The Edge
Here I am again exercising one last demon of mine. I don’t care if no one on Earth reads this but I need to publish it SOMEWHERE. Recently I became hit with a horrific bout of depression that led to some rather disturbing thoughts even for me. They may in fact return but in the words of Earnest Hemingway, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” And my goal with this is write one true sentence.
“Depression is a disease of loneliness.”
-Andrew Solomon
My dearest Delilah,
By the time you are read this, if it ever makes it to you at all, I will have shot myself through the roof of my mouth with a revolver obtained from the local armory. Most likely I will be dead. Assuming you are reading this then I will be honest with you and explain everything.
In a way I am glad you were occupied this evening. A birthday party for a friend is what you said. I think we both know that you were not fooling anypony, especially yourself. You were up for night revelry and debauchery, a night of bright lights and burning drinks, of intimacy and passion. Even now I am not cross with you. I suppose I cannot fault you for enjoying life the best way you knew how, enjoying it in ways utterly alien to me.
I spent last evening finishing up a painting from the previous morning like I said I would. Begun at sunrise and now completed at sunset. I didn’t think I could’ve fit anything more beautiful in the frame until I saw you. Honestly, you know how much I hate you smoking but in the heavenly gold of the sun I don’t think I’ve seen anything more beautiful. You were lightly concealed in a veil of smoke, your face remained concealed but your form showed through beautifully. I watched you as long as I needed to before returning to the painting. Had you glanced to your right about ninety degrees you would have seen me standing on my balcony. What an odd curiosity that you did not see me.
I remain glad that you were a kilometer away when I wrote this. Knowing you would have done what the normal pony would have done. You would have told me of everything I had to live for and tried to convince me to stay. You would have told me all I had to look forward to. Sadly though, the methods to my madness are beyond your understanding through no fault of your own my dear. The normal can never understand the broken, the empty, and shattered just as the broken can never understand the normal. Please do not blame yourself. Even if you had not gone to your party, sooner or later I would have composed this letter. You could have no sooner stopped this than you could have stopped the sun from setting. Above all, do not be sad. Sadness is merely the mind adjusting to a change. You will move on and soon this too shall pass.
They may say that I hated life or that I killed myself for love. Please do not let them say that because it would be a lie. It could not be farther from the truth. The truth is that I am in love with the world. I love it but like a cancer I cannot remain in it. Though the thought of leaving such a beautiful place pains me to no end, it is nothing compared to the pain in which my heart feels. Sadly my dearest, there are some things that even a lifetime in paradise cannot cure. The angels have no love for me as they do you.
I know how I may be perceived after this event has passed. Suicide has always been seen as a horrific assault on the living, as a coward’s act, and in some cases, morally objective. All these views are wrong. Suicide is no more horrific than dozing off, no more cowardly than falling asleep and no more morally wrong than forcing somepony to continue enduring an unendurable existence just to prevent others from coming face to face with mortality and morality. No, suicide in itself is an art form that can only be done once. An art form that is wasted on the broken hearted and other melodramatic tragedians. No doubt that I will be placed inside one of those categories or another; all while everypony says how they never saw it coming. Had you seen it coming it would have defeated the purpose. Sometimes if you practice smiling in a mirror enough, you almost end up fooling yourself.
I have decided to do this inside my bathroom in the bathtub to avoid the mess. I’ve also arranged to have my paintings and personal effects to go you to do with as you wish. Hell, the house is yours as well, but knowing the nature of the last few hours’ events, I guess what you will do with it and I do not blame you. In my closet is a self-portrait I painted of myself for the occasion of my funeral. Please have them use it in place of whatever photo my mother or father will no doubt attempt to have placed. And please, do not let them bury me to become a root inspector. I wish to burn like the mighty kings of old. “No slow death for Meremoth, death embalmed,” as the saying goes.
I’ve entered my final hour now and I find myself reflecting. In reality, by the time this night is over I will have killed myself hundreds of thousands of times. There is nothing I could have done differently. Reset the clock a million times and I will still find myself at this desk, writing this letter, with a magnum as a paper weight. And yet, as my hour approaches, I cannot help but feel a little sense of excitement. Excitement in knowing that soon it will all be over and excitement at the possibility of something coming next. Death is the ultimate mystery, the great equalizer, the door we must all pass through. I suppose I just decided to go on ahead a little earlier. In the event that my previous theories are wrong, and we do end up somewhere else when we die, I will say that I will look forward to seeing you again. No doubt I suspect that you will bring a family along with you and I have no doubt you will make a wonderful matriarch. Please find me among the Pleiades if we do ever meet again.
