Mac didn't feel so good. (Good...good...no. Like her...no...fucking acid in my throat...) After he'd gotten back from the hardware store with the new roof tiles and a fresh carton of orange juice and a case of beer (for her) from the grocer later that evening, the effects of the speed had taken a turn for worse. The euphoria was completely gone, like a benevolent ruler deposed by a wicked usurper. Dysphoria was now the ruling king that sat upon the dope throne. (BlackKingKingofRatsgonna'splitmyheadinhalf) Mac had quickly ushered himself past his family after dropping off the supplies he'd procured and locked himself in his room without so much as an explanation. AJ had come and knocked on his door to ask if he was okay...he'd reassured her, telling her that he just didn't feel well...but he didn't think she was fully convinced.

Of course, he'd had to make several trips across the hall to the bathroom after being slammed with a violent bout of vomiting and diarrhea...he'd barely been able to hide from his family. They probably thought he was just violently ill. Mac ritualistically paced around the room...he scratched at the various itching spots that were forming in his skin underneath his thick, fluffy coat. (...they're under the skin...fuckin'...bitin' me...) His lustrous, red coat was matted with sweat and his heart was racing. His chest was constricted...too tight...it was painful. This tachycardia was life-threatening. He was headed for a massive thrombosis and an early grave. (...don'tevendeservenograveeventhemfuckin'wormseatin'me'lldeservebetter...) He could tell. He'd been here before.(...tothisplacethisfuckin'HolebeenherebeforebutIhateititsmellswhiskeyan'vomitmakeyerselfathomeJohn'causeyouain'tleavin'notimesoonohGod...)

"Shit...shit...shit...I OD'd. I just know it....gotta' stop...but...benzos, maybe? No...take too long...not enough time..."

Mac knew he was getting hit by a nasty case of amphetamine hyper-intoxication...and stimulant psychosis was setting in. Really...it was a bit superfluous. Like he needed any help getting more psychotic. Normally, it took several days of binging with no sleep for amphetamine psychosis to kick in, but the massive dose Mac had taken coupled with the fact that he was already mentally unstable had greatly sped the process. And also...Mac hadn't had any quality sleep in weeks except for his drug-induced stupor that morning. And it was rattling his brain. He could hear things that he couldn't see. Things that were just out of his eyes' ability to perceive. They were awful black things. They made noises in his head. Noises that itched. Scratching sounds from Nowhere. Mac's eyes and muscles were twitching rapidly...his knees were shaking, and his teeth were chattering. His thoughts were racing. Errant. They jumbled together to form obscene, unintelligible lumps of language. (...eatin'fuckin'an'dyin'areallI'mgoodfercuzIain'tworthnothin'more'nwormfoodnowworthlessstupidjunkiewithnocontrolnowyou'vegonean'killedyourselfwhatisyerfamilygonna'donow?...)

(....thisisallmyfault...IbroughtthisonmyselfsoIdeservetodieanddyin'mightbebetter'nfeelin'thisgoddamnpitinmyheartmapaI'msorry'speciallymaI'msosorryMamaI...Ifailedyouworstof...worst of all...you'dbesoashamedofmerightnowif'nya'werestillherebutmaybeit'sbetterthatyouan'Daddy'regonesoy'allcan'tseewhatapatheticpiecea'shitjunkieforasony'allraisedthisgoddamnformication'slikebugscrawlin'undermyskinitfuckin'itchesan'Iknowitain'trealan'it'sjustparesthesiaan'bloodvesselsinmyskingettingbackcirculationbutitwon'tstopmyheadisbreakin'downithurtsMamasavemeplease...I'm so sorry, Mama...)

"God...why...w-why did I t-take three extra doses?!....w-why?...how many m-milligrams did I take?...where'd I put that f-fuckin' box?!!" After frantically rifling through the drug paraphernalia hidden in his closet, he'd found the box in question. He read the dosage on the label...

"Type 39A Dextroamphetamine M-Methyefferlef-fuck....metha...c-cant even talk right without m-my t-teeth chatterin'...Methylephedrone Sulfate, 40 mg, 50 Tablets." Oh...fuuuuuck....forty?! H-how...how many is that t-times seven...two eighty!! I'm...I'm dead. D-dead. An' I'm 'sposed to be a fuckin' genius?!!" He had taken a dosage that would have easily been enough to kill a normal stallion. But why? Why? (...reason...reason is dead...layin' in a coffin upstairs...)

"W-why'd I take so goddamn much?! Sh-shit....no...if...if I don't m-make it...Applebloom's liable to find me...all c-curled up an' room temperature on the f-floor..." He knew why. (...breakbreakbreakbreakit'sbreakingdownIcan'tstopmyheadisfallingapartbutthemonsterhasalreadyclimbeddownfromthereandnowit'sbitingatmebutIdeserveit'causeImadeitthatway...) He knew why. He knew why. Why. (Why..)

But did he really know? The question echoed in his skull in what could be the last few minutes of his life. And today of all days...after he'd felt so damn good today. He knew it wasn't the speed either. He'd had enough experience with the stuff to know the difference. Normally, the stuff just made him jittery. He knew the chemical euphoria it produced paled in comparison to the beautiful feelings he'd had earlier today. No. It had been real. Again. For the first time in years. He'd felt so much love for his family today...and for Rainbow...it'd been such a sweet feeling. It'd felt so good to just...see his family and beloved, sitting and eating together...they'd complimented his cooking over and over. Despite his racing madness and the thundering heartbeats pounding in his chest, Mac still smiled at the thought of them all...the way they were. Even though Bloom and AJ had been so irritating and had bickered all through breakfast, his love for them had felt stronger than he'd ever remembered it. He'd been so overwhelmed by it. He'd been so overjoyed to feel again. He hadn't felt much of anything in years.

"I...I l-love...*sob*...I..." He couldn't finish his sentence. The words had died and were now stuck in the back of his throat. That's the only place where the dead words could float.

The drugged out stallion began sobbing like a foal, his tears rolling freely over his cheeks. The mad thoughts flashed through his head with no abatement in sight...no end. He could run from the physical things that had hurt him, but the shit in his head followed him everywhere he went...it was like his own portable Hell. (...hehehe...I can imagine the radio ad to sell that shit..."Tired of leavin' yer troubles at home? Wanna' be fuckin' miserable everywhere ya' go, no matter where ya' go? Have we got the product fer you, you poor, dumb bastard!!") He wept and laughed at his own mad joke simultaneously as he obsessively paced about his room, twitching and hyperventilating...the thoughts began eating away at him...there wasn't much left of him to eat now...

