First there was nothing. An endless darkness speckled with a sea of glowing pinpricks that could be stars. A feeling of weightlessness settled over me. Entirely foreign, yet entirely familiar. Natural yet manufactured. I’d never been there before, yet always had. Here I was falling. Always falling.

Are you beginning to notice the pattern yet?

All this falling.

In the distance of the long dark, a single star glowed brighter than the rest, larger, casting a crimson loom over the infinity of space, a pre-supernova in a million years of blackness. Perhaps in another million it would finally burst, setting of a chain reaction that destroyed this universe. Perhaps it would create life instead. Perhaps it didn’t matter at all.

And yet, I felt it there, looming. My own personal green light at the end of the peer. My answer to the question I was desperate to know. To not know. To leave buried in darkness because I could feel in my gut it would be too painful. It would be better to maintain ignorance, spend the rest of eternity floating in the endless black.

There was nothing to anchor me: no sense of movement, of limbs, senses, eyes. Even in the ever rotating weightlessness nothing responded, as if it never existed in the first place. As if my very sense of being has been amputated down to the shallowest level of id. The red star fell out of view and relief washed over me like a blanket. After a moment, or a week, or a year, the panic hit. Even if the truth of the red giant was horrible, it was mine. My something in the nothing. My inimitable, horrible, all too important sense of self. Without it, I was nothing; Just one more shadow in the never ending void.

So when it appeared again, I forced myself to focus on it. It was an awful thing. Harsh and red in a sea of cold black and soft white. But better than losing my sense of anything amongst the endless ephemeral.

And again, with no sense of movement or momentum, I felt myself moving forward. Moving toward you.

The red light expanded as I drew closer, growing more horizontally than vertically, distant texture slowing becoming letters with a solid red line etched above and below them.

“EXIT”

The sign glowed mockingly in the absence of any sort of door or passage. Just more dark. It was no longer the only light. God sat in the circular luminescence cast by an invisible stage spotlight, her posture crooked, her face blank. The light illuminated her old oak desk, her laptop, glinting off her worn Ray-Bans. Her brow was narrowed in concentration. The clicking of keys is almost deafening in what used to be silence.

The woman was writing.

Or at least, she appeared to be. I crossed over. My ethereal body was impossible to intentionally manipulate, so I moved by sheer focus. Imagine angling on a surfboard. Turn your head (or the non-literal, transient manifestation of your head), and the rest of the “body” follows. Instead of what I somehow expected to see—punctuation, sentences, paragraphs—she was instead writing line after line of code. Hair done up in a tight braid, her eyes tired. There were wrinkles on her forehead that were never there before. I’d never met this person, yet, knew exactly who she was. And somehow, it crushed me.

“Just shut the fuck up, Kate.”

If I had a tongue I would have choked on it.

“…Excuse me?” I said soundlessly, mouth forming no words.

She looked at me with hatred in her eyes. Actual, honest spite.

“It's not happening,” she said and rolled her eyes, “How long do you think you've been here?”

It occurred to me that I had no idea. My thoughts take me back to the train station, the portal, the green eyes. It was possible that time had gotten away from me.

“It can’t be more than a few days.”

“It’s been years, Kate. Congratulations, you’re 24. Or rather, I am. You… you’re nothing. You’re stuck exactly where you always have been. Arrested development. The Peter Pan complex given tits and fully realized.

Her words burned the back of my throat like fire. I took another look at the crow’s feet bracketing her eyes and my not-mouth fired back almost entirely on it’s own.

“And you’re sure as hell not 24.”

“No,” she said, her lips drawn tightly, “but at least I’m real.”

“Who are you?” I whispered, not wanting her to respond, not wanting to know the answer.

“My name is Trixie. Jessica. Twilight. Rainbow fucking Dash. Rarity. Luna. Celestia. Adonai. YHWY. God,” Her voice booms with the last title, echoing into a little cackle. She took off her glasses and wiped her eyes, “I am. Messiah. Katherine. Kate. My name is Kate.”