And so it comes to a close and I can see my life closing in around me like one of my books. And so like a burnt out star having gone nova I have completed my life. Though sadly I cannot say it is one I would like to repeat that has concluded like the end of a red giant star, I have been a star none the less. After all, “It is in dying that we receive immortality.”
Dōnec rursus conveniāmus,
Merry
I placed down the pen and levitated the revolver. Calmly, I trotted into the bathroom and lay down in the bathtub. The firm clicking of the hammer cocking echoed past my ears. I opened my mouth…
***
Two Days Earlier.
Two ponies sat inside the Golden Oaks library. A white unicorn stallion with a midnight blue mane sat reading a book in the center of the room at the table. A tan pegasus mare with a blood red mane perused the shelves. Her mark was of a dagger with a pair of wings. The stallion himself lacked a mark.
“It’s especially scary when a sane individual does something insane and when an insane individual does something sane.”
“What?” she looked up.
I looked up from my book, “It’s a quote. A Griffin author.”
Delilah blinked, “What’re you doing reading Griffonian literature?”
“Wisdom can come from many places. The beginnings of an expert are knowing where to look.”
She blinked and closed her book and trotted over to the table and glanced at the leather bound book. Her yellow irises scanned over the pages.
“It’s especially scary when a sane individual does something insane and when an insane individual does something sane,” she read, “The reasons for this are simple. Either we missed something or something missed us,” She blinked, “What does that mean?”
“It’s referencing the idea of conventional sanity. The scary part is when one considers the possibility that the sane one is still in fact sane and the insane one is still insane or when the sane one is really insane and the insane one is really sane. Both possibilities are equally terrifying.”
“Oh, so it’s the idea that they can do these crazy and normal things and still be sane and insane and vice versa.”
“It takes a bit of thinking,” I blinked closing the book.
“Why don’t you get a thinking cutie mark?” Delilah asked, “You’re pretty good at that.”
“Heh, I can’t even imagine what that would look like.”
“I’m serious. You could be a philosopher or a mage. ‘Meremoth the Gifted’ is what they would call you.”
“I don’t think that name would stick very well,” I blinked as I moved to check out the leather bound book.
“I could make it stick.”
“I’m not sure I’d want it to stick. But now that I’ve said that it’ll happen.”
Delilah laughed, “It’s because you just jinxed it.”
“You know I don’t believe in that.”
“Then why’d you say it’d stick?”
I finished signing out the text and placed it into my saddle bags, “Because the universe will conspire against me to make it happen. It always does.”
“Hey, here’s another idea: why don’t you take that big brain of yours and become a teacher?” Delilah asked as they trotted out of the library.
“And what would I teach? I’m pretty sure Cherrilee isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”
“You’ll think of something, Merry, you always do,” Delilah said flexing her wings.
I sighed under my breath, “That’s the problem.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” I replied. My stomach growled. I frowned, “You, uh, you wanna get some lunch? The Black Dragon?”
“What time is it?” she asked.
I glanced at the shadows on the ground and then up at the sun, “About noon.”
“Uh, sorry. Can’t today. Gotta date.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Hey, I’m supposed to meet Steal Blade at the fountain. The Dragon and the square are both in the same direction. We can still walk there.”
“Alright.”
We continued our walk into the main hub of Ponyville. Soon we reached the town square where a variety of ponies were trotting around, going about their daily business. Standing near the fountain was a yellow pegasus with a steal grey mane and two crossed swords for a mark. He saw Delilah and smiled. I saw his simile got slightly smaller. Not enough for the tan pegasus to notice but enough for me to see that I was an unwanted accessory…
“Welp, here’s my stop,” Delilah said, “See you later huh?”
“Yeah, see you later.”
She broke stride and trotted over to her coltfriend. I noticed his smile return to its previous size. He raised a sun yellow wing and put around her, lightly slapping her flanks. It was at that moment that I felt a twang of jealousy mixed with disgust with a dash of anger mixed inside and combined with the urge to kill something. A curious combination of emotions.
I continue walking towards the Dragon.
I can’t remember the name but somepony once said, ‘If I had to pick the most sinful pony in the world, I would pick myself.’ I guess if I were to pick the most sinful pony I would pick myself. When I see Delilah enjoying herself with her coltfriend I can’t help but be jealous, envious. Things always came easy for her unlike me. I always feel like a stranger in a strange land.
