//------------------------------// // Volume 3 - Up a Hill // Story: Like a Paulownia // by CentipedeGhoul //------------------------------// Chapter 5 He made a ‘tsk’ sound at the depressingly - almost - empty space in his medicine cabinet, ironically named; for the fact that there weren’t any medicine inside. Very faintly, but he still remembered using up most of the medicine in his cabinet after catching a cold one year ago, to rid himself off the fever that hung over him on that solemn week. “Nothing…” He murmured, shutting the cabinet, and taking a glance at his overflowing bathtub, steam rising from it. The dripping water collecting in the drain, fixed onto the floor beside it. It splashed onto the floor relentlessly, each splash becoming more louder than the last. “I hoped that I wouldn’t have to go outside…” He took a step into the water, its warm touch calming his deeply rooted nerves. “…looks like all that hoping didn’t work a bit.” Time seemed to stand still for him, as he waited anxiously for his fever to swell down, just enough for him to go outside. He spent all that time sleeping deeply, trying to preoccupy himself with the growing fever that was beginning to worsen with each day that he let it fester. Two days after, he dared to venture out, putting on a random T-shirt he found off of the floor while bounding around for his coat, pocketing his wallet and buzzing phone with piles of unread messages from one cotton-candy haired baker. The sound of a door creaking open, and the lift descending filled his ears as he headed out of his apartment, on his way to the pharmacy, which if he were to believe the non-descript map he had gotten from the travel agent when he first bought his apartment, was right down the corner. Puddles of water collected in at the edges of sidewalk, in little potholes, and in corners of buildings he passed by. Morning dew was starting to set on the trees he passed by and went under, and the air smelt of something humid. About halfway through, he started to realize something, something important. He was lost, very lost. Every winding pathway had led to a dead end, and the map he had in his hands was pure garbage. He still had the damn thing, as if it would help any more than it already has! He crumpled the paper into a ball and flung it down an alleyway, walking away from the alley as the thing fell into a puddle, the map soaking in the dirty water. He wasn’t sneezing yet, or coughing, which was good, but his head was starting to feel dizzy. Snot was running down his nose like running water, and his throat was getting even sorer by the minute, if that was even possible. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and kept on trudging, hoping that if he just walked around for a bit, he would find it. And he did. He passed by a couple of people, but none that he was ever familiar with. Some he recognized as people he served in the Sweet Shoppe. Speaking of the Sweet Shoppe, the summer sun was about to reach its highest peak soon, and Pinkie would certainly notice if he wasn’t there. She’d start to question where he was, and recall yesterday’s event. She’d start to wonder. Why did he storm out like that? Why did he have to make her anymore curious than she already was? If he had just stayed there, told her everything, then she would understand, if she could. He began to feel less sure of his own actions as he sluggishly walked right up to the pharmacy, right past it, stood for a moment, and turned around. He would worry about that when the time came. He needed to get the medicine now. That was all he cared about. He entered the pharmacy, a little tune playing as he entered. A feigned light shone from the ceiling. Racks and shelves of pills and bottles lined about half of the entire pharmacy. He weaved his way through the first shelf, searching intently . . . Vitamins. . . inhalers . . . where’s- “Starburst!” He looked up, startled at the . . . almost familiar voice. “Over here!” Who was . . . wait . . . He turned to his right, and over there, at the end of the shop by a counter, was a person he recognized. His pupils dilated at the sight of her. She still wore the same nurse cap over her head, and the exact spotless coat as before. Her pink hair tied up in a neat bun, and her blue eyes lighting up at the sight of him. “Starburst! What a surprise!” Nurse Redheart said from the counter, her mouth up in a huge grin. The corners of his mouth turned up in a small smile as well. A familiar person from his past. “I never expected you to be here!” She chimed at him, Starburst weaving his way towards the counter, wiping his nose once more, and stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Same here.” He answered her, holding back his questions for later. “What are you doing here in Ponyville? I thought you lived in Manehattan.” She questioned him. “Isn’t that where you grew up?” He cast his eyes down as he answered her, in a low voice that only she could hear, “I moved here. I wanted . . . to . . .” “. . . leave everything behind.” “. . . find work here. I can’t just