//------------------------------// // Praise Your Name // Story: My True Body // by Dark Avenger //------------------------------// PRAISE YOUR NAME “Come one! Come all!” The sound of wood creaking rings out as the much abused pieces unfold and snap into place, kicking up clouds of dust. The stage is set. "Come and see the Great and Powerful Trixie!" I can’t imagine that she thought this through. Is she really expecting to draw a crowd here? “Watch as she performs the most amazing feats of magic known to ponykind! Watch her reveal miracles that nopony has ever seen before!” There's a loud bang, and a cloud of thick, grey vapor engulfs the stage. A blue-coated unicorn mare emerges from the haze and walks up to the edge of the wooden platform. Her attire is a shameless mockery of the famed mage of old: a large, purple cape and pointy hat, both of them adorned by colorful stars. "Come and see the greatest magician in all of Equestria!" She throws her forehooves into the air with a wide, confident smile on her face, then closes her eyes. A heartbeat later, the entire stage is lit up by a barrage of flames, sparks, bright explosions, and clouds of smoke. "Please!" she whispers to herself. Droplets of tears bleed from the corners of her eyes. "Come on! Just… just this once… please?" But they do not come. The roar and the parade of visuals die down within seconds, and the steady drone of the crowd around us takes over once more. Unfazed by the display, everypony just trots on. I clear my throat, then ready the guitar in my lap once more. My right forehoof gently begins to strum the first chord. The ponies sitting before me murmur in excitement. A few of those passing by pause to take a look as well. I glance at the far end of the square again. She is still there, standing her ground. "Please!" she whimpers. "Not this... not this again..." Her hindlegs start to tremble under her weight. Her firm stance wavers and begins to lose its balance. Moments later, she collapses onto the floor of the stage and buries her head under her forelegs. "Can't... can't you just give it to me?" Her teeth grind on each other as she struggles to hold back her tears. "Just once more?" She lifts her head, which reveals the wet dirt now staining her face, and opens her mouth. She looks about ready to scream at them, but no words want to come out. I take a deep breath and sing the first line. My actions are devoted to the song, but my mind keeps wandering back to that mare – though "filly" might be a more fitting word. She may seem full-grown, but time has yet to take a true toll on her. Of course, it isn't entirely her fault. The city officials have banned all unofficial performances a long time ago. This place is the only exception, but they know nopony would ever want to try their luck here. After all, there is nopony to perform for here. Nopony except them. The so-called "Mares of Hoofington." I see you now as you sit before me. I see you cradle each other and sway lazily to the rhythm. I can hear a few of you start humming the melody that's caressing your ears. My gaze travels across their faces. Though I only catch a glimpse at a time, each one encompasses the whole life of the pony it belongs to, and now reveals it to me. There you are, silent one. You hug yourself and stare at the ground all day, as if trying to shrink yourself into nothingness. Even after so many years, the memory still troubles you every waking moment. The fire started without warning. You weren't able to get to them all in time. You remember how he told you to leave him. He told you to take the children and run. You remember how the youngest was still trapped in his room. You can't forget his screams. You couldn't fight them off as they held you back. You remember wanting to go back and just curl up with him along the flames. And what about you? Yes, that's right. Lean on her shoulder. Just let it all out. Tell them that you didn't want to do it. That it was just too much to take any longer. But you still loved him, even when you took the blade. The memory of his loving embrace was in your mind when you stepped up behind him.   You could never bring yourself to hate him. Your hoof moved on its own as you thrust it in. It struck again and again, seeking his heart. You wanted it to be over quickly. You didn't want him to suffer. Over and over again, you just kept screaming his name. You kept begging him for forgiveness. Her body shakes from her sobs as she buries her head in the older mare's chest. The mare hushes her while her forehooves keep stroking the young one's mane and back. "It's all right," she whispers. "Don't cry. It's over. He will never hurt you again." "Nopony will," another elder adds. "You're with us now." The filly just sobs and hugs the mare even more tightly. Whenever she tries to right herself, a fresh wave of tears make her double over once more. Another young mare is leaning against the wall to my right. Her coat and mane almost blend into the dust beneath her. She stares at me with a blank expression on