//------------------------------// // Smoke to Ashes // Story: As My World Burns // by StapleCactus //------------------------------// A knock came upon my door—it was the hotel’s door, but I have the room for the month, so I claim ownership—and woke me from another night of fitful slumber. With as much gusto as somepony just waking up, I told the offender to come in. Granted, it came out more like, “Ghe oin, ‘t’s pen,” but they seemed to understand anyway, as a nurse peered in from around the door. Oh, I should probably explain how I am currently staying in the town’s only hotel and not in the hospital recovering. Stuff happened, it’s been a few days, I don’t care to tell you. Take your pick. I’m too tired for in-depth narration. The mare said something that no doubt was supposed to make me feel better, or chipper, or something about the situation, but I rolled out of bed without listening. I’d heard it enough already. It wasn’t like I’d feel better because of some words somepony says. I have to want to, and that isn’t going to happen. Shuffling over to the nurse, we went through the usual morning procedures that has defined my life since... the incident. I wasn’t depressed about it; after all, I did manage to save my wife’s portrait and the fire was covered under the town’s “CMC Incident Insurance” or whatever they called it. Yeah, they found out how it happened. Apparently, some brats came by while I was away, hoping to get some cutie marks out of helping me run the store, then proceeded to let themselves in unannounced. Not knowing I was there, and I certainly didn’t know they were going to show up, things happened. It’s interesting that even though the town officials have put the blame on them, there’s a distinct lack of evidence to support it. I guess if the fillies are involved in any way, it’s covered in the insurance. “How are you feeling today?” the nurse asked, still going through the motions. She wasn’t one to care what my response was, and I certainly didn’t care about her own thoughts on the matter, though that didn’t stop her from telling me when she first showed up those few days ago. “Meh,” came my reply. Since I woke up the second time in the hospital, I tended to avoid using my voice as much as possible, throat being sore and all. The mare, having grown to understand my different grunts and moans, nodded wisely, though I am unsure how one can wisely nod in acknowledgement. “It seems you’re still having trouble sleeping. Luckily for you, the zebra living in the Everfree brought our order of sleep aids this morning.” Quirking an eyebrow at her terminology, I glanced out the nearby window to see the sun far into the atmosphere above. It was odd, considering my fitful sleep should have awoken me much sooner, or the years of getting up early would have told me the time. “I’ll leave the bag on the table. The instructions are easy enough, so I don’t expect you to have a problem,” she said, walking over to the mentioned table and dropping a white bag upon it. “Your wounds are looking well. Try to get out for some sun at least, though. It might make you feel better.” With a nod back at me, she strolled out the door and closed it gently behind her. You might be wondering why I’m even narrating at this point. You might not, but whatever. Simply put, talking to imaginary ponies in my head feels cathartic. Not really sure if there’s more than one of you, though. I’ll get one thing straight right now. I am not depressed. I am not full of ennui. I am simply content, or I was until the incident. If there’s a stage above depressed, but below content, that’s where I am right now. I’m certainly not bored, though. It just seems like it. Really. I’m not. Okay, maybe I am. But it’s only because there’s nothing to do while I wait for my shop to be repaired. Looking around the room, there really isn’t anything for me to do. I could get started on figuring out the costs involved in reopening the store, but I don’t feel like it right now. … I’m not depressed! You know, I read a report somewhere that sunlight helps the body produce a vitamin or something that helps create energy. Far be it from me to tell Canterlot scientists what’s what, but I certainly don’t feel better just from staring at the ball of gas Celestia has fun throwing around. I’ve been out here for hours, watching ponies go about their day, and nothing miraculous has occurred within my body to make me energetic or happy. Then again, if it was that powerful, we probably wouldn’t have built houses with teeny tiny viewports that only allow a small bit of light through. If it was, though, it probably wouldn’t have affected me anyway. After all, I’m not particularly sad or unenergetic. I just feel like not doing anything. I already know what you’re going to say. It’s why I stopped narrating last time, so don’t even say it. Since I did leave you again, I’ll fill you in. I’m currently sitting at a small bistro around the corner from where my shop is being fixed. After getting cleaned up, I decided to follow the nurse’s recommendation and get some