Speak Not Of The End Of The World

by Shaslan

Waiting Room

When Strawberry Sunrise was 24, she wondered where all the time had gone.

It had been about six years since Cherry died. Sun sickness, they were calling it. Some strange disease that was striking down and killing ponies at random. She was one of the first cases.

Like the sun, nobody had any explanation for it. First they recommended wearing a mask, then staying home, then walked it all back saying they didn’t think it was contagious. It was just another thing in a long line of global panics.

Strawberry didn’t care about any of it, because nothing changed the fact that Cherry was dead.

She stopped counting days since the funeral, only vaguely noticing as seasons changed around her. As she slowly faded away, so too did the world around her. Ponies she knew died from sun sickness, others went to space to help the cause. The clock marched onwards.

Strawberry had grieved. She had cried, screamed, punched the wall so hard she broke her hoof. Wondered how the sun could take Cherry but not her. How someone so brilliant and lovely could die, while the useless sack of flesh named Strawberry Sunrise continued to exist.

Eventually the Royal Guard came for her, and Strawberry did as she was told. She went to the office, signed some paperwork, and went to orientations. She was now well on her way to becoming an astronaut.

At least her mother was somewhat proud that she now had a job.

“You okay?”

Strawberry stared at Cheerilee blankly. “Yeah.”

Cheerilee sighed, reaching over and squeezing Strawberry’s hoof.

Throughout the years, Cheerilee had done her best to be there for her. It was more than she deserved, frankly, but Strawberry had never been successful at expressing that. While Strawberry was drafted to be an astronaut, Cheerilee and her fellow educators were tasked with helping the ever-expanding science team in analyzing every single detail of the sun, praying for a breakthrough.

Judging by the fact that the sun had been gone for seven days now, they weren’t finding much success.

The waiting room smelled strongly of chemicals. Everything was sanitized and cleaned regularly, even if it was already proven to do absolutely nothing. She supposed the sentiment was nice.

“It’s… Fine to not be okay,” Cheerilee offered.

Strawberry pursed her lips. “Then I’m not okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

Strawberry sighed, tension deflating for a moment. “No, I’m sorry. I’m… I’m not over it. I don’t know if I ever will be.”

“Me too.” Cheerilee squeezed her hoof again.

“Thanks for sticking with me.”

“Absolutely. Strength in unity and all.” Cheerilee sighed, staring up at the television monitor above them. “I hope everything goes okay today.”

“Down here or up there?”

“Both.”

The television was tuned to a news station, where old footage of Blossomforth and Redheart was playing while a reporter gave a voice over. The two were going to launch near the sun today, in an attempt to find… something.

It would have been exciting if Strawberry remembered what that emotion felt like.

“Cheerilee? The doctor will see you now.”

Cheerilee flinched, and Strawberry gave her a reassuring pat on the back. “Hey. I’m sure it’s not sun sickness.”

“Let’s hope so,” Cheerilee said, rising from her seat and heading for the receptionist’s desk.

With nothing else to do, Strawberry idly watched as the footage cut to live transmissions of the mission.

“Horseton, we’re closing on the Alpha marker now,” Redheart’s voice said.

“Copy that Effervescence. You’re still on track.”

A smaller image showed the two astronauts boarding their vessel, waving and smiling to the crowd. The two were dressed in orange spacesuits, with helmets bearing reflective black visors tucked under their arms.

Strawberry tried to picture herself in that same position, acting like she was about to save the world. Try as she might, she just couldn’t picture herself there.

Glancing out the window, Strawberry was struck by the feeling that something was about to change.

“Uhh… Effervescent, we’re reading something near you. Solar fluctuations are spiking, do you…”

“Stand by Horseton.”

Strawberry wanted so badly to reach out, to call her friends. Get them to come back. But that was impossible.

“Effervescent—“

“Shit! Mayday, mayday, we’re picking up…”

“Adjust your course, you need to—“

“It can’t, that’s not—“

Strawberry stood, staring at the television.

“Oh shi—“

Silence.

“Effervescent, come in. Effervescent, do you read? Flight, I have loss of radar contact.”

Strawberry felt something cold and icy wrap itself around her heart.

“Ops, this is flight. Lock the doors.”

The television blinked, and a canned laugh track filled the air. The horrified receptionist had changed the channel to a rerun of some late night talk show. A grinning stallion was laughing hard, basking in the glory of a joke he had just told. “Right? Right?! Like, what’s the whole point anyways?”

A few audience members yelled in approval.

“All I’m saying is that if the sun has decided that it’s time to dip, then hey, maybe it’s got a good reason!”

Strawberry didn’t know what to make of that statement.

The door opened again, and Cheerilee stepped back into the hall. “Not sun sickness!” she beamed. “Just a little cold. Did they launch? How did it go?”

Comments

[Bicyclette]

Strawberry had grieved. She had cried, screamed, punched the wall so hard she broke her hoof. Wondered how the sun could take Cherry but not her. How someone so brilliant and lovely could die, while the useless sack of flesh named Strawberry Sunrise continued to exist.

oof, that guilt and self-hate…

It would have been exciting if Strawberry remembered what that emotion felt like.

oof, horse depression

“All I’m saying is that if the sun has decided that it’s time to dip, then hey, maybe it’s got a good reason!”

Strawberry didn’t know what to make of that statement.

The door opened again, and Cheerilee stepped back into the hall. “Not sun sickness!” she beamed. “Just a little cold. Did they launch? How did it go?”

and oof, so many poignant contrasts to close out the scene. wonderfully crafted