• Published 24th Dec 2020
  • 342 Views, 6 Comments

Notes in Service of a Love Story - Seer



"If this is what it means to be a fool, I don't wish to be anything else."

  • ...
0
 6
 342

Act 3 - I Can’t Give Everything Away

Enter The Angel and the sinner, stage left.

The audience finally sees an end to the grey expanse. Over to stage left, there is an enormous forest of pale trees. They’re like a wall, a great expanse that simply starts where previously there was nothing but grey wastes. They glow, soft blue lights that seem to never penetrate the desert in which The Angel and the sinner stand.

“Is there where we are heading next?” the sinner asks, and the trepidation in her voice is clear for all to hear.

“No, this is where you are heading next. I’m afraid our journey is at an end.” The Angel replies. She is still beautiful, still looks perfect, but the audience can tell by the slight rasp of her breath and hunch of her shoulders that something isn’t right.

“I… I don’t think I want to go,” the sinner replies, and her voice nearly cracks.

“I know you are afraid to move on, little one,” The Angel replies serenely, “But this is a better place. You can rest here.”

“No, no I don’t fear leaving this place.” the sinner says.

“Then what?” asks The Angel, and her eyelid twitches in what looks like a twist of pain.

“You have been kind to me Fluttershy, Angel. You have been my only source of warmth and light. How could I leave you now? I wish…” the sinner trails off. She walks out towards centre stage, once again moving as far as she can to the audience. She looks out desperately, and for a moment the audience wonders if she can see them too.

“I wish there was a way we could move back, you and I. To go where life is vibrant and colourful, where ponies are always close enough to touch. I wish that more than anything, and I know that only a fool would try to bring back the dead… but still.”

“If there was someway we could move together to a place that isn’t grey, that isn’t an expanse of trees. That isn’t the blank, empty paradise you’ve told me about. If there was someway we could reach real paradise together, Fluttershy. That you and I could get to heaven.”

“I have walked through heaven, dear sinner,.” The Angel replies, following her to the stage’s edge. Her glance out beyond the confines is all together more sad, more knowing, “Believe me that even a grey wasteland can be the sweetest paradise on earth, if only you can walk it with someone you care about. I think I’ve come to care for you quite deeply.”

“But I don’t want a grey wasteland,” the sinner bites back, tears falling from her eyes, “I want to run with you in Elysian fields because I care for you too. Is there truly no way we can get there?”

the sinner reaches out, her hoof finally breaching the barrier. The audience gasps, for the first time the wall is truly shown to be nothing, to be solely a construction of minds, who’s integrity can only live as long as they believe it to be true.

But soon, it becomes clear that there is no such reciprocal epiphany, and the sinner simply remains looking tortured.

“All the world’s a stage,” says The Angel gently.

“If I am to go, if I truly have to leave you then at least tell me why. In all the countless eternities we’ve roamed, Fluttershy, you’ve still never once told me. Why me? What could I have possibly done to deserve you?”

“Everything, nothing. I came because I saw you from up there, arriving naked and afraid, and I wanted to help. It’s the only way I can help anyone these days. I don’t choose ponies by some divine machination, I simply see those I can help, and I try to help them. Because everyone deserves some kindness.”

Before she can continue, The Angel falls to the ground and is once again wracked by a series of spluttering coughs. Dark ichor drips and sprays from her maw with each expulsion of air. the sinner looks pained, but not shocked. The audience can only wonder how many times she must have seen this before.

She reaches down, and pulls back the Angel’s cloak. The audience recoil, horrified by what they see. She is emaciated, her ribs can be seen clearly through sheer, near-translucent skin, stretched as taut as possible. Black veins spiderweb her abdomen, her joints are inflamed, her cutie mark has long since faded into nothing at all.

“It’s killing you, isn’t it? That’s why you told me you’d do this until your last. Roaming these wastes, you’re not just shepherding souls like me, you’re burning parts of yourself. This is madness, Fluttershy.”

“Until my last breath leaves me, I will make sure I show kindness to those who need it,” she rasps, “Not a single instant of your happiness is worth anything less. Now please move on, sinner. You can finally rest.”

the sinner chews her lip, looking agonised.

She turns to the trees.

She turns to the grey wastes.

She turns to the audience.

She turns to the Angel.

The house lights drop.

The audience mutters among themselves. They wonder what she might have done, they wonder whether they will ever know for sure. That is, until their eyes are drawn to the stage once more.

A single spotlight flicks on above centre stage, illuminating The Angel and the sinner.

The angel lies, her breathing weak. She tries over and over to get the sinner to move on, to make her way into the trees where she can rest. But the sinner remains there with her.

And the audience remain silent as the sinner lies down with The Angel, sliding their necks together, embracing. The Angel goes quiet, shaking now with only quiet sobs while the sinner comforts her.

Some in the audience finally begin to see that her wounds seem to be healing. Her chest fills out, black veins recede, the taught skin regains its vibrant yellow coat, pink butterflies dance once again on her flank. And the whole time, the sinner becomes lesser. Her own ribs show, she becomes emaciated, her already dull coat and mane become dry and lifeless.

And when it is done, and The Angel stands, horrified.

“What have you done?!” she gasps.

“I’m not quite sure,” the sinner replies, her strained voice attempting something that might have once been a laugh, “I don’t think I could put it into words. Only, it felt quite right.”

The Angel tries to pull her, presumably to the trees that the audience can no longer make out, but she seems rooted to the spot.

“But… if you don’t… how will you rest? Only a fool would give up her rest for one like me, who has already walked through heaven.” The Angel asks, her own voice giving way now to sobs.

“If this is what it means to be a fool, I don't wish to be anything else. I will rest in the knowledge and memory that I did try to make myself worth it. Knowing that I was able to give something back will be warmth enough. I will rest just fine, lady Angel.”

The Angel stands, looking around frantically for something, someone who might be able to help. And for a moment, it seems like she might try to rush out into the audience itself, until a thin voice from behind stalls her.

“All the world’s a stage,” the sinner pipes up, before her chuckles give way to coughs mirroring those which The Anges was so recently ailed by.

The Angel, Fluttershy, hangs her head, and does nothing for a moment. The audience ponder what might be running through her head, and this time less of them think that the machinations of an Angel are something too big to be contained by a simple theatre. Maybe they are more simple than any of us would ever really expect.

In this case, the audience realise that Fluttershy’s desire is nothing more than to continue to comfort. And though there are likely many more souls on which she can spend that new gift of life, she doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to move on.

Instead, Fluttershy turns back towards the sinner, and goes to sit with her once more.

“Please, Fluttershy, waste no further time on me,” the sinner pleads, but Fluttershy gently shushes her.

“On the contrary, my lady, I can imagine no greater way to spend my time than in your company.”

“Even in a grey wasteland?” the sinner breathes.

“Even a grey wasteland can be the sweetest paradise on earth, if only you can walk it with someone you care about.” Fluttershy replies, and swaddles the lowly, mortal, decayed sinner with her bright, immaculate wings.

And the audience remain there, watching them. Nothing further happens. Five minutes, then ten, then fifteen, time seems to lose all meaning as it is spent watching the two mares simply lying under the sole spotlight, showing no more of paradise or wasteland or trees.

And then, after all that time passes, the audience begins to applaud.