My broom swept across the floor, bringing the dust into one pile, making it easier for me to pick it up with the tray. With the dust in the tray, I could lift it up and bring it over to the trash bag without letting the dust spill over the floor.
Or without letting the dust spill over the dust.
Because that’s all it is. The floor might be made of different materials, but essentially it’s the same thing. Everything and everypony is made of the same things. There’s a few differences here and there, but if you dig down to the basics we’re all dust.
Why does it even matter to continue? There’s only a few differences in our lives. We walk around on the ground, and live our lives in cities or rural areas. All of this is nothing but dust. If you’re a unicorn, you might live in the same area, but you’re going to be surrounded by magic. But in the end magic is just as meaningless as dust.
Even if you’re a pegasus, you’re still just surrounded by magic and water. And who’s to say that that’s even less meaningless than dust? Nothing matters in life or in death. One might argue that life in itself is worth living for, but just look at the alicorns. They live forever, so compared to them, our lives are nothing more than a second.
I put the broom back on its place at the side of the cart and pushed it towards the next room.
This wasn’t the first time I had to push a cart like this. I’ve lived as a janitor most of my life, so I’ve acquired quite a bit of experience when it comes to this particular cart, yet that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the type of cart that holds the dead.
My wife died a few years back, and that’s what opened my eyes to the truth about the universe. The death of someone so close to me, the one who I considered worth more than the entire world, was just as fragile as anything else in this world. So why did I even consider her anything special in the first place? She was no different from the rest of us, she was just... dust.
I stopped pushing the cart and opened the doors in front of me, allowing me to walk into the next room and begin my cleaning.
My initial speeches and conversations on the subject were met with the same reaction everywhere. Fear and rejection.
But who am I to blame them? I anticipated that something like this would happen. After all, it took the death of the one closest to me to open my eyes to the truth, so why should a single stallion’s experiences convince them?
But the rejection hurt nevertheless. I tried to reason with my children and friends, but nopony would listen to me. After a while, they’d just ignore me completely even if I came to them for a different purpose. This only strengthened my beliefs.
After all, what kind of sentient life form would turn down their father and friend because of his beliefs? They wouldn’t, unless our definition of sentient life was wrong. What if sentient life weren’t so special as previously believed? What if the only thing that separated us from the critters was the different arrangements of the dust that made up our bodies?
This was the only explanation that appeared in my mind, and I quickly accepted it. After all, if we really were as special as we said, they wouldn’t have turned me down as harshly as they did.
I finished sweeping the floor, and used the tray to bring up the dust in the trash bag.
“Fitting that I’m sweeping up dust, what with all of the things I’ve been thinking about lately. Not a single day passes by without a thought of Shining Ruby and the dust we’re made of.”
I can’t believe that I used to enjoy life as much as I did; it was completely ludicrous that I managed to live a lie for so long. A filter had been pulled down over my eyes, blinding me from the truth. That filter consisted of all the ponies I cared for, as well as the feelings I harbored for them.
My love for my wife brought a fake joy into my life, preventing me from seeing the truth about our composition. The friendship with my colleagues and my neighbors blinded me from the fact that there’s no meaning to our existence. The belief that my family would stay together, no matter what happened, only managed to strengthen the ignorance that I had built up over the years.
I placed the tray back up on the cart, and started pushing it in the direction of the next room on the list. Having an organized work schedule was the only thing that managed to keep me alive and kicking. My realization about the universe had completely pulled out all the motivation I had to live. It was, after all, completely useless to go on.
But despite everything, I still managed to get some slight, if almost non-existent enjoyment out of planning and scheming. It was one of the few things about my miserable life that actually seemed to have some meaning.
Because the act of planning mundane tasks in detail brought me such enjoyment, I would often take much pride in scheming my work schedule with even more perfection than I did the normal tasks, such as eating, drinking, showering and shopping.
I had even made plans for the different routes I would take on my cleaning shifts at the Royal Canterlot Palace. I had made several routes that adapted to the different situations that I could encounter. The different plans were made for the sole purpose of keeping me alone all while I cleaned.