Ponies were smiling as they continued to go about their days. There were so many of them.
I wonder why I don’t get a cutie mark for walking into a crowded room and still feeling alone. I suppose I’m the only one capable of being surrounded by thousands of ponies and still feeling like the only one there. It’s a very disconcerting thing really on how noticeable it is. On how ponies just avoid you like the plague without even realizing they’re doing it. I suppose they realize that I’m not entirely Equine. And I’m not. I’m too much of something else. But not enough. Not enough to not feel everything that I wish I couldn’t.
The door bell rung as I entered the restaurant. It was a small hole in the wall with a bar and a series of tables set up along the wall. I ordered my usual, a glass of vegetable juice and a sandwich.
Life is full of ironies. Depressed comedians, dyslexic writers, and color blind painters. One thing to remember is that not every suicidal individual is depressed. Not every existence is intolerable for the same reasons. That is the common mistake that everypony makes: assuming that every suicidal person suffers from the same problem. I suspect the reason for that is quite simple. Every sad soul in love, every miserable tragedian who ever died always wrote things down.
We like to act like apologizing after the fact makes things okay. Like apologizing will bring back the dead. I think some ponies think that but I suspect other do it to absolve their consciences. You see, we like to think we live in a perfect world. We may have even fooled ourselves into that. The magic of friendship or love is something to be worshiped. And to a degree it should be, but it does little if its reach isn’t long enough. Why have cures to a disease if it will never see use on those it needs the most?
I finished my sandwich and downed my juice, paid the manager and left. I’d been in there an hour. The sun was now beginning its descent down the long arc of heaven.
I know we like to idea of happy endings. It’s engrained into our culture like white to rice. We love the idea that every mare has a knight in shining armor, every stallion has a princess and every pony gets a happy ending. The bitter truth of life is that just isn’t true. We don’t like to be reminded of that though. The truth is ugly and world would prefer a beautiful lie. So lie we do and lie will. Even at the costs of others. I always believe in honesty. We should at least be honest with ourselves in that not everypony gets a happy ending, not everypony is sane, and not everypony is built for this world.
Something smacked into my face. I fell to the ground and rubbed my forehead. Dumb-Bell and Hoops. Hoops was on the ground also rubbing his head. Angrily he stood up. He kicked me in the stomach. I felt a slight crack. Odd. Haven’t felt that before.
“Watch where you’re going, Blank Flank.”
Dumb-Bell grinned and kicked my stomach again. This time I felt a harder crack.
“Yeah, watch it, Blank Flank.”
I sighed, “Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent.”
Hoops turned, “What was that?”
I should keep my mouth shut. I always should. But I don’t. I can always remember my mind telling me to shut up and save myself the trip to the clinic, even as the words come out of my mouth.
“It’s a quote from a book. It’s meant that any competent pony could resolve their problems without the use of violence,” I said standing up. I shouldn’t have said that.
“Are you calling us stupid?”
“I was merely stating an observation.” I should stop talking.
“I think he’s calling us stupid,” Dumb-Bell said.
“I know that you idiot!” Hoops rushed over and gripped my neck. Even in a situation like this, I feel nothing, “I’m tempted to kill you.”
I coughed, “Of course. We both know that I’m ready to die. But are you prepared to kill me?”
“Shut up!”
Yes Meremoth, shut up, “If you can't control the violence, the violence controls you. Be prepared to yield your entire being to it, to sacrifice your place in civilized life. For you will no longer be a part of it, and there's no return.”
“What?” Hoops asked.
“It’s another quote.” I should stop quoting writers now.
“Dude, just let him be. He’s bucking nuts,” Dumb-Bell said.
“Yeah. Yeah,” he replied. Suddenly I’m on the ground coughing. Another kick to the stomach, another crack. This was getting more and more annoying as time went on.
“You need to respect your elders,” Hoops sneered.
“I’m older than you by six days,” I replied. Shut up Meremoth.
“Shut up!” Hoops said kicking me again. I coughed. Ooh blood. I think I can use that.
“I guess you are prepared to kill me. Come on, finish the job,” I stood up and coughed.
“The buck is with this guy?” Dumb-Bell asked.
“Come on. Do it,” I smiled, “Hit me.”
“What?” Hoops gasped.
“Hit me. Come on. I know that’s what you want to do. Right now your heart rate is increasing and your metabolism is slowing to a stop as your tiny little mind contemplates on whether or not you want to continue beating and potentially killing me. You blood vessels are constricting and your body is liberating metabolic energy sources in preparation. So come on. Hit me or leave.”