air, only getting so far as a few steps before realizing I was hungry. So, with that hunger, I stopped at the closest restaurant; and no, I did not know I was so close to my shop. I probably just happened to be walking in that direction because of muscle memory. In a rare moment of awareness, I saw Ms. Sparkle trotting my way. For once, I won’t look like an idiot, and don’t you dare bring up the incident. Her countenance was one of empathy, and I knew what the conversation would be steered towards before she opened her mouth. “Mr. Davenport, it’s good to see you out. How are the repairs coming?” “Eh, going, I guess.” Okay, I’ll admit I could have worded that better. Give me a break; my voice is still sore! I even have the hard-boiled detective vocalization going on. “I’m so sorry about what happened,” Twilight said, bringing the conversation exactly where I didn’t want it to go. “It’s al—” “If I wasn’t in such a hurry, I wouldn’t have left you to work through the transaction. And if I didn’t leave you to do it alone, you wouldn’t have had to bring me the receipt. I feel horrible, and it’s all my fault those fillies—” “Ms. Sparkle!” I yelled, getting her attention at the cost of my healing throat. Coughing, and hearing a muttering of apologies from the mare before me in response, I settled what I wanted to say. “Ms. Sparkle, it wasn’t your fault. Don’t think like that. ‘A series of inexplicable events,’ and all that, right?” “...Yes,” she replied at length. “Yes, of course.” Somehow, I feel like my joke failed. And just like that, the conversation teetered into an uneasy silence. I don’t know why I try, sometimes. This mare is as complicated as those up in Canterlot, only without the uppity feel. It’s trying, talking to somepony. I don’t remember it being like this, back when my wife was around. And with that thought, I tilted my head down to stare at my unfinished salad. It was daisy and cucumber. Not the best combination, if I had anything to say about it, but I’m also not a cuisine expert, either. “Twilight! There you are,” came an excited voice, obviously Pinkie Pie. Everyone knew her voice, and I mean everyone. Cranky learned that real fast. “Oh, Pinkie,” Twilight said after recognizing the newcomer. “Sorry, Mr. Davenport. I need to help Pinkie with—” A pink hoof introduced itself into the lavender mare’s muzzle. “Shhh! You’re not to tell a soul, Twilight!” “Mmph,” she replied with a nod, earning herself a free jaw once more. After working it free of the taste of hoof, she nodded again. “I’ll see you later, Mr. Davenport?” “Sure.” With that, and a narrowing of the eyes from Pinkie in my direction, the two mares walked away, most likely towards Sugarcube Corner. … Well, staring at my food won’t make it eat itself, though wouldn’t that be a treat to see. A real development in cuisine, I’d wager. “Food that eats itself!” would be the slogan, with “Feel full without any of the guilt” as the selling point to all those mares wanting to go on a diet. Heh. Hehe.... “Ahahaha!” Before I knew it, I was laughing out loud, drawing looks from passersby and fellow diners alike. I didn’t care; for once, I was enjoying myself. I stepped away from the table and continued my laughter down the street, leaving my meal and payment behind. But isn’t it just like life to kick you every chance it gets? Not ten paces later, my guffaws were halted when I tripped over a log in the middle of the road, adding new lacerations over the recently healed ones when I slid across a section with knots in it and landed on a loose section of gravel. Certainly, the lumber wouldn’t be there without a purpose, and up strolled a pony with a hardhat. “Are you daft?!” he hollered. “I was yelling for you to watch out!” As soon as he took a good look at me, however, he changed his tone. “Oh, Davenport, it’s you. We’re working as quickly as we can to get your shop straight, and this log just happened to run away from us.” See what I mean about life kicking you? The material that is supposed to be used to fix the hiccup in my life attacks me, just as the original incident did. You have to wonder just what I did to make my shop hate me to make it attack me even when it’s being repaired. Regardless, I scrambled to my hooves and faced the forepony. “It’s okay. Wasn’t looking where I was going. Thank you for your hard work.” With a nod, I turned and headed back to the hotel, ignoring the stallion’s calls for me to see the work in progress. I really didn’t want to see the store if it has such a vendetta against me. The rest of the trek back was uninteresting; I’m sure you don’t want to know about it. But I’m going to tell you anyway! I walked back—with a limp, as the pain finally started settling in—was treated to a “how-do-you-do” by the receptionist, fought my way up the stairs since ponyville wasn’t advanced enough to consider an elevator for a two-story building, and bumped into my door until it opened. That was nice of the door. Now that I think about it, I don’t think that pony was asking me to see the store. My head feels funny. … “HAHAHAHA—”