//------------------------------//
// The Lights Go Down Again 
// Story: The Only Prescription is More Pony 
// by F.Venka 
//------------------------------//

	I felt my eyes open by themselves, a surprisingly veridical feeling of comfort and rest imbuing my being. The feeling of being half-alien had sustained, so I had to be still trapped in Silk's mind. It was night, that was clear, and the moonlight illuminated the place.

"Have I just arrived?" I heard him ask the air as he pushed the covers out of him and got down from bed. At the same exact time as he made contact with the ground, I noticed something: there was no movement on the train, there was only silence.
"Maybe Rail has fallen asleep? ...But wouldn't that be potentially dangerous, if other train came here?"
In a couple of steps, he reached the locomotive room and opened the door. The window at the place was opened, the cauldron unlit, and nothing but silence present. The bag with the oatmeal had fallen, its contents spilled over the floor.

"He's probably asleep, then. He must be close, he said he doesn't like being alone."
He came back to the previous wagon, carefully passing his eyes by the beds around him as he went down the corridor. None of them seemed to be occupied apart from his.

"Maybe he's in the next one. Probably thought that I'd like to have some privacy or something..."
Then, he opened the door. An almost identical wagon greeted him. He walked without further thought, checking the place with his sight. He didn't get what he was looking for. The silence was something completely different to what's expected from a train.

"He's not here, either. I've gotten somewhat separated from where he's supposed to be."
He looked back. The dim moonlight passed through the windows, lighting the room just a little. There was something there that made him feel like he didn't belong, like he didn't have to be there; like he needed to get out of there.
"It's the silence and the lack of presence, I'm sure. It's not something to be expected from a place like this one."
He opened the door to the next wagon in a flash, a whoosh of wind passing through him. The click of the door echoed throughout the room. It was just as empty as the others, that fact could be clearly seen. He had started to give less attention to the beds, and walked faster.

"I doubt I'll find him past this point. He's surely somewhere in the back, and I just missed him. ...But I guess I won't lose anything if I try to find him past this point..."
He reached the door and raised a hoof, ready to open the next door, when he heard a soft click in the distance. Was that Rail? Had he woken up and Silk hadn't seen him? He looked back, noticing how much longer the train seemed to be from his spot. Something was different, he couldn't quite put his hoof it. Without giving it too much importance or further thought, he kept on advancing.

The wagon that followed had no beds: it had the door from where he entered the train on one side while, in the other, it had two windows in where the purple night sky could be clearly seen, together with the stars and the moon. The room emanated a strange feeling of hospitality, like it was whispering to him that he should stay. They had met there. His ears perked up when he heard a couple of very soft hoofsteps behind him. "Railroad might be there. Might have been just me..." Without thinking twice about it, he continued on his way.

The next wagon was almost entirely empty. Nothing apart from the window was visible, their shape plastered on the floor like light paintings.
The steps got closer, barely becoming louder.
His own steps were faster in that moment, as he reached the last door. At the same time he opened the door, another one closed behind him. He turned back in the instant, out of reflex. He could see the third wagon, nothing behind. It was cold out of a sudden.

There's a shadow between the beds. I can see it. If it Railroad playing a joke on me, it stopped being funny. If it isn't him...
He opened the door, entered the door and closed the door behind him. He sighed and then sniffed the air.
The inebriating smell of rust entered his nostrils. He noticed the lack of an entrance of lighting right away. There he was, sitting on a dark room, a part of his mind that wasn't me starting to give more and more wild theories about who or what that other being could be. The steps got even closer before stopping completely. A hoof struck the door with an uproar. A little chuckle was heard was heard behind the door.

With the innate fear of the unknown, he pressed himself against the door, mumbling, beneath his breath, something about how he'd give his savings to Celestia if she managed to get him out of that one. The smell of the rust was too strong to ignore.

There was a long silence before a second hit, this one much harder, broke the door in two. When he felt the wood and splinters over him, he blocked completely.

Who...? What is it, who could it be that has broken the door in two hits?

The cold nightly air rushed into the room, then. He tried to move, but the sheer amount of confusion and despair he felt at the time had won the battle.

His body was lifted off the ground, his limbs hanging, pointing at the floor. He had reached a state of nigh-catatonia, his eyes opened wide. He floated back to the empty wagon, unable to move and resist. He could perceive something very clearly in the dark.

All out of a sudden, I felt his body being flung against a window, which broke with a thunderous clamor; the tiny shards of glass flying through the air, many of them puncturing Silk's coat.

As he fell, he could see, from the train, a fixed stare and a demented smile watching him, the mouth filled with bloodstained fangs.

