Hopes in The Moonlight
The sun hid behind the mountains, turning the sky orange as a gentle breeze flowed through the city. Every single colour appeared in front of his eyes, mesmerizing him and taking him away from reality. The warmth of the last sun rays could be felt through the entire land, whilst the moon began to appear in the skies. Finding himself recounting the times he ran through the vast field in the horizon, Mr. Waddle saw himself as a colt, running through Whitetail Woods beneath the autumnal firmament as the leaves fell, covering everything in sight with the colour of the sunset.
His memories seemed to flow through his mind and pass in front of his eyes at the same rate the stars appeared in the incommensurable firmament, as reminiscences of his past appeared before him.
As a little colt, he had lived a nomadic life; the same life everypony had back then when Ponyville had just been founded and the Everfree Forest seemed to never cease in its mission to maintaining its pace of spawning abominations to take them by surprise. It was a life filled with difficulties, with ups and downs, but he was truly glad that he was able to experience it.
His childhood hadn't been as easy as the one the colts and fillies of today have, which had led him to wonder what kind of dreams and doubts could exist in those hearts that lived such accommodated lives.
As a child, he had always envied the unicorns and their lifestyle: most of the high society concentrated in the capital city, and there was a strangely strong disgust towards foreigners in the region.
He could remember being scolded by his parents about not venturing too far from the village, not staying outside until nightfall. The words still sounded clear, like he had heard them just a few hours ago. Of course, he knew: it wasn't like he was completely oblivious of his surroundings: he knew that if he went too far, he might never be able to go back.
Below his window, three fillies said goodbye to eachother. He couldn't remember their names, but they filled him with joy. Something in seeing their happy faces as they went through their lives, without worrying about anything, made him remember his life when he was a little colt.
His memories were scarce due to his senility, but every single moment of them was dearly treasured: in his eyes, a single moment of his life was worth way more than any dragon's gem hoard.
He remembered his friends, all the days they had spent together, all the games they played and the fun they had. He could see the looks the ponies around town gave them as they cantered down the main avenue, smiling like there was nothing in life that mattered more than enjoying it. Eventually, many of them left as their parents went towards new grounds, and some of them had grown as old as him and enjoyed recounting the tales of their childhood together.
But the vast majority of them... weren't there.
A sigh escaped his lips, as he began to grow tired of the same reminiscences flooding his mind. It didn't matter whether he admired dawn, or the harmony between the sun and the moon that dusk brought forth, his mind would always find a way to go directly onward in direction of the memories of those who had left him.
He looked at the sky a last time. The moon was high in the sky, only visible after the brightness of the sun rays had disappeared. The sun of his vitality was already hidden behind the mountains of oblivion, and only after that event it was possible to see the radiance of the nostalgic moon in-between the few stellar dots that were his remembrances, set in the firmament of his life. Those who want to forget about their lives close the curtains of ignorance over the window that shows who they have been. In the same way the bright sky ends up being devoured by darkness at the end of the day, everypony's life's end is pure agony and doubt. Even when all of that is temporary, it has an immense clarity that can eclipse our memories, making us forget the long journey of our lives and its many different emotions when we encounter the imminent end and feel that we have nothing to do about it.
He closed his windows with a look of insecurity, starting to ask himself the same thing he wondered every day:
"Will I be here tomorrow?"
That question in particular had plagued his mind the most recent days. He used to ask himself if all of that had been worth it, now that he was completely alone, now that he had nopony that greeted him every new day, somepony who said that loved him. But... it had been like that for most of his life.
His wife had died some time ago. He didn't want to remember how long it had been since her demise. He still could hear her last words, when she was agonizing in the hospital bed. She always said that, even when they couldn't be together for all eternity, they would remember every detail of who they were. She was right: since that moment, he had been unable to forget her. On the days after her death, he tended to act like she was there, like she was still alive. For whole years, he denied the fact that she wasn't there anymore, and locked himself up in his own world; a cynical world that constantly lied to him about his true condition.
He walked towards his bed, looking at it for a long while. He wondered how his life would be like if she were with him. It would be quite different, but not much.
The passing of his wife marked the beginning of his life's twilight. From that point on, it all would become darker. His old age had become a problem, and he was almost completely bald.
He had reminiscences of the useless protests that had started when immigrants of the other cities started to get into Ponyville. He saw it all from his house's window, asking 'Why is everypony so irrational?' to the skies and, in occasions, to some of the ponies that were taking part of the protests. None of them could give him an answer. He began to question the reason behind those hostilities. All of that had become such nonsense after a while, such nonsense that it should have never happened in the first place.
His bed seemed so empty. It had been like that for so many years, but it had never bothered him. He just tried to keep on living his life, and had succeeded in that in a way.
The moon of his life appeared many years later, when a sudden uproar hit his ears, his body and basically everything: the Sonic Rainboom. As soon as he heard it, he thought of the war in distant Stalliongrad, in which he was glad he was never involved. He couldn't have been more wrong, because as he precipitately looked outside, the only thing he saw an explosion of colours: an explosion of vitality that made him feel that life was worth struggling for, together with sending him to the past, once again.
He stopped recounting his life, starting to get confused: his own memories had tried to lead him to remember more of his past life and he resisted, noticing his biggest mistake for the first time.
Since his wife's death, he had passed the rest of his days trying to forget his life's sorrows. He had tried to submerge in a fake happiness, in a complete ignorance about life's diversity, and that had only hindered him. At his old age, he couldn't remember anything except bleak joy, the same joy that broke in front of his eyes when he remembered that not everything in his life had been so peaceful.
