Healing
It's all my fault.
If I hadn't caused a scene at the Wonderbolts show, this wouldn't have happened. Now, Fluttershy lies before me, eyes closed and her hair strewn about in an unkempt mess. She was young. She still hasn't experienced everything else life has to offer.
Maybe I should have brought flowers. Like a bouquet. She would love a bouquet.
The sound of someone clearing their throat pulls me back to the present.
“I'm okay, Goldie. Really, I am,” Fluttershy says, opening her eyes before going into a coughing fit.
She looks like she's dying. Covered in layers of blankets and quilts and surrounded by many pillows, she looks very small. She’s shivering in her bathrobe, despite how warm she looks. Sweat matts her mane onto her forehead. Her nose is red and raw from blowing her runny nose. The silence is broken by pitiful sniffles and another bout of coughing.
I may not know what Fluttershy is sick with, but I do know that most ponies that die tend to be sick, usually from some kind of disease. I don't want Fluttershy to die. The thought of her dying would be like a world without sunshine. I'll be lost in the dark without her. But what can I do?
“Goldie…” she whispers.
I walk to the side of her bed, leaning in to listen to her closely as if it were her last words.
“Can you feed the animals please?” she says weakly.
I nod slowly.
“Thank you.” She closes her eyes and exhales. A sort of relief washes over her, as if that was her only concern with her current situation. In truth, she probably cares more about other ponies and animals than her own well-being. After all, she was the one who came looking for me.
With no more words to say, I leave her to sleep, shutting the door quietly on the way out, and make my way downstairs. With Fluttershy sick in bed, she can't do any of her other chores. It sounds simple enough. I think I've seen her do it enough times.
The bag of animal feed is where it always is. Inside a closet in her home is where she keeps all sorts of kibble and grains for whatever animal crosses by her place. Tucked in the corner, I find what I’m looking for and drag the bag outside. Bits and pieces of the food fall out, but it's fine. I'll clean it up later. Halfway through the door leading outside, however, the bag gets stuck on something.
I pull harder against the resistance.
The sound of tearing fills the air, followed by the sound of a thousand pellets pouring onto the ground. Food spills everywhere from a gaping hole in the bag. I find the culprit immediately. Part of the bag got caught on a nail sticking out of the door frame.
The problem solves itself as soon as all of Fluttershy’s animals show at her door and begin eating off the floor. I'm sure it will be fine. At least they’re being fed, and now I don’t have to clean up the mess. That I made...
I bring a hoof to my face and let out a groan.
No.
No, no, no.
I need to stop that. I’m not going to start pouting.
After the incident, there's been a metaphorical wall between me and Fluttershy. A sort of uncomfortable silence whenever we are together. With my silence and her awkward attempts at small talk, we’ve become more like strangers on a train than close friends.
I wish things were back to the way before.
I need to keep my mind busy. Adjusting the little blue flower in my mane, I pull myself together. As long as my body is moving, I can get through the day without lingering on any thought too long. Watering the plants should distract me. Whenever I watch Fluttershy water her garden, I feel relaxed. It’s something I’ve wanted to do. Now seems like a good time to start.
To water the flowers, all I need is a watering can. A quick search leads me right to the garden hose where I find what I’m looking for. After dropping the hose into the can, I give the water valve a turn. Then two. Three.
Oh horseapples.
The hose comes to life, whipping at the air like a vicious snake. The nozzle smacks me in the face and drenches my coat in a strong jet of water. My hooves do nothing to shield me as water sprays everywhere and becomes a growing puddle underneath me.
I quickly reach for the valve to turn off the water. In my haste, I hardly hear the sound of my hoof hitting metal before the fwoosh of running water. Now there's a gush of water spewing from the wall where the faucet snapped off.
I move the watering can underneath, but it fills up and overflows. Hooves do nothing to stop the fountain, no matter how hard I try to block the hole.
I'm wracking my brain on what to do. An idea comes. I run inside, careful to step over the small animals eating, and grab a towel from the bathroom. When I make it back outside, I start stuffing the leakage with the towel. The water goes from a spout to a trickle.
I let out a sigh of relief.