It... it wasn't rust. The entire room was drenched in... blood... Whose? Railroad's!?

Behind the psychotic grin, he could see something else: a dark blue, luminescent mane, filled with stars.

It's-- it's her. She has found me.

That last phrase hit me with hardness only comparable to the harsh landing he had against the cold sand just an instant later.
The hit disconnected me immediately. The image of the sands, lost in nowhere, the night sky over me, the rails... it all went to black in that moment.





I woke up much more peacefully that I had thought. Overtaken by lethargy, I slowly opened my eyes up. I perceived the opaque sky of a cloudy day in the distance. I had forgotten to close my curtains again and the light, while dim, left a pulsating pain in my retinas when they found it by surprise.
I passed my fingers over the bed while I was caressing it. The strangely long lapse of being trapped in another being's mind made me appreciate the freedom I have to act and think so much more. Today was different, though; I could feel my sickness returning even stronger than before, and I already felt weak as is. I took one of the bed sheets and left it over my head again. I actually couldn't quite feel the heat commonly associated with fever, but it could have been the fact that I was just waking up: awakening tends to make us not feel certain things.

I left a sigh out, not knowing what to do. I only knew that I felt worse than before and in a way I couldn't quite explain. It felt radically different from being just sick, it wasn't nausea or something like that; it was, rather, a horde of superficial, undeveloped feelings, almost as if they weren't there. Nevertheless, their presence was notorious, and I couldn't bring myself to ignore that detail.

"I wonder what happened with Silk after that... maybe he would have end up dead, like me..."

I immediately questioned myself on the subject of why could I remember something like how a dream finished; the scarce memories I have of my dreams have always been vague stuff like combinations of colors and shapes, never concrete figures, and much less complete situations. It was extraordinary, but I couldn't gather interest on the issue; rather, I felt uncomfortable with that. As it might seem obvious now, things started to get weirder from there.

I tried to remember what had happened in my dream last night and, to the surprise of probably nobody, I remembered more than I had dreamt.
I didn't see something clear, but I could discern things perfectly: it was the bathroom of that house from where he came from, a colt laying on the floor who, between sobs, said: "I beg you, please don't do it. I've done nothing to you..."

It went dark suddenly, the vision ending, nothing but confusion following. No matter how hard I try, I can't bring myself to ignore it. It only manages to persist.

A thought came to my mind:
Maybe my subconscious has created Silk. That wouldn't explain why do I remember everything about him, actually... It's more like I truly am part of him. Like he's a part of me, I mean.

I left that last phrase floating for a moment, as if to think about it. Maybe I was more right than I would've liked to be.

I don't perceive it as something strange. There's something out of the ordinary in all of this, but I accept as something completely mundane. I shouldn't have memories that aren't mine...

After a second sigh, I pushed the sheets further from me. The room hadn't changed since three days ago. Clear proof of the inactivity provoked by the sickness, that. Applejack was on my desk, front legs up. There was something... different... on the figure; something else past the pact of belonging, it was like she was more than a simple molded figure.

Being no stranger to whims that put my maturity in question, I took her.
My impersonation of the southerners' accent isn't the best by any way, but I just decided to forget about that and start to just do whatever I wanted.
I cleared my throat before saying a random phrase, whatever was on my mind:

"Another day. Better get kickin'. Kicks McGee, Bucky McGillicuddy, time to work."

I started to make a motion near skipping with Applejack. I stopped myself an instant later and asked myself why was I doing that, that I seemed like a little boy, or a little girl.
A moment passed before I just continued. It was an exaggerated movement but, in my mind, Applejack was more energetic and happier than usual.

"Ah, the smell o' dew in the morning."

I made a kicking motion, together with a fabricated sound of wood being hit. Imaginary apples fell from the trees, hitting the baskets. The sun was still pretty low in the sky, scarce rays passed through the treetops and there was a soft breeze that had survived the night. Applejack looked to the sky, the clouds partially covering the sky.

"A few more and we're done here. Then it's time to go to Shy's place to help with her bunny sense... cens... thingy. Let's hope Ah don't ruin it this year, heh."

I continued with the farmpony's hopping over my bed, my mind painting acres of green over the bed sheets. I had stopped questioning my integrity and I was just following my ideas. It's a break from... my other days.

In my imagination, Applejack continued with her work with a grin so large that Pinkie would be sort of creeped out about it.
I could almost feel the tender breeze of dawn between the trees, even when I haven't been in that situation ever in my life. Kind of like the cold I felt when I was with Silk.