(Mysweetlil'babysisters...IloveyoubothsomuchI'msorryIwon'tbe'roundtowatchBloomgrowupandseey'allbothgetmarriedtoadecentstallionan'havekidsonedayandnowy'all'reprobablygonna'hafta'buryyourownfuckin'brothercuzhewastoofuckin'weaktolivelifelikeanormalgoddamnponyan'sweetlil'oleGrannyI'msorryIletya'downyouwerecountin'onmetobethefuckin'stallionofthehousean'providefery'allbutIcouldn'tbuckthefuckupan'dealwithlifeIwastooweakan'scarednowyergonna'hafta'goitalonean'takechargealloveragainyouwerehopin'ya'couldjustretirean'relaxinyeroldagebutnow...but now...nowIdonefuckedeveryone'slivesupcuzIwastooselfish...IhopeIburninmotherfuckingHellforwhatIdidtoy'all...I deserve no less...I...I DeSErvE NO FuCkInG LeSs!!!! YoUR FaULt!!! YOu JuNkIE-FuCK!! YoU WoRTHLeSS CoCKSuCKING WAsTE OF SkIN An' FLeSh!! YOUr FAuLT!!! YoU...FuCKiNG...WORM!!! AuAAauauuugGHHHHhhGGHhh!!!) But he couldn't die just yet. His family couldn't afford that luxury. He needed to fight it. And he didn't want to leave them. (...their faces...)

"I can't...I c-can't leave yet...they n-need me *sob*...th-they'll lose the g-goddamn farm without me...an' Rainbow...baby...y-you were hurtin' so bad......I wanted t-to help you, baby doll...and *sob*...I j-just wanted...I wanted y-you so g-goddamn bad. I'm s-so sorry, angel...I wish I coulda' loved you up close...*sob*...oh...God...I-I can still hear y-yer sweet, little v-voice...s-singin' with m-me...s-sweet little f-face smilin' up at m-me...*sob*" It was so hard to think now. He was trying, but his head kept aching. It hurt. The tears continued to fall. All he'd wanted to do today was cook for the girl he loved and his family. John Apple had never felt so ashamed of himself in his entire life.

(...twistingonthefloortwistinguptobitemeshameshameshameyoubuiltthisfuckin'shameboyyoubuiltitoutofacidan'nowyerdrownin'inityoumotherfuckeran'Ihopeyouchokeonityoufuckin'worm...)

His thoughts turned to his sweet, old Granny. She had been in high form today, too, playfully picking at him for his blatant feelings for Rainbow. The old gal was the most perceptive of all the Apples. She'd probably picked up on how he felt about the stunning, little tomcolt immediately from how giddy he'd acted around her...how happy he'd seemed just seeing her. But that hadn't stopped the old gal from teasing him. She'd made their conversation so awkward at breakfast. Mac laughed at the thought through his veil of tears. The wise, old biddy was still such a handful of trouble at her age. And poor Ditzy Doo...the sweet, little thing had been so shy and miserable...he'd wanted to help the poor thing but couldn't. She was so goddamn innocent and sweet, too...like a little filly...the way she'd reacted when he'd offered to get her another glass of chocolate milk...he hoped somepony would find her one day. He'd find her and love her like she deserved...to fill the hole in her poor, little heart. It wasn't as though Mac himself had been able to help her...he couldn't save Milky...he couldn't even save himself. Another wave of madness rattled his mind. (nosavin'methere'snosavin'mecan'tsavemebuiltmyownsavioran'he'swhatkilledmehowcanhesaveme?) He couldn't be saved. He didn't deserve to be saved anyway.

"G-godammit, Mac...*sob*...stop feelin' sorry fer yerself...ya' gotta' do somethin'...think...*sob*...think..." It was easier to weep, though.

It hurt less to weep. It felt easier to not think. It hurt less. It was so hard to think now. The words were all crammed together in the back of his throat. They were coated in bonedust, trapped in the doorway of his head...they couldn't get out. He needed to find something...something to focus on...he needed to calm his mind, or he wouldn't live to see to the morning. It was he could do now to filter out the shrieking in his head. But he found it. The thoughts that would save his corroded skull. Why. The answer to why he did this to himself. He began searching for it inside his head. But where was it? And what was it?

"Was it b-because...of...b-because she s-smiled at me...?" Good. He would just keep thinking about her...about his love for her...to keep his mind together. He went back into his closet and began sorting through the various packets, boxes, and bottles of drugs and medications. He had to find something that would bring his heart rate and body temperature down...otherwise his heart would burst and his brain would fry itself inside his own skull. (Focus...think...think of her...)

He thought of the little, blue filly as he frantically searched through his chemical collection...his synagogue of pain. Just seeing her...the instant he saw her that morning...her mane had been tousled from sleep, and she'd looked a bit hungover...but she was still so beautiful. (...angel...you were so...so...) She was so rough around the edges. Adorable. Rambunctious. (...like Honey was...) Mac smiled despite his tears and continued searching for his "salvation." The fearless, little stunt flyer loved telling dirty jokes. (...hehehe..."That's what she said!"...I didn't wanna' laugh, but I did...oh...God, no, baby...) She'd tried so hard not to curse in front of Applebloom, but she just couldn't manage it. (...hehehe...baby, you tried, though...for me...) The two of them had meshed so well...he loved her personality. He could laugh and joke with her, and she didn't get offended or shocked when he poked fun at her. She liked him. He could tell...but...only as a friend. At least as far as he could tell. Not that it mattered. He'd already proved that he was too broken to be in love. Or at least, mutually in love. No girl could ever truly love him back. He had proven this twice already.

"Stop!! S-stop whinin', bitch!! K-keep lookin'! F-find it...find it..." Mac wiped away the tears so he could see better into the darkness of his closet. His search was becoming more and more desperate. He knew taking some benzodiazepines wouldn't do him any good now...the pills wouldn't have time to dissolve in his gullet. He'd be long dead by then.

"C'mon...c'mon!....where is it?! W-where'd the fuck I put it?!" He was looking for a small, paper packet of pure, white morphine sulfate powder. The powerful opioid painkiller was his only hope now. And he'd have to prep it first. (Rainbow...Rainbow...think...)

It had felt so damn good just being near her...she probably had no idea how much he loved her...she had been so close but still so far away. The two of them had sung together...her sweet voice echoed in his memory...but Rainbow had been self-conscious about it. He could tell. It was so cute. She told him that she hated her voice. But Mac didn't care. Her voice was wonderful. The voice of a roughneck angel. And he was so grateful to her...grateful for her help...for her friendship. A part of Mac had been overjoyed that she'd gotten herself evicted, although he knew that was an awful thing to be happy about. It meant he could swoop in and save her...be her hero...he needed her to need him...to need his help. And the love of his life had moved in and was now likely deep asleep in her assigned guest room...just a few feet down the hall...her angelic, little face draped in the gentle, silver light of the moon and stars. Mac's heart skipped a beat at the thought. Having her so near today had been so wonderful...he'd hated having to leave and go home when they concluded one of their training sessions together. He didn't want her go...and now she didn't have to go. She was here now...always close...just down the hall. He could see her any time he wanted...he didn't have rely on caressing the little, blue feather he'd saved that she'd left him to cheer himself up...to remind him of her. The real thing was always so near now...she had full control of his heart...it was hers and hers alone.

"Yeah!! F-found you, goddammit!!...okay...now...I g-gotta' just...j-just get it together an'...an' prep it..." He held his prize aloft his head to examine it in the dim light of his room.

