//------------------------------// // Unwanted Memories // Story: The Piano Man: Act II // by The Sentient Cloud //------------------------------// I yawn as we enter the apartment, unceremoniously dropping my cane right beside the door. It’ll do me some good to walk without support for a little while. “Well that was a disaster.” I comment bitterly, limping towards the couch. “A real futz-up.” “I suppose.” Twilight looks away awkwardly. “I don’t understand what Celestia’s saying. It seems so unreasonable.” “It does.” I nod, raising one hand to my temple. “Most of it seems very… biased. I don’t see what her grounding is for quite a bit of it.” Twilight turns to look at me, waiting for me to elaborate. Taking her cue, I give a little sigh. “She’s… well, kinda close with the whole ‘bad humans’ thing. We aren’t the greatest species.” I look down at the floor. “I mean, some humans have done some things that would shock you to your core… but we just aren’t… I mean…” I look to Twilight for help. Of course, she’s unable to add anything. “It’s… it’s not like we’re all terrible people.” I sigh, looking at the floor and scuffing my foot against it, before suddenly looking up. “Ugh. I need some water. Do you want water?” “Oh, sure.” Twilight turns towards the kitchenette, only for me to reach out and stop her. “I wasn’t asking you to get it.” I hobble past her, significantly slowed by my lack of a cane. “Do you want a glass?” “I – uh, yes please.” Twilight takes a step back “Are you sure you don’t want me to get it?” “You’ve been doing too much for me.” I reply curtly. “And everyone else, apparently. Surely you can stop and let somebody get you a glass of water.” The mare has no reply – which seems to be an increasingly regular thing for her – so I continue into the kitchenette and start looking through the cupboards. “I wonder where the glasses – oh, here.” “Did you find them?” I think Twilight’s looking for an excuse to help. “Yes.” I wave her away wearily. “Come on, Twi. Give it a rest.” “Sorry.” I grit my teeth. Twilight seems to have forgotten my request for less sympathy. We’ll need to have another chat about that later. “Hmm…” I rummage through the cupboard, producing two drinking glasses. “It’s never easy, is it?” “I’m sorry?” Twilight looks up from the floor, shuffling awkwardly on the spot as I bring the glasses over to the counter. I sigh, leaning on the bench and biting my lip. “This whole recovery thing. Everyone’s snapping at everyone else. Eventually things just degrade into one hell of a shit-storm.” My expression turns deadpan as I think about the topic. “Back on earth, my friends’ grandfather had a stroke. He never really recovered from it, and the stress of looking after him nearly tore his family apart.” I shrug. “And now all this is happening. I think it’s safe to say that it just isn’t an easy thing to get through.” “I… I guess.” Twilight seems caught off-guard by my statement. “I’ve never really witnessed it.” “And I suppose the time Dash was recovering from her injured wing doesn’t help.” I comment offhandedly, prompting an extremely startled stare from Twilight. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” I nod, keeping my face serious as I turn to the fridge and retrieve a glass bottle of water from it. “Very strange.” “Yeah. It is.” Twilight agrees uneasily. “Just how much do you know about us?” “As far as I know, I know the story of every antic in Ponyville from the day you arrived until your brother and Cadance’s wedding.” I pour two glasses of water. “There’s the time the six of you were exposes to Poison Joke and blamed it on Zecora, and when Pinkie thought nopony wanted to be her friend anymore…” Twilight listens attentively while I slide one glass over to her. This must all be very unnerving. “When you all went to Cloudsdale for the Best Young Flier Competition, and when Discord broke free and turned Equestria upside-down. As far as I can tell, we know them all.” I shake my head. “It’s really… strange.” “How do you know all this?” Twilight asks softly, not touching her water. I can't read her voice, but if I had to guess I'd would say that she's either alarmed or shocked. I take a sip from my own glass. “We have stories.” I say plainly, stating my simplified explanation of My Little Pony. “And they recount the notable happenings regarding the Elements of Harmony. That’s about it.” I watch Twilight carefully, making sure that my watered-down revelation isn’t freaking her out. She seems a little shaken, but not on terrified or shocked. How much wisdom is there in revealing this all while I’m still upset? “So…” “So what I know is of no threat to Equestria whatsoever.” I conclude in as mild a tone as I