Hoops started shaking and growled. Suddenly the world is swinging sideways and I’m on the ground again. Laughing oddly enough.
“Well done! Well done!” I really should shut up. But why? Why don’t I care what happens next.
“Come on, dude. Let’s just leave the nut job and get out of here,” Dumb-Bell said pulling Hoops along.
“Yeah,” Hoop said, his voice still shaky, “Yeah, let’s go.”
I couldn’t stop laughing even as the trotted away, muttering away. After I finally calmed down I pulled myself up to my hooves and groaned, cracking my neck. Breathing was painful as expected. Guess I’m off to the clinic again. I don’t know why though. In the end it’s all pointless.
A few hours later I was signing papers in the clinic, my chest bandaged. Two dislocated ribs and a fractured sternum plus one very sore jaw. The doctor said I could be coughing up blood every now and again and to take a few magic laced pills he prescribed if that was the case.
I was in the process of signing myself out when the door opened rather loudly. I turned only to be again smacked in the face. My head flew sideways and landed on the counter.
I groaned and stood up, cracking my jaw, “Ahhwwa. Ow.”
A tan pegasus was standing before me with one very big frown on her face.
“You mind telling me what the buck you were thinking?”
“That is a very complicated question considering I am always thinking,” I replied.
“Don’t get bucking smart with me. I know what happened. Why couldn’t you keep your damn mouth shut?!”
“I don’t know. I told myself to stop but I didn’t listen.”
She sighed, “You can’t just quote literature and hope they’ll go away.”
“That wasn’t my goal at all.”
“Then what was your goal?! Were you trying to get yourself killed?! You’re not making any sense!”
“Look. I can’t explain it to you. It doesn’t make sense why I’d keep talking but I did and I probably will again. It’s what I am. I don’t make sense. You haven’t figured this out yet?”
She sighed, “I can’t keep coming here every time you get yourself hurt like this.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“Can’t you just keep yourself out of trouble for once? Please?”
“I can’t make any promises.”
She sighed, “Yeah. I figured as much. So what now?”
“Nothing. I’m tired so I’ll probably go to sleep.”
“You always say that.”
“Say what?”
“That you’re tired. You should be getting more sleep at night.”
“I do.”
“Then why are you always so tired? You should talk to the doctor about that.”
I sighed, “Another time perhaps.”
She sighed and gave him a small smile, “Get some sleep tonight, okay?”
“Alright.”
Delilah walked me home. It was a nice gesture but I could definitely tell she wanted to be elsewhere. A quick glance at her revealed her cheeks were flushed red. She also had the faint smell of alcohol on her fur. It wouldn’t be difficult to guess where she had been when she’d gotten the call. No doubt her coltfriend found me even more detestable because of it. Oh well though.
Sometimes she’d offer to take me with her to some of the parties she went to. And the offer was very tempting. Just to stop walking the line and let myself do bad things for a night, get drunk, do drugs, and have some odd form of fun. But I never could. I never figured out why. But whenever I pictured myself even in close proximity to those types of situations I always immediately ended up imagining creative ways to kill everyone inside. I don’t… I don’t know why those thoughts came to mind but they did. Odd really. Disturbing really. But again, not all of us are what the general populace would consider normal.
“You sure you’ll be alright?”
“Yeah. I’ll be fine. I’ll probably just finish up my painting a bit before I go to bed. Go have fun.”
“Al-alright. See you round?”
I sighed, “Yeah. See you around.”
I trotted into my house and closed the door behind me. I glanced out the window but I knew she was already gone, flying at breakneck speeds back to whatever house she’d been at previously. I sighed and trotted up stairs to my room. A number of canvases were hanging on the walls, each of them unique.
I stepped over to a nearby easel and draped a piece of white fabric over it and stared.
I sighed, “Tomorrow.”
***
“Yeah, yeah I’m coming,” I groaned setting down my brushes and removing a smock. I trotted down the stairs to the front door. I cracked it open. Delilah was standing at the door with an impatient expression on her face.
“Finally,” she groaned, “I’ve been banging on this thing for the last five minutes!”
“Something I can help you with D?” I asked.
“Yeah. I was gonna get lunch with you today since I had to skip out on you yesterday.”
“It’s no big deal. I was in the process of finishing up a painting when you began pelting my door.”
“Oh no you don’t. You’re coming to lunch with me.”
I coughed, “I am?”
“Yes. And you better not be tired either.”
I frowned.
She sighed, “How much sleep did you get last night?”
