A Story Worth Telling

by Elkia Deerling

A safe haven

Talking, lots of talking; and pills, lots of pills.

I had been in the Ponyville hospital for a week, and the treatment program had started. The start of it was the hardest thing I had ever done. As I predicted, I was unable to retell my whole pathetic story without bursting into tears once or twice. The doctor must have thought that I was a wimp, and of course, he was right. Doctor Redheart was his name. He was an old pegasus pony with years of experience in psychology. You could tell that he had, because he looked exactly as a psychiatrist should: deep wrinkles lining a face with ears that had heard countless horrible things and with a mouth that had said countless comforting words. Who knows how many lives he had saved, how many ponies he had prevented from killing themselves. Doctor Redheart always knew just what to say. He always knew just what to ask. His questions were so tactical and calculated, it was as if the old unicorn was literally prodding at my heart with his hooves. But the questions were painful too; strikingly painful. They struck sad chords in the very depths of my soul, laying it bare and driving it to the surface, whereupon the doctor could take a closer look.

No matter how hard Doctor Redheart tried to paint a picture of my broken mind, I knew he was wasting his time with me, and every day I hoped that he would come to the same conclusion and stop trying to help me. He didn’t of course, so every day his daughter, nurse Redheart, would come and get me.

I stayed in a room at the Ponyville hospital. You could compare it to a hotel room. There were the basic things: a bed, a fridge, a table and some chairs, etcetera. They had made sure that there were no dangerous objects with which I could… finish what I started. No knives, forks, scissors, razor blades, lengths of rope—not even rope in the curtains. The room was Sweet Tooth-proof.

Every day there was a perfect rhythm. First I got up. There was an alarm clock, because according to Doctor Redheart, it was important to hold on to a fixed day-night cycle. No late-night video games for me. After that I had breakfast with the rest of the patients. That was the part of day I detested the most. Not that I detested the other patients, of course not. I just felt sorry for them, because they were actually sick. Not all of them had depression, though. There were also ponies with obsessive-compulsive disorder, anger issues, panic attacks, epilepsy, nervous breakdowns, and elderly ponies who had things like insomnia or dementia. Those were ponies who really needed care and attention, and I granted them all the happiness in Equestria. It was just that I felt ashamed to be there.

During those breakfasts, I always felt like one amongst many. I felt alien, as if I didn’t belong there. Oftentimes, shivers accompanied me with the meals, even though the tea was hot. It was the realization that I would be stuck there forever, for I knew I couldn’t be healed.

The afternoon was spent doing stuff. Most ponies exercised in the gym or played Ping-Pong or buckball or basketball, because sporting releases chemicals in the brain that make you happy, according to Doctor Redheart. But other ponies did games or made stuff, oftentimes together. It warmed my heart to see that ponies could still be friends despite their illnesses. As I looked around in the spacious hallway, I saw two fillies with anger problems making a puzzle together, peace and calm radiating from them. I saw a stallion and a mare, both suffering from severe depression, play Ping-Pong, completely absorbed in their game and moving so swiftly and nimbly, as if nothing else mattered but their game. Good to see the treatment did something for them. A stallion was reading a book, his eyes never leaving the pages, even though he suffered from ADHD, which meant that your mind was busy all the time. It still was, I reckoned. It was busy filling itself up with the narrative, the dialogue, the action and the adventure from the book, absorbing every letter and demanding all his attention.

It was good to see that some ponies were doing so great, but my eyes also saw ponies who were not doing well at all. Over at the table was a little colt surrounded by countless calculators and pieces of paper. Every few seconds, he made a seemingly random calculation, only to write down the outcome on the piece of paper. His tongue hung out of his mouth as he continued writing and the calculators continued beeping. Eyes flashing from paper to screen, he seemed locked in an eternal math struggle. One that wore him down every day, for he yawned a lot. I’ve seen ponies trying to take a calculator away from him, but when they did, the little colt became feral. He then snarled at the thieves, and bit at their hooves until he got his calculator back, only to redo his calculation. Poor little colt. How could one live like that?

