...

...This wasn't nothing.

Deep down, WAY deep down, she could feel that something was happening. But what it was, she didn't know. She couldn't.

Beatrice didn't know how to know things anymore. Only how to feel...And buried somewhere beneath the deep sea of confusion in her decayed brain, she felt dread. She didn't even know it had a name anymore. She didn't know the word "dread." But still, she felt it.

Long decline was over. It wouldn't be long now until darkness settled in and consumed what remained of her consciousness.

The old mare's chest rose and fell slowly, achingly with each crackling breath...It was the only thing she truly "knew" how to do anymore, only because she'd been doing it her entire life. Her filmy eyes stared ahead, windows into the empty mind which sat behind them. The meaningless nothings that surrounded her in this meaningless space were nothing but blotches of color to her now, keeping the darkness at bay for just a bit longer. Cold colors, dull colors...

...Something warm stood out among them.

The tiniest spark went off in Beatrice's head somewhere. Deep down, she felt something familiar about that warm color. No, not just feel...Way deep down, she knew that color. And that it had a name. Desperately, she dug into her mind for its name, wondering if it was still there...it was...Brown. Yes, brown. That was what it was called. But what was this blotch of brown in this...this room. It was a room, yes. Full of...greys. And whites, and blues!

Yes, yes, now she remembered! But...what was this blotch of warm brown doing in such a cold-looking room?

Eyes squinted ever so slightly as the blotch of brown came into clearer view, slowly but surely. Other colors made themselves present...Black and white. Just a touch of...pink. What a pretty color...But what did they all mean?

They were coming together still. Slowly lighting up, like dawn...Oh, when was the last time she'd seen the sunrise? Why, it was...

There was a sigh in the room.

Wait. She didn't make that noise. What made that noise?

Her ears pricked slightly in the direction of the sound...It was coming from where the warm shade of brown sat in the room. The warm brown...face. Yes...yes, it was another horse. With its black mane, and white star.

A name exploded in her head.

...BoJack.

In that instant, the confusion cleared, and the fog of confusion gave way to light.

Yes, yes it was BoJack, her son! Her son was here, in this room, with her...but...why? Why would he want to be with her after all the hurt she put him through? She didn't deserve to have him here. He didn't deserve to have to BE here, not after she tormented him all those years, not after she insulted his accomplishments, not...

Not after he'd already been there for her before.

It's a warm summer night, and...the fireflies are dancing in the sky, and your whole family is here. And they're telling you that everything is gonna be alright...The crickets are chirping, and the lake is still. And the night is FULL of stars. We're sitting on the back porch, and we're listening to your brother play the piano...And we're eating ice cream. Vanilla ice cream.

It was all so marvelous...Who knew he could paint such a beautiful picture with just his words? He was talented, that was for sure; he got it from her, after all...He got a lot of things from her, really. A lot of which were her own fault, no matter what she'd told him over that blasted phone call.

You were born broken. That's...your birth right.

No. No, it wasn't. He wasn't born broken, SHE broke him. Both her and his father had. Why? Because they were broken too? And they couldn't stand to see someone who wasn't? Oh, she was ashamed of herself...She'd made all of the same mistakes with BoJack as her father had with her, more or less. And now here he was, sitting across from her with his own unmoving stare...He looked tired; bags had settled under his eyes, and she could see the neckline forming beneath his jaw...To think this was the same person who used to keep her up all night crying.

Her baby was getting old.

Not my baby...

What had she done to him? There was so much despair settled into his gaze, enough for twenty people. Surely, she could say something to ease his pain.

...Wait.

That was right. She remembered now! She COULD say something to him!

...But...but what?

