“Finally…”
>The door squeaks quietly as it shuts behind you.
>Today was… difficult, like many days are.
>It seems as though that those have become more common as time has gone on.
>But here at home, everything can finally unwind properly.
>That’s easier for some, for others, like yourself, certain things aid in that.
>Had to make a pit stop on the way here, but it was necessary.
>Without it however, well…
>You take a seat, open one elixir, then take a deep drink.
>A refreshing vigor flows throughout as it makes its home in your gut.
>Everything starts to come into focus, just like it should, and always does.
>Had a lot of time to think today.
>The past.
>The present.
>The future.
>All of it.
>Currently, sitting on the table on the table in front of you, is a combination of all three parts.
>A simple white cap.
>Stitched upon it, is a red cross.
>Medicine is an ongoing war in the cycle of life and death.
>Treating injuries, illnesses, and/or outright preventing any of them altogether is seemingly without end.
>The study into this field has taken the better part of your life.
>Yet no matter the expense (great or small), giving everypony a chance to live on is a worthy cost.
>Although your contributions are small, they go a long way to saving many ponies.
>Every little bit adds up, which adds to the greater whole.
>Your interest into medicine was born from an early age.
>Suppose now is as good as any time to take a trip down memory lane.
>There’s some resistance in the way however.
>Another deep drink melts that wall away.
>Back then, when you were a little filly, things were different, much more different from other ponies your age.
>Sure, you still possessed the innocence of youth, or rather, the ignorance that exists at that time.
>But unlike other foals, happiness was in short supply.
>It was not as though your parents were cruel.
>Nor were there any pony outside of your family that acted in vile ways against you either.
>At the source of everything, was one thing.
>Your father was very sickly.
>That made just about everything tough to deal with.
>Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t do much of the way of work.
>Furthermore, his time spent with you barely amounted to just listening while he lay in bed.
>Ignorance made things hard to understand, but even in spite of it, you knew something wasn’t right about it.
>Every other dad was different from yours; more alive, more able, and generally, just more of what dad is supposed to be.
>Your dad however… wasn’t any of that.
>That didn’t stop him from doing what he could otherwise.
>Sadly, that never added up to much.

>Both of your parents tried to give you all the love and attention possible, though.
>But him being so sickly, that always bothered you at the time.
>Ignorance kept you innocent and protected, well, it *mostly* did.
>Because it would eventually be lost.
>Time would catch up, forcing you to grow up, with or without your consent.
>Growing up is apart of the cycle of life.
>What aided in those changes was a feeling that was alien to you at the time.
>Took till years later to understood what it was.
>Empathy.
>Pure, simple, empathy.
>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.
>All of that was felt, always during those times.
>Many others experience empathy, so it is far from unique to you.
>Yet even so, it feels as if you are alone in the feeling.
>They likely hide it for one reason or another.
>Like mom did.
>Your family was sinking beneath the surface of the waters of life, and she did what she could to keep you all from drowning.
>Due to dad’s condition, she had to take on two jobs.
>That often lead to little time spent with her.
>The stress from it all has always aged her more than anypony else her age.
>Despite all of her attempts to conceal her feelings from you, she couldn’t hide everything.
>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.
>In turn, that drew tears form you as you listened on.
>You had hope that dad would get better someday.
>Such hope was gravely misplaced, because eventually, he couldn’t work anymore, and became completely bedridden.
>As a result, mom became even more absent.
>Friends of your family were frequently helping take care of you.
>Didn’t like that.
>Never liked it.
>You were young.
>You were innocent.
>You were decaying away, like the rest of your family.
>Because after all, that is how the cycle of life and death work.
>Time keeps that fact absolute, without fail.
>This trip down memory lane is growing all the more uncomfortable by the moment.
>Aren’t you supposed to be unwinding, and NOT working yourself up?
>A part of you says yes.
>A part of you says no.
>It’s indecision then.
>Have to make a choice on what to do.
>You finish your drink, and with it, things continue on as they were.
>Memories continue forth.
>Extremely painful ones.
>On one fateful day, in the long gone past, a blizzard raged across the countryside.
>Within your family home, a storm raged inside too.
>Dad’s illness had taken a turn for the worse.
>Mom was stranded elsewhere due to the storm.
>You however, were alone at home with dad.
>A friend was supposed to come to help.
>That friend couldn’t come.
>The blizzard did everything in its power to prevent any and everything from assisting your family.