And there was also this stallion. This strange, elderly stallion. You could always find him on the same spot, every single day at the very same spot. He sat there in a rocking chair in the solarium, gazing into the large garden which lay behind the Ponyville hospital. He didn’t even rock in his rocking chair, he just sat there, doing nothing, staring into the distance. Was he seeing something? Once, I had walked past him and dared to throw a glance his way. His head never moved. He was always staring at the exact same thing at the exact same time. I wondered what he suffered from. I reckon it must be dementia. How else could I explain what he was doing? Every day he would look at the garden, and every night he would forget what he had seen. Then, as soon as the sun rose, he would go back to the garden and look at it again, maybe for the hundredth time, but for him, every time was the first.

I looked at the poor ponies, observing their behavior, but I also knew that I wasn’t doing much better. The house rules prevented me from staying in my room all day, although that is what I wanted. I couldn’t kill myself, so I did my best to kill time—alone. I did look a bit like the elderly pony in the solarium. I too, always sat in the same chair in the same corner, as far away from everypony as possible. I too stared at something all day long; a book. I read and read and read; I had never had that much time to read before. Luckily, the mental department of the Ponyville hospital had its own library. Only books with happy endings, of course. I got quite addicted to the Daring Do books, reading them one after another, trying my best to get lost in the story, so that I didn’t have to continue with my life.

The second half of the afternoon was talking time. I sat down with Doctor Redheart and discussed my emotions, the things I had done today, and the plans I had for the future. “What do you feel, Sweet Tooth?” “Did you do anything fun today?” “What are you going to do tomorrow?” I’m not going to write down all of those conversations; I don’t want to trouble you with all of that boring stuff, reader. Let me just say that the answer to the first question was ‘nothing,’ the answer to the second question was ‘no,’ and the answer to the third question was ‘I don’t know.’

I felt sorry for Doctor Redheart that I couldn’t give him some proper answers to those questions. I didn’t really resist the treatment; I just didn’t want to be helped. I didn’t support the decision of getting help, because I just didn’t like myself anymore. I was completely done with myself, my crusade, and my life.

My medicines were very closely monitored. They gave me a healthy cocktail every evening before I went to bed; the stuff made me drowsy. They probably did that to prevent me from overdosing, and to make sure I actually took them. To my horror, they did help. I was able to enjoy the things I was doing, but, however strange it sounds, that wasn’t what I wanted. I reasoned that the medicines made me fake, as they gave me an artificial feeling of happiness. They were like an emotional amplifier. The sound—or, in my case, the emotions—got amplified in my brain before they showed themselves in a smile or a frown. The medicines made me feel really strange all the time.

As I expected, neither Father, nor Mother, nor my brother Sweet Mélange showed up to check on me. During my first conversation with Doctor Redheart, I had given him my address and told him of my home situation. Then he had made a surprisingly short phone call, telling about my grave situation and about where I was surprised. For me it was no surprise that they didn’t pay me a visit, given what they had said to me once I told them about my crusade, but the doctor was. He didn’t say it, but I could see in his eyes how shocked he was to see how little a family could care for their son. I couldn’t blame him; my family relations were cold.

The doctor’s window looked out on the valley, now filled up with powdery snow. The clock on the wall ticked and ticked, marking the seconds of awkward silence. Doctor Redheart scribbled something in a notebook, then he lowered it, adjusted his glasses, and looked at me.

“Friendship is magic, you know?”

“What do you mean, doctor?”

He sat back in his antique, cushioned chair, and stroked his goatee. “Well, you said that you spoke to Princess Twilight Sparkle before you came here. She is not only the element of magic, but also the princess of friendship. The two things go hoof-in-hoof. Of course there is magic that can heal, but friendship is a remedy that can cure more than just wounds.”

I stared at the bright red carpet, locked in the same posture I had taken every day. I was scared of the doctor’s deep, wise eyes, as if they were a surprisingly deep lake. One step into those infinite eyes, and I would be sucked in the lake, left to drown at the bottom.

“I still don’t know what you mean by that, Doctor Redheart,” I said. “Is there a way magic can cure me?”