can. “Does that put you at ease?” Twilight is quiet for a moment, before speaking hesitantly in that unsure voice that she’s been using an awful lot of late. “I… Suppose…” I shake my head slightly. “I know it’s unnerving. Believe me, until I got to Equestria, I thought the stories were just that – stories. Do you have any idea what it was like to wake up in cage and proceed to have your nose broken by a somepony you thought was a myth?” “No. I can’t imagine it at all.” Twilight’s uneasy voice suddenly finds itself augmented by a little thoughtfulness.” “Well, getting ripped out of your very home and being enslaved is possibly the best example of having your world turned upside-down I’ve ever seen.” I sigh, inspecting my glass of water. “But when your captor is a character you thought was fictional? It’s enough to rip your perception of reality to shreds. What’s real? What’s fake?” “I see.” Twilight’s unease has been thoroughly quashed by her musings on the subject. I’d be surprised if it hadn’t, considering what interesting subject-matter this is. “It’s hard not to second-guess everything.” I continue, starting to feel a little bitter. It’s like my entire world has been tainted with the cynical view that TV Tropes hands out for those who enjoy media. “I look at everything twice – which normally leads to me phasing out in the middle of a conversation, which I’m sure you’ve noticed.” “Yeah.” Twilight frowns slightly, before promptly changing the subject. “So how much do you know about Equestria? You said that humans have stories about the strange happenings in Ponyville, but how much do you know about actual ponies?” “Uhh…” I frown myself. “I suppose… not that much, really. We know your personalities… and we know a few details about your past, but only if they happen to come up during your adventures.” I take a sip from my glass. “For example; you. You’re from Canterlot. Celestia sent you to Ponyville, so now you and Spike live in the Golden Oaks Library. You spend a lot of your time practicing magic and reading books, while Spike enjoys sleeping. That’s about as much as I know about your personal life. The stories aren’t too… ‘invasive’, you know?” “I get it.” Twilight nods. She's taking this all very calmly... maybe a little too calmly. “And… where do these stories come from?” “We don’t know.” I lie through my teeth. “They just… exist. As mysterious to us as unicorn magic – which doesn’t fit in with the laws of physics or energy, by the way. I’d imagine it does here, but we can get into that later.” “Later.” Twilight agrees, before promptly steering the conversation back to these ‘stories’. “So, do people read these stories?” “Quite a few. They aren’t the most common thing, but there are at least two or three million people who enjoy reading them and their happy messages. It could be a lot more, and it could be a lot less; we don’t really have a way to get a proper head-count.” I’m basically rattling off general information about the fandom at this point. It’s so weird how much more not-really-really-insane this sounds when I say that they’re just originless stories, and not a fictitious animated work created by ordinary humans. That’s something worth thinking about. If – or possibly when – I end up actually telling somepony the real truth about the show, they’ll be able to grasp the concept instantly. Equestria has projectors, after all – and as the show itself has shown, those projectors can show animated works like the informational presentation on Cloudsdale’s rain system. That could make the whole subject a lot more... horrible for them. They understand the concept, so it would be very easy to understand how it could mean that this entire world is a work of fiction... or not. I really have no idea what to think about that. If anything, I could be hitting the nail on the head with my bluffing about our worlds being connected. I fall silent, letting Twilight think about what I’ve told her as I sip at my water. It doesn't take long for me to get an urge to add a little more. “So do you see what I meant when I said that our worlds are linked?” I ask carefully. “Trixie summoned me from my own world without any triggering action on earth, and we have stories of you ponies. There’s clearly something going on here. Something strange and… really, really interesting.” “It is really interesting.” Twilight agrees quietly. “The implications are… astounding. What else do our worlds have in common besides instruments and language? Do we share historical elements? Are there any deeper connections between them?” “If there were any major links in our history, then ponies would probably be closer in their level of advancement to humans.” I