her face. One of her hind legs is bent in an unnatural way. White and reddish lines crisscross all over her once pristine skin, the thickest ones lining her back. ----- It was the wrong place for the thief to make his career. Even those who shared his profession felt that it was unethical, not to mention unwise. He sneaked into their camp one night and managed to unearth their stash. All the money they ever managed to scrape together was piled up in one little hole in the ground, waiting to be shared between one another. It would have been the perfect job, had he any control over his greed. The rattling of the coins woke them up. They surrounded him just as silently as he entered. The heavy bags he tried to smuggle out became the perfect tools to provide blunt force. ----- The strumming halts for a few seconds, as if the music itself had to stop and take a deep breath. The last chord that I played fades slowly into the noise of the busy marketplace. Then, just as I’m about to continue, the voice of a mare rises above the crowd. She sits up straight and inhales deeply, then starts to follow the melody I’ve presented to them. A second voice joins in shortly afterward, then a third. By the time my hoof meets the strings again, every one of the mares before me releases her voice. Every other sound around us is overwhelmed by this makeshift choir. The notes they sing resonate with every inch of my body. Everypony around us stops dead in their tracks as the sound washes over them, though I can’t tell how they’re reacting to it. Everything around me fades away. We are all that’s left: the Mares of Hoofington, and Inkie Pie, the wandering foal with a guitar. My hooves are still bleeding. For a moment, however, the agony disappears as it makes way for something far greater. As the mares unleash their song, they grant me a taste of their souls, and I find myself sinking into every ounce of pain and despair they’ve felt in their lives. ----- The colt had poor judgment and too much fire in his blood. To be fair, though, he did at least try to properly court them. His downfall was that he only saw them as free game. They were prey to him, nothing more. Up to a point, they just ignored him. Then he tried to spike their water with some local wine in the hope that it would make them more pliable. They didn't take kindly to that. One night, he was lured into an alley by the youngest member. His eyes were too busy drinking in her form to check his surroundings. His scream never managed to exit his lungs. They never saw him in Hoofington again. His friends would later recall him being very hesitant to speak to them, and his voice sounding more high-pitched than usual. ----- I look up at the conjurer again. She's staring back at me with a mixed look of confusion, curiosity, sadness, and even a hint of envy. Her lips tremble as if they were holding back a flood of words, but she doesn't speak. She throws off her hat, stumbles off the stage, and starts trudging toward me. The robe falls from her back along the way. Nopony picks it up, or even notices the bright and colorful thing on the ground. They just walk all over it. As she draws closer, I notice the finer details of her form. I can make out all the cuts and bruises that adorn her sides. I can see the slight flaws in her gait, which suggest even more wounds that hide beneath the surface. But those scars are fresh. Mementos of her more recent journeys that will not stay with her for much longer. It’s the more subtle ones that really catch my gaze. Those hardly noticeable patches of her hide where her smooth fur gives way to bare and mottled skin. Burn marks. Dozens, if not hundreds of them. They are the relics of the baptism a showmare must go through if she wants to make a career out of playing with fire. She comes to a halt next to a couple of the older mares. They glance at her, then, without saying a word, they shuffle aside to make room. She slumps down among them with a sigh, all the while keeping her gaze fixed on me. She doesn’t need to ask, and they don’t have to say it. From now on, or at the very least for today, they will accept her as one of their own. ----- ***** ----- Love is a peculiar phenomenon. I could never understand it, even though I have seen many forms of it. I see it even now as those two young ones embrace each other. They sway to the rhythm, holding on with both their limbs and their lips while their tongues trade places constantly. It's those lips and those tongues that shape the web of lies that hold us together, even when we would prefer to drift apart. Is this all that we are? Is this what our children are destined to be? A side effect of our parents being seduced by an opportunity for a few minutes of pleasure? After everything they've gone through, could these mares ever know that kind of love again? Can you see them, my "loyal disciples"? You may think highly of me, but all of these mares are stronger than I am, or ever will be. Where all others would just run away, these fragile creatures would face