Even when he hated to admit it, his life hadn't been easy. Submerged in-between the hasty growth of the city, he couldn't keep up with the times, and he blindly resigned to live in a time that had ended decades ago. Every single day he woke up in a world that he couldn't comprehend, and he did few and nothing things other than looking outside from his window. The world had changed so much, he wasn't really sure if he wanted to understand what was going on. Everything but the dawn, dusk and the painful last words of the one he loved seemed blurry and unrecognizable before his eyes. Despite all of this, he tried to appear as joyful as he could every time he appeared in town, even when it meant lying to himself constantly.
Under his breath, he cursed whoever thought it was a great idea to put together so much suffering in a single being, especially with the frantically happy times that were going on in the world.
He had gotten tired of looking outside his window a long time ago. Before returning to his bed and laying down accepting his fate, he looked at the window again, full of determination. The world was just sitting behind those restrictive curtains and that monotonous ambient in which he was submerged. He had to escape from his bleak life as fast as he could. He had to push away the curtains of ignorance and find himself out there, where life awaited him.
He sat down in front of a table, a pen in his mouth. With shaky writing, he wrote a letter to his wife, still believing she was alive. To him, she was just doing some business in Baltimare, and would eventually come back.
After long minutes of pouring his heart and soul into that one letter, he stood up once again; ready to begin his new life.
For some reason just as strange as the reasons that had led him up until this point, he decided to grab some fresh air, as if to taste what was about to come.
The window was pushed with a little squeak, his hooves appearing on the frame. He looked towards the ground, seeing something -or, rather, somepony- that he hadn't seen moments before: a purple-haired orange pegasus filly, which he recalled to go by the name of Scootaloo.
"H-Hello there, Scootaloo!" he suddenly half-shouted, his elderly voice breaking the night's silence.
Scootaloo broke away from her sky-gazing trance when she heard his voice calling her. It took her some seconds before realizing who it was that was calling out for her, and from where.
Her eyes went in the direction of the window from which Mr. Waddle had appeared, located in the third floor of the hospital.
"Oh, hello, Mr. Waddle." She responded, speaking rather loudly. "How is it going?"
She wasn't really used to have conversations with ponies older than her, but there was something about him that made her feel actually pretty well.
"Oh, just great. I'm feeling great today." He answered, a smile appearing on his face. "What about you? What are you doing here at this hour?" he continued, his tone becoming somewhat more serious.
"I'm waiting for my friends. We... have been planning this night for a long time, and I'm sure it'll be awesome!" She accidentally belted out, letting her excitement take over her for a while.
"I can still remember something from when I was your age. We used to be as energetic as you..." He said as his eyes became lost in nothingness when his memories started to flow out once again.
"We dreamed like nopony had ever dreamed before. We went everywhere and did everything in a fantasy of having all that we had ever wanted. Our laughter was the most truthful display of inner peace and care for eachother... We always came back to the same place, questioning ourselves if everything had been worth it. One day, that question got no answer. We realized that..." he sighed heavily, tears starting to well up in his eyes.
Scootaloo was confused due to the sudden shift in mood of the conversation, but could feel his words as partially true. In a way, she had always been asking herself if all their failures had been worth the trouble.
For her, the answer had always been a big 'yes', which was accompanied with the voices of her friends.
"We realized that some dreams never do come true." He concluded, the night's silence taking over once again.
A look of disbelief and hopelessness was shared between Scootaloo and Mr. Waddle, respectively.
"But... they say that... if you believe in something..." he continued, fighting to maintain his voice tone, fighting to gulp down the sudden mind-crushing sadness that had overtaken him. "If you believe in something with enough determination... then... it can only be true!" He said, his tone ascending from a sorrowful whisper to a full-blown moving howl. His hooves pointed towards the sky, his eyes gleaming with pure, raw willpower.
"I will show you, dearest filly! Dreams... dreams come true. My dream has always been being able to fly. I haven't really tried it... but today is the day all of it is going to change!"
Scootaloo's confusion seemed to rise beyond comprehensible levels as Mr. Waddle went back to his room, a cold breeze closing the windows.
"Wait, Mr. Waddle!" she shouted, feeling a rush of desperation take place inside her head.
She knew what was about to happen. She didn't want to see what was about to happen.
She wanted to stop it before it was too late.
He looked at the window once again. The curtains were closed, obscuring the scene behind them.
With a newfound strength and will, he gave a short run and launched himself against the window, in a desperate attempt to get his anxiously desired freedom.
The glass of the window broke with a deafening sound similar to the one his mind gave off as it shattered under the weight of irrationality. There was a hole in his memories: he couldn't remember the funeral of his dear wife. It would be the most memorable event of his entire life, but he could never remember it, no matter hard he tried.
The curtains had been ripped off from their place and were now falling together with him, surrounding his body. Scootaloo could only stare at what was happening, feeling unable to look away from the horror as dread filled her mind in its disorienting haze.
His mind ran through his memories again, not being able to explain an important part of his life: something wasn't right; there was one event that didn't link correctly with the rest. He was completely sure the love of his life had died, and together with her, the love for his own life had deceased as well.
The next memory was a more recent one, and it involved a white unicorn filly: Sweetie Belle.
He was in the only funeral he could remember: the one that had been held in Hearts and Hooves day. What an ironic day to say goodbye; the same day many couples get together for the first time. He was talking about the deceased: a hard-working friend of his, who had the bad luck of developing a mysterious disease the doctors couldn't detect fast enough to save him.
She appeared suddenly, a huge grin in her face and singing about finding the perfect date. There was a mixed response from his part: his own heart was crushed when he remarked in his own mind that the ambient of a funeral was something that needed to be respected, not broken like that... and then, when he gave the scene another thought, he wondered about something radically different: how could it be possible to be so filled with joy about something so mundane?