“Five hours. I woke up early to paint. Not that I was getting much sleep to begin with.”
“You’re a real idiot sometimes. Come on.”
We walked down the hill towards town. We reached the bottom of the hill outside of town when we began talking. Well, she began talking.
“Do you think that Steel and I are good together?” Delilah asked.
“Hmm?”
“Do you think that we make a good couple?”
“You seem happy so I will say nothing to dispute that.”
“But do YOU think that we make a good couple.”
I sighed, “You’re not going to get the kind of answer you’re looking for out of me. You seem happy with him, so that is good enough for me.”
She grunted, “Fine. But what do you think of Steel?”
“What do I think of him?”
“Yes, what do you think of him?”
“I… I don’t think you’ll like the answer.”
She sighed, “Just be honest with me, please. Whatever you say, I promise you I won’t be mad.”
“Fine. I hate him. He seems just like the typical archetype of pony that I don’t like. He’s rude, arrogant, dangerous and above all, stupid. You on the other hand, are not. Stupid and smart don’t mix well.”
“I’m not smart. Not nearly as smart as you.”
“Yeah well this comes with a price that I’m not sure you’d be willing to pay.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a price for everything. My ‘smarts’ came with a cost just as his stupidity will cost him.”
“What are you talking about? You’re incredibly gifted. There’s no price for that.”
I laughed, “It’s not a gift, Delilah, it’s a curse. Be sure to look at the fine print when you buy because you may not like all the conditions.”
She cocked her head, “What are you saying?”
I sighed, “I’m saying nothing. I’m just rambling.”
She frowned, “You’d better be. Don’t get off on those kinds of tangents.”
“Sometimes, ignorance really is bliss.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Happiness in intelligent ponies is the rarest thing I know. A famous author once wrote.”
“You haven’t answered the question, Merry. You’re very smart. Don’t say such stupid things.”
I sighed, “Alright. Alright.”
“Why are you saying these things? You make me worried sometimes.”
“You shouldn’t worry about me. It’s bad for the soul.”
“On the contrary. You know, you may be a genius but your EQ is really low. Worrying about to others is a good thing.”
“If you say so.”
I suppose the biggest source of frustration in life is having to order one’s self to get out of bed every morning. Something that should be automatic becomes a daily fight. It becomes even worse when one discovers that it’s easier to fake happiness than despair. I always wondered why it was easier to fake positive emotions than negative ones.
I suppose that being happy is something comes natural. It’s always easy to fake something you’re supposed to be good at. It becomes scary when you realize that you can so easily get away with it. I suppose these conditions can be caused by a variety of things. And most of them are without a cure.
“… are you even paying attention?” Delilah asked.
“Hmm?” I looked up.
“I knew it. You’re spacing out again.”
“Not spacing out. Thinking.”
“Thinking about what?”
“Nothing you want to know about.”
“Fine, if you’re going to be that way,” she frowned, “20 questions.”
“Alright. Ask away.”
“Would you rather… would you rather go through a Wonderbolts practice for one day or spend a day listening to-?”
“Wonderbolts practice.”
“You didn’t’ even hear the name of the band!”
“I know what you were going to say. And I hate their music.”
“Still better than that boring classical stuff you like.”
“At least it’s not a crime against my senses, cesspool of garbage that Ballroom Blitz is.”
“Wow, ouch, shots fired.”
“Shoot back, I wanna die anyway.”
“Ouch. Okay. So if you could be any other type of pony, what would you be?”
“I’d be a dragon.”
“Not a pony,” she fumed.
“Why can’t I be a dragon? They breathe fire and live cool solitary lives just like me.”
“Fine, a dragon. You ask one now.”
“What do you think happens after we die?”
“After we die?” she frowned, “I don’t know. I’d hope that there’s some kind of afterlife where I can meet all of my friends and family again. But I don’t know. What do you think?”
“Me? I don’t know. Part of me thinks that nothing happens and you’re just dead. Another part wants something more… I don’t know. I find that people’s answers to that question reflect their attitudes about life.”
“So I guess your answer you be… conflicted?”
I smiled, “I guess that’s the case.”
She smiled and said, “That’s completely normal.”
“Is it? Look around. Everypony seems to have it all figured out. Except for me.”
“You’ll get there eventually.”
“Eventually can’t come soon enough.”
