4. Marks for Life
Autumn took its toll on the trees. The gold and red leaves struggled to hang on to their branch. A breeze or the hoofsteps of a pony were enough to make them drop. Their weakest members covered the floor in a carpet of gold, red and brown. It was soft and colourful. Most ponies considered it sad.
Stride loved it. He loved how the leaves cracked under his hooves, how the colours painted the otherwise monotonous roads. He loved the regular autumn breeze whirling through his mane. How it finally revealed his left eye. His mane had already grown enough to cover it again. He hopped along the pathway. Before reaching the tree garden, he noticed a batch of high grass. He gently placed his saddlebag at the side of the road. He grinned at the grass again.
Soft material crunched under the wheels of the little blue scooter. The leaves flew up in the air as Scootaloo turned around a corner. She enjoyed the wind playing with the curl of mane sticking out under her helmet. She liked how she saw a tunnel of gold and red. Suddenly, a small beige object caught her eye. She stopped. At the side of the pathway, she found a beige saddlebag. She knew the saddlebag.
"Stride?" she asked. No answer. She searched around.
"Stride? Are you here somewhere?"
She shrieked as the head of her friend popped out from the tall grass.
"Hi Scootaloo!"
She inspected him. Or at least what she could see, since half his body was hidden behind the forest green. Tufts of grass were stuck in his hair. He was grinning.
"Uh, what are you doing in the grass?" she asked.
"Rolling," he answered.
"You were rolling in the grass?"
He grinned even wider.
"Yep. It's fun, you should try it sometime."
Scootaloo raised a brow. Once again, strange guy.
His head disappeared again.
Scootaloo took off her helmet, unfolding her clamped ears.
"Anyway, are you ready for your last trial?" she asked.
"Almost!" he replied, "just one more thing I need to do."
Scootaloo tilted her head.
"What thing you neeaaaa...", she uttered as he grabbed her forearm and pulled her into the grass.
She saw he jumped out, but by the time she got back up, she had no idea what direction she'd come from. She sniggered as the grass tickled her entire body. Every time she turned around, the green caressed her coat. She couldn't resist. She dropped herself on her back and started rolling.
"Awesome!" she shouted.
"Told ya!" she heard Stride say from outside of the grass.
She crawled in the direction of his voice. She stayed low. She saw he was standing there, waiting for her head to pop up. Instead, she grabbed his leg and dragged him into the green. He chuckled as the grass tickled him too. They laughed and screamed as they rolled in the grass, each trying to escape the grass' grip, only to be thrown back by the other. Time flew by and soon, they were tired. Scootaloo panted as she lay on her back and didn't attempt to get back up again. Stride sat down next to her and extracted some of the tufts from his red mane.
"That was fun!" Scootaloo laughed.
"And mighty weird," Sweetie Belle added.
The two quickly raised their heads from the green, only to see two crusaders with raised brows.
"Uh, hi guys," Scootaloo said.
"You're late," Apple Bloom replied.
Scootaloo looked up at the sun, which was hanging lower than it should've been.
"Maybe Celestia wants to sleep early?" she pondered.
"Anyway, Stride has a trial to complete, so we better get going," Apple Bloom said.
Stride picked up his saddlebag.
"Then let's get going."
"Today, Early Stride must complete his last trial to become a true cutie mark crusader. Today, Early Stride must prove himself in the trial of determination," Apple Bloom said formally. She turned her eyes towards the three headed audience.
"Early Stride, are you willing to travel to the end of Equestria and beyond to find your destiny?"
My destiny is set, Stride thought.
"Sure."
"Early Stride, are you willing to travel to the end of Equestria and beyond to find the destiny of your fellow crusaders.
It's the least I can do, Stride thought.
"Of course!"
"Early Stride, are you prepared to overcome your limits to gain the one thing that will deduce what your real talent is, what you are made for and what you will be doing till the end of your days?"
Stride became dizzy. What you'll be doing till the end of your days. Cutie mark, mark of one's destiny, Life Mark.
He hadn't realised yet. He was no late bloomer. He had no special talent. He had no destiny. He would never have a cutie mark, because he'd be dead. Black spots infected his view.
