Adventure to the Center of Twilight's Freezer

by Dubs Rewatcher

Chapters

• OR Twilight Sparkle Gets Stuck in an Icebox
• Homeqrwsgd
• Chapter 3
• Chapter 4
• Chapter 5
• three deaths
• charlie
• you are the poison i need
• THE NIGHTMARE I NEED
• Don't You Cry For Me
• Limestone/Maud
• There's a Metaphor in Here Somewhere
• BLAZE:

OR Twilight Sparkle Gets Stuck in an Icebox

Dear Shining,

Homeqrwsgd

Chapter 3

As a whole, Start Recursion is about the concept of ‘finding’ a story—in other words, the story is about the way that, for many artists, art is not a tool but an extension of themselves. Although technically, yes, most everything put into a piece of writing is a deliberate choice by the writer, oftentimes those deliberate choices are spawned from a well of subjective emotion, filled from years of life experience and knowledge. In this way, rather than creating a piece of art, we ‘find’ it; we stumble upon the emotions necessary to write somewhere in the back of our minds.

The story follows an author in the process of finding their own story. He starts with the basic concept: “Rainbow Dash is dead, and then she isn’t.” It just so happens that, in many ways, this concept is perfect. This concept, with the hero dying and rising once again, has been the backdrop for countless stories throughout the ages, from the life of Jesus to the struggles of Rama. In the words of author Jeremy John, this concept is “an inevitability” of the human struggle—we search ravenously for stories of heroes overcoming death, the great equalizer, as they are the figures we strive to become powerful enough to emulate. The concept of death and resurrection (along with a few other things) is a story that is “woven throughout our lives”.

However, because this is a contest for stories, not concepts, the author must advance, and add depth to what he’s already found.

This is where it starts to go wrong.

The first sparks of the author’s imperfections taint the story quickly. This is evidenced through his use of swears (“bare sparkling asses”), as well as his tone, which implies sarcasm and flippancy. The author allows his base human instincts to run roughshod over one of humanity’s greatest literary tropes. He can’t stop this—he is an imperfect human, and thus writes imperfect stories. He can’t accept this, however, and declares that he needs to take something seriously for “once in [his] life”. The author doesn’t accept that he can’t fight himself.

Also in this section comes the first instance of something that comes up quite a few times later: treating his characters as props, and not as the people they are within their universe. The author argues that Pinkie Pie only has one way of dealing with everything: jokes. This reduces Pinkie Pie, a unique character with unique goals and aspirations, to nothing more than an easily identifiable puppet. A puppet that he might control in order to write the story in the way he wants to—more imperfections.

Then, he stops.

It’s here that we get the first true glimpse of the author as he truly is—a man who holds deep insecurities, a man who second guesses everything he does. More on this later.

Now we get the hook: is Rainbow Dash still Rainbow Dash, even after death?

As I said earlier, we as artists find stories, crafted in our minds by previous life experience. This is an example of that. The first hook that the author thinks of, whether or not Rainbow is the same Rainbow after being resurrected, is a clear reference to stories like Blink, where Twilight dies and comes back, only to ask herself if she is truly the same Twilight. This is probably the lightest metafictional reference in the entire story.

The next section, with the author’s short diatribe about Twilight being “logical … believ[ing] in what the numbers and models tell her”, is another instance of the author trying to make the characters move in the way he sees fit. The line about Pinkie, too. The author, in an attempt to make the story perfect, is forcing his characters to act as stereotypes, as stilted machines, guided by catchphrases and base character traits. In other words, in the quest for perfection, the author is forcing himself into imperfection.

In a way, Twilight also represents the author. As she is testing out the new Rainbow Dash, poking and prodding to see if she’s ‘correct,’ so too is the author testing out his new ideas, poking and prodding at the prose as if it were flesh. More on this later.

This is followed by another stop, and another instance of the author doubting himself. This doubt is interesting, as he throws the entire scene away based on a rather minor point—Twilight’s science babble being slightly incorrect, in a way that no reader would probably ever notice or care about. He is ignoring the obvious imperfections in his characters in order to focus on something that isn’t a problem at all. This says something about the author—maybe he’s the kind of guy who misses the big picture, and worries about the minor details?

The next section is just an aside, a distraction—much like the ones authors must deal with when trying to focus on writing with a deadline.

Now, we get to the verse section. For the first time, the author acknowledges his attempt to control the characters as characters, rather than allowing the story to flow naturally. In his own words, he “tell them what to say, and they say it”. He is able to reduce the art of writing to “pixels on a television, letters on a screen, voices in your head”…

But he stops. He finally realizes that trying to force a story and its characters to work in a certain way simply because that’s what you want to happen doesn’t work. Artists aren’t in control of their art—the art controls them.

Next is the section I wish didn’t exist, as it pretty much gives away the vehicle. Not much to say about this.

Next is the section with Rarity making herself into something new. The important thing to remember about this section is that, in reality, the author isn’t talking about Rarity here—he’s talking about himself, and thus talking about every writer. Rarity is a stand in for artists as a whole.

How is that, you might ask? Well, let’s look at two lines from this section:

Rarity is whichever shade of blush she chose to paste onto her face that morning, the thickness of the eyeliner, the length of the eyelashes, the darkness of the eyeshadow, the softness of the brush.

and

Rainbow Dash is whenever her last nap was, however recently she last won or lost something, if she cares more about herself or more about her friends today.

These two lines are important, as they call back to the concept of art being a culmination of all one’s life experiences. Once again, we are not in control of our art. Our art is borne from every small moment of life that we’ve ever experienced, carved into our memories like water and wind against stone. When we choose to define ourselves as artists, we choose to define ourselves as those countless experiences. When we wake up and plan for the days ahead, although we may not realize it, we are asking ourselves: Who will I make of myself today?

Even the name dropping is an example of this. Those category tags, those authors—these are things that this author has gained from experiences in his life. James Patterson would not make these references. Ernest Hemingway would not makes these references. The author of Start Recursion would. He is who he has made of himself by entering the world of ponefic.

He states, “Name dropping won’t get you anywhere.” More second guessing.

Next, the audio portion of the piece. This section is a direct attempt to connect the author within the story, the author of the minific, and the readers together. We are all artists. We are all the sum of our parts. We are all the same—

Stop. That’s not true, the author realizes. If we are all the sum of our parts, then we are all different, as everyone has different parts. To suggest otherwise… the author is reaching too far, “getting too big for [his] britches”. This is further evidenced by Rarity forgetting who she planned to be—Rarity is losing her identity, much like the author almost forced the reader to lose his.

Also of note here, and throughout the entire piece, is Rainbow Dash’s role. Look back—just what has RD been doing this entire time? The answer, really, is nothing. She’s been nothing but a slab of flesh for others to move around, to attach emotions to. She’s not a character, she’s a prop. The author has failed to realize that giving Rainbow Dash a hook—her strange immortality, her possible new soul—does not mean giving her a personality. Much like >>45947654594765 stated earlier in the thread, a great story is one that “has an intriguing theme acted out by intriguing characters”. Horse proceeds to use the story of Jesus as an example. Can you see how our author has failed?

Next section, the author explains what recursion is. When I first read this, I didn’t like this section very much. However, looking back, I understand the purpose.

Let’s go back to an earlier point, where Twilight represented the author, and RD represented the story. Is that not true here? Twilight waits for numbers, some sort of objective source, to tell her if she’s allowed to love Rainbow Dash. Meanwhile, in the next section, the author defends his use of recursion, stating that “People like cycles and patterns”. Both are trying to find excuses to love something they see as flawed, as lesser than what they want.

Now, the final section, and the only one I explained in my review.

The author wants a conclusion. We all want a conclusion! We all want our happy ending, where the author discovers his problems and becomes the greatest author the world has ever known!

But it doesn’t come. It doesn’t ever come, and that’s because art doesn’t ever have a conclusion. There is no such thing as the perfect author. As long as we are living, as long as we are experiencing new things, we are growing, advancing. Even our own personal conclusions—our deaths—serve to influence other artists who knew us. If Cold in Gardez (God forbid) were to spontaneously combust tomorrow, we would all feel it. Our art would feel it. Much like the same concepts and themes keep showing up to explain the human experience, art keeps going on. We need it in more ways than we realize.

Just as we are forced to accept this, so is the author, and so do our ponies. Twilight and Pinkie and Rarity want Rainbow Dash back, but can’t have her, so they have to accept the strange one they’ve been given. All the while the author wants the perfect story, but can’t have it, so he has to accept the flawed one he’s found.

Maybe that’ll be enough, and maybe it won’t.

Stop. Even if it’s not over.

Because it’ll never be over.

[note: There’s a good chance that none of this is what the author actually meant. But Roland Barthes is my hero, so fuck the author.]

Chapter 4

Discord fluttered his suddenly-massive eyelashes and said, “So, after I turned myself into a mare, I just sidled up to them and said, ‘Hey, sexy. What’s going on?’ And let me tell you now: you should have seen the look on that mare’s face when her coltfriend’s wings just shot up!”

“Mhm,” Luna said.

“So she puffs her chest up and starts whining.” Discord lifted his lion paw, which had become the head of a blue mare with her tongue sticking out. In a scratchy falsetto, he said, “’Oh, Thunderlane, who is this floosy?’” His eagle talon had become the head of a black stallion with his eyes crossed. “’Oh, Flitter! I don’t know this babe—oh, uh, I mean mare!’”

“Right.”

The talking heads popped out of existence, and Discord closed his eyes with a smile. “So she slaps him, tells him they’re breaking up, and I’m already a half-mile into the air, laughing my antlers off. Pretty good, eh?” He leaned back in his seat and picked up his dish. “I must say, being redeemed has its perks. I’ve never found easier pranking targets than Ponyvillians!”

Luna nibbled at her cake, but said nothing more.

The sky was a deep crimson as the moon dipped below the horizon and the sun took its place. It had been almost a year since Discord had agreed to put aside his chaotic ways and embrace the magic of friendship, and ever since that day he and Luna had arranged these monthly get-togethers, where they would chat on Luna’s balcony and eat Celestia’s emergency stash of lemon cake. Despite their past quarrels, Luna saw it as a welcome escape from her usual rigidly-organized schedule of petitions and memos; Discord just liked lemon cake.

“Oh, come now. Not even a chuckle?” Discord asked, scarfing down another slice of cake. He leaned forward in his chair and smirked. “Does a love for good pranks not run in the family?”

“If that is your definition of a ‘good prank,’ then perhaps not.” Luna put her dish down on the table between them and looked up at Discord. “In what world is ruining a loving relationship ‘good?’”

“Well, it’s not like I did it purposefully, or anything like that!” Discord paused for a moment. “Alright, maybe I did, but I can’t control it! Causing chaos is just part of who I am.” He pulled out an x-ray machine and held it over his chest to show all five of his hearts tap dancing. “See? It’s in my blood!”

Luna gazed at him with lidded eyes before sighing and sipping her tea.

“What?” Discord frowned and crushed the x-ray out of existence. “You’re giving me that awful look of yours. What did I say?”

“I must wonder,” Luna began, her words slow and deliberate, “if when my sister allowed you to roam free, she realized you would be acting the same way you always have.”

Discord crossed his arms. “Are you implying that I haven’t truly been redeemed?”

“Perhaps I am.”

“Well, I never!” Discord gasped and threw his hands to his heart. “Of course I’m redeemed! How could you ever say something like that?” He paused for a moment and narrowed his eyes. “Celestia trusts me—why don’t you?”

Luna let out a long breath through her nose. Then, putting her tea down, she said, “Four thousand years ago, at the height of Equestria’s first golden age, you destroyed Canterlot. It was the middle of the night, and you replaced the base of Canterlot Castle with gelatin. The structure slid down the mountainside and into the town, destroying everything in its path. You erased thousands of lives in less than five minutes.”

Discord’s eyes went wide. “That was years ago!” he said. “You know that I’d never do something like that now. And besides, Canterlot’s stuffed full of more ponies than ever. Nopony today even remembers what happened.”

“I remember,” Luna muttered. “And I also remember the plunderseeds—plants imbued with dark magic, meant to destroy all of Equestria when you couldn’t. If Twilight Sparkle and her friends hadn’t stopped you, your seeds would have wiped out the Tree of Harmony for good.”

“I already apologized for that!” Discord said, smoke rising from his ears. “I planted those seeds years ago; they have nothing to do with whether I’m redeemed or not. And what do you mean, Sparkle stopped me? I helped her, and her stupid little friends! And Fluttershy!”

“As soon as the Crusaders accidentally freed you from your stone prison, you went back to your old ways. You did not even have to think about it!”

Discord leaped from his seat and towered over Luna. “So what, then? What’s your point? That I’m right? That I can never be good, because I’m the literal Spirit of Chaos?”

“My point is that it takes more than mere words to change oneself,” Luna said, rising from her seat and forcing Discord to take a step back. “How can you say you are redeemed when you still find excuses for your cruelty? True redemption takes time and effort; it takes a transformation of the soul, a complete incineration and rebirthing of the heart.”

“That’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard,” Discord scoffed. “Even Celestia thinks I’m a good guy now, and to be honest, when it comes to talking about good versus evil, I trust her quite a bit more than you, Little Miss Nightmare. And that’s saying something.”

“Discord,” Luna said, head bowed, “are you redeemed?”

Discord blinked. “Am I…?” His face screwed back up into a familiar smirk. “I think we’ve already had this conversation. Yes, I am redeemed.”

“Are you redeemed?” Luna asked again, a bit firmer.

The smirk wilted into a scowl. “Yes,” Discord spat. “I am redeemed!”

Luna’s head shot up to meet Discord’s eyes. “Are you redeemed?”

Discord opened his mouth to answer—but nothing came. There was a glint in Luna’s leer that sliced through Discord’s skin like a machete and made his chest feel like a tear in spacetime. Not even a sound left his throat as Luna stared him down. The silence stretched out like an ocean, pierced only by the occasional chirp of birdsong.

It took all of Discord’s concentration to tear his gaze away and say, “There’s no point to this. If you’re just going to keep blathering on like a broken record, then there’s no point in me staying.” Discord gulped down the rest of the lemon cake and slithered up into the air.

Luna didn’t attempt to follow. “And where will you go from here?”

Discord manifested a picnic basket in one hand, and a frilly parasol in the other. “I have a lunch date with Fluttershy,” Discord said, resting the parasol on his shoulder. “At least she knows how to trust her friends.”

Luna lifted a hoof to her mouth to stifle a chuckle. When she saw Discord’s questioning glare, she shook her head and said, “I don’t think you quite understood my question.”

Discord plucked his eyes out and rolled them in his paw before turning away. “I’m starting to understand why Celestia grounded her,” he muttered as he snapped his talons and teleported away.

“Can you believe it?” Discord yelped, throwing his teacup around wildly. “Luna thinks she can just scold me, as if I’m some stupid foal. What does she know about being redeemed, huh? When was she ever redeemed?” Discord paused. He slumped in his chair and looked down. “Don’t answer that.”

Fluttershy winced as Discord gesticulated, tossing the tea out of his cup and into the air, only to catch it in his open mouth. “You know,” she said, crossing the living room to pour him another cup, “I’m sure that Princess Luna didn’t mean to offend you. She was probably just trying to help.”

“Trying to help?” Discord repeated, leaning into Fluttershy. “By insulting me to my face? By implying that all my hard work has been worthless?”

“It hasn’t been worthless!” Fluttershy sputtered, crushed against her sofa. She gulped. “But, you know, it is true that sometimes your pranks can be a bit… mean. And you could maybe think about working on your self-control—“

“Aaugh!” Discord cried. He flopped over onto his stomach to reveal an oversized knife sticking out of his back. “Not you too, Fluttershy! I thought you trusted me!”

“I do trust you!” Fluttershy insisted, floating over to where he lay. “But Princess Luna is very smart; she is the Princess of Equestria, after all.”

“And I’m the King of Chaos!” Discord cried, pulling a plastic crown out from one of his bushy eyebrows and placing it on his head. “But you don’t see me preaching about redemption while scarfing down lemon cakes.”

Fluttershy sighed. “I suppose not… But still. Can’t you just consider maybe listening to what she said?”

She looked back up, and Discord’s ears had disappeared. “Nope,” he said. He hovered up to the ceiling.

“Where are you going?” Fluttershy asked.

“Out,” Discord said. He slithered over to the fireplace and up the chimney, out of the house.

As Discord approached Ponyville he cloaked himself in magic, so that he might be hidden from the prying eyes of anypony else who wanted to judge him. He flew over the houses and buildings and markets until he reached the center of town, where he climbed to the top of Town Hall and perched on a flagpole, making him look like a particularly grumpy bird.

Otherworldly curses flew from his lips as he watched the village move below him. “No respect,” he grumbled. “I get no respect. Who do these ponies think they are to tell me whether or not I’m redeemed? Of course I am! I’m the goodest good guy in this whole stupid dimension!”

And yet, even as he ranted to the clouds, he couldn’t help but grimace at the memory of Luna’s piercing stare. Even Fluttershy had agreed with her… maybe they had a point? Maybe he could be trying harder to do good.

Discord groaned and smacked himself in the face. He couldn’t believe he was even thinking about agreeing with them—but as he had discovered in the past three months, Fluttershy was easily the wisest and kindest pony ever to live. If anypony knew anything about what it meant to be good, it was her.

