FAREWELL
A BR story
The afternoon sun shone through the windows, painting the room with a soft orange glow. It reflected off of everything, giving it the same color. The hospital bed was bathed in sunset; so were the monitors, and tubes, and even the wilting tulips that had been stuck in a vase that had long gone dry. The entire room looked like a frustrated artist had taken the most beautiful shade of orange he could find and cast it all over his work.
I don't like the sunsets very much. If you've seen one, you've seen them all. Even if I did like to watch the sunsets, it would only take me back to a better time, a time full of family, friends, and all the good things life has to throw at you. I would love to take a walk with my wife, but the staff says I can't do that. I would give anything to roll around in the grass with my daughter, but the staff says I can't do that either.
All I can do is sit here and stare at the sunsets.
I asked the nurse when I could leave the hospital and get back to my family. Save for a sympathetic touch on the foreleg, I didn't get a response. I'm pretty optimistic, though. I like to tell myself that it's only one more day, or one more week. The staff says they can't let me leave until they figure out exactly what's wrong with me.
I did that for three months. The optimism is still there, but it's fading pretty quickly.
I try to cover my eyes with my hooves.
Stupid sunsets. I scowl. I hope those doctors finally let Peppermint visit soon.
******************
I wince slightly as the doctor pulls out the syringe, slapping a bandage on my foreleg while balancing the needle with the other. He makes a lame joke about last night's game, and I mix a chuckle with a pained groan. I tell him how my wife's doing; he tells me how his wife's doing. The banter goes on for a few more minutes until he tells me that he has to go to the lab for a few minutes to check the results of the blood work. He smiles at me and walks out the door, levitating the shot, a well-scribbled clipboard, and a large envelope.
I look around the office. Other than a colorful, friendly sign that tells foals to always wash their hooves, it's pretty standard for a doctor. A large, pristine metal desk with cupboards and drawers in it waits in the corner, a few cushioned stools stand in another. I sit on one of the stools and absentmindedly swing my hooves back and forth.
There's also a clock, a metallic, quiet clock that has the same coloration as the rest of the room. I look at the time. It's almost seven. I remind myself to pick up potatoes, celery, and sugar at the market. The potatoes and celery are for tonight's dinner, while the sugar is for my wife and daughter. They both love staying up late and see what wonderful treats they can craft. It's almost too cute to watch.
With a soft knock, the doctor opens the door. I greet him with a small grin. His face was ashen. He asks me to come down with him to the lab, to look over the results with him. I oblige; however, a kernel concern begins to seed inside me. What was wrong with the tests? Was I sick?
I'm behind the doctor by only a few steps. He leads me down several plain white corridors, until we reach the lab. I wrinkle my nose. The air is dripping with the smell of antiseptic chemicals. I don't like it. It makes me uneasy, adding to my own anxiety.
The lab is empty, save for a few ponies wearing pristine lab coats and peering through gleaming microscopes. The doctor pulls up a squat wooden chair with his magic. With eyes downcast, he invites me to sit down.
********************
I wake up again, trying to stretch out as far as I can without disturbing any of the tubes or wires that are fastened to my body. The plastic twists and flexes with every movement I make, artificial snakes writhing and wriggling on top of the bleached white fabric of the hospital bed.
I look outside the window. I scowl deeply; it's another sunset. I don't like the sunsets, have I said that already? They only serve to remind me of how much time I have left here, just like how many minutes are left in the day. My days are numbered, and I am forced to count my days in sunsets.
With a staggered squeak, the nurse opens the door to my room, balancing a tray full of food on as many hooves as she could offer. I squint my eyes a little. She's not the nurse that usually feeds me. She's definitely a new face around here. She looks young enough, and the nervous look on her face only betrays how much experience she actually has. None.
"Are you new here?" I ask her, peering at the nametag. REDHEART. It's fitting, for the mare has a cutie mark of a red cross emblazoned over a heart.
"Oh! Um, yes." She says. She's quick to talk, almost stuttering as she sets the tray down onto a nearby stool. "I just started work here as a nurse." She gives me a nervous grin. "It's my first day on the job." The tray only has a few items on it: a daisy sandwich, a small serving of hay fries, and a glass of juice.
