Second (or Third) Chances

by HypernovaBolts11

Memory III - Sick

"Does it feel weird, being inside someone else's head with them?" the voice asked as the book hovered back to its shelf.

Celestia considered this question for a minute moment, then said, "The first time I tried, I fell terribly ill. It does take its toll on the mind, but I've had a lot of practice with it. After my sister..." She went quiet, her mouth still open, the words sitting on the end of her tongue.

"Your highness?" the voice prompted nervously, a clear edge of concern in its tone.

The princess took a deep breath, then let it go, closing her eyes as the air she blew carried away the weight of her own thoughts. She shook her head, and said, "Unimportant. When did you next see her?"

A book was already sitting on the side of the desk she sat before, though the voice's choice of words gave her the idea that opening it without hearing its thoughts first would be unwise, "I think... I was... Can you feel the things I felt when you're inside the memories?

Celestia cocked an eyebrow at the book, and said, "Yes. Why?"

"You ever been high before?" it asked, in such a way that she could almost feel its source smiling, though it had no solid form in the plane they existed on.

"I don't see how that's relevant to the subject at hoof," she said flatly.

"Well... I was preparing for another sting with the traders, and they tended to be violent, so I... took some aurora, to keep the edge off," it explained.

"I doubt that a little bit of anesthetic will cause any trouble," she assured the voice.

There was a brief pause in the conversation, during which Celestia slid the book closer to her over the desk. Then the voice told her, "I didn't say a little bit, your highness."

She froze, hoof already hooked around the plain black cover of this book. She sighed, and said, "I appreciate your concern, Radiant Blade, but, even if it can hurt me, I must understand the events I am looking for, even if my own health shall take second priority."

The voice didn't respond, and she took this as an indication that everything was understood, but the book wouldn't open. It was clamped shut, and flipped over as she tried to open it. After she attempted to pry the covers apart with her hooves, the voice complied, "Okay. It's your funeral."

---

Addiction was like an ailment, a symptom of mistakes previously, and continually made. Just when I thought the worst of it was was over, it'd get worse, demonstrably worse.

Every tremble, every glance at the mirror was a reminder, an apparition of who I should have been, what I would have become, if I had only ratted out the drug dealers sooner. I could have been someone, doing real good in the world, saving lives, living my dream.

But that person was dead now, and I was alone. I was alone as I stared at the cracked, partially rusted mirror.

I could have had everything. I could have been known. I could have gotten out of this stupid city and left my parents alone.

I could have had a life, one free of all this pain.

I looked into the reflection's star shaped pupils, and the longer, vertical slits narrowed as the pair of roughly perpendicular lines did the same. The whites of its eyes were bloodshot, not so much from lack of sleep as the aurora surging through its veins.

The numbness was just beginning to fade, and the awkwardly bent extremities of my right wing were starting to ache.

Or was that my left wing?

I couldn't tell through the thick haze of empty senses, of my absentminded nervous system. Deprived of pain, I stood there, waiting for something, anything to happen.

The whole thing was more frustrating than the pain itself would have been, because at least pain served a biological purpose, whereas the lack of it almost always led to problems.

I could recall one story of a pony born without the ability to perceive pain, who had once walked on a broken ankle for three days, bitten her tongue until it had almost fallen off, and stepped in a pot of boiling water.

Pain was important.

I hated anything that took it away.

I hated feeling like this.

I hated myself for doing this.

An alarmed shout cut through the air, and I sighed heavily.

It was that day of the month already.

I awkwardly staggered out of the messy bathroom, and, by the time my guests found me on my bed, held the top of a burlap sac in between my teeth. I dropped it in front of them, and groaned in acknowledgement of their frustration.

They were using the usual insults; easy, useless, et cetera.

I wasn't even gonna humor them this time.

"Daggertail wants the load of opium you didn't give up last time," the leader said.

"Because the poppies hadn't grown yet. I'm not a gardener, but I'm pretty sure that plants take time," I mumbled, almost groaning.

"How much have you got?" he asked me.

"Half of the last order," I told him.

The stallion standing behind the ring leader spat at me, "That's more than enough for you to feel when I shove it up y-"

I rolled my eyes, and made my way to the closet. I fiddled with the padlock holding the slatted wooden doors closed, which was there to keep ponies from messing with the intricate series of plastic tubes and loose wires within. I dug through the contents of the bottom shelf, where a tray of small seedlings and a few red flowers in individual flowerpots was illuminated by a fluorescent lamp.

I produced a small wooden chest, which I opened to be sure was the one I wanted, and turned around, closing the closet as I did. I set down the box next to the large bag, and said, "There ya go."