The doctor shook his head. “No, there is not. Or at least, not yet. Some forms of magic can be used to cure wounds and close them, but psychological difficulties must be treated a different way, with different medicine. And even though you take pills to support your mood, the real cure comes from within. You can only cure yourself.”

He wanted me to make friends. No way. “You say that I should make friends, but I can’t do that… here.”

One grey eyebrow shot up. “Why not?” Doctor Redheart said. “There are lots of nice ponies here, maybe even ponies you can relate to. Not just because you share the same illness, but because you have the same interests. Talk to somepony. Books can be nice companions when you’re alone, but they cannot replace real friends. Princess Twilight Sparkle had learned that too, before she became princess of friendship.”

I fidgeted with my hooves. “I… eh…” The doctor’s voice was never strict or stark. He always gave advice, not commands. He really did leave my own fate in my own hooves. Only I could cure myself. I made another attempt to voice my aversion to his plan. “I… don’t think—“

The door swung open, and nurse Redheart’s face appeared. “Father, I have Digit here for you. He says he has to speak with you urgently. I think one of the ponies took his calculator again.”

Doctor Redheart raised his eyebrows. “Oh, that is very urgent indeed.” Then he looked at me. “I’m really sorry for this, Sweet Tooth, but we have to continue our plotting another time. It is important for Digit to remain calm. Just the slightest sliver of stress and he snaps, if you know what I mean.”

I nodded, standing up.

“We will speak again later, Sweet Tooth,” the doctor said. I closed the door and walked through the hallway.

Nurse Redheart quickly guided Digit to Doctor Redheart’s office. Once Digit’s tail disappeared, she hurried to catch up with me. She looked for my eyes, but I looked away. She shared the same characteristics as her father, especially the eyes. But apart from being pools of reflection, her eyes radiated a fresh beauty which was hard to explain. I felt that my ordinary grey eyes shouldn’t be looking at hers.

“I overheard the doctor’s advice. You know, about making friends…”

I nodded, but kept walking down the hallway, towards the rec room and my usual reading spot.

Nurse Redheart kept following. “Maybe I can help you with that, because I know almost everypony here.”

That was true. I had often seen nurse Redheart in the rec room talking to the ponies, trying to cheer them up, calm them down, or just making small talk. She had tried to make conversation with me as well, but I had ignored her. I know that wasn’t a very polite thing to do, but then again, I reckoned that making small talk was not part of the therapy. But that didn’t mean I didn’t like her. She was fresh, young, ready to take on Equestria, but also sensitive and caring; she was a nurse, after all.

“I’m sorry I ignored you,” I said. “It was impolite.”

Nurse Redheart waved a hoof. “Oh, no hard feelings there, darling. I know that new patients often need time to get settled in.” She looked away for a few seconds, perhaps trying to find words. I decided to help her.

“So how can you help me make friends?” And I looked in her eyes as I said that. I was not going to be impolite this time.

“Well, the basis for a good friendship is having something in common, like hobbies. What do you like to do, Sweet Tooth?”

“Reading,” I said.

“Oh, yes, of course. How silly of me. Of course you like reading.”

We reached the rec room, where everypony was already doing their favorite pastime. Reading, puzzling, playing checkers or chess. And of course, the mysterious elderly pony was sitting in the solarium once more, looking out over the snow-covered gardens.

Maybe friendships are based on something fun that you share, but for me, it was curiosity. Being curious about something or somepony means that you are interested in that something or somepony. I was curious about this pony, about what he was doing there, and about what he was staring at all the time. I wanted to know the secrets to his infinite patience. Thanks to the medicines, I got a little more interested in stuff, if only a little. That’s where that strange urge came from; the urge produced by curiosity.

“Him,” I said, pointing to the old stallion. “What do you know about him?”

Nurse Redheart followed my hoof. “You mean Sunray? I… I’m afraid I don’t know much about him. He’s not much of a talker, but I don’t think he is grumpy or something. He just wants to have his moments of peace and quiet.”

“But his moments of peace and quiet last a whole day.”

