I had that dream again. I don’t know what it is but I can’t count how many times it’s happened. Its gets even more lucid each time. It doesn’t even make any sense. Im in a dark muddy hole, I know that much. My entire body is covered with this mud except these two patches on my back, both spread a few inches from my spine. Why they don’t have mud on them, I don’t know. I can’t tell you how long I sit in the hole, just looking around, no where to go. There’s no sky, nothing to look up at, only the mud at my hooves.
Then a light comes from above, illuminating the darkness. A figure materializes above me. The light is so blinding its hard to make out what it is. An angel? Flying down from the havens to liberate me from my life? T- to take me to my parents? It comes down with its elegant white wings and reaches its hoof out, inviting me to accept it, but before I can touch it, it vanishes. That’s how it ends every time. I have never been able to touch the angel.
My eye peers open to another day of mid-winter, for what? Nothing. I mean nothing. I have no friends, no family, no money, and nopony there to look out for me and to love me. All I have left is my house and what remains inside. Yeah, that’s me. I’ve been in a deep depression since my parents passed. That was ten years ago, when I was young colt. Didn’t help that I lost my job either.
I use to work a small farm with my parents, cultivating celery. When they passed I couldn’t maintain the farm on my own so I sold it. Made enough money to buy a small place on the rim of Ponyville, where I reside today. After that the only work I could find was on a small road side cart, selling the rest of the celery, which didn’t last long. Then I just went back home, to wait.
I slid my covers to the base of the bed, not bothering with them further. There’s no point in folding them. I’m going to end up in them later anyways. I live in a one story house so I don’t need to go down steps to enter my kitchen. In the cupboards is a bag of coffee, a small sack of hay, a few rotten berries and an apple. I’m not hungry anyway. Ah who am I kidding? I’m starving. I took half of the hay, a few sips from the faucet, grabbed my saddlebag and walked outside.
I normally stroll the outskirts of town in the morning; gives me something to do. The snow is coming down heavy and thick. Its about 5 inches think on the ground, coming up to my knees.
I pass the apple trees. Pluck a lone dried apple from its stem, covered in snow, the last on the tree, and eat it. Its leathery skin is tough to chew and the fruit provides next to no juice. It’s no longer harvest season so my chances of stealing apples are gone until winter is wrapped up. With my current situation I probably wont last that long.
I continue following my normal route, printing my hooves tracks into the snow. The depressed sun gazes towards me, piercing through the thick snow. It slightly warms my face but the frozen snow over my nostrils chills my body.
I decide to head into town. I haven’t been in there for so long. Ponies probably think im that creepy colt or don’t even know I exist. Who cares what they think anyways.
I take the road from the apple orchard. This early in the morning I don’t expect anypony to be out. The only pony out this early is the mail mare, flying from door to door. She occasionally flies over my home, smashing into things, causing me to wake up, but she’s good at heart. Im sure she has someone that loves her.
I pass through the center of town. A purple mare was preparing her berry stand. She noticed me, gave me a look of disgust and continues filling her barrels. Atleast she knows I exist.
I notice a small dirt path off of the road that I’ve never seen before. It doesn’t seem to really lead anywhere so I ignore it and continue my walk. A few ponies begin to emerge from there homes and occupy the streets. Time to head back home. I don’t like being around ponies, at least not now.
I take the same path home as I took to get here. As I pass the apple orchard, the little filly and her older sister are playing around under the trees. I keep my distance so they don’t see me. They don’t know that I walk through there farm every day, or at least don’t care.
I kick my hooves against the dull yellow wood of the house a few times, loosening the snow frozen to them, then enter, slamming the door behind myself shut.
I walk into the living room and sit down on the couch. This is the only furniture I have. All I have in this house is a bed, a sink, a broken toilet, this couch and the small table next to it. This couch is the only thing I have to remember my family, my home. It was there when my dad was born, when I was born and its here now. Its faded brown fabric is the only thing left.