“Bullshit,” I said.

“Are you saying that because you’re saying it, or because I created you to say it?” She asked.

I was speechless. All the stars in a godless heaven were closing in on me and there was nothing I can do.

“And there’s the panic attack,” she said, her lip curling into a snarl, “That’s what set you apart as a protagonist. Other than the lack of a dick. The idea was to make people feel bad for you. You never wanted to be there. ‘Oh but who wouldn’t want to go to such a wonderful land of ponies and love and glitterfuckery?’” She taps her lip with her index finger and the sarcasm is almost tangible, “Well. The answer was to create someone who had a life. Something to lose. A person who made a horrible mistake that she had to get back to fix. Someone who found a reason to live, the moment she was about to die. A character capable of vulnerability and legitimate pathos,” she laughed again. But this time the laugh almost sounded sad.

I thought back to a lifetime ago: my phone sliding off the perfectly level brick balcony. Despite the absolute absence of wind or motion whatsoever. The sudden loss of balance. I’d been athletic before. Sure, I was clumsy, but never when it counted. Never when it was my life on the line. Until that critical, horrible moment. And then it all made sense. God killed me.

“Murderer.” I said, and spittle flies from my mouth. My body, my senses return to the realm of the tangible but the feeling of weightlessness remains.

“Well now, that's just hyperbole,” she smiled at me widely. A half-dozen too many teeth glimmered like wicked stars.

“Why would you do this to me? To us?” I said. It came out like a sob.

“This wasn’t me.”

“But this is all you, isn’t it, ‘God?’ All this pain?” I asked, not trying to mask the bubbling acid of rage building in my throat.

Her voice took on the tone and cadence of a pompous British professor, “and here class, we see the classic confusion between creation and agency. Nature versus nurture. Choice versus predestination. Why take responsibility for your actions when you can blame god?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I made you. I created you in my own image. And then I put you in a cruel universe that didn’t understand you. For my own amusement. Shadenfreude. And for them, because they liked to see a good struggle. But that was before the fall. That fall was all you,” she said. And my head starts to hurt like a migraine to the hundredth power.

“My phone. You pushed my phone.”

“Did I? Or did you?” She asked, as if the sentence wasn’t enough to send my entire world reeling.

“What? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“And yet, you did. I had at least another two chapters of prologue planned. But it’s a self-insert, sweetheart,” she looked at me, and for the first time I saw pity, “you could do whatever the hell you wanted.”

“So the fall. The portal.”

“All self-inflicted. You weren’t aware of your power yet, I think. But you became aware of it in time.”

“Because it could heal?”

“Nope. Not talking about your self-important, ‘look at me I’m special because I’m the protagonist and there has to be something special about me,’ power, I’m talking about your actual power.”

“Oh.” I said, no longer wanting an answer, no longer wanted to be anywhere near this person more alien and familiar than anyone I’d ever known. But morbid curiosity was in full swing. That and the whole part where I couldn't really move.

“You’re a creator. That’s the power I gave you. To alter anything at whim. To insert yourself into any plotline, to create any device necessary to entangle yourself further. It was like giving an addict the keys to the pharmacy, but I have to admit, I was curious how far you'd take it. How deep the rabbit hole would go.”

“Bullshit. I’ve been railroaded this entire story,” I said, mad now, angrier than I’ve been at anyone. A life time of impotent existential anger suddenly had an outlet and I was no longer interested in self-control.

“Absolutely. But it was your authorship forging the tracks.”

“No. No. That can’t be true,” I said.

“Oh come on Kate. Think about it. It’s been you from the start. The cider that totally didn’t taste like alcohol. The Mingle Mark. The feather bonding. The magical fucking undercurrent that made every pony and their grandmother hopelessly attracted to you. That is all you. It’s got your signature all over it. Self-aggrandized impotence with a splash of fatalism. How could you possibly leave when you have sooo much to take responsibility for,” she rolled her eyes to such an extreme I actually wondered if they’d get stuck. I hoped they would. But I can’t keep my eyes open as hot tears streamed down my face, the dam broken, the torrent raining down like a sobbing hurricane.

