A messenger came early this morning to personally deliver a letter. It said that two days ago, my father had died in a motor vehicle accident and that the funeral would be held on Friday. After reading it, the colt told me how sorry he was for me and I thanked him. I’ve read and heard many anecdotes about ponies having weird reactions to these sorts of events, and sometimes grief is not as one expects. You see, I’m really groggy before my morning cup of coffee and sometimes I don’t really get things until after it. That was the first order of business.

Unfortunately, Sweetie Belle walked in and read the letter, which I had absentmindedly tossed onto the table. She asked me if it was real and I told her yes. She did as I would have expected, choke a bit and break down into tears. I sat down across from her with my coffee and she asked me why I wasn’t crying. I told her I didn’t know, and we locked eyes for some time. Eventually she stopped crying and I told her it was alright to stay home from school. She sniffled a bit and went up to her room, probably to cry more.

I finished my coffee and waited for the clarity of mind that it brought me. Over the next half-hour I reread the letter several times, memorized the date of the funeral, and calculated my travel time. Thankfully it didn’t conflict with any important clients or business affairs. It did run over some time that I would have liked to spend visiting Twilight with, but I suppose that’s not as pressing of a matter.

I waited for clarity, but it didn’t come. I poured myself another cup and thought of my sister. By the time that one kicked in, I could feel a trembling in my hoof, the sort of "wired" trembling that makes me feel sick and frail. It's a horrible thing, really. I need it to wake up, but too much of it puts me right back into bed, unable to sleep. So many days wasted from too much or not enough. There must be a perfect balance I always seem to miss somewhere in the world, but I digress.

When this sickly shaking starts up, I like to walk this route that helps me refocus on fashion. It takes me past a few choice locations to help arouse the heart. The school I went to as a child, the restaurant where I went on my first date, the same restaurant where I’d had my heart broken; things to help me feel. Fashion designing is a fickle thing that comes and goes, and thinking of this stuff helps designs stay in my head long enough to get them on paper. There are also many lovely park benches sprinkled across the route to let me relax or catch my breath. When I stepped outside the air tasted hot. I began my walk and before I knew it I was already home.

In the same daze that led me on my walk, I fixed myself a more substantial breakfast (even though it was closer to brunch by this point) and tried reading the letter again. Something about not feeling sad struck me as odd. A parent dying should make a pony sad, if not tearful. I did care for my father, but we had drifted apart. We shared little in common, and he rarely visited. When he did, I cooked, we’d eat, then we’d talk, and then he’d go back home. In the last year I could count on one hoof the number of times he’d visited. Perhaps that was the root of my melancholy, and in my mind it made sense. Without a meaningful relationship, he was just another pony, and ponies died all the time without my attention. It was morbid, but sensible all the same.

Somehow I’d poured myself yet another cup. My stomach regretted me for it and churned over the stuff. It was miserable, but my mind had cleared and that’s when I began to feel a little sadness. I thought about taking some of that sadness and turning it into creative power. I always design better when I’m sad or angry or infatuated (though I haven’t felt that last one in a while), yet I couldn’t find the will to do so. I thought about sitting in front of the blank drawing board. I could see the designs clearly, but I didn’t want to. My stomach was upset, and an upset stomach fatigues me like nothing else in this world. If that didn't excuse me from work, then a father passing might grant me a day off. I retired to my bedroom and decided to take a nap. As I settled in, there was a knock at my bedroom door and Sweetie Belle told me that Twilight had come over.

I silently groaned in my mind at the thought of telling all my friends.

Twilight was there with a wagon full of books and that brought a small smile to my face, or so I felt. I was excited that she had come to visit after I'd so shamelessly abandoned her, but less so than I have been in the past. I could tell because when I answered the door, Twilight asked me if something was wrong. I told her, “No, I’m fine, just tired.” There must have been something about the way I said that, because she said, “Oh,” and invited me to come to the library later after getting some sleep.

She looked hurt, and when the door closed I felt a tinge of guilt.

I would have to cover that lie about nothing being wrong. Technically, everything was wrong. I imagined a few ways of how to play off the lie and settled on telling her I was just too shocked and hadn’t been feeling well. That made me feel a bit better, and I slept the rest of the day away with only minimal tossing and turning. I don’t know if I’m in shock, but I should probably want to be.

Next Chapter: note five of twenty-nine Estimated time remaining: 16 Minutes