the tide head-on, then suffer through every consequence. I pick up the case and place it on my back, then trot toward the gate that leads out of the marketplace. Along the way, my ears pick up on a set of hoofsteps keeping pace with me. Among the ocean of different forms and colors, I notice a light blue shape in the corner of my vision, never once getting any closer, but never falling out of sight either. I halt suddenly and turn around. The showmare is there, frozen in mid-stride, the same odd look on her face as before. Her eyes widen when she realizes that I stopped because of her, and she glances around for a moment as if searching for a way to escape. Her mouth hangs open, and her legs shuffle as they try to decide where to go, but no words or actions come to pass. We just stand there and stare at each other for a while. Eventually, she swallows, then takes a few steps forward. I don’t react, even when she’s almost nose to nose with me. Her face shifts to a look of contempt as her eyes scan me up and down. “You’re nothing so special…” she finally mutters. “No,” I reply after a short pause. “I’m not.” Her gaze meets my own again, her face showing pent up anger. “So how come you’re more popular than The Great…” She stops and shakes her head. “Ugh… than me?” “I don’t know.” “What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?” She is pacing around me now while her eyes dissect me from every angle. She even stops to prod my guitar with her forehoof for a moment. I let her do it without moving at all. “You must have some kind of secret technique or… magic, or… something!” I wait for her to trot back in front of me. “I don’t know,” I repeat with a sigh. “What you’ve seen is all that I do: I sing and play guitar.” “It’s not fair…” Her voice starts to shake. “I used to be the talk of the town wherever I went. I used to be the greatest magician in the world.” I nod silently. “Everypony was happy when I performed for them," she says. "Now… now they just walk past me like I’m a ghost…” I nod again and wait patiently as she lets all out. “I try to do a nice show… I try to be entertaining…” She sobs, then frowns at me again. “How can they love what you do? All you seem to sing about is… pain.” “It’s the one thing I know best,” I reply. The showmare gives me a look of disgust. “So what? I should just start doing that? Do a show about misery, pain, and death?” She snorts and rolls her eyes. “Can’t really attach a dazzling fireworks display to that, you know.” “That’s not for me to decide.” “You…” She stumbles back a bit and looks at me incredulously. “You really don’t have any answers, do you?” I sigh. “I guess not.” The mare stomps her hoof in anger. “What was the point of this then?” she cries. Her eyes are welling up with tears. “When I walked up to you, I… I felt…” I don’t say a word. She seems about ready to jump me, but I know she won’t move. I just wait for her to do what she needs to do. “It was as if something told me that I had to meet you,” she goes on. “A voice from beyond… a sign… I don’t know. But I know that I had to talk to you. I felt that you could help me…” “You’re not the one,” I say before she can finish. Her eyes widen. “What?” “I know now that my destiny is to meet somepony,” I turn my gaze toward the sky for a moment. “A very important somepony. But you are not that pony.” “B-but… but I…” she stammers. Her legs start to tremble. “I’m sorry. I have no answers for you.” I return my gaze to her eyes. Her mouth is left hanging open as I cut her off again. “My path is meant to solve a different mystery. Your questions need to be answered by somepony else.” The showmare’s lips tremble now as well. Her limbs manage to hold for a few seconds longer before she slowly falls down onto her haunches. She lifts up a forehoof to hide her face, and I can see her body shake as she gives muffled sobs. “This isn’t fair…” she whimpers. “It’s pointless… wrong… I hate it!” “No. Nothing is fair,” I reply in an even tone and look away again. For a minute, all that I can hear from her are the sounds of her trying to bury her tears in the ground. When her eyes run dry, she lifts up her head weakly to get it out of the dust and gravel. “Your hooves…” she mutters. When I don’t react, she raises her voice. “Hey! Your hooves! They’re… I think… they’re bleeding!” “Yes…” I whisper. The memory of father’s voice echoes in my mind. “They do that from time to time.” “We need to get help! We can’t just—” She’s about to get up, then freezes when I raise a hoof to stop her. Her eyes widen at the sight of the blood that coats its underside. I hear a tiny squeak escape her throat as she looks upon all of my wounds: the deep cuts, the valleys scraped into the flesh, the thick layer of earth and clotted blood that mixed together. “H-how…?” she whispers. “How can you… walk on that? You… p-play with that?” “The same way you do with your own,” I reply. When she doesn’t comprehend, I point to one of her own forelegs, where a rather large, though mostly faded scar hides on its underside. She shakes