keep on living on the money I amassed from playing shogi.” She nodded at his explanation understandingly, “Mhm, I get that. You’re trying to be independent.” “Yeah . . .” He murmured. “What about you? I thought you were working up at the hospital.” “Yeah . . . see, my friend who works there caught a fever, and he asked me to sub him while he rests.” She shook her head, still putting on a grin. “Though I’m not complaining in the slightest. Taking care of others is what I love to do, but being a part time pharmacist is sort of easier.” He looked around at the vacant space, and answered, “I get what you mean.” She stared down at the countertop, her mouth tight-lipped. He stood quietly, digesting her words. The silence around them thickened like fog, shrouding them. He felt a cough rise up his throat, and he tried his best to hold it back. “Starburst? Are you okay? You don’t look so good.” The cough filled up his entire throat, and he felt as if he could explode at any moment. “Yeah . . . never better.” He winced, letting down his guard. Damn it-! He exploded, coughing hard into the palm of his hands, each cough sounding like a ricocheting gunshot. Nurse Redheart’s eyes dilated into one of shock . . . and concern. She stepped out from the counter and patted Starburst’s back, who was squatting down on the ground, coughing. He gradually stopped, standing up slowly, sniffling. Nurse Redheart could see his face, could see tears welling up in his eyes; probably from the phlegm in his nose. She could see his nose, red from who knew how many times he blew it. His breathing was ragged, heavy as if he was carrying a weight behind his back everywhere he went. “You’re having a fever.” “No, I’m-.” He could barely protest as she slapped her hand on his forehead, taking it back as she shook her head slowly. “You’re burning up! Have you been eating right? When did you get it? Did you bathe in warm water? Have you had anything to drink?” She asked, looking at him as if he was completely stupid, but with some level of motherly affection underneath it. “I-I’m-.” “Open your mouth, open it wide.” He stared in confusion, but opened it begrudgingly. Redheart pulled out a thermometer from her handbag, putting it gently underneath Starburst’s tongue. “Waif da ya haftha themomemer in yaur bagh?” Starburst asked through the thermometer in his mouth. “Sorry, what was that?” She asked, raising a brow at his slurred question. She pulled out the thermometer so he could speak. “I said: why do you have a thermometer in your bag?” “I always carry a thermometer with me. It's proved itself useful from time to time, I could tell you a lot of stories . . .” She checked the temperature, and furrowed her brows, “but they’re not important right now. Look at this.” She showed him his exact temperature, and his lack of surprise showed through his thousand-yard stare at the digital screen on the thermometer. “39 degress Celsius. How?” “I . . .” “You know what, save the explanation for later.” She headed towards the display case, stacked high with what Starburst could only see were, medicines. She sorted through the shelves, searching aimlessly until she found the right shelf. “What are you-?” “Aha!” She swiped a pack of pills from the shelf, turning to face Starburst with feverish energy. “Here.” She held out the medicine, and Starburst hurriedly fished out his wallet from the depths of his pocket. “No need, just take it.” “But shouldn’t I-?” “Take. It.” With nervous hands, he accepted the medicine, a single question reverberating within his mind. “You don’t have to do this.” She shook her head, “It’s not that I have to. It’s that I want to.” He was silent. He had nothing else to say to that. Formulating a response to that sentence was harder than baking a double-tiered cake. Thanking her, he left the pharmacy, the same tune playing. This time, he took notice of the tune, noticed the highs and lows of its melody. Up-up-down-up, in an electronic beat. Like the beats he learned in music theory during middle school. A deep pit emerged within his stomach, the light metal sheet of pills weighing deeply in his hands. He stared despondently at the pills, feeling the pit widen, expanding more, covering his entire gut. Only one small pinprick of light shone through that inky darkness. It was lonely . . . A buzz in his pocket snapped him out of his thoughts, startling him for a moment as he desperately fished his phone out of his pocket. He flipped the device open, seeing to his surprise, two message notifications, coupled by more. Both from the same person, Pinkie Pie. Both sent a few minutes after each other. Both just another pile of messages in another pile of unread messages. He checked the time, sighing, and cleared the notifications with a single swipe of his thumb, staring blankly at the time. He pocketed the phone and the sheet of pills, walking, before gradually starting to run, and running faster than that. He started all out sprinting, coughing amidst his running. Damn it, damn it all! How long did I spend in the pharmacy? Though technically, it