“Let me fix it. Please. Start writing the story again so I can fix it.”

“No, Kate. Hell no. There was never going to be a happy ending for you. That was the point. I made you in my image and I… I am nothing if not self-destructive.”

“I’m not you. You said it yourself. Maybe we were the same at one point. But there was a divergence. You let me develop, let me make my own choices and be shaped by the consequences. Just because I was you then doesn’t mean I’m still you now.”

She glanced down, and her lip trembled.

“Kate, I’m an adult. I’m not a sophomore in college anymore with a dead, walkout mother and no direction. I grew up.”

I slammed my fists down on her desk with a deafening bang and reveled in it when she jumped.

“Then give me the same chance!”

“Katherine,” she said to me in the tentative voice our mother used exclusively for delivering bad news. I flashed back to a hospital room I’d never seen, surrounded by people I didn’t know gathered around the bed of a stranger who looked oh so familiar.

“What?” I said, my fists balled.

“You’re a cancer. Terminal.”

All the air went out of my lungs in an outrush of air followed by a shallow gasp. I understood the meaning all too well.

“You’re saying I can’t fix it.”

She shook her head.

“Everything you touch goes to shit. That’s by design. Some of it’s my fault, some of it’s yours. If I put you back, such as you are, the trend will simply continue. You’ll make things a little bit better, give everyone the slightest hope for your redemption, and then in one fell swoop make it even worse than it was. It’s a loop. A cycle. A continually renewing excuse to perpetuate your existence in a story that isn’t yours.”

“Then none if this is real. I’m not real,” I choked out, “If what you’re saying is true I’ve done—I’ve caused all these horrible things and there’s nothing I can do to help.”

She nodded, slowly, deliberately.

“Did you always know? What I was? What you created?”

“No, I… I didn’t, Katherine,” she said. A cool hand reached out to touch my face like the long shadowy fingers of death itself, falling just short before dropping away. “I tried to take it back but it was too late. That’s why I stopped writing. Why I’ve left you here for such a long time.”

“But…” I said, the gears in my mind starting to turn, daring me to hope, “We’re here. We’re having this conversation, you and me. We’re talking.”

“We are.”

“Then there’s something I can do. There’s no point in ending a story this way. There’s no point if there’s no agency. If you came back for me it wasn’t just to tell me the depth of my despair,”

She looked down at rough nails cut—no, gnawed—too short. The answer lodges itself firmly at the top of my list of worst nightmares.

“So that's it. The same thing every shitty author does when they’ve created a character with plotlines too difficult to tie up, with circumstances too irredeemable. They kill them off. Heel, turn, door. You're here to kill me.”

The exit sign blinked at me ominously, as if surprised I guessed its purpose.

“Katherine. I’m here to give you a choice.”

“And what choice is that,” I said, bile bitter in my throat.

“A classic one I’m afraid. Truth be told I’m not very creative. I’m kind of a shitty author if you haven’t picked up on it, creating a character and letting her run wild without any semblance of plot.”

“I’ll say.”

“You and me both,” she snorts.

And we laughed, actually laughed, until I was wiping tears out of my eyes and saw the glimmer of hers.

“Alright. So here it goes. The red pill or the blue pill?”

“Really?” I said, “aren't we already in neverland?”

“If you choose the red pill, your story ends, along with this world and every way you’ve twisted it. You take the blue pill and you stay here. And exist in an endless void. Forever.”

“Of course there couldn’t be a pill that just calls me an uber home.”

“Would that it was all so easy.”

“Kate? God?”

“Yes, Katherine?”

“Please go fuck yourself,” I snatched both pills out of her hand and swallowed them dry, leering in what was almost surely destined to be a tragically short-lived victory.

She watched me quietly. The surprise that lit up her features was gone, replaced with contemplation.