My mind went back to my so-called dream. I had stopped to consider it just a dream: it seemed more like a hallucinogen experience to me.
I don't understand how was I able to build such a complex replica of the city based off so little information. An arsenal of unnatural movements and completely new feelings, all of them already fleshed out. Nothing seemed out of place. I... I don't get it.

I disconnected from my little farmer incursion, my mind coming back to the train scene, especially the moment when Nightmare threw him out the window.

He said that she had found him. That means he already knew Nightmare had returned, or that she at least was roaming the place. And what happened with Rail? Was he the reason behind the cold in that wagon? It didn't really explain why the window broke. Maybe the other window was the broken one. Had it been broken by Rail's body? It could have Nightmare herself, but there was no glass on the floor. And what about the blood in that dark wagon? It had been there for quite a long time, if I can remember the smell correctly.

I left out a third sigh, releasing Applejack.

"But... why do I care so much? It wasn't anything but a side effect of fever."

I raised my arms as I stretched, as if to see how far they reached. I felt that a long time had passed. An amount near an hour, maybe. I decided to get out of bed; I thought that I couldn't feel so bad and that there would be no problem at all.

When my feet touched the cold floor, I didn't feel that instantaneous awakening as usual. I limped my way through the place, without opening my eyes much, my memory guiding me towards the kitchen. I took a piece of bread absent-mindedly, before biting it and realizing it was insipid. Part of the sickness, I thought in the spot, before returning to my room.

I didn't feel like I harbored energy in any way. I didn't feel exactly tired, it was more like I had been drained; I was starting to get tired of that strange feeling of lacking something.

The panorama outside the balcony was the most interesting view my eyes could have had at the time; I hadn't really wanted to stay at the computer yet: my eyes get a serious strain when I'm healthy and, for reason I hadn't in my knowledge, it only gets worse if I'm sick. No, harming myself on purpose wasn't either a normal nor logical idea.

I directed my gaze towards my desk, focusing it on the drawer that held what's relative to my free time. Various notebooks and a pile of blank pages would be inside, if my memory didn't fail then. I didn't want to open the notebook again; it was like every time I did, I only made myself doubt more and more about my own mental constitution. No, it wouldn't be very sound to make myself uneasy. I only knew I'd end up doing something in the notebook itself: past the written words or how they were written, its very existence provoked a deep inquietude in me. I'd decide, sooner or later, to get rid of it, of that I was entirely sure; I didn't how or when, I only knew it'd happen.

I raised my sight over the desk, then. The clock said that the time was around 2:15. That couldn't be the hour. I stared at it a long time and it was clear: it had stopped working. Maybe it was last night, I thought at the time. I should get some batteries for it.

I opened the window to the balcony, a breeze entering when I did so. Outside, the city was enveloped in mist, uncommon for the time of the year. It almost was like the buildings disappeared past the mist, devoured by the while cloud. It seemed like it would rain, it's always like this before rain in this city.

"It might have rained when I slept and it'll resume now. I do remember having heard soft drizzle outside my window before fading yesterday."

In front of my apartment there was a little empty space, filled with nothing but flowers. Even from the distance, the dew over them could be seen. The flowers had withered but green stems could be seen growing below.

I wrapped my arms around the railing, but that immediately proved to be a horribly awful idea: the freezing sensation that invaded my arms hurt like needles and made me jump, together with making me notice how cold the day would be. I threw my arms back immediately. I had the idea of going to the park again: refreshing just a little bit before had helped a lot when I looked past the fact that I had a completely coherent hallucination at night. Apart from that, actually, it seemed to have worked for the better: I felt clearer and a tad healthier.

In front of the empty space across the street, there's a bench.  It's entirely alone, and most of the time I see people sit on it for an entire day. It's like... like a spot for when you need to be alone. I've seen people who clearly have serious problems just cry openly and helplessly whilst nobody bothers to help them. More than once I've wanted to do something for them but... oftentimes I do not see them again. I like to think they've reached the solution to their problems but... Well, the world isn't like that sometimes. I probably shouldn't think about that: not that I can do much to stop them. I actually wouldn't mind giving it a try.

Droplets of rain started passing in front of my vision. I wanted to extend my hand and feel them, but I couldn't bring myself closer to the rails. I didn't want to feel that cold sensation again.

I turned back into my room, closing the balcony window behind me.

"My life is starting to become repetitive," I remarked as I approached my bed. "It's like I can't do anything here anymore."

I directed myself towards my desk after reasoning that I couldn't go out that day, and opened the drawer. A tower of papers greeted me, at which I took some at random and cleaned the surface from anything that could become an obstacle. Some days had gone by without even taking a pen and, oftentimes, the act of drawing tends to have a cleansing effect on me. I don't understand why I didn't think of it sooner.

