#####Chapter 1: Therapy ##### "So... why are you here?" >She doesn't respond, instead shifting tensely in her seat, avoiding your eyes. She clearly does not want to be here. "How about we just start with introductions, then?" >You're not sure how you're supposed to kick this off, but this seems as good a jumping off-point as any. "I'm Anonymous. A human. Ambassador for Earth." >Truthfully, that position was utterly meaningless. Princess Celestia had begun the Ambassador Initiative, bringing in diplomats from other worlds. >Since Twilight had discovered that portal, Celestia felt it necessary to secure peaceful relations with the other worlds out there. >But she took one look at Earth, and marked its file "To Remain Uncontacted." >Of course, you knew that was just bureaucracy lingo for "Not worth getting involved in that shitshow." Earth was strictly off-limits. >Still, you were brought in, as a formality. You specifically, because of your preexisting "familiarity" with Equestria. >Now, you had a cushy title, but it didn't come with any responsibilities. >Until one showed up. >"I'm Miss... Eri." She introduces herself in a hushed mumble, uneasily shifting her weight from one hoof to another. "Okay, Miss Eri, let's talk about why you're here." >In light of her continued silence, it's becoming clear that she's not going to answer that. >So, you continue, starting it off for her. "You're here, because—" >You hesitate, now finding yourself similarly tense. >"Because you are the first pony to attempt suicide." >You remember being summoned yesterday. >Princess Luna had been wandering dreams, when she came across a particularly horrific scene. She sent her guards to seek out the pony in question. >And they found her, alright. Bleeding out in her bathtub. >The doctors saved her life in time. Just barely. >Another minute, and who knows? >But the bombshell came when the Princess had learned the act was intentional. >She was mortified. Ponies simply didn't kill themselves. >But she knew humans did. >She brought you in, knowing your history, insisting that you speak with her. Help her. >She told you what happened, and you could tell how deeply it had moved her. >Even now, the Princess refuses to speak a word of what she saw in that dream. All you can hope to do is conjecture. >"I don't know what that means," she replies. >Why would she? >You explain it to her. "Well, a couple nights ago, you tried to kill yourself." >"So what?" >So what? So everything! >But you can't say that. "Why?" >"It doesn't matter. You wouldn't understand. Nopony understands." "That's why you aren't talking to a pony." >Her curiosity perks up ever so slightly. "Why am I here?" she asks. >It's a valid question. She's technically free to leave and never come back. >It's your job to convince her not to. "On Earth, we have a process to deal with... these things." >"A process?" "It's called therapy." >This is stupid. You're not a psychologist. You don't have a degree. You don't know the first thing about helping someone. >But if you don't... who will? >"Therapy." She says it the way one does when learning a new word. "Just like a doctor healed those wounds, we have doctors to heal the mind." >"So you're a doctor," she states. "No. I'm not." >"Then why are you doing therapy on me?" >You give a dejected sigh. "I guess I'm not. The princess just asked me to step in." >"No offense, but I'm not your responsibility. None of this is anypony's business. Not the princess', and especially not yours." >Callously, she rises and heads for the door. >You have to say something. Anything. At this point, it almost doesn't matter what. "Please don't leave me." >The moment the words leave your mouth, you bite your tongue. >What made you say, of all things, THAT? >Muddled by your comment, she freezes and turns back to face you. "What?" "Okay," you confess. "You're right. I don't know what I'm doing." >She watches you expectantly. Her stone-cold exterior belies her intrigue. "I know I probably can't help you. But... maybe you can help me." >"Help you with what?" >You run your hand through your hair, uncertain how to phrase this. "I'm not like you ponies. I get that. But when I came here, I thought... I thought I'd at least make some friends." >She stares at you blankly for a brief moment, before answering you bluntly. "You don't want a friend like me." >With that, she turns and leaves. ###### >You knew that skipping out on Anonymous like that was rude, but you didn't care. You had to get out there. >Walking home now, there's only one feeling dominating your thoughts. Betrayal. >This whole situation is inane. Talking to me like I'm just a filly. Nopony cared about me before all this. Why would they now? >They're violating my privacy, intruding on my life like that. Should have just left me to bleed out like I deserved. >Who gives a shit if I'm the only one to do... what did he call it? Sooside? >And therapy! What a load of crap. "Doctor for your mind," nothing but a bunch of feel-good nonsense. Those humans are no different from ponies. Just