“Yes,” Nurse Redheart said, “you’re right. I have spoken with my father about him a couple of times. Seeing how he is at peace all the time, I can hardly imagine that something is the matter with him. At first I thought dementia, but he remembers my name and his own. Doctor Redheart says that there is definitely something wrong with him; he’s definitely suffering from something. I just wished I could find out what it was, so I could help him.”

“Maybe he doesn’t need help,” I said.

“Maybe not, but still my father thinks—“

A little bell ringed, interrupting nurse Redheart. She fumbled in the pockets of her skirt, and then pulled out a brass pocket watch. As she pressed a little button the ringing stopped. “I’m sorry, Sweet Tooth, but I have to go. Try to make some friends here in the hospital, it would do you good. You would make me very happy if you introduce me to your friend once I get back.” She winked, and moved ahead and up the stairs. I waited until she was out of sight, then walked over to my reading corner, where my Daring Do book was waiting for me.

Strangely enough, I couldn’t concentrate on the story. I found myself reading the same sentence over and over again, all the while peeking glances to the other ponies in the room. But most of all, I looked at the strange elderly pony, whose name was Sunray, as nurse Redheart had told me. Unlike all of the other ponies in the room, he sat motionless, and yet he was the most curious pony in the hospital to me.

As Daring Do discovered the age-old temple, half buried in the—

As Daring Do discovered the age-old—

As Daring Do discovered—

“Oh, darn it,” I said out loud. Now it had to be my time to discover something, or my own mind would drive me as mad as Digit with his calculators. Laying down my book, I got up and walked through the glass door into the solarium.

I could understand why Sunray would spend his time here; it was pleasantly warm. The sun, despite the season, hadn’t given in any of its strength, and the insulated windows of the greenhouse-like solarium captured some of the warmth and refused to let it go. A couple of little palm trees stood here and there, thriving in the almost tropical warmth of the solarium. It was quiet too. My hoofsteps were clearly audible, as was the old pony’s breath. It was as if the glass walls of the solarium were soundproof. Maybe they were.

“Come on, don’t be shy, my little pony,” the old man said suddenly. “I’m much too old to be a threat.”

I jumped at the sudden sound. Sunray’s spoken words felt as if they were screamed. The silence was so thick. But now it was shattered, so I thought I might as well speak. “Good day to you, Mister,” I said politely. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“I… suppose not,” the pony said, a little doubt in his voice. He reached with his hoof to the side, clearly trying to grab another chair. But the nearest chair stood a couple of meters away, so his hoof kept waving in the empty air. After a few seconds, he stopped his awkward motions. So he was dement?

“Don’t bother, Mister,” I said, grabbing a wooden garden chair and unfolding it next to him. “I got it.”

“How wonderful.”

I sat down next to him. The first thing I did was follow his gaze, trying to find out what the old stallion had found so captivating. But I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Because of the altitude, evergreen firs, spruces, and pines were planted in the garden, probably to create a bit of nature close to home; according to doctor Redheart, even nature had a positive effect on the mood. There were little gravel paths, a couple of heather plants on both sides, and a big fountain with a bowl where birds could wash themselves; but the birds were long gone. There was nothing to see, so why kept the stallion looking? No, not just looking, he was staring at something, unable to draw his gaze away.

“I see you like silence as much as I do,” the old stallion said. “Well, almost as much as I do. I am the master of silence.” He chuckled.

While he was speaking, and even when he laughed, he didn’t turn his head towards me or moved his eyes. He just kept staring forwards and talked, as if he were talking to someone outside.

“Can I touch your face for a bit?”

What? I wasn’t sure how to feel about such a strange request. The old pony had already given me plenty of rewards for my curiosity. I let out a doubting snort, trying my best to muffle it. But my curiosity only piqued, so I allowed him. “Sure, go ahead.”

The pony stuck out a hoof, and soon found my face. I closed my eyes as he touched my forehead and my muzzle. Then he stroked my mane, which I found kind of funny; nopony had ever stroked my mane before. When he reached my back and felt my tail, I opened my eyes, only to find myself staring into the old pony’s.

I jolted so hard that I almost fell off my chair. The pony hardly had any eyes.

