//------------------------------// // Reminiscing and Recovery // Story: Recovery Times // by Glen Gorewood //------------------------------// Perfect Press lifts his hoof, a slight tremor gives him pause but it quickly subsides. Carefully he moves it forward, reaching for the sheet of paper that will be his canvas. As it smoothly moves towards him, held in his now stable hoof, he sighs in relief. So far so good, now for the tricky part. Walking over to the far side of the room, he picks up four weighted bars meant to hold the paper flat. With practiced ease the stallion moves them into place. The bristol vellum paper canvas is prepared, now all that it needs is to be filled with artworks and writings. All the glorious result of Perfect Press’s brilliant, though slightly off, mind. As he visualizes his next work, one he has wanted to try for three months now, he absentmindedly moves his materials into place. Dust tickles his nose, and a series of sneezes leave his muzzle. “Oh dear, I really should dust this place sometimes soon. Maybe later..” The teal bodied stallion with the lime green mane with black streaks pauses. Has it really been that long since he was last in here? When was the last time he attempted to create something, and had gotten this far without a problem arising. Perfect Press thinks, his hooves adjusting the paints and brushes into their proper places around the canvas by habit. It had been around six months since he last made something. Not since before the spasms had returned, causing him to fall and sprain his fetlock. Which had eventually led to him being treated, then going through months of physical therapy. Spasms he had thought gone years before, a memento of a sickly childhood wrought with fear. Despite magic being a part of Equestrian life, some things were beyond treatment. As a child, and during the recent health incident, Perfect Press had been unlucky enough to have one such condition. The doctors called it “Missing Horn” syndrome, it is a very rare condition where a unicorn is born hornless. Not even a nub, or any sign a horn should be there besides magical circuits in the place it should be. Missing horn syndrome is nearly unheard of, it’s so rare that many thought it a myth. Unfortunately it is not only not a myth, but in the few cases it had arisen before in medical history “Missing Horn” syndrome had been invariably fatal. The lack of an outlet for the magical circuits leads to near constant magical overload, and the magic disperses the only place it can. Directly into the brain and nervous system, wreaking havoc and causing severe seizures and spasms, and even comas. This misfiring magical overload happens constantly, and eventually the body wears out and the sufferer dies. For a pony with this condition, the end at least is painless. Life on the other hand is stressful beyond belief. It’s a life of always looking over your shoulder, waiting for a seizure to strike. For the tell tale tingling in the forehead where your horn should be, for the blurring vision or sparks crossing your retina. Then your brain sets alight, and you are falling into darkness. It can happen anywhere at anytime. So can the spasms. They strike without the merciful warning of the seizures more often than not, rocking one half of the body or yanking it one direction or another like a puppeteer tossing about a puppet. In between bouts the poor pony tries to live the best they can, knowing fully they can and will die sooner rather than later. Such was childhood for Perfect Press, with parents who cared enough to try everything under Celestia’s sun to try to find a cure. One which by chance was eventually found, though by sheer accident. It was on a final trip to the Whitetail Woods, the stallion then a young colt was nearing his body’s limit. Though he had adapted quite marvelously to his condition, and indeed had become akin to an earth pony in all but magic, it would have ended the same for him as it had all the others. That is, had that fateful day not ended in finding the cure. Or well, not so much a cure as a treatment that worked. He had been tasting berries, collecting samples for making paints, when the colt had spotted the bush that would save his life. Standing alone on a rock formation was a berry bush whose leaves shone like silver and whose fruit bore the most unusual color. Rainbow. As he reached for the stunning seemingly impossible berries he felt a seizure coming on. With a desperate sense of urgency, Perfect Press had forgone civility and lunged at the bush, chomping the sweet berries between his teeth. Barely chewing, he swallowed, and then like magic the seizure subsided as the rainbow berry juices entered his system. The stallion remembers his shock and disbelief. As well as his next act of