The next half dozen ponies to come through the elevator were met with mirth and humor, which they returned in kind. Every one of them passed into the light with a smile on their face and peace in their hearts, and I even had one laughing so hard he was in tears. A good natured buck, a little younger than me, who had died while cliff diving into one of the rivers near town. His last words, and I checked the Codex to verify this, were "watch this." The sheer irony of this was not lost on either of us, and we had a good chuckle at it in spite of everything. I'd begun to find what worked for me as a receptionist, and it was paying off in spades.
When I'd first begun my position, I was trying to emulate Sage's serious demeanor and his wisdom. Lacking said wisdom, this was far more difficult for me. In search of the deeper meanings and philosophical truths that Sage mustered so easily, I'd allowed myself to dwell on the darker things and forge an emotional attachment with the departed. When Sam came through, he'd inadvertently shown me what was right for me with his easygoing manner. Forming the emotional attachment was key, but the bond I'd been making was on the wrong end of the emotional spectrum, as it were. Instead of focusing on the loss, the pain, and the death, I needed to focus on the memories of better times, the laughter they'd shared, and the lives they'd touched as they had filled in the "dash" on their headstone. My only regret was that it had taken me so long to see it like that. Flipping open the Codex out of habit, it took me fully ten seconds to recognize the mare in the newspaper cutout that was stuck to the page. I was ashamed at not immediately recognizing my own mother's face.
When I was very young, a filly of only four years old, I'd lost my mother to a terrible illness. It had been a harsh winter and many ponies had fallen ill, but none so badly as my mom. My mother, Stormy Skies, had been struck down by a rare genetic malformation. This mutation was almost never noticed in those who had it, due to the way that it lay dormant and inert. Very rarely, by way of some severe shock to the immune system of the carrier, the mutation would awaken and begin its spread. Even now, I can't remember the name of the disease or specifically what it was doing to her. All I can remember was how my mom got sicker and sicker, growing thinner and weaker as she did so. The disease was not swift, and her last tree months of life were spent in a hospice. I couldn't understand why mommy wasn't at home anymore, why she wasn't fixing my lunch and giving me a kiss before I set off to school. My dad tried to explain it away, saying she was at a sleepover, and might be there for a long time.
Not knowing any better, I'd asked question after question until he finally snapped and yelled at me to be quiet; it was the only time he'd ever raised his voice at me like that, and I ran to my room and cried. He came in a bit later and hugged me as he apologized. He told me that mommy was very sick, and that she might not be coming home. Even as young as I was, I could see the pain in his words.
When she'd first gone to the hospice, we would visit her every day and tell her about our day, and she would tell us about hers. Her eyes would light up as I showed her a picture I drew her or told her about a story I'd read. Whenever we were bout to leave, she would hug us close and kiss me on my forehead. "I love you, Jade," she would say. I would always say to her, "I love you too mommy, I hope you get better soon!" Dad would just stand in the corner, being all quiet for the most part. He'd send me out to wait in the lobby for a moment as he said goodbye, always wiping away a tear as he rejoined me.
As the weeks went on, the visits became less and less common. From every day to every other day, and then to once a week, the frequency dropped. As the intervals increased, my mom's decline became more noticeable. I could tell that she was in pain, and that seeing her like that hurt my dad deeply. The last time we visited her was the day she died. All of the tubes and wires coming out of her made her look like a machine, and she was barely able to speak. She listened intently as I told her all that had happened in the last week, and she even quizzed me on the alphabet that I'd learned that week. She congratulated me, telling me how proud she was of her beautiful daughter. Weak as she was, she could still smile; a fragile thing, fleeting as a small bird upon the windowsill. As the visiting hours wound down, we went to say goodbye. She was too weak to lift her head to kiss my forehead, so I did the only thing I could think of, kissing her on her forehead. She smiled with a tear in her eye as she croaked out that she loved me. I told her that I loved her too, and then went into the lobby to wait for my dad. He took much longer than usual to emerge, and when he did, he wasn't crying. He just looked... empty. I didn't learn why until a few years later, when he thought I was old enough; he repeated to me the last words she'd said in this life.
"I love you, but please don't miss me. You are what made my life worth living, you and Jade both. Just remember the happy times we shared, the love we feel. I don't want you to be sad when you think of me. Just smile, and know that I'll be waiting for you on the other side, and that I'll be free of pain. Just... smile. I love you both."
