I look up and all I see is white. It’s what I’ve been looking at for the last few months and I know there’s a good chance it’ll be the last thing I see. The bed I’m in is soft and the covers are cool. Each day I’m more tired than the last. Each day I sleep more than I mean to. Too many days pass by without my knowledge or consent. Too fast, I think. Much too fast.
Outside my door I can hear Sombra waiting to come in; his hooves gently clop against the marble in the hall. They’ll let him in soon enough. They always do. I like to see him, same as I always have. The hard part is thinking of excuses that won’t hurt him.
Quiet times like these make me think of how everything settled down.
“Pony Gate,” it was called—the day I returned to Earth with several thousand ponies and a handful of humans by my side (even a few well-hidden Changelings I had no idea existed at all). Upon our arrival, most of the world was aghast and in desperate need of answers. Twilight Sparkle was the one that fronted the large mass of displaced ponies, describing in detail the horrors they’d only just escaped from.
Once it was assessed that these new colorful creatures had no harmful motives in mind, they were allowed to live in society like everyone else. The existence of pegasi and unicorn meant that new jobs would be created; most Earth ponies matched the strength of full grown human males, making them worthwhile laborers.
I’d rather not sugarcoat everything. The assimilation of talking ponies into the human race took time—a great amount of it. Even now, decades later, there are still those that discriminate against them. I just so happened to be in attendance at the first pony/human wedding. Odd Bob from the train and that mare from the Empire were to be the first ever to tie the knot. I don’t believe I’ve ever been so uncomfortable in all my life.
Although Twilight never became her original self again, through the combined efforts of highly renowned mathematicians and scientists, she was eventually able to enter her old Equestria. Once there, she spent several weeks with her brother and sister in law, as well as her mentor and her sister. She told me she had long talks with her original self, delving into all that’s happened in their lives. Once her and Discord’s relationship was explained, the original Twilight tried her best to hold down her lunch. As far as I know, alt-Twilight and Discord are still a couple.
It didn’t take long before I became the center of attention; why suddenly you looked outside your kitchen windows to find a talking unicorn galloping up the street with teeth whiter than a dentist’s. In just a day, I had changed the course of humankind for good, bring with me a race of beings from an unknown universe. I had to speak with many officials in the government, and after those talks ended, I spoke with many people in the press. Thinking strategically, I soon hired myself a lawyer and an agent.
The semi-autobiographical Lazy Sombra: Or Why You Might Be Living Next To A Pony Now remained on the bestseller list for well over a decade. I hired a ghostwriter for the project, using a series of interviews to get to the meat of the story. In less than a year, I made more money than I could spend in a lifetime. And, yes, I even brought Sombra to work with me to tell my boss just what I thought of him. Still colt-sized, Sombra wasn’t as threatening as I’d first imagined he’d be.
Reception of the book was good, though most reviewers had a problem with the last half’s abrupt spiral into darkness. All I could say to that was: “that’s just the way it happened.”
Sombra remained as small as a colt for over two years and it took six months to regain basic control of his magic. I spent most of that time writing my book and cashing in checks. After becoming a bestseller, I sold the condo and moved into a vastly larger home in the middle of the woods. I never was a big fan of the bustling city.
That large house is where I am now; in a corner room with large bay windows. At the moment, a gentle rain patters against the glass. I’ve always enjoyed the sound of rain.
It was during this two-year period that I invited Twilight and her friends over to my new home. Together, we celebrated Christmas (or Heart’s Warming Eve, or whatever they called it) and I still consider it one of the best times of my life. Still adorably small at the time, Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle made Sombra an honorary Cutie Mark Crusader. It was the first time I’d noticed his complete lack of butt tattoo.
Even fighting as he had, mini-Sombra had little option but to join with the three—tea parties and sing-alongs and all. On Christmas Day, he awoke to find something new stamped on his butt. I honestly had no idea he was so talented at doing nothing at all.
The first few hours between Sombra and I and Twilight and the rest were tense. The fact that both sides had tried to trick or kill the other only months ago (some successfully) made for a rather awkward reunion. Discord, thankfully, knew which direction to go, as he teleported behind the bar to make sure everyone had a strong drink close to their hooves.
