I Promise...
I have my friends.
My friends have me.
They are there for me; they will always be there for me.
They promised.
I am there for them; I will always be there for them.
I promised.
The hard-packed dirt underneath my hooves comforts me.
The earth is my home.
I walk to the first of my friend’s houses.
She’s not there.
Her joyful laughter is silent; the sound of her laughter isn’t filling the air like it should.
She must be out.
She always seems to be out now.
She is out cheering up other ponies.
I wish she… No. I’m fine. I’m always fine.
I promise.
The town is alive and well; I blend into the crowd with ease. Ponies are everywhere, crowding me, closing in on me, everywhere I look. Noise, noise… noise! They are shouting at me; they hate me. They tell me I should have done something. They are suffocating me; I can’t breathe. The urgent need to flee is rising. I need to get away!
My eyes slowly close; my eyes slowly open.
The town is deserted; night has fallen long ago.
My breath leaves my lungs in a shaky rush, but I don’t remember holding it. My sweating coat feels clammy in the night air as I walk to my next destination.
It’s not far away, but it feels like miles.
The sounds of running machines echoes hollowly from the inside of the brightly lit building.
Or maybe it doesn’t echo at all.
Maybe the lights are off.
Maybe they will always be off.
No, she must be out. Busy. She’s always busy making herself perfect. I should wait for her, but I have other ponies I must visit.
I look up into the sky. The night is completely clear. The moon shines brightly out of the perfect sky. The stars are in their perfect places, arranged to form a beautiful display of constellations.
There isn’t a cloud in the sky.
Not one.
There are no rainbow fountains flowing; there is no house.
She must have moved it.
She is probably sleeping in a tree; she likes that.
I’ll find her later.
I promise.
Walking, ever walking. Always walking, searching. My bones grow tired, my muscles weak.
I’ll rest when I find them. They need to see me; I need to see them. I need to be there for them; I need them to be there for me.
The tree. The library. My friend must be home.
The lights are off; the door bounces open and shut in the light wind.
The door is unlocked so I let myself in. If she didn’t want visitors, then the door would be locked, right?
The library is exactly as I remember.
Dusty. Disorganized. Disrepaired.
She would never let it stay like this. I walk up the stairs, for I must wake her; the steps are old, and they groan weakly in protest as I apply pressure to them.
Her bedroom is empty; his basket is gone.
She must be with the princess, or—
No.
She is with the princess, but she will be back soon.
I slowly trudge down the stairs.
My eyes blur, and I stumble. Water pools in the corners of my eyes.
It’s only the dust.
Just the dust.
Nothing more, nothing less.
Just dust in the wind.
I promise.
My leg creak as I straighten them. I regain my footing. Ignoring the dust, I leave the library and close the door behind me, latching it for the night.
I walk.
And walk.
I follow the winding path. The dirt is hard, so hard. The slight incline feels like a mountain. It makes me want to stop and rest, but I must visit her.
I look up; I see her house.
The animals chirp; the birds sing; the lights are on; her quiet humming reaches my ears.
Nopony is home.
She’s in the forest, tending to the animals. Of course she is.
She has to be.
I slowly turn around, my head hanging low. Leaving the house behind me, I don’t look back. I don’t look at the broken windows, the holes in the wall, the caved in roof. I don’t.
Walking.
I don’t look at the library either. I don’t see the state of disrepair, the lack of use. I don’t look, I promise.
So tired.
And I definitely don’t look at the beautiful sky; I don’t look for the cloud house that isn’t there—that hasn’t been there. I would never look.
But I’m fine.
The abandoned shop doesn’t even make me blink. I don’t even see it. I don’t see the boarded up windows, the boarded shut door.
The knife in my chest doesn’t hurt.
The store that isn’t happy anymore. I don’t look at it. I can’t look at it. So I don’t.
I promise. I don’t look.
They aren’t home, none of them are.
But they will be soon.
I promise.
Every step is a struggle; I’m so tired now; my bed calls to me with the voice of an angel.
The trip home is so long, so tiring, so painful.
The spotless door to my perfect house is flawless, not a single blemish on it.
It falls off its rusty hinges as I push on it.
It shatters upon hitting the ground.
Shattered, broken.
But not like me; I’m fine
I’ll fix it in the morning.
I promise.
My stairs creak even more than my joints do.
The door handle to my room is worn from countless years of use. I step inside my room and walk over to my cracked mirror.
It’s cracked, broken.
But I’m fine.
I promise.
I trace the lines in the mirror with my eyes.
I follow the lines with my hoof.
A sharp pinch comes from my hoof. A bead of red forms, and it drips down my leg.
