• Published 5th Nov 2019
  • 369 Views, 6 Comments

Behind Him - ExplosionMare



Granite Rose has never truly been alone, not with the constant voice in his head. Luckily, he can be alone, for a price. His life.

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Inner Wounds

Granite Rose sighed as he looked down at the empty bottle of pills on his nightstand. It had only been a week and he had already run out of his medication. He was only supposed to take them when he needed them, which was usually once a week. Lately it had been every day.

He believed the episodes he was having would subside once he became independent. Nonetheless, the anxiety, urgency, and intensity of each schizophrenic episode had grown stronger the moment he moved out of his parents’ place, as if it were trying to fill the absence.

He glanced fixedly at his hallucination, Thorns, hoping he could make eye contact with the figure who stood behind him. Granite tried to be firm with his gaze, but the hollow stare in Thorns’ glowing eyes followed by small streams of black tears made him difficult to look at. What was worse, he looked almost identical to Granite. It was as if he had chosen to look similar to mock him, although Granite knew that wasn’t the case.

“Please,Thorns, just leave me alone! Just because I’m alone here doesn’t mean I need you keeping me company,” Granite said, a hint of sadness accompanying his voice. He knew talking to Thorns was only as good as talking to himself but if he couldn’t reason with this part of himself, then he wasn’t sure he would make it through the rest of the move.

He shook it off and begrudgingly focused on unpacking. He reasoned his mental episode was just a result of stress, something that unpacking, along with some medication, could easily fix. He moved over to his first set of boxes, starting with the bigger ones and moving onto the smaller ones. He arranged the boxes and began sorting them by what was inside, then he took everything out. He set each object aside carefully as if he were handling a foal or a small animal. He then began sorting through everything to see which room it needed to go into. Deciding to start in the living room first, he sifted through his more decorative items and began to place them.

Get in the bathroom. Lock the door. Release your pain.

Granite flattened his ears in annoyance. He couldn’t have more than five minutes alone without that demeaning voice. Thorns always wanted the same thing everyday. Granite’s blood. Though, due to being immobile, he relied on Granite to supply that blood himself. Granite wouldn’t do that, though. He had better things to do than satisfy that vampire.

Granite finished with the last of the decorations and headed for the next room. Before he left the room, he eyed the display to see how it looked from afar. It was a rather simple setting. Pictures of flowers hung on the wall along with a few shelves holding clay vases. There was room for a table, but that would have to come in later once the other rooms were decorated. Satisfied with his work, Granite moved onto the rest of his little house.


Walk to the bathroom. Lie down. Let pain seep through.

Granite was tired after a long day of unpacking, and had planned on sleeping soon after. Thorns was having none of that. This time, however, he pronounced his words as if he were speaking to a small child about to get a shot. The task would be quick if he complied. Granite was tempted to get up and complete the ritual, as long as completing it would mean he could get some rest afterwards. He stretched out of bed and sluggishly headed towards the bathroom.

It won’t be bad. It won’t be like last ti-

Granite froze, cursing himself for bringing up that time. He tried to forget it, but the memory continued to resurface...


The foal’s ears flickered rapidly. He was sure he heard somepony. He trotted around his room, trying to get closer to the sound.

“Hello? Who said that?” the foal asked.

He whipped his head around, looking at every angle of his room for the voice. It wasn’t like any voices he’d heard before. They usually sounded far away, which usually meant one of his parents was calling him. This voice was peculiar, as it sounded like it was right there in the room with him. Yet nopony was in sight.

The foal soon ignored the sound and continued his drawings. He wasn’t drawing anything in particular, just whatever came to mind. His little mind raced as he filled up the page. Many colors and shapes filled the page like an elaborate display at a gallery. The foal continued to scribble as his little world begged to come to life. Ponies were scattered here and there amongst the black-and-white cats and the shining stars. A couple of red roofed houses took up the center while tiny birds and grasshoppers filled the corners. It was a complete mishmash of things, but the foal liked it.

Suddenly, his ears started to twitch again. He heard the voice once more. He was sure it was talking to him. He looked around some more, making sure to turn around this time to see if it was outside.
He saw nothing at the window. What he saw was right inside his room.

The foal gasped. A strange pony had broken into his house! The pony was just standing there, it’s presence foreign yet...oddly familiar. He was similar in height to the foal and his black mane and grey coat were almost identical to his. The only difference was the penetrating white eyes leaking black fluids.

“Who are you?” the foal mumbled.

The stranger didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. He knew the foal knew the answer.

“Thorns?” the foal squeaked. The name just slipped out of his mouth. He wasn’t sure what made him say it. Perhaps it had to do with the stranger’s presence.

The stranger nodded. The foal was about to introduce himself, but he realized that was probably unnecessary. Curiously, he asked:

“Do you know who I am?”

Thorns nodded again. Though he didn’t utter the name, the foal knew he was thinking “Granite Rose”. Thorns had a connection to him. Granite was so fascinated he overlooked the macabre expression on the other pony’s face. He had so many things to ask him. To see how much Thorns really knew would be a thrilling experience. Granite began to say something, but he was abruptly cut off.

Find a place to hide. Get a knife. Carve out your pain.

Granite jumped. Did he hear that right? It sounded like Thorns wanted to hurt him. He trusted Thorns, though. Surely he knew what he was saying.


Granite tiptoed around the kitchen. He wasn’t sure his parents would like Thorns. He usually trusted his parents, but right now, he trusted Thorns more. He slowly reached up to the silverware drawer and grabbed a small knife that was only ever used by his parents during more formal meals. The knife in his hooves felt cold and heavy. Granite almost didn’t feel right holding it. He wasn’t sure why he was instructed to use it like this. Maybe something bad was inside of him.

He trotted out of the kitchen and into his room, slowly shutting the door as he went inside. He thought of propping himself on his bed, but he wasn’t sure if Thorns would have room to sit. Granite decided to sit patiently on the floor instead.

“What am I supposed to do now?” he whispered nervously.

Stay here. Use the knife. Release your pain.

He understood. Something was bad inside of him. What is was, he wasn’t sure of, but it needed to come out. Pressing down hard, he sliced a large gash through his right arm. It stung at first, causing Granite to clench his teeth. The sting soon faded as streaks of red leaked out. Theoretically, it should have hurt, but so much came out that it was numbing.

Granite’s body began to tremble and his eyes grew unfocused. Despite his fading vision, he was transfixed on his arm. He saw red, red, and more red, a stark contrast to his grey body. He couldn’t look away from it. A couple of tears managed to escape from him as well. He had no idea why he was crying. Many emotions coursed throughout the foal, the most prominent being confusion. However, even the strongest of his emotions were beginning to fade from his mind-

Fuchsia! Get an ambulance!” a male voice cried.

His father.

He saw. He saw everything.


Looking back, he couldn’t remember much after that. It was all a blur to him. He could only remember certain things: His father’s eyes darting around, his mother’s horrified face, words uttered that no foal should be familiar with such as suicide and self-harm. Those memories stuck with him for days, and they were all he had while he was put inside a mental hospital. The place were he was diagnosed with schizophrenia. The place where he was no longer considered normal.

Granite shuddered at those thoughts. They were very painful, but they reminded him to never go down that path again. If not for himself, then for his traumatized parents. Deciding to sleep on that thought, Granite ceased his thoughts for the day and slowly got under the covers, turned off his light, and rested his eyes.