Ever since Discord played himself in the film adaptation of Lazy Sombra, he’s been enjoying a hit and miss career in the entertainment industry. Calling The Amazing Race not as amazing as it could be, he created a new TV show entitled “Discord’s Even More Amazing Race Across Time and Space”. The show lasted a lone episode and not one of the twenty-four contestants have been seen again. When questioned on their whereabouts, Discord always replies much the same. “They’re safe,” he says, “For now.” Then he always winks.
As I watch the rain patter against the glass in my too large home, the door to my room opens. A second later, Sombra sets his oversized head on my hand, and without even looking at him, I know he’s upset.
“Hey, Steve.”
It takes me some effort, but I turn to face him. “Hey, Sombra. How’s it going?”
He adds a hoof to the side of my bed. “It’s going okay, I guess. I’ve just been bored lately.”
“You could ask Greg if he wants to spend time with you, or his wife.”
He looks away from me. “I don’t think they like me very much.”
“How? You’ve only just met them.” I chuckle. “You didn’t eat their cat, did you?”
“No. But there was an incident with a gerbil you might not have heard about…”
I should be mad, or at least a little bit peeved. Instead, I laugh again, making Sombra’s ears perk up.
“I’d rather hang out with you, Steve,” he tells me. “Are you feeling any better today?”
Now it’s me who needs to look away. “I’m… tired, Sombra. I’m not as young as I used to be.”
Using the hand under his head, I awkwardly scratch Sombra’s chin. It does little to quell him, as both of his large eyes take on a glossy appearance.
He says quietly, “I’d really appreciate it, Steve, if you got up and played with me. We just got a new game in the mail today that I haven’t played yet. Even you might be good at it.”
I smile. “I haven’t held a controller in years, Sombra. My fingers barely move.”
“You could watch me play, then. Sit next to me like you used to.”
A tear hits the hand I’m scratching him with. I pretend not to notice it.
He asks, “Could I order you not to die, Steve? I used to give out orders all the time.”
I shake my head against my pillow. “I don’t think it works like that. Plus, I think it’s about time. I’m a hundred and forty-six years old. I’ve outlived my wife by sixty years. I’ve outlived more relatives than I can count. I’m the oldest living person in the world by decades. And I have a feeling some of that that has to do with you, doesn’t it?”
Sombra closes his eyes. A few more tears fall to the covers. “I tried, Steve. I really did. I wanted you to become immortal, like me, so we could hang out some more, but it didn’t work.” He opens his eyes and pleads to me, “I could try again, if you’d like. I’m sure I could think of something that could make you stay—that could make you live longer.”
I try to sit up, but find the movement too much work. “As much fun as it sounds to blow up from an untested spell, I think I’ll pass. You never made blowing up sound all that fun.” I lean back in my pillow. I say more to myself, “To think my pet pony’s going to outlive me.”
Sombra grins. “I was never your pet, Steve.”
“Then I was never your slave. So maybe I was your friend, all along?”
He sniffles. “Friends don’t leave friends alone, Steve.”
“I’m sure you’ll make a new friend.”
“I have trouble making friends. You’ve been my only friend so far.”
I roll my eyes. “Are you saying we both could’ve done better in the friend department?”
He ignores my last statement. “Remember the second time we went to Equestria, Steve?”
I exhale sharply. “Please, don’t remind me. I thought our first adventure was bad enough.”
Sombra hitches in a breath. “I never said thank you, Steve, for coming to get me before. You didn’t do all that much—since I still died in the end—but, I guess I should say thanks that you tried.”
I look at him, and feel my own tears welling in my eyes. “I’ve known you for a hundred and twenty years now, and I think that’s the first time you’ve said that to me. I must finally be rubbing off on you. If only you’d stop eating so much and playing violent videogames.”
He waits a long while, before telling me, “I’m going to miss you, Steve.”
“I’ll miss you, too, Sombra. But you’ll feel better, in time. I know you can make a new friend. You only need to stop being such a self-centered dick.”
He smiles thinly. “I think it would be easier if you stopped dying and spent some more time with me.”
I pat his head. It takes me a while, but I do. “I think I’m going to sleep now, okay? If you want, you can come and see me tomorrow and maybe I’ll be up for a game. All right?”
“Okay. I guess.” He slowly takes his head from my hand, pausing halfway to the door. He turns. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
I nod. “You sure will.”
He closes the door behind him and I close my eyes, the gentle beat of the rain soothing me to sleep.
That’s the last time I see him.