"Stride? All you have to do is answer," Apple Bloom said.
Stride was losing balance. He had been fooling himself for two months now, thinking he'd get his mark. Why have a Life Mark if you had no life? The previously so happy colours around him distorted in a grey blur. His blank flank burning. Fate had played cruel tricks on him. No flying, no living. No destiny. His cheeks, eyes and ears burned now as well. His nose clogged. Water streamed over his cheeks. He could hear the others shocked shouts, but he could barely make out the words being said. He curled up in a ball and covered his ears, like he had done so many times in Manehattan. Like he had done almost three months ago, when he had first heard the news. His eyes shut tight. He didn't want to see the world anymore, didn't want to hear the world anymore. He wanted to be alone. Alone. Yes, alone was how he'd take care of things. He didn't need anypony. He didn't want anypony he could hurt. No pony who he had to tell he'd die, no pony he had to tell he was a pegasus. No pony. No Scootaloo.
He choked in that thought. No Scootaloo? No, no Scootaloo.
How would she react if he told her he was pegasus? How would she react if he told her he was dying? How would she react if he told her the other thing?
How was she reacting right now? She was probably looking down at him in disgust. He had thrown himself on the floor, crying, for no clear reason. He had no idea what she was doing, what she was saying. He didn't hear, didn't see. He had locked himself out. He had locked himself out as always when he felt sad. When he had a problem he couldn't overcome. He was running away from the real world. He knew he had to stop. For Scootaloo. For himself. For mom. For dad. He unfolded his ears.
"Stride? What's going on?" a worried voice sounded.
He opened his eyes. He became slightly aware of the hooves on his shoulders. Scootaloo stood before him, holding his shoulders. She looked worried. Not disgusted. Worried. He only loved her more for that. What should he answer? He could tell her the truth. He didn't feel ready yet though. Stop running, he told himself. He was disappointed at his own reaction when he answered:
"Headache, need to go home."
Lying fool, he cursed himself.
"You must've really caught a bad one there," Apple Bloom concluded.
Stride forbade himself opening his mouth, so he just nodded in response.
As Scootaloo walked him home, he looked back at the carpet of gold. The others were right. It did look sad.
The old clock dad had bought ticked away slowly. Each movement echoing through Stride's room. He sat at his desk. He was home alone. Mom was out getting groceries and dad was out to go talk to Cheerilee. Stride had refused to go to school. To his friends. The unfinished lyrics of his masterpiece spread out before him. He stared at them, unable to make up another line. He read over it. Joyful words. An ode to life, a song about happy endings. Embittered, he could hardly believe the words that had once been put down on the paper by his own pencil. Had he written this? With such a happy start, building up to a climax, Stride could not think of any way to finish his song. No words.
It had been going on like this for days now. His anger made his head feel uncomfortably warm. He grabbed the paper and tore it. His life work, he tore to tiny little pieces in that one instant. The shreds floated down like paper snow. He screamed and tilted his desk. It came down with a hard thump, resounding through the wooden floorboards. His pencil, diary and all his other papers creased and torn on the ground. When he realised what had just happened, he became silent. Water streaming down his cheeks. He sat down, looking at the carnage he had caused.
After picking his stuff up and putting back the desk, he gathered the shreds of his work. He couldn't fit them together. It was gone.
The front door opened and closed.
"I'm home!" mom said.
Stride buried his face in his forearms. Not now.
"Honey, are you okay?" Storm asked when she saw her son poking his food with a fork, but not eating any of it.
No, I'm dying, Stride thought.
"I'm fine. I'm just not hungry."
"Okay," Storm said, not convinced.
She swallowed some salad.
"Your friends are worried about you, Stride. We are worried about you," she said.
"Don't bother, it'll be over soon enough."
Storm gazed at him, wide-eyed, open mouth.
"Stride, don't say that!"
He stared at his plate.
"It's true, isn't it?"
"No, it is not!"
He gave her an angry look.
"Well, I'm not spending my last days alienating ponies by telling them I'm going to die! It's not worth it. I might as well die now."
Storm was worried, really worried. She tried to stand firm. She wanted to convince him to do what he had been doing all this time: enjoying every little thing he could.
