//------------------------------// // The Second // Story: Dreamflow // by KitsuneRisu //------------------------------// The Second The gentle waves licked her hoof, like Winona did in the morning sometimes. Ebbing up around her leg, the water crawled, creeping, clinging to wet skin and forcing its way ever higher. Applejack drew her hoof out of the bucket. A door slid over the top of the receptacle as she did so, preventing her leg from re-entering. But that was fine. She had no need to step back into the bucket, now that she was where she had to be – a beautiful beach that trailed onto a pinpoint on either side; a line of chalk drawn down an everlasting blackboard; a patch of blue and a patch of white divided by a flurry of seafoam. She thought about it for a moment, and then knew what it was she had to do, guided by fate and pushed along by the unwritten words of reality. Turning, stepping toward the sea, the gentle waves threatened to engulf her. Onward she walked, further and further, toward the horizon and off onto the surface of a mirror. She stood in a pool that reflected the sky, and stood in a sky that reflected the ocean. And as her hooves carried her, she left the waves behind, left the sands behind, and danced in the middle of an ocean impossibly still. But never did the pony sink for more than an inch into the black, inky depths. Applejack stopped. There was a memory. A small fleck of paint in the middle of a pure white wall. It stood out, no matter how tiny it was, it stood out. Applejack scratched at it. But this was no time to linger. This world had different measures, and before she could peek into the memory, it was covered up with a wash of knowledge, of faith, of comfort, of security. There was what she had to do and what she did. For the moment, there was no difference between them. She continued walking, the world emptying around her now. All sounds were the echoes of the original sound once cast, and its being was nothing more than a reminder of what was. It played no part but to bounce off the sky and the water and the darkness beyond. And she walked with specific purpose, she walked as the ambience drained, and she walked until she stopped again. Applejack couldn’t help but feel that there was something else. Something missing. It was a different feeling this time around – one that itched at the back of her head. It burned, it called. It screamed and twisted. It begged to be paid heedance. It asked for attention – a memory pleading to be remembered. Applejack took the memory. Hit yourself. It said- Hit yourself. Hit yourself? Memory and command collided. No longer was the fragment of the past just a fragment. It was instruction. It made sense. It said to do things, and told Applejack what she must do. But she resisted. Resisted because she was in a world which wanted her to be a part of itself. Resisted because she was in an ocean that wouldn’t let her sink. Resisted because she was in a sky that allowed her to fly. And that world kept its children safe. It was her mind fighting to move in two directions at once. It was the burning desire to fight against what the world was telling her. Hit yourself. Don’t hit yourself. What a decision it was, when the luxury of a choice comes only once, and once only. Applejack held up her hoof. Stared at it. Already she felt that by doing this, she was changing the universe. Already by this she felt that something magnificent was going to happen. The echoes in the distance tried to scream, but it could only make one single sound. The ocean wanted to drown her, but it could not suffocate what wasn’t born to breathe. Applejack pulled back her leg. And with the flagrance befitting self harm, hurtled it into her face. She screamed. She screamed torture and murder and pain. She screamed insanity as the colour stripped off the world and twirled, dancing like the petals of a flower in a summer’s breeze. She screamed as she saw a whiteness, upon which the framework of reality was left, cleansed from hue. And then in a moment, just as the moment was there, the moment was gone. Applejack stood, calmly, in the middle of the ocean, the black sky and the black sea expanding around her in all directions. All was well. She wasn’t screaming. She had no reason