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// The runaway and the bookworm 
// Story: Amphorae 
// by Dave Bryant 
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Rose Brass marched down the center of the corridor—literally; her stride and cadence were parade-ground perfect, and the clicks of her heels on the worn tiles were audible even over the ambient rumble of hospital activity. The two young women behind her were hard-pressed to keep up without trotting, the more so because one was huddled into herself, urged on by the other’s supportive arm around her shoulders. Rose once more wore a suit, this time in a pale topaz; the other two were dressed for the schoolday from which they had been unceremoniously yanked. All three sported badges prominently labeled VISITOR.
“But why am I here?” Twilight Sparkle whispered, only now able to do so without being overheard. “I wasn’t around for that whole Battle of the Bands thing.”
“You and I have something in common with them,” Sunset Shimmer murmured. “That’s why.”
Twilight blanched and stopped dead. “No.”
Sunset rounded to face her. “Please, Twi, we have to do this.” She half-turned and called, “Rose? Twi—”
Rose glanced over her shoulder, then pivoted in a smart about-face and returned. When she reached the younger pair, she halted and looked both of them over. In a much gentler voice than her manner suggested, she said, “I know this is a tough situation for you, Twilight, and I am truly sorry to put you into it. But I don’t mean to be dramatic when I say a life, maybe three lives, could hang in the balance. I have to do anything I can, within reason, to save those lives. As it is I’m skirting the rules to bring you two here, but there is absolutely nobody else in this world who can speak to their experiences. Princess Twilight isn’t available, and even if she were, I don’t think she’d be as helpful right now as you could be. Please, Twilight.”
Twilight’s eyes darted back and forth and she dry-washed her hands. “I—I really, really don’t want to.”
“We’ll be there with you,” Sunset promised. She raised Twilight’s hands in both of hers and squeezed gently, stilling the nervous fidgets. “You won’t be in any danger. All you have to do is tell your story. I know that won’t be easy, but Rose and I really do think it could help.”
There was a long pause, during which Twilight stared at her tight-laced fingers. Then, finally, she looked up again and squared her shoulders. “Okay. I’ll do my best.” Sunset hugged her close; she reciprocated and let out a tiny sniffle.
Rose nodded with sober respect, then turned back and led off again.


The single-bed room featured two windows—one next to the door allowing observation from the corridor, the other, on the opposite wall, looking out over the hospital’s massive parking lot. Institutional-grade horizontal blinds angled to block most of the light leaking through both. A pair of plain but sturdy chairs sat against the outside wall. A simple bedside table stood ready to hand beside the room’s central funishing, a patient bed with the head end currently raised somewhat.
In the half-lit gloom were four figures. One lay listless on the bed, covered to the waist by sheet and blanket, forearms resting on top of them; shockingly white dressings bulked like giant sweatbands around the wrists and pastel green patient gown offered token modesty to the body it covered. Two more forms curled awkwardly in the chairs, snoring gently. The last stood beside the open door, back to the observation window, but straightened and turned when Rose stepped in.
Sunset and Twilight hovered just outside as their guide whispered with the agent watching over the room’s other occupants. After a short discussion, the latter exited and took up a new guard position outside the door. The two girls scooted in behind Rose and exchanged a nervous glance as she reached past them to shut the door. “Hey,” she then called softly. “Wakey-wakey, you three.”
Snorts and starts greeted her. Adagio’s eyes opened and she stared emptily, able to see the tall woman without changing her reclined position on the bed. Aria and Sonata sat up blearily, blinking and looking around before turning their attention to Rose as well.
“I brought you a couple of visitors.” Rose stepped farther into the room, to the foot of the bed, between the chairs and the door. Thus deprived of shelter, Sunset stood taller and Twilight shrank a little, sidling toward her friend.
The sirens’ reaction was as electric as their exhaustion permitted. All three made noises of protest, though Aria’s resentful growl of, “What are they doing here?” rose above the others.
“They’re here because I asked them to come,” Rose replied calmly. “They need to see this, and you need to hear what they have to say.”
“What can they say to us?” Sonata’s voice trembled. “They broke our crystals. They made our magic go away.”
