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// Mirror Obsessed 
// Story: It’ll be ok 
// by homer simpson 
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Dear Braeburn,

After two months of not paying rent, my landlady came to visit me. She decided that I would have to leave by the end of the month if I didn’t start paying. My lack of possessions probably doesn’t help conceal the fact that I now have no money. I have my typewriter, ink, and paper lying in disarray on the table, a few books scattered sparingly across the place, my old guard uniform currently shoved roughly into the wardrobe, and an old family mirror sitting dustily in the corner.

You’d be interested to know I’ve now found work as a carer at the retirement village. Sombre work, really; there’s a reason we bothered to build a whole ‘village’ for them away from us. Ponies might say it’s because it’s what they would want: somewhere nice to retire. They are lying, though, if they claim they spend any more than a few uncomfortable seconds thinking about what it’ll truly be like. It’s fulfilling, though; the people here need your help; it’s an exchange that forces even the most thankless of souls to feel some level of appreciation. I imagine it’s a vaguely similar feeling you get from having foals – satisfaction at a successful reliance.

You always said you wanted foals; it surprised me that anyone our age could feel so passionately about it. It’s not that you wanted them straight away, but there was a fierce determination in your eyes; a duty that would not go unfulfilled. You said you wanted nothing more than for your brother to be an uncle. Was it a duty to yourself or your family? It interests me that expectations from my family have turned out to be a burden, but you seem to find genuine purpose in them.

Maybe it’s just the closer bond your family has. By the time I asked about you visiting me and my family, I’d visited Appleloosa quite a few times, and despite being introduced to your family (as a friend, of course) and getting along with them quite well, you were reluctant to come visit mine. You said it was because you were scared of there being so many people, but retrospectively, I kind of doubt that; you weren’t one to get nervous easily. Was it because you didn’t want it to become too serious. I, at least, was certainly lying; I didn’t care much about you seeing the castle, or the theatre, or the stadium, or my parents. I just wanted to squeeze out any signs of commitment from you, even if just a pitiful drop.

“Flash, much as I like yapping from that pretty mouth of yours, I hear Canterlot one more time; I’m gonna break down.”

“You know, if you would just go to Canterlot, I would never have to say it again. In fact, all you have to do is agree to go, and I can stop. It’s a win-win; you get what you want and present-you doesn’t even have to lift a hoof.”

“I’d prefer not to upset future-me.”

“What has he ever done for you? I mean, he’s visited Canterlot; surely you must hate him for actually visiting Canterlot.”

“This the kind of harebrained logic that protects princesses?”

“It’s the kind of harebrained logic that gets you to visit Canterlot.”

You sighed, your face not really deciding whether it wanted to look amused, or annoyed, or anguished, “At some point..”

I decided to leave it for now, “Past-me would kill me for saying it, but it is nicer in Appleloosa anyway.”

Whenever I visited Appleloosa, I dreamed about moving there. I felt special in the company of country ponies, a big city big shot, when else would they meet someone who spoke to royals regularly. I felt alive in your company; a lot of life felt like an endless chore but when I was around you it felt like a gift. I felt comfortable in your families company; they treated strangers and friends alike like one of their own, and they seemed to genuinely like me. But when I was soon to leave, I could see a distant panic in your eyes if I talked about staying longer. I guess you were smarter than me; I had vague fantasies of a better life with you, but right from the beginning you knew your family wouldn’t accept us for what we were; you knew this was just a temporary flight of fancy. You also knew there was no point in telling me; I would have said we could move away together; make a new life. But from what? The ashes of your old one?

It was so much easier for me to consider burning everything on a prayer. So quickly, extravagant towers and grand events were melted down into crude routine. It’s all just ceremonial as well: years of training to be a decoration, a set piece. Prestigious or not, I was bored. I had a few friends from the academy, but we weren’t really close. I rarely visited my parents since I started living in the castle. What does a pony do when bars spring up where they once thought sky, when drab and hideous claws spring from the earth and hold them down and stars turn out to be painted on? Close their eyes and dream of course; and in my case, it was of spending time with you.

It’s funny really, how little things have changed. Still, I dread the routine of everyday, no one to talk to, staring into space daydreaming of you and I. I wonder what the average time to let go is, should I be doing anything differently, could I have done anything different, maybe it wasn’t right, how long would it have lasted anyway and what does it matter anyway, why do I even still care so much?

Yours sincerely,

Flash