“Fine,” Discord said. He ripped a hole in the universe and stuck his arm in, rummaging around for a minute before pulling out a glowing halo, which he promptly affixed to his head. “No more bad things. I will prove that I am the shining beacon of virtue that I know myself to be!”

“Ooh, Rarity, that’s such a pretty scarf!”

A single drop of sweat formed at Discord’s brow.

Discord dropped down on all fours and peered over the edge of the roof. In the street below stood Rarity and Pinkie Pie, the former showing off a long blue scarf that was wrapped around her neck, and the latter gazing at it with wide eyes.

“It is, isn’t it?” Rarity asked, fluffing up her mane. The various jewels embedded into the fabric shined in the sunlight, making her look like a walking rainbow. “I just finished it last night. You have no idea how long it took me to find the right shade of zaffre!”

It took Discord a moment to realize that he was grinning. He spun back around and banished all the mischievious thoughts from his mind. He pulled at his antlers, chewed on his claws—he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He had sworn himself off pranks, and he was going to stick to his promise.

…But one last prank couldn’t hurt, right? It would be like his ‘goodbye’ to the world of chaos. His grand finale. His pièce de résistance.

He turned Rarity’s scarf into a garden snake.

He watched from above as Rarity slowly realized that the silk running across her neck had turned to scales. Her shrill scream cut through Ponyville, so loud that nopony could hear Discord’s snickering. Still yelping about how the universe had betrayed her, Rarity sprinted away, down the road and out of sight.

“Ooh!” Pinkie Pie cooed. She reached into her mane and pulled out an alligator. “Look, Gummy! Your cousin Gus came to visit!”

In the span of a few seconds, Discord had to create himself four new lungs to handle how loudly he was laughing. As Rarity’s screams faded into the distance, he forced his paw into his mouth and stifled his barks. Rarity had always been one of his favorite targets; she was just so dramatic! Half the fun of pranking was the reaction, after all.

Discord allowed himself one last giggle before flying away. The day was young, and the air was ripe for chaos.

Ponyville Market was only a few blocks away, and bustled with an energy that washed over Discord’s tongue like rich hot chocolate. He curled around a lamppost and scanned the stalls, searching for anypony who looked like they were in need of a good prank…

There.

Discord flew across the courtyard and landed on top of Roseluck’s flower stand. Rose had a toothy, static grin plastered over her face, and it only grew more strained the longer Mayor Mare perused her wares. “See anything you like, Mayor?”

“Hm.” The Mayor scratched her chin. “I must say, these daisies look absolutely scrumptious! Do you mind if I…?”

“Oh, not at all!” Rose said. “Go ahead!”

The Mayor nodded and leaned forward to take a bite out of a particularly fragrant daisy. Neither one of them heard Discord snap his talons, so the Mayor didn’t hesitate to rip off a petal and give it a thoughtful chew—only to scrunch up her face and spit it out.

“This daisy tastes terrible!” the Mayor said. “Like paper!”

“What?” Rose asked with a frown. She picked up the daisy the Mayor had bitten and turned it over in her hoof. “They were fine this morning—oh my gosh!”

“These are fake!” the Mayor said, picking up another hoofful of flowers. “They’re made out of fabric! Were you trying to swindle me, Miss Roseluck?”

“No, no! I swear, I don’t know how this happened!” Rose dove behind her stand and hauled out a massive barrel. She popped off the top, revealing another stock of assorted flowers. “Here, I just picked these yesterday, and I know for a fact that they’re okay to eat.”

Mayor Mare cast a wary glance at the flowers, but still walked forward to sniff them. She stuck her head in just as Discord snapped his talons again. When she stepped back, her face was covered in bees.

The Mayor shrieked so loudly she left the ground. With more bees flying out of the barrel by the second, she galloped away, flailing her head in a frenzied attempt to shake the insects off.

“Mayor!” Rose sputtered, running after her. “I don’t know how those got in there! Please, come back!”

Discord very nearly crushed the flower stand under him with how hard he was bouncing up-and-down, his entire body convulsing with laughter. Of course, none of the magical bees he had created would ever actually sting the Mayor, but Discord had never seen a pony pale so fast. Hay, he had no idea that old nag could even move like that anymore! Clearly he had failed to give the earth ponies of this town the credit they were due.

Discord jumped off of the stand’s canopy and floated up to a nearby rooftop, only to stop chuckling and frown. That last prank had been great fun, of course, but what could possibly top it? He stroked his beard, trying to force the broken slot machine that was his brain to come up with a coherent idea.

“Who else needs to lighten up?” he said, manifesting a pair of binoculars to look out at the town. “Who else is much too serious for their own good…?”

In the distance, the noontime sun glinted off of Twilight’s new crystal palace.

Discord smirked and left the rooftop behind.

“I… I think we’re done!” Twilight announced, putting her paintbrush back into a can of red paint. She turned to face the ponies who stood with her. “I think we’re finally done!”

Cheerilee, Muffins, and Blossomforth all whooped and cheered, thrusting their paintbrushes into the air. Muffins jumped into the air. “It’s so pretty!” she said. The others nodded and joined her in admiring their work.

For the past two weeks, Twilight and her group of fellow volunteers had been asked by the Mayor to help paint a mural in Ponyville Park, celebrating all the disasters Ponyville had survived over the years. On one side sat Tirek; on the other, parasprites flew through an ursa major’s arms; even Discord was there, his body wrapped around the entire wall like a living picture frame. And in the center of it all, a white space surrounded the six symbols that made up the Elements of Harmony. It was a symbol of Ponyville’s strength and perseverance.

“Thank you all so much for helping out with this,” Twilight said, turning away from the mural to face the others. “I don’t think anypony could have done a better job.”

“Thank you for leading us!” Cheerilee said, earning a round of nods from the other two. “We couldn’t have finished it so quickly if it weren’t for your scheduling skills.”

Twilight blushed and scratched the back of her head. “That’s nice of you to say. But I’m”—there was a flash of light behind her—“really not sure that it’s true! I mean, you all… what? What’s wrong?”

Cheerilee, Blossomforth, and Muffins all blanched at once. Blossomforth lifted a shaking wing and pointed at the mural. Twilight turned around and gasped.

Every figure on the mural—Tirek, the parasprites, even the ursa major—had been turned into Discord. Where there once was only one depiction of the chaotic spirit, there now were dozens, all with the same wide grin.

“Discord!” Twilight yelled, flaring her wings. “Get out here now!”

“You don’t have to yell. I’m right here!” The Discord surrounding the mural came to life and peeled himself off of the wall. He landed next to Twilight and looked up at the art installation with a smile. “What a beautiful picture this is. And you didn't even need me to model! You must have my striking good looks stuck in your mind!”

“I can’t believe you,” Twilight seethed. “Why would you do something like this?”

“Oh, do calm yourself,” Discord said, summoning a nail file to smooth his claws. “It’s just a dinky painting. I can put it back whenever I want to.”

Twilight and her fellow painters scowled as one. “It’s not ‘dinky,’” Twilight growled. “And I don’t care whether or not you can put it back; it’s about respect. You just think you can do whatever you want, and no one will say anything!”

“That’s right!” Roseluck yipped, running up to the group. Her mane was frazzled, and a group of bees had nestled themselves in her tail. Jabbing a hoof at Discord, she said, “I know that you were the one who ruined all of my flowers—I heard you laughing! And now Mayor Mare is trying to shut down my stand!”

Discord turned up his nose. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that, but it’s not my fault that the Mayor is a complete control freak. You’ll have to ask her therapist about that.”

“And you destroyed my brand new scarf!” Rarity shouted, walking toward them. Streaks of mascara ran down her face. “It took me months to design it!”

“You can’t prove that was me!” Discord said. “Snakes are a tricky sort!”

Twilight spent a moment longer glaring up at Discord, but soon enough sighed and let her head fall. “You know,” she said, “I trust Princess Celestia with all my life. But sometimes, Discord—I wonder if she was wrong about you being redeemed.”

Discord flinched away. He could feel six sets of eyes boring into him, burning past his skin and into his soul like flaming needles. He moved his lips wordlessly for a second before narrowing his eyes and saying, “Oh, yeah? Well… fine! I don’t need your approval, Sparkle. It doesn’t matter what you say; I’m a good guy now.”

“Good guys tend to value their friends over stupid pranks,” Twilight said.

Discord bit back the hexes flying up his throat. Without another sound, he teleported away.

There was a pop, and Discord appeared on a cloud, high above Ponyville. He landed pacing, circling the cloud and grumbling under his breath. Both talon and paw rested at his sides, clenched into fists.

“Those stupid ponies,” he said to the air. “Idiots, the lot of them. I make single mistake, and they jump all over me! Can’t they see that I’m trying? Can’t they just leave me—“

He turned around. Across the cloud from him stood Princess Luna.

Discord stumbled back a step, but just as quickly rushed forward, only stopping when he was so close that Luna had to crane her neck upwards to see his face. “And just what do you want?” he asked. “Come to gloat about how you were right, and how I’m such an awful creature?”

Luna didn’t answer.

Discord waited, but when nothing came, he spat, “Because I don’t want to hear it! None of this is my fault, and you know that. I’m just being the draconequus I was born as: chaotic. Evil. I am evil, and I’ll always be evil!”

Luna stayed silent.

“Are you deaf?” Discord asked, throwing up his arms. “Say something, you old git!”

Still, no answer. Luna just stared up at him—stared like everypony else stared all the time, no matter what he was doing. Whenever he passed, all they would do was watch him, as if he were going to turn their bones to feathers, or their blood to milk. They looked at him like he was nothing but a monster. Nothing but a bad guy.

And maybe they weren’t wrong.

Discord collapsed to his knees as nausea erupted in his stomach. His arms fell to his sides. “I hate this,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m tired of being feared. I promised everypony that I’d be good—so what’s wrong with me?” He managed to meet Luna’s eyes, and with a hard swallow, said, “You were right. I’m not a good guy; I’m the same as I always was.”

Cold set in over his bones. He let his head fall.

Luna touched his arm. He looked up.

“In my life,” she said, “I have failed many times, and I have learned many things about what it means to be 'good.' But, of them all, the greatest is this: redemption is always free to those who seek it, no matter who they might be.”

With her words came a new feeling—one that Discord could not name, nor could he even describe. His chest felt like it had been set ablaze, and yet, he didn’t mind. Too many words stewed in his mouth, but when he tried to use them, he couldn’t make a sound.

“Now,” Luna said, taking a step back, “where will you go from here?”

Every limb relaxed. Discord stood up and snapped his talons to teleport away.

Back in Ponyville, things hadn’t changed much. Rose and Rarity had calmed themselves enough to help Twilight and the others clean up, storing away paint cans and brushes in crates. The mural still grinned down at them.

Everypony looked up when a bright light flashed above them, but the reaction was a near unanimous groan. “What do you want?” Twilight asked..

Discord landed in front of her, arms folded behind his back. “I came to say,” he started. He took a long breath. “I came to say that I’m sorry.”

Every ear pricked up. Twilight raised a brow. “You’re… sorry?”

“Yes,” Discord said. “I let my own temptations overshadow the reason I’m really here: to earn your friendship. Let me see if I can undo some of the damage I’ve done.”

He snapped his talons, and the mural changed back to its original design, earning a cheer from Muffins, Blossomforth, and Cheerilee. He snapped again, and a wagon full of fresh roses landed next to Roseluck, along with a 'Letter of Apology' addressed to the Mayor. Another snap, and a long blue scarf appeared on Rarity’s neck.

“Oh my, cashmere!” Rarity cooed, rubbing the fabric against her cheek. “I must admit, cobalt isn’t my favorite color… but it’ll have to do!”

“Wow,” Twilight said, jaw slack. She looked up and smiled. “This is really nice of you, Discord! Thank you!”

“I don’t need your thanks, Miss Sparkle. Making your friends happy is just what a good guy does.” Discord puffed out his chest and nodded. “…But you are welcome.”

If there was one thing that Discord appreciated about Celestia, it was her choice of color when it came to sunsets. The orange that seemed to bathe the air itself was pleasing to Discord’s eyes, and he couldn’t help but pluck them out and polish them against his chest in order to see it all more clearly. How many sunsets had he missed, locked away in that statue? And how many had he ignored, spending his days trying to destroy Equestria?

He erased the thought and settled into his lawn chair with a contented sigh. Fluttershy was just down the hill, speaking with the fish that lived in the river. Discord watched her laugh and took a swig of his chocolate milk.

“This is the life,” he said.

“I am glad to see that you are doing well,” Luna said, sitting down next to him.

Discord nodded. “I must thank you, Luna, for slapping some sense into me; I was being painfully melodramatic.”

“It was my pleasure.” Luna touched a wing to his shoulder. “I hope that you take my words to heart.”

“Trust me, I will,” Discord said. He snapped, and a shirt appeared over his torso which read, ‘#1 Good Guy.’ “See? I’ve already got the merchandise all ready to go!”

“We will see about that,” Luna said with a giggle. She rose to her hooves and walked away.

Just as she was spreading her wings to fly away, Discord said, “Luna?”

Luna looked over her shoulder. “Hm?”

Discord rested his head in his hands and cast her a serene gaze. “Ask me again.”

Luna furrowed her brows for a moment—but then nodded as the realization came over her eyes. She looked to the ground. “Discord,” she said, “are you redeemed?”

Discord took in a sharp breath, as if he were caught off-guard. “Yes, I am redeemed.”

She lifted her head. “Are you redeemed?”

“Yes, I am redeemed.”

She turned and looked him in the eyes. “Are you redeemed?”

Discord returned her look without hesitation. In that moment, he felt something strike his heart—a familiar fire.

He nodded. “Yes, I am redeemed.”

Luna smiled and turned back around. “Then be the good guy.” She flew away.

Discord watched her go, then looked back to the horizon to watch the rising moon.

Chapter 5

She murmured, “They’re for you because I really, y’know, kinda maybe like you…”

This chapter should be in complete contrast to the last. Excluding Pages 4 through 8, I want the panels to be clearly delineated with tight, precise borders. Negative space should be kept to a minimum. Except where otherwise noted, colors should be dark and muted—Golden’s coat should be the brightest color. Please refrain from using dialogue boxes.

Only a few days have passed since the last chapter, and Golden Gull is still feeling the weight of what’s happened.

PAGE 1

1 and 2 should be simple squares, resting next to one another. 3 should stretch across the page.

1) Close-up of Golden pressed against her mother’s side, clutching her doll. Mother is looking ahead. Golden’s eyes are clenched tight.

CAPTION: We didn’t stay in Trottingham long after Moma’s funeral. Father said we had places we needed to be.

2) Shot of a carriage heading down a dirt road. A city looms in the distance. The sun is setting.

CAPTION: While we were on the ground, he said, we may as well visit some friends.

CAPTION: Mother said nothing. I could not recall ever making any friends on the ground.

3) Wide shot of skyscrapers reaching into the stars. They should be imposing, and barely separated from the dark sky behind them.

CAPTION: I didn’t understand how anypony could live in a city like this. There were no clouds, no weather factories.

CAPTION: Only metal.

PAGE 2

1 and 4 should stretch across the page, while 3 and 4 should be in equal square boxes.

1) Shot of Golden being helped out of the carriage. Her eyes are wide as she gazes at the city surrounding her.

CAPTION: Mother called it a vacation. I knew better.

CAPTION: Vacations were relaxing, fun. This was neither.

2) Close-up of Golden’s legs and hooves. She is wearing polished black horseshoes.

CAPTION: This was busy,

3) Close-up of Golden’s mane. A ring of fake white flowers rests on her head.

CAPTION: dull,

4) Wide shot of Golden standing in a doorway, wearing the shoes, flowers, and a delicate white dress, with frills at the edges. The curls in her hair have been straightened. She is grimacing. Her parents stand at either side, her father wearing a sharp suit, and her mother a similar white gown.

CAPTION: and annoying.

PAGE 3

1 and 2 should be equal boxes, small at the top of the page. 3, 4, and 5 should be made up of triangles, and should take up most of the page.

1) Profile shot of Golden leering at the dinner plate in front of her. On it sit two daisy petals.

CAPTION: Each day a new town, a set of new faces…

2) Shot of the entire dinner table, which is lined by dozens of ponies. Only Golden and her parents should be drawn with any intricate detail.

CAPTION: …but it always felt the same.

3) Close-up of Golden looking off-panel, looking dazed. The sentences “Who is the little one?” and “What a cute face!” should be etched in, almost fading into the background.

4) Golden is frowning now, ears flat, back hunched. “Give us a smile!” and “Where’s her cutie mark?”

5) Golden is looking down, teardrops in her eyes. “Already in Flight School and no cutie mark?” and “Aw, she’s shy!”

CAPTION: Always the same.

CAPTION: I soon grew tired.

PAGE 4

1 and 2 should each take half the page. The bottom of 2 has no border, and the sides fade to white as they descend.

1) Side shot of Golden, who is still hunched. She is looking in the same direction as the panel, towards a window. It is snowing out.

CAPTION: It was in those moments that I wished to escape.

2) Outside the window, looking in. Snow is falling, and the image becomes increasingly obscured as the panel extends downward.

CAPTION: I wished to go back.

PAGE 5

Full page splash. A snowy field, with a single cabin sitting in the middle. The lights are on.

PAGE 6

Full page. Inside the house. A fireplace roars. In front is a rocking chair, where a mare sits with a foal in her lap.

