You limp, bruised and broken, heart heavy and sides bloody. You're a physical mess, but your mental condition is no better. Was it a hallucination, or was it all real? You thought it was fake, but here you are and your wounds are very much real. Your battle with Arlo... it couldn't be, could it? You've lost? You snort your disdain, your hatred and your broken heart out of your nostrils and into the air. Above you, the moon shines down on the waves as they crash onto the shore. Unfortunately, the night does nothing for the heat. If its even possible, it seems to be even hotter at night than during the day. With a heavy sigh, you reach into your bag and drag out four or five of the vines. Without any sort of thought or delicacy, you swallow the things and feel them slide down into your gut. They settle into the pits of your stomach, consoling your failure with their sweet taste and whispers of the numbness you're about to feel. Nobody as even been here for you. At least your plants have never failed you.

For a while you just stand, staring at the waves and letting their rhythmic motion lull you into a gentle sort of peace. You long to walk out into the waves and let yourself fall into their salty embrace, but they threaten to burn your wounds every time you start to take a step forwards and so you simply stay in place. Above you, a bird or bat flies. You don't raise your head long enough to watch. Just a few days prior you told a pegasus that horses were meant for the ground. Now you long to have wings, to take flight and leave this place.

When you arrived in this land, you were convinced that this would be a new start for you. You would find greatness here, you would glory and honor. You would find respect. Again, you snort at the idea. You've found nothing. You've found ridicule. You won your first fight, but against whom? A coward, a green beast. When it really mattered, when it all came down to the wire, you lost everything. Was he right all alone, the cocky white stallion with the flowing locks? No... you refuse to believe it. “PRETTY BOY!” you bellow out, but not because you want him to come. The call is terrible, it screams of death. You hate him, you hope he stays away.

Even as you scream, your mind is becoming hazy. The world around you is just a little fuzzier, a little tipsier. Your widen your stance to stay upright, but nothing seems to help. You sway and stumble, taking a few steps in a futile attempt to save your balance. In the end, you're forced to give in to gravity and let your body crash down to the earth. Your bruises pulse their protest as you land, but you hardly notice it. The sands envelope you, sweeping up around you and cradling you like a foal in the womb. In a final act of defiance, you kick out a hind leg, trying to throw sands to the heaven. You curse the gods and you curse pretty boy's mother. You curse yourself for your weakness. And when you run out of things to curse, you grow still and just lay there. You can only hope death will take you. You are not worthy of life.

@[Arlo]- Don't mind Oxy, he's melodramatic. Take you're time replying (I promise) but I can't deny that I'm totally stoked for this tread!!

a r l o

And so it was done. I had finally proved myself more worthy than the hellish beast that had threatened me on our very first introduction. I had come out on top, victorious. That wasn’t to say it hadn’t taken a massive toll on me too. I was broken and exhausted to the very bone, every joint and sinew of muscle fibre ached and screamed at me to collapse. But I couldn’t, not here; I had to make it to safety. Not that I could think of anywhere that I could be completely safe from predators in these lands. They seemed to lurk in every corner and up every tree. The only place that I could think of in my fatigued haze was the beach. If I could just make it there, if I could be given the chance to bathe my wounds in the stinging water of the ocean I might be able to actually survive long enough to be able to bask in my victory. The one thing that kept me trailing forwards was the thought of my blackened dove, and I was hoping beyond hope that I would find her standing there, staring out to Poseidon, like on that fateful day on which she had saved me, when she had pulled me from the water just with her very presence. She soothed my soul that day, and I could only hope she could soothe my tired bones and battered soul. I had to make it to her side; it was where I was meant to be.

As I trudged forward, I cast my thoughts back to the fight with the shaggy demon. Despite the hatred that surged through my veins as he launched his physical vendetta upon my carcass, I couldn’t help but feel that we were similar. Similar in the fact that we held darkness within ourselves and presented a mask to the world, one which hid the pain that resided within the very core of us. I found myself hoping that I hadn’t taken his final breath, if I had been found worthy of survival and a second chance, then it only stood to reason that so did he. I couldn’t help but wonder that perhaps our skirmish could help us to move forward, united in some small way. I didn’t want to harbour the disgust for him anymore, as far as I concerned he was my ally, we were both members of the unkindness of the crazies after all. We had to stick together, otherwise who knew what would happen. It’s not like we were well liked within this place. However, if he were to launch himself at me again, I wouldn’t be so forgiving a second time round.

