I-solation

by Lapis-Lazuli and Stitch

Day 4

I-solation

Day 4

Silence. Pure, blessed silence. That’s what I wake up to, or that’s what I first think I wake up to. Stinging pain’s the second. Just trying to open my eyes sends it running down my spine and a wincing hiss escapes my mouth and pulls me straight out of drowsiness. I gingerly try squinting them open again, and I realize it’s only one side of my face that hurts so badly. I keep that eye closed and peak out the other. Above me is a big, four-bladed fan lazily turning without a sound. Even the magic on the shaft isn’t making any noises. It’s weird, but just noticing that little detail brings everything else into sharp focus. I panic and try to flail around at first, but a slow grinding pain in my thighs kills that idea. I blow out a huge breath and just lean backward, staring at the fan.

I’m lying in a small bed, a single and flat pillow for my head, and just one, thin sheet to cover me up. I turn my head from side to side since that doesn’t seem to hurt anywhere. The bed takes up most of the space in a tiny, blank room. There are no boxes, dressers, cabinets, or any kind of other furniture that’s usually in a bedroom. The only other unique thing about the place is a small, circular window on the right wall. Apparently I’m on some upper floor because I can’t even see the roofs of other buildings from my angle on the bed. Just a plain, grey, cloudy sky. Great. It’s going to rain.

I roll my head back to stare at the fan. I don’t will it to think about it, but I don’t try to stop it either. I don’t have the energy. My head keeps repeating that one moment. When I feel those filthy thugs take my tiara off my head. I guess it’s the lesser of two evils, because I can’t seem to remember them beating me. But it doesn’t hurt any less. My only hope of getting away from Baltimare is gone to who knows where. The only thing I had left that helped remind me of who and what I was going to be, no matter where I was, is gone. My connection to Daddy, to home, to my status… taken like it was some stupid trinket. I want to flop my head back on the pillow, but my chest is bound up by something and makes even attempting to sit up much too difficult.

So instead I just lie there, knowing that somepony will eventually come inside the room. After all, somepony obviously found and brought me here, so I’d think they’d want to know if I was dead or not. I really am surprised I’m not dead, the longer I think about it. Who knows how long I was unconscious in that alley, and as much as I hurt too much to do anything other than roll my head, they hit me hard enough. It crosses my mind that maybe I am actually dead, but I shake my head at that idea. The afterlife wouldn’t be so drab and dank and boring. Not to mention I don’t think I would still have my wounds. But that brings me back to wondering where exactly it is I’ve been taken.

I think the tightness around my chest and barrel is from bandages, and when I check beneath the sheet, that’s just what they are. And they’re not grimy, old bandages either. They’re a stark, clean white like what I’ve seen Rainbow Dash wearing when she comes out of the hospital every other day. And the wrapping looks professional too. Maybe a nurse at a hospital nearby found me? That seems as though it’d be the most likely. I’ve never believed in flowery depictions of certain ponies like nurses or Guardsponies or mail carriers, but I may have to rethink that if this pony does turn out to be a nurse. This is the kind of thing that happens in fairytales and other dorky foal stories.

I’m feeling even more awake now, and my curiosity is keeping me from thinking too much about getting beaten and robbed in an alley. I try to move around to get up again, but every twist and turn sets my flank and middle into throbbing pain like they’re being pelted by rocks. I don’t mean it to, but a yell comes out of my mouth before I bury my face in the pillow. I’m not sure why, but smothering my senses in the old thing keeps me from screaming any more as the pain slowly pulses away. When it finally goes back to being just a numbing pain in the back of my mind, I let go of the pillow and let it just sit there on top of my turned head. There wasn’t any noise in the room beforehoof, but now with the pillow resting on my exposed ear, it’s like I don’t even have to be bothered by the quietness.

I lay there for a long while, or maybe it’s not, but it seems like a long time for me. I’m back to where I was when I first woke up in this bed, in this room with the slow turning fan above me. My head feels like it’s spinning, giving me a headache and making me close my one open eye to block out the way everything is tilting and swaying. It only helps a little, since everything still feels like it’s trying to go topsy-turvy, but at least I don’t have to look at the real world staying perfectly still. Eventually, the swaying in my skull stops, but the headache doesn’t go away, and I decide to just keep my good eye shut. There’s not much to see in the room anyway, and if I do open it up, I’ll probably end up trying to get out of bed to go look out the window. Considering that my whole middle is bandaged up, I think that’d be a bad idea.