He'd found the white packet of powder in question. All his madness and panicking had made him forget where the best place was to look for medical morphine: an emergency medkit. His heart soared with hope. It wasn't a guarantee of his survival, though. He still didn't have much time left. Hopefully, his error wouldn't cost him his life. The tightness in his chest intensified...his heart was beating mercilessly fast. He would still have to mix up the solution and prep it for injection. And that wasn't even considering the possibility that he could botch said injection. Who knew how much time he had left? Would he make it?

As Mac tore the packet open with shaking hooves to begin preparing it's contents to be used, he realized why he'd given her that key. It was a present. It wasn't from the Apple family at all. No. That was his cover. It was from him. To her...a gift of love. And he just knew she'd love it, too. (...I hope...I hope you love it...) It was right up her alley. And the surprise he'd built up around the key? Whew, boy! Did Rainbow ever love stuff like that! She loved adventure and mystery and whatnot. The girl went apeshit whenever she heard that Daring Do program come on the radio...(...it was...uhh...oh..."The Incredible Adventures Of Daring Do And Friends"...hehehe...she's so damn cute...) Rainbow had told him she listened to it every day it came on at 6 P.M., and she always tried to get off work early to catch it on air at her apartment or at the library...well...back when she had work. Mac had heard it himself once...it was a bit juvenile...but not bad...it wasn't boring, that was for sure. He felt it was somewhat reminiscent of those old, detective noir radio programs he, himself, had listened to when he was little. All that mystery and excitement...she could find so much wonder in the simplest of things...she had so much passion for life...she never stopped fighting. And he could tell she was in so much pain...but she never gave up...she was stronger than he. Mac had long since stopped fighting. She was everything that he was not....

"Everything I'm...everything...c'mon, man...g-get it together...focus...start mixin' this shit up..."

He knew this was pure, medical morphine that was exclusively issued to special forces soldiers in their first aid kits for use on long ops out in the middle of nowhere. Simple soldiers weren't trusted with the easily abused drug, so they had to rely on trained medics to administer the painkiller. And hell...even combat medics weren't insusceptible to becoming addicted to the stuff. In fact, over half the soldiers who became addicts were combat medics. But special forces couldn't rely on that kind of help. Way out in the lonely wilderness where Rangers and the like were often deployed, even basic necessities like food, water, and shelter became opulent luxuries; let alone having access to any emergency medical care personnel. So...yeah. Truly...truly the Imperial government had taken the best interests of it's defenders to heart.

"Eey-yup...sure was awful n-nice of the Castle to g-give us the means to make our d-dyin' screams of pain a b-bit more pleasant...heheh....oh, God..." It was a fairly generous gesture of good faith, really.

If a Ranger or covert operative had his leg blown off at the knee by a Diamond Dog separatist's improvised explosive, the Castle felt that the least it could do was ensure the guy wouldn't scream too loud...and tip the enemy off as to where he was...where he was clutching his bleeding stump of a leg...so the enemy wouldn't come and violate his corpse after he'd bled out. (...hehehe...that's...messed up, man...) Mac was thankful that he hadn't been a regular soldier at the time this particular medkit was issued to him...otherwise...well...he'd be pretty fucked right now. Even more so. Thankfully, the Castle put a lot of faith in their highly disciplined, elite forces and fully trusted them to not abuse their allotted resources...like this packet of morphine. But it was powerful stuff. It was a very high dosage and only intended to be used as an emergency analgesic in the field...via syringe injection. This stuff was far too strong in potency to be used in civilian hospitals in any single dosage. Mac readied the various things he'd need from his medkit to prep the dosage and spread them out on his nightstand. Luckily, he had everything he needed...except a pair of steady hooves. His own hooves were trembling worse than a cracked out hummingbird locked in a freezer.

"C'mon...c-c'mon...steady...d-don't spill it...y-yer dead if ya' sp-spill it, man..." He preoccupied his feverish, trembling mind with thoughts of Rainbow...and his gift for her..

What could be a better gift to offer his angel than a key that led to a secret place full of things that he knew she would love? It was a stroke of brilliance on his part, he had to admit. She'd been so confused and flustered...so cute and awkward...babbling. He felt bad tripping her up like that, but the deep blush on her baby blue cheeks had made it worth it...his heart had skipped a beat, seeing her smile at him like that...the sweet flush of pink gracing her pretty, little features. She was happy. She was thankful. She had no idea what he'd offered her, but her wonderous, little imagination had probably conjured up something truly wonderful. It had been worth it just to see her smile at him. Worth it. Worth it. (Worth it. Because I'm worthless.)

"C'mon...almost...almost d-done..." (...mixmixmixmixthedopemixmixmixfeedthediseaseyousickfuck...)

He fought the terrible thoughts away again...he had to keep his mind focused on one thing...it was the only thing that would give him hope. (...baby...) He was almost done mixing the morphine sulfate powder up with a little bit of sodium chloride at a 0.9% concentration from a half-empty IV bag. He'd used it before. He'd been mixing the milky white stuff with a disposable plastic spoon in a small, curved pan he'd found in his medkit...he had no idea what it's originally intended purpose was and didn't much care right now anyway. After the odorless, crystalline powder had completely dissolved in the sodium chloride base, Mac laid the tarnished, old pan of the now translucent liquid on the edge of his nightstand. Now he needed a lighter...of course...it wasn't anywhere to be found. This was most assuredly due to the fact that Mac was in desperate need of it right this moment.

"Okay...okay...now...man...w-where the fuck did I put it?! I just f-fuckin' had it!! W-why is it that I c-can find fuckin' tons of lighters goddamn everywhere b-but only when I ain't l-lookin' fer one?!!"

It was a bit ironic, really. He wasn't surprised. His luck had always been kind of shitty. And he didn't have much time left. He only had about a minute left on the clock of the scoreboard, and the visiting team was a point ahead. This was "sudden death"...this was "overtime." But he had to win the game, or he'd let his team down. The audience was rooting for him. His maddened thoughts conjured the appropriate accompaniment/delusion for such a thing: A cheer squad of cute, college-age fillies started leading the home team's audience in a classic cheer, clapping and encouraging Mac and telling him that he could make it in time. (...hehehe..."Let's go, dopefiend!! *clap clap clapclapclap* Let's go, dopefiend!! *clap clap clapclapclap*") The utterly psychotic delusion sent the red stallion into a maddened fit of laughter. You could say what you wanted about him being...well...batshit crazy, but you couldn't fault him for his creativity.

"Hehehe...oh...what the hell...h-hey! Yeah! Th-there you are, motherfucker!!", he whispered in a low, hoarse voice to the object in question.