PAGE 7

1, 2, and 3 take up equal space, but they have no defined borders.

1) Moma holds a younger Golden tightly. A colorful quilt covers them both. The light of the fireplace shines on their coats.

2) Golden rests her head against Moma’s chest. Her face is calm.

3) Golden closes her eyes and smiles.

PAGE 8

The top of the page is pure white, but quickly fades into 1, which should run until the halfway mark. 2 and 3 should be equal squares.

1) Shot of Golden sitting at the table, being startled awake. The word “Golden!” should be etched above her head, harsh and rough, as if scratched in with a razor.

2) Golden looks up fearfully at her father, who scowls down at her.

3) Father looks down at Golden, who stares at her hooves.

PAGE 9

Full page. Golden stares straight ahead, ears and wings limp, frown deep. The dinner party continues around her, as if nothing has happened.

three deaths

The first time Twilight Sparkle died, she screamed. It was an ugly, ear-splitting sound, somewhere between the yowl of a cat and the screech of grinding metal. Her eyes clenched shut, she screamed and screamed until her cheeks went blue, until her entire face trembled, until her voice sputtered out and faded away.

Knees wobbling, chest heaving, she edged open an eye—and froze.

Tirek was gone. Ponyville was gone. Her friends, the mountainside, the blood red sky, all of it—completely gone.

In their place: white. Just white. A blank, featureless void stretched out in all directions, and for a wild moment Twilight assumed she had fallen into a snowbank. But August had only just begun, and she didn’t feel cold at all. In fact, she didn’t really feel much of anything. No aches, no pains.

Hadn’t Tirek just thrown her into a mountain? And then there had been that awful searing pain in her chest... where had it gone?

She took a step forward on shaking legs, craning her neck to look around. Yet, the void didn’t change, didn’t move, didn’t react to her in the slightest. It just existed.

“Hello?” she called in a raspy voice. “Is anyone here?”

“Yes.”

Wings flaring, Twilight spun around and prepared a magical blast. At least, she tried to; no matter how hard she pushed, her horn wouldn’t light. She swallowed and squinted to see ahead. “Who’s there?”

A few yards ahead of her lay a small table, on top of which rested a large teapot and two small mugs. And behind the teapot sat something else.

‘Something else’ was the most detailed description Twilight could give the thing. Taking a few steps forward, she stared and tried to examine it—but she couldn’t focus on anything, it seemed. The creature behind the table had every feature and no features at once. Just looking at it made her thoughts fuzz over, made her head pound.

“Hello!” it said, twisting its maybe-face into a maybe-smile. “Come! The tea is delicious.” Its voice was even stranger than its looks; when it spoke, Twilight heard hundreds, thousands, millions of voices at once. Not layered on top of each other, like some sort of bad monster movie, but just... at once, filling her ears like cement. Her headache grew stronger.

Twilight regarded it with narrowed eyes. She held her glare even as she sat down in the small wooden chair on the other end of the table. She kept her lips sealed.

The creature lifted the teapot and filled both its and Twilight’s mugs. It took a long whiff of its brew. “Just lovely. Don’t you think so?”

“Where am I?” Twilight asked.

“Ah, getting right to the point, I see! Not a surprise, coming from you.” The creature took a sip of its tea. “You are currently in many places. In a chair, in front of a table, in the universe—”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Twilight growled. “The last thing I remember is Tirek pinning me against a mountain. He came charging at me, we impacted, and now I’m here.” She glanced around the void again, an uncomfortable feeling crawling over her coat. “What’s going on?”

The creature gestured to the cup in front of Twilight. “You should drink your tea before it grows cold.”

“I don’t have time for tea! Tirek is in the middle of destroying Equestria, destroying Ponyville, and I’m the only one who can stop him!” Twilight leapt up from her seat. “Every second I’m here is another second for Tirek to hurt my friends. I need to save them!”

“How can you save your friends when you are dead, Twilight Sparkle?”

Twilight went stock-still. She mouthed the word—dead. “What do you mean?” she asked, the words slow and shaky. She whipped her eyes around the void, trying and failing to find something to anchor onto. “What are you talking about?”

“You are dead.” The creature tilted its head. “Was that not clear?”

“You’re lying.” Twilight took a step back. Her mouth was drying out. “I’m not dead. No, no, I’m not. How could I be? I was fine just a minute ago!”

The creature put its tea down. It stayed silent for a moment before meeting Twilight’s eyes again. “Would you like to see?”

Twilight took a breath. “See what?”

The creature raised a limb, and Twilight screamed again. Her vision was gone, replaced by an image of herself, impaled on one of Tirek’s horns. His horn tore through her chest, ripping out bones and veins and organs. Blood poured from her gaping mouth. Her face held no expression.

“Stop!” Twilight cried, falling to her knees. “Stop it!”

The image faded, and the creature came back into view. “I’m sorry,” it said, its voice soft. “I did not mean to upset you. I am merely showing you the truth. Now, if you would just drink—”

“I’m dead?” Twilight’s breaths became gasps. “Oh, goddess, oh, goddess...”

“Please,” the creature said. “It is not so bad!”

“Not so bad? Tirek killed me, and it’s not so bad?!” All the color had left Twilight’s face, and tears formed in her eyes. “I’m Equestria’s only hope! The Princesses entrusted me with their magic, and I failed. Tirek’s going to hurt everypony, going to destroy everything... and my friends”—a choking sob rose in her throat—“what about my friends? Or my family? What are they going to do? They’ll all be tortured, all because of me!”

“No, they will not.”

“Why not?” Twilight choked out. “What’s going to happen? Who’s going to help them?”

“You will,” said the creature, “once I send you back.”

“Send me back?” Twilight repeated. She blinked a few times, her frantic thoughts trying to piece themselves together. “You... You would do that?”

“Would I? I’m afraid I must, my young friend!” said the creature with a chuckle. It leaned forward in its seat. “It is not your time to die, Twilight Sparkle. It is, however, your time to live.”

Another round of tears spilled down Twilight’s face. She stepped around the table and pulled the creature into a hug—its body felt like static. “Thank you,” she said, holding it tight. “Thank you, thank you!”

The creature seemed to go stiff under her touch. “It is my pleasure. Now, please: sit.”

“But what about Tirek?” Twilight asked, pulling away. “I need to go stop him!”

“I have paused time in Equestria. When I send you back, your body will be repaired—you will be reborn, hale and whole and good-as-new. You are in no rush.” The creature simpered. “And besides, it can get quite lonely here. Why don’t you keep me company for a bit?”

“Of course. I guess I owe you that much, huh?” Twilight asked. She sat back down. Her limbs still trembled, and it was all she could do not to drop the cup of tea when she picked it up. “You’ve saved me from death, and you can stop time. Who are you?”

The creature paused before saying simply, “I am.”

Twilight waited for more, but when nothing came, asked, “You are what?”

“I am.”

“You are...?”

“Yes,” the creature said. It sipped its tea. “But I suppose that may not be sufficient for a mare of your stature. So, perhaps I should take on one of the many names those who I have saved have given me over the years. Why not, say, Atman? That seems fitting, no?”

“Atman.” Twilight repeated, turning the name over in her mouth a few times. The word had no meaning to her, but still she nodded. “Alright. What are you?”

“I am.”

Twilight bit back a growl. “Fine. Why did you save me?”

“I already told you. It was not your time to die, but your time to live.” Atman smiled. “I’m afraid I cannot state it in any simpler terms.”

“You said that you’ve saved others. Does everyone get a second chance like this?”

“That would depend on your definition of ‘everyone.’”

Twilight frowned. “Would you do this for, say, any random pony I see on the street?”

“I don’t believe in the concept of ‘random.’”

“Would you do this for every living being on the planet?” Twilight asked, making sure to enunciate every syllable. “Pony, griffon, changeling, whoever. Do you save everyone?”

Atman thought for a moment. It nodded. “Yes.”

Twilight’s smile returned. “That’s amazing! You can help so many ponies, stop so much sadness... but wait.” Twilight furrowed her brows. “If this is true, and you save everyone, how have I never heard of you? This sounds like it should be a well-documented phenomena. Am I just going to forget about all of this once I go back?”

“No, no. You will remember me.”

“Well, why have I never heard of you? Wouldn’t someone say something?”

“They do not remember me.”

“So, am I special?”

“Perhaps. But then again, everyone is special.” Atman smirked. “Depending on your definition of ‘everyone,’ of course.”

Twilight felt her headache growing stronger. “You know,” she said, managing a smile, “mares don’t typically go for ponies who are too cryptic.”

That got a laugh out of Atman. “Is that so? Well, it is a good thing I don’t care, then!”

Rolling her eyes, Twilight took a long swig of her tea. Much like Atman’s voice and body, it seemed to taste of all things at once. It was like the universe itself had been ground down and poured into a cup. Its warmth spilled over her bones, sending a sigh to her lips.

“I suppose it’s rude of me to look a gift horse in the mouth like this,” Twilight said. “But when I get back, you can be sure that I’ll be writing some sort of report on this. It’s absolutely amazing!”

“Whatever you think is best,” Atman said. It reached forward and touched her hoof. “Now, as much as I would love to spend eternity with you, I’m afraid that all things must come to an end. Are you ready to go back?”

“And kick Tirek’s butt?” Twilight asked with a grin. “Of course. And I promise you: I won’t be back here soon.”

Atman clapped its hooves. Hands. Appendages. “I trust you!”

The white of the void grew blinding. Twilight cringed and threw her hooves over her eyes, only to find that her hooves had disappeared. The white expanded over her body, wiping it away like an eraser. Twilight shouted, but it didn’t stop.

The last thing she saw was Atman waving her off.

The second time Twilight Sparkle died, she gave an order.

“Run!” she cried, throwing out a hoof. “Get out of—huh?”

She spent a few moments looking around the void before she laid her eyes on the familiar table, and the familiar teapot, and the familiar creature sitting behind it. “Oh, Celestia,” she murmured. “I’m...?”

“Dead?” Atman called. It raised a mug into the air. “Absolutely! Now, come! I’ve prepared a fresh pot, just for you!”

Twilight wandered over, taking care to keep every step steady. The blankness of the void bore down on her, wrapping her in its nothingness. Her breaths were still shallow as she sat down and grabbed her cup of tea. “Hi,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “Sorry. Just kind of shocked.”

“Well, death is often shocking,” Atman said. “Do you at least remember what took you out this time?”

“Yeah,” Twilight said. She tried to fold her wings. “The girls and I had been called to this small mountain village in Eastern Equestria. The town was being threatened by avalanches and landslides, so Celestia had us go to help evacuate them. We were heading down the mountain with a group of mares and foals when an avalanche hit. And then...” She covered her mouth with a hoof. “Oh, no.”

“There was a filly,” Atman continued. “She stood in the path of a boulder.”

“I yelled at her to run, but she just stood there, and the boulder was coming, so I”—Twilight swallowed—“I ran forward and pushed her out of the way. The boulder killed me instead of her.”

Atman shook its head. “Not exactly. You were both hit. The boulder killed the two of you instantly.”

Twilight almost choked on her tea. “What?”

“Would you like to see?”

“No!” Twilight shouted. She took a few deep breaths. “No, no, I just... You just caught me off guard. I was sure that I had saved her.” She looked down to the ground, ears flat—but only for just a moment before smiling. “But wait! Last time I was here, you said that you save everyone. She’s gonna be fine!”

Atman nodded. “I do save everyone.”

“Wonderful! Atman, you are such an amazing... whatever you are!” Twilight chirped. She gulped down her tea. “So, how long has it been now? Thirty-five years or so? How have things been since last time I came around? Anything exciting happen?”

“It has been quiet. Nothing to report.” Atman leaned forward and crossed its fingers. Claws. Hooftips. “But what of you? Did you follow through with your plan to tell the world of my existence?”

“I did, but...” Twilight leaned back and rubbed the back of her head with a hoof. “It was weird. I wrote my report in a few days and told Spike to proofread, but he only got a page in before he said that he had a massive headache and couldn’t understand any of it. I figured that he just had a cold or something, but then I gave it to Celestia, and she said the same thing. She asked me if I was developing a new area of academic criticism.”

Atman didn’t respond.

“Luna said the same thing. So did Rarity, and Cheerilee, and even my parents!” Twilight crossed her forelegs. “When Pinkie read it, I asked her to describe what she read, and she told me, ‘It’s like reading every book at once.’” Twilight tried to look Atman in the eyes. “And, to be quite honest, I think I get what she means.”

“But not everyone had this reaction,” Atman noted. “There was one outlier.”

“Discord,” Twilight said with a nod. “But even he wasn’t too helpful. He read one sentence, then threw my report on the ground and started laughing. He kept going like that for about five minutes before he told me to give you his regards and left. Whenever I tried to bring it up again, he would just dodge my questions.”

“Mhm. You must send him my regards as well!” Atman said.

Twilight stared. “Atman, what are you?”

“I am.”

“No, no, I get that. Well, I mean, I don’t actually get it, but I know that’s your answer.” Twilight sat up straight and gestured around the void. “Why can no one else remember you, or even learn about you? What makes me so special? Did you choose me?”

“You are no more special than any other. It is merely your turn to experience the Three Deaths.” Atman watched Twilight’s ears prick up, ready to listen. She would have taken notes, had she access to magic. Atman poured Twilight another cup of tea as it said, “Every creature in existence experiences the Three Deaths at some point. Twice they will die before their time comes, and twice they will be returned to life. It is merely the way of the universe.”

“Twice?” Twilight asked, wings drooping. She sighed. “I’ve only got one more life left, huh? Looks like I better start being more careful.”

“Perhaps, but shouldn’t you always be careful?” Atman asked with narrowed eyes. “If you knew you had three lives at the start, would you have been wasteful with the first two? Life is too precious to be abused like that.”

The slightest chill ran down Twilight’s neck at the edge in his voice. Forcing a smile, she picked her mug back up. But before it could reach her lips again, a small thought bounced across her mind. 

“Wait,” Twilight said, frowning. “If everyone experiences the Three Deaths, that still doesn’t explain why I’m the only one who knows you, or can learn about you. Surely somepony else has gone through this by now.”

“They have!” Atman said. “Just not in this Round.”

“Care to explain what a Round is?” Twilight asked with a snort. “Or does it ‘depend on my definition?’”

“A Round is the lifetime in which you experience the Three Deaths,” Atman said. “Everyone has a Round—past, present, and future. Everyone goes through the process of dying twice and coming back twice.”

“But that’s not true! I know it’s not true.”

Atman smirked. “I never said that everyone has a Round at the same time.”

Twilight put the tea down and cursed under her breath. “Atman, y’know, I really can’t stand how obtuse you’re being about all of this. All I want is to understand! Help me understand!”

“Perhaps some things are not meant to be understood, Twilight Sparkle.”

“I can’t agree with that,” Twilight said, shaking her head. “That goes against everything I’ve ever believed.”

“And what of this?” Atman flicked its eyes around the void. “Does this align with your beliefs?”

Twilight sneered. “Fine. If you don’t want to explain it to me, you don’t have to. Just send me and the filly back, and I’ll drop it.”

“The filly won’t be going back,” Atman said.

His words hung in Twilight’s ears for a moment as she tried to process them. “What do you mean?” Twilight asked. “You said that she died, right? Why isn’t she coming back?”

“Unlike you, it is not her turn to experience the Three Deaths. It is not her Round. She has died, and will not be coming back.”

“But that...” Twilight said, flapping her lips wordlessly for a moment. “What’s stopping you? You don’t have the power to bring her back?”

“Of course I have the power to revive her.”

“Then do it!”

“No.”

Twilight stood up. “You have to!”

Atman tilted its head. “Why?”

“Because you have to! You said that everyone gets a second chance at life. You have the power to save everyone! You can’t just let her die like this!”

“Yes, everyone does get a second chance. Everyone goes through the Three Deaths at some point.” Atman drank its tea. “But for this filly, that point was not now. It was her time to die, and not her time to live. I’m sorry.”

Twilight tried to spark her horn and grab Atman, but her magic still didn’t work. So instead, with her face contorted into a deep scowl, she lifted the table and threw it to the side. Dark brown tea spilled across the pure white ground.

She grabbed Atman’s shoulders and pulled him close. “She was just a filly!” Twilight shouted, mere inches away. “Six years old! How could it be her time to die?!”

“Why not? Foals die everyday, Twilight Sparkle. Some even younger than her.” Atman scratched its head. “I don’t see the problem, really. Did you even know her name?”

“Taproot,” Twilight growled. “Her name was Taproot. And the problem is that I get to go back, but she doesn’t!” Twilight tightened her grip, and lightning poured into her veins. “It’s not fair!”

“Life is often unfair.”

“That’s not an answer!”

“You didn’t ask a question.”

Twilight screamed and threw Atman to the ground. His ethereal limbs spilled out in all directions. Muttering curses and hexes through gritted teeth, Twilight tried to walk away—but found herself rooted.

Memories rushed through her mind. So many ponies dead, dying. She had never seen a single one come back. Neighbors killed in accidents, family members withered away in hospital beds, soldiers killed in wars... no one ever came back. Dead was dead. She stood alone.

“Why won’t you save Taproot’s life?” Twilight asked again, head falling low. “The Three Deaths, time to die, I know. But none of that makes any sense! I don’t get it!” She shot him a glare. “How can I be the only one who lives? Who are you to decide who lives and dies?”