The color in his irises was almost faded, almost as white as the white of his eyes. His pupils were grey, instead of black. He was the pony with the spookiest eyes I’d ever seen. Two grey—almost white—dots, staring into nothingness.

“You don’t have to be scared, you know,” the pony said with a smile. “Blindness is not contagious.”

So that’s why the pony didn’t look at me when he spoke. Not because he was impolite, but simply because he couldn’t see me. What was so normal for me, didn’t exist at all in his world. I suddenly had a million questions to ask him, to sate my curiosity. But he was the one who spoke first.

“I always want to get a feel of new ponies I meet—literally.” He laughed, although I wasn’t yet able to. First I had to control my breathing again. “That way I can ‘see’ what a pony looks like. You could say that I see with my hooves.” He looked down at me. “The only thing I can’t feel is your cutie mark. What is it?”

“It’s a…” I hesitated. “A sugar cube… I guess.”

The old stallion tilted his head. “You guess? But you have two perfectly functioning eyes. Surely you must be able to see your cutie mark on your behind, can’t you?”

Suddenly, I didn’t really like this conversation very much. It turned in the wrong direction. I didn’t want to be remembered of my vague cutie mark, which, together with my broken mind, had plunged me into so much misery. I was thinking of getting up really silently and then sneak back through the door, so the pony wouldn’t notice I’m gone. I only now realize how rude that could have been. But just as I was going to get up, Sunray changed topic. Perhaps he had felt my reluctance, or heard it in my voice.

“Say, what is your name, little pony? My name is Sunray, and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Sweet Tooth,” I said.

Sunray sat back in his rocking chair, staring ahead again. “A pleasure to meet you, Sweet Tooth. I’m very pleased to see young ponies still talk to… not so young ponies nowadays.”

I didn’t know if I should be looking in his eyes when I spoke. But of course it didn’t really matter, so I followed his example and stared ahead at the winter landscape. “I was just curious, Mister Sunray. I was curious about what you always seem to be looking at, and now I know the answer is nothing.”

“Then your answer is both wrong and right. Yes, I can’t see anything, but I can still know where I am. I asked the nurse to open a window, so I could hear the tweeting of the birds that haven’t yet left the cold behind. The hooting of the owls, too, although you have to listen very carefully to hear those; they are very shy. And what to think of the sounds of the wind, and the rustle of the pine trees?”

“If you put it that way,” I said, but Sunray wasn’t done yet. He closed his eyes as he continued his musings.

“And sometimes, when I feel like it, I go outside. I always hope it is snowing, because I like the feeling of fresh snow on my muzzle. I feel the cold, fresh mountain air filling my lungs. There are a lot of ways for blind ponies to see, Sweet Tooth. Nopony sees with his eyes alone.”

What Sunray described sounded beautiful, and I couldn’t do anything but agree. “I understand.”

“Good,” Sunray said with a nod. “Now that I have taught you something, do you mind if I ask you about something which I don’t understand?”

“Yes, go ahead.”

Sunray cleared his throat, which made a long, rattling sound. “I don’t understand what a brisk, young colt such as yourself is doing in a place like this.”

“Eh…” I stammered. I could have told him the whole story, but I felt reluctant to do that. I had only just met this pony, and besides, I didn’t want to bother him with my pathetic story. He was the one who deserved care and attention, and not me. No, I didn’t want to tell him. Should I lie? I somehow had the feeling that despite him not being able to see, he could spot a lie from miles away. Even though he was blind, he seemed so… aware.

“Is it depression?”

My chair creaked as I jumped up. Yes, it was. How did he guess?!

“Ah, it seems I am right,” Sunray said with a faint smile. “I have known lots of young fillies and colts suffering from depression. It is not their favorite topic to talk about, and they are often ashamed.” He turned his head in my direction as if he were looking at me. His eyes were aimed directly at me, which made me feel uncanny. “You don’t have to feel any shame when you’re with this crazy old stallion, you know?”

I swallowed, not able to say anything or look away from those white, seemingly soulless eyes. I knew those eyes weren’t soulless; they possessed more soul than mine.