I lay down, resting my crest on the arm of the sofa, preparing to drift off, as I do everyday. Why do I suffer? Why do I let my body endure this pain any more? It feels as though im waiting, waiting for something to happen. My mind self-consciously keeps me living as if it knows what it wants. And what could happen? I die?
No. There’s no reason to think like this. No reason to stress my mind on such petty thoughts. I ease my mind and let the world collapse around me as my eyelids begin to heavy. I am yet again freed into my mind to perhaps encounter the flying angel once again, and again have the chance to lean out and touch her.
I wake the next day, the angel didn’t come to see me. It seems that now I eagerly await her visit; await her to show me the path to freedom. How long I must wait, I do not know.
I had slept through the day on the couch again, awoken cold and desolate. My fur pinches against the bitter cold, skin slightly chafed against the rough fabric. I sit up, loosening my right hoof out of one of the many rips and tears that decorate its surface.
I place my hooves on the cold ground next to me, trying to stand; my aching joints, stiffened by the cold, whelp. I try soothing them with my fore hoof until I stand. I take in as much warm, thick water as I can from the sink and enter the kitchen. I walk towards my cupboard and open it. I take the bag of coffee and shake some out into my hoof, a mixture of powder and crushed beans pour out of the bag.
I step outside with my saddlebag, just like I have done everyday, the snow not yet falling, and began my venture around the orchard, the sun just begun to present itself over the horizon, managing to penetrate a few of its light beams through the thick leaves, illuminating the cold cluster of woods. There were no lone apples for me to salvage today. The fruits of these trees are gone until the new seasons beginning.
I walked along the brim of town a lot farther than I normally do today, quietly enjoying the coffee which stimulate my glands as it touches my tongue. I came up where the dark forest meets the edge where a thought appears in my head, about the small path I disregarded the previous day. I can’t get it out of my head. Something about it peaks my curiosity. I couldn’t dare show my face in town two days in a row; visits are so rare.
There’s nothing else I have to do today, other than go home and sleep, waiting to die. I enter a light trot into town. I should make it quick before anypony appears on the streets.
It was a short walk into town. On my way I notice a small crate with a few cherries, an orange and some nuts resting inside. With a quick glance to confirm nopony else around, I take the sustenance and place them in my saddle bag.
It’s not long to find the small dirt pathway again. It seems different. The graceful glow of the sun kindles the atmosphere around it, forging a peaceful radiant light off the snow.
I enter, tracking on, guided by the dirt. The snow finally begins to start its cycle again, coming down from the skies, freshly covering the leaves and ground. The trees on my sides gradually become dense with snow.
The track suddenly makes a sharp right turn. As I turn past the deviation, I notice a light brown obstruction, not to far down the trail. I approach it, slowly. It seems to be a cardboard box, tilted on its side with the flaps open towards the trail.
I draw near the entrance of the little box, now in full view of what resides inside; a mare; a small, yellow, pink maned, frail, sleeping mare asleep inside this box. A small sign lies next to her which reads “Looking for a home.” Her face, coated with tears and dirt. Her body, cocooned closely against her body, shivering under the influence of the elements.
This is a pony that truly has nothing. No family to take her in, no money, or food, or love. Not even a home to call hers. This is all she has left. I have more than her. I have to take her, give her my home. A tear begins to run down my face.
I can’t begin to describe how beautiful she is. I thought everypony this angelic is granted a life of happiness and ease. It makes me ponder what could have ever happened to cause this. Why is she all the way in here? Deep amongst this trail? Nopony would ever see her.
I grasp her barrel, putting her in my arms. Her fur is as cold as the snow itself, chilling my arms. I can sense my heat radiating into her body. She looks so helpless. A lone tear rolls down my cheek and falls onto hers, drying up with all the others. I caress my nose through her mane; it’s so soft.
I retrace my steps out of the small woodland grove carrying this mare. Almost all of the ponies are out and about, walking the streets, tending there carts. I hide my head down, waiting for a clearing.