Atman lifted himself up. “I am.”

Twilight leapt forward and cracked a hoof across Atman’s face. A buzzing jolt ran along her skin on impact.

Atman grunted and stumbled a few steps backwards. Massaging its face, it said, “You know, if I could feel pain, that could have really hurt!”

“Good!” Twilight yelled, voice quivering. Her eyes stung. “You deserve it! I take back everything I said about you being wonderful, Atman. You’re a monster! A monster!”

“Yes, I suppose I am,” Atman said, nodding. “But I am also a pony, and a griffon, and a changeling. I am many things, Twilight Sparkle. I am.”

“You’re insane, that’s what you are.” Twilight wiped her eyes, but the tears kept coming. “Nothing you’ve said makes any sense. You keep contradicting yourself, and what hasn’t been contradicted I know isn’t true! You’re a maniac pretending to be a Goddess!”

“I am.”

Twilight lifted her head and screamed. There was no echo.

“I still don’t quite see the problem,” Atman said, taking its seat once again. “It’s rare that the creatures I save ever have qualms about being revived. I’m saving you, aren’t I? Be grateful!”

“I’ll never be grateful for someone—something like you,” Twilight said through shaking breaths. “I never asked for any of this. I don’t deserve any of this!”

“So you would rather I had left you to die at Tirek’s hands? You would rather Equestria be destroyed?” Atman clicked its tongue. “Not even Celestia was this huffy during her Round. She took my help without question!”

“She’s been through the Three Deaths...?” Twilight asked, eyes widening. She furrowed her brows and thought for a moment—but soon shook her head and glowered. “No, no, you’re lying! If Celestia had experienced this, she would have told me! And besides, I know her. She would never accept something as awful as this!”

“Would she not?” Atman asked, scratching its chin. “I think you might not know your precious teacher as well as you might think.”

Twilight spread her wings. “Don’t you dare talk about her that way.”

“Whatever the case, it’s time for you to go back,” Atman said. It smiled. “And I would take a moment to prepare yourself: Taproot’s mother saw her be crushed. She’ll be quite upset.”

Twilight lunged at Atman.

Atman clapped, and the void engulfed her.

The third time Twilight Sparkle died, she made a declaration.

“I hate you, Atman.”

A few yards away, Atman chuckled. “Hate is a strong word, you know.”

“Strong, yes. Fitting, even more so.”

Twilight kept her head high as she trotted over to the familiar chair, to sit with the familiar creature. Decades had passed since their last meeting, and Twilight had long since grown the flowing, ethereal mane and longer horn of her fellow alicorns. Her limbs were long, and graceful. The deep lines on her face showed the wear and fatigue of a life well-lived, while the light in her eyes showed the wisdom that came with it.

There was no murder this time. No accident. No bloody death, no tragedy. Twilight had passed away in her sleep, wrapped in soft silk sheets. She was nearly one-hundred years old.

“I must admit, I’m disappointed,” Atman said, preparing Twilight’s drink. “I had hoped that you would come to understand my point of view by the time we had this meeting.” It paused, its smile shrinking. “But I suppose you were quite busy.”

“I tried to keep track of every creature that died,” Twilight said, bowing her head. “Death records, obituaries... I read them all, every single day. I had officials in Yakyakistan and Griffonstone send me their death records, too. For ten years I locked myself inside, away from all of my friends, my family. I spent every hour of every day learning about all the creatures who lived around me.” She bared her teeth. “All the creatures you wouldn’t save.”

“Did you learn anything?” Atman asked.

“Yes. I learned that even the smallest, simplest life has value. There’s so much that goes on without us knowing, without us seeing.” Twilight closed her eyes. “That’s what eventually made me come outside: I realized that I wanted to see these lives firsthoof, not just read about them. I spent the rest of my life traveling the world, making more friends than I ever had before.”

“But still you felt anger,” Atman said.

“Of course I did!” Twilight snapped. “I learned about so many ponies I shouldn’t have had to. The first week, two foals murdered by their mother. The next month, three hundred stallions buried alive in a coal mine. My own father, eaten away by disease in less than a year! On my travels, so much war, so much famine... And all because you wouldn’t save them!”

Atman shrugged. “It was their time.”

“I hate you,” Twilight said again, gripping the edge of the table. “When I opened my front door for the first time in ten years, all I could think about was coming back here and ripping you to shreds. I wanted to slaughter you, to make you pay for all the lives you threw away! All the innocent creatures you could have brought back!”

Atman spread its arms, legs, whatever out wide. “Well, I’m here. You only have one more chance. Why don’t you do it?”

Twilight flared her wings out wide, ground her teeth, stood up from her chair—but didn’t move. After a moment more spent glaring, she forced her eyes down and cursed under her breath. With a heavy sigh, she collapsed back into the chair.

“Because it wouldn’t make sense,” Twilight said, shaking her head. “To kill you would be just another death.”

“I suppose. That is, if you could have killed me. Which you couldn’t have,” Atman said, sipping its tea and earning himself another glare. “I must ask, since I’ve been wondering: you rejected Princess Celestia’s offer of immortality. Why?”

Twilight scoffed. “Even you should be able to guess that. It’s not fair that I should get to live while everyone else dies.”

“Why not? Celestia does it.”

“I’m not Celestia.”

Atman smirked. “In a sense.”

Twilight pursed her lips. “Now that I’m out of lives, am I just gonna have to stay here with you for eternity? Because if so, I might just make good on my threat.”

“No, your Round is almost over.” Atman leaned back in its seat and closed its eyes. “I’m sorry that you couldn’t bring yourself to enjoy my gifts. I assure you that it was not my intention to upset you so.”

“Round,” Twilight said. She repeated the word a few times, rolling it over her tongue like a marble. “I still don’t get it. You said my Round is my life?”

“In a sense.”

Twilight lidded her eyes and picked up her tea. “I’m about to die for good, Atman. You can’t drop the mystery act for one second?”

“There is no act. I haven’t ever lied to you. Every word that’s come from my mouth over these years has been the honest truth,” Atman said. It beamed. “But I suppose it wouldn’t be too much trouble to explain myself bit more. What would you like to know?”

“What is a Round?” Twilight asked quickly, leaning forward. “From what you’ve said, only one creature has a Round at a time. It being your Round means you get three lives, so to speak.” She paused. “Am I on the right track?”

“Yes!” Atman said, raising its mug in a toast. “Now you’re getting it!”

At that, Twilight almost felt dirty. Part of her didn’t want to hear the rationale, didn’t want to hear Atman justify its actions. It took a few deep breaths for her to continue, “What I don’t get is how there’s more than one Round. Are there alternate universes? Are we all just characters in a game? What’s going on?”

“I see it more as a universal reset.” Atman leaned forward in its own seat, looking Twilight in the eye. “One by one, every creature ever to live will have a Round. They will all die eventually, but the circumstances of their death, as well as the life they lived before it, may be different.”

“And once the creature having the Round dies for good?”

“We start over.”

Twilight rubbed her temples. “This is... Goddess above, this is crazy. I can’t believe this. I mean, I can, because I’m sitting here and everything, but... the ponies I made friends with. They’re real. They aren’t just some simulation. This game of yours is screwing with their lives! You—”

“You still have one more question, Twilight Sparkle.” Atman rested its chin on its hands, hooves, whatever. “I know it’s just burning in your mouth, waiting to be asked.”

Twilight let the rest of her screams out in a hissing breath. Then, staring into her tea, she asked simply: “...Why? Why does the world work this way? You said that there are some things aren’t meant to be understood, but I can’t die accepting that. There are at least a million words in the Equuish language; use them. Explain it.”

Atman stared. “Twilight Sparkle, do you believe in fairness? That creatures should have the same opportunities, be given the same chances?”

“Fairness? Well, of course I do,” Twilight said with a small laugh. “Why do I think I punched you out last time? It’s unfair that I should get to live, while others die.”

“But is it?” Atman asked. “If the Rounds did not exist, this might be true. Some fillies might die at six, while others would live to one-hundred. But with this system, everyone gets a chance at being lucky! Here, you got to live, while little Taproot died. But next time, maybe things will be different! Maybe that little filly will get three chances. Maybe she’ll grow to be a beautiful mare, just like you.

“It’s a fair system, Twilight Sparkle. Everyone lives—and everyone dies. On and on until existence itself runs out.”

“Why does my luck have to make someone else suffer? Why can’t we just all have three lives?”

“Because then you wouldn’t cherish them!” Atman said, frowning. “When you died the second time, you said you would be more careful. If everyone had three lives, what do you think they would do? They would abuse and waste the first two, thinking they have another chance! It would be pointless!”

“You can’t prove that!”

“It doesn’t matter if I can prove it,” Atman said, turning up its nose. “This is how it works.”

“But you treat the creatures who aren’t having Rounds like trash!” Twilight shouted. She slammed her hooves on the table. “They’re individuals, with their own hopes and dreams and feelings. What about them, huh? Where’s their luck when it’s not their Round?”

Atman scowled. “If you don’t get it by now, then there’s no point in me explaining it to you. You just don’t want to understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand,” Twilight growled. “You’re a lunatic. Atman, or Goddess, or whatever you are: you’re a lunatic!”

Atman clapped. “I am.”

“I hate you!” Twilight screamed as the void wrapped around her legs. It crawled up her fur, slid past her teeth and down her throat. “I hate you! I hate you! You’re a murderer, a monster! An absolute mon—”

Twilight Sparkle vanished. As her voice faded away, so did the universe.

Grasswhistler sighed and let her head fall back and sink into the sweat-soaked pillow. Her body shook with every shuddering breath. She gripped the hoof of the stallion at her side—he resisted the urge to pull away—and closed her eyes. The smell of blood and dirt hung in the air.

“Is it over, Dew?” she asked, her lips coated with spit. “Please tell me it’s over.”

“It’s over, Whissy,” Dew Leaf said, stroking her foreleg. “The nurse will be back in just a moment.”

“Oh, thank the stars,” Grasswhistler moaned. Her body begged for sleep, but energy still coursed through her brain. “I don’t know how you convinced me to move out to this dump. I’ll take a unicorn hospital over earth ponies anyday. At least unicorns know what painkillers are...”

She didn’t hear her husband’s response. Darkness coated her eyes, her ears. Her mother had warned her what twenty-two hours in labor could do; if only she had listened. She tried to force her eyes open, but looking around the small wooden hut this village called a hospital, all she wanted was to leave. Maybe a few minutes of sleep wouldn’t hurt—

“Whissy!” Dew Leaf said, shaking her back awake. “She’s here!”

Grasswhistler’s eyes shot open. She lifted her head and gasped when she saw a mare walk in, a swaddled filly resting in her hooves. The nurse hoofed the filly over gently.

Grasswhistler and Dew Leaf looked upon their child with wide eyes. She slept without a sound, and the slightest tuft of her brown mane poked out of the swaddling. Her olive coat was clear, clean. Everything about her was fragile and delicate and peaceful.

“Oh, goodness,” Grasswhistler murmured, reaching up to brush a hooftip along the filly’s cheek.

“She’s beautiful,” Dew Leaf added, shaking his head. “Just... whoa.”

“Did we think of a name?” Grasswhistler asked. Her thoughts were fuzzy. “We did, right? Tell me we did.”

“We did,” Dew Leaf assured her, planting a kiss on her cheek. They watched as the filly began to stir, letting out the slightest of squeaks. Dew smiled. “Taproot. We decided on Taproot, remember?”

“Yes, that’s right.” Grasswhistler touched her nose to Taproot’s. “Welcome home, Taproot, my darling.”

Nopony noticed one of the support beams above them crack and splinter.

Atman prepared the first pot of tea.

charlie

Earth had been getting too depressing as of late, so Charlie decided to leave. To be fair, he wasn’t leaving much behind; he had no wife, no kids, no parents. All Charlie really had were a few books, some yellowing manuscripts—they had stopped selling paper a few years back—and the small plot of land he had been assigned. He had spent a Lifetime there already, and he was more than ready to move on.

Of course, Charlie had always been the emotional type, so he still cried when he left, bound for Saturn with nothing but his pills, a few pens, and what few reams of paper he had left. They almost hadn’t let him on, as the young man who searched his bag thought the pens were weapons. “A knife,” the young man had said to the rest of the ship’s crew, eyes bugging out. “He’s gonna cut the oxygen supply and kill us all! Why else would he have no luggage?”

By the time Charlie finished wiping his tears, Earth was nothing but a blurry blue blot in the center of his window. He pressed his palm against the glass and stared at it, a lone speck of color in that dark expanse.

“I should write that down,” he said. He kept staring for a second more before the itch entered his hands and he patted himself down, looking for a pen. When he remembered that he had nothing with him but a gray plastic jumpsuit, he turned to the man sitting next to him.

“Hey.” Charlie brushed the hair out of his baggy eyes and tried to steady his breathing. “Do you know where they put our bags? Or when we can get to them?”

His neighbor—a lanky man with the boniest face Charlie had ever seen—turned and flashed him a grin. “Your first trip, I assume?” he asked. While Charlie tried to sputter an answer, the man patted his leg and said, “Don’t worry yourself. We’ve got months to go before we even hit Titan. You’ll have plenty of time to work when they take off the harnesses.”

The thick straps holding Charlie to his chair seemed to grow tighter by the second. He clawed at the rubber and looked out the window again. Earth was almost gone. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said. “But I gotta write something soon, or I’m gonna lose all these ideas.”

The Asian man chuckled and leaned back in his seat. “Relax. No need to panic. Panic is for Earthlings.”

“Earthlings...” Charlie nodded. “Yeah, yeah, that’s good. Refer to everyone back there as Earthlings, really play up the contrast, y’know? The loss of humanity in space.”

Brows furrowing, his neighbor frowned. “What research center are you from?”

“I dunno what that means,” Charlie said, rocking his legs back and forth. “I went to New Kingston College, if that counts for anything. Name’s Charlie, by the by.”

“Shigeto,” the man replied. He rolled Charlie’s words over his tongue. “You’re an artist? They let an artist come to Saturn?”

“I guess so. Why?” Charlie asked. “Is that weird?”

“Yes,” Shigeto said. “I don’t mean any offense, but they usually restrict colony access to more skilled individuals.”

Charlie stared. “‘Skilled.’ What does that mean, ‘skilled?’”

“Okay, perhaps skilled isn’t correct.” Shigeto turned forward and clicked his tongue. “Useful?”

“Art is plenty useful, buddy. I filled out the application and got accepted, just like you.”

“I don’t mean to say otherwise!” Shigeto said, letting out a dry laugh. “I just can’t imagine what they’ll have you do when we arrive. There isn’t much there yet, you know. We need every hand we can get to help colonize.”

“Well, I’ve got two of them.” Charlie went back to the window. “I’ll do what they tell me to do. But I’ve already wasted one Lifetime on Earth; I don’t need to waste another.”

Charlie could feel Shigeto’s smirk. “Of course not.”

That was the truth. Even now, Charlie could see the skin on the back of his hands peeling, felt his fingers stiffening: eternal reminders of the life he left behind. He needed to get to his bag not only to grab a pen, but his package of pills. Much longer strapped down like this, and he would—

With a metallic whoosh, the doors at the front of the cabin slid open, and a portly fellow with thick-rimmed glasses strolled inside. The glasses were fake, of course; no one had worn real glasses for decades. They were just there for style, and along with his upturned nose and gray suit he looked more like an aristocratic rat than a human. The cabin had already been silent, but as the Rat stepped inside, Charlie swore he could hear a star go supernova light-years away.

“Salutations,” the Rat said, staring straight ahead. “And welcome aboard the USS Hermes. You should have all been briefed on the ship’s rules and regulations before boarding, yes?”

A few moments of still silence passed. Charlie squirmed. “Yeah,” he called, attracting every eye. “Can we—”

Shigeto grabbed Charlie’s shoulder. “Calm,” he whispered, that smile never leaving his face. “You artists are always so panicky.”

Charlie swallowed his words. As the Rat went on, Charlie bounced a knee and gazed out the window. Earth was gone. Only darkness, unflinching, unforgiving darkness remained. It seemed like that same darkness was flooding his mind, choking out all his ideas. He could feel each and every idea, each and every word slip from his brain, never to be captured again.

He had started taking the pills to write, but they blew out his memory. Was that irony?

“First novel in space,” he said to the glass. Maybe if he reminded himself why he was there, he would stop stop shaking. “You got this. You got this.” But thinking about his goal just made the itch in his hands grow, until he was grasping at the plastic over his heart where he usually kept his pens. His hands itched, his skin peeled, he needed his bag—

The straps disappeared and Charlie jumped. The Rat had apparently finished speaking, and everyone was rising from their seat and shuffling out of the room. Shigeto cracked his neck a few times when he got up. Before he could walk off, Charlie grabbed his hand.

“Where’s everyone going?” Charlie asked.

Shigeto frowned. “Didn’t you listen? We’re going to our stations.”

Charlie nodded and let go. “Right, right—our stations.” He paused. “Our what?”

But Shigeto was already on the other side of the room, exchanging pleasentries with a woman just as gaunt as him. Charlie jumped out of his seat and thought about following after, but he soon remembered his pens and the burning in his knuckles returned. He hesitated for only a moment, but that was more than enough time for the room to clear out, leaving him alone with the Rat.

The two locked eyes.

Charlie raised a hand. “Hey.”

