almost as if some other entity took control of my body, leaving my former self far behind in an endless ocean to drown.
But when did I start acting unlike my true self? If that playback serves correct, I’m certain that it was around the time I noticed the imaginary Cutie Mark. Could the obscure vanishing picture plastered on my flank have any connection to these unwanted mood swings?
Looking at my disheveled reflection in the mirror, I can’t help but be frustrated with my half-baked imagination. I legitimately believed that after eighteen extensive years, I finally earned my rightful Cutie Mark. It was only illusion. I should’ve known better. But that image of the pair of wings encircling a planet looked so real. It was there. I’m sure of it.
But it was only just an illusion.
A heavy cloud of steam rises from the moldy shower, signaling that it’s hot and ready for use. Returning to my former position, I scrub as much dirt and grime from my luminous orange coat as I can with only the assistance of a pair of hooves. The absence of soap and shampoo bothers me, but the relaxing sensation of warm water entices me to remain inside the tub for longer than fifteen minutes. This is the first time since yesterday that I truly feel at ease, like the world is melting around me.
Content with my semi-clean mane/coat, I proceed to turn off the stream of water. There’s only one towel to greet me, and it looks like it hasn’t been washed in years. Filthy muck covers the polka-dot patterned cloth, so I elect to allow the air to dry me off. Using that tarnished thing would solely be counterproductive.
I leave the grimy bathroom behind me, my stomach aching for something to digest. Fastening the dilapidated saddlebags around my waist, I noiselessly part from my temporary residence. My muscles groan in agony with every step I take, but I force myself to ignore the constant pain. What use is there to fuss about something when there’s nopony to hear the complaints?
Princess Celestia’s sun welcomes me anxiously with its warmth wrapping around me like a snuggly blanket as I enter the rooftop. My mood immediately enhances. I know that hope lies somewhere within this endless, ragged metropolis. It’s now my goal to find and extract it.
Here we go wings, don’t fail me now.
I canter as fast as my sore legs will allow me, creating a steadily increasing portion of momentum. Springing off the hard concrete of the Bronx Apartments, my tender wings uncurl, and I perform a little backflip for nothing other than my pure enjoyment. There’s no other feeling that can compare to flying. It’s like a whole different world apart from the ground-stuck ponies. Unicorns may have their fancy magic tricks and earth ponies may have superior strength, but nothing beats the adrenaline rush that you receive from accomplishing flips, loops and dives in mid-air.
Judging the sun’s relative position as it slowly drifts across the cloudless morning sky, it can’t be any later than nine o’clock. This will allot me around twelve hours to explore before the night arrives. Manehattan nights are notorious for their freezing temperatures, though pegasi aren’t too effected by the cold unless it’s well below zero. Wait, if this is really true, why did it feel like I was transforming to a pony-popsicle last night? Ugh, I guess this is yet another dreaded question to add on my overgrowing list of notions that need to be answered.
Alright Sunny, let’s just take these things head-on one at a time.
I spend the majority of the morning searching for anything remotely edible to consume. After several hours of consistent probing throughout the Kings borough, my crosshairs target a lone donut stand with not a passerby in sight. “Perfect,” I inaudibly say to myself as I land in a darkened alleyway near the shop, my hooves creating a soft thump on the cracked pavement below. Fortunately for me, the vendor remains unsuspecting to anything in the near vicinity of him.
A plan begins to formulate, but before I can act, a nagging voice in the back of my mind brings up a good point. During the pursuit last night, my doppelgänger actually wished to end the lives of those bandits for trying to steal. Am I being hypocritical if I’m about to attempt the same?
My mind engages a civil war on itself, weighing the good and bad consequences about this. I’m so close to turning away with my conscience harassing me to leave the donut vendor alone, but the hollow pit in my stomach begs for something to eat. Eventually, my final decision is made. This isn’t a matter of ethics. This is a matter of survival.
So this means either two alternatives. Option A: Steal bits from another pony to purchase the food “honestly." Or Option B: Create a diversion to lure the vendor out of sight, leaving the stand unattended and ready for easy pickings. Choosing the lesser of two evils, I hesitatingly pick the latter idea.
My eyes scan the alleyway behind me, checking for something viable to use. My brief search finds a considerable quantity of secondhand baseballs and baseball bats tossed aside in a dirty garbage sack. “This will do,” I whisper, vigorously squeezing the top of the sack. My wings then start beat at a progressively faster pace. Although all the items combined must have to weigh at least fifty pounds, I’m finally able to become airborne with an extreme amount of effort put into lifting this dang thing into the sky.
I hover close to a nearby rooftop, double-checking to make certain there are no pedestrians directly below me. Feeling confident that this street is still as dead as a ghost town, I drop the bag, letting gravity do its work. Knowing that this will inevitably create a lot of attention to ponies who may be peaking out their windows, I dart into the alleyway for a second time. My sight catches the shape of a cardboard box large enough to hide two ponies inside, lying idly in a dumpster buried in a mountain of trash at the end of the alley.