"So you are going to spend your last days sitting in your room, grumbling? Whilst the ponies who love you, the ponies who care for you, watch you sink away in self-pity? That's just... Just..."
"Just what?!"
"Selfish!"
Stride screamed and smashed his hoof onto his plate. Breaking the thing and sending the salad flying.
"It's my life, so if you think I'm selfish, so be it!" he yelled. The salad was now all over his mane.
Storm stuck out a hoof, but he shook it off.
"I'm going to wash up," he groaned. He paced out of the room.
Storm stared at the broken plate, the dented table, the spread out food. She was losing him.
The table was still dented. Irreparable. Storm straightened out the table cloth to cover it up. It worked, as long as nopony used the table. She gathered the salad in the bin. She sighed. Stride hadn't come down yet. He had locked himself up in his room again, for sure. He was always like that when he was angry. He would lock himself up in his room, lock the world out until he'd cool down.
It was a defence mechanism. She knew he didn't only do it for himself. Stride had always been caring for others. He knew he could get irrational. He knew, when he got angry, he could hurt others. Storm had noticed that was the main reason he'd lock himself up. She sighed. Locking himself away was no option. She had to tell him that. She also felt she'd have to apologise. He was dying, after all. Calling him selfish hadn't been nice of her.
She walked upstairs, to his bedroom. She knocked on the door. No response.
"Stride? Can I come in?"
She expected he'd say, "go away."
No response. She tried the doorknob. Surprisingly, it gave with. The door opened. Storm walked in to her son's bedroom, but her son wasn't there. Shreds of paper on the floor. Wet spots, moist by tears and snot. A huge cack in the floor.
"Oh Stride..."
She looked around. Where was he?
"Stride?"
He had said he had gone to wash up. That would've been a long time for washing alone.
A fearful idea crept into her mind. As quickly as possible, she ran towards the bathroom. She tried the door, but it was locked. With no time to lose, she bucked it in. Steam rushed past her. As she had feared, as she had hoped would not be, the bath tub was full to its brim. The red strings of a mane barely sticking out. Small bubbles forming on the water.
She grabbed and pulled her son out of the water. He wasn't breathing. She laid him on the floor and pressed his belly. Some water made its way out of his muzzle. He coughed heavily, squirting out water. He turned on his side, regaining control of his lungs.
"Am I... Am I alive?" he hissed, trying to catch his breath. His eyes wide open.
Storm grabbed him in a tight hug.
"Thank Celestia you are."
Stride looked at the colourless, boring ceiling. He was in his bed. He had been there half a day now. He was cold, even though he was covered with three blankets. Dad had said the near drowning had probably gotten him a cold fever or something. His parents were downstairs. Burst had spoken to Cheerilee. Stride had no idea what they had discussed. The ceiling really was boring.
"Stride?" his mother's voice sounded.
"Yes, come in," he replied. Storm carefully opened the door. Behind her stood a unicorn stallion Stride had never seen before. He might not know this particular one, but he recognised a doctor when he saw one.
"Stride, this is doctor Deep. He's a psychiatrist," Storm continued. The doctor stepped forward, a compassionate look on his muzzle.
"Hello, Stride. I'm here to talk to you."
Storm backed away.
"I'll leave you to it."
Deep put down his flankbag next to Stride's desk. He sat down on the floor.
"So, Stride. Tell me what's been bothering you."
Stride laughed cynically.
"I'm dying in ten months."
Deep leaned forward.
"You knew that three months ago already, Stride. What's really bothering you?"
Stride pondered the question.
"Everything," he responded.
Doctor Deep sighed and shook his head.
"Your mother told me about your... episodes. She said you lock yourself up in your room. Why is that?"
"Because I'm a coward and I run away from everything."
Deep tilted his head at the answer.
"A coward, you say? But what are you running from?"
Stride couldn't answer.
The doctor picked his glasses from his flankbag.
"You quite obviously aren't running from death. You also seemed to be okay with company, since you've spent weeks with your friends. Cheerilee doesn't report any bullying, so I wonder. What are you running from?"
Stride still couldn't answer.
Deep picked up a notebook and started making notes.