Not that lying very much awake with nothing but the darkness of my own eyelids is any better. I start to notice just how clean everything smells and feels. Whoever brought me here no doubt lives in the worst places in Baltimare if they have to use that much scour to keep icky grossness out. Aside from that, choosing to not use my eyes to occupy my brain means I have to take notice of how swollen my face feels. I’m sure it’s not nearly as bad as I think it is, but even against the softness of the mattress, I would swear it’s at least three times its normal size. It’s odd I think that the rest of me that got beat on doesn’t feel so bulged out but then again, I’ve learned my lesson about moving them around much. It’s hard to tell if they feel puffy or not when I can’t even brush them against bedsheets.

And it seems like it’s not just my physical head that’s swirling. My thoughts somehow circle back around to my tiara without me even realizing it. I’m remembering just how big it was, the specific steps I would go through to polish it when I wanted to do it myself, and even the names of each of the pearls I gave them when I was little. I’m remembering every little thing about it now, things I didn’t even know I had as memories. My head plays out a fun time I had with Silver once. We swapped out things. I took her glasses and pearl necklace while she wore my tiara. We even tried to do each others manes up to look like each other. I giggle a little bit. We ended up looking really stupid, and Daddy was up in a fuss with the servants for several days about letting us near scissors. I want to laugh harder, but the pain in my chest stops me, and I settle for more giggling. Tears are coming out of my eyes too, but I don’t notice them as much. Everything I’m feeling blurs together so easily, and at some point I fall asleep again.

I don’t know for how long I sleep, but I wake up with a jerky start when a thunderclap shakes the whole building I’m in. My eyes are wide and my breathing heavy and fast until I catch up with where I am. It all floods back, and I sigh. The rain starts, and I can tell these weather pegasi aren’t as good as the ones back home. Instead of a slow lead up, the clouds just start pouring out the rain as hard and fast as possible. I must be on the top floor of the building, because the clatter of the raindrops on the roof is loud and not a little piercing. I pull the pillow back over my head, and it blocks out enough of the incessant patter.

Several minutes go by, and the rain keeps me from concentrating on anything. But it’s too loud to let me sleep anymore and for some reason, it keeps me from being outright bored. I guess it’s just me trying to think or feel something, but being unable to. Before I can think of a way to shut the sound of the rain out completely, I hear something else distinctly different. It’s a small but prolonged creaking. Whatever. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s windy outside with how much rain and thunder are pounding along with this storm. I adjust my shoulder a bit, only, the sound of the sheets brushing against my fur is drowned out not by the pouring rain or growling thunder but by the steady, light clop of hooves on wood.

The steps are spaced out and cautious. Whoever it is doesn’t want to wake me up if I’m sleeping, obviously. I really want to roll over to see who it is, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt I’d end up howling into the mattress. Instead, I try to mouth a question, but only a little, strained squeak comes out. I clap my hooves over my mouth, and the steps stop. There’s nothing but the storm outside between us for what feels like an eternity. “Miss Veny!” a filly from the other side of my bed calls, and I can tell already she’s freaked out. Good thing I already had my ears covered, or I’m sure I would have had to at the volume she’s shouting. “The one from the alley’s awake I think!” If I wasn’t before, I sure am now.

“Hush! Magic, please, keep your voice down!” another voice and another set of much faster hooves greet my ears. I can only compare her voice to Momma’s. It’s stern, but I can hear something like what’s in Princess Twilight’s voice. It’s not kindness or concern. It’s just… I imagine Momma and decide it’s the voice of somepony who is simply nice. “You’ll wake up everypony else if this storm doesn’t do it for us.”

“Sorry, Miss Veny,” the filly I guess is named Magic says, and I can picture her looking down and shuffling her hooves. Her tone is apologetic enough. “Should I go while you check on her?”

“No, stay here. I may have you run and get me some bandages from the medicine closet,” the older mare who sounds like Momma replies. It’s then that I feel a soft, tentative hoof poke at my shoulder. I don’t move, and I definitely don’t say anything. I only breathe as softly as I can. It’s weird. I can’t place it exactly, but when I was alone in this room, I really did want to know who it was that had brought a beaten up mare here. Now that some of the ponies who live or work at this place (I still don’t know what the building is supposed to be) are in the room with me though, all I want is for them to go away. I don’t want them to know about my tiara, or what it meant, or where I’m from and trying to go. I close my good eye and pretend to be asleep. Maybe if they think I am, they’ll leave, and I can sort all of that junk out by myself. What good are they if I can’t even explain it all anyway?

