Chapter 52
The next two weeks in the hospital were excruciatingly slow and tiresome. There was the constant worrying about Equestria, Luna, and everypony else. But, on the other side, there was a steady supply of things that made me fall asleep. Soap operas, pain pills, hospital food. They all induced sleep. I think that I spent more time asleep in the hospital than not. My dreams were all too real. A recurring one was that I was back in Equestria. It was all so happy, but it turned to crippling sorrow as soon as I woke. The routine continued for a long time. Wake up, change bandages, watch the soaps, sleep. One day, I opened my eyes and saw breakfast in front of me. Orange juice, milk, raisin bran, toast. I rubbed my eyes with my hands and looked again. there was a tiny glass vase about as tall as my index finger, with a budding red rose in it. I looked straight ahead of myself at the mirror. Same face on his license. I studied his face for a few seconds more before I turned to the whiteboard.
Jamal King
Los Angeles, California
March 13th, 1992
cloudy
I turned to the TV, which was playing one of the most hallowed of hospital pastimes, the soap opera. Ricardo was supposed to tell Fabiola that he was cheating on her with Jessica in this episode, if the TV Guide has anything to say about it. I really didn’t know what they were saying because it was all in spanish. It was really just the exaggerated facial expressions and the flamboyant commercials that made me come back to Telemundo. I watched Fabiola unleash her latina fuego on Ricardo while drinking my orange juice when Othello came back in. He often joined me in my room these days, whether it was to eat lunch or going on his rounds or checking my monitors. He would talk about his human life and I would try not to talk to him about what he missed in Equestria. He didn’t need to know about the mess he had no choice but to leave behind. I chewed thoughtfully on my toast while Othello sipped on a juicebox.
“What do you think she’s doing, right now?” He said while an upbeat spanish man tried to sell me used cars. I finished chewing my bite and then set my toast down gently.
“Which one?”
“Either. I just miss them all.” He said thoughtfully. I looked away from his pudgy face to my lap.
“I don’t know. It could be anything. It depends on what time it is over there.” I replied, my deep voice rumbling in my chest. Othello sipped his juice once more.
“You don’t think that it’s the same time here as it is there?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Your death in Equestria and my death were separated by a few days over there. We came back to life here nearly forty years apart. There has to be something different.” I reasoned, picking up my orange juice. Othello pulled his glasses off and started to polish the lenses with his shirt.
“I like to think that the times are exactly the same.” He said, putting his glasses back on.
“What makes you say that?”
“Sometimes I look up at the moon. A thought strikes me. Somehow, somewhere, Tia’s looking at the exact same moon. And like that, we’re just... Together. Like she’s right next to me.” He trailed off near the end, staring at the television. I looked out of the window. The sun was right there, trying its damnedest to blind me.
“It’s a nice thought.”
“It’s kept me from killing myself a few times. But that’s not why I’m here to talk to you today!” He said happily, slamming down his juicebox on a table next to him. I jumped at the loud noise.
“You want to talk about lunch?”
“I want to talk about getting you discharged.” He explained as he got up dusting off the lap of his lab coat with his hands. He placed his hands back to his sides and looked at me with a big smile.
“I don’t think I like that look.”
“Oh, don’t be like that! Come on, get up.” He said, gesturing for me to do so. When I showed hesitation he started snapping his fingers. I got up shakily out of the bed. My hospital gown fluttered around me as my feet thumped onto the ground. My IV pole shook against the opposite side of my bed. Othello ran around and grabbed it for me, pulling it around to my side. I grabbed it and watched Othello walk around to my side. It was really ironic, how tall I was compared to him. Apparently being in a body that’s 6’7” has its benefits. He walked around to my other side and held his arm up. I waved it away and walked out of the door. The hospital was bright and airy, with lots of windows and lights. The hallways were long and not too narrow. Pretty much just a regular hospital. I smiled at few nurses passing by, who I’m sure didn’t notice me. Othello walked around wherever he pleased, dragging me along with him. We eventually ended up in the maternity ward, in front of one of those big windows where you could see other people’s children. Othello and I ended up glued there, sitting at one of the nearby benches.
“Do you think they’ll ever guess?” I asked solemnly. Othello switched from leaning on one knee to leaning on the other. He let out a big sigh.
“Would you have ever guessed?” He said. I stared at one of the babies. It wasn’t doing much of anything. I bit my bottom lip
“Not in a million years. What about you?”
“I didn’t live in a culture that accepted alternate dimensions or anything like that. You died, you went to the afterlife, and that’s it. None of this reincarnation or anything like that. It was a different time.” He said. I didn’t have anything to say back to him, so we just sat there in silence for a while. A nagging thought occurred to me and wouldn’t go away, so I decided to voice it.