taller, and... smoother. >But if that's true, why did he sound almost familiar at the end there? >What was that lingering emotion in his voice? >Why were you so desperate to get out of there when you heard him say that? >Throwing open your front door, you trudge through the mess of your home and collapse onto the bed. "I'll clean it tomorrow." You know who's stupid? That Anonymous. Who does he think he is? Princess Luna had no business stepping up nightly appointments between me and him. As if that'd help anypony. >No way I'm going back tomorrow. No. Way. >Right? ###### >You slump back into your chair, staring at the door she just left through. >She needed your help, and you had no idea how to give it to her. You're a failure. That was probably your one shot to do some good in this world, and you blew it. >You breathe a sigh of acceptance. Face it, Anon. You're no higher power. >Digging through your desk drawer, you fish out the one personal effect Celestia allowed you to bring over. Your old iPod. >You put on your headphones, sit back, and shut your eyes. >After all... [who knows what's to come?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lTNmec6sOPc) ##### #####Chapter 2: Somewhere Over the Rainbow ##### >You're eating dinner at your desk when you notice a figure standing at your open door. >It's her. >Eyes wide, you quickly wipe the food from your mouth and rise to greet her. >"I don't know what I'm doing here," she mumbles, as you walk over to the door. "That's okay. Want to come inside?" >You motion for her to take a seat. >Silently, she steps inside your office. It's a cramped little space, but it's not like you're ever given any work to do. >She climbs up onto the couch on the opposite side of the room. >Hopefully, she can't tell that's where you sleep. >You pull out your desk chair, turn it to face her, and take a seat. "So..." >"I don't want this to become, like, a thing," she says, abruptly. "What do you mean?" >"We can talk just a bit, and then I'm going home." >You're a little surprised. "I didn't expect anything else." >"I mean I don't want you to try to doctor me, or pull some kind of human trick, or try to get comfortable or anything." "Okay. I promise I won't." >"If you ask me something I don't want to talk about, I'm just gonna leave. Those are my terms." >Tough, but her just being here was already more than you expected to get. "Deal." >She settles into the couch slightly, but remains visibly tense. >You start things off. "I don't want to make a mistake asking anything I shouldn't, so maybe I'll start by talking about myself." >She gives you a look of tacit assent. "Let's see... I came to Equestria a little over a year ago. Somewhere over the rainbow, there's this place called Earth. Celestia picked me to be an Ambassador because I already knew a bit about this world." >You go on, carefully omitting the part about just how well you knew Equestria. "Other Ambassadors get to work with their home worlds a bit, but we're not allowed to contact Earth, so my job's—" >"Why not?" she inquires. >She's asking questions. That's a step forward, right? >You grab your coffee from your desk behind you. "Well, it's not a great place. There's constant war, crime, suffering. We have some really cool technology but it hasn't brought us happiness. Celestia won't risk bringing that pain here. I think the simple life keeps ponies happy." >She stares at the floor. "It's not so happy." "Oh." >You made her sad, you miserable little shit. "I guess I meant generally," you clarify, trying to get the conversational momentum back. "On average, ponies are happier than humans. There's always going to be outliers." >She snorts in acknowledgement when you say that last word. >"How'd you know about us before Celestia brought you over?" >It was bound to come up eventually. You still didn't know how you should explain it. "There was a kind of... story... about Equestria. About Twilight Sparkle, the Elements of Harmony, all that." >Her usual cold apathy has given way to mild interest. "So you knew our history, and the Princess picked you." "Basically, yeah." >"That's fucking crazy." >You nearly choke on your coffee. >Sure, you knew that ponies knew how to curse. >They just never did. >She probably does a lot of things ponies never do. "Yeah. Maybe it is." >If only she knew just how crazy your story really was. >But no point in scaring her off with the truth. >"You left behind your entire life to come here? Your friends, your home, everything?" "That's the way it goes," you reply. "Celestia said I could only bring one thing from Earth, so that I wouldn't taint this world. It was a tough choice. I always wanted to come here, but Earth has a lot of luxuries you take for granted until you have to give them up." >She sits up, interested. "What'd you bring?" >You pull out your iPod from your desk drawer and hold it up. >"Am I supposed to know what that is?" "The only thing I ever felt attached to back home. Music." >Her attention's piqued. "That thing has earth music?" >You smile. "Yeah. Wanna