With the matter solved, sort of, I move ahead with my original task. Watering can in my mouth, I go by each plant—the daisies, the marguerites, the clovers—tilting my head slightly. I am careful with watering these flowers, like bringing water to the parched lips of thirsty ponies. These flowers need somebody. They can’t take care of themselves, but I like taking care them. Even a pony like me can do it. I want to take care of something like how Fluttershy takes care of her animals.
Then, a strange thought strikes me, and I wonder if Fluttershy sees me as she does her animals.
There isn't as many flowers as I’d like there to be, which is fine, of course. But, I need something to distract the thoughts buzzing around my head like a hornet’s nest. Guilt. Shame. Regret. Yesterday’s debacle has left me feeling uneasy, especially around Fluttershy.
Perhaps cleaning Fluttershy’s home will distract me.
The place has gotten more cluttered than when I first stayed here. There are more books on the table where Fluttershy spends her time reading these days. Stacks of newspapers sit on unoccupied chairs. When she's not too busy with me or her animals or her friends, her eyes are glued to a page, poring over words and engrossed in whatever she's reading.
She’s gotten busy lately.
I didn't expect her to be a messy person or be too preoccupied to clean. I think that's what happens when she has to care for another pony other than herself. A quick dusting is the most I can manage.
When I go in to check on her, she's still as she was when I left her, still sleeping but now with a pillow wrapped in her hooves. There's the quiet sound of congested breathing and the occasional cough. She murmurs something in her sleep as she tosses and turns. There is a pained look on her face, as she whimpers helplessly.
I exit the room and let out a deep breath, pressing my forehead against her door.
She doesn't look like she's getting better. It's hard to watch her like this. What do I do? How can I help her? Does she need some air? Does she need a new organ? She can have one of mine.
Oh, I just don’t know what to do. It would be much simpler if I knew what she needed. If I was just as sick as her, I might be able to understand what she’s going through. But I can’t. I can’t get sick, and never before has it been frustrating not understanding somepony. I can't do this alone. I need another living pony to help me.
Stepping over the mess of small animals and food, I make my way into Ponyville, where there are other living ponies. Surely, one of them must know how to help me.
The moment I walked into town, I knew I shouldn't have gone out. A pair of mares walk past me, one of whom is carrying a newspaper with a picture of a pony running through a crowd. It isn’t a very good picture. The pony in the picture is a blur in motion, and her eyes are hidden by a Wonderbolts cap.
“Can you believe that? A lunatic gets into a fight at Cloudsdale,” says a green unicorn.
“What was the reason?” the other asks. A shudder travels up my spine.
“The article doesn't say, but some poor stallion was hospitalized because of it.”
A gasp. “How awful!”
I hurry away from the two mares, holding my head down to avoid looking them in the face. I don't want to hear the rest of that conversation. I've done something awful, and I can't help but think about the next time this might happen. Where do I draw the line? At what point do I start craving flesh, now that I've gotten the first taste of blood? Whose life will I have to consume? Oh, I do hope none of the zombie clichés are true.
I shake my head, tossing the golden locks of my hair around. In my haste to hide from outside eyes, I find myself running towards the nearest building.
The backdoor to the place opens easily, and I stumble in hesitantly, shutting the door behind me. The place I'm at looks like a kitchen. Even though I shouldn’t be here, it’ll at least allow myself some time to think about what to do next. But even I'm not allowed a moment’s rest as a pink pair of hooves cover my eyes, accompanied by a singsong voice asking, “Guess who?”
“Who...?" I mutter.
“Not Who! Pinkie!” The mare releases her hooves, and she's in front of me all of a sudden—smiling and giggling at her little game.
I remember her. Yes, I definitely remember her. It’s hard to forget someone who talks so much. When I turn to leave, she’s already in front of me and trying to start a conversation.
The questions come pouring out of her mouth. “What brings you here? Are you here to buy something? Need a party planned?”
With each question, I shake my head, trying to get away from the mare.
“Are you sad?” she asks all of a sudden.
The last question catches me by surprise, and I finally look in her direction.
She still has a grin on her face. “You look like you could use some cheering up,” she says. “And making ponies smile is what I do.”
Before I can utter a single word, she tosses me an apron.
“Here. We’ll bake some cookies. That always cheers me up.”