He'd found his father's old lighter. In his panic, he'd knocked it behind his nightstand. He immediately put the butane lighter to work, heating the bottom of the metal pan holding the morphine sodium chloride solution. After a few precious seconds, he'd managed to the heat the solution up to about ninety or so degrees Mareinheit...ideally, you'd want to shoot for ninety eight degrees body temperature...but he didn't have the luxury of time to reheat the solution. He'd have to wing it and hope for the best. Mac carefully grabbed a clean, empty syringe with a hypodermic, hollow needle with his shaking forehooves...he cautiously...painstakingly lowered the needle into the solution and filled the syringe up to the brim. He was ready to intravenously administer his "salvation." (...the new, chemical God in my veins...metal blood full of piety...) He knew he needed to aim for the median cubital vein on the inside of one of his forehooves' knees...these were often referred to as "elbows" by some ponies. If he was even slightly off his mark, he'd end up shooting the stuff intramuscularly into the dense mass of muscles in his forehoof. Then the morphine wouldn't directly enter his bloodstream and wouldn't affect his central nervous system quickly enough to make a difference. It might take as long as three minutes...three minutes he didn't have. Mainlining it was his only option here... He readied the needle...

"Only one sh-shot at this...d-don't fuck this up....c'mon..." There was good possibility he might, though. It was getting hard to see what with the pouring sweat and tears in his eyes that he was constantly having to wipe away.

He didn't have time to tie a tourniquet around his upper forehoof to make the intended vein more visible, and his thick coat made it difficult to see it to begin with. Luckily, he was well acquainted with the equine physiology from his emergency medical training back in the military. He'd taken several special classes to perform combat first aid...but this was still a precarious procedure to botch. He would have to take great care administering the dose. But missing his vein with the hypodermic suddenly became a secondary concern to John Apple. His madness wouldn't be so easily thwarted it seemed. The Vacuum in his head had sent him a present by express delivery: a ghost from his most terrible memory. It began to echo it's acidic songs inside his cracked, bleeding skull. The Black was a formidable opponent, he had to admit. It was really pulling out all the stops to drive him completely mad...and then kill him as an ablution for his sins.

And honestly...Mac couldn't blame it, really.

She was not happy. This was a bad place. A cold place. The meat...it tasted...wrong. It tasted like metal. It wasn't good...but it was filling. She picked her teeth with her claws, removing pieces of red gristle from the serrated, blue fangs. She hated this place. The sky...the noises...the beasts...they were all alien. And she may have erred. She may have ruined her chance to go home. But she couldn't help it. She had been so hungry. She couldn't tell how long ago it had been before her last meal before her most recent one...the one she'd made of the two, weak hoof creatures in the awful, green forest where the alien beasts cried out in dissonant bleats...voices that she couldn't understand. It was hard to tell time here. This sun was so bright during the Light Time...right now it was the Dark Time. It changed back and forth constantly. It was terrifying. Her own world was warm and dark. Comforting. It was always nice and dark. Here...here the sky changed to many different colors. Too many. The yellow sun that maligned her with a harsh, candescent light changed after a while....it changed into a dim, white sun. The sky would turn black, and the little, white stars would shine...like her home...but the sky was black. Not blue. Just a short time ago, the sky had been the color of blood and fire. Now it was black. She looked up through the forest canopy at the wretched, ebony void that mocked her. It was wrong. A bad sky. She didn't belong here.

Just a while ago...when it was still the Light Time, she'd been stalking through the mad, green forest in search of...anything...anything at all to eat. She hadn't been sure what she could eat here. Would she get sick? She didn't know. The metal hoof-creature had told her that the Sparr-Kewhl was good to eat, but now...she wasn't so sure. She felt nauseous. Maybe her metal master had lied to her. After all...the two hoof creatures she'd eaten in the forest earlier had tasted awful. She'd happened upon them while they were mating...the act was easily recognizable, despite how alien this world and it's denizens seemed. Mating seemed a universality...the two creatures were grunting and snorting as they grinded their horrible bodies together. She was disgusted...it wasn't at all like how she and her own mate performed the act. This was...sweaty...messy...just remembering it made her nauseous. She fought the sudden urge to evacuate her three stomachs of their contents. She had to keep the metallic-tasting flesh down, or she'd be too weak to perform her tasks. Those two creatures...as disgusting as they were, she had no choice.

Her hunger had beaten her. She pounced upon them. They had screamed in their shrill, maddening voices as she crunched their frail, soft bodies in her jaws...their bones shattered like glass in her mouth. Their carcasses bled a dark red ichor...it trailed down upon the forest floor. It was the same color blood as her own...but it...smelled like metal. Wrong. She chewed their bodies into a crimson pulp and swallowed them down. Disgusting...but it would serve it's purpose. At least now she wasn't hungry. But...even before she'd eaten the two hoof creatures...she'd happened upon others that smelled more palatable. It was...a day ago? Two? She didn't know. It had been the Dark Time with the pale, white sun...that's all she knew. She happened upon a series of buildings in the middle of a large clearing. One of them was painted blood red...like her own blood. Inside...she could hear a strange moaning sound. She could smell meat. It smelled good. It smelled different...almost like home. She had scratched upon the door of the red building...she had tried to be quiet. She didn't want to wake whatever hoof-creature that might be sauntering about...but she had anyway. She'd heard a door open from another building.

A massive, red hoof-creature had emerged holding two metal things...it was almost as big as her metal master. It was dangerous. She could tell. She couldn't risk a confrontation. She fled, taking great care not to leave any tracks behind for the red hoof-creature to find. It was much more dangerous than the two weak ones she'd eaten in the alien forest. It looked strong. She'd thought she might be able to kill it before it warned any other hoof-creatures, but the risk was too great. It was too dangerous...she might be injured. Her blood trail would lead them to her lair. And she couldn't risk being discovered. She'd fled back into the green forest and hid in the darkness of the alien trees. She'd watched the red creature from the safety of the forest...it looked...alarmed. It knew something was wrong. She grew afraid. She may have been discovered. Her metal master had told her not be discovered, or she wouldn't be returned home...and now...now she'd eaten two more creatures. What if they came looking for them? Then what? Despair struck her.

She just wanted to go home back through the Blue Circle. She missed her mate. He was warm, strong, and beautiful. He made her feel safe. If he was here, he could protect her. Everything would be alright. Would she ever see him again? This...hideous meat in her belly wasn't worth losing him...losing her home. If only she'd controlled herself!! If...if her mate was here...she wouldn't feel so sick and scared. He would lick her face and keep her warm in this cold place. Now...she might never see his beautiful face again. She hated this place. If she couldn't return home, then her mind would break. She would eat. And eat. She would eat everything. No matter the screams. No matter the metal taste. The taste wouldn't matter then. Being discovered wouldn't matter then. Nothing would matter then. She would eat. Just to feel full. The flesh would tear and the bones would crack. So she would feel full inside. Like how her mate had made her feel. Like how she may never feel again.

She covered her head with her paws and shrieked in maddened, anguished rage.

Rainbow flushed the toilet and closed it's lid. She inwardly made a joke about herself of how she wouldn't even bother to put down the toilet seat if her gender didn't compel her sit in the first place as a necessary accommodation of her "personal equipment." Otherwise, she'd probably leave the damn thing up like a dude. She began washing her hooves. She was feeling a bit burnt, so she decided to go to bed early. She looked up into the mirror. She looked...almost...happy. She knew why. She smiled. (...hehehe...) She dried both her forehooves and looked up at the small clock hanging on the wall of the bathroom shared by AJ, Applebloom, and herself.

