//------------------------------// // The Sixth // Story: Dreamflow // by KitsuneRisu //------------------------------// The Sixth It was a box she woke up in, a white cubic box of six bare faces. From where she stood it was impossible to tell how large the box was, simply because it lacked all sorts of shade or edges of any kind, and it would have been similar to standing in a field of infinite whiteness had it not been for three things. The first was the opening in front of her – a sort of oblong window that looked out into a corridor of sorts. The second was the door – the door that, as Applejack had expected, stood behind her at the start of the dream. The third was that the dream said it was a box, and that meant it was a box. Applejack scrabbled to the window, staring out of it. Beyond the barren desert of where she stood, a lavish hallway lay beyond. A magnificent carpet of foreign design and impossible length covered the entire floor from end to end. Stars and swirls and angry patterns were woven into it at random, and although the dream forced it to be muted in colour and dry of hue, one could certainly still appreciate the threadwork. The walls curved to one side, making the corridor feel warped. But the carpet, like everything else, followed suit along its crooked path, and eventually there came a point where one could not see beyond the bend. But that was quite alright. The walls themselves were beautifully crafted, like in an old mansion, with floral designs chiseled right into the frame, and lamps lining the entire length of the walk. And they weren’t for nothing, too – each set of lamps lit up a fantastic painting, their frames placed equidistant from each other on either side of the corridor. They went on and on, and Applejack could count at least a dozen before they disappeared around a curving corner. From her perspective, Applejack grasped that she was situated at one end of the hall. And she knew what would be coming down the other end. Applejack turned around. There was something she was here to do. There was something she was here to accomplish. At least, it was something she needed to check. Applejack placed a hoof on the door. The door with no knob, no handle and no frame. And she moved her hoof sideways. All at once, the wooden door shuddered aside, revealing a crack through which bright yellows and greens and reds poured out. Along with that came the feeling of comfort. It was the feeling of belonging. It was the smell of the freshly-mowed grass and the noise of the apple fields. It was the love of her family and the care of her friends. It was all things familiar. But Applejack moved the door back, and the light died, returning the room to its old self. It was all she needed. And now it was time to work. She leapt out of the window, escaping her white prison, and turned around. What awaited her sight was a framed painting in luxurious oils, quite possibly one of the best works she had ever seen. Once again, the muted colours didn’t detract from the overall experience, but it did lend itself to the obviousness of the bright red lamps that bordered this particularly special painting. And as for the painting itself, nothing would have made more sense to her, at this point, than what she saw. There were many alternatives, many possibilities as to what scene it could have shown, but... All she had to do was look at it backwards, and it made sense. Applejack wanted to smile. She felt like smiling. She also wanted to slouch her shoulders with their heavy weight. Suddenly, a new sort of sadness came, one that walked with the burden of the truth. Happiness and sadness. Together. It was a strange feeling. It was melancholy, or pity, or acceptance. It was, perhaps, all three together. Obvious now, was the white room. She had been waiting inside the painting. Waiting for a guest who could never arrive. Maybe it was what the reverse side of a painting looked like. Maybe it was a world inside a canvas. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the obvious. She stared at the painting as it was lit up by two lights that cast their crimson hue on the frame. A barn rose, in the background. A dull, red one, with planks that needed fixing. It was surrounded by apple trees of all sorts and meadows that stretched off into the background. But what was possibly most prominent was Applejack herself. She sat at a table with her family in the middle of the painting, enjoying a picnic or a late-night supper of some sort while the stars danced their way above her in swirls and candy-patterns. All looked to be having a great time. Applejack felt both her happiness and sadness rise simultaneously. She turned, wordlessly, looking down the long hallway. Already the dream had begun, and there the shadow was once again, making her way across the carpet. Applejack stepped forward, steeling herself. She walked up to the shadow, sneaking glances at the other portraits on the wall. Ponies both recognizable and not were their subjects, all depicted in acts of... well. It was hard to put a label on it. Some were fillies playing catch. Some pictured a bunch of ponies at a market, just talking and going about their day. There was even one on the right as Applejack trotted down, a grand picture of Princess Celestia and her student, Twilight