"Stride, what happened? Why did you turn?"
The foal stared at the crack in the floor.
"The cutie mark crusaders. I was willing to join them. To try and get my mark. When they recited its definition, a mark of one's destiny. I realised. I realised I will never have one, because there is no destiny for me, apart from death. I realised time was running out and one day, I would have to tell them."
The stallion nodded in response.
"So you decided to opt for the quick way out?"
Stride raised a brow at him.
"The quick way out?"
"The bath tub incident."
"No, no, I was having a lung attack. It was an accident."
The doctor wrote something down. He didn't believe Stride.
"You were afraid of telling your friends?"
Stride turned his eyes towards the floor again.
"Yes, I was afraid."
Stride remembered that day. The colours of the carpet. Red, gold, brown and orange. Orange, Scootaloo. He sighed.
"Who does know?" the doctor interrupted his thoughts.
"My parents, the doctors and Miss Cheerilee."
The doctor looked at Stride now, lifting his eyes from his notebook.
"So you haven't told a single friend?"
"No."
"Why are you afraid?"
Stride felt like walking away. He didn't like this doctor.
"I don't know."
"Do you think they'd see you as a pariah? They'd reject you?"
Stride shoved the hair out of his eye.
"No, I don't. I think they'd be compassionate."
"Then what's the problem?"
Stride felt his rage pumping through his veins.
"Because I don't want compassion. I don't want ponies to pat my back. I... I don't want anypony to get hurt."
"Is that what you are running from? You don't want them to get hurt, so you lock yourself away?"
Stride didn't answer.
A silence descended upon the room. It was broken by the scribbling of Deep's pencil.
"Anypony in particular?" Deep asked.
Stride looked up, "what do you mean?"
"Is there anypony in particular you want to shield from yourself?"
Stride shook his head.
"No."
The doctor scribbled again. He gave Stride an expectant glare.
"You don't have to lie to me."
"What do you mean, lie to you?"
Deep sighed.
"I am a psychiatrist, Stride. I'm pretty good at reading body language. Judging the way you looked at your mother, you really want to protect her badly. That means you should've answered 'mom'. But you didn't, so either you are ashamed for your mother, which you are most likely not, or you are covering up the fact you have a liking for some filly."
Stride didn't confirm. He didn't deny either. Deep nodded and used his pencil.
"What's her name?"
Stride tilted his head.
"Scootaloo."
"Scootaloo, she's a crusader, right?"
"Yes, she is."
"Does she feel the same for you?"
"No," Stride answered, "I don't think she does."
His eyes contorted in deep thought.
"You don't know," doctor Deep concluded.
Stride shook his head.
"You are afraid she'll behave differently toward you?"
"Yes, I am."
"If she does like you, doesn't she need to know?"
Stride dug his face in his forearms.
The doctor continued.
"You are afraid she wouldn't want to be with you if she knew it would only be short?"
Stride shook his head.
"I doubt she likes me now. Sure, we are good friends, but I'm weird," he looked up at the doctor.
"Either I try to be normal and time flies by, or I enjoy life and get weird looks."
Deep crouched before him.
"It is your full right to enjoy life, Stride. These ponies you call normal. They have time. Lots and lots of valuable time. They only realise its value when that time is up. You don't have that time, Stride, but you do have a chance. A chance at being happy. You can see, Stride. Don't blind yourself."
The colt turned his head away.
"That is my problem, doc, I have no time. You say I can be happy, but happiness requires time. Go tell the normal ponies they should be weird, tell them they shouldn't waste any time. Telling me doesn't change anything. I have no time. I have no chance."
Deep put down his pencil.
"Stride, you keep saying what you don't have. Why don't you tell me what you do have?"
Stride frowned at him.
"Nothing."
"Nothing? Have you got no parents? No talents? No friends? You have everything a pony should wish for. Of course, we can wish for money. We can wish for time. What really matters is what you already have, Stride. You have love, care. You can have your happy ending, Stride. Don't throw it away."
Stride nodded. His cheeks were moist. His head hurt. After all the crying, he really needed some hydration.
"So what should I do?"
The doctor looked up at the ceiling for a second, like he was consulting the house itself.
