My Little Pony - Hospice

by Cudpug

Hospice - Epilogue

Recovery is an impossible demand. Some things are too important to overcome. Grieving for a loved one is not a stage that we go through, but a channel that carves itself into our hearts and minds. And although this channel can be filled, it never truly caves in. But let it be known that this was all a nightmare that I chose, and the weight of the damage that I carry with me is now the cross that I willingly bear. The day that I had heard the bell chime in the old loom for the first time, I brought it upon myself to face the burdens that we wove. I have been left with these burdens, but none are so grave as to make me regret what the both of us had together inside one another.

Love comes in many different forms, but as a beautiful unicorn once told me, true love is best left unsaid; it is the prolonged force that keeps us bound together and grounds our hooves in place. To be devoted to another is not the result of a particular combination of perfumed words, but the state of absolute being that we acquire when we find a commitment worth committing to. To this day, regardless of what I may come to tell you happened next, I never once allowed Rarity to leave my thoughts. When she strayed I feared and prayed, and only when she came back could I think, for her permanent mark on my world had been made with the darkest of ink.

Her ink had been used to write me a letter. She had to wait until the very end before I could see it, for it contained information that she would have been unable to approach. I shall say little about it, for it is not for the consumption of any ears other than my own. It revealed what she really thought of me – things that she had told the doctor when I had been absent – and it sought to leave me with the closure that I required during the healing process. It is of absolute importance that the letter was written evidence that Carousel Boutique now belonged to me, as well as everything that she had left behind. I had been chosen as her successor, and the old loom would linger on in my name.

Almost ten months had passed since we first met, and losing her was my heaviest-paid debt. But to those that think I was counting down to the death of my beloved, let it be known; to do so would make our narrative into a tragedy, and that was the last thing desired by my Rarity. It took me until the end to understand, but she had had no desire to make our tale a lover's demise. Her intention, out of perfection, was always to remember me for the good inside, and I, in her, saw her beauty amplified. For I was the pony that believed in dreams, and reached a hoof of guidance out to her; and she was the eager artist, desperate to please who never dared stop and fall. Let this be a lesson to all; to categorise ourselves as lovers is a coward's way of describing the weight and brevity of our feelings. We were something beyond a practice, and required one another. Our marriage of existence belied the title of 'lover'.

What I am now counting down to – what I was always, truly, waiting for – you may never know, but fruitless optimism decided the date that I set for us. Rarity was never to live to the end, but maybe I foolishly thought that if I went back and re-told the tale of our fortunes, I would have the power to grant her new life and stop what happened. I would have saved her if I could, but no matter what I gave and what actions I took, no investment was great enough to help her. When I tell this story again, I will seek to extend the date once more, for seeing our relationship on a page of increasing words somehow makes it seem as if we were together for a lifetime. But the age that I am now is not too different from that under which I first met her; and that I have already lost knowledge of her fragrance proves that I will forget her.

Life is a mystery, and without Rarity, I am left as a wanderer. The date by which I incited from the start may be one that I myself never reach; to set ourselves targets is to overachieve, and this is what took her from me, so I am resigned to believe. Contentment comes from finding order in chaos, wherever it may be; and true love exists without financial necessity. Whatever choices that I now come to make, do not judge me too severely; for I never contended to be anything but a pony with the time to give. For the ethos of life is to love and care, and through devotion and investment our story I share. I leave you now on a final thought, one that I pray you all observe. Rarity would have wanted it; it is what we both deserve.

As I once said to an old friend, now a pony with no name:

"Sometimes, just being there for somepony – giving without the necessity of getting something back – is worth more than money and fame."

Thus ends Hospice.

You may now remove your bands.

Comments

[PonIver]

Can't believe I didn't know there was a Hospice inspired fic before, and I must say, I am pleased beyond words by how this turned out.

This is a very interesting interpretation of the metaphor presented in the subject of your ekphrasis. There are definitely times where I see where the original work is either referenced or works as an inspiration. But this is a work that goes beyond the scope of its basis. There are themes and settings explored that make the reader reanalyze the work within as well as the subject of the ekphrasis.

The stance of the narrator is clear throughout the story and does not waver. Nothing he does is ever out of character. As we watch his actions, we can easily understand why he makes the choices he makes, even if our instincts tell us his choices are morally indignant.

The exposition seems to drift between coarse and extended, although this is primarily caused by the mood the narrator is in and does not come off as unsteady pacing.

Only critique I have to offer is in the case of Mr. Cross. There are times that I wonder why the narrator spends so much time speaking of him. I think this is purely a mistake on my part to not comprehend the pain the narrator is going through. Perhaps he blames Cross for the illness, or is too distracted by the pain of his love to face that emotion directly. I see his motives for villainizing Cross, but there are times where I wonder if he should be thinking less of Cross and more of Rarity. I in no way wish to diminish the art of the piece by questioning methods though, just expressing thoughts that came to mind as I read it.

This is beautiful work. I hope more an more ponies are aware of it. I have gathered from the comments that there are greater followings for this on other sites that I do not frequent though. I hope more of your work ends up here for us to enjoy and cry over.