A large group of ponies walk by and I take my chance. I sprint out as fast as I can from the entrance. I sprint down the streets, behind houses, through other ponies. The tears return to my face, blowing off as I run. I can feel the eyes of others watching. What are they making of this? I wouldn’t care anyways.
I can feel her heart beating against my chest; so warm and rhythmic. I reach outside of town, nearing the apple orchard. She remains asleep. I can’t help but stare as she sleeps, the look of panic and unease on her face that’s resided there ever since I spotted her.
The family which tends the orchard isn’t out. I pass through the center, headed straight home.
I reach the front door; open it with my mouth and rush inside, panting. I set her down on the couch, and step back. She immediately shifts and snuggles herself against the cushions, pressing her head deep in-between them.
This isn’t really much for her. The house is barely standing, dirty, holes cover the wall, and smelly im sure. I can’t even tell anymore, Im so use to it.
I remove my saddle bag, and empty the food. I take the orange and place the rest in the cupboard. I walk over to my bed and remove the covers. I meander back where she is sleeping and lay them over her gently. I take up a place on the floor in front of her, and wait.
Her face has softened, no longer crunched up, and her body has relaxed. She looks a lot calmer now. The bright pink and yellow of her radiates through the sad grey room, giving a bit of life. She’s truly elegant. I watch as her chest bobs up and down with each breath she makes. She kind of reminds me of the angel in my dreams.
Maybe this is what she wanted. Maybe this is what Im supposed to do. Right now I feel this kind of peace, a feeling I haven’t felt for a long time. A smile forms across my face while a tear slides down my cheek.
So I sit here, watching her sleep. This mysterious mare on my couch, in my home, sleeping, at absolute peace, is from my doing. Just waiting, waiting for her to wake. So I sit here, all day, waiting, watching.
It’s late in the afternoon. She hasn’t tussled or seemed stressed at all. My eyes are starting to droop when suddenly she finally moves. Her hind legs begin to come to life, outstretched, moving around, getting a feel for the soft cushion under her.
My eyes sprout open. I get filled with anticipation. She’s finally awake. What is she going to think of me? And where she is? I care about her answer.
Her foot stops moving for a second, then her head shoots up, franticly looking around. She looks under herself, noticing the sofa under her, she notices the dull house she’s inside, and most importantly, she notices me. She stares at me with a look of confusion and fear.
In a fit of fright she grabs the covers and pulls them over herself and cowers near the edge of the couch. I don’t know what to do so I just sit there, gazing upon her. I don’t want to frighten her any more so I shoot a soft smile.
We sit there, still, for a while. She sits, looking at me. We both stay silent, no words. I display the orange out in front of me and slowly get up, inching my way towards her. She slightly lowers the covers. I place the orange on the arm of the sofa and step back. She drops the covers and grabs the orange. I give her another smile to let her know she’s welcome.
I observed as she consumes the entire orange. Slowly but surely she eats it all and glances back up to me. She still seems a bit frightened but she’s no longer holding the sheets.
I motion with my hoof for her to follow and I walk into the bathroom to show her where she can drink. I show her the sink, turn it on, and take a sip. I step over, making way for her. She approaches the sink, turns the faucet, and lowers her head under, and takes a small sip. She looks at me, almost asking permission. I nod her ok.
Her head instantly shoots under the stream, reveling underneath the liquid, indulging as much as she can. This raunchy water, fluxing through her mane seems like a narcotic to her. I wonder how long she’s been without it.
I decide its time to leave her alone. I walk over to my bed in the other room and get in. I lay there for an hour or so, just thinking, pondering to myself, what next?
The day progresses through the rest of the evening, the cool air swaying through the house. I get up from the mattress and walk in the living room with the mare just sitting on the couch. Her mane still slightly wet.
I approach her slowly and calmly, taking up a spot on the other end of the couch. We both sit quietly, looking at one another for a while. She has the most beautiful eyes.