He looked directly at the filly's eyes, and when they made contact, her eyes seemed to change from her round, young eyes to another pair of eyes; eyes that seemed to belong to a mare, and that were strangely familiar to him. They were the same color, but it seemed like she was really tired, instead of her normal cheerful appearance.
The pair of eyes remembered him of somepony that worked at the hospital. The name was Nurse Coldheart, if he wasn’t mistaken. But... why? Before he could try to find the reason behind that, his memories stopped suddenly as his body felt the ground appear, not ready to receive the impact.
His forelegs were unable to soften at least the tiniest part of the prolonged fall, bending like they were made of nothingness with a crunch that sounded like it came from Tartarus itself.
The rest of his body kept on going, his face just inches away from the hard ground.
To the pair of horrified eyes watching it all in the shadows, all that could be appreciated was that: the sound of a window breaking, a shadowy figure falling down, the dry sound of a body hitting the concrete floor, and then, the unrelenting silence of the night. It all was made worse with the fact that it could perfectly have been her fault. Trying to brush away those pessimistic thoughts, she was left with nothing but soul-crushing doubt.
He lay inside the curtain, his agonizing breathing starting to become erratic when he felt that his legs were completely shattered.
His left foreleg had received the first impact, and was now broken between the knee and his hoof, his brittle leg bone protruding out from a strangely clean cut.
His right leg had crashed against the floor completely straight, his weak shoulder unable to hold it in its place, dislocating and tearing the coat around his shoulder open, severing flesh and muscle.
After his forelegs suffered the devastating crash against the hard floor, his head clashed against the concrete with a mute crack, still somehow attached to his body after the violent landing. His neck twisted violently, rupturing from the inside due to being subject to such sudden torture; an artery had been severed, spraying blood out of a wound the size of his eyes.
The rest of his body hit the ground almost immediately after his head, but luckily enough -or compassively enough- nothing else broke.
Scootaloo, in root of the sheer unexpectedness of the entire situation, was choking over her own words, attempting to say something, anything. She had just witnessed a suicide, and a particularly violent one, at that. She was in a state of shock, his body just a few steps away from her. In a lapse of irrationality, she got closer to him, trying to get the curtain off of him.
When she could finally get the covering material out of him, she saw his eyes focusing on nothing, his neck still pumping out his vital liquid. She wasn't really sure of why was she doing all of this, an abruptly appearing feeling of sickness ruling over her reason.
His mind could still receive some sound over the mind-numbing pain: the distant sound of hooves getting closer at an impressive speed. The moon was high in the sky, and it seemed like every single star was a light bulb becoming brighter and brighter as his eyes lost focus and he lost his breath.
The sound of the hooves had become less comprehensible and even more distant; all the while an agitated voice said something he couldn't understand. He did his best to focus on the voice, but as much as he tried, it only became more and more distorted, never lost its sheer desperation. He tried to scream, to say something, anything, but the only sound coming out of his mouth was the mute sound of agony as he puked blood at an irregular rate, staining Scootaloo's right forehoof.
He tried to convince himself that everything he felt was just his mind playing him a prank, and that he would be as well as always tomorrow, that everything would return to be just like before, that, and the end of the day, all of this would be just a lie, just like the rest of his memories.
He wanted to speak up and say to Scootaloo that her dreams could only come true if she put her full effort on them at a young age. He wanted to share his sudden realization with somepony, but all that he could do was to stare blankly at the sky as he began to lose his senses. His rapid blood loss rendered him unable to maintain his logic for too much time. Before he could even notice, his breathing was starting to slow down, his heartbeat starting to become slower with every second. He couldn't move his forelegs, but could feel the sharp pain of them becoming nothing but scattered pieces.
As soon as Scootaloo noticed the sound of hoofsteps coming closer and closer to them, she took off the ground and flew away as fast as she could, not sure of what to make of this entire situation.
She was just so confused, so broken inside. Waddle's words resonated in her mind as her wings took her as far as they could, reminding her that, indeed, not all dreams could become a reality. Her wings flapped frantically, her tears running towards the back of her face, blown by the wind against her body as she began to pass through every possible misunderstanding that the sight of her and Waddle could have produced. She desperately rambled about the likelihood of it all being mistaken for a murder, her young mind crafting scenarios far from veridical. But, beyond that, she was fixed on the idea that, maybe, her dreams would turn out to be nothing but dreams. Rapidly getting tired of flying away from her nonsensical potential chaser, she began to slow down, suddenly noticing that she had absolutely no idea of where she was. Lost in-between woods she couldn't recognize, her sight was reduced to just some metres away.
She wondered how had she managed go get so far inside the forest, without realizing where she was going, nor crashing against a tree.
He felt his body being raised off the blood-stained concrete and being moved. His mind could only laugh, the splinters of his rationality being unable to reunite and rebuild after all those long years of self-deceiving. His breathing had stopped two minutes ago, and the hemorrhage was slowly disconnecting his mind, in a final desperate attempt to forget about the suffering.
But it had absolutely no use.
His eyes couldn't see anything but stains: stains of the colours of the rainbow flying around over a white background, which he assumed that was the hospital's ceiling. He smiled, even when he couldn't move. He felt a strangely heartwarming inner peace when he realized that he would die in the same bed his wife did. They would finally be together for all of eternity.
A last batch of memories flashed before his eyes:
"What's the diagnostic, doctor?" asked an agitated voice, in the brink of desperation. There was no response, only a long, cold silence.
