Regrets
By
Inky Shades
The sirens blare outside, their sounds nearly drowned out by the deep, guttural rumbling of death. Yet, still the sirens sound, attempting to warn ponies to find safety, but there's no safety to be found. It's pointless to try. We were all going to die. There was no getting around it and there was no use crying about it.
I reach for the bottle across the table and pour a drink. The brown liquid sloshes in the glass as I bring it to my lips. Bottoms up. The drink burns my throat. My face scrunches. Disgusting. I pour another.
More rumbling outside. Part of me wants to peer behind my curtains, see the world turned into a living Tartarus, but what was the point? I couldn't stop it, and watching death creep closer to me didn't hold much appeal. I didn't need to know the moment I was about to die. Just knowing that I was, was enough for me.
Did I fear death? I don't know. Maybe. Did it matter whether I did or not? I guess if I were being honest with myself I'd say yes, at least a little. Who didn't have some fear of death, though? I was no different from anyone else.
Death. The final curtain. I've never really thought about my own mortality until today. Sure I've mused about it over the years. Every now and again wondering what my own death would be like, but those thoughts had always been fleeting. Now though... Now I really think about it. Whether that's good or bad is to be determined, but I wonder what death feels like.
Is there excruciating pain or is it a painless slumber? A concept with multiple questions that have multiple answers. However, I don't need multiple answers. Just one will suffice. What will my death be like? It won't be normal. That I know for certain, but what is 'normal' for death, anyway? Another loud rumble, the sirens fall silent.
Hmm, I wonder how much time I have left. Minutes? Seconds? I down another glass. No matter the time, I know how I'm going to spend it. Pour. My mind wonders. Drink. Time. What have I done with my time? Too bad I haven't drunk enough to forget how to think. Maybe one more glass would help. Pour—but the bottle is empty.
My mind travels back in time. I remember when I first visited Canterlot, big city, high class. A stallion out of his element. That was me. Out of my element and blown out of the water when I met her. First day, bump into a gorgeous turquoise unicorn. Almost had a heart attack. Second best day in my life.
The earth shakes, the empty bottle topples over. I watch it roll off the table and shatter on the floor. That felt closer than the ones before. Any moment now. Something else shatters. I turn my head. A picture frame had fallen from its shelf. I'm careful to avoid the shards of glass near my chair as I go to the broken frame.
My breath hitches in my lungs as I pull the photo from its broken bindings. I'd almost forgotten I still had this photo. It's our wedding, Serenade and I. The turquoise beauty married the Baltimare bum, best day of my life. It sounded absurd. It should have never worked out between us. At least that's what I told myself. Maybe that's why we divorced. A self fulfilling prophecy.
No. That's weak. I could've done more. Could've tried harder. Been someone worthy of her. Could've... I wonder what her life's been like. Did she return to Canterlot? Did she remarry? Have foals? Did she still... I shake my head. A dangerous road. I need a drink, but I know there's nothing else in my apartment.
A dangerous road. I scoff at myself as I sit on my couch, gripping the picture in my hooves like my life depended on it. The world's ending outside my window, yet I call a trip into my own mind dangerous. It's true, though. The world's on fire, and here I am thinking of my life. Now's not the time. It's the only time. No better time to take stock of your life then when it's about to end, right? Any other time would've been better, but I suppose it's better late then never. Is it?
No. It's not. Everything is too late, now. No second chances for anyone. I made my choices. Wondering how my life would be if I did things differently is irrelevant. My bed is made. Today I have to lie on it. Of course knowing how pointless these thoughts are doesn't stop me from thinking them. Doesn't stop me from thinking of her.
If she were here or I were there, I'd apologize to her. Tell her that I should have fought harder for us. Kiss her. Say I love her. A new beginning. The thought brings a smile to my face, but it's fleeting. An impossible dream.
Is she even alive? A pit grows in my stomach. An idea too terrible. Yet, I can't help but think it's true. No. I'm going to deny it. Until my last breath, I'm going to believe that she somehow managed to find somewhere safe. If anypony deserved salvation it was her.
A blast shatters my window, I slump into my couch. The end is close. I can feel it. A wave of heat blow past me, singeing my face and mane. I pull the picture to my chest protecting it from the heat. The heat fades. I look at the picture, really look at it, apologizing in silence to Serenade.
The light is sucked out of the room. Moments later, there's a thunderous explosion and light coats the walls. My ears ring, everything's muffled. I place the photo next to me and close my eyes. I picture Serenade sitting next to me.
There's a click in my mind like a camera taking a picture. However, the image is only temporary. For she is not actually here. All I have is a a single picture. I am alone. Heat builds around me. I ignore it, realizing something: I regret.
I regret all the things I never told her, all the things I'll never be able to tell her. I am alone at the end of the world, and it's all my fault. The heat consumes me. I regret...