The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was tiles. Fiddlesticks blinked in confusion, expecting to see the familiar wood paneled ceiling of her room. But the white tiles stayed, even after she rubbed her eyes.
With a grunt, she tried to sit up. As soon as she did, she felt a hoof on her stomach, gently pushing her back down. “Hey now, easy!”
Blinking, Fiddle saw her brother standing next to her, eyeing her with worry. She complied, laying back down. “Braeburn? What’s goin’ on?”
Braeburn frowned. “Rightfully, Ah dunno. You collapsed while we were workin’ the field.”
The memory shot back into her mind. She looked around and realized that she was in the local doctor’s office, lying on the examination table. Medical charts and posters lined the walls, telling ponies about their body parts and how to care for them. The smell of sanitizer hung heavy in the air.
Then, Fiddlesticks realized that something was wrong. No, something just felt wrong. The mare put a hoof over her heart, feeling it beat faster and faster. She looked up at Braeburn only to find that the room was suddenly spinning.
“Fiddle? What’s wrong?” he asked.
She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself. “Ah dunno. Dizzy. Heart’s beatin’ fast.”
Braeburn frowned at that. “Ah’ll go get the doctor.”
Fiddle nodded and watched him leave. She turned her eyes back onto the tiled ceiling and sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. How long had this been going on? She thought back over the past few weeks. Sure, she had been feeling tired and dizzy, but she chalked it up to being tired from a hard day’s work. And she had been meaning to see a doctor, but she had been so busy…
Suddenly, her eyes widened. What if something was wrong, and now it was too late? What if she had waited too long? Panic began to settle in, and she felt her breath hitch as her eyes shot around the room. Breathe, girl, breathe. You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.
After several deep breaths, Fiddle got herself under control. The door opened again, and a unicorn in a red vest walked in. Doc Holiday levitated a clipboard in front of him, scribbling notes as he walked. “Ah, you’re awake. How’re you feelin’?” he asked.
She offered him a brave, courteous smile. “Fine, Ah suppose.”
“Good, good. You gave us quite a scare when you fainted,” Doc Holiday remarked. “Tell me, have you been feelin’ ill lately? Sick, in pain, or anythin’?”
Fiddlesticks fidgeted nervously. “Uh, yeah, actually.” She flinched as Braeburn gave her a surprised look. “Ah’ve been feelin’ light headed lately. And kinda tired. Ah figured it was just all the work Ah’ve been doin’, but… well, Ah’ve been feelin’ weird lately. In here,” she said, tapping her chest.
Doc Holiday nodded, his face ever stoic. “Alright, alright. Well, Ah’d like to run some tests if that’s alright with you, see if Ah can figure out what’s goin’ on.”
She nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine with me.”
“Perfect. Lemme go grab some things and Ah’ll be right back.”
As the doctor left the room, Braeburn glared at Fiddlesticks. “Hey, why didn’t you tell me somethin’ was wrong?”
Fiddlesticks fidgeted nervously. “Ah’ve been meanin’ to, it’s just… Ah didn’t think anythin’ was wrong.”
Braeburn stomped on the ground in frustration. “But you still should have told me. Ah could have helped you, Ah--”
She held up her hoof and cut him off. “Brae, it’s fine. Ah’m a big mare. Ah can make my own decisions.”
Her brother sighed and dropped his head, his anger quickly fading. “You’re right. Ah’m sorry. Ah’m just worried about you, y’know? You’re my sister after all.” Braeburn gave her a quick nuzzle.
“Yeah, Ah know. Sorry for not tellin’ you,” Fiddle replied, “but everythin’s gonna be fine, Brae.”
“Ah know.”
There were forty seven tiles on the ceiling of the doctor’s office. Fiddlesticks knew this because she had counted them three times. Well, the first time she had actually counted forty eight, but after getting forty seven twice she assumed an error on the first count and moved on. She sighed, her eyes drifting around the room again.
Doc Holiday had run her through a battery of tests and used all sorts of spells and machinery on her, while scribbling on his clipboard and nodding. Finally, he pulled Braeburn out into the hallway to talk with him, leaving her alone in the room.
With a frown, Fiddlesticks focused on an anatomy poster on the opposite end of the room. She had already read the entire thing three times, but a fourth wouldn’t kill her.
Her ear twitched as she heard voices outside. “Doc, what’re you sayin’?”
She recognized her brother’s voice, but something about it made her frown. Braeburn’s voice usually carried a contagious cherriness with it, but not this time.