“What do I have waiting for me when I leave the hospital?”
“You have a great car.”
“Do I live in it or do I have a house?” I asked sarcastically. Othello laughed.
“You have a house, but it’s in Frisco. You were here on business, apparently.” He explained while looking down at his shoes.
“Business?”
“You own a charter plane company. Nothing big, just enough to keep you in silk pajamas. Apparently you were going to meet with a client.” Othello said. I smiled.
“At least Jamal had the common courtesy to be successful before he died.” I joked. Othello laughed and stood up.
“Come on, Mister King, let’s get you out of this hospital.” He said, getting up and walking away from me. I got up, swaying slightly on my feet and turning away from me. I was about to follow him when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. The maternity ward had two sides, both with glass to look at the babies. My mouth fell open for a minute as I looked. I turned fully to face the window. I literally threw my IV pole to the ground and placed my palms flat on the cool glass. I watched with open eyes as one of the maternity nurses picked a tiny little baby out of one of the glass trays they were put in. He was wrapped in a little blue blanket and was wearing a tiny white cap which I knew was for his baptism. The nurse held him at a slight angle facing the window opposite me to a young father. The breath stuck in my throat. The man was ragged, with mussed hair and heavy bags under his eyes from waiting for his child to be born. His jet hair hung over his ears and swayed across his icy blue eyes. His mouth dropped open when he saw his child and he started to cry. He held his arms open and turned to a mousy old woman who grasped him around the waist and held him tight. He held one hand on the back of her hair and the other one across her back. He was shaking, staring his baby boy. He looked like he was laughing, but I could plainly see the tracks of his shed tears running down his face. I balled my hands into fists as I saw the young father and started to cry. I couldn’t contain myself as I slowly fell to the ground and wailed. I grasped my knees with my hands and held them close to me, wishing that the hospital gown covered more of me. I sobbed my lamentations, not caring about who would hear. I watched through blurry eyes as Othello rushed up to me.
“Edwin, Edwin what’s wrong?!” He worried, holding his hands over me like he was afraid to touch me. I wasn’t able to say anything. Othello picked me up and slung my arm over his shoulder. He leaned down to pick up my IV pole and walked me out of the room.
“What was that back there, Edwin?” Othello asked as he bandaged up my hand. I just shook my head. Othello pouted but didn’t press the point. He wiped my hand with an alcohol wipe and I hissed. Othello didn’t pay me any attention and pulled a white thing off of a shelf. He ripped it down the middle, revealing some gauze which he wrapped around my hand.
“It was a really stupid idea to throw down the pole.”
“Yeah." I said quietly. Othello suddenly stopped wrapping my hand and placed his hands on his hips.
“What the hell, Edwin? What’s wrong?” He demanded. I gulped, trying not to cry again.
“M-my dad.” I managed to whisper. Othello only looked confused. “M-my dad. H-he was at the maternity ward.” I explained. Othello’s face went from bunt confusion to pained understanding.
“Edwin, I’m so sorry.” He said, pulling me into a hug. I grasped him and held him close to me.
“M-M-M-” I stuttered, but couldn’t finish the word. Othello let me go and took my hand again, wrapping it.
“M-my mom died yesterday.” I rasped out, tears gathering at the corners of my eyes. Othello stopped moving his hands looked up at me, eyes wide and mouth open.
“Oh god... Your mother, she wasn’t-” He started, looking horrified.
“Angela Shell.” I finished for him. Othello grew a few shades paler. He mouthed words, trying to say something, but he couldn’t. He gulped once and tried to speak again.
“I was there. I didn’t deliver you, but I was in the room. We-we did all we could.”
“My dad never said what happened to her.” I said coldly, trying not to cry any more. Othello gulped again.
“She hemmoraged. We tried to find out where she was bleeding, but we couldn’t. It took a few minutes for her to go into hypovolemic shock. She probably thought she was going to sleep. Listen, Edwin, I-”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I just want out of this damn hospital.” I said, feeling anger wash over me. Othello didn’t say anything but just finished wrapping my hand. I stormed out of the room into the hallway and leaned against the wall next to the door, scowling. Othello came out and placed a hand on my shoulder. He didn’t speak. There was nothing to say.
“You still don’t think the life we lead is a punishment?” I spat. Othello dropped his hand from my shoulder and stood akimbo.
“No.”
“Saying that is like looking at the sky and still saying it’s green.” I reasoned coldly. Othello sighed.
“You’ve never led my life, so you don't know why I say what I do.”