wouldn’t matter if I was late . . . but I’d be damned if I lost all bragging rights to Pinkie! Bright light filtered past tree leaves as he ran past them, glinting off of pedestrian mirrors. A cooling breeze began to sweep past him, and he was thankful for it, as his head was beginning to bead with sweat. He ran down the winding path which he started, going back to the place where he first started his journey. He was a heaving mess, panting on his knees. Sweat dripped onto his nose, and he tasted its saltiness on his lips. This running wasn’t doing anything good for his persisting fever. Through the windows, it seemed as if the place was empty, what with the closed sign over the doorknob. But he could faintly see movement inside, though it was dimly lit. With heavy hands, he gripped the doorknob, and gave it a firm twist. END. Chapter 6 “Hey, you!” Pinkie called out to him as he entered the shop, waving at him with a wide grin on her face. He nodded in her direction, heaving in and out lightly, toning down his lethargy for the moment. He pulled out a chair, laying his coat out behind it, and sat on it. Sweat matted his forehead, there were bags under his eyes, and his hair was messier than usual. These things Pinkie noticed the most, and she curiously asked, against her will, “How are you feeling?” “Good . . .” He answered, staring right up at the ceiling. “I feel fine.” “Not sick or anything?” He twitched his leg in surprise and stuttered, “N-no, why would you think that?” “No reason,” She said, her voice muffled as she nestled her head squarely in the middle of her arms. “You haven’t returned any of my messages, or showed up for work in the past two days.” He hiccupped with bubbling anxiety, feeling queasy. “Y-yeah, wonder why’s that?” “Yeah, I wonder that too.” She stared at him, with an unfamiliar glint of seriousness in her eyes. They sat in completely silence for a moment, appreciating the birds chirping outside, the stalking nature of a gang of stray cats beyond the Sweet Shoppe, and a group of sea gulls flapping their wings in the distance, silently skimming over the Ponyville River – which separated both the town of Ponyville and the city of Canterlot from each other. The sound of the clock ticking by permeated the solemn, yet pent up excitement mood of the occupants of the café. “Starburst, I want to ask-.” A sharp ring from behind the kitchen doors cut her off, Starburst dashing up from his chair in a surprised move, Pinkie as well. “Was that a phone?” He asked the confused baker in front of him, who was silently deciding against picking up the device, and finish her earlier question, or just picking it up. “I’ll get it.” He volunteered, stepping through the kitchen doors, in search of a phone. Never once had he seen a phone in here before, though to be fair, he was more concerned with making sure the kitchen didn’t blow up. He followed the ringing sound to an unnoticeable alcove, fixed onto the wall, its red cord reverberating with each ring. Cautiously picking up the handset, a feeling of apprehension, he could hear a click at the other end, and a distorted voice spoke from the other end, “Hello, is anyone there?” He could faintly make out what the person had said, and deftly responded, “Yes, I’m here. What are you calling here for?” And how did you get this number at all? Was this phone here the entire time? “I’d like to order a parfait, please. Two parfaits.” He didn’t know what was that, he wasn’t even sure it was local. Starburst was pretty sure that the Sweet Shoppe didn’t have . . . whatever he’d just said. “Sorry, I don’t think we serve . . . parfaits here.” “Two semifreddos then?” “I don’t think we have that either.” Whatever that is. Silence fell on the other end, Starburst waiting anxiously for their order. And to question Pinkie on what other things he hadn’t heard about that were just lying around in the Sweet Shoppe. He could hear bickering on the other end, bickering that sounded almost familiar to him. “Fine, two cream filled puffs then, and make it snappy.” The voice finally returned. “The both of us are devilishly hungry.” “Right, where do you want it delivered?” “At this address.” Right after that, the caller rang off a serious of words and numbers that he wasn’t sure he could memories in under one hearing, and he had to pick up a pen and paper the second time. Once the last word was spoken, the caller hung up, leaving Starburst with a piece of paper in hand. He exited the kitchen, opening up the GPS app on his phone. “So who was it?” Pinkie asked him, her hands behind her back. “Just got an order for two cream filled buns at an address. It's a delivery. Can you make it while I find this place? I’ve never heard about this street in my entire life.” “Two cream filled buns, coming right up!” She uttered, stepping into the kitchen quickly before he could the word 'up!'