I focus my gaze on the pony in the mirror.
The haggard face that stares back at me is not my own. Her eyes are bloodshot; her face is scarred; her eyes are tired; her hat lies in tatters atop her head.
I watch a tear leak out of the pony’s eye after she sees a picture of her smiling friends tucked in the corner of the mirror.
A daring stunt master who died in a poorly conceived trick; it was horrible, her body was utterly destroyed. The pony in the mirror can still feel the blood on her face; she was there to watch her. She tried to convince her to not go through with it.
A studious librarian, been missing for years; some say it was a misfired spell, others don’t. The pony in the mirror may never know.
A shy caretaker who disappeared into the forest on a dark night; only her skull was found weeks later. Her body was scattered across the forest; her flesh fed the creatures she adored.
A stunning fashionista, she simply died from a heart attack; the doctors pronounced her dead on arrival. There was nothing anypony could have done.
A happy, joyful partier, sent on a diplomatic mission to a foreign country. Nopony knows what happened to her, but at least she died in the arms of a beloved. Probably. The pony in the mirror can only hope so.
And she is there too, the pony in the mirror. She’s so happy there; her friends surround her.
But those are her friends, not mine. The mare in the mirror is sad, but not me.
I’m fine; I’m always fine.
You can trust me; I’m fine.
I promise.
And I always tell the truth.
“Cross my heart... and hope to fly…. Stick a cupcake… in my—”
The pony in the mirror can’t stop crying; tears pour down her face, matting her fur.
My eyes blur; I lose sight of her.
But I’m fine.
It’s just the dust.
I promise.
I wipe my eyes; the pony in the mirror comes back into view.
She reaches for a small knife.
It’s sharp; she misses the handle and grabs the blade.
Her hoof is bloody; but not mine.
She picks up the knife and holds it up to her neck.
But not me, I would never do that.
She digs the point in, blood welling, forming, dripping.
She drags the knife across her neck, slicing a thin line.
But not me, I would never do that.
She does it again, but in a different spot; this cut is deeper.
I look away as she does it a third time, this time cutting her cheek.
A fourth.
A fifth.
I look down to see my chest covered in a thick coat of sticky, wet blood.
The pony in the mirror did this.
She is sad, but I’m not.
I would never do that.
I promise.
I walk to my bathroom to bandage my neck; I leave the knife on the table.
The pony in the mirror is there too.
I can’t escape from her.
I wash the blood away.
Down…
Down…
Down…
Neverending spirals of darkness and red.
I exit the shower.
I leave the water running because I can’t turn it off; my hooves are too weak, too shaky.
It always runs.
The sound of waste, of want.
The sound comforts me.
I promise.
I stare at the pony in the mirror as I wrap my wounds in cloth bandages.
I hate her.
I promise.
She wants the knife.
I hate her.
I promise.
She wants this to end.
I hate her.
I promise.
I am not her; she is not me.
I promise.
I promise.
She is sad, but I’m fine.
I promise.
My face freshly bandaged, I walk back to my room.
I answer the call of my bed.
I fall asleep.
I promise.
I don’t stay awake; I don’t stare at the knife.
I don’t stare at the pony in the mirror; she doesn’t stare at me.
I promise.
I’m waiting for my friends; I’ll wait as long as it takes.
I’m the Element of Honesty.
You can trust me.
I’m fine.
I promise.
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Dammit NightWolf289, why do you bring the feels so forcefully
3755640
3755674
It's what I do, how I do.
3755698
There there...
I can barely type this out. This is the most chilling story I have ever read. I could feel the despair and sadness emanating from AJ from every line in this story. Well done, good sir/madam, well done.
This is going right into my top favorites list.
Dang....
Dark. Just dark my friend, very modest you are for this type of genre. Good work man!
Officially the second story I've read by you!
REVIEW TIME! Nah, nah. I'll do it in a little bit, I got school again in an hour.
Pretty good.
Chilling and so, so sad. You've created something truly excellent here.
This is what I also think goes into the mind of apple jack.
This is the first story I've read that has both Dark and Sad tag. And I felt both in SPADES.
I'm reading this in my school, with the lights on, and I still got chills all over my skin. This was a very uncomfortable read for me, but I liked this a lot. Short, punctual, and carried the character's emotions through be through. If I feel like I need a short bout of depression and horror. I'll read this again. Thank you for writing this to introduce me to the "DARK" side of fanfic. I hope this story serves as a good example of what "Dark" stories are like and teach me to not shy away from them as much from now on.
Damn dude. nothing else can be said.
3755717
I have been graced with the honor of profile page favorites? Huzzah!