shrug, before promptly downing the rest of my water. “There’s a lot to explore, and I’d love to help when this is all over.” “All over?” Twilight brings her full attention to bear on me. “What do you mean? Don’t you want to be home when this is all over?” I give a little chuckle at her words. “Oh believe me, I’d be quite happy to go home at the end of all this… stuff... but it wouldn’t last long. I'd be miserable.” “Why not?” Twilight sips gingerly at her barely-touched water. “What would be so bad about going home?” “Look around you, Twilight.” I gesture with one hand to the balcony of my suite. “Until a month ago, I thought this place was nothing but fiction and feel-good stories. How am I meant to go home to a world that still considers Equestria fiction, knowing that it actually exists? Nobody would believe me. They’d think I’m insane, and probably lock my up in an asylum.” I purse my lips. “It’d be the worst kind of hell – or Tartarus. Whatever. Sure, I’d love to see my family again, and let them know that I’m alright, but I don’t think there’s any possible way I could go back and lead a normal life on earth. Ever.” “I… but it's your home!” Twilight seems more than a little surprised by my decision, and I myself am surprised that I’ve blurted it out so readily. "If everyone stayed where they were born, then places like Ponyville would never have existed. Everypony would just be clustered in giant cities around where your species first started." I shake my head. "But that's irrelevant. It doesn't matter what's happened in the past, Twilight. The plain truth is that I've got a brighter future in Equestria than anywhere else I can think of. Anyone trying to help me when I get home would really be trying to make me forget about a place that I know is real. It would be maddening." Twilight pauses, pondering my question, before speaking. "I... understand." “I should really ask Celestia if she’s willing to tolerate me continuing to live here, and I still really want to see my family again – by which I mean that I really-really want to – but… I think I’d be better-off staying here than anywhere else.” I shrug at Twilight. “Crazy, right?” “That’s a big decision, Keys.” Twilight speaks softly. “Are you sure you're in the right frame of mind to be making it?” “Of course not.” I reply sarcastically. “I'm completely oblivious to the facts and have no situational-awareness. I'm making my choice based on bias and ignorance, because that’s what smart people do.” “Sorry.” “Don’t be sorry. I’m just having a little fun.” I watch as Twilight levitates her glass to her lips and drains its contents. We lapse into silence, and I have to note how well Twilight took... all of that. She took it a little too well, if you ask me – and she didn't ask nearly as many questions as I would have expected. Yet another tally count in the 'Something seems slightly off here' side of the table. After two awkward minutes of sustained silence, I finally speak up once more. “Now… I’ve barely slept tonight, and I’m sure you need to go talk to Princess Celestia.” Twilight nods slightly, while I poke my tongue out of the corner of my mouth in an exaggerated expression of thoughtfulness. “So I suppose It’s best if I turn in. I’d still like you to bring the others by in the morning – if you’re up for it, of course.” Twilight nods yet again. “I’m fine.” 'I beg to differ' I think as I nod in turn, taking a second to examine the shadows under her eyes. Twilight’s been awake for too long. She’ll need to sleep sometime soon. “Well then, if you could please bring the girls over after breakfast… and I think it’d be best if the princesses were there as well, so that they can hear about the stories first-hand…” “I’ll ask if they can come.” The lavender mare replies. “Thanks. You're a great help, Twi.” I smile slightly, before giving a conveniently timed yawn. “And I suppose that’s it. I really need to hit the hay.” Twilight nods as I pick up both glasses and carry them to the sink. “Goodnight Keys. See you in the morning.” “See you in the morning.” I deposit the glasses in dishes-purgatory and turn to watch Twilight as she leaves. “You should probably try to get some rest yourself.” She gives a little laugh, opening the door to the suite. “I’ll be fine. There’s too much happening to sleep.” “I beg to differ.” I lean on the counter. “’night – oh, and Twilight?” "Yes?" I pause for a second. "I... I know I might seem a little brash, and ungrateful at times... but... well, Believe me when I say that I really am grateful for everything you're doing. I'm just worried that you'll run yourself into the ground." “It's okay, Keys.” Twilight replies as I move to get a better view of her standing