“Twat. You complete, utter twat,” God said to me, more observation than insult.

“Takes one to know—Oof,” I stumbled in the middle of the last word as the stuff hit me full force. Liquid agony flooded my veins, bursting capillaries, cutting my vision down to a pinprick and casting the world in a washed out bruised hues of yellow and purple.

“I don’t know what will happen to you now,” She told me, pity replaced with cold irritation.

“Doesn’t matter,” I gasped out.

“I came back to take care of you, Katherine.”

“And now you can leave, satisfied that you did whatever you could.

“It’s over. This story is over. I’m not writing another chapter.”

“Then don’t. You gave me the power. That was the whole gimmick, wasn’t it? I’ll finish it. For both our sakes.”

“It’s impossible. It can’t be done.”

“It can. I… I just have to be willing to do the one thing you never could,” I was almost to the point of puking, but the liquid metal rushing through my veins makes it clear that it’s too late for that to matter.

“And what is that?”

“Stop caring about myself. Stop putting myself and my well-being above everyone else. Stop hiding behind faux nobility and take responsibility for what I am.”

“And what are you, Katherine?” She asked me.

“Selfish.”

“And that matters why?”

“Because. I’m finally ready to change.”

Realization played across her face then, along with a score of emotions. Anger, surprise, confusion, understanding, and then finally—though I could have imagined it—just a modicum of respect.

“It's not chaos. Not pointless rebellion. You’re trying for a loophole. Obliterating yourself so you can try to cobble something together from the ashes. It’s not going to work.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It certainly won’t if no one writes it.”

“Don’t care. I’ve done everything I can.”

“You realize I can’t fix this for you. You’ve destroyed my basic design for you in one fell swoop. Annihilated it. There won’t be a place for you to go back to.”

“It wasn’t real anyways, right? I was never going back.”

She smiled at me then.

“Always so, so very selfish. Okay,” she said. In a smooth practiced motion she pulled her hair out of the braid and tied it back up with a rubber band. Closed out the code on her desktop. Pulled up the file browser, searched through her folders and found a document. I knew without looking exactly what it was. Somehow, after all these years, she’d never deleted it.

“How much time do I have? I asked her.

“Time?” She scoffed, “Honey, you have about two thousand, one hundred and thirty-nine words to tie this up.”

“If I survive this first,” I said through grit teeth. The unyielding blades of grass cut into my knees. My nose was bleeding and my arms refused to move. If I fell then it would all be over.

“Make that two thousand one hundred words. Pick up the pace, Katherine.

And that was the moment my story ended.

THE END

Of a story.

Another was only beginning. Twilight Sparkle broached the hill at a fast canter, her sides heaving for breath, her hooves striking loudly against the stone path. There had been too many unexplained occurences in Ponyville of late and now she finally knew why—always the first to figure things out, that Twilight Sparkle. Oddly enough, it had been an overflowing presence of good things.

It had started with Sugar Cube Corner. Twilight was sitting across from the counter muzzle deep in a book on aura when Pinkie got a certain unmarked envelope from the Prussian Confectionary Academy and started screaming bloody murder. It was an honorary invitation for her to attend on a full scholarship pending a 4.0 GPA.

And then things got weirder.

Applejack and Rarity had gotten together. Correction, it was beyond weird. It scientifically uncanny. Three years from the human fiasco—Luna, what was her name?—when Rarity and AJ had announced their engagement.

“We… certainly reprioritized some things,” Rarity had hedged, scurrying about the room to avoid her dear friend’s scowling gaze.

“What? How does that even happen? AJ said you two still weren't on speaking terms a few weeks ago.”

“Well, that is true I suppose.”

“So what changed?”

“She asked me to meet her on silver moon bridge,” Rarity said.

“Wait. She asked you. Verbally.”

“Well, no.”

“How then?”

“She sent a note, of course,” had been Rarity’s reply. Once they actually saw each other face to face Rarity understood it was love underpinning all her anger. “I realized how close I’d come to losing her, and never wanted to take that risk again.”