Realizing that time is of the essence, I propel to the dumpster and back in less than a few seconds, the box clasped in between my hooves. As I suspect, the donut vendor neglects his stand to investigate the random equipment seemingly falling from the sky. Three boxes of donuts are piled neatly in a shelf behind the stand where other ponies standing in front of it wouldn’t be able to detect. I proceed to shove all three packages inside my saddlebags, quickly electing to hide under the cardboard box in case the vendor has already finished his inspection.
I barely lift the box, peeking under it with one eye. The vendor scratches the back of his neck, still seemingly confused as to what recently occurred. “Some kids have gotta be pullin’ a prank,” he surmises, departing from the bats and baseballs now strewn across the street. “Still scared the livin’ daylights outta me though. I should call the MPD once my shift’s over, tell 'em to get those idiots who think they’re all high and mighty pullin’ pranks on lone ponies.” My reflexes kick into action when his eyes shift to my direction, and I shut the box faster than anypony could ever hope to dream of. But it’s not like anypony has a box closing Cutie Mark, right?
“Coulda sworn that wasn’t there before,” he states, causing my blood to run cold. Well, this is it. I’ve been caught. I’m such an idiot for thinking this would ever work. It’s now just a matter of moments before he lifts the box and catches me shivering underneath as I plead for forgiveness.
I wait. I wait. And I wait, but nothing happens. My ears perk when they detect the vendor poking the outside of the box a few times, then deciding to trot away without so much as a glimpse to see what’s inside. This is indubitably convenient, but nonetheless, I slowly start to creep towards the alleyway in small increments. Though it eats up at least a half-hour of my time to crawl just a few feet, I eventually reach the familiar confines of the alley.
I toss the box off of me. It glides through the air for a swift moment before settling where it originally remained inactive before. Still not believing my luck with the vendor, I embark off the ground, obliging my wings to do their work. What a day this has been.
Sweat beads down my face as I enter Room 501. I’ve been exerting my poor wings to the point where they refuse to unfurl, and I had to trek six blocks to arrive at the Bronx. The doorpony at the front had asked me to state my name and business at the apartments. I truthfully informed her of my full name, but lied that I was only visiting a friend. She let me in without a fuss, which I was grateful for, but the glare she gave me sent chills down my spine. And on top of the terrorizing doorpony, the elevator ride up was awkward without a doubt. Two elderly ponies insisted that I told them all about everything that the “youngsters were into nowadays," to which I politely declined to say anything and left without speaking another word. Because of evacuating the elevator before it was even remotely near my floor, I was then tasked with marching up several flights of enormous staircases. Needless to say, I’m in the need of a long snooze to recuperate all of my expended energy.
Three pairs of eyes connect with mine as I dopily trot inside the room. “Haven’t ya ever heard of knocking?” Babs Seed asks incredulously, lifting an eyebrow behind her crudely constructed podium.
“Oh, uh, sorry about that,” I say, faking a smile. I mentally kick myself in the shins for forgetting that this is the filly's clubhouse, and that they would probably hang around here during the daytime. “I haven’t been thinking straight today.”
“Uh-huh,” Babs says cautiously, hopping off the cardboard podium. “Ya wouldn’t happen ta know anythin’ about the pony who decided ta crash at our HQ last night?”
“Um… uh… I-I-I…” I try to formulate words, but the only thing that escapes my lips is stutters and incomprehensible mumbo-jumbo.
Babs intimidatingly walks up to me, grabbing the back of my neck and aggressively forcing it down so that we meet at eye level. “Well ya better hope that Ah’m feelin’ generous today, Sunny, else the CMC might have ta teach ya a few lessons about trashing our headquarters.”
“I’m really sorry… I got caught up in some stuff last night and had to sleep here,” I apologize, my brain desperately trying to reason how a little kid can look so tough and daunting. “I promise it won’t happen again.”
“Ah’m glad ta here that,” Babs says, releasing my neck from her iron grip. “But yer gonna have ta pay the consequences fer comin’ here uninvited.”
I glance at her, a befuddled expression beginning to form on my face. “Wait a second; didn’t you invite me here yesterday?”
“That’s not the point!” Babs snaps, my legs instinctively backpedaling a few paces. “Give us two of those boxes of donuts, and we might let you walk outta this room alive!”
“Okay, deal, take them!” I say, giving in to her demands. I quickly push two of the boxes from my saddlebags across the floor. Babs stops their movement with a hoof, opening each box and inspecting each and every donut with utmost care and precision. She waves the other two fillies over with her hoof and they both proceed to do the same as their leader, glancing up and down, making positive that everything is neat and orderly.