"Huh. 7:29 P.M. Bet the sunset is almost over now." Eh. What the hell. She could go grab a brew and watch it go down before bed. Old "loverboy" himself, being the awesome, sexy motherfucker that he was, had gone out and got her some lagers from the store. (You're my boy, Red!)

She'd likely have to pee again after drinking it, but maybe a cold one would help her sleep. Rainbow went into the guest room where she was staying and opened her window. She stuck her left forehoof outside to see how chilly it was this evening. She promptly withdrew her hoof and shivered. She would need her hoodie. She grabbed the navy blue garment in question out of her suitcase and put it on. It was a little big for her...baggy even...small wonder. It was her father's. It was his official Wonderbolts hoodie...gold emblem and all. Her mom had let Rainbow keep her dad's hoodie, while she had kept his letterman jacket from high school. Rainbow didn't mind. Her dad's high school days of romancing her mother inarguably belonged to her mother...but his Wonderbolts career was hers. Her dream...her life...her connection to his memory. Hers. She smiled again. She went downstairs to the kitchen. Her best friend was still up.

"'Sup, AJ." The farmgirl was sitting at the table reading the newspaper with a cup of decaf, leaning back and forth on her chair's hind legs. Rainbow walked over to the fridge to open it. She rifled through it until she found the case of beer Mac had bought her, and she grabbed a frosty cold can with her left forehoof.

"Hey, Rainbow. Goin' somewhere?"

"Nah, dude. Just gonna' go watch the sun go down real quick. Care to join me?", Rainbow asked, opening the aluminum can of lager to take a swig. It was pretty good stuff, she decided.

"Nah. I'm plum tuckered, girl. Maybe some other time. So whatcha' gon' do out there? Stare all deep an' broodin'-like into the sunset? Have yerself a bit a' angsty retrospection 'bout yer life an' shit?" Rainbow laughed. AJ's dry wit seemed to be a universal staple of the Apple clan.

"Heheheh...nah, dude. That's hella' gay. Just gonna' chill an' drink a beer." (Or maybe two...or three...or...ten...)

"My God. Such a deep, philosophical soul you done got yerself there, girl." Rainbow broke into another fit of giggles. She couldn't even supply AJ with a smarmy retort. Her old friend's deadpan delivery had made it all the funnier.

"Okay, ya' little hyena...what's so goddang funny now?"

"Hehehe...you...you said "deep!" She had indeed. AJ snickered.

"Heheh...Lord gimme' strength...*sigh*...yer a goddang poet, an' didn't know it.", said AJ, taking a sip of her coffee and goodnaturedly shaking her head at her friend's juvenile sense of humor.

"Yep. And you like getting slapped in the face with big, floppy minotaur cocks." AJ sneezed out two nostrils full of hot joe and burst into laughter.

"Heheheh...aww...man...now look whatcha' gone an' made me do, girl!"

"Get you slapped some more with big, floppy minotaur cocks? Like that's even a problem for you."

"Hehehe...Good Lord...eeyup...ya' got me. Always fiendin' fer a good ole' fashioned "windsock wailin'." Ya' know me too well."

"Totally...hehehe...from now on, I'm callin' you "Sarah Slaphappy."

"Hehehe...that so? Well, then...I'll just be callin' you "Little Miss Puppydog" from here on out."

"Huh? Why?"

"Cain'tcha' guess? 'Cause yer always followin' ole' loverboy around like a lil', ole' puppydog, makin' them "boo boo eyes" an' sniffin' at his hindquarters...hehehe..." Rainbow turned a delightful shade of red. AJ grinned, knowing full well that she'd flustered her friend.

"H-hey!! Shut it! Um...uhh...well...oh y-yeah?! Well...uhh...you're like...a meth cook or somethin'!.....man, that was stupid...shit was weak, yo..." The farmgirl merely sneered and raised a single eyebrow. She knew Rainbow's buttons and how hard to press them...usually. Sometimes AJ erred and went too far. Rainbow was hyper-sensitive to a few, hot-button issues.

"Oooohhh....was that a burn? Sure didn't seem like it. Tsk, tsk, tsk...wasted potential, Rainbow." Rainbow gave her friend "the bird" with her right forehoof.

"Bite me. I'm sleepy, okay? Well...I guess I'm heading out now. Imma' be back in a little bit...wait...why is the kitchen window open?"

"'Cuz Winona's been fartin'. She got in the damn trash again. Done ate half an ole' can a' baked beans. Them's was expired beans, too. Damndest thing." As though completely on cue, the sleeping dog in question performed a rather loud demonstration of the aforementioned problem from the comfort of her nearby pet bed.

"Awwww, dude!! Sick!! Ugh!! That's fuckin' gnarly!!" Rainbow pulled her hoodie over her nose to block the stench. AJ didn't seem even slightly phased. Apparently, growing up on a farm with a wide variety of barnyard smells assailing her nostrils daily had rendered her immune to her dog's gassy indiscretions. The farmgirl merely snickered without even looking up from her paper.

"Holy fuck!! That's fuckin' horrible!! Dude...oh, dude...I'm..I think I'm gonna' be sick, dude..." She was being bit overly dramatic, but it was still pretty bad. That was saying a lot, too. Rainbow was no wilting violet.

"Well now...it seems that the "Great an' Mighty Rainbow Dash" is susceptible to a lil', ole' doggie air biscuit. Good to know. I'll hotbox it for ya' fer when ya' get back." Rainbow began laughing again, her voice muffled from underneath the safety of her hoodie.

"Hehehehe...hahahehe!!...oh, man...my dad totally used to do that to me all the time!!" AJ looked up from her paper and snickered.

"Hehehe...no shit? Hehehe...small world...eeyup. Mine, too. In fact, Pa done passed that there technique down onto ole' Mackie, too. They used to shut all the goddang winders an' tag team me. Damn near killed me. 'Tween the two of 'em, I'm surprised I ain't got brain damage." Rainbow had tears in her eyes, she was laughing so hard.

And...while she laughed...she suddenly felt a wave of deep gratitude and affection for Ms. Applejack Apple. Rainbow was feeling more grateful for her friendship right now than she had in all the years they'd known one another. Rainbow adored this side of her best homegirl. This caustic wit, candor, and impish, playful affection were really what defined who AJ was on the inside. But Rainbow could only bring it out in her old friend when the two of them were alone, joking and ribbing one another in the saltiest language and with the raunchiest humor a pony could ever imagine...and only out of earshot of her family. Unfortunately, AJ's "motherly" side usually took precedence. And it was pretty annoying. Really annoying.

The freckled farmgirl was often wont to policing her friends, family members, and sometimes even total strangers for what she considered the "wrong" types of behavior. Rainbow had taken an especial disliking to her friend's "parenting"...even more so, when it was directed at Rainbow, herself. She already had a worrywort mother. She didn't need another mare in her life lecturing her for all the "bad" choices she'd made. And hey...when Rainbow's own mother wasn't available for such things, she always had Twilight to take up the slack. ("Rainbow! Think before you act! Loaded crossbows are NOT toys! Rainbow! For the last time, use the door! Not the window! Rainbow! Books are for reading! Not throwing! Rainbow! Put out that chemical fire! Children swim in that pool!")