to. The hoof that she had swung had passed through her body, moving into her head and out the other side. And for the first time, in her dreams, Applejack opened her eyes. She gasped. She looked around. She looked under her hooves, to check if there was anything there. She looked over her body, to check if anything was lost. She jumped in place to find that the world would not let her sink. And with acute clarity did she know – finally know – that she was dreaming. She let out a soft, unburdened laugh, which joined the echo and was swallowed up. She had been successful. She had listened to her friend, and it had been successful. She was now awake in sleep. Aware in dreaming. She stepped lightly; the water under-hoof felt cool but not wet. And the path was forged, because she now knew both sides of the world, and she knew she was to continue walking for a while until she reached what she was supposed to reach. She ran, quickly. Rushing along. And suddenly there she was, already standing next to a boat. Or perhaps the boat had been there this entire time – it was hard to tell. But the boat was there – a little row boat made out of fine malus wood, two oars accompanying it made out of branches that had not yet been stripped of its leaves. It rose and sank mechanically, pushing and pulling itself out of the ink. Yet, not a single ripple did it cause as it sat in the waters. Behind the edge of the boat, the moon peeked out at Applejack. It was much clearer than its reflection in the sky. Applejack clambered in, grabbing hold of the oars, and as soon as she did, the boat moved along, coursing through a merry path down the ocean, rocking as it went, leaping over the waves. The boat threatened to tip over many a time in the storm, but Applejack found it pointless to hold on. She wouldn’t fall out because she wasn’t meant to. The raging, biting winds and the rains that beat down did nothing to impede the boat’s progress, nor did it sting her eyes or choke her breath. She was where she was meant to be. It was the roar of thunder that made her jump slightly, but that was all it could ever make her do. The waves reached up impossibly high, but as turbulent as it was, Applejack lay, curled up against the cold, in the middle of a little row boat made of malus, free and peaceful, free and serene. A gentle hoof remained on the oar, and not even her hat was in any threat of being knocked off. One final wave and it was peaceful as it had always been, and Applejack knew to stand and look over the edge. A mesh of fine red string lay, sitting in the black. Back and forth it crossed in a pattern, a single thread crawling up the side of the boat and into Applejack’s hoof. She pulled, and the net was retrieved. It fell lifeless to the bottom of the boat, not a catch nor a sliver of scale to be found within its vermillion mesh. The way forward was clear. And for the eighty-third time that day, Applejack cast the net out towards the depths of the ocean. It had been hours in an instant, and she was feeling the exhaustion set in. Hard to breathe but still breathing. Sweaty but not sweating. It was the phantom results of phantom labour, and it seemed nothing less than appropriate. For a moment, Applejack considered what she was doing. She considered trying something else, but yet, she was swept up in the business of what was, and that left her casting the net for the first time for the hundredth time. The silhouette of the moon, crescent in shape, and glowing white of colour, slithered its way across the ocean surface, though not a sound it made, breaking free of its bond in the sky. While the moon watched down from above, its mirror splashed and jumped and cavorted in the depths, dancing its peaceful pirouette for an audience of one. Applejack tugged on the string and the net flew towards it. It landed, and the two married – the net around the fish, and the fish within the net. But the fish protested. It cried and wailed and thrashed and fought, and pulled with all its might to free itself from the oppression of the apple farmer, and it yanked and tugged, and surged and surged and surged. Applejack wouldn’t let go. She couldn’t even if she wanted to. She held tightly the string of the net, and as the moon struggled to free itself, the