//------------------------------// // Chapter Six - Broken // Story: After the Fall // by Sapidus3 //------------------------------// I think I am broken. I hear words, but they are just sounds devoid of meaning. Sometimes I try to figure out what they’re supposed to be telling me, but it is a struggle. I remember that series of words were messages, a way to communicate. I still remember that much, even if everything else is gone. I think I used to like puzzles. This is sort of like a puzzle. The problem is it takes me so long to figure them out. I used to be able to solve problems faster, but everything is a jumble now. Nothing is sorted and deciphering one word brings with it a wave of unconnected memories and meanings. It is like a library with all the books mixed up. What’s a library? Do you know? I can’t remember. It is another one of those words that I like though. It makes me feel warm and safe, and I find myself just wanting to say it. But the sounds get mixed up on the way to my tongue and nothing comes out. Still it is better than when the words come out as the wrong sounds. Sometimes I don’t realize that it is me talking and I think they are another riddle. Then I realize I am talking to myself. I still like these puzzles even if they are frustrating. The best ones are the ones about magic. I think she knows that I like them, because she seems to give them to me a lot. This particular puzzle is hard, and I don't think it is about magic. That's OK though. I'll keep working on it until I have it. The key is not to forget the puzzle. The sounds don't linger in the air once I hear them and I need to make sure I remember the taste of the words. I can't write it down, not anymore. Even if I could, I would just misplace my notes. I’ve figured one out. I’ve figured out one one of the puzzles. Not only that, but I’ve figured out the response as well. Two puzzles at once. I want to clap my hooves together, but it takes all my concentration to hold onto the response. Carefully I move my lips. The sound needs to move from my brain to my tongue, and I can feel the taste leaping out of my mouth. That last part is tricky. “It’s the sun.” I’m proud that I solved the puzzle, but I see a pony frowning at me. She doesn’t seem to understand my answer, and suddenly I am filled with great shame. I’m not sure who that pony is, but I don’t want to disappoint her. I know that she is important. OK, think. What was the riddle? What had she said? “Why is it so hot?” That was it, wasn’t it? And it is hot because of the sun, right? That is what the sun does. It makes things hot. Hot means sun. Sun equals hot. Hot plus Hot equals sun. She asked her riddle and I answered. Suddenly, it hits me why the pony frowned. I was late. I hate being tardy, but it happens so much lately. She had asked her question two days ago, and I just now figured it out. I want to hit my head against a stone, but nothing happens. The pain is there again. Trying to solve the puzzles always hurts. There is a terrible pressure inside my skull. I want to break it open and let whatever is trying to escape fly away. My scalp begins to tingle. Trying to remember always burns. I wonder if it will ever make its way out? Most of the time I just try to hide from the fire. It always finds me. They always find me. Why do they want to hurt me so much? The nice pony is walking away from me again. I wish I knew what she was doing. Not even so that I could help her; I think that is beyond me. I just want to understand. I wish I could make her happy. “Oh! A chess set.” Words! Are they mine? Did I say them? No, they belong to the nice pony. It means I have another assignment. I need to try harder to solve this one in time. I can feel the flames licking at my mind as they burn away the answers. No! She is saying something else. I haven’t figured out the first thing said yet. I don’t want to be tardy again. I want to cry, but I cannot remember how to make tears. A word pierces the smoke. “Fungus.” I know that word. The answer is here somewhere. I scramble around looking for the right book. I know, I know, I probably look ridiculous, but what else am I supposed to do. I smile or at least I think I do. The two do not always mean the same thing, but I do what I can to express my joy. I found the answer. “Cryptococcus neoformans. It was a radiological fungus much like the ones found in the Gallobyl disaster site when ponies finally felt it safe enough to investigate. It’s managed to live by feeding off the radiation that killed everything else.” The words tumble out of my mouth. They burn on my tongue and rattle around my skull. The noise grows louder and louder as it echos between my ears. Each word has a torrent of meaning and connections. Gallobyl: A sight of a historic battle in the twenty year war. The home of the writer Neighkolay Trostloy. Location of a terrible accident. Feed: Noun. Food for grazing animals. Verb. To Feed, to eat. To consume. Live: Verb. Related to Life. Life, Noun. Something I’ve destroyed. Genocide. Noun. The deliberate killing of a large group of ponies. Killing a large group of ponies. Twilight Sparkle. Noun. Failure. Failure. Noun. To disappoint Her. Her, noun. The one pony you want to