A Short Story
MLP: FiM Fic by Mr.Dependable
February 7th 2012
There are multiple words that define this simple state.
Dead air, quiet, calm, serene, mute and his personal favorite…
Reticent: inclined to be silent or uncommunicative.
Many ponies had their own exclusive interpretations of the innocent prohibition of sound. For some it was the comforting and soothing sound of their mother’s words, as she wrapped them around their heads like silk ribbon, and fervently rocked them off to a state of peaceful slumber. For others it was the unremitting clack of wooden wheels against carefully laid cobblestone, as carriages lazily slipped by their open windows in the late afternoon. While these were serene and beautiful in their own environments, they did not conciliate with his own interpretations.
Snow swiftly whisked around his face, captivating the desolate figure with their hypnotizing display of placidity and blithe. Large fat flakes pirouetting around each other, inattentively discovered their final resting places with grace and fortitude. Some would say that snow is random and sporadic, unpredictably seasonal. But to him, every single fiber of the frozen precipitation, cascading down from the heavens like a natural stage curtain, had a purpose. Whether it was to captivate and alleviate a wandering soul lost in thought and volatile memories. Or to simply fall to the ground and dispense itself to the thousands of tiny white frozen cotton balls, which blanketed the rolling hills and vast planes like a lavish duvet.
It was unknown to him whether the snows twisting decent was the sturdy and ethereal hand of fate, which seemed to remind that it controlled your life through subtle yet noticeable actions of alacrity. Or if they independently decided the path they would humbly glide upon, like petite sparrows on a tepid spring breeze. Whatever the answer to his stupefying conundrum was, he would continue to ponder upon the motives behind the most mundane and universal process… life. However, while there were an abundance of possibilities and candidates, one answer was much more tantalizing then the others. The proposal that every sentient being had a purpose was consolidating and calming to him. If it weren’t for that ideology, he would have been consumed by the sorrow that had manifested itself on his soul like an iniquitous black leach. Everything and anything that occurred was carefully thought out and planned by a mysterious entity that guided them. Whether it was something as simplistic and mundane as brushing your teeth in the morning, or sustaining a certain standard of personal cleanliness, too the extremity of a broken bone or the debilitating and depressing juncture of life and death. Nothing was given or taken, lost or found without a purpose, there were always ulterior reasoning’s to what might seem to be the most straightforward of events.
He sighed, watching his respiration collide with the bitter cold and crystallize instantaneously. It danced insolently before him, curling and arching it’s magnificent and captivating form, enfolding his frigid runny nose before dissipating into the algid night amongst the snowflakes. This was his silence, his serenity. Mother nature masterfully used each of the elements in her orchestre de la nature to create the most serene yet vivid winter sonata. The destitute ringing in his ears setting the stage for what would be his favorite performance. The snow, which solemnly drifted to the ground, acted as a resplendent and lively melody. The clouds, heavy and disheartening, constructed the fathomless and booming bass line. The moon, which was incandescent and alluring, beamed an angelic and pious harmony. And the landscape… with trees drooping under the suppressive weight of frozen fluffy precipitation, and hills and plains and mountains enshrouded by the weighty white eclipsing snow. Provided the depth and iridescence that built suspense with each passing moment.
Bestowing himself a moment of pure self-indulgence, the solitary figure imprinted against the bleak late night landscape, sombrely consumed every morsel of the delicate silence. It was hard to find, forced to hide itself from the brutish and invasive cacophonies of the city, which washed through every nook and cranny, crevasse and valley. However, the scarcity of the complete lack of sound made the occasion much more potent.
He sighed once more, admiring the condensation, which appeared again before him. His moment of solitude was nearing an unfortunate end, and the winter sonata was coming to a dramatic close. As the arpeggiaic crescendo of nature’s elements concluded the awe worthy presentation, he resumed his march of melancholy.
Each boot print he made left a shattered piece of his forlorn emotions behind like a trail of insipid breadcrumbs. If one were to follow the path of impressions against the frozen tundra, you would see that his march began at an aged, prodigious oak tree. A tree that accommodated books of unfathomable knowledge, which had been obtained through years of scrutinous labor by a certain dark heliotrope unicorn and her dragon. The footprints, if not covered by the unrelenting snow, will guide you along a path to multiple different homes and resting places of the ones who he once held dear.