Wow... did not expect that reaction.
3755791
Pretty good?
I can handle that.
3755839
Thank you.
3755856
Yup, pretty sad, isn't it?
3755942
Glad you enjoyed it.
3756049
Heh...
nicely done man and like everybody says it does give a chil while reading simply due to how well you conveyed the emotions of Applejack, to the readers and based on the fact that i've read the other two from this 'depresion' series id say you have a talent for conveying just pure emotion through words
oh and you earned yourself a new follower with this story
Ya done good, Wolfie. Real good.
I'm not even sure what to think. Very well written, especially given the dark theme...
I have nothing else.
Wow, very artfully done, NightWolf. Chilling use of those transitions:
I wonder where all that fantastic stuff for "I'm a Cat" and its sequel (yes, I've read the sequel, suckers!
) comes from when you can also turn out stuff like this. On the other hand, this story fits your choice of avatar better and it all complements your versatility as a writer.
Thanks for a moving read.
3756476
Yay follower!
3757134
Thank you.
Wolfie? Is that my new nickname?
3758086
Thank you.
3759452
I guess I'm just fairly versatile, like you said. Though, I think I generally like to work in dark, seeing that five of my nine stories have a dark tag.
I wonder too sometimes. I make something like this, then I go and write something sickeningly adorable.
This was interesting...
It feels like this story would most likely need a tragedy tag
3760552
I want back and fourth with that, but as you can see, decided not to. It seemed to me that all the tragedy all ready happened, and this is just the aftermath.
fc03.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/060/f/5/princess_celestia_approved_by_ambris-d4rftlj.png
Approved for Celestia's Library.
3770543
...You've been busy, haven't you? What is this... the third or fourth story of mine that you have approved?
3770810
Well... I'm just doing my job...
Unless, of course, you don't want me to approve your story... I can make some arrangements...
I've never had this many feels... I can't
3772564
No, you're doing fine. I was just simply stating a fact. The fact was that I hardly had to wait any time at all to get my fics approved.
3774063
You are welcome.
Short but crazy. Death can seem like such a small thing sometimes its an inevitability that we all must face. But seeing the effect it can have on people , or in this case ponies, you see how truly massive and terrible death really is. This story makes me step back and really look at life. So crazy...
Nice job
3778932
Thank you.
You know what... I actually liked that.
The grammar was fine, the pacing was good, the central concept was interesting, the conclusion was sad... yeah, this was actually pretty entertaining.
Except I don't understand what Rarity's death had to do with her character. I mean, everyone else died in a somewhat ironic manner, but her's was kind of just "meh".
Still, vastly entertaining.
3843462
Honestly, the irony in Rarity's death was that there was no irony. She just died for no apparent reason.
But anyways, thank you for your thoughts, and glad you enjoyed it..
3843631 Yeah, this has actually given me some inspiration for an idea I was mulling over before. Keep up the great work.
3843669
Thank you, I try.
Whelp, looks like I have some more stories to read. I enjoyed this very much, Wolf. Great little story here, with some fantastic emotional parts.
3867182
Thank you.
Well. Applejack's lost it.
3755640 that pic scares the hell out of me.
3893105
That's nothing try this
Or this
3894331 I think I'd rather not
....damn curiousity
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Buckin' hell! yeah the first ones enough for me. geeze now I gotta go to bed and I'm going to be chased by a bloodred crazed Pinkie with a chainsaw. (no but I literally jumped and shuddered when the pic loaded)
but the profile pic it's not really scary just more unsettlin' because its done in a realistic style, not the cartoon type I usually see, and of course I can't forget that look shes giving me. Pinkie stop that! Why can't you go back to being adorable
I think I'll procrastinate for another hour 'fore I go to bed now. Celestia's mane I didn't expect that.
3894432 Oops, sorry
.
Maybe this will help :1 2 3
3894460 >.> I know I came into this fandom because of Cupcakes and Rainbows appearance on Death Battle but geeze. Give me another reason to fear Pinkamenia. I'd be hesitant to click those numbers...except I don't think Tiny Twi is scary xD. But no, it seriously only got to me because I wasn't expecting something like that. The link said cupcakes so I go "oh, another Cupcakes fanart maybe I've seen this one." nope was demon Pinkie. I'm fine now though lol
i14.photobucket.com/albums/a331/brittmcgee/MLP%20Minecraft/TLSOA_zps2aa17c49.png
You sly dog.
You never told me that you landed Royal Guard approval!
Glad to welcome you to the club, buddy.
4043889
So punny.
Yeah, I kept it a secret because I figured it would be so much cooler to see it first on the site post.
Next up: EqD.