make happy. The words keep echoing, word after word. All the meanings I’ve been searching for all at once come crashing down on me. I want to hide again, but I don’t. I answered her question right. I answered it on time. That gives me strength. The cacophony recedes. I look up for my reward. I look up to see her give me a smile. Only I find the opposite. She had been smiling, but my answer made her frown. What was wrong with it this time? It was perfect. Succinct and to the point. Timely and topical. Am I just stupid? Do I think I’m saying the right things only for my answers to be completely wrong? Why do I always get it wrong? Why was she smiling? I try to remember when she had started. It wasn’t my earlier answer, and it wasn’t answering her most recent riddle. She had been staring at me. Why had she been staring at me? I manage to wrestle control of my eyes just long enough to give myself a once over. I’m holding a doll. Does the nice mare like dolls? I want to give it to her, but I can’t force my hoof to cooperate. I don’t want to give up the doll. When did I find a doll? The answer is in here somewhere, in one of these books, or in one of the screams. But that isn’t really the riddle now is it? We are not outside anymore. She is smiling again. She smiles when the other mare is around. I wish I could make her smile like that. The other mare makes her happy, but I only seem to be able to make her sad. What could I do? I gasp for breath as I try to keep my head above the paper line. I’m caught in a turbulent tumbling stream of memories. The flow of books is carrying me with it, and I struggle to keep my head above the books. My hooves flail wildly, but still I manage to catch a glimpse of what is inside. She used to smile when I wrote her letters. I wish I could remember how to write. I wish I could cry. I pull myself out of the stream. The other mare is sitting there talking with her at the shore. She makes it look so easy. The dark pony must be a smart mare to answer her riddles so easily. My ears twitch. I heard something. It’s floating down the stream, and I stick my hoof in to grab it. “There is a natural spring, and somehow the rock is filtering the water.” I can answer this one. I look at the sheet of paper I pulled from the river. “A combination of small rocks, gravel, and sand can create a natural filtration system. Especially if charcoal from charred and dead plant life is mixed in.” I’m so happy. OW! Something slams into me. It’s an important word. She said it. I know she says it a lot. There is always so much emotion when she says it. She is always looking at me when she says it. It is the same word every time. It echoes in my head, each time cracking my skull and sending fire down my spine. What does that word mean? Why is it important? I try to cling onto the word for later. I know I won’t solve the riddle in time to avoid being tardy, but I still need to solve it. I leap up into the air and snatch a fluttering sheet of parchment. I look at the words on the piece of paper.. “Come on Twilight. Try some of this grass that Luna brought us. It’s really lovely.” All but one of the words fade. It isn’t a solution, but it is progress. Twilight. That’s the important word. I file the paper away in the river for later and it flows away from me in a current of non-thought. Already it is lost to me. I wish I knew where that river went. Maybe there is an ocean of books at the end. One thought occurs to me. Noun, failure. I smell something. There is something in front of me. Feed: Noun. Food for grazing animals. I take a bite. I’m not sure what it tastes like. I don’t know where the reference book for taste is. Still, what I did feels right. My mouth is moving in chewing motions. A lot of time my body knows what to do even when I don’t. I trust it most of the time. It keeps me near the pretty mare even when my hooves won’t listen to me. I think it must like her too. Something starts tingling and my entire skull is on fire. I know what this is. It’s the one thing I can’t forget. I’m using magic. I’m levitating the fork. Light, it hurts. I focus myself on the fork. I need to if I want to fight through the pain. My body is telling me that this fork I am eating is good. I know it means I will miss some of the riddles, but I need to trust my body. I concentrate on the fork. My body seems to like it. Maybe forks are delicious? I keep chewing. I’m not sure how much time passes as I eat my fork, but a message blows in on the wind. “She is convinced that there are survivors.” Survivors. I know this one. I’ve thought about it before, but I don’t know why. I already have the answer prepared here somewhere. There it is. It’s just lying there. “The magical ley lines covered the globe. Including tributaries and flow bleed they possessed a ninety nine point eight percent planetary coverage. The odds of a living pony surviving the Line Burn is negligible.” I'm not actually sure what my answer means, and do not know if that counts as cheating. It must, because in response she says the heavy word. The word that echoes louder than any other. I’m not sure which one it is. I know I wrote it down here somewhere. I look down the river. She keeps saying the word and I