Without much of a thought, I sat in front of the empty paper sheet, armed with nothing but a graphite pen and a pencil sharpener. What could I draw, then? I looked around the place, my sight not going too far before finding Applejack still lying down in my bed. I need to make the bed, myself. And... I should draw a tree. It's simple and has lots of potential when it comes to details.

Detailing the process of drawing itself probably isn't quite important to understand how I spent my afternoon, not to mention it would be quite repetitive and boring. No, it's not that I think that drawing is boring, but narrating it makes little sense if there's nothing to be appreciated. Well, those are my thoughts, maybe I'm wrong. Anyway, the action of drawing that tree was filled with errors and double-takes. Again and again I stopped myself to erase and commit the same mistake twice. It took far longer than I had thought it would take, but it at least helped me to pass time with ease.

It was a very leafy tree, like the ones I remember from the spring when I was younger. I imagined it as a green, lively tree; as opposed to the gray sketch I had; that color had always seemed to be rather depressing to me, like it made me think things were unanimated. The fact that I can't paint correctly doesn't help my case.

I had continued to draw little sketches of flowers and stems throughout the evening, stopping once so I could stare outside once again. The sound of rain had accompanied me during the entire day, and the streets outside were completely soaked. There was absolutely nobody outside; there was only rain present. If I were healthy at the time, I would have been outside, sitting alone. I like to be alone in the rain: it makes me feel like I'm in a movie or a music video. I guess I've always had something for film, as well, but I'm not truly willing to try it. I think I'll stick with drawings until I believe I can't improve. ...We all know that you can never stop improving, so that's not really my aim.

I hadn't had any food for the duration of the afternoon since I hadn't felt any kind of hunger. I probably didn't think I needed it. Well, had I eaten at that time, it would have actually been considered more of a part of dinner than anything else.

The light of the sky had gone down a tad, at what I supposed it was about that time past sunset when the moon's appearing. I had started to have some difficulties seeing what I was drawing, then. The clock still marked 2:15. Batteries tomorrow, I scrabbled in my mind. At the same time I said "tomorrow" in my mind, I asked myself if I would have other of those strange dreams where I remembered everything. Let's hope not...

I had gotten used not to turn on the lights when the sun had gone down and to simply go to bed when I got tired. According to my mother, rest makes wonders, and I still believe her when it comes to that. She was oftentimes right.

I took the papers and shoved them into the drawer almost mechanically and stood up. The light the sky emitted wasn't strong enough to light the room, but I could still see certain things. I just went towards my open bed and tried not to cringe too much when I felt how cold it was. Applejack was still there. I still couldn't put words to the strange feeling that appeared when I grabbed her earlier that day. It was like I wasn't manipulating a figure, it felt... like something else; like I truly was handling her, the character herself. Of course, that could have been my own sickness making me feel strange, again. It wouldn't be much of a surprise, actually.

I don't know why I went to bed at this hour. It's not like I'm not going to sleep now or something. It's still early on the day and I don't feel tired, which is a surprise, actually.

My hands touched the bed, finding it rather surprisingly warm. It wasn't like I had been in it just a moment ago, of course, but it was far more warm that it should be. Without really bothering to think about it, I just got into bed. It was then when my mind decided to have a monologue again.

I wonder what would have happened to Silk if that dream kept going. Maybe Nightmare would have ended up murdering him, maybe she would have just left and he would have to find somewhere to stay. He actually didn't pick his saddlebags up, so he lost... whatever it was that he had been storing there. He then might have had to just follow his path with nothing to help him satiate hunger. He also asked for that other stallion... Railroad, was it? He asked for him quite a lot. He really cared for him, even when they spent such a short time together. It was clear he needed somebody... somepony to lean on.

The rain was still on the background. I certainly doubt there is a single thing more emotional than rain. Rain can reinforce anything: melancholy? Throw some rain there and it'll be heartbreaking. Want to have a moment of nostalgic childishness? Jump into puddles with your best friend under a soft rain, just like when you were kids. It's like... like it refines the mind and senses. Maybe... maybe because it does? I've heard something about smell being refined when it rains.



I sighed with relief. I could already feel a sensation of rest. It was like the only thing I had to do in order to feel better was to lie down on bed. The only problem would be that, after a while, I'd say to myself that I should do something. Maybe resting was the only thing I had to do so I could recover? It was true that I had been forcing myself into sleep deprivation for some time before I got sick. Final exams and all, it's quite normal.

I hope the solution is as simple as that. One... can only hope.

Just a while later, I already felt sedated and fading. My sleep cycle was starting to get altered. That was my last thought before succumbing to the offensive of the realm of sleep.