"Ah, so you get the job of tending to the dying ponies, right?" The nervous look on her face quickly turns to horrified shock. "N-nopony told me you were—" I cut her off with a wave of a tube-covered hoof, and she quickly falls silent. There's an awkward pause for a few seconds. Redheart's face is almost as red as her Mark. I'm mad at myself now. It's her first day on the job. There's no way she could be accustomed to death at her age and experience.
Redheart manages a small, frail smile, her eyes darting around the room for an opportunity to change the subject. "N-nice sunset, isn't it?" she stutters, gesturing with a trembling hoof towards the window.
*****************
It's just so quick; there's no way I could take it all in at once. All I'm able to do is sit there while the doctor is talking. Most of what he says is a quiet blur of sound, but I pick up some words. Cancer. Leukemia. Only it's not regular. It's something different. Untreatable. There will have to be tests to determine the severity of the disease, but I can go now. The doctor repeats my name, and I look up. He places a reassuring hoof on my shoulder and tells me that it's going to be fine, that there's a pretty good chance I can make it.
We both know he's lying.
He writes some things down, and I walk out of the office, half conscious, wondering how I'm going to tell my wife. I stumble out of the office, down the dirt road that leads to my house. I pass rows and rows of neat little trees and crops, and the air smells like a damp spring evening.
The next thing I know, I'm home, and my wife is weeping into my shoulder.
Outside, the sun is setting.
********************
I carefully pick up a bag of candy that's been left on my bedside table, carefully testing its weight to see if it's the right size for my mission. It is. I tighten the piece of yarn that seals the bag shut and bounce it a little in my hoof. It's not perfect, but it'll work.
Reaching my hoof back as far as the gown, tubes, and wires can allow, I look for my target. The blinds. If I can hit it just right, they will come crashing down, unable to be reopened, and I won't have to look at a sunset anymore. Thing is, the nurses keep fixing them, claiming that the sunlight will be "good" for me.
Also, I'm running out of things to throw. Soon, all I'll have left to toss is the numerous "GET WELL" cards.
I scowl and hurl the bag, only to realize I have made a mistake. In mid-throw, my arm accidentally caught and twisted in an IV tube, cutting off the power of the toss. The bag sails through the air.
The blinds, halfway down now, only received a fraction of the impact from the bag. With a soft plop, the bag hits the floor and splits open. Candies scatter across the floor. The blinds shudder for a minute and then ascend to the top windowsill with a soft ziip.
I flip over in my bed and I scowl again, this time into my pillow. Better luck next time
********************
Redheart walks into the room again. It's been many months now, and she's grown into her job more. Gone is the nervous expression from her face. She doesn't talk with a stutter anymore. She's one of the most popular members of the staff of the hospital. I heard she's getting a promotion soon. The filly newbie who walked these halls are gone, replaced by the caring, competent nurse that she is today.
I motion to the windows. "The blinds are broken." It's only the early afternoon, and I want to see if I can get them fixed before the sun sets. It's better than having the darn thing stuck wide-open when the sunset comes around.
Redheart sets down the tray she was carrying. The earth pony frowned and walked across the room to the windows. She gingerly prodded the the blinds with a hoof. "Again? Didn't we fix them last week?"
"They must have broken again. Might wanna check the competence of the nurses who're fixing 'em." She facehoofed and walked back to my bed. She hands me a daisy sandwich, temporarily turning the attention away from the defective blinds. I don't know why the blinds always end up breaking. It's a "mystery" to everyone.
"Anyway," she begins, "you have another set of tests today." I grumble to myself. Tests usually mean that my entire day is gone, leaving less time for my family to visit- if they get to visit at all. I've got letters, though. Wonderful pieces of Peppermint's handwriting on parchment, along with scrawls of ink that could only be Twist trying to write.
Peppermint's doing fine, and Twist seems to be growing up too fast. She doesn't have her Cutie Mark yet, though; however, she loves making sweets. Just like her mother. Every time they visit, they bring a new batch of sugary treats for me; however, I can't eat them. The doctors tell me that it'll interfere with my medicine while they're eating the food my wife made me. I think she's now baking just for the staff now. I don't mind; it keeps her happy. I keep them on the side of the bed.
Redheart snaps a hoof, shattering my daydream as she holds up a clipboard in front of my face. "You have your first test in an hour. Nothing unusual, just a few-" few meant many- "scans to see how your condition has progressed." I grin a little, and tap my hooves together nervously.
"Does this mean I'm getting better?" Redheart's look melts into sympathy.