. “What kind of place name is this?” He murmured angrily to himself as he typed in the jumbled up words, hitting search and letting the magic happen. In under the space of a few minutes, Pinkie had made the two cream filled buns, and Starburst had the location. He stared in utter annoyance at the location, his brow twitching. The location wasn’t far from here, per say; if he had a car. He let out an accepting sigh, and pocketed the phone once Pinkie had finished with the pastries, setting them down in a box. “So, got the ‘loc’?” She asked, using a word from her own made up lingo that would’ve been complete nonsense to the general public, or to an extremely sane person. Starburst was not a sane person, if he could understand her perfectly. She boxed up the pastries, sticking an already tied up ribbon onto the box. “Yeah, the ‘loc’,” He answered, using her lingo, “is in…” - Canterlot. Wow. He made it. Starburst stopped to just stare at his momentous accomplishment, for him at least. The town of Ponyville stared at his behind, but the city of Canterlot looked at his front. His shoes scraped against the solid concrete of the bridge he walked on, connecting one far off world to another. The metal railing beside him was hot to the touch, though the wind was cooling it down for now. Sunlight glinted off of the Ponyville River, like light shining on diamonds. Cars passed by him, people driving on with lives of their own, living without complaint and without a single care in the world, without giving a single crap about the sweaty 17 year old walking under the hot sun. He followed the narrow winding paths that his GPS showed, often times relying on city dwellers often times reacting in a confused manner when he told them the address. The sprawling city never seemed to end, he ended up stuck in dead ends in alleyways, up against lamp posts, and once, bumped into a cello wielding teenager by mistake. He apologized though, and scurried away before getting a response. But... there was some sort of refined taste lilting through the air of this city, unlike what he had seen in Manehattan: the city where he was born in. Unlike the daily hustle of Manehattan, Canterlot was quiet, but not quiet to the extremes of Ponyville, but just the right amount of quiet. If this wasn’t his first time here, he would’ve been astounded at this place, and would have stopped to stare at the tall skyscrapers that seemed to almost touch the clouds, the small thatched shops on the ground below, metal struts and scaffolding in the distance; showing the inner waffle framework of a building under construction. The cars that passed by him gave way to limousines speeding off into the distance, taxis rushing forth, and news-reel vans that captured daily life here. After what seemed to be countless other paths, he finally found the place, the sun past its zenith and ushering in the predominant yellow and orange of the evening, the pastries now cold in his hands. He stared in disbelief at where he was. A storefront dominated by large, bright and attention grabbing signs, the one catching his eye most being the expertly cardboard cut-out of the brother duo, Flim and Flam . . . He was having second thoughts now on entering the shop, but the pastries reminded him of his sacred duty, delivering pastries to weird strangers. Entering the shop, his anxiety and apprehension tripled, he expected to find the duo jumping up in his face, belting out some sort of cheery, money grabbing song of theirs in his face. He didn’t expect to find them ashen faced, sitting on plastic chairs, staring into vast emptiness. When they saw him, they immediately shot up from their seats, ire positively burning in their eyes. Starburst took a step back in shallow fear at them. But then, that ire mellowed and they slumped back onto their chairs. “You were the one to send the pastries.” Flim uttered out. “Figures.” Starburst looked around the shop, raising a brow at some of the antiques put on display, a bass guitar hanging on a hook, a viridian coat and tie worn on a mannequin. This place looked like it had everything under one roof. A single cold fluorescent light hung from the ceiling, shining like a cold and unwelcoming beacon. He stepped forward, taking cautious footsteps, holding out the box to the two brothers. “Here’s the order.” “Put it on the table over there.” He nodded to a desolate table right by Flam. Wordlessly setting the box on the table, he stepped back, taking another curious glance around the shop, and his gaze finally landing on a familiarly haunting object right by the box of pastries on the table. A shogi board, glossy and reflecting a dull light on the surface, the pieces strewn atop it. Papers littered the space around it, jotted down notations and what looked to be, points all written down. It was a big mess, was all he could say. He stared for an eerie amount of time at the shogi board, starting to realize with faint recognition, that this was the same board the two brothers had used when they challenged him for the Sweet Shoppe. When he looked back at that memory of them bursting through the doors of the Sweet Shoppe, it was actually kind of funny then. He couldn’t recall why it was funny then, though it was probably from the memory of Flim arguing with Pinkie