Sunray sat back in his chair, and waved his forelegs around. “But here we are completely alone, my dear Sweet Tooth. There is nopony who can hear us, so we can say anything we want. Even though I am not mute, I can assure you that every secret stays inside my head.”

Somehow, I believed him. His voice was solemn and earnest. Somehow, I trusted this strange pony more than Doctor Redheart himself.

“Did you try to kill yourself?”

Whoa, whoa. Sunray said that as if it were nothing. As if killing oneself—or trying to and failing—was the most normal thing in Equestria. I couldn’t tell him; I remained silent. But then I realized that was a very dumb thing to do. Sunray had guessed my illness when I was silent before, so he would insinuate that the answer was ‘yes.’

“I see,” Sunray said. He had guessed.

This was bad, this was really, really bad. I had to change the subject—now. I asked a very rude question, because it was the first one that popped up in my messed-up mind. “Have you been blind from birth?”

“Yes, I have,” Sunray said. There was absolutely no embarrassment hidden in his voice. It was just a fact, a statement. “And I am not at all ashamed because of that.”

“You shouldn’t be,” I said. “There’s nothing you can do about that. You were just unlucky, that’s all.” But as those words left my mouth, I realized how rude they were. I couldn’t believe that Sunray still wanted to talk with me. There I was, a young, rich pony who tried to kill himself, speaking to an elderly pony who had been blind from birth. He had every reason to be depressed, not I. Despite his terrible disability, he had been able to retain his sanity and live happily to an old age. I couldn’t believe how ungrateful I was that I wanted to end my own life, while there were ponies who had a much more difficult life than I. It was a good thing Sunray couldn’t see me. That way, I could blush safely and maybe even cry. I already felt tears in my eyes.

Sunray remained silent for a while. I sniffed. He heard that. “You just said that I shouldn’t be ashamed of my illness, because there is nothing I can do about it. Well, shall I tell you something, Sweet Tooth? Neither should you. You’re not pathetic or an embarrassment. Depression is as real a disease as blindness. It is a disease which is even harder to bear than blindness, I’d say. But luckily for you, depression can be cured; blindness cannot. You just need to not give up, until you’re as old as I am.”

While the striking questions of Doctor Redheart played sad chords in my heart, Sunray’s voice was like an actual sunray, shining into my soul, chasing the darkness away and playing a cheerful melody. I sniffed again.

Sunray turned his head once more and stuck out his hoof. To my astonishment, he reached my face and wiped away my tears. How did he know where my head was?

“I hope what I said helped you, Sweet Tooth.”

“It did,” I said, my voice still betraying the tears I had shed. “It helped a lot. Thank you.”

Sunray shook his head. “Don’t mention it. It is my job, or at least, it was my job.”

My ears perked up. “Were you a psychiatrist?”

“Almost guessed it. I was a social worker. I used to go to institutions like this one to talk to ponies. Or sometimes I went to their houses to meet them personally. They were all ponies who had… difficulties in their lives. Depression, abuse, anger issues, traumas, loss of a loved one, violence; I’ve heard it all. Sometimes I could help them, and sometimes… not. It’s quite ironic that I am now here, in the Ponyville hospital, while I used to be the one helping everypony.”

There was a hint of sadness in his voice. Now I was the one who spotted something. Sometimes it’s not about the words that are said; sometimes it’s about the words that are not spoken at all. “Did something happen?”

Sunray stiffened. “There was an… incident.”

I was worried, because his answer was so short. “What incident?”

Sunray sighed. “When you work with the psyche of other ponies, you have to be both engaged and detached. You need engagement and compassion to make sure that the patient trusts you with his or her sensitive topics. But you also have to detach yourself, otherwise you get swept along the wild stream of your patient’s emotions.”

The old pony was silent again, but I couldn’t yet paint a picture about what had happened. Luckily I didn’t need to ask another painful question to Sunray. I was beginning to feel like a torturer. He continued on his own.