Finally, the smell of salt entered into my nostrils. Almost immediately I relaxed, my breathing calmed and my heart slowed. My baby blues flicked this way and that, searching for my dove, scouring the surroundings for my darkened beauty, my black love. My heart fell a little, I couldn’t see her anywhere. I made my way to the ocean, preparing for the onslaught of pain as the salt hit my open, oozing wounds. I grimaced and winced, for the pain was almost worse than it had been when Oxy had opened my flesh in the first place.

I jumped as an almighty bellow came from behind me, a voice I could only recognize as that of whom I had just been pitting myself against, fighting for my life. And yet, he was calling for me, yet again. What was his problem? Couldn’t he just let me be? I was in no state to go at him yet again. I resentfully turned myself towards where his voice had boomed from and found him, only just within the reach of my sight, just as he swayed a little and crashed heavily to ground. I could only be relieved that he hadn’t decided he wanted a re-match. I wouldn’t have survived a second round against the massive beast. All that aside, I didn’t want him to die. I would have Seeles wrath to deal with after all.

I grunted, and started to make my way slowly over to him, grimacing as my wounds opened and closed with my swaying motion. It took me a while, but I finally found myself standing over him, peering at his chest to make sure he was still breathing. “Come now demon. Don’t make me save you on the same day that I beat you to a pulp. Get up and bathe your wounds in the water. “ I grunted. “I’m not worth dying for after all.” I reached forward to attempt to give him a hefty nudge in the chest. After all, I didn’t have the patience to nurse him right now..


" "
Fugue
799 words.
@[Oxy]
Sorry its taken me forever!!

&CROWS WILL FLEE THE SCENE,
AS IF TO REMIND ME
HOW LONG ITS BEEN SINCE I'VE SEEN A DOVE.

Is this some bad action movie? It must be. With Arlo as the unsuspecting hero and you as the unrelatable villain. He's perfect, he's beautiful, he's got a love interest and he's loved by his supervisors. And you? You've got a habit. You lust for a woman that ignores you, you're ugly as sin with scars all over your body and you've got a dastardly plan to usurp the throne from your leaders. Not to mention your cocky attitude. And we all know what happens in the end of bad action movies. The hero gets the girl, the promotion, the win when the final showdown finally happens. And what of the villian? What is he left with? If he is not killed, he's left no better than broken. He's hauled off to jail, a television set broadcasting the wedding of his lost love and the hero that took him down. Even his physical body breaks down, the years of drugs and being thrown into sudden detox taking a toll, ravaging the body like a flame ravages the forest. So is this it? Is this the end of your story? Are you a villian tossed to the wind, to be forgotten, name only mentioned when it suits the victor to puff up their own image? Perhaps. But perhaps not.

And he comes when you call and you moan, his pace agonizingly slow. If he's going to kill you, you wish he would just hurry. He's gloating, he must be, mocking you as he walks this way, thinking of all the ways he's going to smash your head in and force you to suffer before you die. He wants to defeat you fully, to make your last thought one of your ultimate failure. He doesn't even want you to be happy in the after life. You try to tense your muscles, to force your body to get up and... and do what? You won't run, you're not a coward, but you can't fight him in this state. You don't know. But you try anyways. Too bad you took too many of your plants. Your body responds sluggishly, if at all, and your legs paddle useless against the sand. You're going to die. Fuck. It wasn't supposed to end this way.

But then something different happens. He doesn't put his hoof on your head, he doesn't lean down to your ear to whisper devil-inspired sweet nothings, he doesn't even try to kick you or bite you. He just looks, watching you, and your eyes flicker over him, trying to understand what is happening. And you still hate him, and you want to destroy him with every fiber of your being, but you can't fucking move and... And this is the worst day of your life. And then something even your rational brain couldn't understand, let alone your drug-hazed current one. Get up. You narrow your eyes, not trusting him, ears falling back. But then he speaks again, and you're left confused. He really doesn't want to kill you? I'm not worth dying for after all.

Trying to do two things at once has never really been your forte, but you've got to figure it out now. He reaches down, nudging you roughly... giving you encouragement? Does it even make sense? So now you've got to figure out what exactly his plan is and try to get up? Fuck again. This day is only getting worse. Still, something in his touch seems to awaken your otherwise useless muscles and you find enough energy to make yourself sit, and then even stand, hooves spread comically wide to keep you from falling over again, head held low because you can't find the energy or muscle coordination to pick it back up. “Why?” Why didn't he kill you. Why did you help you? Why did he even come over here instead of letting you lie in the dirt?

On your side, the air hitting your now sand-filled wounds stings, demanding that you wash them free in the salty water, but you don't make a motion to move yet. You want to know. Because you wouldn't have let him live. Is this the hero's paradigm? To save everyone, even his enemy?