“Dearie,” the mare says, more quietly this time, and I guess it’s her who pokes at my shoulder again. “I know you’re awake. So why don’t you say something. Like, say, what’s your name?” I keep silent and keep my eye shut. My name is mine and mine alone. I’ll give it out only if I think somepony else deserves to know it. They won’t take that much away from me. I think my eyebrows are scowling, because my head starts to hurt worse, and when I consciously don’t frown, it feels better. It’s hard to do, not furrow my eyebrows I mean.

“My name’s Magic Gale,” the filly in the room says. “Ain’t got a drop of magic in this unicorn body of mine.” Why is she so chipper about it? If I were a unicorn, that’d be the thing I’d probably care more about than being a royal. “C’mon, what gives newcomer?”

“Are you thirsty?” the older voice says, and her hoof rests permanently on my shoulder. It takes every bit of the little willpower I’ve got left to keep from yanking my shoulder away. But thanks to her suggestion, now I can’t help but notice how dry my mouth is. I dart my tongue out to wet my lips, and while I’m doing so, she pats me in what I guess is an attempt at encouragment. But all it does is cause me to bite down on my tongue. I can’t stop what happens next, but I still hate it that I suck in my breath so loudly. My tongue doesn’t even hurt that badly compared to the rest of me.

“Cool! She is awake!” Magic Gale says, and she’s back to her annoying loudness. Which she seems to take notice of, since she immediately apologizes with a whispered, “Sorry!” There’s nothing for it now, so I pull the pillow off my head with about as much care as Scootaloo has for her own safety. My hoof ends up flopping somewhere above my head and the pillow falls off the mattress and onto the floor.

“Go away,” I say as briskly as I can. I may not be able to make sense of it even to myself, but I know for a fact that I don’t want to talk to them right now.

“Are you sure?” the Momma sound alike asks me, though she does stop touching me. “We’re having a nice pot of pesto soup for supper in about half an hour.” I shake my head no. It sounds good, but I feel sick just thinking about trying to put anything in my mouth, never mind my stomach.

“Miss Veny?” Magic asks, and I can only assumes the older mare gives her some sort of approving nod, because she starts off again almost a second later. “I can bring her some up here after we’re all finished.”

“How would you like that, little one?” this Miss Veny asks me in turn. “You really do need to eat if you’re going to heal up properly.”

“I’m not little,” I feel the need to say. I’m not going to have this turn out with any misunderstandings. “You can leave it at the door. The soup.” Maybe I’ll be able to stomach something once I’m by myself again, and I’ve slept a bit more.

Magic giggles and says, “You are too little. You’re my size. And don’t you worry. I’ll have that soup up here soon as I can.” As if. The only thing in the world allowed to have a voice that high for her age is Pinkie Pie.

“Okay, that’s settled then,” Miss Veny says, apparently satisfied by the turn of events. “Magic, would you go down to check on Bowlful and make sure he’s not drowning in vegetable broth again.”

“Yes Ma’am!” the filly answers, and I get a pretty clear picture of a salute from her tone before the clopping of her hooves tells me she’s left the room. There’s a drawn-out silence now, and I notice the rain seems to have let up some even if it’s still letting off cracks of thunder every now and again.

When the mare doesn’t leave after several minutes, I repeat, “Go away.” She obviously didn’t take the hint that I meant both her and Magic the last time.

“I’ll go when I’m done making sure your bandages are still in place,” she answers me with a sternness that more than matches Miss Cheerilee. But she’s definitely preoccupied, I can tell, and if she is checking on whatever my bandages are for, I decide it’s best not to distract her. “Well that’s that then,” she says at last even though I never feel her tug on the white cloth strips once. She must be a unicorn and used magic to tell. “Could you sit up for me, dearie?”

“No,” I say. I’d think it would be obvious to somepony smart enough to wrap bandages that my flank hurts whenever I move it.

“You’re lucky, you know,” she tells me. “Nothing was broken and the cuts on your back aren’t deep at all. The rest is just bruising. If you don’t move around, it’ll just hurt more later and take longer to get better.”

“Go away,” I reiterate for the third time. “I don’t want to talk to you or anypony.” Why does she keep trying to be so comforting. Haven’t I made it perfectly transparent that I want to be left alone, with just my own head. It’s bad enough having to sort through it without somepony else muddling things up being nice or trying to understand. What a joke.

“If that’s what you need right now, I’ll leave you to it,” she says at last, and I hear her following through with it by the fading clop of her hooves on the wood floor. “Don’t be afraid to holler if you need anything. Somepony will hear and come see what it is you need. I’m Venia or Miss Veny so you know.” I don’t feel the need to nod or reply. It would probably end up convincing her to stay in the room longer. When I hear the door close behind her, I don’t peak open my good eye at first. I just try to enjoy the complete oblivion the rain gives me when I’m not looking around.