“There was this one little filly. She had… problems. Big problems. Her parents abused her. They did the most horrible things to her, and she told everything to me; she trusted me completely. But she said that her parents couldn’t find out, otherwise she would be in big trouble. I couldn’t imagine her getting into more trouble than she already was. I couldn’t imagine something more terrible happening to her than the things she had already suffered through. I tried to help her, to say things that could make her feel better, but…” Sunray sniffed. When he spoke next, his voice sounded cracked. As I looked in his white eyes, I saw tears falling down onto his jacket. “Sweet Tooth, there is only so much a social worker can do. I felt so powerless. We spoke so often, meeting in secret and in the facility where I worked, both hoping that her parents wouldn’t find out. In the end, I think I did help but… but…”

The stallion couldn’t finish his sentence. His voice was broken, and he tried to wipe away the tears from his eyes. But the tears kept coming. It took a long time for him to find his voice. Sunray squeezed his eyes shut. His lips moved, but no words came out. After a couple of retries, he was able to continue his story.

“Her parents found out, Sweet Tooth. They found out that she had been meeting me. I don’t know all of the details about what happened next, because I didn’t see her anymore. Now that I think of it, maybe I didn’t even want to know the details. I tried to visit her house once, but her parents were home, and chased me away. There was nothing I could do.” Sunray swallowed before he continued. “The next day, I read in the newspaper that a young filly had been found in the woods. She was suffering from hypothermia, and bore many horrible wounds. When the police found her, she was in a coma.”

Sunray didn’t need to tell me more. But still he did. He was still fighting back tears as he told me the rest of it.

“I felt so horrible. I felt as if I had let this happen to her, as if it were my fault. Maybe it was; to this day, I still don’t know if I should blame myself. I have visited her many times in the hospital, but she still hasn’t come round. After that tragedy, I lost it. I wasn’t able to function anymore. The simple task of making a sandwich for myself became an enormous challenge. So here I am, telling you this story, feeling no better than during the accident.”

Now I knew why he made so many jokes before; because he wanted to bury the shame and guilt he felt underneath them.

“You’re the second pony I have ever told this story to, you know?” Sunray said, “besides Doctor Redheart. He tries his best to help me, but the core of the treatment is me being able to forgive myself. I don’t think I will ever be able to do that. The doctor says I should enjoy my life and keep my spirits up. I visit the filly I told you about every week, and every week I hope to hear her voice again. I would give everything to hear her voice again, before I pass away. I know my clock is ticking, Sweet Tooth.”

All the while I listened in silent awe. I had never imagined that such a sad story was hidden in the old pony’s soul. His eyes may be broken, but this pony had seen many horrible things in his life. I wanted to help him, but I also knew that I couldn’t even help myself. Then, suddenly, an idea popped up in my mind. I looked at Sunray. “I can visit her, if you want.”

Sunray’s head turned towards me. “Would you do that for me?”

“Certainly. It would be an honor. If you pass away before the filly wakes up, I swear that I will visit her and talk to her.”

Sunray lowered his head. “Please tell her how sorry I am if she comes round.”

“I’ll tell her how much you cared about her when she comes round.”

“Thank you,” Sunray said.

We were silent for a moment, both contemplating each other’s words and the stories we had shared. I felt the obligation to tell Sunray about my issues now. Even though I still found it shameful to talk about it, after the things that Sunray had told me about not being ashamed for your illness and disabilities, I found that I had to. I simply had to tell him. He had trusted me with his pains, and now it was time to trust him back.

So I told him everything, literally everything. I told him even more than I told Doctor Redheart. About my fight, my crusade to find the interpretation of my cutie mark, my failed attempts, my darkest hours and miraculous rescue. The story seemed old to me, as if it were something I used to do in my youth, but had given up because it was too ridiculous; just as you would throw away clothes that no longer fitted you. To be honest, I had almost forgotten about the whole crusade thing. In the Ponyville hospital, everything and everypony had to do with my mental health, not my silly crusade.

When I told Sunray about my conversation with Princess Twilight Sparkle, his eyebrows shot up.

“You talked with the princess of friendship?”

I nodded, but then realized that Sunray couldn’t see that, so I quickly accompanied my nod with a, “Yes, I did.”

“That’s amazing! It seems at least some good has come out of your troubles.”