at the door. "And... thanks?" "I think 'you're welcome' would be more apt, but each to their own." I wave a hand dismissively. "Thanks for understanding. Goodnight Twilight." "Goodnight, Keys." Twilight nods once, before exiting the suite, closing the door behind her. I stay where I am for a few seconds, before standing up as straight as I can without my cane, and shuffling off to bed. It's a lot easier to be friends with a pony than a human. Ponies like Twilight are so set in their 'do no wrong' ways, it makes it so hard for issues to develop. Not like interacting with a human, where the slightest misstep can have long reaching consequences. Of course, this all can wait a little while. I've got to fight my way through until morning – and it would be really nice to actually sleep, for once. *** I look up from my book, its hazy lines of text decaying from my memory the moment they’re out of my sight. A hand has grasped my own, its feminine fingers gripping mine softly, pulling me out of what was most likely a captivating story. Looking to my right, I see the owner of the hand trying to steal my own. Brunette shoulder length hair, green eyes, a generous serving of dimples and a soft smile coupled with a relatively slim build seems to round out the impression of your standard ‘pretty girl’. How she looks doesn't matter. I already know what she looks like, because it’s her. I smile uneasily. Something about seeing her puts me on edge. The smile’s heart-warming, but something else is wrong here. I’m forgetting something. I’m sure of it. Her mouth opens, slowly forming the words “Watcha reading?”, although no sound comes out. Why’s that? Did someone jinx her? I know I didn't. My unease grows at her lack of a voice, but I decide to ignore it as I look down at my book. That’s a good question. What am I reading? Unfortunately, the cover appears to just be a random sequence of lower and upper-case letters, with a few numbers thrown in for good measure. It isn't even plate speak. Just a load of gibberish. Giving an exasperated sigh, I look back up at her and shrug. “I have no clue.” It’s to my surprise that neither the sigh nor my statement make even a whisper, despite the fact that I can feel the air leaving my body as I talk. Apparently she canhear me, judging by the silent giggle I get in response. This is weird. Really weird. Have I gone deaf? It seems unlikely, but what other explanation could there be? She’s ‘speaking’ again, and this time I can’t discern what’s being said. Not that it matters though, as my own mouth starts moving of its own accord. It’s not that easy to tell what my body’s saying, but I think that we’re discussing the book. What’s going on here? Why can't I control my mouth? After a few seconds of idle ‘chit-chat’, she gently reaches forward and plucks the book from my hand. Almost immediately, it fades away into nothing. Literally nothing. For some reason, that doesn’t surprise me. I receive yet another heart-warming smile, and she takes a step forward. I myself hesitate, looking around. I could have sworn we were just sitting on a bench, but now I find myself with both feet planted firmly on the stark white ground. I want to question what’s happening. I want to stop and think this through. Something’s definitely amiss here, and it’s not the strange happenings. It’s something else, which I feel is desperately important that I remember. My thoughts are cut off by a light tugging on my arm, and I look up to see her pulling playfully on my hand, giving me what can be nothing but a coy smile. She opens her mouth again, and I’m able to make out the words “Come on.”, followed by what is probably the word ‘slowpoke’. After a little more hesitation, I give a little sigh and fall into step with her. What’s going on here? Why are we surrounded by nothing but white mist? It’s really creepy. We continue to walk through the mist, although it looks like we’re not moving at all. Is it foggy, or something? I look around at the hazy white, before turning my gaze back to my companion. As it happens, she’s in the process of talking. As her mouth stops moving, mine starts. I don’t even bother trying to figure out what I’m saying this time, although maybe I should, judging by the way her smile disappears. I watch, my unease continuing to grow as her expression turns shocked. What is my body doing? Why can’t I seem to control it? And why is she looking so shocked? I can only watch as my mouth stops speaking, and hers starts. She seems more than a little irritated, and she’s let go of my hand. After a few short seconds, it’s my turn to speak again. I want to seize control of my mouth and say that I’m sorry for whatever I just said, but