"You need to take these pills, sir. I know it sounds cold but... it would be better if you forgot about her," whispered a different voice. It sounded like one of the nurses, Nurse Coldheart. That'd explain why he could remember her: he had been in the hospital for quite a long time.
"Tell me, sir... have you seen her again?" said a third voice, the voice of a stallion. "No? You see, she's... how do I say this... she has never been there. She's just a figment of your imagination."
He had lived a rather good life, he thought. It had been a good lie. He was truly surprised with his capability to make himself believe what everypony else couldn't help but notice: that fake smile with which he appeared in town couldn't really fool anypony. …Well, it could fool Pinkie Pie. She had always been an innocent mare, however. Everypony else could easily notice that his smile was just a bad way of hiding away all of his suffering. Her love life ended just as abruptly as he saw his friends die, some of them in front of him, even.
Completely destroyed inside, all that was left was to be completely destroyed in the outside.
His broken forelegs where just a symbolic way of showing that, whether he realized it or not, he had never been able to reach out and be in control of any part of his life; instead, life controlled him, and played with him as if he were a puppet. As his life progressed and he grew old, he began to lose his memories, believing that his life had been great.
...Of course it hadn't been great, with all the suffering he had gone through, with the murder of his father and the death of his wife. As a desperate measure against depression, his mind began to block all traumatic experiences from his past, making up nothing but illusions, which included other ponies that were just figments of his imagination spreading fake memories in an attempt of avoiding feeling that horrible pain all over again.
After the day he had arrived to the hospital, the diagnostic had been rather clear and strong: he was schizophrenic, and his wife had never really existed. He had never believed in what the doctors said, only becoming more and more obtuse and time went by.
But that day had been the breaking point, as the truth appeared in front of him:
Maybe, none of his memories were his. Maybe, not a single second of all that agony belonged to him. But most importantly, maybe he wasn't the proprietary of all the happy moments he firmly believed to be part of his belongings.
The mysterious comfortable feeling that his life fading away brought forth washed over him, as his last moments were spent in mind-numbingly reassuring calm, becoming more and more distant from his previous grief.
Exchanging a look of sorrow between them, the doctors saw him pass away in the hospital cot he firmly believed to be his alleged wife's deathbed, as the cold night silence took over everything once again. Nopony said anything, yet they all could perfectly understand and agree with what had to be the most plausible theory of reason behind this event: in root of his schizophrenia, he deluded himself into thinking that the hospital was truly his own house, and had created a completely new life from that starting point.
Outside, two fillies were looking for a third, still not noticing the rather large blood puddle that had formed in the concrete, still somewhat fresh.
Out there, in the darkness of the night, were two fillies: a yellow earth pony and a white unicorn, who, with smiles in their faces and between giggles, called out for their pegasus friend Scootaloo.
A cold breeze blew through the area surrounding the hospital, its silence making it appear rather ominous.
"Is she even here?" asked the unicorn filly, looking towards the spot her friend was supposed to be.
"O' course she's here!" responded Apple Bloom, enthusiastically. "Why wouldn't she? She's probably just hidin' sumwhere."
With this being said, they began walking towards the wall where Scootaloo would be waiting for them. The cold night air was making the whole scene feel rather out of place.
"I don't know... she said she'd be here..." said Sweetie Belle, rather absent-mindedly, as they trotted towards Scootaloo's alleged spot, passing over the reddish puddle without even realizing it.
Over their heads, the window frame slowly swung in the wind, creaking as they reached their destination.
"Isn't that...?" said Sweetie Belle, pointing with her hoof in direction to an object just steps away from them, hiding in-between the shadow casted over that side of the grass surrounding the hospital. Before ending her sentence, she had realized what it was, and was looking at the yellow filly with a look of confusion and an underlying tone of dread.
Scootaloo's scooter was there, together with her helmet, but Scootaloo herself was nowhere to be found.
Apple Bloom turned towards Sweetie Belle, her eyes focusing on her raised hoof for just an instant. That instant was enough for her to notice something else:
"What's that in yer hoof, Sweetie Belle?" she asked, taking a closer look at the maroon substance plastered over the end of the unicorn's leg. Shortly after, she spoke up again, puzzled, with an unsettled inflection. "It's blood. Are ya hurt!?"
Before she could answer, Apple Bloom spoke up again, looking at her own hooves.
"There's blood in mah hooves too..."
Both of them turned their heads towards the path they had just taken, their eyes following their crimson hoofsteps that came out of a stain on the ground, which they had dismissed as just mud at a first glance.
"No..." was the only thing that Sweetie Belle managed to say as she passed through a whirlwind of thoughts that only confused her even more.
The question of where was Scootaloo had gone from a game of pure innocence to a desperate pursuit for even the tiniest bit of evidence that could prove contrary to what they wished wasn't true: Scootaloo was out there, seriously injured.
"She can't be too far from us, the blood is still sticky…" reasoned Apple Bloom, rather coldly.
"She's around..." repeated Apple Bloom under her breath, as she began to lay out another possibility before her. "She might be too near, even..."
Apple Bloom ran off towards the hospital's front door without saying a thing. With a knot in her throat, she opened the door, preparing herself for the most soul-crushing sight she could imagine.
Almost immediately, she was met by one of the doctors; a caramel stallion with glasses.
"What brings you here, Apple Bloom?" he asked. "It's quite late at night. Is Applejack here?"
"Ah'm..." responded Apple Bloom, before gulping. "...Lookin' for somepony. Is Scootaloo here?"
"Scootaloo..." answered the stallion, half-closing his eyes as he tried to remember something. "I... think one of the nurses saw her around here. Why do you--?"
"Where is she?" interrupted Apple Bloom as soon as she heard her name. A spark of hope ignited inside her heart, feeling capable of doing anything for her friend, without having to think about it two times.