>You did what you could with what little you had.
>There had been times before where you had to take care of him alone, so you thought nothing of it.
>That was wrong.
>Your help wasn’t enough.
>It never would be.
>It never could be.
>It was just inevitable.
>That is the cycle of life and death.
>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.
>You gave him medicine, changed out the washcloths frequently, and even uttered silent prayers.
>All of that effort was for naught.
>Dad needed to go to the hospital, badly.
>He needed help, yet none could come.
>The storm outside and within, all ensured what was to come.
>Can’t forget how that day felt like it lasted a lifetime.
>It is permanently scared onto your very being.
>You were completely, and utterly helpless to do anything for dad.
>All you could do, was just be there to suffer.
>Tears could not burn away the sight.
>Screams did not end the all horrific sounds made.
>Don’t know when exactly he passed, but it mattered little.
>For when he died, so did a piece of you too.
>Everything was numb.
>There was seemingly just nothing there.
>But somehow, you still existed at the end of everything.
>For the storm eventually did subside enough for somepony to come along.
>They found you cuddled up to dad, though you don’t actually remember any of that.
>Everything felt like it was all a terrible dream.
>If only it was.
>Spent many years to heal enough to function from that day.
>At this moment, there is just nothing.
>No tears crawl down your face from the past.
>No words to speak of from those events.
>There is just here, you being in your home.
>You fiddle with your necklace a moment, then go to take a drink, but find the bottle empty.
>Don’t remember finishing it.
>Actually, don’t remember finishing the other empty containers either.
>Not important, it’s fine.
>It always is.
>You open a fresh one, and let the contents sooth everything else further.
>Warmth blossoms throughout, as well as a general sense of clarity.
>This is a treatment for you, just another form of recovery.
>Some say this is bad to do, but they are not you, not that they ever could be.
>You know when enough is enough.
>You always do.

>Your study into medicine is proof enough of that.
>Mom did help out where she could, though she mostly was just there as support.
>Should probably go check in with her sometime soon.
>Not for a lack of trying, it’s just that you’re busy with work.
>Virtually all of your being is invested into saving as many lives as possible.
>After all, you are the head nurse at the hospital.
>Could very easily switch to being a doctor, but you prefer this path.
>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.
>Faces and names are memorized, as are many other things with each patient.
>Just about every aspect of this career is loved.
>Naturally, there are parts to hate.
>Again, this is like the cycle of life and death; one cannot exist without the other.
>Although you don’t hate the latter entirely, losing patients makes it difficult not to.
>Medicine cannot save everypony.
>When they inevitably fall, and they will for one reason or another, it hits… hard.
>Those points are among the worst to experience.
>A scalpel cuts deeply into your heart, which prompts to take another sip of your drink in response.
>Can never let others at the hospital know how you deal with these feelings.
>If of them ever learned the truth, they would take your career away from you.
>At here, at home, all alone, it’s then that you can properly express what you /truly/ feel.
>Alcohol lubricates the process easier…
>...and in some cases, as does a blade.
>Both are hidden away whenever you’re not longer alone.
>Experience has taught how to do that.
>Though in the case of marks on your foreleg, those are a bit more difficult conceal.
>A simple wristband currently covers it, like a pebble hidden within the shade of a tree.
>Most ponies never question it.
>The few that have asked, were easily satisfied with answer of it being a fashion statement.
>You’ve searched for what exactly ails you.
>Haven’t found it yet.
>Might never find it.
>Regardless, you’ll keep looking.
>You take another drink of the elixir.
>This burden would be easier to bear if you had somepony at your side.
>Finding that special somepony is like finding a needle in a haystack.
>Being alone is the norm.
>All alone.
>Some ponies are meant to be alone.
>That’s what you’ve heard before.
>For now, this bottle just about empty, gonna need another to replace it.
>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?
>Yeah, but it’s perfectly to talk about it every now and then.
>Besides, death can be beautiful sometimes.
>Discovered that around medical school.
>Although you don’t like seeing others die, you cannot deny the way the body looks afterwords.
>It’s just so… peaceful, fascinating even.
>This is normal to think about.
>This is abnormal to dwell on so much.
>This is you, a paradox of a pony.
>Conflicting thoughts keep buzzing around your head like bees, it’s hard to concentrate.
>It certainly isn’t all this alcohol affecting you, this is not your limit.
>After all, you know when to stop.
>Other than the open containers on the table, there is some stuff from work; just some books, and such, nothing special.
>But sitting there to the side, is a box of unopened razors.
>They’ve been here a while now.
>Can’t quite remember when you picked them up.
>It’s not important, it’s fine.
>Something inside compels you to withdraw one from the box.
“It’s so shiny, so pretty.”
>This single item has so much purpose.
>With it now tightly gripped in-between your teeth, you cast your gaze upon your foreleg.
>Many arteries are strewn through the long limb.
>All of them important, integral even, to your continued existence.
>It would be very easy to nick one.
>A countdown would soon follow after.
>If it reached zero, the lights would go out for good.
>Not going to do that.
>Won’t do it.
>No.
>Yes.
>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?
>Of course.
>Or maybe not.
>You’re tired.
>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-
>…