The first, a tall grand building with beautiful décor, sat desolate and lifeless. The vibrant colours that seemed to resonate from the dressmaker’s home had grown dull and became stale over time. Magnificent cascading dresses sat unattended to, ignored, gathering dust as they sank into the eerie swallowing darkness of the unoccupied building. His heart ached in longing; the one who he had yearned for returned his undying emotions of affection at one time, only for a short period, but a period nonetheless. It were these short moments of ecstasy which made her passing that much more grievous. Memories of times long ago, and moments long passed reminded him of how fortunate he had been. Friends so caring and generous, friends he would never see the spark of life in again. From their point of view, the gift time bestowed upon him was a blessing, not having to worry about aging and fulfilling your dreams in a small period of time called life. But his extended death sentence was not a blessing, it was damnation. A personal hell filled with the pain and suffering of watching your most cherished friends whither and die while you stayed young.
From there you will observe the boot print trail along a winding path, taking you through the desolate and lifeless streets of the usually bustling and upbeat town. You will venture past an aberrantly pink bakery, were the impressions in the snow stop and angle you towards what used to be a boisterous and heartening favorite spot of his. The trail will continue, and guide you out of the peaceful town, and stop at the subtle cottage of a Pegasus, who used to be filled with more kindness and purity than the entirety of Equestria’s population. It will double back and twist its way towards a quaint and honest farmstead, with decorticating aged paint peeling down the sides of a crimson barn. And finally, before they veer off the path and take you into the Cimmerian and foreboding depths of the Ever-free forest, they will pause and turn themselves to an unnaturally vacant spot in the sky, where a large cloud used to be moored.
He gazed back at the depressions in the snow he had so casually discarded behind him. The long path to solace was one of misery and sacrifice, and those who were unfortunate enough to find themselves traveling down it suffered severely. He could see the trees, which lumbered over him with what seemed to be disapproval, part ways to permit access to a desolate and barren clearing. The moonlight streamed through the breaking canopy like a hot poker punching holes in thick compacted snow. Nothing could be heard save for the continuous crunching of freshly fallen snow under his heavy and oppressive boots. He paused for a moment at the edge of the clearing, his heart torn between sorrow and consternation. With a hesitant step, the single conscious being at this time of night, began what felt like a blistering journey across thousands of miles of frozen wasteland. The snow blinding him, as tunnel vision focused his gaze upon a solitary disheartening slab of stone. The wind howled in consonance with his outstanding emotions of utter sorrow. If anyone were observing his trek across the open field, they would be under the impression that imaginary tethers tied to the earth itself were wrapped around his body. Every step seemed to require the complete depletion of his energy, however defying what his actions displayed, he was strong and ready to face what lay ahead.
His rhythmic steps stopped, and the world was once again devoid of the smallest sounds. He was alone, the snow flitting to the earth in sympathetic correlation to his heartbeats. Kneeling to the ground he allowed a tear to dauntingly play across the features of his matured face. It slid gracefully down his winter jacket and stained the snow with a splash of suppressed emotion and the smallest hint of sorrow fuelled dismay. He meticulously laid a tightly bound bouquet of fiery red roses upon the gentle and subtle knoll that sat before him. Just 6 feet away from his emotional demonstration, lay the one he regarded as his mother, in repose. There was viable reason not to see her as one; but she was his most cherished friend from the beginning of his life to the end of hers, and the unconditional love they cultivated was unequivocally that of a mother and son. Memories of adventures and revivifying moments flashed like a silent movie across the front of his mind. She had raised him, cared for him, and loved him more than any other pony he had ever met or will meet. She was truly his mother, not through blood, but through the extraordinary magic of friendship.
Shuddering sobs echoed through the destitute forest and bounced across the trees, which surrounded the peaceful spot where the unicorn and the dragon had frequented so many years ago. After several harrowing moments, his lament slowed and ceased, for there was no need to weep anymore. It was like she had always said.
“There is a reason and explanation for everything Spike, at the moment it might not be clear why, but fate will enlighten you in time. Till then, you will never know what lies ahead, only what is happening at the moment.”
The time for remorse and mourning had passed. While his friends may be absent physically, they would always leave a lasting impression on the heart and soul of the young adult dragon, who matured much slower than his friends. Rarity, Fluttershy, Rainbow, Applejack, Pinkie and Twilight may be gone, but the memories of the time spent together lived on, and there were still others. Scootaloo, Apple Blossom and Sweetie Belle were still young and saturated with buoyant energy, and there was so much time to spend together… so many things to do.
As he turned from his closest and oldest friends final resting place… his mothers final resting place, he smiled as tears of acceptance and happiness slipped down his cheeks, like a gurgling creek down an arduous slope. He could hear her soft, loving and comforting voice, just as clarion and pleasant as if she was still standing beside him.
“Come on Spike… Let’s go find an adventure.”