listen?" >She nods and you get out of your chair, taking a seat beside her on the couch. >You hand her one earbud and put the other in your ear. She fumbles a bit, trying to stick it into her ear without the help of fingers, but she figures it out. >You scroll through your music library, trying to land on a suitable song. >Ten thousand songs and none of them feel good enough for her. >To give her a good first impression, you mean. Of earth music. It's a lot of pressure, after all. Her first-ever song. >Finally, you pick out a personal favorite of yours and turn the volume up so she can hear. She listens intently, staring off into space, focused on the music. >You watch her face to gauge her reaction, but she doesn't seem to notice. Or she just doesn't care. >The first minute in, she's completely expressionless. >The second, she bites her lip. >Third, she's quivering. >Fourth, she's squeezing her eyes shut. >Is she... gently swaying along? >When the song ends, she slowly opens her eyes. >You can see why she clenched them so tight. Tears are welling in front of those light pink irises. >You never noticed how much detail is behind them. >You never had a chance to, until now. >Still trembling, she chokes out her review of the song. "I— I don't believe you." "What?" >You don't understand. >"You said Earth is a horrible place. I don't believe you. Not after hearing that." "Eri..." you start, "in every world, even mine, there's good and there's bad. There is beauty in all things, even if it's hard to see sometimes." >You hesitate before saying this next part. "Even in... you." >Suddenly aware of the teary mess she's become, she pulls out the earbud and wipes her eyes. "I should go." >Idiot. You definitely overstepped your bounds. "Oh. Sure." >She sniffles and climbs down from the couch. As she walks out, she pauses to turn back to you. "I'll see you tomorrow?" >You weren't expecting that. "Yeah. I'd like that." >You return to your chair and look down at the iPod in your hand. It put you on the spot, but hopefully your song recommendation resonated with her. >To be honest, you really didn't expect the evening to take a turn the way it did. You've never showed anyone your songs since you got here. >No one ever asked. >You pop your headphones back in. You want to hear it again. >But this time, you want to see it from her eyes. >[Those crystal pink eyes.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U-Ooxpz0Eqk) ##### #####Chapter 3: Future ##### >You wake up around 3 PM. >You couldn't really sleep last night. Echoes that haunted you. That Earth song. >You liked music, you really did. But nothing in Equestria compared to that song Anonymous showed you. >And what he said about beauty? It made you feel something else. An emotion you didn't know exis— >A sharp pain runs down your hooves, and it comes back to you. >You relapsed last night. >You groan and roll out of bed, feeling the crunch of paper beneath your hoof. The poem you wrote. "Drinks for Two." >You don't like it. >You never like it. >Carelessly, you crumple the page and stumble to the bathroom. >Looking in the mirror, you don't know the mare who looks back. She's tired, her mane's greasy, and her eyes are puffy from crying. You slam your head into the sink, in a desperate, impulsive bid to stop the ridicule. >It stings sharply and knocks the living daylights out of you. You're seeing stars, you can't stand up straight, you're... >...aaand you're down. >You wake up and it's dark. >It's dark? FUCK. >You hastily pull some socks on and run out the door. ###### >She's definitely not showing tonight. This sucks. You stupid creep, you just had to go and cross a line last night. >You hope she's alright. >Fuck it. If she's not coming, you might as well try to enjoy yourse— >The door bursts open as she charges through it. "Shit, sorry I'm late! I was asleep, and, I— fuck—" You leap off the couch, throwing your hands down to your sides. "Miss Eri! I— I didn't think you'd show." >You both stare at each other for a moment, looking equally exasperated with yourselves. "Right," you continue. "Well, come on in, please sit down." >She obliges while you take your desk chair. The two of you sit in silence hesitantly. >Apologize to her. "Listen, about last night—" >"I don't really want to talk about it," she interrupts you, curtly. "Oh," you whisper. "Okay, sorry." >You look her over. She's much more disheveled than she was the last couple of nights, and... "Did you cut yourself?" >Her eyes immediately go wide. "What?" she yelps out. "Your cheek is bleeding. I think you might have accidentally nicked yourself somewhere." >She lifts her hoof up to her cheek, wiping away a tiny drop of blood. >"Oh, yeah," she mutters, exhaling a sigh of relief. "It's... an old cut. I think it reopened when I hit the door." >You pull out a tissue and hand it to her. "Sorry I don't have a band-aid or anything. I hope this is enough." >Slowly, she takes it from you, and presses it against her cheek. "Thanks." >You nod to the hoof you handed the tissue to. "I like the