She crawls over, nearing me, placing her head on my shoulder, resting. I wrap the cover over us both. I can feel her breathing on my chest. I can feel her heart beat against my own. I can smell her scent; so soft and beautiful. It’s so peaceful.
We sit here, for hours, feeling each others warmth. She knows im here now, to care for her. She knows im good. Now I will leave it up to her if she wants to stay. All I can do is hope. I drift off knowing she’s right here, thinking of me.
As I wake, my body as well as my mind feels the best it’s ever been in a long time. The angel hasn’t visited me in so long. I don’t know where she has been in my mind, perhaps drifted off, deep within until I need her the most, or maybe, maybe she’s with me.
I rise from the couch and look around. She’s awake, filling the room with her positive scent. She’s sitting on the couch, observing the room, wrapped in the blankets. She gives me a light smile. Enough to make me smile back.
It must be early morning depicting the way the sun radiates thorough the room. I walk into the kitchen, open the cupboard and take the handful of cherries over to her. I divide them evenly between the both of us and silently eat them, enjoying the fresh juices erupting from the fruits.
I get my water fillings from the faucet for today, fasten the saddlebag around my waste and creek open the door to the rising morning sun, blinding me, causing me to shield my eyes. I take a final glance behind me at the yellow mare. She gives me a soft smile then lies down, closing her beautiful blue eyes.
I slowly push the heavy wooden door closed, trying not to disturb her. The lock clicks shut and I start trotting trough the freshly fallen snow, covering my previous tracks. I have two mouths to feed now. There’s no way we can last more than a week with what I have.
Instead of walking around the farm houses in the orchard, I decide to investigate the gay colored pavilion; they must have some significant amounts of food stored up somewhere.
There’s a meager shack, parallel to the main barn. I approach it; open its singular, small, wooden hatch and slip my head in between the small cleave. Inside lays miscellaneous cultivating tools, useless. I shrug and press on the door with my hoof, hearing the dry wood rub against each other as it closes.
I look up at the immense structure which lay directly in front of me. The set of doors on its side must be roughly 5 times larger than the huts, covered in a thick sheet of snow. A heavy wooden log lay horizontal across its sockets, closing it.
I approach the log; position myself under it, mounting my hooves securely into the snow, and push. The souls of my hooves crunch the snow as they slide out of position as the log slowly begins to rise up. I reposition my hooves under me and conger my strength to push the log straight up above my head until its high enough out of the second, then I throw it aside, throwing the snow around it into the air to settle again quickly.
The right door creeks open, slowly revealing what lies inside the dark expanse of the room; a lone barrel of cider, the last one, upright in the center of the floor. I smile. This is going to surprise her. I can see it now; a grand smile across her face as we both snack on this treat.
I progress towards the vessel, taking careful steps onto the straw which thickly masks the ground.
My hooves press down against the straw, crackling and crunching ever so loudly with each step. I reach the barrel, tapping it with my fore hoof, checking if it’s full. The waves return short in my ears indicating it’s full.
I wrap my hooves around its base and attempt to lift it onto my back. It’s no use. I grip the rim with my mouth and drag it, only meters at a time.
The barrel reaches outside the door, imprinting deep into the snow. I close the door behind myself, and push the log with my hind legs next to the barn as close as I can, then continue dragging the barrel across the deep firn.
I stop under a small apple tree about two hundred feet from the barn to catch my breath, leaning up against its bark. I notice the snow has begun to cascade once again. I tip the barrel on its side to roll it and continue the stint of returning this to my… our home.
As I begin to near the house, I glance at the sun, just before noon. I roll the barrel up to the door and lean it back up right against the wall while I kick my hooves against the wall, loosening the ice. I open the door quietly, to surprise her and roll it through the door; into the living room.
