//------------------------------// // Dr. Broken Broom // Story: Aqualung: A Tale of Ego and Recovery // by Keatosimo //------------------------------// Aqualung A Tale of Ego and Recovery         A mare looked at her reflection, a slight feeling of sentimentality showing through a weary smile. She knew it was only light reflecting off the water, but sometimes it is nice to think you weren’t alone. The tired pony sat alone on the bank of a small pond. The moon shone overhead providing a nite light, one for which the mare was eternally grateful for. Her reflection was trapped in a gap in the thin layer of ice. It was ironic, really.         The mare shifted onto her back, the nails in the bench digging into her flank. A guttural, wet cough escaped the pony, seizing her cold body with pain. A purple cloak embroidered with stars provided meager warmth, and December’s foggy freeze still seeped into her body. The hat that once symbolized her superiority now acted as it was made to. It hugged the top of her head, insulating her cranium. There was once a point in time where the name Trixie meant something, although it’s mention brought mixed emotions. Flashes of a small rural town and a lavender unicorn popped into her head. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------         The morning came, and Trixie had watched it arrive. The cold of winter had prevented any sort of sleep, and the deep wind chill had prompted the mare to retreat to one of Manehattan's many alleys from her park bench. They were on every block, with Manehattan’s working class sections closely resembling Fillydelphia excluding the style. Fillydelphia’s historical buildings provided an example to follow; grandeur was disregarded in the bustling hub of Manehattan. Rats scurried to and fro, going about their daily scavenging but paying no mind to the shivering mare curled up in newspapers.           As the sun began it’s routine path across the sky, ponies began their days, trotting and or stumbling groggily to work. Trixie had developed a sort of habit of watching ponies as they went. It was a time passer for the destitute. Homelessness brought a sense of self-despair which led to chronic laziness. When one wallows in self-pity, they begin to think themselves beyond saving, which in and of itself is a potential cause for their situation.         Trixie sat against the wall adjacent to the alley she had attempted to sleep in. Her magician's hat lay in a wrinkled mess, a cue for passing ponies to toss in a bit or two. She was past pride and shame. She was just hungry.         “Change? Please. I- I just need food.”         Some ponies tossed a small sum into Trixie’s hat, others scoffed at the mare’s suffering. Trixie let loose a throaty wheeze, a fluid of some kind spraying into the crook of her foreleg. A passing unicorn recoiled in disgust. Trixie could barely make out something about ‘filthy mongrels.’ A frown crossed over her face. She wasn’t a mongrel, she had standards. The Great and Powerful Trixie was above these pompous fools.         Trixie shoved those thoughts from her head.         “That’s what got you into this mess. Keep your ego about you.” Trixie drilled into her brain.         The hours passed and the Sun’s warmth did little to placate Trixie’s frigid bones, but it did help alleviate her probable hypothermia. As the river of pedestrians slowly dwindled into a trickle of tourists and ne’er-do-wells, Trixie began to debate getting up and buying breakfast. She had only thirty-one bits in her hat. A small fortune as beggar’s standards go, and enough to purchase a hearty breakfast. Trixie climbed onto her hooves, a series of ratcheting coughs halting her ascension.         She began a weary trot. Her cloak now covered her body, but the once pristine silk weave bore the scars of poverty. Mud stains camouflaged the night sky pattern, hiding what was once beautiful. Trixie had stuffed her hat under her cloak. It would only draw unwanted attention to the pony who ironically used to live for the spotlight. The unlit neon sign of “Donut Joe’s” loomed over Trixie, inviting her in for a cup of coffee and a donut... or two.         A small bell dinged as the door opened. The diner smelled of cinnamon, glaze, and espresso. Fine red upholstery covered the bar stools, and booths lined the walls. It resembled a retro diner one would see in a movie. A vanilla unicorn stallion with a brown mop of hair stood behind the counter. The paper hat that adorned his head did little to stop hair from falling, but Trixie suspected it was more symbolic.         The stallion looked up upon hearing the bell’s ring. A warm smile spread across his face.         “Good morning, Trix. What can I do for you’s?” The stallion asked.         “Good morning, Donut Joe.” Trixie replied taking a seat. “I’d like to order an-”         “Come on, now. Call me Joe. Everypony else does, and I already know what you’s gonna order.” Donut Joe interjected.         “Sincerest apologies, Joe.” Trixie grinned sheepishly. “Trixie would like a mocha cappuccino, please.”         Donut Joe chuckled and trotted over to the coffee machine. A slight hiss emitted from the dispenser as the steamy cup of coffee was filled. “A cappuccino? Faaaancy... Whaddya do, get a raise?” The stallion asked lightheartedly.         Trixie forced a laugh. It was better than having to answer that question, and Trixie was not one for awkward situations. Donut Joe returned to where Trixie was sitting, and placed the cup on the counter.         “Your cinnamon eclair’ll be done in about five minutes, Trix.” Joe called out as he entered the kitchen.         Trixie was glad that she could sit and wait. The outside air was awful to her lungs, causing fits of retching and wet coughs. She took a sip of her coffee, savoring the taste. She hadn’t had coffee in months, not since she had been shamed for the second time. The door behind Trixie opened, signaled by the ringing of the bell. A frigid draft of air flew in, temporarily putting Trixie in a shivering state.         Trixie cast a glance behind her. A rather small-framed earth pony stallion sat on the barstool next to Trixie. The pony looked anxious, almost as if just walking into the diner made him nervous. A wiry blonde mane topped a mahogany coat, and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses sat on his nose. Trixie stole a glance at the stallion’s flank. His cutie mark was... Well, Trixie didn’t know. What she did know was that it was rude to ask what a pony’s cutie mark was.         Donut Joe came through the kitchen doorway carrying a tray. A plethora of scents permeated the diner, creating a pleasant and homey atmosphere.         “How you doin’, Broom? I haven’t seen you’s in awhile!” Donut Joe exclaimed upon seeing the mahogany stallion.         “O- Oh, I’ve b-been doing w-well, I suppose. S-say, you w-wouldn’t happen t-to have a j-jelly donut on that t-tray?” Broom stuttered. Trixie couldn’t determine if Broom was his full name, or just a nickname.         “Actually, it so happens that I do! Here ya go.” Donut Joe answered. “An’ a cinnamon eclair for you.”         Plates clattered slightly as their orders were presented to them. Trixie feverishly attempted to stem the waterfall of saliva that was pouring from her mouth. Steam billowed from the fresh pastry, calling for the mare to consume it. In a complete act of baked good slaughter that would put even a certain Wonderbolt to shame, Trixie finished the half-foot pastry. She let out a content sigh and wiped her muzzle. She leaned back, completely unaware of the wide-eyed stallion next to her.         “W- wow, I g-guess you were h-hungry, h-huh?” Broom said.         Trixie’s blue coat went as red as an apple as she realized what she had done. She shrugged, a sheepish grin across her face. Her grin turned into an expression of pain as coughing racked her body. It seemed to be getting more painful by the day. Broom raised an eyebrow. Donut Joe trotted up to the countertop, a wet rag in his hoof.         “For you’s, Trixie, the cost will be ten bits. Four for you, Doctor Broom.”         Trixie reached into her cloak’s pocket, one that had been sewn by Trixie herself. She look at the bits for a moment before placing them on the counter. Doctor Broom placed a dozen or so coins on the counter.         “K-keep the ch-change.” He said with a smile.         Not to be outdone, Trixie pulled out an extra bit and flicked it onto her small pile. While she did want to tip Joe further, she could not afford it. Trixie waved goodbye to Joe as she got up. As she neared the door, a coughing fit overcame her. This fit was different from the others. Trixie’s insides screamed with agony as each convulsion and expulsion of air took place. Trixie wobbled as her legs began to give out with pain. In the crook of her foreleg, pink, frothy sputum contrasted her blue coat. “Never seen that before.” She mumbled, her chest recovering. A hoof wrapped around her torso, lifting her up from her knees. Doctor Broom steadied her against the cushion of a booth seat. “T-thank you, sir. The Grea- Trixie is ever grateful.” Trixie said between breaths. To Trixie’s befuddlement, Doctor Broom only knelt next to Trixie’s chest, his ear to her barrel. “Y- you realize you just c-coughed up b-blood, right?” He asked. “Yes, but Trixie hasn’t the