curl up into a ball and clutch my head. Why does she keep saying it? Can’t she see how much it hurts me? Does she hate me because I make her so sad? But there is that warmth in her voice when she says the hard word. As much as it hurts, part of me doesn’t want her to stop saying it. I focus on the word and on the flames. I came something out through the pain. There are words. I think some are mine, but I am not certain. Maybe they are all mine. I can’t tell where the words end and I begin. Maybe that line doesn’t exist. Maybe it burned away with everything else. I wish I could tell you why he does not help. He’s not able to. Twilight, do you think you could elaborate for Luna and me? The hammer crashes against my skull. He calls himself the Spirit of Chaos, but that’s not really right. His manifestations obey rules and operate in a predictable, logical manner. Perhaps they are different rules than what we are used to, but he isn’t really chaotic. He isn’t exactly unharmonious either. More alien than anything else. But it’s all about… It’s all about chaos theory, which really has nothing to do with chaos as most ponies understand it. Really its about small things all adding up to large effects. Twilight, I’m not really certain I follow. My horn splinters. The word shatters my spine. My world breaks and reforms. At one point… I spent some time trying to figure out his magic. He’s not all powerful… He manipulates quantum probability and random chance. Weather patterns, biological mutations, quantum foam...He can cause things to spontaneously or rapidly change and transmogrify, but he can’t make something from nothing. Twilight. The pain explodes behind my eyes. I push forward. He has very good showmanship. If there were still ponies alive, he could twist and transform their bodies however he wished. But he can’t heal the blight. Its radiological properties are non-nuclear in nature. If it had a half-life he could twist things to speed it up and clean everything up at the very least. But it doesn’t work that way. The magic that… It’s a set duration. A fixed time, with no room for chance. Death for a thousand years. How do you know that? The question is a good one. A very good riddle. An important riddle. How do I know that? Because I designed it. The smoke becomes thicker and I can’t see the conversation any longer. “Twilight, do you mind if I speak with Luna for a moment?” It is a riddle but one that I can not even process through the pain. I scream, begging her to stop. I don’t deserve that word. Only good ponies deserve smiles. Something rubs my muzzle and the pain begins to recede. Twilight I want to whimper, but instead I try to lean into her touch. I don’t do either. +++ I blinked my eyes and everything shifted. That happens a lot. One moment I am in one place, and the next I am somewhere else. The sun will jump across the sky in great leaps and bounds. Night will suddenly turn to day, or day to night. I don’t think those things are supposed to happen, but I'm not sure. I always have more important things to focus on when it happens. I think there was some sort of game. The two mares played it while I blinked. They were digging around in holes. Maybe they were hiding? Maybe they weren’t mares at all. I think ostriches would do that. Hide in holes. Ostriches stuck their heads in holes. Could I be an ostrich? Maybe it would be nice to be an ostrich. I bet I could hide from the fire then. I think I made the nice mare happy for a short time. But then one of the mares said something important. I grapple it and force it to understanding. I understand the dark mare's words. So I’m brain damaged or something. I’m not really certain. I think the dark mare said that I am a simpleton. Is that right? Am I simpleton? I still think I am smart. I still feel smart. But I can’t really do anything to prove it, can I? Maybe this is what it’s like to be a… what’s the nice word? A challenged pony? Is that what I am now? It seems like it would make the puzzle pieces fit. Is this it then? Somehow, I had hoped that the puzzles would start making sense. I’ve been trying to get better at them. I really have. You need to believe me. I try my best. But they don’t really get any easier, just more painful. And maybe that’s because I’m just not smart. I’m a stupid pony. A smart pony would know how to tell the nice pony that she is nice. I have demons to face. The dark mare said that. I think she is smart, so she is probably right, but it doesn’t seem right. I’m not sure what a demon is, so I can’t really understand the puzzle. I should probably trust her though. I know that she is smart. The nice mare seems to like her and that is good enough for her. Maybe I can make a… What’s the word? A check? I’m a simpleton. I have? Maybe it was “I am,” I don’t remember. I am a demon? I have a dream-on? No not a check, a list. I felt like this would help but it doesn’t seem to do anything. A list has more than two things. The puzzle is still incomprehensible. At least I know what I am now. When I blink, things seem to shift again. We are all huddled around the nice mare now. Her voice is soothing even if the words are just a stream of confusion. I can recognize it as a story, even if I’m