Home Is Where the Heart Is (But Where Shall We Heartless Few Reside?)

Papillon had been staying in a hotel for a few weeks now. She always hated hotels. They were always so uncomfortable. The beds were too thin and coarse. The beds themselves were always either too tough or too soft. The pillows were basically decoration. The television didn’t have anything on it- and there was hardly even a way to cook. This was exactly what led to the current situation of the mare sitting alone on an uncomfortable couch, watching a styrofoam cup of noodles. A small timer was sitting next to them, ready to herald the completion of this pitiful dinner of hers. While waiting, she would sit in silence. Or at least sit in near silence. The incessant hum of the hotel lights above kept her mind racing. In these quiet moments, she felt like she was back home for the first time in forever. No, not her manor in the city. Not the rooms she shared with her late husband. No. Her true home. The place she really felt like she belonged. The hospital. If Papillon truly had her way, she’d never have left the hospital. They had rooms with beds for the doctors and nurses who needed to grab a few minutes of rest. They had a cafeteria. They had everything that she would ever need. And most importantly, she was never idle. There was always something needing to be done. Always work. And that was the energy that Papillon needed. She had placed her heart and soul into the work she did- and she wanted, more than anything, to show it off. To help others. To make the world a better place. If she just closed her eyes, she could remember the sounds of the bustling nurses and doctors. The voices, distant and near, and blending together. The smell of bleach- the entire world so violently sterile. It was bright. It was clean. And it was home. For the first time in months, Papillon let a smile grace her lips. A genuine smile. She felt like she belonged for the first time in forever. She truly wished that she could- BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. Ugh. Papillon opened her eyes again. She wasn’t in the breakroom. She wasn’t reading over medical charts. No. She was in an uncomfortable hotel room, in a city she barely knew, eating instant noodles. She let out a small sigh, and sat fully up, again, reaching out and setting aside the chopsticks she was using to weigh down the lid. Thanks to the steam creeping up and out, the glue sealing the paper lid on was already loosened, allowing it to be removed with no real effort. Her right wing flared out and reached down, grabbing the two small wooden utensils, and digging them into the food, stirring the freeze dried vegetables with the noodles in their cheap broth. However, when she tried to flex her wing in the proper way to finally grab her food, she felt something twist. She winced in pain and her wing let go of her chopsticks, dropping them into her ramen. Her wing, still out, remained still, now, as she stared down into her soup. She had lost her appetite. She had been reminiscing again, hadn’t she? She had gotten too comfortable with her past life. The life that she could never go back to. The home that was no longer hers. She would lean back and sigh quietly, holding back the tears that threatened to come to her eyes. She should have known not to think about it. She knew that this would happen. Why did she even let herself get comfortable in those thoughts. And now, here she was. Lost in memories, still. Closing her eyes, again, did not bring her solace. It did not bring her comfort. Her back stuck. She could feel the phantom sensation of dripping blood along her spine. She heard the shattering of glass. She could feel her wings refusing to move. Tendons ignoring her whims. Nerves shot. Her eyes shot back open and she stood up. A single cry escaped her lips. A wordless yell of frustration and pain. She launched her cheap dinner across the room, the food spiralling out and painting a trail towards the large windows to the balcony. She stepped over towards this gateway, opening it up and taking a breath of fresh air. She was rather high above the city, now- though not many were out at this time. It was quite dark, already. When had it gotten this dark? Or… well, autumn was coming. The sun set at what seemed to be a breakneck pace, now. Her breath was visible as it left her mouth. The chill in the air was already setting in. The cold always did make her old wounds ache. Her right wing specifically. The one thing that was sacred to her. Papillon looked out over the skyline. Lights in the windows shone out at her. Each one was another person. A family, even. Homes. So many homes. Happy homes and sad. But they were homes nonetheless. They were a place that someone knew they could return to. Somewhere they could call their own. Where they set down their heart, and let it take root. They said home is where the heart is. And that wasn’t something that Papillon had really believed for a long time. The ex-surgeon had placed her heart into work. Medical school. Training. Practice. Her heart was in her talents. When that was taken from her, though, she realized just how true the saying was. Too little too late. Home is where the heart is, yes. But where does that leave those like Papillon? Those whose hearts were taken from them? Those without anything inside. An empty shell of a pony. She had a house, sure. But it was just as empty as she was. Countless rooms filling with dust. Paintings on walls that she didn’t remember buying. All alone in a decaying world. A fitting end for a heartless woman like her, wasn’t it?