Sparkle, as she mentored and watched her reading a book in a grand library. There were all these pictures and more, and the shadow – Princess Luna – was giving each her undue attention as she made her way down the corridor. At each junction she stopped, stared, or at least, it seemed that way, at each painting before passing judgement, and in quiet resignation, stepped onward. As she moved on, the lamps beside each painting flickered out, their lights extinguishing and the lamps disappearing, and the paintings themselves shrivelled in the darkness, like old leaves at the end of an Autumn night. But as Applejack approached, slowly and cautiously, the same thing happened as it did before. The shadow of Luna paused in her activities to regard Applejack as an abhorrence, finally moving on after deciding that she was not worth any time. And as Applejack stared into the depths of the shadow, that familiar wave of fear came as it did all those times before. But this time, she could handle the feelings without shying away. It wasn’t because she expected it. No, she had a much more powerful weapon. This time, she understood it. And that made her both overjoyed and despondent. She jumped around, waving her hooves in front of the shadow, but it appeared her chance to grab its attention was now over. After the initial inspection, the shadow had no cause or motivation to give Applejack any more regard. Directly interacting with it had always caused the dream to end, because what was Applejack if not the final purpose? So there had to be another way. Another way to communicate. The day before, she had talked, discussed and colluded with Pinkie in so many ways. They had both reasoned through this so many times, and certain understandings had been come to. Pinkie had told her to leave. To get out. To run. It was for the best, she figured. But no. It was Pinkie’s first idea that Applejack decided to stick to. Communication. In the end, it was what this was all about. In the end, it was all that Applejack could do. But Princess Luna... she was in no condition to communicate, was she? No. It was up to Applejack, master of her domain, to do the things that were necessary. And without that final step... well. Even going up to talk to her in Canterlot was mighty useless indeed. And perhaps it was a bout of irony, but the start was where it began and the start was the best place for her to finish it. She hoped this would work. She really did. The little farmer in the cowboy hat made her way back to her painting, as the lights turned off one by one. The shadow was getting close now, as it was in dreams. But Applejack had time enough to do what she needed to. She closed her eyes. And thought. And thought. And thought. And when she opened her eyes again, there was suddenly a canvas that lay crumpled on the floor like a tattered rag. It was the best she could do – after all, her imagination wasn’t the best, as Pinkie had said. It wasn’t a lie. And it didn’t have to be. The picture on the rag was that of a crudely painted hill, something that looked like a child might have done if he had a few minutes of free time and some extra paint. It was set against the backdrop of a night sky, and a rather dark blue blob on top of the hill sat there, musing into the night. Next to her, rough, broad strokes of a basket sat next to a comically oversized muffin. It would do. Four nails appeared in Applejack’s hoof, and as she held the scribbly painting up over her family snapshot, the nails flew into place in each corner, as if attracted by magnets, holding the picture firmly against the frame. She would have sighed if she were allowed to. She would have said sorry. Perhaps ask for forgiveness for what she did. What she had to do. But as Applejack clambered back into her frame, back to the white box with a window and a door, she could do nothing else but wait, and hope, and dream of better days to come. Both for her and for everyone else. “I’m sorry, Pinkie, but I didn’t do it.” “You what?” “I didn’t leave. I could’a, but I didn’t.” “Wait, but the door... the door opened, right? Please tell me we were right at least about that!” “We were right about everythin’, Pinkie. It’s th’ only thing that really was mine, and when I thought about that... well. That made it a barn door, right?” “So how’d you get it open?” “Well, see. Barn doors slide open. I’d been pushin’ it all this while. Once I just had th’ thought in my head t’ slide it, it went as slick as butter. It was all about havin’ the thought in my head while I was touchin’ it!” “Wow, that’s... that’s all it was?” “Yeah, I guess that’s... like... dream rules or somethin’.” “Dream rules...” “Yeah, Pinkie. Dreammmm rulllesss.” “So you got the door open.” “Yep.” “What was behind it?” “What we both thought.” “And you didn’t go through?” “Nope.” “Why not? Are you crazy?” “Nope.” “Why didn’t you leave, Applejack?” “Because it solves my problem.” “Well, yeah but isn’t that th-” “Not every problem.” “Oh.” “Yeah, I could run, sure, but this won’t stop, and it’ll just happen again with th’ next poor pony. I intend to end all this. Thing is, we can’t just go up there and tell the Princesses, because...” “Because?” “Because not everyone’s awake yet, Pinkie.” “Well, if you put it that way! Of course you made the right choice!” “I