The rattle in other chest grew with each word, her last declaration nearly unintelligible. Then, she closed her eyes then and went to sleep, never to wake. True to her wishes, her funeral was not a mourning of her death, but a celebration of her life. There were many tears shed, not the least of which came from me, but there were also tears of happiness and laughter as friends commiserated and shared memories. Even now when I look back on that day, I like to think she would have been pleased to see the laughter she left behind. And on that day, I learned to laugh and celebrate life. Laugh, even when it hurts; laugh, even when all you want to do is cry.
Somewhere along the years I'd forgotten how to laugh and how to smile, and it took my own death for me to remember. Even as I was wondering what lesson the Codex was trying to impart by dredging up this memory, an elevator dinged.
Shaking off the cobwebs I'd gathered on my unexpected trip down memory lane, I looked up with a smile as the doors slid open. I half expected my mother to walk out, but it wasn't so. From the lift there emerged a young mare, no older than twelve. Her smile illuminated the room, and I could hear her giggling from across the lobby. I swallowed a lump that was forming in my throat as I pondered how to break it to her that she was dead. What happened next caught me entirely of guard. The filly sat on her haunches and threw her arms around herself, hugging herself tightly as she wept tears of joy. How did I know they were tears of joy? The constant giggling and the mildly disconcerting grin were pretty good indicators. The way she was embracing herself made it appear as if the was wearing an invisible straight jacket, and her disquieting giggles made me wish she was. No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than I regretted it, feeling deeply ashamed for even thinking something like that about such a sweet filly. Mentally kicking myself, I stood up from behind the counter and advanced towards the strange filly sitting on the floor and hugging herself. As I approached, her giggles tapered off, an inaudible litany tracking its place.
I was nearly upon her before I was able to decipher what she was saying, and it stopped me cold.
"I'm finally dead, no more pain. I'm finally dead, no more pain. I'm finally dead..."
On and on she went, the tears slipping from her eyes and dripping from the corners of her smile. Absentmindedly, I closed the last few meters and sat down directly in front of her. It was only then that she seemed to notice that she was not alone, and she looked up at me with the two biggest puppy-dog-eyes I'd ever had pointed in my direction. I felt me heart melting even before she spoke to me.
"Miss? Am I really dead this time, or am I dreaming again? Please, please tell me this isn't a dream... I don't want to wake up, I don't want to hurt anymore."
I sat there, mouth slightly agape as I tried to process this. I could not for the life (or death) of me figure out what could possibly have caused this little filly so much pain that she would dream about being dead. At least, not at first. The photo of my mother came to the forefront of my mind, snapping me out of my daze. I met her gaze with my own, seeing very clearly the fear and hope within her.
"Yes, sweetie. You won't hurt anymore now."
Her eyes searched mine, seeking any sign of deception but finding none. With a choking sob, she lunged forward and ensnared me in a bear hug as she bean weeping anew.
"I knew she was listening! I knew it, I just knew! I'm finally free, after all these years..."
I might have asked a question along the lines of 'who was listening?', but I didn't have nearly enough oxygen for that. Instead, I found myself wondering if it was indeed possible to die in the afterlife, and if so, what would become of me. Summoning the last of my strength as the blackness began to close in, I reached up and tried to pull the suffocating embrace away from my windpipe. Though my gesture was feeble, it served to remind the filly that ponies need air from time to time. She released her death grip on me, allowing me to take the single largest breath I've ever taken in my life.
Has air always tasted this sweet? I mused to myself. My vision swam with more stars than the night sky as I hovered on the brink of consciousness. The filly had taken to holding me at arm's length and shaking me back and forth like a rag doll.
"Hey lady? Are you okay? You look a little purple."
As my body finally decided to remain conscious and my motor skills slowly came back online, I was able to stutter out a response.
"Yeah. I just... forgot how to breathe. I- I'm better now."
"You're a strange pony. I like you."
"I'm the strange one? I beg to differ."
I held the filly in a mock-angry glare for a moment, to which she simply smiled before replying.
"Ladies don't beg; it's unbuttoning. That's what my dad used to say when I asked for ice cream or a new doll."
I stared at her for a second before I puzzled out the meaning of what she'd said. "Unbecoming, not unbuttoning."