"She... flew towards the forest..." responded the medic, closing his eyes for a few seconds. "But I don't think you should go there..." he continued, opening them again. He was completely alone: Apple Bloom had already run off, her body being overtaken by her willpower and their friendship's great affect.
"Sweetie Belle, take the scooter and come with me!" she directed as soon as she saw the confused white filly near the front hospital door, as she didn't hesitate for a single second about keeping her path in direction to the woods.
Sweetie Belle, hearing Apple Bloom's agitated voice tone, did the best she could at taking the scooter and running at the same time.
Resting her head against a tree, the orange pegasus filly tried to forget about her current situation, lost in the woods in almost complete darkness, and tried to focus on her friends and what they would be doing, but her mind was unable to leave the topic of Waddle's death. She was in a dense fog of confusion that didn't let her orient herself inside her mind. The more she tried to fight it, the more powerless she felt.
"Some dreams never do come true."
There she could see him once again, throwing himself off his window and breaking as he hit the concrete, bleeding profusely as a twisted smile plagued him.
Submerged in the torturing madness progressively taking over her rationality, she began to thread up a monologue against her will, her inner insecurities rising from the corners of her mind.
"As we grow up, they tell us there's a place for all of us in the future..." began a voice. It didn't sound like anypony Scootaloo knew, but the voice sounded familiar nonetheless. "Depositing their hopes over our shoulders... Expecting us to grow up as the living image of their crushed dreams..." it continued, its calm tone unnerving her. "But they hide the truth behind their reassuring grins... haven't you noticed, Scoot?"
When the voice addressed her, her eyes opened up wide. "Why do you know my name!?" she shouted, not really realizing it was all in her mind. She looked around, trying to find anypony that might be in the dark with her.
The leaves over her ruffled for a moment, right before a dark figure fell to the floor. It was around the same height as the filly, or at least that was what could be estimated below the treetops, where the moonlight couldn't reach.
"Who are you?!" asked Scootaloo, frozen with fear. She tried to find the figure's eyes, but couldn't see anything. All that she saw was a formless figure lying on the floor before her.
"We're whoever you want us to be..." said the figure, not a single feature being recognizable on what must have been its face. The leaves over her head ruffled once again, a second figure falling right behind her.
"It's all up to you. You can keep lying to yourself and think who we're not, or you can find out the truth... are you afraid of the truth, Scootaloo? Are you afraid of failing at achieving your dreams?" said the figure in front of her, not really moving. The voice just came from the figure, without any action. No lip movements, no lips, either; nothing but a blank black space.
"How do you know that!?" growled the pegasus, lowering her head.
"We know everything about you, Scootaloo. We are your doubts and your subconscious, and you'll never be able to run away from us," said a voice from behind the filly. It was the same exact voice as before, a voice without emotions. "Whether you want it or not, we're the only ones who can tell you the truth."
The filly stood in silence, her eyes closed. Her mind had somehow related the voices with her friends, hearing their voices talk to her as she denied everything in an attempt to block their words.
"I don't want to hear it," she spoke up after a moment, "I don't want to hear you," her voice tone becoming dry and direct. She closed her eyes with a dismissive gesture.
"If you close yourself to your idyllic world, you will only hurt yourself. Listen to us, Scootaloo: the world isn't a place for dreamers. The world is a place for those who forget their dreams only."
The words pierced through the walls of her mental fortress. As much as she wanted to point out flaws in its logic, she could only admit for it to be true; after all, the reason of Mr. Waddle's death was that he couldn't tell reality and his dreams apart.
The silence of the night left her alone with her thoughts.
Images and sounds emanated from her subconscious, dispersing the confusion haze in which she had been lost since she entered the forest.
She saw herself, lying down in the clubhouse's wooden floor, accompanied by Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom, brainstorming a way out of the trouble they had caused with the Gabby Gums column. If she had been alone, the weight that the forced social isolation caused by the population of Ponyville had put over her would have broken her; but in the company of her friends, a part of her mind demanded her to keep on going, to never surrender. She had felt alone so many times in her life, but there was always somepony out there, bound to give her a helping hoof.
"Life is a journey where only you have the control. Who you become and how will you become who you'll be is entirely up to you. But remember, just like in flight, you can't hope for your life to turn better; you have to make it turn for the better. Spread your wings, take off towards your dreams and never look back."
The words echoed through her mind over the tense silent ambient that had set over below the treetops, becoming louder and louder over time. A feeling of confidence imbued her thoughts as she spoke up again.
"I don't want to hear your lies anymore," she remarked, feeling a second voice inside her mind who talked together with her: "Rainbow Dash...?" she thought puzzled.
"I believe in dreams, in changing the future according to what we have always longed for," said the filly, her tone jumping from a plain voice to a determination-filled roar. With every word, more voices appeared inside her head, accompanying her in her speech. She could recognize the rest of the Cutie Mark Crusaders and her entire class among an ocean of voices that talked in unison.
"Because even when dreams aren't easy to reach, you just have to try harder and harder every time! There's not a single moment in life when there's nothing you can do about your situation! Even when you're cornered by drawbacks, just rise over them... and fly..."
A cold breeze blew through the branches and leaves after Scootaloo ended her short outburst of positivity. One of the figures stood up and said:
"You do believe in that type of things, don't you...?"
Before the voice could go on for any longer, the Pegasus shot back a fast response:
"I've learned to believe in what works, and to try what might work."
"Well, like we said..." stated the second figure, behind Scootaloo. "We're just your subconscious, and seeing how much you believed in yourself in your little speech, I'd say you're quite focused on a good ideology. We never really wanted to hurt you, but to show you the right way, even if it meant going through a difficult process first. But you actually surprised us at brushing doubt away, and that's the reason of why we couldn't dig any deeper inside your memories."