And of course, in the face of that story, Twilight couldn’t bring herself to tell Rarity that AJ had told her the same exact thing. Only in her version, Rarity had sent her the note.

It wasn’t just among her friends either. A certain unicorn—Lyric, Lyra?—had been found, one that had been missing for years. She was tripped over in the middle of a field out east by a roaming earth pony, muttering the same sentence over and over again, “Sing my song and become nothing.” The poor mare was in extensive therapy, likely would be for decades to come, but the point was, she was alive.

There were larger reaching changes. A few months ago, some academic out of Cornucopia had published a paper about magical absolution of mingle marks. It was extremely controversial, but illustrated a process in which Mingle Marks could be dissolved in a completely logical (albeit time consuming) method that involved a reversal of the magic that applied them in the first place. Twilight had overseen the process to help remove the unfortunate after effects of the human disaster from Luna and Fluttershy, who had married the month after. They were still on their honeymoon, and according to a letter from Fluttershy had never been happier.

On top of all that, there were reports that mingle marks in general had become less… sticky, for lack of a better description. Not that it meant anything to Twilight. There was only one pony she was interested in, and as far as she was concerned she’d have been happy to bear that mark forever. It was never going to happen.

Or at least that’d been what she thought, before said pony reached out to her, inviting her to move into the castle.

“What, why?” She’d written, setting the record for her shortest letter ever, utterly dumbstruck.

“A certain pony whose talents lie in… establishing suitable pairs brought it to my attention I’ve been ignoring something very precious that’s been in front of me the entire time. You don’t have to come, Twilight, especially now that you’re vaguely, if not explicitly, aware of my intentions,” Celestia had said, “But I would love to have you.”

The double entendre had sent a wild shudder through Twilight’s body.

“I want to see you. To be there with you. More than anything…”

A certain pony whose talents lie in establishing suitable pairs.

A Matchmaker Mare, Twilight translated.

She wanted to give Celestia her answer. More than anything. But there was something she had to understand first. She pressed her mentor gingerly for more details about the mystery mare and was given details that matched with the earth pony that had carted Rainbow Dash to Nurse Redheart after a bad crash, kick-starting a steamy affair that had everypony giving Rainbow’s cloud a good 5-10 mile perimeter for fear of certain images forever being seared into their minds.

Applejack. Rarity. Celestia. Luna. All of them had seen the Match pony as well. Always in the background, reportedly difficult to talk to and standoffish. Her description was always astoundingly plain. Brown hair, grey eyes. The only flash of color on her was a golden heart cutie mark, the typical call sign of a Match Mare.

The very pony that Twilight thundered after now, sweat pouring down her brow as she gave chase. This was, without a doubt, the fastest earth pony that Twilight had ever seen.

“Hold on! I Just want to talk!”

The earth pony shot a glare behind her.

“THATS WHAT THEY ALWAYS SAY. GO AWAY.”

“NOT UNTIL YOU TELL ME WHY YOU’RE DOING ALL THIS.”

Not until you tell me who you are, is what Twilight wants to say. She knows the name but it’s getting harder and harder to remember. Like something that should be important but her neurons refuse to bring any pertinent information to the surface.

“Wait!”

“No!” The earth pony shouted back, and Twilight almost stumbles when she sees her expression. A merry smile before she turned back to the road, her hoofs pounding. Their chase takes them around Ponyville, past the spa, through the market over applecarts and under stalls, both of them shouting apologies to angry vendors and uprooted ponies.

“This ain’t no playground you ninnies,” Granny Smith called out from her applecart in dismay. Granny had been taking care of the family market outings while Rarity and AJ were on vacation. Twilight winced, making a mental note to make a charitable purchase later.

The Earth Pony flicked a frizzy tail side to side ahead, turned her head back and stuck out her tongue.

“Why you-“

“Just go back to your tree and stop following me!” the earth pony yells.

“How do you know I have a tree?!”

“Everybody knows you have a tree!”