I'll get there . . . eventually.
Beautiful.
The writing gives a clear and concise reflection of Applejack's feelings and depression and denial. This perfectly depicts the pain of losing loved ones, your closest friends; it shows the pains of loneliness and sadness. I can't even begin to describe how well the literature is written. Just kidding, I can.
I love this writing style, how it shows Applejack's denial to each thing she sees, and the mood throughout the story. The part that made me sad is the realization that even throughout the long years since her friend's deaths, AJ can't forget them, and she wants to find her lost friends and be with them no matter what.
I love it.
A well-deserved like and favorite.
4053027
Thanks. Hearing that just about made my day.
4062533 Not a problem. I'm happy to have made someone's day
I liked this. Thumbs up. You had me assume a certain thing, even though you scattered clues around. You took me for a ride with this one and I fell for it. The pieces only fell into place when you chose to reveal it.
There is wind in the library?
Edit: Oh, I get it now. The windows are probably shattered and all. Kind of weird everypony would just abandon the library for so long, though, but yea, no pony ever bothered to come borrow a book anyway. They probably would just leave it alone, just like they did before Twilight came.
How did this suddenly happen? (*Checks if the story has a random tag*). Is the knife a metaphor for the hurting in her heart or something?
If she's watching something else, can she also watch the reflection of her eyes? Even if it’s on the same spot she would still have to focus differently to watch either one or another. Maybe she could watch the tear after watching the picture?
Found a minor grammatical mistake
I can’t breath
—>
I can’t breathe
The real explanation for deaths seemed a bit improvable (what are the chances of all your friends dying). Maybe if the time span between deaths were implied to be bigger or if their deaths were connected (and thus more probable). But then again, this things can happen, so I can’t really judge it
Cutting one’s neck can result in death. Cutting it twice, well, a bandage should help out with that. The point I’m making is, that cutting yourself for pain and cutting yourself for death are two different things that don’t mix (as far as I know). She was doing it for the pain, so the neck might not be the best choice.
The ending was a bit dragged for me, maybe. Or maybe I was just missing something. It was after the big reveal and the tension is kind of gone after that. As for her state of mind, most pieces are already shown in the story.
4143296
There actually isn't any--well, that's not why she is crying, anyway. In order to cover up crying, haven't you heard someone say, "I have a bit of dust in my eye"?
This is her denying tears by using the dust as a coverup:
And this is used as a metaphor, actually:
She is comparing the lives of her friends to dust in the wind: fleeting, short, fragile. While at the same time, she is once again denying her tears.
Again, a metaphor. She is comparing the pain in her heart to a knife wound. The placement of metaphors in a story can either help or harm it. Here, I was adding depth to her line.
See how much weaker that is? The metaphor really adds to the feeling and description of her anguish.
This is a bit tricky here. She is denying herself here, so it's a bit off. She is looking into the mirror, and she sees the tear on the her face, but she is herself (duh) so she also knows what "other she" is doing (looking at the picture). Does that make sense? I don't think it does.
About the deaths:
It is never specified when they died, only that they did. Honestly, the "when" is not important to the story; it would unnecessarily drag it down. The important part is that she is the last of her friends to survive. This story is about her dealing with her loss, not her recounting and explaining each death.
Cutting:
It is never specified whether or not she wants to die. Maybe she's cutting for pain, maybe she wants it all to end, or maybe she doesn't care anymore. That's for you to decide.
The ending:
Could be just you. The entire story is about exploring AJ's state of mind. And I thought the ending wrapped it up nicely. It definitely does slow down towards the end, but that's how I wrote it. It had to be a slow ending to give you a lingering feeling of sadness and depression. That way, it shows how she continually denies her friend's deaths.
4143511 Yes, you're right.You made good points. I get it all now. I'd probably recognized those elements if I got myself to read more. I'll do more of that, someday.
The mirror part I still don't understand. I understand how she perceive the image in the mirror, but still, the laws of physics dictate, that wherever the image is looking at a spot, the original is looking at that spot also. I'll just form a headcanon, that she did those actions separately.
4146329
Oh, I understand what you mean now. You're talking about the reflective qualities of the mirror and the angles and the . . . okay. I get it now. Basically, she stares at the picture but sees the tear out of the corner of her eye. The thing is, the mirror isn't that big, so she can still see herself while looking at the picture.
4147992 She would definitely notice a tear, but to actually watch it, while still watching a picture. Even if her eye was on the same spot as the picture, she would still have to focus differently, thus watching either one or the other. My point is, she can see both, but can only watch one at the time.
4148044
You do have a point there. I'll see about wording it differently so it makes more sense.
I can't...