She couldn’t hear the doctor’s reply.
“But-but she ain’t even thirty yet!”
Fiddlesticks sat up, concerned.
“Whaddya mean she was ‘born with it?”
At that, Fiddlesticks felt a knot forming in her stomach. Somethin’s wrong. She flinched when the door opened, and the doctor walked in. Doc Holiday was frowning, his eyebrow wrinkled in worry.
Her brother followed close behind, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“Miss Fiddlesticks,” the doctor said. “Ah’m afriad Ah’ve got some bad news.”
Fiddlesticks gulped. “G-give it to me straight, Doc.”
Doc Holiday sighed and nodded. “Of course. But Ah gotta warn you, there ain’t an easy way to say this.” The stallion passed Fiddlesticks a clipboard with several papers and x-rays clipped onto it. “You’ve got a condition called dilated cardiomyopathy. It means your heart can’t pump blood because of a defect with your left ventricle.”
Fiddlesticks blinked, then stared at the x-ray photo. Her eyes skimmed the text next to it, but she failed to understand any of it. “So… is it bad?”
“Well, it’s hard to say. It looks like you were born with a heart defect, so you’ve probably been livin’ with it for awhile. But since the symptoms are gettin’ worse, Ah think we’ll need to take some action.” A grim look fell over his face. “Fact of the matter is, if we don’t treat this, it just might kill you.”
The world went quiet around her. Suddenly, nothing mattered to her anymore: not the forty-something tiles on the ceiling, not the anatomy poster on the wall, not the carefully made plans she had worked so hard over.
“So Ah’m dyin’.”
Doc Holiday grimaced at that. “Now, don’t go sayin’ that. You’ve got options. There’s procedures and surgeries we can do to help you.”
At that, Braeburn seemed to snap out of his stupor. “When can you start surgery, Doc?”
Doc Holiday shook his head. “Ah can’t, Braeburn. Ah don’t got the the equipment or education for that. You’d need to go to a bigger town with a proper hospital.”
Fiddlesticks blinked. “Like Ponyville?”
Doc Holiday rubbed his chin. “Ponyville? Yeah, Ah reckon they got the equipment and ponies.”
She nodded, but didn’t look at him. Fiddlesticks blinked again and looked around slowly. Suddenly, the warm, inviting atmosphere of the examination room had darkened. It all seemed quieter now, and a lot less welcoming than it was before.
With a start, Fiddlesticks snapped back to reality. “Right, we’ll be headin’ to Ponyville then,” Braeburn was saying.
“Alright. Ah’ll write up a report so they know what to expect. But they’ve got good ponies up there, top of the line. She’ll be in good hooves.” Doc Holiday hesitated before adding something. “And, Fiddle, Ah know this is hard news. One of my cousins lives in Ponyville now. Her name’s Freeland Holiday, she’s a therapist. Ah’ll give you her address if you ever need to talk to somepony.”
Fiddlesticks nodded again. Doc Holiday scribbled something in his paper and gave her a sad smile. “Hey now. You’ll get through this, trust me.”
Her mind went numb again. She felt herself stand up and follow Braeburn out the door, but she didn’t really process any of it. Outside, the world seemed dark and forboding. The usual warmth of the desert sands were drenched in a melancholy gray, and the sunlight from above didn’t quite reach the ground.
“Hey. How you holdin’ up?” Braeburn asked softly.
Fiddlesticks blinked. “Ah… dunno. Ah reckon Ah just feel… numb?” She rubbed her eyes. “Ah dunno what Ah’m supposed to think, Brae.”
Braeburn sighed and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hoof. “Yeah. ‘S funny, y’know? You always expect this to happen to some other pony.” He locked eyes with her. “Doc’s right, y’know? You’re a strong mare. You’re gettin’ through this.”
She nodded, and the two continued down the street. Abruptly, a blue streak shot out of the sky and landed in front of them. “Fiddle! What happened? Are you okay?” Her marefriend’s brow was stained with sweat, but the pegasus wasn’t out of breath at all.
Lightning Dust was wearing her brown jacket adorned with patches, identifying her as a weather pony. And although she had been flying for the better part of the day, she didn’t show it.
Fiddlesticks gave her a weak smile. “Ah’m fine, Dusty. Thanks.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Fiddle, I heard you fainted. Ponies like you don’t just faint while working. What happened?”
Fiddle glanced at Braeburn who only nodded at her. She sighed, kicking a small rock under her hoof. “Well… Dusty, Ah have a heart problem.”