We continued walking until we reached the Dragon. Feelings are evil things really. I feel the urge to hit the ponies who just talk about how much the love being in love or how happy and fulfilled they are and how comfortable they are with being sad. Their sadness is only fleeting…
Sometimes I want to go to Canterlot and just stand on the edge of one of the balconies hanging over the edge of a cliff. And I’d stare and enjoy the view. And then I’d feel the urge to climb the railing. And then I’d just jump. I’d enjoy the feeling of being like a leaf on the wind, for just a few moments, being weightless as I fell. And then I’d be free…
We ate our usual meals. We conversed but I was in another world. We finished our meals but I was still hungry. We stepped out into the street.
“Hey, uh, Delilah?”
“Yeah?” she smiled.
“Are you going to be around later tonight? Like… to talk and stuff?”
Her smile softened, “Uh… actually I have, uh, a birthday party to go to tonight. Sorry.”
I returned a hollow smile, “Oh it’s alright. It was nothing important anyway…”
She perked up, “But I can stop by later! After it’s over I mean. If you’re still up I mean.”
“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll probably just finish my painting from this morning.”
“Oh, uh, alright. I’ll try to stop by later though.”
“Alright…”
“So, uh, I’ll, uh, see you around then?”
“Yeah. See you around.”
Before she could get another word in, I turned and began walking. I don’t know why I did that. But I supposed it doesn’t matter.
I trotted home quickly. Once inside my house I rushed to resume work on my painting. I hate feelings. I feel like they were invented by the gods for the sole purpose of making us suffer. I think life would be easier if emotions were optional things and not required material.
Life is ugly. And the bitter truth of it is that not everypony gets a happy ending. Some of us just aren’t made for it. Some of us are made to suffer. Some of us the kind that gets called upon to do the dirty work. I often wondered why I didn’t join the guard. Ponies like me would be good at it. We’d do the dirty work so every other pony could sleep well at night, safe in their beds. And I’d be good at it because no pony would cry at my funeral.
I continued painting. Something seemed missing from it. It just didn’t seem right. I sighed and stared off my balcony. What to do. I spared a glance back at my desk. The glimmering metal of the revolver sat atop a stack of papers. Still I couldn’t think of anything to add.
Then I saw it. There it was! The one thing I needed to finish my painting! I quickly moved my easel over to the balcony and began painting, sparing a glance at the thing I needed every few moments. I needed to get this one last thing down.
Finished in a frenzy, I wiped my head. It was done. All I needed to finish in my day. Now there was only one more thing left to do.
***
Thirty minutes later.
Outside in the night, Delilah was having a foul night. The party had been wonderful until she had caught Steel Blade making out with another mare in which she proceeding to break Steel’s nose and tear out a few chunks of the mare’s mane. Now she was stomping home.
She considered flying but it didn’t give the same feeling as walking, especially when she was in a foul mood. She sighed. She really should’ve known. Merry never really liked Steel, though she saw he put in an effort for her part. She should have taken his malice as a warning. She continued trotting until she was near the unicorn’s house. The lights were on in the upstairs. No doubt in her mind that he was painting.
As she walked by she considered stopping in to talk. Just as the thought entered her mind the loud bang of a gunshot rang through the night.
Delilah stopped and froze. Her eyes widened as she stared at the house. She galloped forward and broke down the door with a crack of wood. She glanced around the empty home, searching for the offending bang before bounding up the stairs to the bedroom. She glanced around the room. The bed was unmade and a painting was half just recently finished. And yet an odd calming wind flowed through the open doors to the balcony.
The smell of recently ignited gun powder flowed into the empty room. Delilah turned towards the cloud of grey smoke and followed it into the bathroom…
“No…” she whispered as her face contorted into a look of horror.
Lying dead in the bathroom, with a smoking revolver resting on his stomach, and a large splattering of blood behind him on the porcelain rim was Meremoth.
She trotted slowly into the bathroom and gazed with a look of sadness and horror.
She knelt by the bathtub and lightly nudged the body, hoping against all odds that somehow, he would be alive.
He only slumped over a little further into the tub.
“No,” she cried lightly as she cupped his face and began to pull him up into her hooves. The warm sensation of blood on her hooves oddly surprised her as she held his body.
“Oh Gods…” She began to weep, “No… no…”
Tears began flowing down her face and mixing in with the blood of her friend as she cried.
“No… no…” she continued to grip is body as she tilted her head up and howled, almost begging for whatever power that existed in the universe to give him back to her, “Aaaahhh!”
And she continued to cry and cry for a very long time…
I can see the beauty of glass objects fully at the moment when they slip from my hand toward the floor”
-Andrew Solomon