"Sweetie, we don't know yet. Any other situation, and we could have predicted it by now, but we both know how... unique...your illness is. It could be a while before we can do anything about it." The hope inside me is crushed, and I cross my forelegs and slouch backward in disgust.
********************
I'm back inside my room. It's the early morning, and the sunset has long since passed into the night. I can't sleep. Not after today, not even if my wife was holding me closer than ever before.
I sniffle softly in the darkness, a whisper of sound compared to the creaks of the hospital and the low thumps of the busy nurses on the wooden floors above.
My condition has worsened. That's what I heard. Something about not having enough T-cells to keep up with the disease. My body has been slowly breaking down all this time, and only now do they actually know what has been going on. It boggles the mind; a group of the most competent medical staff in Ponyville, and they can't even tell me that I'm dying until Death herself is knocking at my door,
They said one week. At best. One week to make up for all the wrong's I've done, tie up all the ends I've let loose.
This cloud does have a silver lining, though: I can finally see my wife. The hospital staff has finally allowed her to come. She's coming on Wednesday, though. Today's Friday. She's bringing little Twist in with her, too. I can't wait to see her. The nurses tell me Twist's grown so much since the last time I saw her, on that fated day where I took the trip to the doctor's office. From what I hear, she's doing excellent in school. She loves to spend time with her friends. She's even got a raging sweet tooth, just like her mother. They make candy together.
I can't wait to see them.
*********************
The door opens with the same familiar squeak as they both rush in. Redheart's a few paces behind them, but surprisingly is still able to keep up with the excited pace of the mother and daughter. As Peppermint crosses over the threshold that has been my prison, we lock eyes as tears begin to well up inside both of us. She tries to embrace me as much as she can with the tubes and bed in the way. It's not much, but the meaning is clear. The unspoken words are what mean the most. Between our bodies, Twist manages to wriggle through.
All three of us, together again.
I turn my head to look at Redheart. There's a smile on her face, but her eyes are shining. It's bittersweet for both of us.
*******************
Redheart and I are both silent. The only sound that can be heard is the soft drizzling of the rain outside. I turn to look at her, and her sky-blue eyes meet mine.
"So, that's it?" I ask, furrowing my brow. "Just one day left?" She nods. She had broken the news to me quickly and softly. She's also quick to explain. Apparently my condition has worsened ever more. No point in waiting to tell me. Tears begin to come to my eyes again as I imagine what my family's reaction would. "How could I tell them?" Redheart's eyes are misty, too. She walks across the white floor of the room and embraces me.
"I'm gonna miss you," She sobs quietly, and I can feel her tears wetting my shoulder.
One day left.
********************
It's all quiet now. Despite the fact that I'm supposed to not let anyone else on my bed, little Twist has fallen asleep in my hooves. I'm somewhat jealous of her. That filly has nothing to worry about, nothing to hang over head in the depths of night. My wife stands quietly off to the side, smiling down at me cradling my daughter.
The sun is setting outside.
"Redheart told me," she says, eyes downcast. I look over to her in surprise. "One day, right?" I nod, and Peppermint sobs. I hold up a hoof to silence her, for fear that Twist might wake up.
She moves in to hug me. "I guess this is farewell for us." Her face is blotchy, and her voice sounds like it's on the verge of tears for the dozenth time.
After we separate, Peppermint carefully pries Twist from my arms. The filly stirs in her sleep and mumbles something incomprehensible, but she remains sleeping. It's hard for me as well. I don't want to let go. All I want is to stay with them, but for some inexplicable reason, I have to go soon. My wife, carrying my daughter as best as she can without waking her up, heads for the door. She pauses and looks back at me.
For a moment, she's bathed in sunset, her form set afire by the light of the dying sun on the horizon.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
Tears are running openly down her face now, wetting the fur on her face in long and uneven streaks. I raise a tube-covered hoof, and wave a quick goodbye. Peppermint nods and leaves the room, the door closing with the finality of death itself. I sigh and roll onto my back. I can see the setting sun; there's a sliver of it poking out over the edge of the earth, a few final moments before night sets in.
I'm getting sleepy now. I don't even know if I'm thinking right now.
But for a moment, just one moment, the sunset's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Farewell.
Author's Note
I came, I saw, and I asked Symph for it 'coz he was cancelling the story. It's been a while since I wrote some sadfic.