"Heheheheh!!...oh, shit....*gasp*....oh,dude...I can't breathe!..." Sometimes...AJ could be very uncool. Rainbow called that version of her homegirl "Mamajack." She hated it. It was like losing her best friend.

"'Cause a' Winona's fart cloud? Or 'cause yer laughin' too hard?" But this was "cool AJ." This version was referred to as "Cooljack." And she was here with her right this moment. Making her laugh. Rainbow was always happy for the change. It was like getting her best friend back.

"Hehehe...a little from Column A...hehehe...little from Column B..."

"Aww, shit, girl...yeah right...betchu' love nothin' more'n huffin' some farts. Fart fiend." AJ was clearly baiting her old friend once again.

Also, Rainbow had developed a special fondness for how the Apple family pronounced certain words. Because their country accents affected their pronunciation, one almost needed to take an advanced linguistics course to decipher the Apple dialect. "Shit" became "shee-yuht." "No" became "nah." "Asshole" became "ei-yees-ho." "Pretty" = "purr-dee" "Window" = "win-durr." "Fire" = "fahrr" "Ignorant" = "igg-nurnt" "Heathen" = "hee-thurn" "Boy" = "mmm-bo-ei." "Girl" = "nnn-gee-yurhl." Single syllable words were often inexplicably allotted one or two extra syllables. And those were only a few examples. Rainbow could compile a list over ten miles long. But what was so endearing about the Apples' quaint, country speech patterns was the way they still managed to have such an extensive vocabulary. From what Rainbow had observed thus far, it seemed as though all four members of the Apple family had a well above average intelligence and eloquence about them.

"Aww, dude!! Sick! I friggin' heard that!! C'mon!...hehehe...."

This, coupled with their rustic accents, made anything they said a veritable delight to hear. But Rainbow wasn't completely delighted by this observation of hers...there was a side effect. It made her feel uneducated and a bit stupid, being intellectually eclipsed by a group of ponies that sounded so stereotypical of those one might have initially considered to be "uneducated." It was ironic, really. And Rainbow's self-esteem had enough to worry about as was, what with her feelings of inadequacy around her own friends and all. (...prettier than me...smarter than me...more mature...more popular...better...) If Rainbow had really felt the need to constantly humble herself, then she would've dedicated her life to following Twilight Sparkle around everywhere the mauve genius went. Except the bathroom, of course. Rainbow's unintentional observation of her brainy friend's toilet routine a few months ago in the library's bathroom had been a real eye opener. (...ugh...it was soooo weird...and why'd she blame me for walkin' in on her?! She's the one who forgot to lock the friggin' door!)

"Pfft! Girl! Whatever. The way you go 'round huffin' on Mackie's rear like that...hah! Betchu' love nothin' more'n a' little bit a' puppy pootin'........fart fiend." Despite her sensitivity to being teased over her feelings for the big stallion, Rainbow began laughing even harder than before.

"Hehehahahehh!!....oh, God!....oh...hehehe....what the fuck, AJ?!..hehehe...w-woah! Hehehe...don't worry, I got it...crisis averted." Rainbow had been laughing so hard, she'd almost dropped her half-finished can of lager but thankfully caught it at the last second.

"Damn, girl! Such grace! Ya'd make a great ballerina...except yer a........fart fiend." AJ's running joke seemed to actually get funnier with repetition as opposed to the inverse principle.

"Hahahaheheh!!...oh...shit...I can't...Hehehe...whatever, dude. That frou-frou dancing shit's lame, yo." Rainbow finished off her can of beer and belched loudly. She then proceeded to crush it flat against her forehead before tossing it into the nearby waste bin.

"Hehehe...goddangit...I swear...if'n I didn't know ya' so damn well, girl...oh, man...hehehe...I could easily mistake ya' fer a stallion." Rainbow merely shrugged.

"Meh. Whatever, dude. Eat me." Rainbow headed back over to the fridge to grab another beer. Just one more couldn't hurt, right? It wasn't like she was worried about developing a "beer belly" with all the exercise she and Red were doing.

"Hmm...nyah. Don't swing that way, missy. A' course, I cain't speak fer the both of us." It was "the line." AJ had unwittingly crossed it.

"H-hey!! Shut up!!" The reflexive reaction didn't faze the farmgirl at all. AJ merely thought that Rainbow was still playing around with her. But she wasn't.

"Heheh...oh, dontchu' be all embarrassed 'bout it now...hehehe. Time's are changin', girl. You ain't gotta' be ashamed no more of yer "alternative lifestyle." It was the final offense. AJ had unknowingly violated one of Rainbow's "cardinal rules" by implying one of her most reviled associations. The consequences of this trespass made themselves immediately evident. Rainbow's temper now had full control of all her faculties. She couldn't control what happened next.

"HEY!!! FuCK YoU!! SaY ThAT FuCkIN' ShIT TO MY FaCE OnE MoRE TiME, BiTCH!! SaY IT AgAiN!! I FuCkIN' DARE yOU!!!"

Rainbow's little, blue body was trembling with fury, her little chest violently heaving in and out with each laborious breath it took. Her teeth were clenched tight in a hideous snarl. Tears of pure rage trailed down her pretty face from each of her lovely, cerise eyes, streaming like liquid silver down her chin and dripping on the floor in languid, reflective pools. Applejack looked completely stunned...horrified. She hadn't meant to upset her friend. AJ would just sometimes have a lapse in awareness and/or memory and accidentally tease her friend about something that was generally agreed between the two of them to be entirely "OFF LIMITS." AJ had crossed the line and now the little Pegasus was angry. But not just angry...no. This volatile display wasn't anything at all like how Rainbow had blown up at her homegirl for not entering the competition with her. This was true rage. Snarling. Vicious. Senseless. Reason was replaced with a vacuum. Love became hate. Her best friend in all the world had now temporarily become the subject of the worst her ire had to offer. Like THE BEAST and his female equivalent, Flitter. She had lost herself to the rage. And it scared the hell out of Rainbow.

"R-Rainbow!! Please! Calm down, girl!! I didn't mean nothin' by it!" She hadn't. Truly. Rainbow knew this. But it didn't matter. This old ghost had chased her even this far...right in between herself and her very best friend.

Sometimes...it was just too hard to chase all the ghosts away. Rainbow had exorcised most of them, but the worst of them always stayed...the stubborn ones. You had no choice but to ward them off, force yourself to tolerate them...or, if you failed at either of these two methods, be consumed by them. The most persistent ghosts always followed you. This one, in particular, hounded Rainbow wherever she went. It had been eating her life for years, breaking her down like a leather boot in a vat of acid. If the loss of her father hadn't fractured her otherwise benign, happy life, the rumors wouldn't bother her at all. In fact, she could laugh them off as jokes in the company of both her parents. Her mom would make a joke about it all...something like "Oh, really? Well...hehehe...I can see how someponies would think that, pumpkin." Her dad would join in with his general provision of goofiness and cheer. It would have all been okay then, having the two of them together like that. It wouldn't be so bad. Then Rainbow would have a base...a leg to stand on. But now...she didn't. Her own mother had relapsed back into an even more severe case of social anxiety disorder, often shunning contact with anypony besides her own daughter. Without her husband by her side to support her, Cloudia had fallen apart.