boat tipped. It rotated perfectly, along its bough, and along its frame, and when Applejack was finally allowed to let go, the boat had tipped sideways, with the pony still seated calmly in the center, and around it went, diving under the water, slipping into the world beneath. It was dark there. Dark and cold. Dark and cold and empty. And as the upturned boat sank, over Applejack’s head, she couldn’t help but feel sorrow at how the dream had to end. “Hey, Applejack!” “Hey, Pinkie.” “What’s wrong? You look like you could use a big old h-” “Pinkie!” “Not today either, huh?” “Not today.” She settled into a bench. “So, how’d last night go? How’d it go? Tell me! Oooh, tell me!” “It went... different.” “Really?” “Yeah. I... I did it.” “Wait. Really?” “Yeah, really! I did it! I did the thing, and I sorta... realised I was in a dream. I knew I was dreamin’ after that, and everythin’ felt different!” “... Really?” “Pinkie, if you ask me ‘really’ one more time...” “No! I mean... but that was really quick!” “What do ya’ mean? Didn’t you tell me yesterday that this would be a cakewalk?” “Uh huh!” “And didn’t you say somethin’ about how easy it was gonna be and how I’d definitely be able to do it t’night?” “Yeppers!” “So why are ya so surprised?” “Well, I didn’t mean all those things!” “Pinkie!” “No! I mean, I meant it, but it was more like a ‘hey! I’m gonna encourage you by saying all these nice things’ way, not a ‘this is actually easy’ way! So that when you didn’t really quite get it, I’d be able to say some nice words!” “Pinkie...” “I’m... sorry?” “Well, it don’t matter. I was able to do it anyway, so...” “Aww, but I prepared a whole nice speech about how you didn’t make it!” “That... that’s really nice, Pinkie, but...” “Can I say it anyway?” “Pinkie...” “Pleeeease?” Applejack stared. “Oh, Applejack! I’m so super-duper super sorry that you didn’t make it! But don’t you worry, because tonight’s another night! And you’re gonna make it, yessiree! All you gotta do is keep going for it, and no dream will be left unawakened!” “I... alright.” “How was it?” “Pinkie.” “Is it serious time?” “Yes. Just for a while, alright?” “Alright. Serious Pinkie, coming up!” “Do you have to wear that helmet?” “Yes! Serious Pinkie always wears a helmet!” “Alright. Fine. So anyway, as I was sayin’...” “Which method did you use?” “Oh... uh... the one where you hit yerself in the face.” “Why that one?” “Well, I didn’t reckon I’d see symbols all the time. I mean, clocks... candles... stuff like that. It all depends on th’ dream, right?” “Yep!” “So I decided to try doin’ it with the thing on... on myself method.” “I tried the symbol method myself, once. Took me two weeks! You know what my symbol was?” “What’s that?” “Cupcakes, of course!” “Well... why didn’t I guess that?” “Because you’re silly! But so, you can’t taste things in dreams, right? So I decided, since I always dream about cupcakes anyway, I’d just have to remember that cupcakes have flavour! So when I ran into a cupcake in my dream...” “... and ya bit into one, you’d know you were dreaming if it didn’t taste of nothin’.” “Yep! That was my trigger!” “Well, I decided to do the pain thing. Seemed the most simple. My dreams are pretty random. I followed the instructions in the book and started repeatin’ in my mind that when you hit yourself, it actually connects. So when I was in th’ dream...” “What was the dream, by the way?” “Oh, I was... well. It's complicated. But I guess that’s why you had me do this, huh?” A book fell upon the table. “Yep! Did you get it all down?” "Everythin' that I could remember. Just jotted it all down. It's a bit sketchy, but I think you'll get th' idea." A few minutes passed as two ponies read. "A beach, huh?" “Yeah. But it not really. I mean... it was all black, y'see. Sky was black. Everythin’ was black, but I sorta... knew it was a beach?” “Well, things in dreams don’t always look the way they do in real life. You just know that things are things because that’s what your brain is telling you! It’s like, when I give you a super hot fudge sundae, it could be coffee ice cream, or peanut butter ice cream! You’ll just have to take my word when I tell you what’s what, 'cuz everything’s brown and covered with delicious, molten ho-” “That sure sounds good. I could