Sunset stepped forward. “I can apologize. What you were trying to do was wrong, and we had to stop you, but when you ran off . . . we didn’t do anything about it. We didn’t even think about what might happen to you after that. We just congratulated each other for winning and went on with our lives. We never—I never thought what we did could end up here, or someplace worse.”
Aria sneered. “You just don’t want to feel guilty for what you did to us.”
“No, you’re right. I don’t. But there’s more to it than that.” Sunset drew a breath. “When I said you weren’t going to get away with it, you told me you heard all about me—but you never heard my side of the story.” She sketched it out quietly, laying bare her transgressions and efforts to right them briefly but starkly, then went on, “Before you three showed up at the school, most people still didn’t trust me. My only friends were the Rainbooms. It was hard, but they made it bearable. They gave me the strength to keep trying. Now I have a lot of friends and acquaintances, and it’s amazing.”
“You’re welcome,” Adagio husked bitterly. “Working together to kick us in the face with magic and rainbows sure helped make you popular, didn’t it?”
“Yeah, it did,” Sunset admitted. “And that felt good at the time. Now . . . now that I know how much you suffered afterward, not so much. I feel guilty for not trying to help when I could’ve—and should’ve—known better.” Three identically skeptical expressions moved her to add, “Look—I don’t know if we could ever be friends, but I don’t want us to be enemies any more. Truce?”
Adagio closed her eyes. “Fine. Whatever.”
Sunset opened her mouth again, but Rose’s hand on her shoulder stopped her. She looked up and, at the older woman’s head-shake, sighed and stepped back.
Then it was Twilight’s turn. At the urging of the other two she came forward with manifest reluctance. Sonata shrank back, plainly terrified. Aria bristled. Adagio eyed the bespectacled girl with alarm. Twilight steeled herself. “Uh, h-hi. I know I look a lot like her, but I’m not the princess. I was going to Crystal Prep Academy across town when, um, everything happened. I’ve never been to the pony world. I’ve seen it, though.”
Confusion replaced alarm, and she hurried on. “Ms. Brass and Sunset wanted me to tell you what happened when I came to Canterlot High for the Friendship Games.” She looked down at her clasped hands. “It was pretty awful, and I don’t want to talk about it, but they said I needed to.”
Haltingly at first, she related her personal journey at somewhat greater length, occasionally comparing or contrasting with Sunset’s tale. The going was heavier for her than for her friend—the events were fresher and she still was struggling with their consequences—but eventually she too wound to a conclusion, voice firmer and head raised. “Spike and Sunset and the other, ah, Rainbooms pretty much saved me from myself. When I transferred to Canterlot High right after, they were just waiting to be my friends, and the rest of CHS has been wonderful. Everyone understands Midnight Sparkle was my frustration and anger and curiosity all lashing out at once, and nobody holds it against me, even though sometimes I almost wish they would. I feel so guilty about it, and I still have nightmares and doubts once in a while, but it’s getting better little by little because now I have friends, lots of friends, who are willing to forgive me and help me.”
Before her audience could muster more snide responses, Twilight drew a deep breath and gave all three a level look. “I never had any real friends before. Ever. I didn’t think it was important, but now I wonder how much of that was sour grapes. Even my old classmates at Crystal Prep treat me—all of us—a lot better than they used to. They need more practice at friendship, but they're making progress, so I guess it’s true every cloud has a silver lining.” She essayed a faint reminiscent smile before turning serious once more.
“I think I understand now why Ms. Brass brought me here. One, I wasn’t there for the Battle of the Bands, so we can talk without that getting in the way, at least for me. Two, what I went through with Midnight Sparkle gives me at least a little idea how horrible things must have been for you, even if it wasn’t exactly the same kind of experience. Three . . .” Her voice softened. “. . . you might actually listen to me when I say you already have friends.”
“Friends? What friends?” Adagio stared, honest bewilderment cutting through her sullen cynicism.
“Them.” Twilight pointed at Sonata, then Aria. “Ms. Brass and Sunset said they’ve never left you, ever, no matter how bad things got or how much you all argued. They were asleep in those chairs when we came in, so I bet they’ve been here all night. They’re still here right now. What do you think?”