foggiest idea as to why.” Broom stood up, nodding. He held out a hoof. Trixie stared at it until she realized that she was supposed to shake it. “My n-name is Doctor Broken Broom, p-pleased to meet you. I-I happen to be a pulmonologist, that is t-to say, a doctor who sp- specializes in the lungs.” “Trixie doesn’t see what the relevance of that is.” “Well, you s- see, you just coughed up blood. Th- that in it of itself is c-cause for alarm. If you have no plans, I’d l-like you to come w-with me to my office. Just f-for a few tests, is all. It’s f-free, too. Equestrian Medicare’s a neat thing, heheh.” Trixie sat for a moment, her eyes rolling about in thought. Well, she didn’t have any plans for the day... Or the next... Or the next. “Trixie accepts your invitation.” Trixie announced, her chin raised in false pride. The stallion in front of her nodded erratically, his stutter showing through his body language. He motioned with his hoof to follow, which Trixie did. The sooner she got inside the better. As it turned out, Broken Broom’s office was only two blocks away from Donut Joe’s. The lack of traffic in the noontime hours resulted in empty streets and a more leisurely walk. As Trixie and Doctor Broken Broom rounded the corner of Rockefilly and 51st street, a banner appeared over head. It bore the words, “Broken Broom Pulmonology.” Trixie and Broken Broom entered the aptly named clinic, the building’s heat providing relief from the winter. Snowflakes had begun to fall, drifting on the icy breeze. The clinic looked like any other; white with health posters plastered on the wall. On one of the posters, a green-looking filly sat with a sad look on her face. A thermometer and an ice pack completed the picture. Trixie's nose wrinkled; it was nigh impossible to escape the smell of medicine. Directly opposite to the entrance, an empty doorway led down a hall with multiple doors on both sides. To the right of that was a window that looked into the receptionist’s room. A dark brown mare sat behind the window, scanning over stacks of files. Her black mane was curled into a bun that made Trixie pine for a chocolate covered donut. She looked up, tapping the stack of papers on the desk to straighten them. “Hello, doctor. I see you have company.” She spoke, a thick Saddle-Arabian accent masking her words. “G-good morning, Hesaan.” Broken Broom replied, nodding. Trixie managed a weak smile. She recently had acquired a trait of being nervous in crowds. Being recognized usually led to embarrassingly berating comments. Trixie followed Broken Broom into a spacious room. The smell of antiseptics and window cleaner bombarded her nose. She fought back a gag. Broken Broom trotted over to an unmarked door, inserting a key and turning. In the locked room, a futuristic looking machine took up much of the space. A small computer sat on a desk in the corner. As Trixie stepped into the room, a bright yellow sign contrasted the white room. In bold letters, “DANGER: X-RAYS” admonished unwary intruders. “P-please, remove your c-cloak, and climb into th-the machine.” “Why would I do such a thing?” Trixie replied, still suspicious of the white tank thing. “It’s an X-ray m-machine. It will l-let me take a l-look into your lungs.” Trixie looked at the machine. There was something about machines that irked her. Wheels especially. With a sigh, she shucked her cloak and climbed onto the machine. “Will this hurt?” Trixie stammered. Broken Broom let out a hearty laugh, which did little to appease Trixie’s angst. The doctor pushed a few buttons and twisted a few knobs. Sweat broke on Trixie’s forehead. She despised machines with the fury of a thousand suns. “Stay still.” Broken Broom commanded. The doctor stepped out of the room, shutting off the lights. As the darkness suffocated Trixie, her terror grew. She didn’t like the doctor’s office. A zap sounded, presumably from the machine, Trixie assumed. The lights flicked on. “All done!” Broken Broom beamed. “I hate you.” Trixie replied. “Oh, c-come now. A l-little radiation never harmed an-anypony.” The doctor giggled at his little joke. The Great and Powerful Trixie was not amused. She let out a huff, lifting her chin in indignity. Broken Broom trotted over to a screen on the x-ray machine. A few beeps emanated from the machine. Trixie tapped her hoof impatiently. An image popped up on the screen. Trixie squinted, trying to make out the picture. It looked like blue lines with a black background. “Uh, Miss T-Trixie? You m-might want to look at th-this.” Broken Broom spoke, a nervous tone in his voice. Trixie felt goosebumps on her skin. She trotted over to the machine, getting a better view of the