The Rat nodded. “Hello.” He seemed to state straight past Charlie.

Silence.

“I, uh... I don’t think I caught your name,” Charlie said.

The Rat wrinkled his nose. He closed the gap between them and thrust out a hand. “Captain Richard Trawley. Welcome aboard.”

Charlie returned the gesture and shot him a grin. “Don’t suppose your middle name starts with an A?”

Trawley shook his head. “No.”

“Right.” Charlie glanced around. “Sorry to bother you about this, but where am I going right now? I kinda need to get to my luggage.”

“Did you not hear your research center called?”

“I’m not from a center,” Charlie said. “I’m a, y’know... I’m not a scientist.”

“Oh. A mathematician, then.”

“Artist.”

Trawley’s beady eyes went wide for a moment—but he soon narrowed them. “Ah, yes. Charles Weinberg, was it?”

“Char—yeah. Charles,” Charlie said, scratching his head. “You know me?”

“I look over all applications for the Hermes,” Trawley said, puffing out his chest. “And yours was quite interesting. Born in the Unified States, jumped from career to career, living your second Lifetime... how is that, by the way? My wife has been pressing me to speak to a doctor about it.”

Now the skin on Charlie’s neck had begun to peel. He clasped a hand over it and shrugged. “Weird. I mean, back on Earth they’re always talking about how it’s this abomination, about how we’re playing God. But it’s giving so many people a second chance.”

“Mhm.” Trawley nodded. Pursing his lips, he stepped aside and gestured to an open door on the other side of the room. “You’re free to wander the ship as you like, but your luggage has been placed in your room.”

“Right. Thanks.” Charlie started to reach out for a handshake, but realized they had already done that, and quickly retracted his hand. Eyes falling to the floor, he walked away, Trawley’s gaze hot on his back.

Charlie managed to lose his way twice before finally finding his room, wedged into the end of a long corridor. Everything on the ship was gray chrome and black plastic; if it hadn’t been for the blue duffel bag he found waiting for him on his bed, he would have assumed that color simply didn’t exist in space.

He ripped open the bag and poured its contents onto the bed. He grabbed the pill bottle and pens at the same time—and it was with a heavy heart and an aching neck that he had to drop the pens. Popping off the top of the bottle, Charlie gulped down two tiny red capsules.

He collapsed back onto the stiff bed. An electric tingling spread away from his throat, spidering along his neck and through his fingers and across his spine. He looked down at his hands and saw the peeling skin fall away, leaving what was left to tighten and repair itself.

It seemed that not even leaving the planet could help Charlie escape his daily routines.

It wasn’t that he was ungrateful; like he said, ever since they invented Reincarnation, loads of people were living better lives, were being given second chances to do the things they had always wanted to. But still, knowing that if he didn’t take these pills, his body would literally fall apart—it kept him awake at night, staring at the ceiling, waiting to feel his skin start to peel.

But that didn’t matter now. He was here, he was alive. He was going to make the most of this.

He grabbed a pen and his tablet. Flicking it on, he wrote down the word “Earthlings,” then stopped.

He had forgotten his words.

With a muted thump, Charlie let his arms fall uselessly to either side.

Charlie awoke with a shuddering gasp. He shot up from his bed, clunking his head against the wall on the way, and looked at his hands. The skin had begun to peel once again, but even that was better than what he had dreamed. His brain had spent the last few hours entertaining him with images of his body disintegrating, of his body being thrown into space, never to be found again. No one would remember him. No one would know that Charlie Weinberg had existed.

He slapped the thoughts from his mind and stood up. Glancing around and stretching, he realized that there was no clock in his room. In fact, he hadn’t seen a single clock since stepping aboard. How long had he been asleep for?

In any case, his stomach rumbled like a landslide. Forget Reincarnation—if he didn’t get some food in him soon, he’d be stardust long before they reached Saturn.

He took another set of pills, slipped on his shoes, and headed out, back down the cramped corridor that led to the rest of the ship. The ship was dead quiet, as if it had been abandoned. Lord, he thought, faltering for a moment. How long was I asleep? The image of an alien creature popped into his mind. Crawling through the ship, feasting on the screams of its victims...

The itch to write sparked in his hands. But before he could turn around, his stomach rumbled again. Priorities.

Although the walls were bare of anything but electronic monitors and machines, it only took Charlie a few minutes this time to wander back to what he remembered being the center of the ship. Still no clocks, but a familiar face.

“Shigeto!” Charlie called, rushing ahead. “How you doing?”

At the end of the hall, Shigeto glanced up from the tablet he carried. He still wore his same gray jumpsuit, but had added a thick pair of goggles to the ensemble. Adjusting the goggles, he offered Charlie a smile. “Hello there, Mr. Artist. Draw anything nice lately?”

Charlie slowed down a bit. “That isn’t... no.” He forced a chuckle. “Say, how long has it been since we met?”

Shigeto raised a brow. “A few hours? A day, perhaps?”

“Right,” Charlie said, allowing himself a mental sigh of relief. The ship really was just that quiet.

“Of course, it doesn’t feel anywhere near that long,” Shigeto said with a smile. “Time just seems to fly when you’re working, doesn’t it?”

“Working? What on?”

Shigeto pulled him close and showed him the tablet. Translucent pictures of flowers and vegetables flew across the screen, each one followed by blocks of tiny text. Endless numbers and complex symbols floated along the borders. Just a few seconds spent staring made Charlie feel like his brain had turned to sludge.

He nodded, but could only manage a soft, “Uh-huh.”

Shigeto tittered. “Come.”

The bony-faced scientist led Charlie down another series of identical corridors—at least, mostly identical. Just as Charlie suspected that Shigeto had led him into a labyrinth, the chrome walls became massive windows, looking down into even larger gardens.

At once, Charlie pressed himself against the glass, only to be greeted by a shrill beeping as he set off some sort of touchscreen. Shigeto jerked him back, but not even that was enough to tear Charlie’s eyes away from the green.

On the floor below the window, there wasn’t a single inch of space that wasn’t covered with some sort of green plant. Thick bushes, tall trees, long vegetable stalks all sprouted from the soil-laced floor, stretching high into the air. Charlie had never seen so much nature in one place. Back home, the only place you saw green was the supermarket, or in a museum. But this?

“Holy hell,” Charlie murmured. “This is beautiful.”

“Isn’t it?” Shigeto put his hands on his hips. “Artificial vegetation. Enough food in here to feed a colony for a year. Beautiful is right.”

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” Charlie crouched down and scooted a bit closer to the window. “I meant the color, though. It’s so rich, so deep—this is the kind of green you only see in paintings, y’know? It’s brilliant. Prettiest thing I’ve seen on this ship so far, that’s for sure.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Shigeto said slowly. “But color is more a byproduct than anything. No inherent nutritional value to be found in color.”

Charlie looked up at him. “Sure, but that isn’t the only kind of value, is it? Just color by itself has value.”

“Does it?” Shigeto asked. “How so?”

Charlie opened his mouth, but it took a while for him to stutter, “I mean, people want it, right? People want color.”

“I’m not sure about that.” Shigeto gestured to the workers below, milling about the garden and treating the plants with chemical sprays. They all wore the same gray jumpsuits, the same clear goggles. If the garden was a lush landscape, then the workers were rips in the canvas. “Our gear is colorless—cheaper to produce that way—and everyone seems to perform adequately. They’re fine without fancy colors.”

Charlie couldn’t help but notice that no one was smiling.

“And you need nutrition to survive,” Shigeto continued. “Do you need color to survive? Or beauty?”

“Yeah!” Charlie said. He took a breath. “Yeah.”

“Hm...” Shigeto tapped his chin. “Not so sure about that.”

Charlie frowned and leaned in closer. He watched with wide eyes as a worker squatted down and tugged on a leafy shoot—at once, a massive carrot rose from the soil, sporting skin so orange Charlie was sure it must have been flaming.

But before he even had time to grin, his stomach roared again. Clutching the fabric, he turned to ask Shigeto where the cafeteria was—but the scientist was gone.

With a snort, Charlie rose and picked a random direction to walk in. He didn’t know where Shigeto was from, but he was sure that “Shigeto” translated to “asshat.”

All Charlie had for company as he walked were his own footsteps. Outside of the occasional whir or whine of a faroff machine, the ship was quiet. Occasionally Charlie would glance around to make sure no one was nearby, then clap as hard as he could, savoring how the sharp slap of skin on skin spiked through the silence. He only lost his way once before finding the cafeteria, so Charlie considered the trip a success.

Upon arrival, however, dying of hunger began to look more appetizing. Their food had the look and variety of a gourmet restaurant—but it had the taste and texture of a salty sneaker. Charlie had to choke down the meal, all the while resisting his brain’s warnings that what he had in his mouth was probably poison.

He didn’t have much to distract himself, either. Aside from him, three people sat in the cafeteria, huddled together at the end of a table in the corner of the room. They all carried the same goggles and tablets that Shigeto had, and spoke in hushed tones.

Charlie sat near them, trying to look aloof but silently hoping that they would notice him for long enough to introduce themselves. Yet, as the minutes dragged on and he forced more chemicals down his gullet, they only seemed to lean closer together. Charlie craned his neck to try and catch a snippet of conversation, but couldn’t find anything of interest in their words. A few minutes spent on the optimal way to calibrate hoverpads, some gossip about the “paradise” that was the colony on Titan...

Charlie stared into his potatoes, mouth drawn into a tight line. At least they looked good—that was worth something, right?

“Miss Cooper.”

Charlie blurted the name at his ceiling, cringing at the way his scratchy voice echoed in the cramped room. He lay in his bed, a pen in his hand and a pad of paper on his chest. Errant words and ideas were scrawled across the paper, looking like either a stupid free verse poem or the ramblings of a madman. At this point, he would be happy for either.

He had been on the Hermes for five weeks now, but he hadn’t written more than a hundred words of anything that could be considered prose. No matter how long he thought, he couldn’t come up with anything that wasn’t a massive cliché or just plain boring. Nothing jumped out at him. He still had the itch to write, but whenever he tried, it was replaced by the urge to fall asleep for hours.

Honestly, all he could think about was home and his first Lifetime.

Charlie had grown up with a banker for a father and a programmer for a mother, so money had never been a worry. Yet as a child he wished for no expensive toys, no fancy games—well, not many, at least. Instead, all he asked for was free time. He stayed up until the wee hours writing under the covers. He watched movies and rewrote them in his head. “This is how I would do it,” he explained to his friends. “I just gotta get an agent first.”

The agent never came, but he kept writing. He went to an art school without his parents’ support, paying his way through by doing odd jobs around town. Even in that brave new world of space travel and Reincarnation, of 4D movies and miniature stars you could wear on your wrist, his tales were simple: of love longed for and lost, of boys who wished for something greater. He knew they would catch on—someone just had to read them first.

After all, reading had gone out of style years ago. No one read anymore, unless they had to to operate some device. Everyone accepted that art wasn’t going to help humanity, but knowledge was. Science was. And as art lost its value, so too did Charlie lose his dreams of eking out a life for himself as an artist. He became a banker, just like his father. But he knew in his heart of hearts that art was gonna come back—now, he just had to find time to write it.

He tried to find art in the little things—composing music with the beeps of credit card machines, thinking up backstories for the people who visited his booth at the bank. No one ever seemed to smile, but Charlie hoped they were happy anyway.’

And that name...

“Miss Cooper,” he repeated, frowning. “Miss Cooper.”

Who the hell was Miss Cooper? His third grade teacher...? Yeah, that was it. Charlie closed his eyes and saw her soft smile, her pudgy fingers. She never looked quite right in those pencil skirts all the teachers wore. It always seemed like she would rather be wearing a turtleneck with a picture of a cat on it, or something like that.

With a chill, Charlie remembered that it was in her class he had written his first story. He couldn't recall a word of it, but he could still see Miss Cooper’s beaming face as she read it. He had never seen someone smile so wide, so hard. He had smiled too, and it was at that moment he realized that happiness was contagious, and art could spread the sickness.

That was before he went home and showed it to his mom, he skimmed it over once before stuffing it in a drawer and packing his bags for Chinese class.

Charlie ran a finger along the scars on his neck where the skin had peeled and tightened so many times. That happiness he had once felt—that was why he fought death, wasn’t it? To feel it again after a Lifetime spent longing for it?

Charlie was an artist. Now, he just needed to prove it.

He picked up his pen—

Above the door, screen burst to life with a picture of a crimson exclamation mark. Before Charlie could even furrow his brows, a shrill alarm wailed through his cabin, crushing his eardrums. Shouting a curse, Charlie threw his pen into the air and tumbled out of bed, hitting the floor face first. He kept one hand pressed to his nose and ran out of the room.

Groggy-eyed passengers filed past, all headed in a pack away from their rooms and towards the center of the ship. Charlie wiped a trickle of blood from his nostrils and joined the crowd. He couldn’t quite remember what they had said about alarms in the prelaunch briefings, but surely at least one of these people did.

They marched to the launch cabin where Charlie had watched the Earth fall away. Dozens of passengers—it had to be everyone on board, Charlie figured—milled about the room, exchanging whispers and glances. He craned his neck to try and find Shigeto, the only person on the ship that he knew, but couldn’t pick his acquaintance out from the sea of identical gray jumpsuits.

A door at the front of the room slid open and a tiny woman walked in. She flinched whenever the alarm flared, and gripped the railing by the door with both hands. “Excuse me?” she called out to the crowd. “Could I have your attention, please?”

She waited for the crowd to fall silent before taking a deep breath and saying, “There’s no need to alarmed by the, um... alarm. The scanners have reported that there’s been a small malfunction in the food storage bay, and a fire has broken out.” The crowd broke into a unified murmur, and the woman grimaced. “Please, stay calm! The fire is being taken care of. Captain Trawley will be here soon, and—”

The door behind her opened once more, and Trawley popped out, his glasses crooked and his face bright red, as if he were on fire himself. He pushed the woman aside and leaned over the railing, glaring down into the crowd.

“We are not going to allow this to set us off course,” Trawley said, voice gruff. “The USS Hermes has never been delayed! We already have crew working to put out the fire, but we need to be efficient.” He adjusted his glasses and looked over to where Charlie was standing, making the artist go stiff. “Dr. Steen?”

A bearded man next to Charlie stood up straight. “Yes, Captain?”

“I want you and all the teams under your watch to see how much food has been lost, and how long it will take to replace.”

Steen nodded and walked away. A large part of the crowd followed after, including Shigeto, who Charlie finally spotted. Charlie waved, but Shigeto either didn’t notice or didn’t react.

Trawley turned. “Dr. Colón, see if you can calculate how much time it will take to repair any system damage, and how long we will be delayed.” Another group left, and Trawley turned once more. “Dr. Edwards, discover the cause of the fire. Any scanner data you need will be provided to you.” Another third of the crowd hurried out, pushing and shoving past Charlie as they went.

As they left, Trawley nodded and moved to leave—but the small woman grabbed his arm and held him back. She muttered a few quiet words and jerked a thumb at Charlie, who stood in the center of the room, rubbing his arm. Trawley sighed, fingered the bridge of his nose, then walked forward.

“What can I do?” asked Charlie, trying to stand up straighter.

“You can go back to your room.”

Charlie recoiled. “But I can help.”

“You can waste time,” Trawley said. He folded his hands behind his back. “If any team has to take time to clue you into every facet of their work, that wastes time. We have a schedule to keep, Charles. If you really wish to help, follow this order: stay out of the way.”

Trawley walked away, and Charlie balled up his fists. Curses and insults flew up his throat, boiled in his mouth... but a single thought turned them all to dust.

He’s right.

Alone in that metal chamber, Charlie bit his tongue and stared at the floor. Trawley was right. What would Charlie do? What could he do? Write a poem? Draw a picture?

He trudged back to his room and collapsed onto the bed. Within minutes, he felt the skin on the back of his hands peeling. He didn’t get up.

The weeks dragged on and Charlie stopped taking his pills. For a while, he simply reduced the dosage; two pills every eight hours was a bit much, he figured. But then whole days started passing without a single pill taken. Eventually, he stuffed the pill bottle into the bottom of his bag and stuffed his bag under his bed. The pens and papers went with it.

Without his pills, Charlie’s body began to fail. He lay awake wondering when his organs would finally give out, when his paper skin would tear under the weight of his skeleton.

There was no point. He took the pills to have a second chance at life. But it was exceedingly clear that his second chance didn’t exist.

Charlie no longer spent his days staring at blank pages, but instead staring at open windows, gazing out into the endless vacuum of space. His lips cracked with every word, and nausea erupted in his stomach with every breath. So, body wracked with pain, he stayed as still as possible, just studying the darkness.

No air. No life. No color. Humans weren’t meant to live here. He wasn’t meant to live here.

“You’re looking glum, Mr. Artist.” Shigeto sat down on the bench beside Charlie and rested an arm over his shoulders. “What’s the problem? Writer’s block?”

Charlie tried to think of a response, but only one came to mind.

“What does the crew do with dead bodies?” Charlie asked, his voice hoarse.

Shigeto shot him a sideways glance. “What?”

Charlie managed to look him in the eyes. “If I were to die right now, what would they do with me?”

“Wow. You’re certainly the morbid one today.” Shigeto leaned back and crossed his arms. “Hm. Not sure, but if I had to take a guess, I’d say they’d probably throw you and your luggage out the airlock.”