She stared at me for a moment in confusion, tilting her head like a dog might, light orange locks falling across her eyes. "That's, what I said. Unbuttoning."
Fighting the urge to facehoof so hard my eye twitched, I tried to change the subject. "So earlier, you said 'she listened' or something like that. What was that about?"
Screwing up her face in confusion as she stroked her chin, she seemed deeply lost in thought. Her features suddenly lit up with a smile as she found an answer. She seemed far prouder than I would have expected for one remembering something that they'd said less than a minte ago.
"Oh! Princess Celestia, she listened to me and she granted my wish."
I cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, really? And what wish was that?"
"I wished I was dead, and here I am!"
Shocked. Dumbfounded. Unprepared. All of these words fall short of accurately capturing the disbelief garnered by this comment of hers.
"You... you wished for death? I-I don't think that the Princess was responsible for that one, dear."
"My name is Rose, not deer. And yes, she was. It was my Hearth-warming's eve wish."
"You wished for death on Hearth-warming's eve?"
Rose's smile died down a bit at the incredulous tone of my voice. I simply couldn't grasp it. She answered my question with one of her own.
"Do you know what its like to hurt all the time? Even when you sleep? Hurt so bad that you want to scream and never stop, no matter what the nurses do?"
I recoiled slightly at the sudden turn in the tone of the conversation, watched as the filly before me suddenly looked much older than her twelve years. I shook my head.
"I do. When I was six, I got really sick. My parents took me to a doctor who gave me some shots. A little later, we were heading to a bigger doctor's office, and my parents looked scared. When we got there, a whole bunch of nurses and doctors started asking questions, poking me with needles, and putting me inside big scary looking machines. The doctors came back and told us that I was very sick, and that there wasn't anything they could do to fix it, they could only make it not so bad for me. It was dark when we left, and my mom was crying. My dad took us for ice cream, and I knew whatever it was that the doctor had told him, it was bad. He only took us for ice cream on the weekend, and never right before bed like that. From then on, I got a big shot every week, and they hurt a lot."
Absently, Rose rubbed a spot on the side of her neck with a grimace. Somehow, I knew that she was rubbing the spot where they'd insert the needle. I sat in rapt silence as she continued.
"I remember when I turned nine, because that was when I started to hurt all over. I was just sore all the time, always tired. By the time I was ten, I was stuck in a wheelchair, and I wasn't allowed to leave the house except to get my shots. I had to take a bunch of pills everyday, but I still hurt all the time. I wet the bed for the first time since forever, and I cried. I hurt all over, and then I had to wear diapers like a foal. I spent my eleventh birthday in the hospital. Everything from then till now has just been a blur. I hurt so much, all the time. I wanted to scream sometimes, but I couldn't do it. Mostly, I just cried. Hearth-warming's eve, we had a family thing we did. We would open a present and make a wish, and if we were good that year, it might come true."
I saw this beautiful filly go from one of the happiest guests I'd met so far to one of the saddest. She stared at the floor, tears making a soft sound as they splattered against the tile. Rose sniffled, then continued.
"They opened their presents, and my mom opened mine with magic. Then they all closed their eyes and made their wishes. Mom and dad both wished that I would get better soon, just like always. My little brother Chowder started to cry when it was his turn to make his wish. He wished to the Princesses that I would die. Mom looked shocked and dad was super angry, and I thought he was going to hit Chowder for that. I think the only reason that he didn't was because I laughed. For the first time in a long time, I was happy, I was smiling."
She looked up at me, tears still dripping from her eyes, but her smile had returned.
"I looked at my little brother and smiled. I told them that I wished for that every year since I was ten, because I hurt so much. And maybe, with my little brother wishing for the same thing, we would overpower mom and dad's wishes. And it worked! It finally worked. I don't hurt anymore."
I was at a loss for how to giggle at this, unable to really register the weight of the story. Many years ago, I had been on the other side of the bed, watching as the one I loved slipped away. I never wished for her to die, even though I knew she was hurting. Was I selfish not to? Even as I cast my mind back to the dusty corridors of memory, I stumbled upon the answer.
"Rose, I think we need to throw you a death-day party, to celebrate the end of your pain. What do you think?"
