//------------------------------// // 2nd Verse // Story: Gloomy Sunday // by TimbukTurnip //------------------------------// Dear Dashie It’s been a week since my last letter. That’s seven whole days. Seven days that felt like seven years. And nothing in those years changed. The sea of grey clouds still weigh down on our heads, controlling and blocking from view the beautiful sky that was once your territory, your playground, and your life. No one has cleared it away, and I don’t know if they ever will. But I don’t care anymore. I don’t know why I write these letters. I deliver them to you, but you never read them. You can’t read them. At least, I don’t think you can. Can you? Maybe that’s why I write them – maybe I hold onto the small hope that you will see these messages and know that I haven’t forgotten you; that I will never forget you. Maybe I hope that, somehow, you can see me. That you’re watching me, that you’re still with me, even if I can’t see you. Maybe I hope that I’m not really alone. Or maybe I’m just crazy. Either way, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve had enough. Sweets and cake just taste horrible in my mouth. Every balloon I try to blow up just sags on the floor. The very idea of a party makes me feel sick. My super-special talent, and it makes me feel sick. Why? Because you made every party complete. Without you, all I have is reminders of the fact that you’re not there – the colourful decorations a reminder of your hair, the party games a reminder of your competitive spirit, the party food a reminder of the mess you would make. Reminders of you are all I seem to have now; they’re everywhere I look. No matter how hard I try, I can’t tear myself away from them, eventually losing myself in memories, fantasies and ‘what ifs’ surrounding them; I keep watching the door in my room above Sugarcube Corner – the door only pegasi can use – expecting you to come flying in with a smile on your face and prove to me that this is all just some sort of crazy and elaborate prank. I imagine you pulling me into a hug, apologising for making me so sad and asking me for forgiveness. And of course, I would forgive you; you never meant to hurt me, you were just trying to trick me. It worked too, but what you tricked me into believing was just a teensy bit distasteful. That wouldn’t matter though. It would be okay as long as I knew you were safe. But I know you’re not. Or, maybe you are. Maybe you’re perfectly safe, because now, nothing can harm you ever again. Because there’s a simple four letter word that would perfectly describe you right now Dashie, one that I don’t dare say. I couldn’t bear to. The thought of it makes me wretch, yet it echoes in my mind over and over. I can’t stand it anymore; it’s too much to take. My heart aches Dashie. I spend each day alone, wishing it would end faster, but instead it seems to torment me, stretching each minute into an hour of complete emptiness and dragging on for as long as possible. And the aching never goes away. So I’ve made up my mind. My heart and I have decided to end the pain the only way possible. I’m coming to join you Dashie. I know – soon there’ll be candles and speeches and final goodbyes; it’ll be the first gathering of friends that I haven’t chosen to go to. Though of course, I will still be there, just not in spirit. It would be silly of me to hope that ponies, especially our friends, won’t be sad, but I hope they don’t cry at least. I hope they realise that I want this – that this is the only way I will ever be happy again. Because in doing this, I’ll be with you again Dashie, one way or another. I’ll be able to hold you close again, and never have to let go. And even if for some reason I can’t - if there is nothing after this life and no way to meet you again - then at least the heartache will have stopped, along with the heart itself. No matter what happens, I’ll be holding onto your memory, blessing it until my very last breath. One way or another, I’m coming Dashie. I’ll see you soon, okay? Your bestest friend forever and ever, Pinkie Pie