What could she say to him? What SHOULD she say? Beatrice knew she didn't have much time; already she could feel the corners of her mouth beginning to grow cold again, her arms slowly growing numb beneath the pins and needles. Soon this moment, this final fleeting moment of clarity would give way into nothingness all over again...And she knew it would stay that way, she KNEW for sure. Think, Beatrice, think. What do you say to someone you've given nothing but strife for as long as they've been alive? Words didn't speak near as loud as actions, but those were out of the picture. Beatrice knew full well she could hardly move...Well, was she supposed to say? "I'm sorry?" All the good THAT would do; "sorry" was such a shallow word, worn with overuse and oftentimes not even sincerely. BoJack deserved more than that, so much more...He was so well-behaved, really; always got good grades, stayed out of trouble...The only bad thing he really ever did was sit too close to the TV or have its volume up too loud. Why did she take that for granted until now? Why...

...What were they doing here again?

Oh no. No, no no no no, she couldn't drift away just yet. This was her last chance to do something meaningful, she could NOT waste it now! Damnit Beatrice you old mule, just say something! Anything at all that would mean something to him!

...She pondered that thought for a moment.

What could she say now that would mean anything to him? She didn't dare try to ask him, knowing how he might react; he was just as cold and jaded as her back when she was his age, and it was her own fault. She deserved to be stuck in that empty dorm with a view of the dumpster after what she put him through when he was a colt...What did BoJack want more than anything else in the world?

...

Well, that was an easy one.

She and Butterscotch never gave him the time of day he needed when he was a colt...So when he left, he got it from the rest of the world. An eye to look into. To know he was there, and to appreciate him.

In that moment, Beatrice knew what BoJack wanted...All he wanted was what everyone else wanted in this world.

...To be seen.

BoJack Horseman...

She was so proud of him...She tried to say his name. To hear her son's name just one more time...But her mouth was already too weak. Even the muscles of her eyes began to waver, unable to focus into her son's anymore. All it came out as was the faintest whisper of a breath that hardly fell on her own, near deaf ears.

Desperately, with agonizing breath, she spliced together the one thing, the one thing she knew for a fact while she still could, would stay with him.

"...I see you."

...

BoJack's head lifted, and his ears pricked towards her.

Yes...yes, she could see his face. His eyes were open with surprise, the half scowl he'd been wearing ever since he'd been here now softened. He didn't smile-that was alright. She didn't have to see him smile to know she'd done something right for once in her wasteful life. She didn't deserve to get to see it, anyways. No...He should save those smiles for the people he loves.

In thinking these things, Beatrice's lips, though cold and numb, twitched a bit as they mustered what little strength remained in them to make a smile of their own...But instead, they merely came off as pursed.

Ah, well...She did it. Somewhere, deep down, she finally managed to do something meaningful.

She could feel the rest of her body being taken over by that familiar cold numbness, her vision starting to grow dim at its edges...There was so much more she would've liked to say to him, if she'd only had the time. If she'd only had the strength...

Maybe...maybe if there was an other side, she could say these things when he arrived there himself one day...

But not now...Crackerjack was probably waiting for her. Mustn't keep him waiting...Why, as a matter of fact, she could already hear him on the piano up there...

Oh BoJack, if only you could hear it...

It's all...so...

Marvelous...

...

...

____________________________________________________________

...

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"...My mom would hate it if she knew that I spent so much time at her funeral talking about my old TV show. Or maybe she'd think it was funny that her idiot son couldn't even do this right. Who knows? She left no instructions for what she wanted me to say. All I know is she wanted an open casket, and her idiot son couldn't even do that right...I'm not gonna stand up here and pretend I ever understood how to please that woman, even though so much of my life has been wasted in vain attempts to figure it out. But I keep going back to that moment in the ICU when she looked at me, and..."

BoJack stopped.

"...I-C-U... ...I...see...you..."

His eyes stared ahead blankly at the mourning lounge of lizards as the connection hit him over the back of the head like a brick.

"Jesus Christ...We were in the intensive care unit. She was just reading a sign!"

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A/N: I've, uh...been listening to EATEOT tracks a lot lately; not only is the story of dementia they tell compelling, but to me they're also just really nice to listen to as an ambiance while drawing and writing! Even some of the later stages, ha ha.

So consider this a product of what I listen to while I write! It's a bit experimental; I've never tried to depict a condition like dementia in writing until now, so if you think there are any discrepancies/inaccuracies you think I should change, feel free to let me know! ^v^