her head and pulls away. “N-no… those are… they’re nothing like…” she stammers. “They don’t compare to your hooves.” “Why not?” I ask her. “I… I got these a long time ago…” she says. “They’re just… mistakes. Once I became good enough, I didn’t get any more. But you… you’re...” “I was born with these,” I reply. When I set my hoof down, a dull ache makes my body tense up. “They followed me my whole life. To every place I went to. In every song I played. Through every mistake I made.” I look away from her. Movement in the distance catches my attention: the mares slowly gather their belongings as the business hours come to an end. “Mistakes are always made,” I add. “But our wounds are more than just a memorial to each one. They are signs of growth. Of survival…” I trail off. The filly cradles her head between her forelegs as she lies on the bed. The voice echoes in her head over and over: “She’s healthy, but... her hooves…” In the distance, the young mare who cried on the older one’s shoulder gets up along with the others. Her face now bears the same blank expression that they all share. “Wounds can only be gained by those who live to meet them,” I whisper. The showmare lying at my hooves says nothing in response. Turning her head slowly, she follows my gaze to the corner of the marketplace. “Those mares…” she mutters after a while. “They’re one rough herd, aren’t they?” I nod. “You could almost feel it in the air…” she adds. “And if they didn’t want you sitting next to them…” “They’re my favorite audience,” I reply. “You’ve played for them before?” “Wrote a song about them.” “Really?” Her eyes widen in surprise. “Does that mean you know them that well?” “There’s a lot one can learn from them.” “One can learn a lot from anypony,” she whispers, almost to herself. Her eyes lose focus for a moment, and she appears lost in thought, or perhaps memory. “I should know. That filly and her ‘friendship lessons.’” Those last words come out as though she were spitting out bile. “She... she tried to tell me before…” The mare shakes her head and tries to muster an arrogant expression once more. “Unless we’re talking about you, of course,” she grumbles. “You’re definitely not the savior I was hoping for.” “I’m sorry to disappoint,” I reply nonchalantly. “Hmm… I wonder if they have any foals,” she says and gets to her hooves. Her stance is more firm, making her appear much larger than the miserable little pile she was moments ago. “I’m sure The Great and Powerful Trixie could perform for them at least.” “They have a few. Don’t get to see many performers, though.” She smirks, then lets out a small laugh, one that is reminiscent of her more confident side. The mare that stands before me is now the same one that I saw on that stage when her act began. “I best be on the top of my game then,” she says eagerly. “No matter where she goes, The Great and Powerful Trixie must never disappoint!” With that, she trots off and disappears into the crowd, head held up high. I remain still and stare after her silently for a while. The blue unicorn filly turns around. She giggles. A small, gray-coated earth filly trots after her. The two of them, both young and clueless, run off into the desert, a swarm of foals close behind. All of them are smiling. They crowd around and cheer as the gray one starts to sing, while the blue one creates shooting stars with her horn... “Miss Inkie!” A young stallion, one of my “followers,” runs up to me with a worried expression. “There you are!” he says while gasping for breath. “We, uh… we lost sight of you, and… well, we thought that... you might have... you know, um...” The rest of the herd catches up to him and forms up just a few hoofsteps away, the same look of worry on all of their faces. I give them a fleeting glance in return. Each one seems deeply humbled every time my gaze travels over them. I don’t say a word, merely adjust the case on my back, then turn around. My legs drag me further toward the barren lands outside the city. As the blazing sun begins to set, my hoofprints seem to shine in its dying light. In the distance, I can hear the showmare’s voice ring out, once more full of energy and ego. A loud bang follows shortly afterward, which is answered by a series of high-pitched cheers. I glance back for a moment and give a tiny smile. Through the crowd of nervous disciples and the throng wandering within the marketplace, I catch another glimpse of those mares. They now sit on the opposite side and stare at the conjurer’s stage in silence. A few dozen foals scurry between them from time to time. Can you see them, followers of mine? If you ever wish to pray for somepony, then pray for these abandoned souls. I can see my own path before me, but they know not where to go. The moon takes over the throne in the sky. It stares down upon a trail of silvery marks that run out of the city and into the desert. A small herd follows them, each step taking them closer to where the heavenly object shall meet the earth. I hiss from the pain as my soft hooves pave the way.