But I eventually peel it open, wondering if either of the mares did actually leave, or if they only faked it and are waiting on me to move around some. From what I can see from my limited area of vision, they left for real, so I let myself blow out a big breath. I begin to regret not having looked at either of them since I start thinking about the things they said and imagining what they must look like from their voices. Am I in a boarding school or someplace like that? Magic never called Miss Veny ‘Mom,’ but they were obviously eating here together with more than one other pony. A hospital is looking more and more likely, but that still doesn’t… or well, I guess Magic might be a nurse in training. Whatever. I don’t even know why I care.

I try to sit up again like Miss Veny said would be good for me, but I end up just falling back on the now pillowless mattress with an audible whimper escaping past my lips. My forehooves gingerly touch my flank, and I immediately yank them away at how sensitive they are. I do the same to my chest, and it doesn’t seem as bad. I realize I’ve been holding my breath and let it out in a long huff, staring at the ceiling and that same, old slow-turning fan. I try sitting up in different ways, but each time I end up leaning or collapsing back onto the bed, closer to tears every time. I don’t know why I’m not dead. I’m an utter and complete failure. I couldn’t pay attention to Daddy and when the train was boarding, I couldn’t convince the classy ponies of who I was, I ate at a Hayburger place, and I couldn’t even get my tiara sold so I could make my way home. Why?! I’m useless, pathetic, and… and… and, “Why can’t I just die?!” I’m not sure how loud I make that last part, but I hardly care. I lay my forelegs out and just let myself sob. The shaking on my chest keeps agitating the soreness, but it’s not like it’s bad as it probably could be. It has something to do with the bandages I’m guessing.

The tears seem to stop of their own accord, leaving me with one eye I can wipe dry and one I won’t even try to touch. I grab the sheets and dab at my good eye, and when I look over to toss them to the side, there’s a small black cart with a table-cloth on it blocking my view of the window. And behind it, a smiling sky blue mare is sitting with two bowls of steaming soup on the cart. “Hey,” she says, and I know immediately it’s Magic, even if she is keeping her voice quiet. “Ready to eat? I’ve been in that bed, so I thought I’d let you get it out of your system before I said anything.”

“How long have you…” I start to ask, but I stop and swallow hard. My voice sounds like some old stallion’s. When it doesn’t feel so bad, and I’m not sniffling as much, I ask again, “How long have you been there?”

“Not all that long,” she says back. “You were crying, but, yeah. So, want some help?”

“With what?” I spit back. I’m not in the greatest shape, but it’s not like I can’t put a spoon in my mouth.

“Oh, just sitting upright,” she says back, a little nervous but otherwise unfazed. “I can help, really.”

“No,” I say back, and even though I know I’m going to fail again, I try to ease myself onto my rump. My mouth opens in silent pain right when I’ve come to expect it. My forelegs give out, but instead of falling, there are hooves that catch me. It’s Magic. She’s leaning over the bed, her own forelegs thrown out to support mine.

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘yes’,” she giggles to me before pulling me around to face the cart. Only, when she lets me go, the pain in my flanks is like fire going all through the lower part of my body, and I pitch forward into the cart. Magic must have guessed it would happen, because she braces the cart with her chest and holds onto the two soup bowls. I lean there against the cart for a while, but the pain becomes a bearable throb eventually, and I’m actually able to sit up.

And now that I can eat and the food is in front of me, I lose most of my self control. My hoof darts out and grabs the spoon, and I’m shoveling soup into my mouth faster than I can swallow. It tastes amazing, and I only realize how hungry I really am when its warmth hits the bottom of my stomach. I hear Magic giggle again, and when I look past my stringy mane (which I vaguely notice is somewhat in my soup bowl), she’s neatly and primly eating her own soup. “So,” she says to me even though I go back to concentrating on eating. “How ‘bout I tell you some about me, and you can tell me about you whenever you’re ready. Today, tomorrow, whenever.” I do my best to nod while still shoveling the soup toward my face, and Magic giggles some more before she starts off talking. The clopping of hooves outside the room interrupts her, and when I look to see who it is, I see Miss Veny smiling in at her. Or me. Or both of us. I can’t tell, and frankly, the soup is more important to me at the moment anyway.

Comments

[Silver Thread]

The only thing I had left that helped remind me of who and what I was going to be, no matter where I was, is gone. My connection to Daddy, to home, to my status… taken like it was some stupid trinket.

Not sure if you meant this to sound as deep as it ended up; where the character hit the hammer on the head but still was ignorant of the truth at hand.