"W-What...?"
"Before you go on with your friends, let me ask you something. There was one memory that made quite an impression on you: I think it was something about Miss Dash. Is she your model? Do you... want to be like her?"
Before Scootaloo could answer, the voice spoke up again.
"We're just a mirage of the forest. As I said, we weren't trying to harm you in any way. Now, go on, turn back and just go straight until you get out of here. Your friends are searching for you."
"H-How do you know?" she asked incredulously.
"I could see the memories of your friends in your mind, and formulated the hypothesis from there. My best guess is that they're searching for you, so I think you should really go and meet them again."
"But what about Mr. Waddle...?" sighed Scootaloo, for a last time. He had been the reason behind all of this happening.
"He was who made all of this possible. I know it hurts, but he helped you quite a bit when it came to decide to follow your dreams. Just listen to yourself; you sound like an adult, already."
The voice spoke with a loving undertone, similar to the one a mother would have over a child.
"It's time for us to go, as well. It's been a pleasure." With this being said, both of the figures went off towards the black void of the inner forest, Scootaloo's eyesight losing them after only a few seconds.
Confused, she returned back on the road she had gone, wondering what all that had been about. The strong feeling of self-confidence hadn't left her; on the contrary, it became stronger with every step. A faint voice was heard in the distance, picking Scootaloo's attention immediately.
She began to trot in the direction of the voice, hoping with all her might that she'd found her friends and not another bizarre encounter.
"Scootaloo!! Where are ya!?" shouted Apple Bloom, her agitated breathing just below the volume of her disturbed voice. She had been running for quite a long time, and the rush of adrenaline had began to wear off as she noticed the signs of tiredness on her body.
Several hooves back was Sweetie Belle with the scooter between her teeth, doing her best not to fall as a result of exhaustion.
The sudden wooden barrier that marked the entrance to the forest appeared rather ominous in their eyes, but they simultaneously brushed it off.
"Nuthin's gonna stop me from findin' Scootaloo," she voiced beneath her breath as she braced herself to enter the forest right away. Even when she knew she wasn't in any danger, given the doctor didn't specify who the owner of the blood was—
"Hold on a minute... Maybe the Doctor didn't know about the accident...? That could mean that—"
"Sweetie Belle!" the earth pony shouted back, her face expressing a deep desperation. "Hurry up, I need you!"
The mentioned unicorn filly caught up between wheezes and coughs, leaving the scooter on the ground for a while. She spoke up huffing and taking deep breaths.
"Ah, Apple Bloom, we're... here... Do you think—?" she tried to say, only to be hushed when a yellow hoof was positioned over her mouth.
"Ah heard sumthin'," she whispered, trying to keep the volume low. The last thing they wanted was to be in danger themselves. "We better get outta sight," she continued in a low tone, pointing to a nearby tree.
Slowly, both of them hid behind the tree, out of the sight range of whatever it could have been that made the sound Apple Bloom heard.
"Apple Bloom? Sweetie Belle?"
Scootaloo was slowly cantering down the path towards to the entrance to the forest, which was just some metres away, starting to lose hope in finding her friends. Maybe... they had left without her? Maybe they weren't there because they were busy looking for her somewhere else?
"Did you hear that?" said Sweetie Belle in her trademark enthusiastic voice, her voice breaking a bit at the third word. "Scootaloo's out there!"
A simultaneous 'huh?' was heard.
"Sweetie Belle!?"
"Scootaloo!?"
"Where is she?" said the two fillies in unison, leaving their hiding position, finding eachother immediately.
Their eyes met, their entire bodies expressing a deep surprise, both at the fact of finally finding eachother to be alright, and at how something so mundane as just seeing a friend could carry so much emotional impact.
In a silence more telling than any words, the three fillies reunited at the entrance to the forest, their eyes welling up with tears and their smiles turning both reassuring and reassured.
Apple Bloom spoke up first, her voice quivering as she struggled to hold her emotions back.
"You're alright...! We were so worried 'bout ya..." she managed to say as she passed one of her legs over Scootaloo's back, ending up in a rather strange hugging position.
"Why wouldn't I be...?" responded Scootaloo, smirking confidently, if not too boastfully.
"Why are you even here?" asked Sweetie Belle suddenly. She had been silent the entire time, apparently too exhausted to even put together a sentence.
Scootaloo just stared at her unicorn friend for a moment before sighing in resignation.
"It's kind of a long story..." she said, closing her eyes.
"But we want to hear it!" remarked Apple Bloom suddenly. "What happened?"
When Scootaloo opened up her eyes again, the faces of her two friends were right in front of her, their eyes alone expressing a deep interest on whatever it was that she was about to say.
"Can we go back to the hospital...? I'll tell you about this on the way."
"Deal. Let's get moving, Sweetie Belle!" commanded Apple Bloom, a compassive smile flashing on her face. "Oh, and give Scootaloo her scooter. Mighty sorry 'bout makin' ya carry it all the way here, though."
When the unicorn filly let the vehicle in front of its owner, the weight of their gazes could be feel in the air; watching every detail as they hoped for their crazy theories to be nothing but unreal possibilities.
"Well, so after you two left, I decided to just wait there and look at the sun setting..." began Scootaloo as she got on her scooter, riding around at a speed that allowed her to keep on talking as long as she managed to turn in the correct directions.
"And then... he started to talk about his own childhood..."
"I tried to talk some sense into him but... it was just too late."
"I really felt like I had seen the most horrifying thing in my life. I couldn't believe it. I still can't believe it."