Adagio’s face turned slowly toward the other sirens. They in turn looked at each other, then at her. Aria folded her arms and shifted from foot to foot. Sonata clasped her hands under her chin; after a breathless moment she abruptly burst into tears. In the shocked pause that gripped everyone else, she flung herself halfway onto the bed. “I was so s-scared!” she stuttered before babbling on half-incoherently, fear and anxiety pouring out of her along with the waterworks. Aria looked down, eyes screwed shut, her inner battle evident, but finally she too gave in and sat on the foot of the bed, shoulders slumping. Her tears were no less eloquent for all they slid down her face silently.
Adagio’s mouth hung open and her eyes were enormous. She reached up one trembling hand, fingertips brushing Sonata’s cheek. The other hand rose uncertainly toward Aria, who scooted forward to take it in both of hers equally hesitantly. Adagio’s face crumpled as she too began to weep.
After a minute or two Rose went around to the other side of the bed and cleared her throat gently. The three of them turned to face her blankly, but she focused on Adagio. “You feel alone and isolated, even in a crowd, even with Aria and Sonata. You’re sad, and angry, and tired all the time, and you don’t know why or what to do about any of it. Nothing seems to matter, not even brushing your teeth or your hair, so why bother? Things you used to enjoy just don’t do much for you any more. The whole world is gray, even in bright sunlight. You hurt inside, all the time, enough that it’s hard to swallow or even breathe sometimes. You’d do anything to make it stop hurting, anything at all, even if the only thing that will make it stop is to make everything stop. Does any of that sound familiar?” Her voice held a world of sympathy and understanding.
Adagio’s jaw trembled and she nodded jerkily.
Rose leaned back against the observation window and looked at the ceiling briefly. “I know exactly what you’re feeling, Adagio, because that’s how I felt after I was maimed, got two of my men killed, and lost the only career I knew. All three of you need help, just like I did, and maybe now you’re ready to get it.”
“You mean a, what is it, shrink, like you talked about before?” Sonata sounded apprehensive.
“Yes. I know one of the best.” In response to their dubious looks Rose continued, “Any good shrink—and they don’t like being called that, by the way—will tell you he’s not there to ‘cure’ you, whatever that means. He’s there to act as a guide. His job is to help you find your way out of the box canyons you’re stuck in. My words, not his, but that’s what he did for me.”
“What about drugs?” Aria asked with narrowed eyes.
“If he can avoid them, he will. If he can’t, he’ll talk to you about it.”
The trio looked at each other, wavering and unsure. Twilight leaned forward. “Please say yes. I didn’t mention it before, but the school counselor at CHS is helping me now.”
Sunset bit her lip and edged up beside the other two visitors. “Me too. Well, not as much now, but after the Fall Formal, when I didn’t know what to do or how to do it.”
“Why?” Adagio’s simple question came out in a rusty voice.
“Everyone deserves a second chance,” said Twilight.
“It’s the right thing to do,” said Sunset.
“It’s my job,” said Rose. “When I lost the army, I thought I’d never find anything to replace it. But now, for all the low pay and the dangerous cases, I wouldn’t be anywhere else. Pulling kids like you out of trouble is like running into burning houses to find the people inside—the fires are slower, but they’re just as deadly to anyone trapped in them. Yeah, it’s a kick when one of my clients makes it because I helped, I’ll admit it, but it needs to be done, and I’m the one to do it.”
Adagio stared into the distance. “What happens then?”
“The rest of your lives.” Rose pressed her lips together, tamping out a smile, at the disbelieving expressions. “Yes, you can have lives. You just need to work at building new ones. Maybe they won’t be as grand as what you had in mind before the Battle of the Bands, but that doesn’t mean they won’t be worthwhile. Look at me, for instance. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but that just means it’ll be that much more rewarding when you look back on it.”
Silence reigned as the sirens grappled with momentous questions they’d considered barely, if at all, and their visitors waited. Twilight held her breath until she no longer could. Sunset took the opportunity to round the bed and open the outer blinds part way, filling the room with late-morning light. Rose attended with solemn courtesy. At last, one by one starting with Sonata, the three sirens nodded slowly with shy downcast eyes. The journey might be a thousand miles, but they’d taken their first step.