Rainbow loved her mother dearly, but she couldn't help. She couldn't even help herself. If her own mother had kept fighting like Rainbow herself had, then neither of them would ever have had even the most ephemeral of vacillations. The two of them would always keep going, bolstering each other up on their way back to rebuilding what had been their former lives. And that was why Rainbow Dash bolstered her self-image, lying and boasting to appear more confident than what she truly was. But who you were on the inside didn't much care for that pretense...especially if it was rotten inside. The pestilence was always at your core, bleeding itself into the lies and swaggering demeanor...as would covering the dead with a white sheet...pouring pine cleaner in an ocean of pure shit. The stench of what was truly underneath would always permeate through all the dissimulation and come to the surface.

It was always too powerful to resist in the end. It demanded acknowledgement. After a while, the "little, white lies" that some people told to escape from their dismal reality would start failing to provide relief. What was so rotten and foul inside would always overpower whatever lie one told to hide it. And then...the ghosts would eventually become even a part of that very same fantasy built on lies that one had erected to escape them. Fleeing from it would be futile. And Rainbow had paid dearly for trying to run away rather than fight....she'd become insecure, bitter, and angry. It was this same insecurity and rage coupled with all the fractures in her meager existence that had parasitically clung to Rainbow Dash for years. She always wanted to lash out when things didn't go her way...and she often did...but it did nothing to save her. Her violent aggression was just another sheet of white laid over a rotting corpse. Fighting it for so long had worn her down...she was so tired now...but the ghosts never tired, tearing and cutting at her tirelessly, bit by bit, piece by piece. Sometimes she snapped. She couldn't control what she did afterwards. (I'm sorry, AJ....I...)

Rainbow was afraid for the both of them. For AJ's life as well as her own.

"John...Little John...come here for a second..." Mac knew the voice. It was a voice that had haunted him before. It had done so for years. (...ain'trealJohnjustignoreitandsteadyyourhoovesoryou'reasgoodasdead...) The big stallion desperately tried to control his trembling forehoof as it held the hypodermic needle full of this counterfeited God to be pumped into his veins. (Filth in the vein. Dirt in the soul. Mud in the heart.)

"...Mama? Mama!? Didja' actually just say somethin'?!!" Mac knew the memory. It was the one that had broken him like this. It was now replaying itself in his head...like the sadistic looping of a film reel, forever rekindling the pain he tried to bury. And he had kept the pain down for so long, too. He'd suppressed the memory years ago...but the memory wanted acknowledgement. And it was planning on attaining it by force...echoing it's caustic, static, white screams in his head like the dreams of the long dead. (...coverthembodieswithwhitesheetsan'youwon'tseemnoyou'lljustsmell'emafterawhile...)

"Yes...c'mere for a second, John...I have something I need to ask you..." Mac tried to shut it out and steady his needle. But he knew this memory too well. Too personal. The simple fact of it's mere existence alone easily eclipsed the very worst things Mac had seen/felt/heard/tasted/smelled as a soldier. And he had tasted a countless number of bad...bad things.

"Ig-Ignore it!! F-fuckin' ignore it, man!! Ain't r-real, m-motherfucker!! Focus!!" But the memory kept playing itself out. Remembering it all over again like this...it was awful. Like an oppressive weight crushing his brain into a burning void.

"Mama!! I-I can't believe yer talkin' again! A' course! A' course I'll help ya'!! Anything!!" His mother had smiled at him then. Mac remembered it. A ghost's smile. It was a dead smile. It had been the first time she'd so much as even acknowledged another member of her own family in over a year, let alone smile at him/her. It was the very last time his mother would ever speak. (...stopstopstopshutitouttryan'shutitoutcan'tthoughit'slikeafuckin'diseaseofcobwebsan'spidersinmyskullkeepscomin'backneverreallydies...)

"Ain't real...ain't r-real, man...just k-keep sayin' to y-yerself over an' over..." His heart rate had nearly doubled in the time the memory had been wailing it's bleating horror in his head. He was sweating even heavier now...it stung his eyes. Some of his tears had mixed in with the sweat and dripped down towards the corner of Mac's mouth. He could taste them. They tasted like a saline acid bath...they were full of regret...shame...self-hatred. The tears of only one so guilt ridden as he. (...AnIMAl...ANIMAL!!!!...) He was.

"Here, John...come closer and listen to me...I want to ask you a question..." And then it began.

It was an insane sound. It had nothing to do with Mac's stimulant psychosis. He knew this. It was an animal of an entirely different origin...and it was much worse. It was the sound of a either a very thin sheet of fabric or very thick sheet of paper being slowly torn in half...and it was accompanied by the sound of a pair of hooves scratching rhythmically upon a wooden floor...over and over. It was echoing in his head. It sounded almost alien. Unreal. It sounded as though it had been recorded by means of a medium that was incompatible with Mac's mind. It was like hearing the voices of ancient, cosmic devils on the radio. The static, white dream would then take a foothold in his mind...it was a foreign presence. A hostile invader. He wasn't at all sure of what the Sounds meant...he couldn't remember. Had he forgotten their origin? When the Sounds came, they often stayed with and tormented John Apple for as long as an entire day...long after the memory had ended. And it would always let it's departure be known with one last, ghastly death knell. A shriek. A cosmic, mad shriek. It was the worst part of all, even though it's arrival beckoned the end of the ebon Sounds and some semblance of peace. The Sounds played themselves over and over, accompanying Mac's awful memory as though their awful, suffocating chokehold on his head was it's very soundtrack. (...nononononomamastoppleasedon'tmakemeseethisshitagainnotagainI'msorrysosorryI'llbegoodfromnowonpleasetearin'scratchin'fuckin'myheadfuckin'thewoundtomakeitbleedmore...)

"What?! Whaddya' wanna' ask me? You can ask me anythin'! An' don't worry...AJ an' Granny already done left on their way to get a doctor for ya'. Yer gonna' be alright. I promise." It had been a broken promise. A dead promise. A promise made on graves that one later covered with white lilies as a meager penitence...all for the one trapped under the six feet of frozen earth. It was a terribly scant penitence. A paltry pittance paid only by one so terrible as he.

[i]"John...you know that I love you very much? Do you know that? More than anything..." She had. The Sounds continued to eat him. It was unbearable.

"Y-yeah, Mama. I know. You don't even have to say it fer me to know it."

Seventeen year old John Apple was scared. Scared for his mother. His sweet, little mother who he loved so dearly. Twenty eight year old John Apple knew he'd do anything for her. Anything. She'd been his only parent left...his only true source of comfort and warmth...his father had already been dead for over a year. Mac had had to step up to the plate after he lost her, too. Something suddenly caught the corner of the contemporary Big Mac's eye. (WHO THE FUCK IS THAT?!!) He jumped in fright, dropping his syringe in the process. For a brief moment, he could have sworn another stallion had been standing right next to him...but no. Somehow...his drug-addled, feverish mind had seen Mac's dark reflection in the window and interpreted it as standing right next to him. In real space.

