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“Finally…”
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>The door squeaks quietly as it shuts behind you.
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>Today was… difficult, like many days are.
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>It seems as though that those have become more common as time has gone on.
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>But here at home, everything can finally unwind properly.
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>That’s easier for some, for others, like yourself, certain things aid in that.
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>Had to make a pit stop on the way here, but it was necessary.
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>Without it however, well…
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>You take a seat, open one elixir, then take a deep drink.
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>A refreshing vigor flows throughout as it makes its home in your gut.
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>Everything starts to come into focus, just like it should, and always does.
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>Had a lot of time to think today.
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>The past.
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>The present.
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>The future.
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>All of it.
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>Currently, sitting on the table on the table in front of you, is a combination of all three parts.
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>A simple white cap.
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>Stitched upon it, is a red cross.
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>Medicine is an ongoing war in the cycle of life and death.
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>Treating injuries, illnesses, and/or outright preventing any of them altogether is seemingly without end.
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>The study into this field has taken the better part of your life.
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>Yet no matter the expense (great or small), giving everypony a chance to live on is a worthy cost.
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>Although your contributions are small, they go a long way to saving many ponies.
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>Every little bit adds up, which adds to the greater whole.
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>Your interest into medicine was born from an early age.
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>Suppose now is as good as any time to take a trip down memory lane.
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>There’s some resistance in the way however.
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>Another deep drink melts that wall away.
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>Back then, when you were a little filly, things were different, much more different from other ponies your age.
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>Sure, you still possessed the innocence of youth, or rather, the ignorance that exists at that time.
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>But unlike other foals, happiness was in short supply.
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>It was not as though your parents were cruel.
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>Nor were there any pony outside of your family that acted in vile ways against you either.
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>At the source of everything, was one thing.
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>Your father was very sickly.
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>That made just about everything tough to deal with.
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>Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t do much of the way of work.
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>Furthermore, his time spent with you barely amounted to just listening while he lay in bed.
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>Ignorance made things hard to understand, but even in spite of it, you knew something wasn’t right about it.
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>Every other dad was different from yours; more alive, more able, and generally, just more of what dad is supposed to be.
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>Your dad however… wasn’t any of that.
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>That didn’t stop him from doing what he could otherwise.
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>Sadly, that never added up to much.
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>Both of your parents tried to give you all the love and attention possible, though.
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>But him being so sickly, that always bothered you at the time.
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>Ignorance kept you innocent and protected, well, it *mostly* did.
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>Because it would eventually be lost.
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>Time would catch up, forcing you to grow up, with or without your consent.
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>Growing up is apart of the cycle of life.
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>What aided in those changes was a feeling that was alien to you at the time.
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>Took till years later to understood what it was.
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>Empathy.
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>Pure, simple, empathy.
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>The pain from dad’s illness, his frustration from his lack of ability to fight back, and lack of what he should be able to do as a father.
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>All of that was felt, always during those times.
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>Many others experience empathy, so it is far from unique to you.
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>Yet even so, it feels as if you are alone in the feeling.
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>They likely hide it for one reason or another.
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>Like mom did.
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>Your family was sinking beneath the surface of the waters of life, and she did what she could to keep you all from drowning.
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>Due to dad’s condition, she had to take on two jobs.
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>That often lead to little time spent with her.
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>The stress from it all has always aged her more than anypony else her age.
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>Despite all of her attempts to conceal her feelings from you, she couldn’t hide everything.
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>Whether it be when she was alone with dad, or when she believed she was alone, period, she would shed many tears as quietly as she could.
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>In turn, that drew tears form you as you listened on.
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>You had hope that dad would get better someday.
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>Such hope was gravely misplaced, because eventually, he couldn’t work anymore, and became completely bedridden.
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>As a result, mom became even more absent.
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>Friends of your family were frequently helping take care of you.
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>Didn’t like that.
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>Never liked it.
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>You were young.
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>You were innocent.
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>You were decaying away, like the rest of your family.
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>Because after all, that is how the cycle of life and death work.
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>Time keeps that fact absolute, without fail.
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>This trip down memory lane is growing all the more uncomfortable by the moment.