It all required complete discipline though. One mistake, and I the entire plan would fall apart. If I lost a tool or dropped my layout of the building, I might end up in the worst possible situation: in front of another pony.
Satisfied with my location in the new room, I brought the cart to a stop and reached down to grab the broom, only to grab thin air.
“What?”
I walked out to the side to see the broom, but it wasn’t there. The broom weren’t attached to the cart, so I couldn’t continue with the plan. If I had lost something else, I might be able to continue, but not without the broom.
Had it been the map, I could’ve continued as I had long since memorized the layout of the palace. Had it been the lantern that the castle staff had attached to the cart, I could continue as the light from Luna’s moon would provide enough light for me to work.
But without the broom, I couldn’t even work. My job as a janitor was to sweep up all the dust in exchange for a few bits as well as an apartment in the outer parts of the Royal Palace. But how could I possibly sweep up dust without a broom?
Frantically, I took the lantern and trotted around the room, searching for the broom. But it wasn't there.
“Of course it’s not in this room, I just walked in here. I must’ve lost it further back.”
As I walked towards the door connecting the room to the previous room, memories of the broom flew through my mind.
But it was still just a regular broom. It was made to sweep up dust, despite it being made of dust itself. So why did I care for it so? What was so special about this particular patch of dust?
I walked through the doorway and entered the last room. Instantly, I started my search. Darting off to the right, I nervously shook my head left and right, hoping to find the broom standing in a corner.
Realizing it wasn’t there, I turned around to continue my search at the other part of the room.
“I need that broom. I can’t lose it! I need to find her broom!”
“...her broom…”
The moment I realized why the broom meant so much to me, I stopped in place, incapable of moving. I had been shutting off the entire world for so long, yet this single broom was one thing that I couldn’t discard.
For so long, I had believed that nothing in the world mattered, yet this one broom meant more to me than the entire world. Why did I love it as much as I did? What unique property did this broom possess so that I needed it as much as I did?
I had already remembered why just a second earlier, yet it never really struck through my skull before I uttered the words aloud.
“It was her broom. It was Shining Ruby’s broom.”
As tears started to cloud my vision, my body shook all over. At the end of the sentence, my speech had become a little shaky, and if I had continued speaking, that effect on my voice would only amplify over time.
Slowly, memories of our life started flowing through my mind like water would flow through a river on a wet autumn day.
***
Our first encounter at the Grand Galloping Gala forty two years ago. Neither of us were invited to the party, we just served drinks for everypony. We only noticed each other because we bumped into one another, causing me to fall for her. Both literally and figuratively.
Our first kiss during the Nightmare Night a few months later. We had been dating for weeks, but neither of us had taken the initiative to show our affections towards one another in such an intimate way. In the end, she had been the one to do so, much to the amusement of my fellow waiters.
The evening I proposed to her a year and a day later. We had spent the entire day cleaning up after the festivities the night before, and she was frantically looking for anything she might have overlooked. Getting her attention, I bowed down and presented the one thing she had missed in the day.
Our marriage half a year later. We were wed two weeks into January, which allowed the snow to cover her in a makeup much more beautiful than anything the nobles could buy with all of their bits.
The first foal we had almost two years later. It was a little pegasus, just like her mother.
***
All of these memories reminded me why I loved the world and the things in it. They all reminded me that the reason I started questioning it wasn’t the world itself, but rather a noble who thought it would be funny to take his airship out for a spin while drunk.
In his ethanol-induced mind he had crashed the ship into our house, crushing my beloved Shining Ruby between the ground and the hull of the ship, killing her instantly.
All of these memories reminded me that I still had family that lived, and that they waited for the day I would return home. In my sorrow I had withdrawn myself, allowing myself to grow nihilistic.
As I opened my eyes, I had to clear them of tears several times before I could even see the room around me. As I did I saw the broom lying on the ground, just a meter away.
Walking over to it, I picked up the broom. My eyes fell upon the inscription carved with care into the handle.
From a loving wife to her beloved husband