He turned his gaze back at the colt before him.
"What you do, is entirely up to you. I can only give you my advice."
"What do you advise?"
The doctor leaned forward.
"Tell them, tell them everything. Don't hold back anything, or it'll eat you from the inside."
The room became silent again.
They didn't speak until Stride turned back at the unicorn.
"Do you know the Elements of Harmony?"
Te doctor nodded, "yes, I do."
"Then you know one of them is Honesty."
"Yes, I do."
"Does that mean I'm a bad friend?"
Deep's face contorted into a frown. He pondered it thoroughly.
"No, that doesn't mean you are a bad friend."
"How? I've been lying, haven't I?"
"The Elements are good guidelines, Stride, but if there's anything I've learned, then it is that not a single pony can live in full Harmony. Full Harmony means balance, no change. Situations like this are... hard, to get a grasp on. The pieces of the puzzle change. You are not being a bad friend if your intentions are good, Stride. You are not being a coward if you think you are doing the right thing."
Stride sighed and stared at the floor once again.
Deep recognised the look on his face. Stride still considered himself a coward.
"You did choose for the easy way out, didn't you?" Deep said.
Stride didn't look up. He just moved his head down, back to where it was and down again.
Deep sighed and noted it down.
"Don't worry, I won't tell your mother about the filly."
"But you will tell her about what really happened in the bathroom, won't you?"
The unicorn sighed again.
"It was wrong to state you don't have time, Stride. You have ten months. Ten months of value, of potential happiness. You can't waste them. Yes, I will tell your mother. You are a danger to yourself because you think you are one to others. We can't risk you losing the little time you have. I need to tell her so she can do whatever it takes to prevent that from happening."
Stride still didn't look up.
"Do whatever you want, don't think I care anymore."
"Do you really not care, Stride? Do you not fear death? Do you not want a proper goodbye? Do you not want to settle everything?"
Stride finally looked up, his bright red eyes drilling into those of the doctor.
"No. I fear death. I want a proper goodbye. I want to settle everything. But more importantly, I don't want to be remembered as the colt who was dying. I'd rather end it in an accident, then I'll be the colt who was unlucky. Now, I'll be the colt who died. The colt who had ten months and didn't know how to spend it. The colt everypony is compassionate about, but who will never stand out for being a real pony, for being strong. No, now I'llbe the pony who was and who went. The sick pony. That's why I quit, doctor. I am nothing, so I'd rather be dead."
The doctor put down his notebook.
"Stride. You have a name. You have a life. You have a home, a room, a family. You have a diary, from the looks of it," Deep pointed at the papers on the desk, "you will never be the pony who was and went. You will always be Stride, the pony who used his time in the best way possible. You will be Stride, the pony who lived in Ponyville, read books from the princess' library. You will be Stride, the pony who LIVED. Not the pony who died. Do you understand that, Stride?"
The foal nodded, but wasn't convinced.
Deep walked to the window.
"Time, Stride, that's what it's about, isn't it? Think of all the time Storm spent on you. Think of all the time Burst spent on you. Think of all the time your friends spent on you, I am spending on you."
Stride shook his head, "time wasted."
The doctor turned around.
"Time spent well. Valuable time, Stride. It's not wasted. It's well-spent, but only if you believe so too."
Stride crawled under his sheet.
"Can you go now? I need some rest."
The doctor considered staying, but chose to leave his patient be. It's never good to force it. He walked out.
Stride stared at the ceiling again. He thought about his friends. About Scootaloo. Tomorrow, he'd tell them. He was sure about it. He remembered how Scootaloo had laughed in the grass, of the fun they'd had. He smiled, for the first time in a long, tough week, he smiled sincerely.
When Stride walked through that iron gate, onto the school yard, he immediately noticed the four foals standing next to a tree. Button Mash focused on his joyboy and the three crusaders were having a chat with one another. Scootaloo saw him and waved. He trotted over to them.
How will I say it? he thought.
"Hi Stride!"
"Hi guys! I, uh, have to tell you something."
Was this really the right time? School yard, mid-conversation?
Sweetie Belle raised a brow.
"What is it?"
"I'm, uh, I'm glad to be back."