socks. What's the occasion?" >She glances down at them. "I-I just sleep in them. Forgot to take them off in my rush to get here, that's all." "Aw, and here I was secretly hoping you got dressed up for me." >Have you learned NOTHING? >Still looking away, she cracks a faint smile. >Hang on, that actually elicited a positive reaction? >Maybe this is an opportunity. Don't waste it. "Can we talk about what landed you here?" >Please don't storm out, please don't storm out, please don't >"Okay," she mumbles. >This is going to be a tightrope walk. "Do— Do you want to die?" >She bites her lip, fighting to suppress her emotions, and hesitantly nods. "Can you tell me why?" >She takes a few seconds before answering. "I don't want to live." >That's not an answer. That's restating the question, that's >Wait a minute. You know what she means. You know exactly what that means. >Time to lay your cards on the table. >She deserves to know. >She's not alone. "You know, I tried once before," >She stops avoiding your eyes. She's looking straight at you now. "You have?" "Back on Earth. When I was 19." >"Why?" "If you can believe it, it was because of a girl." >She's watching you intently. Now it's you who can't meet her eyes. "That's not to blame her, it's just—" >You sigh. "I was younger then. I thought that's what love was. Something you died for. She didn't love me. And that was just the straw that broke the camel's back. My head was a mess, and that was what finally made me decide to kill myself." >"How'd you do it?" "I'm not going to give you suggestions!" you say, half-jokingly. >Did she just chuckle? You barely caught it, but you think she did. "Anyway, it obviously didn't work. It landed me in the psych ward, where they kept people who wanted to hurt themselves. I was there for just a few days, but it was grueling hell. Every second I spent in there was a reminder of how broken I was." >"So what happened?" "Nothing. Life went on. I didn't get better. I don't think you ever really come back from something like that, you know? The past haunts the present. You just learn to manage. Some days you manage worse than others. But you do whatever you have to in order to get by, even if it hurts like hell." >She stares at the ground in front of her. It's obvious she's choosing her next words very carefully. >"What do you do when you feel like you can't manage?" >It was a feeling you knew all too well. "I guess... you distract yourself with whatever you can. No matter how trivial. I showed you yesterday, I have music, and sometimes I write—" >"You write?" she inquires, perking up a bit. "Yeah. Stupid stuff. Stories, poems. But it distracts me long enough. Because, before I know it, I've made it to the one thing that matters." >"What's that?" >You lean back in your chair. "The future." >Now deep in thought, she doesn't respond. >But that's okay. You're fine just sitting in silence for as long as she wanted. Quiet company beats the usual none. >After a few minutes, she gets off the couch. "Thanks for talking to me tonight." "Of course." >You open the door for her to leave. Before she goes, she parts you with one last gift. >A hug. >You're taken by surprise. She wraps her hooves around your legs and squeezes them. >You debate whether you should kneel down to reciprocate, but with her locking your legs in place, it's not like you have the option. >So you stand there awkwardly for a few seconds until she releases and whispers a quiet goodbye. >As she leaves, you return to your desk and start writing. >You hope she comes back. ###### >Walking home, you think about the things he said. Those familiar thoughts, that well-known pain, the struggle to manage. >Should I have said something? >Of course not. I never say anything good. All I do is make things worse. >He wanted to talk about the song. He was going to ask what I thought of it, and I just shut him down to get out of telling the truth. No. Please. Not tonight. >You push it from your mind. There's one more thing you want to do. >When you get home, you pull out the crumpled paper from under your bed, unfold it, and scribble out the title. >In its place, you write a single word. >Future. >You don't know why, but the poem looks better now. >You... >[You actually like it.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4oScRBsOV6I) ##### #####Chapter 4: Far Too Young to Die ##### >That hug last night was the first physical contact you had in months. >You roll over and look at the bloodied tissue on your nightstand. >The one he gave you. For your cheek. >That tiny act of kindness, that meant nothing to him, >so why does it mean the world to you? >Why are you getting so close to him? A human? >It's stupid. You don't even feel comfortable telling him anything. >Every night it's just been him opening up to you. >Maybe it's better that way. >In for a bit, in for a pound. >You start talking now and you'll open the floodgates. >Why should he bear the burden of your misery? >But you like talking to him. >Even if he does most of the talking. >He's a writer. >Like you.