//------------------------------//
// XVII: Entry 63 
// Story: Diary of a Young Griff 
// by Isuvyw 
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8th of Midsummermonth

It’s been awfully quiet lately. I haven’t seen much of the wasteponies, or the mechanics. Collier came today, but only just him and another coal pony. The delivery was small, only two barrowfulls worth of coal. He said that miss Hawkrose’s order came only for that amount.

You know what this means right? Less coal = less fire = less hot water = less usage = no need for boiler room. 

The boiler room might close. Now, I don’t care whether the palace needs hot water or not. I’m just happy that we have something to hope – leaving this place. The only time I will actually listen to miss Hawkrose is when she comes in and tells us we are free to go. 

Perhaps the reason why we haven’t seen much of the wasteponies or mechanics is because they’re getting ready to leave. Or they may be leaving already. Oh, this is great. Hey, the future doesn’t look so bad now. I get to leave, I have a baby griff coming soon, and I have a bunch of friends!

Only problem is that I don’t have a place to stay. There could be other griffons, but I’m not so sure. Might have to live on the streets for some time. But hey, it’s better than suffering in here right?

The egg is doing well. Everytime the sun shines on it I see a little griff, sleeping peacefully while floating around in whatever liquid is inside. It doesn’t know that it is inside an egg, or that a mother is waiting for it outside. Or that the world outside is cruel and benevolent at the same time - the only world I can give to my little griff. 

Gravel’s at it again – making stupid jokes and stories so ribald that it makes me blush everytime I think about it. Where he gets it from, I don’t know. Either he learnt it from like-minded creatures around him, or his mares taught him some stuff. 

Yes, I read Gravel’s little “confession,” which he, obviously trying to outwit me, wrote in his northern dialect. Nwil’s on him, I can read and understand north and south dialects. So I perfectly understood everything that he wrote. And may I say, 

What a stud indeed.


***


Hello Eva. You have not heard from me for some time. I’m sorry about that.

I have been feeling very sad, so sad that I cannot find one thing to be happy about. Not even leaving this boiler room. Truly, it is relieving to know we have a chance of leaving, one that I hope will become true for us, but even that does not cheer me up or bring mirth to my soul. 

Maybe talking to you might help me. I already feel the dark tendrils leave and disappear. But who knows they will come back the moment I put the pen down?

I have made good friends with another pony named Pastel. She seems to have what I don’t – life, some cheer, and a good heart. Sometimes, I feel a little bit jealous of her. At other times, I am glad to be friends with her. 

And sometimes, I feel I love her. As a sister. And as one who is smitten. So many feelings rush and foam inside of me. So many kinds of love beguile me. I am lost as to whether I love Pastel as a friend, as a sibling, or as one whom I like. 

I am lost as to whether I even love myself. Because if I do not love myself, how can I love another regardless?

I cannot find any words that properly and truly explain my heart. I cannot find anycreature to talk with to lessen my burden. 

Yet if I lock my heart, I will explode.

I don’t want to die in an explosion. I don’t want to die in a dungeon. I don’t even want to die, but I understand that death is the price one pays to live. The cost of being a living creature is that it must die one day.

If I die, I want to die somewhere peaceful. Surrounded by flowers and grass, seeing the sun set. I want to be buried where the dusk meets the depths. So far, only my land is able to offer such a wish. My land is not one of eternal ice and snow, mind you. There are times when the snow clears and spring arrives. There are times that I lay in a green hill, watching the sun slowly go down over the lakes. I want to die like that.


***

































***


I feel sorry for Sven. He’s having it rough, so rough that he thinks about death. 

I try not to. Mostly because I still have a life ahead of me, and also because I want to be married to a nice mare or griff, and maybe have some fledglings or foals. 

To be honest, I wonder what kind of places I will see after I die. Heaven, perhaps. New worlds maybe? One with singing animals and dancing trees. Maybe one with my own castle or what. I would like an orchard where I can grow my own golden fruits. I sometimes wonder why ponies think Heaven is about sitting in clouds and playing golden harps. There’s gotta be more than that, I’m sure of it.

I hope this fact would cheer Sven up, if nothing else would. That there are new worlds to discover after death. New places to see. New sounds to hear. New smells to smell. And new tastes to taste.

I remember a passage from an Equestrian book that said something like death being another path we have to take. I always thought death was just “poof” and no more. Nothing. Non-existing. It was quite scary to think of it. But now, I think otherwise. Imagine poofing into a place where the grass is golden, and where the sun never sets.