Her marefriend blinked at that, unsure of how to take it. “Oh. Oh Celestia. Fiddle, I… is it bad?”
“Yeah. Doc said if Ah don’t get it treated it could get worse.” Even as she said it, she didn’t really believe it. “So… Ah gotta go to Ponyville or somethin’. Try and get it fixed.”
Lightning opened her mouth and closed it again, trying to process the information. “Fiddle… I…” Eventually, she gave up and threw her hooves around her, pulling her in for a tight hug.
As she returned the embrace, something clicked in Fiddlesticks’s mind. She was dying. Hay, maybe she was already dead. Her vision blurred and her body shook, and Fiddlesticks began to cry.
She felt Lightning hold her tight, like if she let go, Fiddle would disappear. Braeburn began rubbing her back, whispering in her ear. And she cried, as the realization hit her head on. She was scared. Scared to die, scared of whatever was going to happen.
Even within the embrace of her marefriend and brother she was scared. The safety that she usually felt when with them was long gone now. They couldn’t protect her from death, she realized. Nothing could.
Eventually Lightning broke the hug to look her in the eye. She put on a mask of fearlessness and bravery, but Fiddle could see through it. In her marefriend’s eyes, Fiddle saw fear. And if something could scare Lightning Dust, then chances were she should be scared too.
“You’re going to Ponyville?” Lightning asked.
Braeburn nodded. “Yeah. We’re probably gonna stay with my cousin.”
“I’m coming with you,” Lightning decided.
Fiddlesticks frowned as she dried her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt. “Lightning--”
“No,” she cut off, “I want to be with you. I want to help you. I’m going.”
Her brother sighed but didn’t argue. “Okay. Ah’ll let ‘em know to expect you. But you should probably tell the office you’re gonna be gone.”
The pegasus nodded in agreement. “What time are you guys gonna leave?”
“Probably in three days,” Braeburn answered. “Ah gotta make arrangements, Fritter too.”
Fiddlesticks frowned at that statement. She was upset, she realized. Upset that because of her, everyone close to her would have to change their plans, just to accommodate her. It made her feel weak, like she couldn’t take care of herself.
Braeburn and Lightning finished up their conversation, shooting sympathetic glances at Fiddle as they spoke. Finally, they nodded, and with one last look, Lightning Dust took off into the air again.
Braeburn patted her on the shoulder and the two continued their journey home. As they walked they past pairs of ponies, animated in their own conversations as they spoke and waved their hooves around.
And Fiddlesticks found herself angry at them. Who were they to around and laugh and enjoy their lives? Why was she the one who had to die? She gave an angry scoff, wiping some more tears from her eyes. ‘Course it’d be me. Reckon Ah don’t matter much, huh?
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Braeburn’s voice broke through her thoughts.
“Oh, nothin’. Ah’m just dead is all,” Fiddle spat.
Braeburn raised an eyebrow at her hostility, shocked. He opened his mouth to reply but quickly closed it again. Instantly, Fiddlesticks felt a pang of guilt in her chest. “... sorry, Brae. didn’t mean that,” she apologized. “Jus’ havin’ a hard time dealin’ with this.”
He offered her a smile. “Hey, it’s fine. Ah can’t imagine how hard it is for you.”
Fiddlesticks sighed, casting her eyes on the ground. “Yeah, Ah know.” She paused as a young couple walked past them. “Let’s just… let’s just go home.”
The two continued their journey in silence. With every step, Fiddlesticks was all too aware of the heartbeat that followed with each step, and she wondered which beat would be her last. And for some reason, in the back of her mind, she could hear a cadence of snare drums.
Fiddlesticks was lying on her back, her head resting on her pillow. Her favorite white stetson hat was sitting on her chest, her eyes cast upwards at the ceiling. The house was completely silent, as Braeburn was in his room writing letters to various family members.
She hated it. Fiddle was always a mare who thrived on noise, and took it upon herself to fill the silence, normally with music. But today she didn’t feel like playing. She wasn’t sure if she would ever feel like playing again.
So instead, she lay there, staring up at the ceiling. In every second of silence, she could feel her heart beating. Just like it had been beating her entire life. Yet something was wrong with it.
The idea just felt so foreign to her. She had been living her life without a care in the world, thinking that she was a normal, functioning pony, when all of that was suddenly torn away from her.
