The Corner of (Our) Eyes
Prologue
Few things are more terrifying than the unknown. It’s an old cliche’, yes. One that’s been beaten to death. But what you don’t hear very often are what exactly those few things are. Well, I can’t tell you all of them, sadly, but I do know of a couple.
The first that comes to mind is the fear of the partially known. Those little half-truths or pieces of an image that only give you a glimpse into what the true, horrible entirety is. The things that let you fill in the blanks all by yourself. And let me tell you: your imagination is not your friend. It will do things to you. Lie to you. Or, if it feels especially cruel, it will do its best at guessing the real face of the thing
(if it has a face oh god where is its face)
and that’s always, somehow, worse. Just knowing a little bit about a thing can be much worse than knowing nothing. Because when you know nothing, you fill in the blanks all by yourself. Your mind reaches out for what it knows, and paints a picture based on your own primal fears. But when you know the truth? Or at least, part of it? You realize that the facts are so much worse than any fiction you could have drummed up on your own.
The other thing that comes to mind, the worse, much more horrible thing, is the fear of presence. It’s not enough to know that there’s something to be afraid of. To know that that... thing is with you all the time, that it follows you, or rather, never truly leaves you... that kind of oppressive persistence does things to a pony. You don’t sleep
(please no I don’t want to sleep what if it comes when I’m asleep is that it over there)
and it slowly destroys you. Reality and fantasy and all the little things in between blend together. And those little things? Murder on four
(no two no wait is that a fifth oh my lord what even IS that)
legs. Tiny little hells on Equuis. But you don’t see them until you can’t not see them. There are those, I think, who must live with this every day. How they do it I don’t know. How they live, eat, sleep
(no don’t sleep you can’t make me)
even breathe with their own personal devil lingering over their shoulder is beyond me.
I’ve been doing it for a while now, I suppose. So I guess it is possible. But it gets... not really harder. I mean yes, it’s hard to begin with, but that doesn’t change. I guess you just grow weaker with it. That’s what it waits for, in the end. Weakness. Goddess knows what it wants. Or they. I’m not really sure how many of them there are, now. If there is
(are was will be)
more than one of them
(it him is it a him is it HIM they he she maybe both)
or if it’s all just me.
Wouldn’t that be the scariest thing of all? If everything you were afraid of was just you? No less dangerous, no less deadly or terrifying or full of rows of shiny pointed teeth at the edge of your bed or right behind your ear, but just... you?
How do you run from yourself?
I guess you don’t.
Well, there’s something else more terrifying than the unknown: not being able to run.
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It should have been an ordinary day. In fact, for the most part it was. It even started off just like all my other days. I got out of bed, a small little four-poster I moved to the very middle of the room. I like to keep flowers around the edges of my room, or if not flowers, gardening tools. The other flower mares may have their own special talents for leafy greens and whites and yellows, but roses require a special touch. And a certain amount of respect.
I mean, there aren’t a lot of ponies who say their special talent is something with thorns that you put in your mouth.
Or maybe there are. I try not to think about that.
Like I said, I woke up in bed that morning. Which is something of note, as I have a tendency to fall asleep talking to my flowers or working on my garden. It’s not that I spend every waking hour working on my plants. I do have friends and a social life, other obligations and family that I visit or visits me. But it’s easier to sleep with my flowers nearby. It’s safer. Even now, I think it’s safer.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. We haven’t gotten to now yet.
First, (or second, I have been on and on for a bit), let me introduce myself. My name is Roseluck. There’s more to it than that, but everypony just calls me Roseluck. So that’s who I am. Anyway, you may have heard of me, or seen me around. The yellow mare with the red mane and tail, splash of pink in my hair. I’m usually in the middle of town. It’s where I live.
And where I woke up that morning. That wasn’t anything of note, though. I rarely wake up anywhere but my own house (unlike some mares I know). So I climbed out of bed, and started my morning ritual of saying hello to all my flowers, and watering them. There wasn’t really much to do that day, aside from watering. It was kind of a day off, I guess you could say. There are some days where I have to clean out my garden, or plant new flowers, or pick some to sell at market. But it was a few days to market yet, and my morning rounds gave me the all-clear to go and do what I wanted, today.
At least, until I heard Daisy scream.
Oh, don’t worry. It’s not that big a deal. Daisy has this... tendency to lose her head at rather little things. Like butterflies, for instance. I guess I can understand that one, because honestly, have you seen the things up close? Hell no. Plus, I don’t like cleaning their cocoons or the caterpillars out of my rose gardens. And she grows flowers, too. So maybe butterflies is a bad example.
But cereal. I swear to Celestia the girl has screamed out loud because she ran out of milk. And she sulked the rest of the day. So I could only imagine what the hell she was screaming about now.
I said goodbye to my flowers, all at once, and locked my door. Daisy doesn’t live very far away, but in a town with the Cutie Mark Crusaders and the Elements of Harmony, locking your door is second nature. First is checking to see if the world is still there when you wake up in the morning.
Seeing no impending disasters, I trotted over to Daisy’s house, and knocked on her door. I didn’t hear anything for a little while, until I heard a whole bunch of soft thumps, and one really big oomf. Then, silence. I was tempted to let myself in to make sure she was ok, but then I heard soft hoofsteps, and the door opened. And there stood Daisy, half-covered in her blanket. Already I could guess what happened.
“Let me guess, Daisy, you woke up wrapped in your blanket and screamed cause it was dark,” I posited. She nodded sheepishly, and gave me a small smile half-hidden by the blanket.
It’s a good thing she’s cute. Not that I’m that kind of mare. I’m just saying. It helps.
“Yeah, kind of. Do you wanna come in? I could make us some breakfast,” she offered.
“Do you have plenty of milk this time?” I gave her a wry smile as she pouted at me.
She was about to retort when I heard another scream. One that worried me quite a bit more than Daisy’s.
It’s long, loud, and rather close by.
And there’s not a lot of things that make Twilight Sparkle scream like that.