"Everything looks good, boss," a pink-coated filly says, levitating a sprinkled donut with her golden-colored magic. She immediately digs into the delectable treat, electing to take gargantuan bites out of the pastry. Once she's through chomping every crumb of the donut into pieces, she lets out a satisfying, "Yummy!"
The third filly of the group, however, stares at the delicacies tentatively. "You absolutely sure that these aren't like poisoned or something?" she cautiously asks me, jabbing at one and flinching as if it's about to explode like an active volcano.
"From one pegasus to another," I say, noticing the filly's pair of wings, "you can trust me when I say that these aren't poisoned... or something. I just picked these up at bakery nearby."
"Why'd you bring them here?" the pegasus filly continues to question, still not looking convinced.
"Uh... they were supposed to be an offering to let me join the Cutie Mark Crusaders," I lie, even realizing that sooner or later, this vast web of fibs are going to bite me right in butt. "And I was going to share them without second thought, but somepony decided to go all gangster on me and threaten to hand the donuts over." I irritatingly glare at Babs who's stifling a snicker by lightly biting on her arm.
"What can Ah say? Ah'm a pretty good actor," Babs shrugs, selecting a donut for herself. "But Ah figured that you'd be smart enough ta realize that Ah was just pullin' yer strings. Ah can't believe that ya thought I was bein' dead serious."
"You are just like your brother," I sigh, rolling my eyes. "Always the one to joke around even if it means scaring the crap out of other ponies."
"How would ya know that?" Babs inquires with a mouthful of pastry, causing me to lose my appetite. "You just met mah brother yesterday."
"Trust me, I know a lot more about your brother than you think," I say, deciding to remove my bothersome saddlebags off my back. They're starting to become vigorously itchy, and I don't know how much longer I can put up with it.
Babs chuckles, eyeballing me curiously. "What are ya, some kind of stalker?"
"No, no, no, nothing like that," I deny, shaking my head forcibly. "I've just seen him do these kind of things before at school, especially in Drama class."
"But Apple Seed isn't takin' Drama this year," Babs notes, diving into her third donut. Geez, that filly must have the stomach of a full-grown stallion.
"This was during our sophomore year, so it would've been a long time ago," I say.
"So what yer tellin' me is that for at least two or three years, mah brother has never noticed ya before?" Babs interrogates, tossing a large maple-glazed donut to the eager pink unicorn filly who stuffs the entire thing into her mouth. "Are ya sure that the two of you go to the same school? Or maybe yer mistakin' mah brother fer somepony else."
"His country accent kind of stands out from the rest of the city ponies, don't you think?" I ask. Babs nods her head in affirmation. "Let's just say that I've been in the background for most of my life. I've always been teased and bullied about not earning my Cutie Mark since I'm almost an adult, so I tend to stay away from everypony else. I'm aloof like that, so it makes sense that we haven't actually met face-to-face before."
"Don't worry 'bout it, Ah completely understand. Yer very welcome ta join the CMC at anytime. We're plannin' on headin' out to Sunset Park over on 40th West in an hour if ya want to come with," Babs invites.
To be honest, there's not much else I have planned for the day. This actually may be a great opportunity to investigate my disappearing Cutie Mark from yesterday. "I'd be glad to come with you guys," I smile. "And if you don't mind, I'd also like to join the CMC."
Babs' expression brightens. She grabs a navy blue foam sword hidden from behind the podium, imitating the march of the Royal Guard. "With the authority granted to me as the leader of the Manehattan branch of the Cutie Mark Crusaders," Babs announces, tapping me on both my shoulders with the fake sword, "I hereby dub you an honorary member — and from this point onward — you shall join the three of us as we search for our Cutie Marks. One day, we will find them, no matter the cost!"
"So I'm a part of the CMC, now?" I ask.
"Yeah, though the initiation speech still needs a bit of work," Babs says. "Oh, shoot! I should probably introduce ya to our other two members. This is Cherry Jelly." The pink filly grins widely and waves, then carefully chooses another donut from the batch. "And that's Spring Meadows, though she prefers her nickname, Jetstream." The forest-green pegasus nods her head in acknowledgment, still refusing to divulge into the food.
"I'm Desert Sun, though most ponies call me Sunny," I acquaint myself.
"Hi, Sunny," both Cherry Jelly and Jetstream greet in unison.
"Hello," I say in return, my stomach growling intensely. "Hope you don't mind if I snack on a few of those myself. I haven't eaten anything all day."
"Well since ya went through all the trouble to buy these for us, Ah say that ya can have as many as you like!" Babs says, slapping her mane out of her face with a hoof.
"Oh, you have no idea," I smile, flavor exploding on my taste buds as I bite into the first pastry.
Donuts, new friends, and a part of something new. I bet there isn't any other way that this day can go wrong.
End Part IV