about the credibility of the ‘obviously-a-farce’ legal document. And then he blurted out the question that had been nagging him for as long as one day ago, he just never had the courage to ask it out loud, “How did you know about shogi?” The two brothers looked at him suddenly, too preoccupied with their thoughts to even engage in a counter-argument with him, just to change the subject away from shogi. “I mean… what drew you in?” He reiterated himself, slightly embarrassed, turning to face the duo. They begrudgingly answered him, Flim starting it off, “What drew us in was the calm serenity of the pieces clicking on the board, that satisfying sound was like my favourite thing in the world-” “-and the people that we’ve met, and admittedly cheated from. We’ve met a lot of interesting people from shogi, at matches, and at regular meetups.” “That’s what drew us in.” “That’s… it?” He asked, curious. “What did you expect?” Flam questioned Starburst. “Some sort of long epic?” “No…” He answered him, his voice trailing off, “I guess I was expecting something more than just the calm peace that shogi provides. Something almost from a comic book.” The two brothers stifled a laugh, sharing a pair of knowing grins, before suddenly shooting up from their plastic chairs; pointing right at him with smirks etched into their faces. “Looks like that explanation wouldn’t sate your eager curiosity!” started Flim, before the two brothers nearly yelled at him in unison, “Looks like we’ll have to sing it out to ya!” Starburst took a step back, his hands waving in a universal ‘no’ gesture frantically, “N-no, I think it’s okay-.” But he couldn’t stop them from suddenly belting out a song, a free verse song, twirling around a pair of assorted items from the stack; Flim a golf club and Flam a walking stick, and donned a pair of beaten bowler hats, Flim starting the song, “So there we were, in the middle of noon, the pair of us sitting idly by,” “And this stranger with a peculiar package came bustlin’ in, looking like a man on a mission,” “I say to my brother, ‘He seems like a peculiar fellow, dear brother!’” “And I say back to him, ‘Be quiet, he's here!’” “This man gives us an offer!” “A shogi board, for only ten dollars, how cheap!” “What a steal!” “We were taken in by his board, and pawned it right off his hands, with extra money on our hands!” “What a deal!” “We played the blasted thing every single day!” “We started to learn the basics!” In a rising crescendo that Starburst only wished to end, the two brothers held each other by the shoulders, raising their sticks high . . . “We would gloss the blasted thing every morning!” “We would go to the shogi hall!” “We’d bet! We’d play! We’d win!” And then rather abruptly, the crescendo stopped, the cheer fading . . . “And then, we heard about you,” “The expectations, oh, were those a pain we heard,” “We felt bitter, here was a boy who knew how to play, we thought,” “Who never whined, never complained about his misfortunes, yet gave up so soon,” What? He felt a sense of subtle anger from their tone, the way they looked at him, their meaningless disdain for him masked. “Year after year, the boy that riled up the shogi world,” “Slowly faded away,” “His obvious destiny,” “Becoming more worthless as he threw it all away.” The two brothers stopped, tossing their makeshift sticks and their bowler hats into some distant piles where no one would likely find them again. Starburst stared at the both of them with both complete surprise and in the pits of his stomach… grudging respect for the pair. If these two had gone the extra mile, they would’ve become pro-shogi players in no time, but to them, it was just a hobby – something to enjoy doing just for the heck of it. “Starburst, look…” He didn’t know which brother spoke, as he was staring at the floor of the shop then, his mind drifting off into other thoughts. Their words . . . it spoke right through to him. He was slowly fading away, but what else could he do? His thoughts were turning ever more out of focus by the second, even to him. “...we know we were more than jerks to you. We brought up past events that you had probably regret ever doing. We brought up your previous profession.” He kept on staring at the floor, his focus wavering slightly. “We taunted you into playing against us.” He still stared at the floor. “We just want to say that we’re… sorry. We apologize. We… feel bad for all of it.” “Two days made us realize this. Not one hour, or even after one minute, but two days.” “We may be just mere con-artists, but even they have hearts. For if they didn’t, then they would just be another soulless robot controlling the system.” He brought his head up, facing the two brothers with an etched frown on his face, one that would forever stay there; he thought, an expression that would stick with him for the rest of his ungrateful life. “Why tell me all this?” He asked them. There was no real purpose for them to tell him any of this. Tell it all to Pinkie. She would be far more suitable for it. Hell, she would be leagues more suitable than him. “Your