I see her, asleep on the couch, with a smile on her face. I can’t wait to see her face when she see’s what I’ve brought for her. I approach her filled with excitement, but wait, something’s not right. Why isn’t she illuminating the room like she was earlier? And where the FUCK is her cutie mark?!
I run up to her and grasp her head, its cold. I yell out in distress, fumbling her head in my hooves. I brush my hoof over her cold, blank flank. Why is she gone?! Why did she just die?! Just go like that?! That’s not possible! She can’t just go out of the blue, I saw her! She was perfectly alive!
I get up, swing around and punch the barrel over with my hoof, cracking it, letting the orangey liquid spill over the floor in burst of this violent rage. I kick the walls, throw over my bed, destroy the sink. A sharp pain in my head torments me. I throw myself onto my bed.
She was all I had. All that was keeping me living, and now she’s gone! Taken away again! Somepony I cared about taken by the cruel hands of death. Is this some kind of game? To give me something, let me get attached, then brutally seize what was good? There is no reason!
I fall limp, sobbing on the mattress, curled up. Is it me? Is it me that curses the ponies around me? Everything I have, always taken away from me. I wish the angel would have come and taken me ten years ago. She would have saved me so much suffering, so much pain, so much agony and self pity.
I lie on the mattress and mourn. As the day burns on and begins to set, I close my eyes, tight; my body shivers in regret, and I ask myself one question. Why?
The moon rises and the sun vanishes. I free my eyes, opening my eyelids, covered in tears. I sit up, wipe my nose and stare, blankly out into space. I gather enough strength to stand and walk back into the living room. Her body, lifeless on the couch, there’s still a smile on her face. She was happy.
I step out the open door, into the cold winter night. The downtrodden woods lie next to my… our… my home seems as a never ending pit of darkness. I walk along the side of the house, rounding around the back, stopping at a small box which lies tucked away, partially hidden by the snow.
I wipe the snow from the top and open it. Within the box holds a few rusty nails, some loose rope, and a noose. I return the lid and pick up the box, walking back inside. I set the box on the table and remove the items, placing them one by one on the table.
I wasn’t expecting a guest to be with me. I only made one.
I grab the loose rope and fasten another noose, laying it next to the other. I take a rusty nail and walk over to the wall dividing the kitchen to my room.
She was there for me, to hold me when I was scared, to protect me from the monsters, to keep me up when things were down. When she left, there was nothing.
I take the nail, press it against my fore hoof and drag it down, watching the smooth stream of blood pour onto the ground. I dip my hoof in the slit, covering the tip, and begin stroking it over the wall, watching the trail flow across the plain. The strokes are long and full, returning to the wound for more. With her name she shall be remembered.
I return to the table and take the two knots and several nails over to the couch. I stand on it, cautious of her body, and press two of the nails into the ceiling, a few feet away with my bloody hoof, bending the ends.
The ropes fasten over the nails quite easily. I lean down and grab her shoulders, lifting her up. I slide her head through the loop, tighten it, and then mine, still holding her.
I look at her smile one last time, then let go.
The world around me begins to fade. My hooves begin to tingle. I start to feel the mud flowing below me again. I look up into the blank sky. Above the light opens, illuminates the hole. The angel materializes above, here to save me.
She flies lower and lower, reaching out for my hoof. I begin to feel lighter and lighter, being levitated towards her. I look on my back; the blank patches have converted to elegant white wings, same as the angels. I fly reaching out towards her.
She descends in front of me, levitates only feet away, and slowly comes closer. Her face becomes recognizable; a small smile on her face.
It’s her. She’s the angel, come to finally liberate my soul. I reach my hoof towards her, and so does she. We come closer and closer until, finally, our hooves touch.
If you always lose everything you have, can you be sure you even had it? Is it even lost? Sometimes it’s better to deal with life… Who knew that something so dark, so cold could be so bright. You thought you didn’t know someone, until they show you. She is here now and with me she will be forever… Or sometimes it’s better to just go… As I rise up to the light, I feel at peace. Pokój.