With a little difficulty, I manage to put on the apron and close the distance between her and me. As I get closer, I notice something I have never noticed before in all my time in Ponyville. It’s a smell. It’s sweet like the rest of the bakery, only stronger and emanating from her. It must be from working in a bakery for a very long time.
“Now why don't you tell your Auntie Pinkie Pie what's the matter?” she says as she stirs ingredients in a bowl. Her hoof is almost a blur with how fast she stirs. My eyes can hardly keep track as they spin in their sockets.
My eyes focus on the ground instead, and I trace a hoof along the grooves of the wooden floor, trying to think of what to say and how much I should tell her. It’s all so hard to explain, and I don’t just mean my condition. I have a feeling that what Fluttershy told me is something that is told only in intimacy and through shared pains.
As if sensing my uneasiness, she says, “It's fine if you don't feel like sharing. At least give baking a try. We’re making cookies for the Filly Guides to sell.”
She gives the bowl to me, and I can only stare at the whisk, all covered in thick, clumpy batter—sweetness in its raw, unbaked form. My hoof tentatively wraps around the whisk as I dive headfirst into my first baking lesson.
~~~~~~~
“I'm guessing you don't bake often.”
I shake my head, not taking my eyes at the culinary debacle.
Flour is everywhere. It's all over her mane and coat, probably on mine too. I think there’s some egg yolk behind my ear. Only a few eggs actually make it into the mixing bowl. Worst of all, I lost my flower somewhere in the mess.
A hoof falls on my shoulder. “It’s fine if you don't get it right the first time. You have to keep trying.”
Brushing past the mare, I run out the door.
“Wait, where are you going?” she calls from inside. “It’s not so bad! We can still fix this!”
I've gotten sidetracked.
There has to be someone I know that will help. I would go to Rainbow Dash, seeing how she’s close with Fluttershy and to a lesser extent me, but I can't find her. She's probably doing weather work up in the clouds, where my voice wouldn't be able to reach her.
A dawning realization comes to me. Even though Fluttershy is my closest friend, I don't know much about her friends… I barely knew Rainbow Dash outside the times she has visited Fluttershy. The only time I learn about Fluttershy is by word of mouth or observation.
I don't really know much about Fluttershy.
There is a heavy feeling in my chest. Maybe guilt. What kind of friend am I? I’ve been living with her for days now. I am a freeloader, living as an invalid under her unsolicited care. Yet, I don’t know even know her birthday or her age. I’ve been too busy moaning and groaning about my own problems to even ask.
If only there was someone that fixes ponies.
Wait, hold on. There’s a profession for that. They’re called doctors. Fluttershy needs a doctor. I need to find a doctor!
But what does a doctor look like? What do I remember about doctors? They wear white. They are clean and professional. They tell you when there’s something wrong with you.
With all this information to work with, I search the town.
I see merchants, milkponies, and mailponies. Florists, farriers, and farmers. But, I can’t seem to find a doctor.
Off in the distance, I see a white earth pony with a red cross for a cutie mark, the kind you'd see associated with hospitals. She’s sitting at a table outside with a plate of sandwich in front of her. I make a beeline for her and walk the last few steps. When I am mere inches away from her, I cough to catch her attention.
I watch her body jolt at the sound as she turns around. She notices me and gives me a questioning look. “Can I help you?”
My eyes travel up and down her body. White hat. Red cross. A quick sniff of her coat gives off the sterile smell of a hospital. I am willing to bet my left hoof that this pony works in a hospital.
“Are you alright?” she asks worriedly.
There isn't time for me to explain. We’d be here all day if I had to talk to this pony. I do the first thing that comes to my mind and throw her over my back.
“Hey! Put me down!” she shouts, kicking and flailing her hooves. “Somepony! Help!”
I know this isn’t the ideal approach. But really, it's much faster to show her the problem. Though, it is much harder to carry someone else when they're flailing and screaming in your ear. Why does she have to scream?
I try to ignore the curious gazes of other ponies as I carry the mare on my back. The doctor’s screams have quelled by the time I’m trotting along the road to Fluttershy’s place. She even stopped struggling, only to give me a questioning look.
“Why are we going to Fluttershy’s home?” she asks.