Even as his body crumbled, Charlie felt like he had been kicked in the chest. “That’s horrible.”

Shigeto shrugged. “This ship holds many things, Mr. Artist. A morgue is not one of them.”

Charlie stayed silent. Closing his eyes, he imagined what it would be like to be tossed out into space, with his pens and papers and writing. Would he drift away, into a black hole or a sun somewhere? Would he just disappear for all eternity?

Or would he be found? Humans hadn’t found any aliens yet, but they had to be out there somewhere. Would they take him in? Give him a proper funeral? Worship him? The Creature Who Fell From the Sky. And his work? Would they understand? Would they see the value?

Yeah. Maybe they would.

“Did you hear the news?” Shigeto asked with a smile. “We’re making an emergency stop on Titan to repair a breach from the fire.” He chuckled. “You think this ship is advanced? Just wait until you see Titan. What I wouldn’t give to have been assigned there!”

Charlie nodded. He kept his eyes clenched and thought about his aliens. That itch to write entered his hands once again—but he knew that he was too weak to hold the pen.

The crew landed the Hermes on an airbase and shuttled the passengers over to the central colony separately.

A wide ramp extended from their small ship to the ground, and the future Saturn colonists shuffled out. Charlie walked in the center of the pack, trying to hobble along fast enough to not trip anyone up. A small group of humans waited for them at the bottom: the Titan colonists. At the front of the pack stood a woman with soft eyes and curly blond hair. She shook hands with Captain Trawley, then adjusted a microphone around her neck.

“Greetings!” she called, stretching her arms out wide. “We here at Titan Base IV welcome you!”

Charlie tuned her out, instead choosing to focus on one simple fact: Titan was dead.

There was no gentler way of saying it. Titan looked like death incarnate. From space the gaseous surface had been green, red, orange—but now, standing under the oxygen dome, all Charlie saw was brown and gray. Brown air. Gray rocks. Gray jumpsuits. Brown buildings. A black sky. Titan was a decaying corpse, buried alive and left to rot.

The air left Charlie’s lungs. He bared his teeth and took gasping breaths and clawed at his burning stomach. Trying to steady his wobbling knees, he pushed past the person in front of him and walked forward. No one noticed him. They all stared straight ahead, listening to the blond-haired woman like she was their queen.

This wasn’t a colony. This wasn’t a world. This was hell.

“How?” he asked, raising his voice.

The blond-haired woman stopped short, and for the first time everyone noticed the man with the heaving chest and sweat-soaked face. “Excuse me?” she asked. “Did you have a question?”

Charlie growled. “How can you live like this?! It’s nothing!”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Oh, of course you don’t—agh!” Charlie doubled over, falling to his knees. A sharp pain spiked in his stomach, and a burning spurt of bile erupted from his mouth, inspiring a cry from the crowd.

Tears rolling, Charlie beat a fist into the fake gray dirt. A pair of strong arms hooked under his and pulled him away.

The medbay smelled of disinfectant and fresh plastic. Charlie lay alone in the dark, digging his nails into the sheets. Wires led from beeping machines into every one of his limbs, keeping track of every facet of his existence. He could barely think without some buzzer going off.

He hadn’t told the nurses that he was taking Reincarnation pills—or that he wasn’t taking them, rather—but it had been easy enough for them to test his blood and find out themselves. They held down his arms and forced them into his mouth, but still had enough strength to keep them hidden under his tongue until he could spit them out undetected.

Charlie could smell the death on the sheets. He imagined that he wouldn’t make it to Saturn; but if Titan really was the “paradise” that everyone described it as, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see what Saturn was like.

Not that anyone would notice if he didn’t make it. He’d die here silently, just a number in a ledger somewhere. No funeral, no memorial. Not even a spot in the obituaries. Nothing.

Charlie was nothing.

He lifted himself from the bed and used what little strength he had left to tear the wires from his skin. Blood trailing down his arms and legs, he limped out of the medbay, into the open air. He took a long breath of brown Titan air and kept walking.

Half an hour later, Charlie collapsed against a wall. He managed to prop himself against the wall so he could stare out into the field. What a coincidence, he figured, that the night after he killed himself yelling about how gray everything on Titan was, he would find the only place on the planet with any color.

Bulbous red vegetables pocked the ground in front of him. He had seen these same things in the cafeteria on the Hermes; they were supposed to be beets, he thought. Emphasis on “supposed to be”—they looked like they were made of wax.

In the silence, his stomach grumbled.

Groaning, he reached forward and plucked one off the ground.

This was like his Last Supper, he realized with his first smile in a week. Although he was too tired to speak, he held the beet in front of him and closed his eyes. This is my body, he thought. Take this in remembrance of me.

He took a tiny bite of the beet—and spit it right back out. These beets evidently didn’t just look like wax, but tasted like it too.

Another jolt of pain hit his stomach, and he gripped the beet as hard as he could. It slipped from his hands, but as Charlie went to grab it again, he stopped.

His hands were a bright red. Not from his blood, or anything like that—they were red from the beet. In his hands, it had crumbled into some sort of red paste. Charlie remembered some of the cafeteria food being the same, turning to paste when they were split open. Some glitch in the software used to grow them, Shigeto had told him.

He rubbed his fingers together, watching as the paste slid across his skin. It was cold and sticky, with the consistency of paint.

Charlie blinked.

Breaths going shallow again, he climbed onto his shaking knees and swiped a finger across the gray stone wall he sat against. The paste left a deep crimson mark, as if it had come from a paintbrush. He choked out a giggle and took another swipe. Within a minute he had written his name in crooked letters, bright and vivid for anyone to read.

Charlie felt a long lost strength returning to his bones. He grabbed another beet and crushed it. Paste spilled between his fingers and down his arms. Memories of finger painting in school rushed back as he drew a flower, then another.

He thought of Miss Cooper’s smile. He thought about his mother’s scowl.

Charlie painted until he passed out, paint and blood spilling from his fingers into the dirt.

“Order!” Trawley cried, pounding a chubby fist against his table. “Silence!”

Each member of both colonies were stuffed into the meeting room of the Titan Base IV Town Hall. To be more specific, both colonies were stuffed into one side of the meeting room—on the other side sat Trawley, the blond-haired woman who had met them on arrival, and Charlie.

And, to be fair, Charlie wasn’t quite sitting. Slumped into his chair, Charlie looked like a pile of white goo. The wires were back, but they didn’t seem to be doing much. He stared off into the distance with clouded eyes, and it took a forceful shove for him to respond to anything. Skin fell from his neck like snow. Bandages covered his hands.

Trawley tented his fingers. “We are gathered here today to discuss the issue of one Charles Weinburg, an expectant member of the Saturn V Base. Charles was found this morning in South Field, and is accused of destroying food and defacing federal property.” Trawley pressed a button on his desk, and in the center of the room a projector came to life, displaying a hologram image of Charlie collapsed against the wall, red fingers still pressed to the stone.

“Charles,” said Trawley, towering over the artist, “do you have anything to say in your defense?”

Charlie gurgled.

“Very well.” Trawley gestured to the crowd. “I don’t suppose anyone else has something to say on Weinberg’s behalf?”

It took a painful amount of effort, but Charlie lifted his head to scan the audience. His eyes locked immediately on the front row, where Shigeto sat, a distasteful frown on his face as he checked his watch.

Charlie closed his eyes and waited for the airlock.

“Excuse me,” the blond-haired woman said, standing. “May I speak?”

“Of course, Lieutentant General Haas,” said Trawley. “This is your colony, after all.”

“Thank you.” Haas sauntered over to Charlie and laid a hand of manicured red nails on his shoulder. Then, with a glower, she said, “You all realize that you’re prosecuting a corpse, right?”

Trawley shook his head. “He’s not dead yet.”

Haas rolled her eyes. “It’s hyperbole, Dick.”

Charlie opened his eyes.

“You wanna talk about a crime? How about this friggin’ meeting?” Haas said, throwing her hands to her hips. “Do you know how much money we’re wasting on heating this room just so we can hold this little kangaroo court? A lot, that’s how much.”

“It isn’t a waste,” Trawley said. “We can’t afford to allow these sorts of shenanigans. We already took a risk allowing an artist aboard the Hermes. The human race is counting on us to take these missions seriously.” A murmur of agreement rose from the crowd.

Haas spat out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s why they keep sending biologists to planets with no life on them, right?”

A skinny man stood up in the crowd. “Hey, that’s not—”

“Oh, shut up, Rami,” said Haas. “You’re getting paid for nothing and you know it.” She grabbed Charlie again. “This guy crushed, what, twenty beets? We make more than that in a day, and I’m pretty sure most of the ones he used were glitched, anyway. And, honestly?”

Haas stepped over to Trawley’s desk and pressed a button, causing the projection to zoom in on Charlie’s painting: a simple field of red flowers. The crowd chuckled.

“I think it looks pretty nice,” Haas said, smirking. “Certainly the prettiest thing we’ve seen since getting here. The engineers down on Earth have some sort of chrome fetish, I swear.”

Trawley turned off the projection. “So, what are you suggesting, Lieutenant General?”

“I’m suggesting, Dick, that you let this guy go free.” Haas snorted. “Hell, let him stay here! We’ll nurse him back to health and put him to work painting flowers or something. He could paint flowers every day for the rest of his life and he’d still be more useful than Rami over there.” The skinny man protested again, and Haas offered him a rude hand gesture. “Go suck on a rock, Rami.”

Whispers broke out amongst the crowd. Trawley banged his fist against the table again. “Quiet!” Everyone stared at Charlie. “So, Charles: what do you think?”

Charlie’s eyes stung, but for the first time in weeks, he didn’t think it was his body collapsing. Millions of words pooled behind his lips, but he couldn’t speak them. He just forced himself to move his head up and down once—then everything went dark.

Shrill electronic music blared as Charlie stepped out of the shower. Pop music had never been his thing, but he couldn’t help but hum along with the tune—they were only sent so many songs so often, so he had learned to make the most of them.

Grabbing a towel from the small robot that hovered nearby, he walked to the sink and admired his reflection. The scars on his neck and hands were still there, but not nearly as pronounced now. With just a little makeup, he could cover them up and no one would ever suspect a thing.

Now, wasn’t that an idea? What if some company were to invent a type of makeup that could change your identity? Women would become different people every day. Photo IDs would become obsolete...

He scoffed. Stupid.

...Still. He picked up a stylus by the sink and jotted a few words down on the tablet by the mirror: “identity-changing makeup.” Yeah. The people there on Titan loved everything he wrote either way. He had run out of paper a few months back, he was so popular. They craved his work—they craved art.

“Proto,” Charlie said, catching the robot’s attention. “What’s on the agenda today?”

“Class starts in thirty minutes!” Proto chirped. “You’re teaching sentence structure today!”

Charlie grinned. “Right.”

He grabbed two red pills from the cabinet, gulped them down, and headed out of the bathroom.

you are the poison i need

THE NIGHTMARE I NEED

Don't You Cry For Me

The life insurance payout hadn’t been big, but it was enough for Mom to pack my sister and me up and move us out to a tiny one-floor cottage in Glenwood, New York. When she told us about the move, she said that it would be good for. “Certainly nicer than our apartment here,” she had said, gesturing to the gray walls and water-stained ceilings that housed us. She took my hand. “Come on, Claire, think about it. Fresh air, less crime—it’ll be an adventure!”

I just nodded, silent. May ran out and locked herself in our bedroom.

But even in 1997, at the tender age of nine, I knew that it wasn’t Albany we were moving away from; it was the neighbors offering condolences, it was Dad’s picture in the window of the fire department down the block. It was the thick smell of leather and shoe polish that still coated all our furniture, tricking me every morning into thinking that he was still here.

Before we left, Mom told us about our “amazing” new home, barely a wooden hut stuck on the side of a dead-end road. I had seen pictures the gas tank around back, and the “adorable” garden in the front yard. I knew where she was taking us.

I didn’t know about the graveyard.

When we arrived on that bleak December day and I stepped out of the car, a backpack filled with my stuffed animals slung over my shoulder, I couldn’t help but stand on the walkway to our new house and stare.

Our new home sat at the bottom of a hill, almost the entire slope of which was taken up by a sprawling graveyard. A rusted iron fence surrounded acres and acres of dead, brittle trees. Hundreds of graves—some old, some new, some crosses, and some just squares—jutted up from the dirt, looking like spines on a porcupine’s back. From my spot at the bottom, I couldn’t see the top of the hill. Just twisted brown branches and weathered granite slabs, stretching out forever.

My mind jumped immediately to Dad. Had Mom planned this? I didn’t think that she had ever visited the house before we came. Did she even know about the graveyard? How—

May pushed me off the walkway. “Move it,” she said as I stumbled into the grass. She had been wearing the same scowl for the entire five-hour car ride.

I hopped back onto the pavement and pouted. “Jerk.”

May snorted. “Brat.”

“Just shut up, May,” I said, following after her. “Leave me alone.”

“Then how about you stop standing around and actually take in some bags?” May stopped walking, very nearly making me trip over her suitcase. She turned around and squinted across the road. “What the hell are you even looking at? A bunch of trees?”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s a graveyard, stupid.”

The word seemed to strike her like a gust of wind. She stared at the hill for a moment more before shooting me a glare. “Why are you staring at a friggin’ graveyard? What are you, some kinda weirdo?”

“What?” I shook my head, half-formed words falling from my lips. “No, no, I—I’m just—”

“Maybe that counselor was right,” May said, face screwing up into a smirk. “Maybe you really are crazy.”

My cheeks lit up. “I’m not crazy!” I said, stomping my foot. “I’m just looking at the graveyard!”

“Craaaaazy,” sang May. She tried to walk away, tittering and giggling, but before she could take a step I shrieked and gave her suitcase the heaviest kick I could muster. May bumbled forward a few steps, then spun around and pushed me hard enough that I fell onto my rear. “Don’t touch me, brat.”

“Don’t be mean to me!” I said from the pavement. “Ugly!”

“You like that graveyard so much,” May said, “why don’t you go get buried there?”

Her voice echoing along the empty street, I winced. Even May seemed to gape, shocked by her words.

“May Elizabeth Sullivan!”

Both of us turned to look at the house. Mom stood in the doorway. Bags hung under her eyes, and ragged strands of brown hair struck out in every direction from her messy bun, giving her the look of a middle-aged insomniac. Gripping the doorway, decked out in her worn blue windbreaker, Mom offered us that awful glower of hers: eyes and nose screwed up, neck stretched out as far as it’d go.

In her presence, even May—sixteen years old, thinking she was better than everyone and everything—seemed to shrink to the size of an ant. I just stayed down, frozen.

Mom jabbed a finger at May, making her flinch. “You do not speak to your sister like that.” May spat and sputtered, trying to force out an excuse, but Mom cut her off with an, “Up-bup-bup! I don’t want to hear it! You help your sister up and apologize.”

May hung, legs tensed like she was ready to run away. But then she just whispered a few curses, leaned down, and offered me a hand. I wasn’t sure at first whether to accept the help—I was way too old to be getting help from my sister, after all, and I still wanted to be mad at her—but with Mom’s eyes still on us, I feared it was either this, or someone walking away in tears.

I took May’s hand and let her help me to my feet. Once I was up, she let out a quick, “Sorry,” then skulked away, head down. Mom stepped aside to let her through the doorway, but kept her eyes locked on May’s back the entire time.

Once she was gone, Mom walked outside and went to tousle my hair. Her warm palm was a welcome reprieve from the biting air. I leaned into her touch and let her press my head against her chest.

“Don’t worry about May,” she said, stroking my back. “She’s just being a teenager. Hormones, y’know?”

“Uh-huh.” I looked up at her, and in the sweetest voice I could muster, asked, “Do I need to bring in any more bags?”

Mom laughed. “Just one or two more, sweetie. But make sure to check out your room—it’s so much better than that hole we called an apartment.”

She gave me one last hug, holding me tight and kissing my scalp. I stared back out at the graveyard. The wind rolled through the dead trees, singing a song of winter. Mom’s jacket smelled of shoe polish.

Mom and May spent the rest of the day unpacking, while I used the time to inspect my new room. For the first time, I had a closet! Even if I knew that it would become May’s exclusive property by the week’s end, it still got a giggle out of me. But the feeling didn’t last; laying on either bed felt like laying on sheets of broken ice: cold and hard and bumpy. The bathroom smelled kinda like a mouse had died in the ceiling. The brown shag carpeting matched the walls.

Laying on the softer of the two beds and staring at the ceiling, I wondered what was going on back in our apartment—our old apartment. Had anyone else moved in? Was my bed still there? I imagined some strange girl burying herself in my sheets, jumping on my mattress. They’d never know who once lived there. They’d never know about the Sullivans. The thought made me feel twisted up inside.

Later that night, I picked and prodded at my stir fry, wondering why the beef tasted like it was still frozen, and wondering why the corn looked like it had been hit by a shrink ray. When I asked Mom, she said that they were baby corns—I didn’t even know that corn could have babies. The Chinese food places out in Glenwood were weird.

The house had no dining room, so we ate in the living room. The light of the TV flickered across our darkened home, throwing dull colors in every direction. Mom sat in her chair on one side, while May and I shared the couch. Well, “shared.” May lay across the entire length, head on one armrest and feet on the other; her legs ran over my lap. She kept the box of noodles balanced between her breasts and gazed up at a random spot on the ceiling, faint beats and melodies crackling from her headphones. Even with every seat filled, the room still felt horrendously empty.