She was dying. Fiddlesticks blinked at that thought. Braeburn was right. Ponies like her didn’t just die like this. She was enjoying her life, and she had so much left she wanted to do. Why was she the one who had to die?
Her eyes were red from crying, although she had stopped a while ago. Now she just felt… numb. Empty. She wondered for a second how all of her distant relatives would take the news.
Family. The word made her sigh. A long time ago she had considered herself very fortunate to be a part of the Apple family, even if she wasn’t related by blood. She was amazed how extensive the clan was, with members in practically every part of Equestria.
But now, she wondered how many of them would actually care if she died. After all, she wasn’t really a part of them, was she? Just an adoptee who never quite fit in with everypony else. The one who was never truly one of them.
And what of her birth family? They had given her up upon birth because of financial concerns, although they did keep her fraternal sister. Fiddle wondered where Octavia was now. Probably in some big city, halfway through a tour with her beloved symphony, with no time to come cry for a sister she never really knew.
Her mother was a kind mare, and Fiddle was sure that the choice to give her up hadn’t come easily. But still, she always felt inferior to Octavia, the mare who did the same thing as herbut better.
Fiddle grunted, turning on her side. She pictured herself in an unfamiliar hospital room, drawing her last breath. Braeburn would probably be there. Her brother loved her dearly, and had looked out for her for years. Fiddle felt guilty about letting him down.
Apple Fritter would probably be there too. Being a year younger than her, Fritter had always looked to Braeburn and Fiddle as role models. She was probably at the bakery right now. Fiddlesticks wondered if she had heard the news.
And what about Lightning? Fiddlesticks cracked a smile as she thought of her marefriend. It was a chance meeting in a bar late at night, after Fiddle had played her last set. Lightning had shown up drunk and incomprehensible, trying to fight anything and everything.
Fiddle took pity on the poor mare and decided to help take her to the local hotel. Of course, Lighting threw up and passed out halfway there and Fiddle had to carry her. Their relationship kicked off after that, although if one were to ask Lightning, she would tell a very different tale.
Her smile wavered as she thought of recent events. The arguments and tensions between the two that seemed to grow more frequent as time went on. The fact that Lightning didn’t stop by for breakfast anymore. The space that had been growing in between them. Somehow, Fiddle just couldn’t picture her marefriend there, holding her hoof as she drew her last breath.
Her ear twitched as she heard hoofsteps on the stairs. The pony was moving with a purpose, and within seconds there was a knocking at the door. Before Fiddle could summon enough courage to answer, the door was pushed open and a light yellow mare appeared.
Judging from the flour that clung to her coat and mane, Fiddlesticks assumed that her sister had just come from the bakery. Apple Fritter stared at her, her emerald green eyes wide with shock. She quickly darted over to Fiddle’s side and pulled her into a tight hug.
The move caught Fiddlesticks off guard, but she eventually snapped out of her stupor and hugged her back. “Hey, Fritty,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Reckon you heard the news?”
Her sister broke the hug and nodded, wiping tears from her eyes. She began moving her hooves around. “I’m so sorry,” the mare signed out. “Are you feeling okay?”
It was strange hearing comforting words from her sister. A part of it was because she was born mute and couldn’t speak, but another part was that it was usually the other way around. Apple Fritter had lived a difficult life, due to her disability. When they grew up, their parents had spent several hundred bits to teach themselves Equestrian Sign Language, but not many ponies living in Appleoosa knew it.
But Fritter never let that stop her. She was a resourceful mare, and had developed a communication system involving whiteboards and chalk, along with a bell she could ring to draw attention if she wanted to ‘speak.’ But still, she struggled through her foalhood, and Fiddle went out of her way to comfort and help her.
Today was different. “Fiddle, you’ll be fine. I believe in you. You’re strong,” Apple Fritter signed.
Fiddle offered her a weak smile. “Thanks, sis. Ah’m jus’ tryin’ to process everythin’ right now, y’know?”
Apple Fritter nodded. She turned around, her eyes landing on the fiddle sitting in the corner of the room. She gave Fiddlesticks a sideways glance.
“No, Ah haven’t touched it today,” Fiddle said. “Don’t really feel like practicin’.”
Practice. That word struck a chord with her. Was there any point in practicing anymore? Was there a point in anything anymore? Her frown deepened as she pondered this.
“You should,” Fritter signed. “You’ve still performances,”
“Yeah. Ah guess.” The words were empty. What good would playing at parties do? Other than mock her, as ponies laughed and drank around her as she slowly faded away. Laughing at her, because she was dead.