I’m unable to. The look of shock on her face turns into outrage as I apparently elaborate on whatever offensive point I was making before. Way to go me; that's some real A-plus work. She takes a step back, opening her mouth and letting out a short – and most likely loud – statement. I myself raise both hands and shout something of my own. She retaliates briefly, only to be cut off as I gesture energetically, apparently going off on a substantial tirade. My mind can do nothing but watch as my body shouts silently at the poor girl, who looks to be on the verge of tears. Scratch that. She’s crying now, tears running down her cheeks and little hiccuping motions in her chest. I have no clue as to the context of this whole thing, but I feel like crap. As far as appearances go, it seems like I’m the bad guy in this situation. She takes another step back while my body continues its rant, before turning and hurrying away. My body continues to shout, increasing the amount of air it’s expelling with each word as she gets further away, only stopping once she’s melted away into the mist. After a brief pause, my body turns and begins to storm off in the opposite direction to the one she took. Why did I do this? Why would I ever do this? I walk for what must be a full minute before something else materializes out of the mist. It's the last thing I would ever have expected to find out here in this... field, courtyard... place. Why is it here, of all places? And why is no-one else around? It’s a coffin. A brown, polished affair with silver handles, and a wreath of flowers resting on the bottom end. What’s even more intriguing is that it has a lid in two parts. There’s the larger lower section, and the smaller upper lid designed to let mourners view the shoulders and head of their loved one. The upper lid is open. My body approaches tentatively, and I only barely recognize the fact that I seem to once again have control over it. That's not really important at the moment. I want to know who’s in this coffin, and what the hell it's doing out here in the mist. And I want to know what I said to her. Is this related? Was it something about the coffin? Someone needs to tell me what the hell is going on – and I mean tell me, not mouth some confused jumble of words that I can’t hear. Stepping closer to the coffin, I place one hand on itss lower lid and look in, now feeling deathly afraid of what I’ll see inside. Who knows how long it’s been out here? What if the occupant is decomposing? What I see, however, is far more shocking than that, because it’s her. Seriously. It’s her. She just left two minutes ago, and now she’s in this coffin – a coffin in the entirely wrong direction to the one she stormed off in. What's even more horrifying is that she's dead. I can't believe it, but it's true. Her face is a horrifying shade of white, and she's not breathing. I take a horrified step back, staring in shock at her deathly face, and the ring of purple and black marring the skin of her neck. This is impossible. She didn’t do this. She couldn’t have. I couldn’t have driven her to this? Wait, she did do this! That’s what was wrong! I couldn't have been talking to her just now, because she’s dead. She’s been dead for years! I stare down at the corpse. None of this makes sense. What’s happening? Why am I… Why am I reliving this? I know what she did. I know what I did to her. I drove her to this. I remember that much. It’s my fault. I caused it, and we both suffered for it. Why can't I remember all this? is it because of how long it's been? What the fuck is happening? Why is her body here? Why was I just talking to her? How is this possible? My shocked expression neither grows nor lessens as I stare down at her lifeless body. It’s right there. Right in front of me. Why do I have to relive this? Haven’t I suffered enough? Didn’t I endure enough pain the first time, knowing that I made it all happen? A sob escapes my lips, and this time I can hear it. “No… no… no-no-no-no…” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Why again? Why now?” Tears start to emerge from my eyes, falling straight from the ducts to the velvet lining of the coffin below. I’ve been through this all before. The book. The argument. The… the funeral. “W-wasn’t that enough?” I choke out the words, my throat constricting further as the sobs rack my body. “D-didn’t I g-go through enough the f-first time?” I'm scared, and sad, and angry. I'm experiencing almost every negative emotion I can imagine right now. None of this is right. Nothing about any of this is right. I’m about to say more – a lot more – when a shout interrupts me, ripping through my skull with as much pain as a blunt knife. "Keys!"