I am caught a little surprised by her question, but I don’t answer as my attention is focused on the crowd of animals standing at the door to Fluttershy’s cottage. It feels like every animal in mile radius decided to get a free meal at Fluttershy’s doorstep. Not only that, but they also decided to make themselves at home in her living room. There were birds perched on every high shelf and rodents scurrying across all over the room, and they were eating anything they could like an all-you-can-eat buffet.
“More importantly, what happened here?” the mare asks.
In my head, I’m scrambling for what I should do. There are animals running around, but at least the first mess was cleaned up. I can get all the animals out of the cottage later. The doctor I had with me could take a look at Fluttershy first and see what’s wrong with her.
I trot up the stairs, stopping in front of the doorway to Fluttershy’s room. Opening the door, I take a peek inside. She still lies in her bed with her eyes closed, unaware of any of the animals beyond her bedroom door. I give a knock on her door and watch as she slowly drifts back to wakefulness.
“Goldie?” Fluttershy calls from her bed. She glances at the mare I’m carrying. “You brought a doctor?”
The mare scrambles off my back and falls on the floor. She gives an annoyed look before dusting herself off. “First of all, I'm not a doctor. I'm a nurse. Nurse Redheart.” She glares at us, though more specifically me. “And second, why in Equestria did you abduct me?”
I stare at her for a moment. “Fluttershy…sick,” I say.
Her eyes glance at Fluttershy before glaring at me. “Then take her to see an actual doctor. You know, like at a hospital?”
My ears flatten. “No...help?” I ask.
Her hoof reaches to massage the space between her eyes. When she looks at me again, I give her a pleading look. Out of all the things I've done today, I just want this one thing to go right. The pony exhales through her nose before saying, “Normally, we don't do house calls, but I'll see what I can do.”
The mare enters Fluttershy’s room, closing the door behind her. I stare at the wooden door for a long time. Whispered voices can be heard from the other side. I can’t make out the tone of their voices, and I don’t know whether I should be worried or relieved. It’s times like this that I wish I could do something to help. It’s just so frustrating being helpless.
When the earth pony steps out, I approach her.
“Doctor… Fix Fluttershy?” I look into her eyes. “Make…better?”
Her mouth moves as if to correct me, but then she switches to a more professional tone. “It’s a cold. Nothing serious, but this isn’t an official diagnosis anyway. I suggest picking up some medicine at the pharmacy for it. She's already resting, so that's good. Tell her to drink plenty of fluids and to take her medicine.”
Relief washes over me.
Her glare doesn’t leave me. “If I'm done here, I'd like to continue my lunch break.”
I nod as she takes her leave, being careful to step over the small animals roaming the floor.
Now that I know what to do about Fluttershy, I get to work. My body moves automatically, my legs gyrating through the motions. A short trip to town passes by in a blur. The pharmacy took some time to find, but I hardly remember the exchange of Fluttershy’s bits and the cold medicine from the local pharmacy. At least the pharmacist was helpful enough to give me what I needed.
Before I know it, I’ve returned to Fluttershy’s room with a bottle of medicine that’s supposed to make her feel better and a spoon from her kitchen.
Noticing me, she smiles. “Is that for me?”
I nod slowly and take the few steps that close the distance between us.
She sits up from her bed, her damp mane falls over her face. A hoof pulls it back, revealing her tired expression.
Opening the bottle, I pour the syrup into the spoon. Rivulets of red liquid fall out, some of it missing its target and falling onto the ground in splatters. With my unsteady hooves, it is an arduous task.
Her lips part open, revealing a pink tongue awaiting its delivery of medicine. With much hesitance, I bring the spoon to her mouth, and she downs the whole spoonful. She makes a face as the spoon leaves her mouth—an expression twisted in disgust, no doubt from the taste of whatever I had just given her.
But the moment soon passes, and she gives me a weak smile. “Thank you, Goldie.”
Even after she closes her eyes, I’m still waiting by her bedside, expecting her to instantly get better. Medicine is supposed to make her better, isn’t it? I don’t know how long I’ve been staring at Fluttershy, but at some point, Fluttershy turns over in her bed in my direction. Her eyes open a crack before they startle wide open.
“Goldie, you’re still here?”
Abashed, my ears fall flat. “Fluttershy...get better. I...help.” I fumble with my words a bit, but the message gets across.