image. “This is a p-picture of your t-torso. See th-these white splotches a-around where y-your lungs are? Th-that’s interstitial f-fluid. In other w-words, water. Y-you have pulmonary edema. There aren’t an-any internal in-injuries. M-my guess is m-malignant hypertension, which is very high b-blood pressure. H-have you b-been in any stressful situations?” Trixie’s eyes popped. Out of all bad things, this was the worst possible. “Uh... Trixie... has had problems at work?” She stammered. Well, it wasn’t too far from the truth. Broken Broom nodded. “Well, I’d like t-to keep an eye on y-you. C-can you g-give me your in-insurance?” “Oh, um, Trixie’s insurance?” She replied, desperately trying to avoid her predicted ooutcome. “Yes. T-trixie’s insurance.” Broken Broom replied, rolling his eyes. “Trixie doesn’t, um, have insurance.” She squeaked. Broken Broom giggled a little bit, which slightly confounded Trixie. “Heh, b-but it’s required b-by law that all ponies have i-insurance. Unless of c-course, they’re below the p-poverty level.” The floor suddenly became very intriguing. “Wait. Yo- y- y-.” The doctor had to compose himself, his stutter overtaking his speech. “You’re b-below t-the p-p-poverty line? L-like, how b-bad?” Trixie forced a laugh. It actually kind of hurt her lungs. “Oh, you know... homeless and the like.” The mare replied. Broken Broom began pacing back and forth, mumbling and possibly stuttering whilst doing so. His eyes shut close, and he nodded slightly. It had appeared he had decided on something. "D-do you have anywhere to g-go?" The doctor inquired. Trixie shook her head “I-in your condition, you c-cannot b-be outside. It s-sounds unprof-f-fessional, but the oaths I t-took supersede that. Y-you should stay with m-me." Trixie jumped backwards, startled by the stallion’s suggestion. They had only known each other for about an hour, after all. “Are you insane?! We’ve only just met!” The mare exclaimed. Broken Broom winced, not expecting the sudden and rather abrasive response. “F-fair enough, but t-tell me, is d-dying worth it?” Trixie froze up. Staying with somepony she had just met seemed much more appealing. “If you stay in the c-cold for any l-longer, your c-condition could get worse. T-then, when y-your l-lungs slowly f-fill with fluid, insidiously and p-painfully killing you. Y-you’ll regret it.” “Well, that is a terrifying way of putting it, Dr. Broken Broom.” Trixie replied, still stunned. “Y-you’re definitely right. Tt is a s-sudden th-thing. I wouldn't agree t-to something l-like that myself, but at th-this point, it’s n-needed. I t-took an oath, Miss Trixie, and th-that oath is to do no h-harm. By n-not giving you sh-shelter or t-treating you, I’d b-be doing the worst k-kind of harm: Negligence. P-please, consider it, if n-not for your own h-health.” Trixie thought about this for a moment. On one hoof, she could live outside, freezing and slowly dying. On the other, she’d receive free shelter, and presumably food. Knowing doctors, it would be a rather posh setting as well. Trixie looked at the doctor and nodded. “If it’s for my own well being, then I accept.” She said. Good bye, bench. A gleam of excitement glimmered in Broken Broom eyes. Maybe this was his chance at something more than just lungs. He could barely contain his excitement. He hoped that Trixie would like his apartment. It was no villa by any standards, but it was better than most. “W-well, we c-can’t do anything about y-your condition right n-now. It’d b-be best if we head to my ap-apartment.” Broken Broom spoke, feverishly containing his giggle fits. The two left Broken Broom’s office, giving a quick goodbye to Hesaan and making their way over to the nicer part of Manehattan. Trixie walked along side Broken Broom, relieved. Hopefully her luck was turning. She even had twenty bits in her pockets. Broken Broom also hoped that his luck was turning. All he wanted was a chance with a mare. Even just a small one. I have one foot in the graveyard and the other on the bus, And the passengers do trample each other in the rush. And the chicken hearted lawman is throwing up his fill To see the kindly doctor to pass the super pill. Well, I'm going down, three cheers for Doctor Bogenbroom. Well, I'm on my way, three cheers for Doctor Bogenbroom. Well I've tried my best to love you all, All you hypocrites and whores, With your eyes on each other and the locks upon your doors. Well you drowned me in the fountain of life and I hated you For living while I was dying, we were all just passing through. Well, I'm going down, three cheers for Doctor Bogenbroom. Well, I'm on my way, three cheers for Doctor Bogenbroom. Dr. Bogenbroom - Ian Anderson