Aside from the TV, silence ruled over us. Not a single word had been uttered since the Chinese food was open. I didn’t mind. No talking meant no fighting, and no fighting meant no screaming. Fine by me.

“So,” Mom said, as if a mind reader. She slurped up the rest of her noodles, leaned forward in her chair, and gave me a toothy grin. “How do you like your room?”

I thought about my cold bed, and the shag carpeting that I was sure housed the corpses of a million spiders. I thought about the rotting stench of the toilet, and how there were no windows.

“It’s nice,” I said, digging through my food.

“Nice?” Mom asked, digging through my words.

“Yeah,” I said. All my thoughts danced on the back of my tongue. I had so much to say, so much to complain about—but looking into Mom’s baggy eyes, I found myself with that familiar twisty feeling, like my stomach was spinning in circles. I shrugged. “Y’know. Nice.”

“And May?” asked Mom, shifting her smile to the coma patient laying on top of me. “See anything you liked?”

May didn’t answer, but just kept staring up at the ceiling. I thought that maybe she couldn’t hear anything over her music, but from my spot I watched her turn up the volume on her Walkman. Already I could feel the thunderclouds rolling in. I focused on my stir fry.

“May?” Mom asked again, louder. No answer. Her smile faded. She grabbed one of May’s feet and thrashed it about. “May!”

May cringed at her touch, retracting a leg and nearly kneeing me in the face. “What?” she asked, scowling. “What do you want?”

“It would be lovely,” Mom intoned, “if you would think about joining us in the real world for once.” May just looked confused. “Put away the music.”

“Fine,” May said, tearing off her headphones. “Why don’t you just say that?”

“I shouldn’t have to say it.” Mom’s words were sharp and shot out like darts. “You know that there’s no music at the dinner table.”

“We’re not at a table.”

“You know what I mean.”

May rolled her eyes as hard as she could. “Whatever.”

“No, it’s not ‘whatever,’” Mom said. “We eat as a family, we always eat as a family, and you’re ruining that.”

“Jesus Christ, will you leave me alone for once?” May said. “I just wanna listen to music, and you keep yelling at me!”

“I’m not yelling!” yelled Mom. When her face went red, her wrinkles looked all the deeper. “It’s music. Can’t you just listen to it after dinner?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because the batteries are gonna die!” May said, voice cracking.

“There’s batteries in one of the boxes,” I said, shrunken against the couch cushion.

May affixed me with a wretched glare. “Shut the fuck up, Claire.”

Mom stomped a bare foot. “May Elizabeth!” she cried, spittle flying from her lips. “Do not—”

“Shut up, shut up!” May jumped off the couch, letting her box of noodles fall to the ground. Sauce and soup dribbled out onto the floor. She snatched up her Walkman and stormed out of the room. “I wish you had left me in Albany!” A second later we heard the slam of the bedroom door.

Silence took back control of the room. I stared into my box of stir fry, watching the soup run between the baby corn and trying to ignore the look of nausea and sickness stretched across Mom’s face. Eventually she walked out, leaving her greasy, half-eaten chicken behind.

Caught in the flicker of the TV, I wrung the edges of my skirt and tried to sort out my newest regrets. What could I have said, what could I have done to make things better? To make Mom and May stop screaming at each other for one measly day? I couldn’t think of anything—I was never able to think of anything—but I knew deep down that all of this was my fault. It was up to me to fix things, and once again I had failed.

In those days, but three months removed from the fire, I still thought things could go back to normal. I still thought that if everyone just stopped shouting, stopped fighting, we could go back to where we left off—before Dad got that call in the middle of the night, before he grabbed his gear and ran out the door. Before the police came the next morning, hats over their hearts, beards twitching, and asked if Mom was home. Before May turned white, and before Mom ran out to throw up—

I ripped my skirt and brought myself back to reality. After months of being pressed and pulled between my fingers, the pink fabric had finally torn.

I got up and threw out my stir fry. I wasn’t sure I could eat any more, what with my stomach as twisted up as it was.

When the time finally came to go to bed, I seriously considered just sleeping on the couch. I had sat in the living room alone for hours now, watching the clock and praying that my bedtime would never come. But my prayers went unanswered, and with fatigue coating my bones, I edged open the door to the bedroom and dragged myself inside.

The light from the hallway slipped through the doorway, revealing the heaving mass of flesh on the bed opposite mine. May, still wearing all her clothes, had buried her head into the pillows. Screechy rock music blared from her headphones. I imagined that she couldn’t hear much—not that it mattered, as the dirty carpeting absorbed any sound I could have made. Nevertheless, I kept my eyes on her the entire time.

My foot collided with something hard and pain jolted through my leg. I let out a shrill yip and tumbled over May’s suitcase, falling to my knees.

May snapped up. Bloodshot veins coursed through her pupils.

“Sorry,” I said, hopping to my feet. I couldn’t look at her.

“Mhm.” May went back to her pillows. “Whatever.”

Keeping as quiet as possible, barely breathing, I pulled my pajamas out of my suitcase and got dressed. When I finally crawled onto my rocky mattress, though, I couldn’t close my eyes until May stopped sniffling. Not even the stuffed bears and tigers that walled my blanket could block out the sound.

I spent the time thinking about how long it would take to unpack all the boxes, and where I would put my things. I had brought as much of my stuff from Albany as would fit in a suitcase and two bags, but a lot of it was probably useless now. After all, what good were ice skates out here? Now that Dad was gone, I didn’t have anyone to skate with.

After what I figured must have been hours, May finally stopped hiccupping, and I closed my eyes—only for them to fly open once more as I heard a similar sound through the thin walls.

For the next month or so, things stayed quiet. Mom and May did everything they could do avoid each other, until family dinners became a thing of the past and the nightly arguments became weekly ones.

Of course, it wasn’t like they really even had the chance to be around one another. As soon as we went back to school, May did everything she could to find friends that could save her from the wasteland that was Glenwood.

Soon she began spending her days sauntering through the halls of Orchard Park Central School, just one in a gang of choker-wearing grunge music aficionados. They picked her up in the morning to go to school, and they stayed together long after sundown. I rode with them once, and within half an hour I smelled like I had smoked three crates of cigarettes. Also, Kurt Cobain was apparently “overrated trash.” Who knew?

Mom joined the local church, and I have to admit, I hadn’t seen her that happy since the fire. The parishioners of St. Martin’s were more than accepting of the new widow, and invited her to whatever church gatherings they could get her to. Her newfound faith didn’t seem to trickle down to May and I, however. Mom only brought us once, and halfway through the service May told her we were going to the bathroom; we spent the rest of the mass in the parking lot, listening to May’s Walkman. That had been the source of that week’s argument.

Mrs. Larson, the pastor’s wife, stopped by every once in a while to have tea with Mom. She was nice enough, I guess, although her glasses made her eyes look too big for her head. She would give me bags of strawberry candy, and always called me “Clairy the Fairy.” She just called May the “other daughter.”

And me? I went to school, and I came home. I went to school, and I came home. I went to school, found out Mom had to work late, and hung around in the back of the afterschool classes before going home.

I had never been the outgoing sort, and being thrust into a new school halfway through the year was like being thrown into a pool full of wasps. I slinked along the walls, weaved between groups of giggling children. On the schoolyard I just sat near the teachers, eavesdropping on their conversations and trying to join in whenever I had something to say. Teachers had to be nice to you, after all. It was their job. At least I didn’t have to see a counselor anymore.

But at night, I would fall asleep thinking of our old home, and the friends I had known since childhood. I would think of Dad picking me up from school on the days he had off, and going to Washington Park to see the flowers.

And things stayed the same, day in and night out—at least, for a few weeks.

It had been four months, but I still recognized the thud of Dad’s boots against the steel steps outside. Still I recognized the way he slammed the front door, the shuffle of fabric as he threw his jacket over a chair. For a moment I became one of Pavlov’s dogs, curling deeper into my sheets and waiting for the brush of his hand against my hair, the smell of his kiss on my cheek.

My eyes flew open.

I jumped up in bed. I threw my gaze across the room, but in the darkness, everything seemed to shift and melt around me. I couldn’t keep any wind in my lungs. May was still asleep, and I was still in bed, and we were both still in Glenwood, but I could hear Dad’s voice just outside, trailing under the bedroom door. I couldn’t tell what he was saying, but it was his voice. I knew it.

I buttoned up my nightgown and jumped out of bed. The carpet hid my scurrying steps as I hurried into the living room. I ran through the living room, the kitchen, the foyer, but it was all empty. Dad was nowhere to be found, but I could still hear his voice coming from somewhere, somewhere—

I peeked out the front door. Through the whipping wind, I found my eyes and ears drawn to the graveyard.

I hesitated for a moment. Then, as quiet as I could, I grabbed my coat, put on my gloves and boots, and headed out.

The January air slipped up my gown and chewed on my skin. Murmuring the worst curse words I knew, I scampered through the front yard, across the road, and up to the edge of the graveyard. A rusted lock barely held the gate closed, so I just slipped through the crack and headed inside.

The full moonlight barely guided me through the dirt and roots. The branches and graves cast scattered, imposing shadows in every direction. With every new step I expected a shadowy hand to leap from the brush, to grab my arms and tear me in two. I expected decaying zombies to rise from the mud and drag their rotten claws across my chest. I couldn’t even hear Dad’s voice anymore. My nine-year-old mind ranted and raved, every instinct telling me to run and bury myself under my sheets.

But I kept moving, forcing myself along the weathered path. “Just five more steps,” I said. “Then I’ll go back.” Five steps. “Just four more.” Four steps. “Just three more.” Three steps.

Without warning, the hill plateaued off, and suddenly I found myself at the edge of a wide, frozen pond. A break in the treeline allowed pure moonlight to glimmer off the icy surface, and for a moment I believed the moon itself had fallen into the dirt.  Withered black leaves skittered across the frost and knocked against my legs.

I stared into that moonlight, trying to swallow the sudden silence and trying to beat back the memories welling up in my mind.

I saw Dad holding my hand as we stepped into the ice rink at Washington Park. I saw my ice skates in a plastic shopping bag, bouncing against his leg. I heard the way he whistled while he tied up my skates—Oh, Susanna flowed as freely from his lips as birdsong from a robin. He said that he had learned it from his dad, who learned it from his dad… in the weeks after the funeral, I found myself tapping it out with my pencil without even thinking about it.

Wind cut through the trees and slammed against me. At once, the warmth of my memories disappeared, replaced by a crushing sadness. What was I doing? Was I really so desperate to see Dad again that I would come out here in the middle of the night, would trudge through the mud and dirt just to hear him one more time?

Even at that young age, I felt pathetic. May was right: I was crazy.

Eyes burning, chin quivering, I knelt low to the dirt and stared at the ice’s edge—only for a flicker to catch my eye.

My head flew up. I flicked my eyes across the pond, my gaze darting from crack to pebble to dead leaf, but whatever had caught my eye was gone.

Another gust rushed past, but this one—I didn’t feel this one. I heard it. Wind whistled through the trees, and the memories roared back into the front of my mind. As the branches rustled and shook, I heard Susanna coming down the hill. I heard that shrill tweet, so familiar, squeaking in my ear.

Dad.

A chill sweat coated my neck. With hands shaking, legs trembling, I ran away.

As soon as I left the moonlit pond, Dad’s whistling faded. I tripped over roots and rocks trying to get away, stumbling down the hill until I reached the gate. The rusted iron burned against my face when I squirmed through the suddenly too-small gap. I ran into the road and down the street. Everything had gone blurry. My lungs screamed at me to stop.

But I kept running. I ran until I reached our front yard, until my tiny hands scrabbled against the knob on the front door.

I jumped into the foyer and slammed the door—only to freeze when I noticed a figure in front of me.

Just a few feet away stood May, one arm in her jacket. She wore her thickest jeans, her biggest boots, and her deepest scowl.

I took a step back, but the door blocked my retreat. “Hey,” I breathed.

May threw her jacket back onto its hook. “You little shit.”

“May?” came Mom’s frantic voice from the kitchen. “Is that Claire?”

“Yeah,” May called. She sighed. “It’s her.”

The house shook with every footfall as Mom sprinted into the room. She tackled me so hard that I would have gone flying if it weren’t for her long arms locking me into a hug. Nails digging into my neck, she crushed me against her chest, pressing my head into her heaving breast.

“Oh, Christ,” she blubbered. Tears soaked her reddened cheeks. “Oh, Christ—I went you’re your room, and you were gone, and I couldn’t find you anywhere—I was going to call the police—where were you?! Where did you go?”

May’s eyes burned into my skin. My words remained in my throat.

“I thought—I thought someone had taken you away!” Mom said. She pulled at my hair, dug her nose into my shoulder. “Or, or that you had run away… Christ Almighty, never do that again!” She wrapped her hands around my scalp and looked me in the eye. “Do you hear me? Never!”

I forced myself to nod. “Okay,” I said. Behind Mom, May snorted.

Mom kept her gaze locked with mine for a few seconds more before kissing my forehead, pulling me into one more hug, then letting me go. I stumbled back a few steps. My face still tingled from crying in the graveyard.

Mom dragged a hand through her hair and stood up. “Lord above,” she whispered, pulling her bathrobe tighter around her. She glanced between her two daughters, looking at us for a moment like we were aliens invading her home. Then, shaking her head, she said, “Girls, please—it’s time for bed. Please.”

The image of the moonlit pond echoed in my head. I wanted to tell Mom about what I had seen—I wanted her to hold me tight and tell me that I wasn’t crazy, wasn’t pathetic. I wanted to sit on her lap, just like we used to.

May grabbed my arm and pulled me away. Mom watched us go. I stayed silent as May led me out of the foyer, into the hallway, and into our room. She slammed the door behind us, bathing us both in darkness.

I had only just turned on the lamp before May snatched me by my hair and threw me onto my bed. I tried to scream, but she clasped a palm over my lips and twisted my arm. “Shut up!”

“Let go!” I flailed my arms. “Mom—!”

“I was about to go out looking for you!” May hissed. “You know that? Mom ran in here screaming and crying. You wanna give her a heart attack or something? You wanna be a fucking orphan, you—aaugh!”

I bit down on May’s finger until she pulled away. “Why, why do you care?!” I asked as she gripped her hand. “You hate Mom!”

May sneered. “I love her more than you, nutjob!”

“No you don’t! You hate her!” I said, beating my hands against the mattress. “You hate everything. I bet you hated Dad, too!”

I barely saw May’s hand coming. Pain cracked through my face and I fell back into the sheets.

May looked like she had just run over a dog. Arm still outstretched, she backed up until her knees collided with the edge of her bed. I got up and touched a finger to my cheek.

“Claire,” said May. She sat down and took a deep breath. “Sorry.”

I curled up against the wall. “Yeah.”

“I just… shit.” May rubbed at her eyes. “You friggin’ scared me, too. There’s this girl at school—there was this girl at school. She was in every club, and on every team or whatever. But then, like, her Mom died of cancer or something.” May shrugged. “And then she killed herself. Just like that.”

She looked up at me, as if I had some sort of answer for a question she never asked. A few words lurked in the back of my mind, but—but I couldn’t say them. All I could do was stare back with bleary eyes.

“I dunno.” May shook her head. “I’m just tired.”

“I heard Dad,” I said quickly.

May stared. “What?”

“I heard Dad,” I said again, sitting up straighter. “And I think I saw him, too. In the graveyard, on the pond.”

“You—you were in the graveyard? And you saw someone?” May went pale. “Jesus Christ, Claire—”

“No, I didn’t see someone. I saw Dad!”

“What the fuck do you mean you saw Dad? What, like a picture of him or something?”

“No, I saw—” I felt myself going crosseyed in frustration, trying to search my exhausted mind for the words I needed. “I saw his… his spirit, I think. And I heard his voice.”

A silent moment passed between us.

May narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been spending too much time with Mom’s church friends.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that there’s no such thing as spirits, idiot. This isn’t a friggin’ movie.” May snorted. “And even if they did exist, why would Dad be in that graveyard? He’s not buried there. He’s not buried anywhere. You know that.”

“I know it was him!” I squeaked. “I know it!”

I panted for breath, while May just leered at me. For the slightest of moments I saw her glare soften, her eyebrows furrow, almost like she was actually considering the possibility. I begged silently for her to nod and tell me that she believed me. Anything to heal the twisting in my gut. When she finally opened her mouth again, I leaned forward, waiting for it—

“Maybe we really should put you on suicide watch,” May growled. “Because you’re fucking mental.”

I could have thrown up. “May!” I whined as she got undressed again. “I’m not lying!”

“I didn’t say you were lying,” May said, throwing her shirt across the room. “I said you were crazy. Just ‘cuz the voices aren’t real doesn’t mean that schizos don’t really hear them.”

“I’m not a… a scizzo,” I said. The lights went off. “You are!”

May crawled into bed. “Go to sleep. Kim’s picking me up early to go to the mall, and I don’t need you keeping me up.”

And with that, the conversation was over. I sat in the dark for a few minutes, just staring at my toes. Then, with a sigh, I took off my coat and boots, and slipped back under the covers.

Frenzied thoughts kept me awake. It was only once I forced my eyes closed and thought of the whistle in the trees that my smile returned. I let Dad serenade me to sleep.