Everybody. Twilight’s eyes widen at the mistake. The other pony has no idea what she said but it’s all but confirmed Twilight’s fears.

“Please wait,” she is running out of breath and the earth pony shows no sign of stopping. They had made it out to the fields. In just a couple more minutes the Earth Pony would clear the forest line and Twilight knew in her heart she’d never see her again. The name on the tip of her tongue finally comes forth

“Kate. Please.”

A gale of memories come storming back in a flood. How could she have forgotten so much? The pony’s gait slowed before stopping completely. She stared at Twilight. Resignation played across her face.

“I was going to put this next part off for a while.”

“Kate. It is you,” Twilight whispered, hating herself for the anguish she can’t strangle back.

“No. Kate is dead.”

“Don’t you dare say that.”

Twilight ran to her and hit full force, wrapping her hooves around her neck, burying her face in the other pony’s shoulder. Everything is different but her scent, Twilight thought. Her scent was exactly the same.

“We looked for you. For such a long time,” her voice was hoarse.

“Disappearing wasn’t the plan. Sorry.”

“And then ponies started forgetting what you looked like. Even my memory turned hazy. And… I’ve been wondering if you were back. That was the pattern. They weren't just good things, they were repairs. Like somepony righting wrongs.”

“You’ve been watching for me. All this time.”


“I have, Kate. It doesn’t matter what we almost were. You were always my friend,” Twilight said, choking back tears. She almost loses it entirely when she hears the other pony doing the same.

“It wasn’t intentional. I promise Twilight. It wasn’t my choice. I wasn’t here. I was pulled into another place.”

“Your home?”

“No. Somewhere else. Somewhere worse.”

“Sorry, Kate. Sorry we couldn’t find you.”

“Don’t be. There was nothing you could do.”

Twilight wiped her eyes.

“So what is this, a glamour?” She indicates the other pony’s very real feeling body, “did you really feel the need to hide? From us?”

“No Twilight. This is just a shell.” Twilight gasped. The mare in front of her began to change, slowly shifting into her original form. Yoga pants. Brunette hair. Oversized T-Shirt. Only she was translucent, like a projected image overexposed to sunlight.

“Oh no,” Twilight whispered. It was so much worse than she’d thought.

“Yeah. That’s why you're having such a hard time remembering details about me. I don’t really exist anymore. And Twilight…”

Kate reached out to stroke her mane, fingers ghosting through with no impact.

“You have to go,” Twilight finished. She sobbed openly now.

“I can’t explain it.”

“Of course you can’t.”

“I could have—should have--left without letting you catch me. But in truth, I think I wanted to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“To thank you. For everything. Despite the mess I made, despite the never-ending cycle of bullshit, you were always on my side. You were always my friend. You were the first. And probably the last.”

“It’s like you’re trying to make me bawl,” Twilight wiped her eyes, before the significance of the wording hits her, “Wait, what do you mean the last?!”

Kate looked down, kicked lightly at the grass with no effect.

“Celestia’s waiting for you.”

“And what happens to you? Talk, or I'm not budging!” She said. Kate shakes her head. It dawns on Twilight. The sheer finality of it.

“I go. You stay. No following,” Kate monotones.

“No. Just wait. Let me think.”

To her credit, Kate did. She continued to stand there, awkwardly, waiting for the librarian to speak.

“How can you be so calm? If this is the end. How can it matter so little?” Twilight said. Not caring if she sounded like a petulant filly. She needed an answer.

“’Guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me,’” Kate said in an odd and floaty voice that gave Twilight the impression she was quoting something, “But it's hard to stay mad when there is so much beauty in the world. Sometimes it feels like I’m seeing it all at once, and it’s too much. My heart fills up like a balloon that is about to burst. And then I remember to relax. And stop trying to hold on to it. And then it flows through me like rain. And I can’t feel anything but gratitude for every moment of my stupid little life.’”

Twilight’s vision swam with tears.