Even after everything we’ve been through, I never really hated him.
***
For the past two months, my great-great-great Grandfather’s pet pony has been doing nothing but sleeping and crying. He sits all day long in his battered and duct-taped monstrosity of a couch and asks where Steve’s gone every time someone enters the living room.
The answer is simple, really. Steve’s dead. He’s been dead for a while. Hell, Sombra even attended his damn funeral. How could he not understand where he went to?
Thus far, my wife’s been the only one that’s made any progress with him. For hours, she’ll sit next to him on his couch, holding his leaking head in her hands, telling him things will get better. It’s still all so weird to me. I was born into a world full of humans and ponies (I also happen to be related to the one individual responsible for all that, but let’s not go there), and the knowledge that ex-King Sombra will not only outlive me, but could possibly live forever, I find more than unsettling. Why hasn’t anyone carved up the guy to see what makes him tick? What could the price on immortality be?
My wife and I moved into Grandpa Steve’s lavish home six months before he died. By that point he was already tied to a bed, so most of the house became ours. What Steve wanted from us was simple: take care of his pony and you’d never need to work another day in your lives. Enjoy the home, enjoy the pool, enjoy the flat screen TV and the early retirement, but make sure you take care of his pony. Feed him. Entertain him. Make sure he doesn’t choke on a chip and die. Can he die? I read in that book of Steve’s that he’s already been blown to bits twice. Maybe I’ll need to test that theory one of these days…
Anyways.
It’s all so very weird, isn’t it? Like one of those contracts some unfortunate character signs at the beginning of some cheap horror flick. It always sounds simple enough, but it is ever really that simple?
Regardless, Grandpa Steve does have the largest videogame collection I’ve ever seen. Which according to his will, actually means it’s mine now. And Sombra’s, I guess.
At the moment, Sombra’s on his couch, curled into a ball and whimpering to himself. I’d console him if I could, but the one time I tried, it ended with a helicopter ride to the nearest ER. So, for now, I let him do whatever he wants.
I pick out the first game from the shelf and pop it in—a first person shooter that looks nearly identical to the rest—and I begin the first mission. I’m terrible, but I’m not surprised. It’s been years since I’ve played anything besides the likes of Candy Crush.
What makes me nearly drop my controller is when Sombra asks me something.
“What did you say?” I ask.
Sombra stares at me from his couch, red-eyed with his trademark frown. “What are you playing, Not Steve?”
I pause the game and turn to him. “It’s a shooter and I already can’t remember the title. And just to set things straight, my name’s isn’t Not Steve, all right? It’s Greg. These are things you already know.”
He doesn’t answer me, and instead goes back to watching me play on the TV. When I pop someone’s head off with a sniper rifle, he giggles to himself.
“Are you laughing because I just killed someone, Sombra?”
He continues to watch. “No, Not Steve, only because you’re so bad at this game.”
I sigh. “Well, I just started playing, so—”
Sombra leaves his ratty old couch and comes over to mine. “Move over and let me play. I can only stand to watch your poor skills for so long.”
I slide over, clearing some space. I think this is the first time we’ve ever been on the same couch together.
He hovers a controller in front of him, joining the campaign I’m on. In less than a minute, he’s taken out half of the enemies, one shot kills all around. His giggles soon turn into a full laugh.
The mission ends and we wait in silence at the loading screen. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his smile fade as his chin starts to quiver.
He keeps watching the screen. He timidly asks, “Will you scratch my head, Not Steve?”
I tilt my head a bit. “You only let my wife do that before.”
He doesn’t respond, his eyes glancing in my direction.
I put the poor pony out of his misery and grab a chunk of his mane between his ears. If this was all a trap to devour my hand and crunch my bones, I knew my limitless bank account would always cover my new robot hand. This is 2135.
The next mission starts and Sombra plays the course by himself, my one hand busy scratching his skull. I try not to stare as his chin quivers again.
He works on the words for close to a minute, but eventually he asks, “Will you be my friend, New Steve?”
“As long as you stop calling me that.”
“Okay, Steve.”
Sombra slumps into my side and continues to play, happily overthrowing enemies left and right. From the reflection off the screen, I see the faintest of smiles on his face. I know I should feel happy for the little pony. Instead, I can’t help but ponder the horrible ramifications of what I’d just agreed to.
In a matter of minutes I’d somehow become the new Steve.