Friction fitting

by Hope

the softest bed in the coldest room

chapter 3[title: the softest bed in the coldest room.]/

Deep breaths through nonexistant lungs, to still an imagined heart, that beats through the thin fabric of my fictional shirt.

Plumes of chilled fog cloud my vision as I attempt to keep myself from falling into a panic, a state that I have grown to know so well in the last few years, from my release from prison until my unfortunate reincarnation as her.

The fog is suddenly gone, and in it’s place a sickly blue face that should not be here.

That should not be in my mind.

I have never been able to control my dreams, but letting this thing into them, I would have thought would be within my capabilities.

I cannot look away, and neither can she, as we feel and taste eachother’s rancid breath in the short space between us.

“W...” I barely form the thought before the answer assaults my mind viciously, a painful knife in between the eyes, that carries only a name.

“Screw loose.” I pant, the words forced out of me, as the pony creature watches me, pityingly, apologetic.

“The voice will not let you ask the questions of the pain.” She says, her words twisted like she is resisting the urge to snarl, despite her face showing no ill intent.

I can taste the medicine, the drugs pumping through me.

I have never cared for medicine, and before my exile I had been blissfully free of it. Maybe that is where the paranoia came from...

“Your name is funny.” The pale visage informs me, it’s smile gone, confusion creasing it’s brow.

I smile for her, closing my eyes for a moment, which serves only to give me a view of our little interaction from the side.

“It’s faith. I don’t have much faith left, really. To be honest my parents...” I choke, gag and vomit.

Neither of us moves.

Time doesn’t pass, but it observes us as I dry heave, as I am sick and trembling in front of a demon in cornflower pastel, but still unable to look away from her eyes, unable to stop staring at her.

The cold air hangs silently, letting me hear only my sobs, as I try to regain my thin composure, the tiny bit of dignity that I dole out sparingly when I can.

“You are a sad pony.” She observes me dispassionately, like talking of a character in a book, not a living, breathing, crying person in front of her.

“Don...” Again, sharp pain stops me from asking a question, questions are bad, but she answers me anyway.

“No. I’m not allowed to care. He doesn’t let me,” she says simply.

I realize that there is something behind me.

---

I wake up to the sound of an opening door.

The doctor whose name I forgot walks in, looking at me and frowning for a moment, before putting on his confident, assuring smile.

“How are you feeling, Faith?” He asks as he sits on something that must be a chair next to my bed.

“Like a tied up animal, with a lot of problems.” I look over at the IV in my arm. Or is it a foreleg now? The bag is nice and full, it must have been changed out recently. My thoughts feel more organized, and my sentences more complete. Talk about a druggie.

“Well, Hopefully we can address some of that,” he says as he checks my pulse, making me shiver violently at the touch.

“I’m sorry.” He pulls away in a fluid motion. Apparently he has worked with violent risk patients, and learned not to move quickly. A smart man.

“The drugs...” I look back to the IV bag.

“We took a careful look at your history. It seems you have been visiting multiple clinics in order to get more medication?” He doesn’t accuse me, but looks at me curiously, as though there’s no logical reason for what I did. What a fool.

“Yes. One of them could have been giving me sugar pills. Or poison. None of them worked on their own anyway.” I don’t look at him, instead trying to identify the label on the bag, desperate to figure out what he is putting into me.

“That isn’t a very safe way to go about it, Faith.” His voice is so patronizing, so ignorant, so gentle.

“I know.” I say, drooping.

I can feel my ears lay back against my head, as if trying to block out his voice. I like that idea.

“But I couldn’t afford the nice clinics. I couldn’t afford the good pills.” I feel like I am going to cry again, my vision getting blurry as I give up on figuring out what drug he decided on. If he wants to kill me he certainly would have no problem with it now.

“I know, I know.” He moves to lay a hand on my hoof but stops, instead picking up a glass of water that sparkles in the halogen sunlight.

“Are you thirsty?” He asks, moving it closer to my face.

I nod, before opening my mouth and tilting my head forward. He slowly lets me sip on the glass of water until it is almost entirely gone, and I lay back down.

“Your medical expenses are being paid for by the state, due to the national emergency that includes the... metamorphosis.” He looks me over, like a slab of meat on a slightly too comfortable hospital bed.

“Would you be willing to agree to a CT scan, and an MRI?” He asks after a moment of silence.

‘Only if I can go outside first.” I counter quickly, too quickly. It feels like it did in the dream, words in my mouth.

He frowns again, but nods.

“Very well. I will get it arranged.”

He gets up, looks me over one more time, and makes his way out of my slightly chilled room.

“I know that was you,” I say, staring at the IV bag again. “I know that was you, blue.”

/chapter 3

Comments

[Geminii]

Interesting. I like the thought patterns - very evocative of a mind trying to maintain coherence of both thought and self while running on damaged mental substructures.

[LysanderasD]

Well, they're three chapters, and they're short chapters, but for what it's worth you're doing very well so far. I can see you've done your research; keep that in mind as you write and you'll do fine.

But again: I urge caution.

Also, the grammar hound side of me demands that you learn the difference between your homophones. Its =/= it's.

It's = it is.

Think of its like "his" or "hers." Anywhere you would use a possessive pronoun like that, put its, and not it's.

[Joyous Apple]

that was interesting: AC

[Joyous Apple]

a like you will receive

[A friendly face]

3316526

You sir, are the most amazing person who ever lived. Based solely on that statement. Good show.

[GreyAcumane]

hmm... I'm a big fan of Asylum and other Broadhoof stories, and was avid follower of the one that revolved around Celestia being institutionalized, though it seems to be dead now.

this has the very different premise that it is understood from the beginning that both the human and pony sides of this equation are already not mentally stable. I am rather curious how it is managing that the human mind is being treated by human drugs interacting with a pony biology, unless Screwloose happens to have overlapping mental issues that would be treated similarly.

[Hope]

4321228 in part, the wonder of the placebo effect is at work, and on the other side of things this is a week into the merge phenomenon, so pony doctors and veterinarians have had a bit of time to collaborate, leading to a few basic guidelines. Beyond that, we are seeing an extremely skilled doctor who is carefully testing theories and medications since that is the only option.