co-worker won’t give us a chance. She thinks we’re just mean con-artists, and maybe she’s right about that.” Flam spoke, a hint of gloominess beginning to set upon his face. “But you… you’ve experienced loss. You’ve gone through hardships,” His brother continued. “We’re just con-artists! We don’t want know anything about it! You can understand what we feel right now.” “Pained," Flam said. "Defeated," Flim said. "Lost," Starburst murmured. The two brothers stared at the frowning Starburst, his dark brown eyes, so dark that they were almost black, that were dark enough to blot out any light that fell on his eyes. “At least that’s what I feel.” He hastily added, the two brother ignoring his franticness in changing the subject, looking at each other, almost as if they were having a silent conversation -as siblings often do; for Starburst at least- before nodding. Flim turned to Starburst, his expression filled with none of that conman charm, but instead… respect, and said to him, his voice with a tone of finality permeating it. “Why don’t you come with us tomorrow to the shogi hall in Ponyville?” A small breeze passed by the shop, tapping the windows dully. A slight overcast was settling over Canterlot, casting the city in a perpetual grey darkness. Rain again, in the middle of summer. “W-what?” “Like I said,” He repeated deftly. “Come with the both of us to the shogi hall in Ponyville tomorrow.” He was wide-eyed at his request, his fever all but forgotten now. “Bu-but why? You already know that I left shogi, and that’s all I’ll ever do!” “But we have reason to believe that you can go back to it. Just try.” Flam urged Starburst, the teenager rubbing his wrists together in contemplation of their offer. Flim dared to step closer, cautiously of course, and held out his clenched fist, unfurling it to reveal a couple of dollars and assorted cents. “Here’s for the pastries.” Furtively, Starburst took the money, pocketing it immediately without checking whether he had given him the right amount at all – though to be fair he had a fairly good idea of how much he paid him. Giving the door a gentle push, he stepped outside, craning his head back to face the two brothers, “It’s going to take much more than that to gain my trust, after all you’ve done.” Their eyes dilated in shock as he shut the door, walking at a fast pace away from the pawn shop. Lazy grey clouds drifted through an equally grey sky, and the slight breeze played around with his hair and shirt a bit, as if it were just a toy. He stopped for a moment, gathering his thoughts into one single tightly-knit ball. Before… the two brothers… was that even genuine? Were they actually genuine? And moreover… there was a shogi hall in Ponyville… how did he not know that? Why did they want me to come with them? If they know all that about me, then they’ll know the real reason why I left shogi, and not some botched up ‘I want to get better’ excuse. He let out a single scratchy laugh at whatever they had said. Good at shogi. As if I was ever good at it. He started back down the path to Ponyville, his bowels filled with an empty satisfaction, a perverted satisfaction at deprecating himself even further. Does it even matter? At the end of the road, there’s a destination. At the end of the journey, there’s a light that shines down upon you, and the people – the friends and rivals that you’ve made are with you, congratulating you for making it all the way to the end. Isn’t that how those stories usually go? At the end of the light, what’s there? After the journey, what’s left? Just that light, still shining down upon you? Do you still bask in your own loneliness, after everyone’s moved on? … I started playing shogi when I was still in middle school, finding out about the sport through my father who was also an avid player. I’d play against him, on a battered old tatami mat that would rustle under our weight each time we moved, cupping our chins in our hands with deep thought; staring intently at the board in front of us. My father was a kind man. He was generous. He was an avid player of shogi, reaching to pro level. He loved his two children, his son and daughter. Every single time that I’d play against him, I’d try to get him in a tight spot. He would put on a tight expression laced with concentration, and I would stare intently at his face, fantasizing about how I would soon look like him, how I might have that concentrated look of his one day. That was all in the past though. Something that would stick to my mind; that I’d cling desperately to, even years later. Somehow, that memory surfaced again in my mind as I walked back to the Sweet Shoppe, my stomach pained, and my forehead sweaty. The cold evening air swiftly passing through the city of Canterlot as the hectic hustle and bustle died down, to let in the quiet and calm peace of the evening. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but I’m grateful. I’m grateful that it was not any other memory, and I’m eternally grateful that it will remain only a memory. The Sweet Shoppe soon came into view, the long walk from Canterlot back to here nearly tiring me out, but I still had enough energy left to do one more thing before I returned to the safeness of my humble and messy adobe… “You’re back again!” Pinkie chirped as he entered the shop, the cold lamplight from above casting down on him and her. “Hmm, I am.” He took out the money from his pocket, setting them down on the counter, before picking up his coat and putting it back on. “And now I’m going out.” “It isn’t even closing time!” She pouted, crossing her arms together. “Then I guess you’ll get your chance at manning the register.” He replied, setting out of the shop once again, his hands stuffed deeply into his coat pockets, and his breaths becoming ragged with each step he took. He took the same path back to his apartment, looking past it, eventually passing by his apartment. If he remembered correctly… it was supposed to be around here. He followed the same path he walked years ago, Nurse Redheart’s hand nearly cupping his whole palm with worry, himself staring down at the grooved pavement, occupying himself with something tedious instead of facing his stark reality. Ponyville was the last place he had to wanted stay in, but he had no other choice. It was either that, or stay with his grandfather, and his growing tension with him were… unnerving, to say the least. The paved pathway soon gave way to a tarmac road, a winding path cutting straight up a hill. Overhead, the moon was snaking out of the horizon, bringing with it the shining pinholes in the night sky. Up and over the hill… wasn’t that how Nurse Redheart put it, back then. Up and over. Up and over the hill, the local Ponyville Hospital appeared, supposedly the best hospital in the entirety of Equestria, boasting some of the best medical care and contingency plans… at least, he was sure that it said that. It was nearly six years since he’d last been here, and he hadn’t had any other reason to visit during his time with his grandfather, what with him poring over shogi books and slowly rising up to a professional’s level during those 6 years. The tarmac road soon became narrower, until it finally evened out into a parking lot. The parking lot was idle, only a few cars to be seen. The same went for the hospital, and despite the best medical care that it provided, it didn’t really look like there was much going on. The lights were still on, but there weren’t many people milling about. He mostly saw people with crutches and bandaged wrists coming out of the hospital. Past the receptionist desk, and into the lift. His brain was going into extreme overdrive, and his hands were starting to fidget. He nearly punched the floor button in the lift with his thumb, and his legs were starting to jellify. His nerves were shot, bursting through the roof and into the stratosphere. He hadn’t seen this person in over six years, and despite the reasons he received from his shogi mates, he still felt guilty for what happened then. His shoes squeaked ear-piercingly loud on the linoleum floor, the smell of antiseptic hanging in the air and wafting into his nostrils uninvited. A cold fluorescent light fixture appeared on the ceiling every few metres he walked, casting down an unneeded amount of light down on the shining linoleum floor. Ward doors passed by him, numbers bolted onto doors, leading into unoccupied rooms. Everybody that had been in this cut off ward left, sooner or later… except for one. It was a simple thing, what he did, but he didn’t know he would end up regretting it for the rest of his pointless, irrefutably worthless life- He stopped, his attention focused on the ward door in front of him. The only left occupant of this lonely and desolate ward, the ICU ward - call it what you would so please. The name had been taken down years ago, replaced with a lone filing code:D3-121 He let out a breathless sigh, tensing his muscles as his sweaty palms rested on the cold doorknob, a weird sensation filling his brain. Warmth and cold meshing together… yes, that was exactly what the relationship between him and his sister was going to be, if she woke up, when she woke up. Warmth and cold, two different forces. Pushing the door open a crack, he peeped into what had become her room. The room was painted a sickly green, and a single painting of a blooming flower hung to the side, a bright contrast to this otherwise gloomy room. He creaked the door open, pushing the door close as he entered the room. “Hey,” He uttered out, his voice penetrating the silence that had hung over him. “It’s been a while…” He gazed at his sister’s still sleeping figure on her hospital bed, pulling up a chair and plopping down beside it. A cabinet stood beside it, and a heart rate monitor beeped off into the distance. A dying flower, a chrysanthemum, rested in a gleaming purple ceramic vase, its yellow petals drooping downwards. His eyes turned into slits as he stared at the chrysanthemum, and then at her. Her dull blonde hair resting on her head, her face as clean and pure as the day he last saw her, once alight with joy. “…hasn’t it?” END.