For the next two months, I visited the pond whenever I could. I memorized Mom and May’s schedule, making sure that I knew any and all times they would both be out of the house at once.

It wasn’t easy—especially as time went on, and the two of them started spending more and more time at home. Mom joined the church book club, and at least twice a week she would go manic, cleaning all the furniture as to not disgust her friends. Around Valentine’s Day, May bleached her brown hair to a ghostly white, which only called attention to the pounds and pounds of eyeliner she would smother herself with every morning.

Nevertheless, I made the time. I would sit at the water’s edge, drawing shapes in the dirt with my finger. I would tell Dad about my day—I would complain about my teachers giving too much math homework, or about how Max wouldn’t stop chasing Kelly around the schoolyard, even when she told him to stop. Before I left, I would touch the ice and say, “Love you, Dad.”

And every single time I heard that same whistle in the trees, sending me off, back to the world of the living.

Mom didn’t mention my midnight excursion again, but she always hugged me a bit tighter before bed. And for a while, it seemed like May had forgotten all about it too. For a while.

One day in March, I woke from a nap to a familiar sound. I stumbled into the living room just in time to hear Mom tell May to stop wearing “all that dark clothing,” because apparently it made her “look like a whore.” May responded by bursting into tears—her mascara broke off in solid chunks—and tearing off her fishnet stockings to throw in Mom’s face. She pushed past me and ran into our room, just like always.

And just like always, Mom cast me a tired glance and walked off to make herself a cup of tea.

That night, just as my dream about opening up my own theme park was reaching its climax, I was torn out of sleep and thrust back into the real world. “Hey,” May whispered, jostling me awake. “Claire, c’mon. Wake up.”

I blinked and pawed at her face a few times. “Mah—May?” I stammered, barely conscious. “What? What’s going on?”

She shushed me and threw a glance at the door. For the first time, I noticed that she was fully dressed. “Just get up,” she said. “Quick.”

“Why?”

She clicked her tongue. “I wanna see Dad.”

She threw me my coat, and as quietly as we could, we snuck out the front door. She kept close to me as we crossed the road and entered the graveyard—although it took her a few minutes to pry open the gate wide enough to fit herself through. I led her through the knee-high snow up the hill. The moon was full again, just like that first night two months ago.

“This is fucking creepy,” May said, swerving to avoid a broken, moss-covered tombstone. “I can’t believe you came out here by yourself. You’re gonna get a knife in your neck one day, you know that?”

I tittered. “You can go back if you’re scared.”

May scoffed and gave me a playful slap on the shoulder. “Says the girl who still sleeps with a teddy bear.”

“Five teddy bears,” I corrected, turning up my nose. “And doesn’t Kim have a tattoo of a bat on her butt? Don’t you guys love creepy stuff like this?”

“A tramp stamp ain’t the same as sneaking into a graveyard.” May ducked underneath a jagged branch. She smiled. “You better just pray that you’re not crazy, and Dad actually shows up. ‘Cuz if he doesn’t, we’re selling you to the circus.” I could tell that despite her words, she wanted nothing more than for me to be right. It was a good thing that I was right, then.

The light on the pond hadn’t dimmed at all. The snow and ice glistened back at us, sparkling like a pool of diamonds. I took my spot at the edge of the ice and stared into the light.

May put her hands on her hips. “Okay. Where is he?”

“Just wait,” I said, glancing around. A moment passed and nothing happened. I couldn’t even hear Dad whistling. “He’ll be here soon. Really.” May grumbled a bit, but smoothed out the bottom of her coat and sat down on an old wooden bench nearby.

The stars passed above in silence. But for the vapor from my mouth and May digging the tip of her foot into the snow, all was still. Seconds melted into minutes. The wind bit at my ears, and the snowy ground bit at my rear. Even turned the other way, I could feel May growing more impatient, and could feel myself growing more anxious.

Eventually, May stood up and started pacing behind me. “Are you seriously insane?” she asked. “Like, seriously flipped?”

I had no idea what to do. I had trusted Dad to reveal himself to his older daughter, to show her the same care he showed me. Why wouldn’t he? Where was he?

“Come on,” May said, touching my shoulder. “Let’s go back. If Mom checks on us, she’s gonna have a conniption—”

“Dad!” I yelled. My voice echoed between the graves. “Come out, please! May’s here, and she wants to talk, just like we talk. Please.” We stared out across the pond and waited, waited, waited… until a new sound shot out from the middle of the lake.

My heart leaped. Next to me, I felt May’s legs tense. The sound grew louder, sharper. A sort of chittering, light and scratchy, floating from the snow—

A squirrel popped out from a clump of snow in the middle of the lake, a rotten acorn in its mouth. It spared us a single glance, then scurried off.

“This is stupid,” May said. Her cheeks glowed crimson. “I can’t believe you talked me into coming out here. You’re such a nutcase.”

“May, please, I wasn’t lying! I’m not crazy, either!” I leapt up and grabbed her arm. “Dad was supposed to be here, I dunno where he is, but—”

“He’s dead, Claire.” May shook me off and pushed me away. Her voice quaked. “He’s in the basement of some burned down building back in Albany. Get over it.” And with that knife stuck firmly in my spine, she turned and walked away.

A flashlight beam cut through the darkness. “Girls? Girls, are you out here?”

“Oh, fuck.” May groaned and returned to my side. “Crap, crap, crap…” I stood stiff as a corpse.

Mom’s ragged hairline poked into view, followed by her gaunt face, scraggly bathrobe. She pointed our emergency flashlight every which way, throwing it from grave to grave until she noticed the shining pond—and noticed us.

She crossed herself and came running. “Girls!” she cried. She grabbed me and wrapped me in an embrace, just like that night in January, only tighter. I could barely breathe in her arms. “I saw your footsteps in the snow, and… Jesus, is this where you’ve been running off to? A graveyard?” Her voice went low. “Did May make you come out here?”

May scowled. “Calm down, Mom. We were about to come home.”

“Why would you bring your little sister out here?” Mom asked May, shooting off that awful glower of hers. “I knew that Kimberly girl was a bad influence—”

“It wasn’t my idea to come here,” May spat. She slapped my petrified shoulder. “Claire’s the one who convinced me. She’s a fucking schizo!”

“Don’t touch her, and don’t say that about her,” Mom warned.

“It’s true! She’s almost as crazy as you and your church buddies.”

Mom stood up and tried to tower over May. She was barely an inch taller than her oldest daughter. “Don’t make me angry, May Elizabeth.”

“Or what?” May asked. She was shivering. “What are you gonna do? Hit me with your stupid rosary beads?”

The two shot insults back and forth. Months and months of anger and arguments were coming to a head, louder and louder until the air itself seemed to shake with every scream. I wrung the edges of my jacket and tried to retreat, but I was already at the edge of the pond. Thoughts and images swirled through my head. I needed to do something, needed to stop this—but I was useless. I was the one who came here first. I was the one who caused this. And for what? A hallucination.

I let out a shrieking sob and at once the argument ended.

My wail cut through the night, taking Mom and May aback. The weight of all my sadness, all my anger came crashing down in one massive wave, pushing its way through my eyes and down my cheeks.

“Oh, baby,” Mom said, hand over her heart. She swept me off my feet and carried me over to the bench nearby. I buried my face into her robe, just barely catching May’s wide-eyed stare. Mom sat down with me and rubbed my back, whispered into my ear, but not even the warmth of her fingers could stem the flow. Months and months of tears trickled onto her.

I leaned into her, just in time to feel a new body on my other side. “C’mon,” May said, pressing herself into me. “Claire, stop. We’re sorry for yelling.”

“You’re just tired,” Mom murmured. “We’re going to head home, and you can go back to bed. It’ll be okay.”

But I knew it wasn’t gonna be okay. It would never be okay. Not again.

I took in a gasping breath. “I miss Dad.”

Mom shook under me. “I know,” she said, tightening her grip. “I do too.” May just whimpered a bit and leaned against Mom’s other shoulder.

We sat like that, in the middle of that dead hill, holding each other in the cold. The moonlight shone down on us like a spotlight from God, presenting our mourning mass to any animal who cared to watch. I balled up my tiny fists and pressed them into my eyes, as if trying to push the tears back in.

I heard a whistle.

We all went silent, as if on instinct. My head shot up and I saw Mom’s and May’s startled faces. We stared up at the singing trees, barely breathing as Oh, Susanna surrounded us.

A choking sound floated from Mom’s throat. May gripped my arm. Through my quivering, through my tears, I smiled.

And for the first time in months, the Sullivan family sat together, not a single member missing.

Limestone/Maud

Limestone's diary,

5/27/87

We held the funeral today. A few ponies from town showed up—apparently Pinkie had spent the last month making friends with the baker, Hot Cross, and his family—but only Ma, Pa, Marble and I stayed until the end. Maud left halfway through without telling anyone. Figures.

I just can't believe Pinkie's gone. I can still remember the squeak she made when the rock hit her; it sounded like the beginning of a laugh, cut short.  And to think: just a month after she saw that wonderful rainbow! So sad. My tears are staining the page, making the ink run. Truly, we will keep her memory in our hearts forever.

Luckily, things seem like they'll be getting back to normal soon. After all, harvest starts tomorrow, and no amount of tears will

Limestone felt a pair of hooves wrap around her torso. A second later, she went flying across the room, only to crash stomach-first into a bookshelf. She tried to stand, but her assailant pinned her against the wall before she could even take a breath.

Hooves wrapped around her sister's throat, Maud stared. "What did you do?"

A jolt of fear shot up Limestone's spine, but she squashed it. "I didn't do anything. Get away from—ack!"

Maud's grip tightened. "You told everypony that it was a freak accident. That a rock fell and cracked her skull when the two of you were out moving rocks in South Field." Leaning into Limestone, Maud whispered, "Where does a rock fall from in the middle of an open field?"

"There's loads of hills and stuff in South Field."

"Hills of dirt. None with rocks big enough to kill a filly."

Limestone scoffed. "Hey, little fillies are fragile. Maybe Pinkie should have seen it coming with that freaky second sense of hers."

Maud's mouth hung for a moment. "Do you think this is funny?"

"No, I don't," said Limestone, scowling. "Unlike you, I didn't think having a mentally ill sister was something to smile about."

"Mentally ill," Maud repeated.

"You know what I'm talking about. Pinkie wasn't normal. She was broken," Limestone said. "She's been broken since she was born, and that weird rainbow-thing finally made her contagious. She was gonna ruin the farm! Her and her stupid parties—"

"So you killed her?" Maud asked, louder than Limestone had ever heard her.

"I didn't do anything!"

Maud pressed down on Limestone's throat, harder and harder until Limestone could only sputter for breath. Limestone flailed and kicked at her younger sister, slamming her hooves hard against Maud's barrel, but Maud didn't let up. It took a well-aimed glob of spit straight into Maud's eyes for Limestone to escape.

With a shout, Limestone leaped forward and tackled Maud to the ground. The two rolled across the floor until they hit Limestone's desk. Limestone pinned Maud to the floor and punched her hard in the snout.

Maud panted. "You—you—"

"I saved the farm!" Limestone seethed. "All Pinkie was doing was planning parties, right up until the end. Not helping, just planning, planning, distracting everypony! It's been nothing but confetti and balloons, ever since that rainbow flew by. We weren't gonna finish the harvest! No harvest means no money, and no money means no food! You get it, Lil' Sis?" Limestone slapped Maud again. "You get it in that zombie brain of yours?"

"I'm going to tell Pa," Maud said. "You're not getting away with this."

"Ma is barely hanging on as is," Limestone said. "We'll all get over Pinkie. But if you tell them what really happened... you wanna tear us all apart for good?"

Maud swallowed. "No."

"Good. So keep quiet." Limestone stood up, letting Maud tend to her bleeding nose. "You don't know anything. Just go hug Ma and cry into her dress, or whatever it is you do." Sighing, Limestone picked up her diary, which had fallen to the floor during their fight. "And get over it. We're gonna need all the hooves we can get for the harvest tomorrow."

Maud took a deep breath. "You just wasted four."

Limestone paused, then muttered, "Like she would have helped anyway."

Silence filled the room. Without another word, Maud picked herself up and left the room, hanging her head.

For the first time, Limestone realized she was shaking. Swiping her dry tongue around her even drier mouth, Limestone sat down and flipped her diary back open.

I'm sorry about what happened. I am. But I only did what had to be done. At least now Pinkie can be happy in Heaven. She can party all day long, while everypony else actually makes themselves useful. That's all I want.

Limestone shut her diary and stuffed it away in a drawer. As she locked it up, she gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the ringing in her head; a squeak, like the beginning of a laugh, cut short.

There's a Metaphor in Here Somewhere

One fine summer day in August, Rainbow Dash was sitting at a table in Sugarcube Corner, leaning back, sipping on a milkshake, and generally being her awesome self. Things only grew more awesome when she spotted her friends approaching from the other side of the restaurant, led by Twilight, who held a newspaper high above her head.

"Hey, girls." Rainbow said, waving. She pointed at the paper. "Ooh, did everypony write about us saving all those orphans from that burning building yesterday?"

"Yep," Applejack said, lips pursed. "You didn't tell us that they interviewed you, though."'

"Did they actually write what I said?" Rainbow asked, grinning.

"Sure," said Twilight. She threw the paper down on the table. "Why don't you check out the headline?" Everypony crowded around the table to get a good look.

RAINBOW DASH AND FRIENDS SAVE FOALS

"Yeah, I'm pretty awesome at that," says local Wonderbolt hero

"Heck yeah," Rainbow said, nodding. She smiled at all her friends—but her expression quickly faded when she realized everypony was glaring. "What? What's up with all of you?"

"'Rainbow and Her Friends?'" Rarity repeated.

"Yeah, what about it? What else would they publish?"

"What about the Elements of Harmony?" Fluttershy asked. "I like that name."

"Me too," said Twilight. She slapped the newspaper. "Where are we in this? The article doesn't mention us once!"

"Sure it does!" Rainbow pointed to 'Her Friends' in the headline. "You're all right here." She paused, then gave a toothy smile and pointed to her chest. "And in my heart."

"Very sentimental," Rarity said, rolling her eyes.

"You're making us feel as useless as a cider press in January," said Applejack. "It's like we're all just your assistants!"

"And this isn't the first time you've done this," said Twilight. She threw a magazine on the table—one with a photo of Rainbow Dash plastered across the cover. "Remember when we stopped Tirek. You got the front page in Adventurer's Daily—'List of Top Five Ponies Who Helped Rainbow Dash Save the Country.'"

"Hey, don't blame me!" Rainbow said. "Blame the journalists and their sensationalist headlines!"

"And what about when we unclogged Mayor Mare's toilet last week?" Fluttershy asked. ""All I saw in the newspaper was 'Rainbow Dash Leads Plumbing Brigade.'"

Rainbow looked away. "I did hold the plunger."

"What about when we started a pop punk band and you called us 'the Rainbooms?'" Pinkie asked, slamming her hooves on the table. "Huh? Where's your excuse for that?!"

Rainbow blinked. "What?"

Pinkie kept fuming—until Twilight pulled her back. "Wrong dimension, Pinkie."

"Still!" added Rarity. "Even her human self is an egomaniac!"

"Oh, come on." Rainbow sneered. "What about when they publish 'Twilight and Friends?' No one gets mad then."

"That's because I'm the Princess," said Twilight, turning up her nose. "And the leader of the group."

The four mares behind her all brayed in protest. "Whoa nelly!" Applejack said. "You're the leader? Since when?"

Twilight's cheeks filled with red. "Since I defeated Nightmare Moon," she mumbled.

"As I recall," Rarity said, "all of us took out Nightmare Moon. Not just you."

Applejack nodded. "If anything, I should be the leader! I'm the level-headed one."

"Says the mare who talks to trees," said Rarity, smirking. She took a bow. "Obviously, I'm the leader. I do design the costumes, after all."

Fluttershy frowned. "I thought I was the leader."

Rainbow Dash raised a brow. "So which one of us is the leader?"

"I always thought it was them," Pinkie Pie said, pointing at the author.

The author blinked and wondered what he would have for breakfast.

Everypony nodded and gave a murmur of agreement.

A moment of silence passed.

Pinkie Pie looked at Rainbow and her newspaper. "This is still kinda douchey, though."

Rainbow sighed. "Yeah."

Across the country, the reader prepared to give this piece a scathing review.

Off in the human world, the Rainbooms stood on stage in the front of a smoky, musky nightclub, staring out into the raging crowd. They had only played for ten minutes so far, and yet already Sunset's amp had exploded, Pinkie's drumsticks broke, and Rainbow contracted laryngitis. The audience jeered and roared, booing the teenage band with all their might.

Fluttershy hung her head. "I can't believe it..."

Rainbow's magic ears drooped. "Are they booing us?" she croaked.

"No, no!" Pinkie said, pulling her two friends into a hug. She offered them both a shaky, too-wide smile. "They're saying... Rainbooms! Rainbooms!"

With the crowd still screaming, Rainbow stepped up to the mic and asked, "Are you saying 'boo' or 'Rainbooms?'"

The entire crowd let out a unified boo. Half of them threw their drinks right at Rainbow's face.

In the very back of the club, Derpy Hooves sighed. "I was saying Rainbooms..."

Are they seriously booing us?

No, no, they're not booing! They're saying RainBOOms!

Are you guys saying boo or Rainbooms?

Boo

I was saying Rainbooms... Derpy

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