not smart enough to follow along with it anymore. Her voice is comforting, and as a brush moves through my mane I feel a sense of ease. It doesn’t hurt as bad right now. This is nice. The next time I blink I am someplace else. I’m in the place with the falling books again. This place is strange. It is easier to go from book to book, flipping through and finding the pages that I want. But it is harder to keep them organized. As soon as I hop off of my papery platform, I will lose the book in the cloud of knowledge. Still, I think I like this place of books. My body and mind are in agreement here. There is no struggle to move my hoof or to get my tongue to move the way I want it. I don’t seem to be able to rely on my body doing things automatically here, but it is well worth the control. My library is the best place to find the answers, even if it is hard to hold onto them. The dark mare is here in my library. She does not usually show up here. We talk, and it feels… It feels clear. I’m not sure if I remember ever talking to a pony in my library before, but surrounded by books, the usual riddles do not seem to be there. Or maybe I am just faster at solving them in this place. I want to ask her if I am a simpleton. I want to know what that word means, but I think it will upset her. We are having a nice conversation, and she wants to know if I am happy. I get to spend my days with the nice pony. She reads me stories, even if I cannot understand them, and sometimes even talks to me about magic. I used to like magic. Of course I am happy. I just wish that I could make her happy. I leap to another book, and I find what I had been looking for. It contains my research. I hear them. They are screaming. Light, they’re screaming so loud. They’re coming for me. Light, light, light… I can’t get away, there is no place to run, no place that I can go where I won’t be able to hear their screams. I burrow into my book. I know it will not shield me. It barely blocks out the sound, but I don’t know what else to do. Their screams and flames consume me. In a brilliant moment of perfect, horrible clarity I understand. All the puzzle pieces that I have been struggling with fall into place. And, light, it hurts. Light, it hurts. It hurts so much. It was just a tingle at first, but then it began to itch, and then it began to burn. I feel my blood boiling. They’re hurting me. They are hurting me so much. Please make it stop. Light, make it stop. Please make it stop. Why won’t you make it stop? “I’m here for you Twilight.” The pressure compounds the pain. They hurt me. They hurt me. How long has it been? I can feel it all slipping away. I understood, but not the books… They are all falling through my hooves. I can’t catch them. They are all unsorted. I fall asleep again, but I do not return to the place of falling books. I don’t think I sleep for long. The pretty mare is asking another riddle. It’s one that does not expect a response, I can tell that from the shape and color of the words. I stare intently as I realized that she is telling me the answer to the more important riddle. She is telling me how to make her smile. “Sometimes… Sometimes I wonder if it would be better if she wasn’t. Would it have been better if I hadn’t started her breathing again? What kind of life is this? It’s so hard always taking care of her. When I have to feed her…” I feel a vice gripping me and I cannot breathe. In the distance I can hear the roaring thunder of pain running through my body. “... sorry Twilight... Please Twilight...” The hammer blows strike far worse than the vice. It’s the nice mare hitting me. “Twilight...” I cannot even collapse as the vice is holding me in place as the pressure increases. She leaves the room. I think she was crying. I made her cry again. I… I… I… I get it now. I know why the nice mare is always so sad. I must really be a stupid filly to take so long to solve the riddle. It’s me. I make her sad. I'm an awful pony. I may not be smart anymore, but I can at least solve this problem. I just need to go away. Then she can smile again. She and the other mare can have fun without worrying about me. So I disappear. +++ Full Implications of Disaster Still Unknown Last week we were the first news outlet to report the disaster at Gallobyl, and still ponies are reeling from the implications. Early reports indicate the disaster may have been caused by tainted crystals illegally imported from the Crystal Empire. However, while the true cause of the catastrophe is still unknown, one thing is certain. The damage is wide spread, and in many ponies' opinions the government has been far to slow to respond. "We're still evacuating ponies," said the mayor of Gallobyl. Ironically, while many ponies feel that the official Peacekeepers have been nowhere to be seen, it has been the princesses with their ceremonial guard who have been spearheading the humanitarian aid. Princess Celestia has been spotted walking through the medical tents, providing what help she can, while Princess Luna has been comforting those beyond saving. As for Princess Twilight, she has been at ground zero tirelessly working on maintaining containment. It seems that even in our new Equestria, the princesses still-