"So then I heard somepony nearing, and just flew away as fast as I could. I couldn't think clearly, and I thought that the scene could have been taken incorrectly."
"Something inside me snapped, and I began to give this hot-blooded speech about following dreams... I swear, I could hear all of you saying my exact words together with me."
"And then, when I saw you, I just couldn't put behind the fact that you were who helped break that insecureness spell. I just wanted to thank all of you so much for that... for being there for and with me for all this time..."
The three friends were reunited below the window of who had started that night's events. In a way, it had been radically different from what they had in mind, but had much stronger effects.
"So... that explains the blood..." said Apple Bloom slowly, clearly moved by Scootaloo's story. "You thought of us when you needed us the most..." she said, looking at her pegasus friend with a quivering smile and a single tear going down a side of her face. Overtaken by a feeling between happiness and pride, she launched herself towards her friend, her forelegs stretched and ready to hug her like never before. Sweetie Belle was at the right side of Scootaloo, with Apple Bloom being at her left side.
"Yeah, pretty mu—" was all Scootaloo managed to get out before being tackled by her grinning yellow-coated friend.
Sweetie Belle was in the verge of bursting into tears. The thought of her friends thinking of eachother when in doubt filled her with an enormous joy. Noticing the sudden tackle-hug, she embraced, as much as she could, her two friends in a tight hug.
"I don't know what I would do without you." The words escaped from the unicorn's mouth in a form more similar to a thought than a spoken phrase, but were impregnated in a deep affect that made any possible description unfitting. It was a feeling beyond the realm of comprehension:
The feeling of knowing that there's no such thing as solitude; the feeling of having somepony to lean on, who also leans on you, building up a future beneath their mutual care.
"Hey, don't get too sappy, either," said Scootaloo in a joking manner. As much as she had gone through a rapid cycle of doubt and reassuring, it didn't mean that she would start giving out hugs and singing excessively joyful songs.
A cold breeze blew as the three fillies were lying on the concrete, the window frame over the three creaking as it moved freely with the wind. A rather large paper flew from inside of the room, marking an erratic trajectory before landing on the dry blood puddle, not too far away from the fillies.
Sweetie Belle's attention was picked up as she could barely make out the last word on the text, both from the distance and the rather shaky mouth-writing.
"Waddle...?" she absent-mindedly spoke aloud while reading, picking the attention of the other two Cutie Mark Crusaders.
"Isn't him who...?" asked Apple Bloom to nopony in particular, feeling both curious and repelled from the text itself. Her curiosity got the best of her and she managed to get up, put a hoof over a corner and started reading aloud, not expecting what she was about to say. She cleared her throat and started talking, a confused tone being evident in her voice.
"As it's usual for me, Ah ran away from any words o' encouragement that could ever reach mah ears. Submerged in the fake indiffe... indifference that emerged from the corners of mah mind, th' only choice Ah had was to isolate mah'self from any possible response that ya could give t' me."
"Ah... think this is Waddle's suicide note..." she said in an inner horror: she had begun to read a pony's last wish like it was a completely normal piece of text, but her ever-growing curiosity pleaded for her to continue despite the sickening feeling that had emanated from the corners of her mind.
"'Fore any of us could know th' truth about what was happening, Ah cut any kind of communication between th' two, separating myself from reality under the fab- fabricated idea of not really needing anypony else for me to lean on in mah times o' weakness."
"Ah can't do it," she announced in a disturbingly calm voice. "Ah can't read this."
But instead of walking away, her mind pressed her to keep on reading, to keep on unveiling those cryptic pieces of information.
Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo got up only seconds later, and found themselves to be too engaged on his last letter to look away. Before they even knew it, they were reading Waddle's suicide note at a whispering tone of voice, constantly remarking in their own head how wrong it was.
Your words clashed against the wall I put in front of me in an attempt to shield myself from the hurtful truth.
My heart and soul were imbued in that calmness I created in my mind, a calmness that only served as an excuse for me to separate myself from the world surrounding me.
When you get this message, I won't be there, and only then you'll be able to know what I really thought about you.
"W-What...?" thought Scootaloo, confused. "Who is this mare he's talking about...?"
I will never be able to know what your response about all of this was, but a part of me says I did the right thing when I escaped.
My life had become an uphill race, every new day becoming more and more difficult to take, breaking my hopes about a better future.
Yesterday was the last day I really cared about what everypony else thought.
None of us talked with the other for a long time, because we were so far away.
But, of course, all of this is unnecessary, because I doubt you'll ever see me again.
In the moment you get this letter, I'll probably be already gone. You might never hear from me again, and that is my intention.
When you disappeared a few weeks ago, I felt a deep regret when I realized I had never told you about my feelings.
Every unrequited love story ends with a tragedy, my dear, and ours isn't any different.
Even when there's the possibility that you never find this, I want you to know what I feel about you:
Love. The deepest love I've ever felt.
Sweetie Belle was dumbfounded at the plain words in front of her. How could something so romantic be so heartbreaking?
But... where will you be when I disappear?
Your voice resonates in my mind, reminding me that everything will be fine. Since that day we were so close to telling the truth to eachother, I regret not being able to gather enough courage to talk to you for once.
I'm truly a fool when I consider I never did tell you something as simple as "I love you".
But now, I'm just lying to myself.
I still remember your last words, my love; you said we'd never be able to forget about eachother, and so it has been.
From the very bottom of my soul, I want to tell you that, even when you're not with me anymore, you've never left my mind.
In my moments of solitude, I still think of you: your eyes, your personality... and heck, why lie, your body. I've blamed myself for the things that never happened so many times, those things
that were so close to reality we could feel them.