There isn’t any malice or annoyance in her voice. “You’ve done enough for me. Thank you,” she says. “You should go rest after all you’ve done.”
I nod my head and walk out the room, but not before casting one more glance at her. She makes a gesture with a hoof, telling me to go on, and giving a reassuring smile.
Downstairs, I am once again greeted by the chaos that’s been waiting for me.
I sigh.
~~~~~~~
It took some work, but I managed to shoo all the animals out of her the cottage with the help of carrying around a broom and dustpan. Perhaps it was the threat of being smacked by a broom that scared them off. I would never do that, but it did make it easier to clean up any leftover animal feed.
It was a slow process, and by the time I finish cleaning up, it was already sunset.
Some of the decor Fluttershy kept in her living room had been knocked over and shattered, no doubt from the swarm of animals that made themselves at home. There wasn't much in the way of salvaging some of them, and they were swept away. All that was left was the plugged leak and the broken faucet outside. That was going to take some explaining.
Sitting on Fluttershy’s couch—though I've grown used to calling it my bed—I slouch in my seat and let out the loudest groan. I just can't do anything right.
What did I even do? I just cause a mess for other ponies, including Fluttershy. I'm such an idiot for thinking like I can waltz back into a normal life. I can't even do a simple task like feeding the animals or watering the flowers.
It would be much easier on Fluttershy if she didn't have me around to care for.
I’ve been thinking about it for a while now—about how different I am from a living pony. Living with Fluttershy has been the best days of my life that I can remember, but in all that time, I don’t think I’ve come any closer to understanding her. Where does her kindness come from and to what lengths will she go for someone like me?
My mind’s made up.
I strap on my saddlebag and throw everything I own in it. A single book is really all I have. I never had much to begin with, being dead and all, and food isn't really needed for where I'm going.
I leave behind the town of ponies and head into the forest, but not before casting one last glance at the little cottage by the creek, where a lone pegasus lives.
I do not understand her. I do not understand why she does the things she does or why she cares so much for me or how she can still smile at me after opening up her sadness. I don't know how to help her.
After all that time getting to know this pony, I just don't understand and that saddens me.
That's why I've decided to go back to the Everfree Forest, a place I've known since waking up the way I am. The forest is cold, uncaring, and indifferent to its inhabitants, yet it is the most familiar thing to me. There's at least one good thing I've taken from this experience, and perhaps I'm not as much of a zombie as I thought I was. I think I’m still hanging onto the part of me that’s still a pony—the part Fluttershy sees in me.
But, I can't stay here. I shouldn't be with these ponies. There are just some ponies that don't belong with other ponies.
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Ahhh, how true that last line can be.
Good work on this one, good work.
So this story rises from the dead. Like a certain someone. :thinking: Looking forward to the next chapter.
Are these the Romero zombies that are shambling mindless monsters made from the recently deceased that just eat everything; or the "Return of the Living Dead" zombies who can plan ahead, can move even if they're almost nothing but bones, eat brains to stop the endless pain of their existence and can only be destroyed by nuking everything?
9416664
Don't forget the voodoo witch doctor zombies that're all strung out on PCP (and whatever else is in the "magic" powder) and follow orders mindlessly between moments of tribal dancing or soul-crushing clarity because they utterly believe they died and were raised again-- from the James Bond movie, Live And Let Die.
Actually, this scenario matches up closer to current story... Hold crap! Zecora really is a witch doctor! She put a hex, and superwowwiedrugs, on our main character to do her bidding. Or not. Maybe she forgot about the zompony she made? Could have done it, maybe sleep-brewing, like sleep-walking but brewing up potions in your sleep. Or maybe it's just the "mistakes" she dumps in a landfill behind her hut that we never see because MLP:FiM is supposed to be above such ponymade environmental horrors and the pony fell in it... like The Toxic Avenger!
9418136 Conmane must show up and stop the evil Zecora and her smuggling ring!
Oh... does that mean she's going to turn into a racist balloon at the end and pop on the ceiling? (that was the most awkwardly hilarious thing I have ever seen in a movie)
Im so glad this story is still alive. Its a great work of fiction.
The Monk
9463571
no the sub-genre is straight up called zombie romcom