The ring leader motioned towards the box with a hoof, and told the stallion next to him, "Open it."

The large brute stepped forward, and sat down in front of the small chest, which he then pulled open. He took a moment to examine its contents, before sorting through them with a hoof. "One, two, three, four..." he counted under his breath.

"Twenty nine," I told him, trying to get this whole process over with so I could go back to bed. "I had enough for twenty nine pipes."

"Let 'em count," the first stallion said.

I put my wings in the air defensively, and waited.

"Twenty nine," the stallion declared, before the third pony lifted the box and bag in her magic.

"Well then, we'll be on our way," the first one said, before turning around to leave.

I waited for their footsteps to fade into the street, before walking up the hall to check on my parents.

My mother was standing in the kitchen on my right, and frowning her disapproval in my direction. Her horn was surrounded with her pinkish magenta aura, which was being used to levitate a rolling pin. She always went for a rolling pin as her default weapon of choice, not that I could explain why.

She was always aloof these days, now that she was aware of my illicit activities.

And then she started talking, in the only way she ever did. "Trrrixie is not pleased," she stated, rolling over the r in her name, speaking in the third person.

I was just glad she hadn't used the title "The Great and Powerful" this time.

"Love you too, mom," I spat back, slowly turning my head to face the living room.

My father was sleeping on his back, snoring. He was snoring quietly, almost too quietly for anypony else to hear, but I was a bat pony, so I heard it loud and clear. His light brown coat practically blended in to the couch on which he slept, and his dark brown mane covered most of his face.

I often wondered how they had met, fallen in love, and gotten married to begin with. They hated each other in daily life, almost never spoke to each other in a volume below shouting, and generally did what they could to avoid conversing with one another. Their bedroom life, which I could almost describe as violent, was a very different story.

Don't ask how I know that. I was, like, fifteen at the time, and really didn't know what I was getting into. Look, the point is, it was the only time I didn't enjoy the learning process.

It often seemed like they only stayed together for me, like I was the only reason they put up with one another, not that I was happier for it.

They should have parted ways long ago, but they just kept putting up with life for my sake.

So it really bit me that I was being such a burden to them. I looked ungrateful. They had once possessed such high hopes for me, and tolerated each other for years, and I had repaid them by getting kicked out of college, high, and filling their backyard with unlabeled popsicle stick graves for the animals I hunted.

In hindsight, they really were only a couple to raise me, with the whole thing about them being assigned to it by the government. I suppose it could have been worse, and that I can't complain too much. At least the princess gave me parents, whereas Firefly's left her before we graduated.

There was a loud knock on the door, and I rolled my eyes as I dragged myself towards it. I paused at the door, and looked over my shoulders to check on my wings. I reached a hoof over whichever shoulder, and pressed my corresponding wing forward against it, popping the mangled bones within back into alignment, which sort of hurt, but negligibly.

They hissed, and thin tendrils of black smoke billowed from the fur on my wing where the broken bits were. Within moments, I simply folded the limb at my side, and pulled the door open.

I didn't really know why the smoke was there, or how I could heal like that, but I wasn't really into looking a gift horse in the mouth, and besides, nopony cared.

I lifted a foreleg to shield my eyes from the sun, and squinted at the visitor. I clicked my tongue at them, and allowed the sound to roll off of her soft fur. A greyscale, panoramic image filled my mind.

I smiled at Firefly, who pushed her way inside so she could close the door, and said, "I... What're you doing here?"

"Friends visit one another," she said, though she wasn't smiling as much as one might expect. She had an expression that kind of said, "I have a point to make and you are not going to stop me from making it. *grumble grumble*"

The very sound of her voice cut off my dad's snoring before I could respond, and I heard my mother stop whatever she was doing with that rolling pin. For a brief moment, even my parents could have heard a pin drop from a kilometer away, but Firefly didn't let that slow her down.

"Which is why I've arranged for us to meet with our old friends over lunch," she said, already opening the door.

I managed to grab my cloak from the coatrack before she yanked me into the outside world.

I should probably mention that she never really liked my parents, in case you couldn't tell.

Author's Note:

Look, I found a reason why Trixie wasn't around. She was being paid by the government to take care of their problems. Why Radiant Blade is a problem, is... Well, I'll give you a hint.

Radiant. He's not the first character to have that name.

Comments

[Starlight Nova]

So how did Anonymous Pegasus inspire you?

[HypernovaBolts11]

7517037 That rabbit hole goes deep, my friend.

[HypernovaBolts11]

7730465 Thank you. I hope you like what you find down there.