knew you’d see it my way.” “Aww, how could I not? You’re just like me, Applejack! You just want to see everypony sm-” “No... I... I really ain’t all like that.” “Oh, but you are.” “I do apples. Apples are my thing. Not smiles.” “Oh, but you are.” “... Yeah, I am! I just said apples-” “Oh, but you are.” “Pinkie.” “Wanna milkshake?” “Yes please.” “Comin’ right up! So, what’s your big plan, then? What did you do? I mean, since you didn’t leave and all.” “I left her a message. Dream was about... well. I was standin’ in a painting, right? And it was just this huge hallway of paintings. Just like you see in, I dunno. Castles or somethin’. Or old manors in ghost stories. Just nothin’ but paintings. And I was inside mine, which was just this white box thing?” “Yeah? Strawberry okay for you today?” “Sure, Pinkie, thanks a bunch. And the door’s in that white box, but I leave the box and it’s actually the other side of the paintin’, right?” “What... you were standing behind... inside the behind of a painting?” “I guess that’s what it was, really. But guess what was on the painting?” “What?” “Picture of me and my family.” “Eew, Applejack! That’s creepy!” “Well, I suppose it is, but... it’s me and Big McIntosh and Granny Smith and Bloom all eatin’ supper under a night sky. It was really nicely painted, too. I kinda want it now. It’d look great over th’ fireplace.” “Eeew, Applejack!” “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with that! Anyway. It makes sense, right? And all the other paintings, it was also scenes of bonding and togetherness and stuff like that. There was even one of Princess Celestia and Twilight. Go figure.” “Wow, she’s... really in a bad place, isn’t she?” “Yeah. I think so. That’s why I wanna help. So she was walkin’ down the corridor and lookin’ at each paintin’ and then she’d just pass ‘em by and they’d sorta just crumple up and stuff.” “That’s terribly sad, Applejack.” “So... well. I made a new painting.” “You made one?” “Yep. I couldn’t change the ones already there, right? But I could make my own and hang it up. So I made one.” “I bet it looked really ni-” “It looked awful, Pinkie. Heh. I bet Sweetie Belle could’a done a better job. In fact, I bet anyone could.” “Hah!” “Oh, and I conjured up some nails to stick it in, and get this. They sorta flew to the corners and stuck the painting up, but they weren’t actually hammered into the painting. They were just lying there up against the frame like as if I just threw them on the floor.” “Dream rules!” “Darn right they are! I could get used to it, honestly. Things just do what they gotta do without havin’ t’ do it. It’s pretty weird. I’m beginnin’ t’ figure it out.” “You know, I’m still pretty surprised that you managed to do all this in what... six days?” “Yeah... maybe I’m a natural.” “Well, if you ever decide not to be a farmer anymore...” “Don’t think it’ll come t’ that, Pinkie.” Applejack smiled. “So, what was the painting about?” “The scene on the hill. You know. That night.” “That night, why that night?” “Because muffin.” “I... are you sure that’s the best reason...” “No, because... there’s one last thing to do with her, right?” “Right...” “And remember how we were talking way earlier, like I think it was the second day or somethin’, but we were discussing methods on how to get awareness in dreams, right?” “Yeah, I remember.” “And you told me that there’s a few ways to do it, but I decided to hit myself in the face because-” “Because you like hitting yourself in the face!” “No. Because I couldn’t rely on chance. I couldn’t wait for a muffin. And as it turns out... it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.” “Yeah...” “But I need to help someone else wake up, and... I can’t make them hit themselves in the face, or make them remember something before sleeping, right?” “Right!” “Just so happens I know the exact time when someone had a muffin.” “Oh, yeah! That’s... that’s actually a great idea!” “Thank ya kindly.” “So you stuck in an idea!” “That’s right, I did.” “And you’re hoping...” “Tonight.” “But what if it isn’t tonight?” “Then I’m gonna keep tryin’ and tryin’, until either it stops or I get through. I have a feeling it’ll work, though.” “What makes you say that?” “Because that painting was the last thing she saw before I woke up. And this morning... I woke up sadder than... all the other days combined.” “What? Applejack that’s...” “No, I’m fine. Honestly, I am. I can forgive this now. Now that I know. But that’s proof, you see? It really was about that night. And seeing it reminded her of it. I bet that memory’s wedged in there now like a wheel in the mud.” “Oh! Hey!” “What?” “You made a metaphor!” “... Right, Pinkie. I think that’s more of an analogy though. But yeah, even if I have’ta do this all over again, I’ll do it until I get to that point.” “Just tell me one thing, Applejack.” “Yeah?” “No matter what happens... you’ll be alright?” “I’ve made up my mind, Pinkie.” “You know, Princess Celestia probably wouldn’t like it done this way.” “I know. But it’s the best way. Besides, I feel responsible, somewhat. And... I’ve made up my mind.” “You know, some ponies might just say you’re being really stubborn about it.” “Well, everypony’s gotta have a weakness, don’t they?” “Even Princess Luna?” Applejack nodded determinedly. “Even Princess Luna.”