The filly initially looked surprised, but she was soon sporting the biggest grin yet. She nodded so hard that I thought her head might pop off, which in turn produced the amusing mental image of it chattering around like a set of wind up teeth. In short order I'd scavenged up the makings of a party. In a mini fridge in the supply closet I'd found some sparkling grape juice and a tray of cupcakes. I tasted both by taking a little bite and a small sip, you know, to make sure they were fresh. Then, I decided that it couldn't hurt to be safe, so I finished the cupcake and had a bit more juice before concluding that they were in fact safe. These, coupled with coffee filter party hats and rubber glove balloon animals served to be serviceable party accoutrements.
As we dined upon the bounty provided for us by the refrigerator gods, we swapped stories of happier times, having a grand ole time of it. Eventually we ran short of cupkakes and juice, around the same time as the conversation hit a lull. My suggestion that she was ready to move on was met by excitement from Rose, and in short order we had cleaned up the aftermath of the party. I was about to walk her over to the door when i noticed a smear of frosting on the corner of her mouth. Asking her to sit still for a moment, I retrieved a wet paper napkin and crouched in front of her to dab the corners of her mouth. She made a big deal about complaining and fussing over the attention, but she was smiling that same infectious smile. Walking her to the door, she barely stopped to wave and thank me for the party before she was rushing through the door, trailing laughter into the light. Even after the flash, her carefree laugh yet echoed in the lobby. With a smile and a tired sigh, I wandered back towards the desk, wondering if there would always be cupcakes in the fridge. I stood in front of it, taking a deep breath and visualizing moist cupcakes. "Cupcakes, here I come!"
I yanked the door open with slightly excessive amounts of force, searching for the tiny cakes of the gods. "Drat."
I closed the door. Then, I ripped it open again, refusing to be fooled by the tricks of the cupcake gods.
"Aha! I've got you... drat."
The door closed and opened again.
"Drat."
Close. Open.
"Drat."
This went on and on until I finally decided that the cupcake gods had abandoned me in my hour of need. Walking out of the supply closet and closing it behind me, I plopped down in the chair behind the desk, reclining the chair on two legs as I relaxed.
---------------------------
I can't claim to have this job figured out yet, and if I'm honest with myself, I don't think such a thing is even possible. All I can really say for certain is that I have learned more than I ever thought possible, and this is only my first day. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't wish I could move on right this second, so that I could see my mom and spend some time with Clay in paradise. I know I'm not ready to move on, I haven't found my peace yet. I still find myself wrestling with my past, the things I didn't do but should've, and the things I did but shouldn't have. Oh the bright side, I have all of eternity to come to peace with that, and in the meantime, there are a lot of ponies who need my help, and who have something to teach me. I may be no Sage, but I do the best I can. After all, I'm only just beginning to adjust to my life as a receptionist in the afterlife.
(Ooh! Ooh! She said it! She said the title!)
--Roll credits--
First and foremost, I must pay tribute to my tireless editor, PacificPenguin, who I do not recognize or thank nearly as much as he deserves. For the last year-and-a-half, he has juggled college work and a social life, and has somehow still found time to slowly help me overcome my bad habits and terrible writing. It is without exaggeration and with complete sincerity that I tell you all this: without his advice and expertise, I would be but a shadow of the writer that I am today. A round of applause, if you will.
Secondly, I wish to thank my fans. Each and every one of you who is reading this, who have left feedback in the form of favorites, up votes, and / or comments. It is for you all that I write, and from you that I draw inspiration on what I write. I thrive on your feedback, and my ego couldn't exist without it.
Strange as it may seem, I wish to thank the intangible; I wish to thank Fate. Be it fate, destiny, providence, divine intervention, alien interference, or sheer dumb luck, I have been graced with a sharp mind, vivid imagination, and the dubious ability to take my thoughts and feelings and put them into words. I feel pretty darn lucky and grateful for this, for it permits me to make a positive change in the world.
And last but by no means least, I must pay homage to the anomalous progeny of a gifted mind which brought us all together, uniting us across all boundaries. It matters not what nation, gender, age, intelligence or orientation you claim, we are all brought together by the love of a show that defies all expectations and preconceptions. It is from these gloriously goofy pastel ponies that we can all learn valuable lessons about life and friendship. Thanks be to the staff of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic; past, present, and future for giving us something so pure and good.