go for one a’ those about now.” “So, when did you... you know?” “It was when I was walkin' on th' ocean. Suddenly I just remembered t' do it.” “Ooo, that’s the hard part. I read it’s easier to look for triggers rather than do them yourself, because if you’re dreaming, your brain doesn’t want you to know.” “Well, that’s what it felt like! It was really weird, like... like I wanted to look left and right at the same time.” “But you managed to, right?” “Yeah, my hoof went right through my head. It was the darndest thing, I tell ya. And then in a second... it’s like the whole world blew up. I felt myself yellin’ at something, but at th’ same time I wasn’t.” “You were screaming but you weren’t?” “Yeah. It felt like I were screamin’, but there was no sound... nothin’. But then after that, everythin’ changed.” “You were aware!” “I was. I really was. But that’s the funny thing.” “What?” “I still... felt like I had t’ do things. You know what I mean? I still knew what I shoulda known. I still felt like I was meant t’ do this an’ that, and nothin’ I wanted to do differently would be done.” “Like what?” “Well... alright, let’s see here...” A hoof ran down the page of midnight scribbles. "Well, take the boat, for example. I just knew t' get in it. I knew to walk to it. Didn't even occur t' me that walking on top of the ocean was anythin' weird." "That sounds about right to me!" “And then... the storm? One second I’m just sittin’ there, and the next second it was a huge ragin’ storm of waves and wind and everything.” “Yeah, you’re gonna have to get used to that. Time still acts weird in dreams, no matter what you do. You can’t control time!” “I was gettin’ splashed, but I didn’t get wet, and that... that was kinda weird, honestly. It just felt wrong.” “Dreams’ll do that to ya, Apple-Jay. Imagine how I feel not being able to taste anything in my dreams!” “That sounds like pure torture, Pinkie.” “Oh, it was! Anything else interesting happen?" "Yeah. More of th' same." "Do tell!" “Well... when I was sittin’ there in the storm, I knew that... I knew I wouldn’t fall. I had this feelin’ that I wasn't supposed to fall out, so I just... sort of sat there calmly. I didn’t bother bein’ scared because I knew there weren’t nothin’ to be scared of.” “Hmmmm...” “And... that’s the thing about it. I knew that that’s what I was supposed t’ do. It was like... even if I wanted to scream or cry or hold on to th’ boat, I don’t think I could have. I was just doin’ what I was supposed to be doin’.” “Hmmmmmmmmm...” “Hmm?” “Yeah! Hmmmmmm! It’s like, a thinking sound.” “You’re... thinking?” “Yes, Applejack! I think! Sometimes! When it helps! And this ought to help! Keep going; I’m trying to put something together!” “What?” “A metaphor!” “O- okay, then. So, later durin' the fishin' bits, there’s another weird time-jump thing, because I only really threw that net out once, but my brain was sayin’ I’d already been doing it for hours and hours, and I’d done it hundreds of times.” “Yes, that’s normal too. Your mind tries to fast forward the boring bits. It’s actually kinda useful that way! But in order to make things make sense, it fast forwards you as well. It’s only because you were awake in the dream that you even noticed, believe me!” “Oh, I believe ya. That makes perfect sense.” “Yes! You need to tell Twilight that!” “Tell her... what?” “That I make sense! She doesn’t believe me!” “Alright, I will, Pinkie. I promise. But anyway, the moon turns into a fish. And that's it.” “That's it?” "Yeah, I guess..." "You didn't write down how the dream ended, Applejack!" "Well. I didn't... it wasn't really nice, y'see, and..." "I'm sorry, Applejack! You're gonna have to tell me!" Applejack sighed. “I drowned.” “You drowned?” “Well, yeah. I guess. That’s what my brain said. The net made the boat flip over, and it sank on my head. So I drowned.” “What... what was it like?” “Kinda warm. Wasn’t as bad as I thou- Wait. Pinkie. You know I didn’t actually drown, right?” “Yeah, too bad.” “What? Are ya sayin’ th-” “Alright, so, this is what’s going on!” Pinkie bubbled happily. Applejack sighed. “Alright, go on, Pinkie. What have you... thought of?” “It’s like... a play. Think of it like a play. On stage! For Hearth’s Warming, or... some other play! I can’t think of