"Ah can't believe how much suffering this poor colt must have gone through..." said Apple Bloom in a low tone of voice.
Countless nights have been spent in thinking about all the time we could have spent together, all those things that either of us was able to enunciate, but plagued our thoughts.
...I can still see the wounds traveling across your body as you were agonizing on the hospital bed.
"What?" said the three fillies in unison.
"Did his lover die here on this hospital...?" asked Scootaloo, feeling like an unknown force what pressing down on her throat. She felt herself struggling to breathe, the sheer sorrow Waddle's words emanated piercing her soul like a cold knife.
The silence of the night took over once again, as the three fillies kept on reading as an unexplainable fear imbued their thoughts.
You couldn't leave me alone so fast, not without me telling you all those things I had kept inside for such a long time.
You worked at a construction site, I can remember. I had always thought that it didn't fit you, but the lack of machinery that could hold the construction material had made many pegasi work there.
Nothing was truly your fault. The action that caused that fatidic accident was a negligence of a workmate, who accidentally let go of his beam after holding it for such a long time. It hit you in the head, knocking you out, both from consciousness and the sky, as you let go of your own beam as you plummeted towards the ground.
Hearing all of this come out of the doctor's mouth broke my heart, but hearing it from you later on was something that took all my hopes about life and crushed them mercilessly in front of my eyes.
In root of the event's suddenness, the other pegasi were unable to hold the other beam in place, making it fall down right after you.
You landed on your side, according to the witnesses, with the metallic bar right above you.
The cold material pressed against your body, breaking your ribs as it almost tore you in half, with a damned cut that started behind your wing, and ended at the lower part of your abdomen.
You could barely talk, but your words resonated against the walls of my soul with such force that I have trouble describing it up until this day.
Today is the last day I can stand all of this. I got my plan sketched out completely: all I need to do is to break away from this depressing home, and I'll be completely free.
Free, like you wanted us to be, like I always wanted to be.
With the deepest sorrow coming from my very core, I say goodbye to you for the last time.
I don't want you to think that I'll forget about us, for this departing is to be followed by a reencounter.
Today is the day we're going to meet once again, of that I'm sure.
-Waddle.
The cold breeze of the night stopped for a moment, leaving nothing but absolute silence reign over the children minds.
"He..." said Sweetie Belle, the words barely coming out of her mouth. "He believed that he would re-encounter his lover tonight..."
Apple Bloom had been put beyond rational thought, and was quivering as her mind was assaulted with thoughts about a certain story about a member of the Apple family, whom, she had been told, had met a similar fate.
Scootaloo, by her side, was staring in shock at the paper.
"Did he mean this when he said that not all dreams could be true...?" she desperately asked in her own mind.
“But... they say that... if you believe in something... if you believe in something with enough determination... then... it can only be true!”
"He had followed his dreams, literally, and had only managed to end his life. It was... it was his wish, after all..."
One, or maybe two minutes later, the three little fillies had returned to their original position, after having left the paper drift freely through the wind. The main difference was that now they weren't hugging eachother out of happiness; they were hugging eachother out of cold and an alien fear that had taken over their minds.
Apple Bloom had given the situation an extensive thought before realizing that the letter wasn't a sad letter; instead, it was a letter expressing Mr. Waddle's relief and great affection towards his wife. She stood up suddenly, talking with an astonishingly strong voice:
"Well, who's up for some crusading tonight? We still have eachother and Ah thought the main focus of this night was to go around th' city at night. Now, come on, girls! There are lots o' crusading to do!"
Her words, even when encouraging, fell rather flat on the ears of her two friends. Sweetie Belle seemed out of her mind, and Scootaloo could barely respond to stimuli.
"Come on, or are ya chicken?" she tried her best to bring out the competitive child in each of them. "Are you chicken, Scoot?" she said to her face, making her rather incorrect chicken noises.
After some awkward seconds, Scootaloo looked at her in the eyes and, with a tiny smug grin:
"I'm ready as ever. Are you up to it, though?"
"Why, o' course! Who do you think Ah am?"
Their gazes directed towards Sweetie Belle, who sported a completely neutral expression. Not the tiniest amount of emotion was present on her face.
"Uh... are ya coming, Sweetie Belle...?"
What seemed to be the longest seconds of the night passed in a complete silence, before the filly's voice could be barely heard:
"Hey, I'm no drama queen. I... might be the sister of one..." she said as she stood up, regaining a little of her typical cheerfulness with every word. "...But I'm no drama queen! So, where do we go first?" she exclaimed, as her two friends sighed in relief.
As much as they had gone through an emotion rollercoaster, there was something that would never stop being true:
When somepony is a child at heart, sadness can be brushed off as nothing too important.
The three shared a look, their faces soaked with their tears, from sadness, happiness, that horrendous fear that had taken them by surprise in such a short span of time, their smiles telling eachother that they still were who they were; the best friends they could ever find, and that their reality would never change.
The three fillies cantered off towards the town hall as their trademark giggles resonated against the walls of the city. Every corner seemed to be a new adventure, every street a road filled with treasure ready to be dig up. The moon shone over their heads, signaling that, even at the end of the day, when everything seems dark, the sun will rise once again.
The night is always at its darkest before dawn.
The few ponies that were around could just look at them and wonder how exactly they could enjoy the simple things of life, disregarding everyday problems.
Because that's true happiness: the feeling of greatness that comes with pushing all problems aside and enjoying the finest details in life. Only those who are closing the curtains of ignorance over their lives in purpose can forget what happiness is like, because all who have ever lived have had a moment on their lives when they can put worries and inner conflicts aside and actually enjoy life.