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>Aren’t you supposed to be unwinding, and NOT working yourself up?
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>A part of you says yes.
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>A part of you says no.
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>It’s indecision then.
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>Have to make a choice on what to do.
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>You finish your drink, and with it, things continue on as they were.
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>Memories continue forth.
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>Extremely painful ones.
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>On one fateful day, in the long gone past, a blizzard raged across the countryside.
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>Within your family home, a storm raged inside too.
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>Dad’s illness had taken a turn for the worse.
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>Mom was stranded elsewhere due to the storm.
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>You however, were alone at home with dad.
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>A friend was supposed to come to help.
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>That friend couldn’t come.
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>The blizzard did everything in its power to prevent any and everything from assisting your family.
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>You did what you could with what little you had.
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>There had been times before where you had to take care of him alone, so you thought nothing of it.
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>That was wrong.
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>Your help wasn’t enough.
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>It never would be.
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>It never could be.
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>It was just inevitable.
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>That is the cycle of life and death.
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>Dad’s face was reddened by a fierce fever, and his breathing was heavy, erratic; his coat mattered with sweat, and his eyes swollen shut.
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>You gave him medicine, changed out the washcloths frequently, and even uttered silent prayers.
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>All of that effort was for naught.
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>Dad needed to go to the hospital, badly.
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>He needed help, yet none could come.
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>The storm outside and within, all ensured what was to come.
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>Can’t forget how that day felt like it lasted a lifetime.
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>It is permanently scared onto your very being.
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>You were completely, and utterly helpless to do anything for dad.
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>All you could do, was just be there to suffer.
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>Tears could not burn away the sight.
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>Screams did not end the all horrific sounds made.
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>Don’t know when exactly he passed, but it mattered little.
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>For when he died, so did a piece of you too.
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>Everything was numb.
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>There was seemingly just nothing there.
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>But somehow, you still existed at the end of everything.
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>For the storm eventually did subside enough for somepony to come along.
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>They found you cuddled up to dad, though you don’t actually remember any of that.
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>Everything felt like it was all a terrible dream.
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>If only it was.
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>Spent many years to heal enough to function from that day.
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>At this moment, there is just nothing.
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>No tears crawl down your face from the past.
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>No words to speak of from those events.
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>There is just here, you being in your home.
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>You fiddle with your necklace a moment, then go to take a drink, but find the bottle empty.
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>Don’t remember finishing it.
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>Actually, don’t remember finishing the other empty containers either.
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>Not important, it’s fine.
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>It always is.
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>You open a fresh one, and let the contents sooth everything else further.
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>Warmth blossoms throughout, as well as a general sense of clarity.
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>This is a treatment for you, just another form of recovery.
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>Some say this is bad to do, but they are not you, not that they ever could be.
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>You know when enough is enough.
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>You always do.
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>Your study into medicine is proof enough of that.
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>Mom did help out where she could, though she mostly was just there as support.
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>Should probably go check in with her sometime soon.
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>Not for a lack of trying, it’s just that you’re busy with work.
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>Virtually all of your being is invested into saving as many lives as possible.
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>After all, you are the head nurse at the hospital.
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>Could very easily switch to being a doctor, but you prefer this path.
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>Every joke exchanged, and the common casual conversations had; the strengthened bonds, all of that and more, that is what keeps you where you are.
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>Faces and names are memorized, as are many other things with each patient.
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>Just about every aspect of this career is loved.
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>Naturally, there are parts to hate.
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>Again, this is like the cycle of life and death; one cannot exist without the other.
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>Although you don’t hate the latter entirely, losing patients makes it difficult not to.
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>Medicine cannot save everypony.
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>When they inevitably fall, and they will for one reason or another, it hits… hard.
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>Those points are among the worst to experience.
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>A scalpel cuts deeply into your heart, which prompts to take another sip of your drink in response.
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>Can never let others at the hospital know how you deal with these feelings.
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>If of them ever learned the truth, they would take your career away from you.
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>At here, at home, all alone, it’s then that you can properly express what you /truly/ feel.
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>Alcohol lubricates the process easier…
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>...and in some cases, as does a blade.