any other plays!” “It’s like a play. I got it. How is it like a play?” “Imagine... imagine that if you were pretending to be a character, right? Acting? But whenever you pretended, you actually became that character.” “Yeah, alright, go on?” “And when you did, you’d have no idea that you were an actor, right? You’d have no idea that the lights on stage were lights and the backgrounds kept moving about! So it’s like that. And things keep changing, like... maybe a light would turn off, and it would be nighttime, or a scene change would happen, and the background would be changed!” “Keep goin’...” “And the character would be in his world, so everything would be normal! That was... let’s call that night one!” “Night one, I’m a character who forgot she was an actor. Check.” “Right! So night two, which was last night, you suddenly became... aware! So right then, you’d know you were an actor. But you’d also know that you were a character, so you’d be... both! At the same time!” “Right.” “Buuuuuut, you’d just be aware. And you’d still be acting. So you’d have to do what the character does, according to the script! You have no choice; you’re just doing what the director wants you to do!” “So... I don’t have a choice. Is that what you’re sayin’? That’s why I can’t move around and do my own thing?” “Because you’re following a script!” “A script. Huh.” “And since you’re the actor, you’d then be able to see the lights turn off and the backgrounds get moved around. And it’d be really weird for you, because your character sees it as if everything was normal, but the actor is just seeing all the things being pushed around on stage! So... it gets confusing.” “You’re gettin’ confusing, sugar.” “No, I’m not. It’s really simple.” “I guess I see what you mean. So... what then? What’s the next step?” “Well, what’s the problem?” “What... what do you mean?” “I still don’t see what the problem is, Applejack. You’re just having a bunch of weird dreams. Is this really something that you need to fix?” Applejack paused. “I... I don’t know, Pinkie.” “I do!” “You do?” “Yeah! Just don’t worry about them, because dreams are just dreams, and they can’t hurt you!” “Pinkie?” “Yeah, Applejack?” “Pinkie.” “Applejack?” “Pinkie?” “Applejack, what is it? You’re scaring me.” “I didn’t tell you... everything.” “Applejack?” “When... when I wake up. I don’t remember anything about the dreams. Well, I do, but they fade. But I’m writin’ them down, now. So...” Pinkie just blinked. She looked worried. Miserable. “I... I wake up cryin’, Pinkie.” “Crying?” “Yeah. Like... uncontrollable. Sobbing. Screamin’ for my family. First night, after I woke up in the mornin’, Big Mac reckoned I’d got hurt. Came rushin’ in. Yellin’ like I ain’t never heard him yell before.” “Crying...” “Like a baby. Like... somethin’ deep inside had been cut away. I feel emotions, too. Fear. Sadness. Hate. I ain’t sure what I’m cryin’ about, but... the room spins, and sometimes it feels like I’m still in a dream. But I know I ain’t because I can feel the tears on my face and... and I’m scared, Pinkie. I don’t know what’s causin’ it. I don’t know what’s happenin’. But I’m... I’m just scared.” “Why didn’t you... tell... tell me this before?” “Because I didn’t want ya to think I was crazy. Seems crazy, don’t it? Cryin’ at a dream? I ain’t a little filly no more. Ain’t somethin’ to be done. But I still... It feels so real, Pinkie. So much that I wake up and I’m already cryin’, and I can’t stop it.” “Applejack...” “So that’s why...” “Listen. This is your next step.” “Pinkie?” “No, listen. This is no time to be playing around.” “Pinkie?” “Keep writing the journal. Got it? Please. It’s important. When you sleep tonight, do what you did, but remember to do it earlier. And anything you can remember. Details about strange things or familiar things. Things that stand out. Remember them. Write them down. You need to start looking for signs and symbols. You need to start to remember things that you keep seeing.” “Pinkie... thank you. Thank you so much for understandin’ me an-” “Applejack, if I had known it was this serious....” A breath shivered over a trembling lip. “Now, listen. That’s the first thing you have to do, alright?” “And the second?” “We’re going to teach you how to ignore the script.”