calling his parents. From there it is a blur of doctors and others marveling at his find, a long lost species of plant that just so happened to be the cure that saved his life. For years Perfect Press had eaten rainbow berries as treatment, and it worked. It had allowed him to live a normal life, or as normal as possible for a unicorn without a horn. He had become a writer and artist, and made a decent living too. Fears of dying had faded to memory, and the stallion had enjoyed his life that by all rights he should never have had. Six months ago though, the rainbow berry crop had been purchased in bulk by a wealthy pony in Manehatten. His parents had assured him it would be fine, after all he could survive without it after all this time. He was cured as far as they were concerned. Deep down, Perfect Press wanted this to be true even though he suspected that without treatment his life would quickly spiral downwards. Unfortunately it quickly become apparent that without his treatment, indeed, Perfect Press would not be alright. Quickly, and without warning, the stallion relapsed. It had happened so quickly, one moment he had been on a ladder in his workshop reaching for a paintbrush, the next he had flown through the air and landed hard upon his current work. The canvas was destroyed, and the stallion distraught as his body lay paralyzed on the paint coated ground. His fetlock had been sprained, though he was lucky that nothing had broken. It had only gotten worse from there. His writing deteriorated as he could no longer hold a pen or pencil. Every artwork he tried to craft was invariably ruined. His cutie mark, a perfectly crafted artwork with a scroll overlaying it, mocked him every time he looked in the mirror. His nerves were fried, unable to process what they were supposed to do as the magical overload kept sending them into spasms as three months passed. In desperation he wrote both princesses, Celestia and Luna, and lay down waiting for the end to come. In truth, he had nearly given up. Thankfully, hope arrived at the last moment. The princesses did not just write back, but sent the newest princess, Twilight Sparkle, to evaluate his condition with her friend Fluttershy and a castle physician. A quick magical scan confirmed the worst, and the butter yellow Pegasus took off. How she did it, Perfect Press did not know, but that shy little mare got the rainbow berries and saved his life. Further research by Princess Twilight Sparkle would find that the rainbow berries he needed for treatment were not the ones of legend. They were in fact “Silver Rainberries”, a type of berry that actually works as magic nullifier or regulator. In essence, the berry has an effect that nullifies the magical circuits in a pony with “Missing Horn” syndrome’s body, or at least makes them work at a negligible level. As a result, the pony can live as long as they eat the berries regularly. Of course the effects on normal magic using ponies were the same, and it was not advised that they eat them. In fact to the average magic using pony, Perfect Press’s treatment was poisonous. Similarly presumed lost with time, yet very different from the rainbow berries rumored to exist in an ancient vale. To the teal stallion, they were still the miracle that allowed him to live despite his condition. As for why that wealthy manehatten pony had bought the whole crop, well the details are sealed until the trial. It seems he used them for less than scrupulous reasons, and was now being brought to justice for his crimes. Which does not matter to Perfect Press, who is now back on his treatment and has been assured it will never lapse. What does matter is the project at hand. With a shaky hoof he begins his work. Slowly, taking breaks when minor tremors hit, he crafts his latest masterpiece. Hours go by as sweat coats his brow where a horn should be. It’s been a long time since he made anything, months of intense physical therapy and he still will need a few more to fully recover. Yet, he feels he must do this, he must bring to live with his paints and pens this image. With a final stroke, and a quick signing of his name, Perfect Press collapses onto his rump exhausted. Taking a drink of water, he gazes at the result of his labor. It’s not his most perfect work, nor is it his cleanest, but it is one step more in his recovery. Even so, despite its imperfections, the artwork before him makes him smile. Upon the canvas is the image of a happy young colt, with a teal body and green mane with black streaks. He is eating rainbow colored berries straight from a bush with silver leaves, as a butter yellow Pegasus and a young purple princess fly overheard underneath a stylized sun and moon. Perfect Press smiles, and in a soft voice he says. “I call it, Recovery Times.”