I don’t want to be here.
I want to be at home, next to my wife, Rebecca, in bed. I want to eat my mom’s cooking. I want to yell at a customer for breaking something in my store. I want to clean out the damn gutters that my Mom and Rebecca have been telling me to clean for months now. I want to kiss my wife. I want to hug my Mom.
I want to go home.
I don’t hate where I am, though. This city is actually beautiful at night, if a bit rustic looking. All the houses closest to where I am are all made from cut stone, while the ones further away are made out of modern materials. They style at which they all done make the transition seamless. Although the circumstances suck, I can’t deny the view from here. The way the moon lights up the taller buildings with a nice underglow from the oil street lamps.
I lean back a bit from the railing of the balcony I’m currently standing on to reach into my coat pocket to pull out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. My last pack, seeing as they don’t have tobacco here, apparently. Flipping open the top reveals that I have exactly three bent cigarettes and one broke one. Kind of shows what I’ve been through these past few weeks, I guess. Bent in some ways, broken in others.
With a sigh through my nose I pull out one of the bent ones and put it betweens my lips. I put the pack back and pull out my lighter. As I light the cigarette and take the first drag, I can’t help but think back on how I got here.
I own and operate my father’s antique shop. Its located at the far end of town, where the main road first enters town. The building itself is a gigantic warehouse with a small office building turned store attached to the front. My father bought the place when he was in his early forties with no idea what he was going to do with it. He first just used it for storage for all the old ‘junk’ that he had collected over the years. While he was moving it all inside, a car drove past him and slammed on its brakes soon after. The car quickly turned around and pulled up along side my father's truck. A man stepped out and enthusiastically walked over to an old Coca-Cola sign my father had propped up on the tailgate of his truck. My father, the giant slab of muscle that he was, grabbed the man by the shoulder, rather firmly, and asked him what he was doing. The man quickly recovered and pointed at the sign.
‘I will pay you one hundred dollars for that sign right there. Cash,’ the man replied.
My father, a bit stunned from the offer, took a second to respond. Then, my father had an idea. My father said that he would sell the sign to him, on one condition. That he would look at the rest of the ‘junk’ that he had inside. Three hundred dollars, and few more sold items, and my father knew what he was going to do with the warehouse.
Collectors Antiques, open since 1979.
When my father passed, he left the store to me. Working there since I was seven allowed me to run it no problem. My mother and Rebecca kept me from just taking all the stuff I wanted home.
I was just finishing sweeping in front of the sign wall. Signs dating all the way back to the early 1800’s, and some recent ones that I hoped would eventually be worth a damn. As I turned to head towards the front, I saw my mom knelt down in front of the display case, that we also use as a front counter, wiping the glass with a rag while overly pregnant Rebecca looked on. I was about to make a snarky remark about the scene before me, when I felt my sense of balance disappear.
I fell to one knee and dropped the broom. I felt as if all of my weight had been forced into my chest. Looking at my hands, I saw that I was now glowing purple. A gasp made me look up. My mom and Rebecca were looking at me with a mix of worry or fear. I didn’t know what was about to happen, but I knew what I needed to say.
‘I love you.’
Then I disappeared.
The stone of the railing cracked a little where my hand was wrapped around it. Just another reminder of how I’ve been… changed, since I got here.
“Careful of what you break, I might have my sister make you pay for it.”
`I don’t turn around. I know who it is. I was expecting her to show eventually. She has been bothering me every night since Princess Celestia gave me this room.
“At this point, I think me breaking inanimate objects isn’t a concern. Its the animate ones that I want to break are who you should be worried about, Princess.”
The clip clop of hooves I’ve grown familiar with the populace here approach from my left as I ground out my cigarette. The wing that found itself lightly wrapping around my back was what was unfamiliar. I bristled at the touch, but it wasn’t unwelcome gesture after the past few weeks that I’ve had.
“I know that you are angry, rightfully so given the circumstances,” I feel her rub her head against my left shoulder, “My sister and I appreciate that you have shown restraint in light of these events.”
“Restraint?” I scoff, “Restraint doesn’t sound like a strong enough word… but you’re welcome, none the less.”
We lapse into silence for a bit. After what feels like a few minutes, I turn to look at my visitor, the wing sliding off my shoulder. Her name is Princess Luna. The first person in this weird world that I would actually call a friend. She has done a lot for me in the past week, all unasked for. She’s looking at up at me with a gently, hesitant, smile. I offer a small genuine smile in return.
“I know I’ve said it a lot these past few days, but thank you. Your sister most likely would have killed me by now if you hadn’t.”
She chuckles at the last bit.
“My sister is many things. A killer she is not. She prefers to imprison her enemies, in the hope that they can be helped later down the line,” she turns to look at the city beyond, “Besides, I am very glad that I did decide to help you. You are very good company.”
“At least I’m still good for something after what happened,” I replied sullenly, turning back to lean on the railing.
“Has your memory improved at all?” She asked, sensing which way the conversation is going.
I take a deep breath, and run a hand through my hair.
“Of everything that has happened since I got here? Mostly. Before I got here? It comes and goes,” I sigh in frustration, “One moment I’ll remember something important, but whenever I try to think about it in detail, it just slips away.”
“The entity did a lot of damage while it was inside of you, physical and mental. It will take some time to figure out all of what it did, and how to fix it,” The wing returned, although with a firmer grasp, “We will help you as much as we can. I know that you want to go home, and hopefully you will be able to, but we need to figure out how to heal you first.”
I know what she says is true. I don’t want it to be, but it is. I give a shallow nod, and look up at the sky. The stars twinkle about as the moon shines brightly in the sky.
“The sky looks beautiful tonight.”
“You can try to change the subject compliments,” She chuckles, “and it will work. Thank you.”
“Credit given where its due.”
A loud yawn escapes me.
“I think it would be wise to go bed. You have been awake for two days now, and you will need your strength in the coming days.”
“I know, I know. Its just…”
“The nightmares?”
I give a nod in response.
“I have tried to help you with them, and will continue to do so, but it is hard to ‘find’ you in all of the jumble that is your head at the moment,” she rubs her head against my shoulder again, “I know that the nightmares are horrible, but you must hold strong. You have made it this far, you can make it a bit further.”
I don’t give a response in turn. Instead, I just reach out and give her a head rub. With another sigh, I retract my hand and push away from the railing, the wing removing itself again..
“Putting it off any longer won't make it any less worse, I guess.”
As I am about to start the short walk inside, Luna lightly tackles me from the side and envelopes me in a hug with her forehooves and wings.
“I am so dreadfully sorry for what has happened to you. I know that I can’t change what has happened, or all of what that thing did to you, but I hope that won’t hate all of us for what happened.”
I can't see her face at the moment, but by the sound of her voice, there are more than a few tears in her eyes.
“I only hate those responsible,” I said, returning the hug, “Blaming all of you for the actions of a few is childish.”
We stand there for a little while, me enjoying the comfort of a hug from a friend, her out of grief for what happened. I feel her grip loosen, and let go of mine. She drops back to all fours, a smile and a few tears adorning her face as she looks up at me.
“Goodnight, Luna.”
“Goodnight Thomas.”
As Luna flies off into night, I reluctantly trudge towards the bed in my room, knowing what awaits me.