“Are you saying you’ve led a harder life than me?” I looked down at Othello as I spoke, my face carrying intent that few murderers knew. Othello stayed calm.
“I was engaged to the woman I loved for about three hours till a fucking train decided it didn’t want me alive anymore. I woke up in a completely different body, in a place I never knew of, thrust into a conflict that wasn’t even a part of. The second time I found love, I was killed yet again, forced back into a world I thought I would never see again, that I would never love again. You can’t possibly know what I’ve been through.” I ranted, getting right in Othello’s face as I did so. He went from remarkably calm to horrifyingly enraged while I spoke. When I was done he grabbed me by my arm and tugged me into an empty room. He threw me into the room first, then walked in himself. I was still stumbling from being thrown in when Othello punched me in the face. It was a powerful left hook, hurling me into a closed closet. I placed my palms flat on the door, trying to stand upright. Othello grabbed my back and pushed me into a padded armchair that was identical to the one that he used in my room. I landed in it, reeling, and tried to get back up. He planted a hand on my chest and pushed me back down.
“Sit the fuck down, you goddamn child.” He spat, his face red. His burst of invective made me hesitate long enough for him speak.
“I went through the exact same trials you did. I had to fight tooth and nail for survival in the streets of Florence as a child. I was lucky to be alive long enough to die. I killed my own wife because I was convinced she cheated on me. I commited suicide when I found out that it was all deception, but not without taking some of that strisciante ratto with me. I woke up in a body, but I was only a foal. I wasn’t even a half-hour old when I killed my first Angelic. He tried to eat me so I set his eyes on fire. When I was done I had to convince the two princesses I found I wouldn’t kill them either. I wasn’t a week old when I had to chew the living heart out of Gygax the Immortal at the foot of the cliffs of Canterlot. I grew to be strong, mighty, and feared. The blood of all the Angelics I killed during my first month of life can fill an Olympic swimming pool over ninety times. Do you know how many Angelics that is? That’s over 19 million of them. My favorite way to kill was to set their lymph nodes on fire. They writhed around on the ground for nearly three minutes before the fire consumed them. If it was an especially troublesome Angelic, I would stand over them as they burned and laugh. I loved to see the fear in their eyes. It satisfied me. When I was three years old, I killed the last one. He was a clever one, a real bastardo complicato. He was so afraid of me when I finally killed him that he wouldn’t allow any light in the castle where he holed up. He wouldn’t even allow any candles, that’s how afraid of me he was. I turned the whole castle into an enormous conflagration. He jumped out of his bedroom window when the fire started. I caught him. He nearly shouted himself to death. But I was there to make sure he didn’t. I ripped open his ribcage with my bare hooves and made him watch as his organs were consumed. He screamed until it wasn’t physically possible. He cursed me to the deepest pit of hell in every single language he knew, and there was a plethora. I just stood there and watched him. When he finally died I held his corpse aloft, standing on my hind legs, and shouted ‘Equestria is free!’ at the top of my lungs. I had never felt so carefree and happy as I did on that day, with only one exception. I travelled back to the throne of the Kingdom to profess my love to the Princess that held the sun aloft. The sun that shone on every single corpse I left in my wake, of every single exclamation of pain I caused. She granted me an audience for not even a minute. I remember her words exactly. ‘What do you want’ She said, staring at me like I just relieved myself on her carpet. ‘I love you.’ I said, pouring all of my passion into my words. She blinked. ‘Get out of my sight, you bloodthirsty monster.’ she spat at me, turning away. I couldn’t do anything. I almost set fire to her entire kingdom out of spite. But I didn’t. I worked hard to forge a new image of myself. I created the Nether from nothing. I labored for the greater good, building houses and planting trees that my flames had demolished. I worked and worked with no concern for myself for the next ten years. Ponies eventually cheered when I walked through their towns. When that happened for the first time, I knew it was time. I walked back to the Throne. I didn’t fly, I didn’t use magic. I remember the audience I had with her. ‘Equestria is at peace.’ I started. ‘I cleansed the Angelic scourge from your glor-’ I couldn’t finish because she ran up and kissed me. That was my happiest moment. When she accepted my love. How old are you?” He finished.
“T-Twenty one.” I whispered, amazed by his story. He snorted.
“I’ve done more in half of your lifetime than you may ever do. By the time I was your age I sang the first blade. It’s none of this ‘imagine a sword in your head’ stronzate like they have today. You had to declaim what meant the most to you in the most beautiful voice you could muster. I stood there for nearly three hours, Celestia by my side, singing everything I loved about her. I made the spell so that the fiery passion of the spoken words would actually forge the sword out of nothingness. So don’t you fucking tell me you've had worse. I’ll get your discharge papers.”