[Cudpug]

833795

I'm really glad that you enjoyed the story. Naturally, it means a lot to me that you've left a long and detailed comment. While I do get views and comments elsewhere, my fiction is pretty underground (much like the album itself, heh). While popularity would be nice, I get a fair few page-views from Equestria Daily and the like, which is always a plus.

Thanks for all of the compliments. I will address the criticism regarding Mr. Cross: it was always my intention to leave Hospice open for a sequel, as I wanted to make use of this particular narrative style and the characters within it again. There is a sequel that features Mr. Cross a lot more, and so his presence, and the presence of Mr. Orange, is explained in far greater depth in that narrative. In terms of Cross' presence in Hospice, I always figured that he was more than just a wedge between the narrator and Rarity: he represents to the narrator everything that he hates about high-society, and everything that he despises about others leading Rarity astray. In addition, it's suggested that he attempted to buy the Morgans Estate, which belonged to the narrator's aunt, and that he was rather forceful about it. The result is that the narrator really grows to detest him. Whatever was printed about Rarity under Cross' behest remains ambiguous, but it's fair to assume that he said things that were so hurtful that the narrator wished for vengeance.

Thanks again, and I'll leave you a link to the sequel here: http://cudpug.deviantart.com/gallery/36501431

Eventually, when it's finished, I will be uploading it to FiMFiction. However, as the story will be about 30 chapters in length, that won't be for some time. I am currently in the process of writing it.

[PonIver]

928098
Sounds like a long piece. Haven't been on my dA account in a loooong time, and I have my reservations about sequels, but will give it a shot. I'm sure it won't be long before I want to reach into the pages and strangle Cross myself. Even though it's influenced by the narrator's perspective in Hospice, he's a despicable pony to begin with.

[Thyrai]

This is an infuriatingly underrated fiction. Well done, sir. Don't let your lack of deserved attention ever pull you away from writing.

[unph]

I had initially planned to read this story by a few chapters each day, but it becomes a lot more enticing, and very soon at that. I went through about the latter two thirds this day to finish it. I find that despite this fic being read in an anachronistic format, it's still more severe, most likely because of the newer connections and feelings for the characters and the situation.

It's written and formatted well. In the earlier chapters, there were a few moments of two characters speaking in the same paragraph, but whatever. It was still easily understandable. I liked the thoughts the narrator would dwell on, isolated from the larger paragraphs. Another thing to note, was that I at times would look back and start re-reading certain parts. Not because of bad writing or anything, but simply because I wanted to let it soak in. I don't think I've done that for other works.

The characterizations were done very well. I particularly liked how the narrator could end up being so bitter, in addition to his obsession. The pure resentment that could be found in him just seems unnerving, but if you try to picture what he's going through, it adds justification. This partially clears up the thoughts on his characterization when he burns down the house in Trottingham and kills Mrs. Florence. Granted, even I felt like, "holy shit, what?" upon reading it. I simply hadn't expected the story to bring that up, but it did, and it's not a result of poor writing. It's just a moment of impulse and despair, which is how it came out to be. It was a very excitable moment, seeing as he'd put himself in the deepest sea of shit ever, further shown when he contemplates killing the daughter.

And of course, the mentions of "living in excess" flaunted everywhere in Manehattan certainly something we've all thought of. Kind of makes it easier to despite, especially from the point of view of the narrator, considering Rarity is one who has to suffer so badly from it, as well as himself. Then add on to the fact that Old Manehattan's already left to rot, while the residents are too blind to notice.

Of course, Dr. Tawleed was done well too. I found it interesting how the narrator would be so resentful of him, for many reasons that I wouldn't think of. When he comes to terms with the doctor, showing his "weakness", I think that he's just trying to move on better. When he admits that he's been denying the truth, rather than preparing for it, full respect.

Definitely didn't regret spending the time to sit down, and bring myself to read some more. Just going to restate that I loved the album Hospice, but this can be enjoyed whether you've listened to it or not. There is much closure given, and yet, I still feel like I want the story to last longer. To me, that constitutes a moving piece of literature.

[ru771an]

where I live we have alot of Hospices around so I guess this fic didnt really hit me as hard as some of the people here.
I loved reading this, and I recommended it to a few of the people I speak with on fanfiction.

The fact that the narrator breaks down into halfway insanity is what I love...screw that.
I LOVED ALL OF IT, nice work

[Indie Cred]

This is one of the, no THE best Fic I've read. I commend you for the poignant style used, the fascinating subject matter, and the use of one of my favorite albums ever. (If anyone reading this hasn't listened to "Hospice" by The Antlers, you're wrong.)

Honestly, reading this story helped me to work up the courage to start posting some of my own stuff.

[Regidar]

1320172

(If anyone reading this hasn't listened to "Hospice" by The Antlers, you're wrong.)

the how

[Sypher]

It's like Chronicle of a Death Foretold on steroids.

[Rainbow87dash]

1281149 ...What do you mean 'whilst' isn't an english word? I'm sat here confused whilst pondering how you could come up with that ridiculous claim.

[Kefka4444]

My heart...
Oh this has been such an adventure!
Thank you!