I couldn’t help but agree and chuckle at the old stallion’s bafflement.

“So what does she look like?” Sunray said. “Is she tall?”

“Actually not,” I said back. “She’s just as tall as you and me.”

Sunray turned his ears towards me. “Can you describe her for me? Would you do that, please?”

There was a child-like giddiness in his voice. Of course I would do that for him. I took a moment to find the right words, and then began.

“She’s not tall, but still very impressive. Her aura and stature will make you want to stop what you’re doing and look at her, observing her every movement, her every hoofstep. Her voice is laden with wisdom. It is the kind of voice you can listen to forever. If Princess Twilight Sparkle was reading you a story, you wouldn’t want her to close the book before she reached the end.”

Sunray sat back, taking in my words. “Don’t stop there! What about her eyes? Are they beautiful?”

“As purple and gorgeous as her mane,” I said. But then I caught myself. Of course Sunray would have no idea what a color is; he had never seen just one single color.

“I’m afraid I am no expert on color, Sweet Tooth,” Sunray said. “Could you describe purple for me as well?”

I scratched my mane with my hoof. How does one describe a color to somepony who had never even seen one? Purple is purple, after all; a mix of blue and red. There’s nothing more to it. Still, I tried my best to give Sunray a lively description. “Purple can be a cold color, as it looks like blue, which is even colder. But purple is softer, easier on the eyes, a bit warmer and strikingly feminine. It stands out from the crowd and radiates calmness to whoever looks at it. In short, it is the perfect color for the princess of friendship.”

Sunray nodded. “Now I understand, I really do. Thank you.”

But I wasn’t done yet. “You said you wanted to know what her eyes looked like. They are the deep eyes of an adept reader. Thanks to those eyes, Twilight Sparkle has absorbed all of her knowledge out of her experiences and, of course, her books. I won’t even dare to take a guess at how many books she has read. Her eyes are precise, seeing the smallest of details and figuring out ways to improve. Her eyes really are the windows to her soul; learned, bright, and shiny.

“How marvelous.” Sunray smiled. “That was one of the most beautiful things I have ever heard.”

I wanted to say that Princess Twilight Sparkle was indeed very beautiful, when I got interrupted.

The door opened with a squeak. Sunray’s ears turned towards the sound, just like my head. It was nurse Redheart.

“Well hello, nurse Redheart,” Sunray said.

“Hello there, gentlecolts,” nurse Redheart said. Then she looked at me. “I see you’ve made yourself a friend, Sweet Tooth. How wonderful.”

“Wait, how did you know it was her?“ I asked Sunray.

His familiar smile returned to his lips. “I don’t know anypony else who opens the door so carefully, and who has such a light-hoofed gait as you, nurse Redheart.”

Nurse Redheart rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.” Then she looked at me. “Doctor Redheart is finished with Digit, so you can finish your daily assessment with him.”

I wasn’t in the mood for our little talk. I was never in the mood for our little talk. And somehow, after all I’d heard from Sunray, I figured it would do me much more good if I’d stick around him a while longer. “Actually, I would like to spend some more time with Sunray, nurse Redheart. Is that ok?”

Nurse Redheart clopped her hooves together in delight, but then quickly regained her posture. With that little movement, I guessed that had been exactly what she wanted to hear. For once, I had followed the doctor’s advice. “Yes, I think that would be ok,” she said with a serious face, but then dropped her mask. “Oh, what am I saying? Of course it’s ok. I will tell Doctor Redheart the good news. Have fun, you two!”

When the glass door closed again and I turned around, I looked right in Sunray’s hollow eyes. “Would you do me a favor, Sweet Tooth? It’s just a small one.”

“Certainly,” I said, ready to help this poor old stallion out with whatever he needed. Something about his tone suggested that it was something important. But as he asked me his favor, he revealed that it was not.

“Can you describe nurse Redheart for me? I never had the nerve to ask her if I could see her with my hooves. I found that quite… impolite, if you get my meaning. Could you do it the same way you described Twilight Sparkle?”

“Of course.” I took a moment to find the most poetic words I could conjure up, and began. tyv��]