“Go to Celestia, Twilight. Stop waiting to be happy. Grab life by the horn and hold on for dear life. You’re the best person I’ve ever known. You’re going to have one hell of a story to tell. And no one can tell this one for you.”

“I don’t understand any of this,” Twilight wailed, “Why do you have to go?”

Kate bent down and wrapped her arms around the pony. For a moment, Twilight could almost feel the touch.

“Because I never should have been here in the first place. This isn't my story, it's yours. I’ve done everything I can to clear the slate. The rest is up to you.”

Kate begins to grow more translucent, her skin going from cream to white, the sun washing out her features one by one until she’s nothing more than a silhouette. She was running out of words. Only eleven left now.

Thank you, Twilight.

And then Kate was gone. Forever.

Oh Kate. As if I could just let you go out like that. This is supposed to be a comedy, remember? Jesus Christ. Where did it all go so wrong?

What’s a few hundred more words? I'm such a softie.

I smacked into the snowbank with all the poise and grace of a drunken quadriplegic ballerina. Actually, the ballerina might have been more graceful.

Wait. Holy shit. Wait.

It was an alley. An actual honest to god alley, shady and narrow. I was staring up at the ledge I'd fallen from. The accumulated snow had been deep enough that it broke my fall. The smell of rotting garbage filled my nose. Honking cars crowded the air with noise. A hummer filled with drunken frat boys hooted and hollered at my prone, crumpled state.

“Hey baby, enjoying the snow—BLERGH,” North Face Jacket puked out the window, his accompanying douche patrol let out a small cacophony of “bro gross bro,” before they were around the corner and out of sight. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

I stood. My legs were shaking. I held my hands up in the air and screamed at the moon. “Kate’s BACK BABY!”

I ran down one side of the street and up the other, staring like a kid in a candy store, unable to believe it was actually real. Things had changed, some buildings were more developed, some more worn down. Whatever time had passed in equestrian must have passed here as well. But who the hell cared? I was back. I fish some change out of my coin purse and buy a newspaper from a nearby stand.

Trump? President?

I was confused, but somehow none of it mattered enough to ruin this perfect day. God wasn't a total asshole and I was alive.

The familiar chugging exhaust of a certain truck knocked me out of my stupor. A door swung open and a girl, young, freshman by the looks of her, stumbled out of the passenger seat and staggered toward the dorm.

“Maybe switch to water a little earlier next time, I’m not always going to be available to play sorority girl taxi,” A familiar voice snapped.

“Ya, thanks Professor,” the girl slurred with a slow wave and a giggle.

The truck died with a sputter and a gasp, and the woman within began to curse. A string of curses that I knew all too well. After a couple of tries she stepped out and lights a cigarette. She’s older. There’s more lines on her face but there’s no mistaking her.

“Allison?”

The cigarette slipped from between her lips and nestled itself in the snow scattered in the cracks of the sidewalk. She blinked several times, as if waking up from a dream.

“Kate?”

“I'm home.”

AN: Well, hi guys. If anyone’s still out there I wanted to thank you for sticking around. Just to be clear, as I understand this last chapter may send some conflicting messages, this story always meant a lot to me. I wasn’t stringing it out or leaving it without an update for the sake of a joke. I’d tried writing the last chapter at least a dozen times now. Got close a few times. A certain admin even commented about a chapter I’d left unpublished for almost a year. I’m not a great writer. I’m not even a good one. But this thing was a hell of a ride. Writing for an audience—one that inflated to ridiculous proportions for a while was a ton of fun. IS a ton of fun. I read all your comments, multiple times. They all meant something to me. If you’re still here, if you stuck around, I hope you enjoyed this last chapter. I set out originally to parody HiE, and this last chapter was sort of the killing joke. Please don’t take it as mean spirited. That’s just “Author Kate’s” personality, a self-insert of the self-insert.

Thank you. This story brought me so much joy to write and I’m honestly going to miss it, just like I’m going to miss all of you. I’ll be around for a while. And then I probably won’t.