"Oh, G-God!! Oh please God n-no!!! Don't m-make me hear it again!!! C'mon! Hurry, man!" Mac frantically reached for his syringe. He grabbed at it...he accidently smacked it even farther away out of his reach...the cylinder portion of the syringe ensured that it would only roll farther away from him across the flat, frictionless floor.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK, FuCK!!! Oh God...get it t-together, man!!!...y-you have to hurry!!..." Mac didn't have long before the memory reached it's awful peak. The Sounds, however, would always stay long after it had left. Like houseguests invited to a party at his house...but they never left after the party had ended. They were vindictive, black squatters that only stayed behind to ensure his continued misery.

"Good boy...good...I love you so much...always my favorite...Mama's Little Genius...my baby..." Always doting. Always proud.

He'd been a complete "mama's boy." When Mac's age had only been in the single digits, he'd gotten teased for it all the time by a few of the other Ponyvillian colts. They thought he was a "wussy." But Mac didn't care what they called him. He would just ignore them and walk away...he thought they were stupid. Not worth the effort. But the very instant they insulted any member of his family, especially his mother, he'd instantly become enraged...violent. He would then seek reparation from his peers for their crimes. This had had consequences, of course. He'd been expelled from the tiny, local schoolhouse...it had been the town's first schoolhouse...it was for the town's elementary school-age children. It was so tiny that it had no need for a principle. It had just a single teacher to fill that and her own job's capacities...and also, to break up little Mac's "fights."

She had taken him by the hoof and had led him straight home to his mother. She'd been standing on the front porch...waiting...anxious. She had always like that...worried that her baby boy wouldn't get along with others...worried that he wouldn't end up happy. (...she was right...) The teacher had stepped onto the farmhouse porch and angrily handed his mother the expulsion notice, informing her of what Mac's offense had been. Mac had broken both a young colt's forelegs for telling him that his mother "babied" him...for the crime of insinuating that she was anything less than utterly perfect. This was a dire insult in Mac's eyes. He'd lost his temper. It was a terribly difficult thing to make him do this...but when it did happen...the Earth and Sky combined could barely contain his fury.

And it was all just to defend his beloved mother's honor. His mother had grown angry with the teacher, telling her that she was falsely accusing her son of something to use as a flimsy pretense to justify Mac's expulsion. She refused to believe any possibility that made her "little genius" out to be anything other than flawless. She told the teacher that she was just terrified of her son's intellect and didn't want to have to work hard enough to mentally challenge him...and she told the teacher that the other parents were just ignorant hillponies that felt angry over how Mac's brilliance put all their own children to shame and damaged their self-esteem. She told the teach to get the fuck off her front porch, or she was going to kick her ass and throw her off.

Predictably, the teacher had run away in fright. Mac's mother screamed after her, telling her that she was a lousy teacher anyway...that she wasn't even fit to teach an elementary school class...that she, herself, would homeschool her children from then on, and they would far outshine any of the other parents' children that attended the fleeing mare's classes. And she had started doing just that. As a result, nine year old John Apple and his mother became even closer. His wonderful, beautiful mother was extremely well-educated, holding two doctorates at a relatively young age...more than enough certification to teach an elementary class. She began homeschooling nine year old Mac and promised to later begin tutoring his then four year old sister on her fifth birthday. The young mother and her son would happily teach and be taught, bonding even more firmly than before. He was the favorite. Her little genius.

"Y-yeah! Got it!...steady...d-don't pay attention...it ain't real, man...", cried Mac, as he got a new hold of the syringe that had been rolling across the dusty floor.

He had to keep telling himself it wasn't real. It wasn't. Not truly. But then...neither would say, a pony's soul, be real in that regard. Wouldn't it be real in a non-literal sense? Mac's physical presence had little impact on who he'd become...the ghosts that chased him had truly defined him. But if he died...if he died, then the very last thing to define him would be his sickness. His addiction. This time...this time...he would be extra careful. His hooves were shaking violently at this point...dropping the syringe had cost him even more valuable time. Now...he might only have only as little as thirty seconds of life left.

What was somewhat similar to Mac and his mother's mutual aggrandizement was how AJ and her father had always been just as close. Small wonder. She was "daddy's little girl." The big, bearded stallion adored the little, country filly and took her everywhere with him....and AJ was always happy to be with her daddy. He had taken a liking to referring to his tiny daughter as his "little, baby Jackie." AJ always seemed to be hitching a ride on top his head, mussing up his mane and Stetson. But her daddy never cared. A part of Mac had been jealous...but not overly so. It was pretty fair, really. Mac had his mama, and AJ had her daddy. The two of them had much more in common with their preferred parent, anyway. This wasn't to say they didn't love the other one, though. It was just that parents were often wont to bonding better with their children that shared more of their own aesthetic traits, passions, personalities, and interests. And Mac better identified himself with his mother's introspective, intellectual stoicism than his father's happy-go-lucky, jovial goofiness. He was enraptured by his father's tales of martial might, but he wanted to be more like his stern, brilliant mother. He wasn't an extrovert like his father and little sister. This affinity for his mother was why Mac had ended up so well-educated compared to his little sister...and that was saying a lot. AJ was most certainly very intelligent...if Mac was even more so, what did all that make him? (...a freak...)

"John, baby....I have another question...listen..." The rattling rasp of his ailing mother's voice echoed again in his skull. She would often cough up large wads of bloody phlegm...teenage Big Mac would tenderly wipe her pretty but lifeless features clean. She couldn't stop coughing, anymore. Her lungs had been partially filled with fluid after she'd contracted a severe case of noncontagious pneumonia. The Sounds intensified...they blotted out all other sounds. They had seemingly eaten them all whole.

"Yes, mama? Whaddya' need to ask me? Take it easy, though. I know it's hard fer ya' to breathe, okay?", crooned seventeen year old Mac lovingly to his ailing mother. He couldn't lose her...he couldn't. But his adult self knew that he eventually would.

"Do you love me?...do you love me enough to do something for me?" Mac was panicking. It was almost to The Moment. The moment that he'd broken himself. His already cracked and bleeding skull couldn't handle it. He'd suppressed it all for a good reason. Mac frantically tried to steady his aim by supporting his shivering forehoof on top his nightstand. This was it. Win or lose. He began guiding the needle down to his vein.

"Of course, I do, mama! Whaddya' need? Anything, just ask!" The Moment was coming. It would end him. He was out of time. The Moment would kill him even before his inevitably approaching thrombosis. Mac pushed the needle into his vein. He hadn't even bothered to blow the dust off it's shining point that it had accrued from rolling around on the floor. There was already dirt in his veins. What would a tiny bit more hurt? (Oh, God...OH, GoD!!!! Please, no!!! PLEASE!!!)

"I...I need you t-" But his ghost-mother never finished her sentence. Mac had pressed down on the syringe's plunger. Would it stop now? He couldn't be sure. He could still die, anyway.

He laid his head down on on the cold, hard floorboards of his bedroom as a new, chemical God entered his veins to come chase the ghosts away.