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>Both are hidden away whenever you’re not longer alone.
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>Experience has taught how to do that.
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>Though in the case of marks on your foreleg, those are a bit more difficult conceal.
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>A simple wristband currently covers it, like a pebble hidden within the shade of a tree.
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>Most ponies never question it.
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>The few that have asked, were easily satisfied with answer of it being a fashion statement.
-
>You’ve searched for what exactly ails you.
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>Haven’t found it yet.
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>Might never find it.
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>Regardless, you’ll keep looking.
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>You take another drink of the elixir.
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>This burden would be easier to bear if you had somepony at your side.
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>Finding that special somepony is like finding a needle in a haystack.
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>Being alone is the norm.
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>All alone.
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>Some ponies are meant to be alone.
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>That’s what you’ve heard before.
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>For now, this bottle just about empty, gonna need another to replace it.
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>This stuff keeps you company currently, it keeps you safe, keeps you rooted in place.
-
-
>All of this talk about death is rather gloomy, isn’t it?
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>Yeah, but it’s perfectly to talk about it every now and then.
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>Besides, death can be beautiful sometimes.
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>Discovered that around medical school.
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>Although you don’t like seeing others die, you cannot deny the way the body looks afterwords.
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>It’s just so… peaceful, fascinating even.
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>This is normal to think about.
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>This is abnormal to dwell on so much.
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>This is you, a paradox of a pony.
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>Conflicting thoughts keep buzzing around your head like bees, it’s hard to concentrate.
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>It certainly isn’t all this alcohol affecting you, this is not your limit.
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>After all, you know when to stop.
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>Other than the open containers on the table, there is some stuff from work; just some books, and such, nothing special.
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>But sitting there to the side, is a box of unopened razors.
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>They’ve been here a while now.
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>Can’t quite remember when you picked them up.
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>It’s not important, it’s fine.
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>Something inside compels you to withdraw one from the box.
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“It’s so shiny, so pretty.”
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>This single item has so much purpose.
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>With it now tightly gripped in-between your teeth, you cast your gaze upon your foreleg.
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>Many arteries are strewn through the long limb.
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>All of them important, integral even, to your continued existence.
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>It would be very easy to nick one.
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>A countdown would soon follow after.
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>If it reached zero, the lights would go out for good.
-
>Not going to do that.
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>Won’t do it.
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>No.
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>Yes.
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>Maybe.
-
>Wait a sec.
-
>When did you make that first cut?
-
>Don’t remember making it, or for that matter, removing your wristband either.
-
>But there it is, an open wound with blood that oozes slowly.
-
>It’s a very shallow cut, so there is nothing to worry about.
-
>It’s all alone, though, just like you are.
-
>That needs to change.
-
>Let’s make a second.
-
>How about a third?
-
>Nah, four won’t do.
-
>Five?
-
>Yes, perfect.
-
>These are bleeding a bit.
-
>Everything is fine, none of these are deep enough.
-
>Starting to feel tired, a little lightheaded too.
-
>A nice Deep Rest sounds wonderful right about now.
-
>All of those pesky memories can go away, as well as the pain felt.
-
>Should you clean up first?
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>Of course.
-
>Or maybe not.
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>You’re tired.
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>You’re fine.
-
>You should go to sleep.
-
“...n-no, not j-just yet…”
-
>Gotta dress the messy wound first.
-
>Yeah, that’s right, a messy thing like you are…
-
>...on stuffs…
-
>Right?
-
>That doesn’t feel like it made sense.
-
>Hard to think straight.
-
>Maybe you drank too much.
-
>Do those cuts look properly taken care of?
-
“Sorta, kinda…”
-
>They shouldn’t be covered.
-
>They’re ugly.
-
>They’re done, it’s fine.
-
>Very tired, very lightheaded.
-
>Hard to think.
-
>Go to sleep.
-
>You shouldn’t.
-
>Don’t worry about it.
-
>Just fall asleep.
-
>It’s fine.
-
>It always is.
-
>So just-
-
>…
by NHanon
by NHanon
by NHanon
by NHanon
by NHanon