//------------------------------// // The Sleep of Reason // Story: Pony Shorts // by Miyajima //------------------------------// A young, white mare lay in the centre of a field of lush, green grass that swayed in the gentle summer breeze, creating ripples like waves upon the water. Around her were wild flowers that stretched in natural beds across the field, mixing and intertwining, a palette of pastel colours, yellows, purples, whites and rich reds. Above her, the sun stood still in the sky, marking high noon. The sky was cloudless, a perfect azure dome that stretched from horizon to horizon. The young mare stood, and smiled as her pink mane was carried on the strengthening breeze. Her wings unfolded, the feather-tips ruffling as the wind picked up, and she leapt into the air. She felt the air streaming around her, over her, through her mane and tail, as she wheeled through the boundless skies, above the featureless plains. The sun hung motionless in the sky; but there, nearly invisible in the bright blue expanse, lurked a crescent moon. The field beneath the mare began to thin as she flew past, giving way to a winding river. It snaked towards the horizon in all directions, flowing always away from the spot directly beneath the mare. On the continually-shifting banks grew trees, shrubs and bushes, that changed shape and form as they were subsumed by the moving river. In one direction, the river began to dry, and left behind a vast tract of sand, dotted here and there by opportunistic grasses and palms. In another, the river climbed up into the sky, disappearing into a mountain range that rose to meet it. Behind, shrubs became trees, trees became forest, and soon the mare found herself following the only length of the river left unchanged, flowing towards a spot that was indistinguishable and dark. The sun moved. Slowly, at first, but the nearer the mare drew to that widening spot of darkness, the faster the sun descended from its throne, and the brighter the crescent moon grew. Stars pierced the blue veil, spreading drops of purple and orange into what was now a twilight sky. The sun reached the horizon beyond the dark maw, and slipped below the curve of the land. The mare began to see details in the dark. A small clearing amidst trees. A gently flowing brook. Glowing fungi. Flying lights, dancing in the branches of the trees. The glint of glassy dew on the grass. A blue mare, younger than herself, sat in the centre of it all. Her mane was the pale blue of a cloud in the night sky. Her coat, the dark blues of midnight. The mare with the pink mane drew closer to the dark grove, and descended to the ground, gently. Her hooves touched the ground, which felt cold now that the sun's warmth had vanished from it. "Good morning," the younger of the two said. "Good morning," the elder replied, her white coat shining in the dim evening light. She walked to the younger mare, and sat beside her. The two, together and yet alone, watched as the stars grew in size; spreading circles of white that overcame the black sky. As the white reached the horizon, it worked inwards, covering river, mountain and forest, until nothing remained of that dreamlike world except a young, white mare, and her sister. An older mare sat in the centre of a small, cramped room. The grey stone walls, covered in banners bleached by a sunlight that didn't exist, rose away to a ceiling that wasn't there. All that lay above was empty, black space. Around her were scattered papers, scrolls, books, quills and ink. A single empty bottle remained upright, and contained one red rose. A small reminder of a world beyond the walls. On her head was a circlet of gold. It weighed down on her like a millstone. Under its weight, she struggled to her feet, shod as they were in golden manacles. Her hair no longer blew about in the breeze. It flowed, but it was an artificial wind. The rainbow hue of her mane merely exaggerated the grey stone walls. There was no door, and no window. A palatial prison. She walked forward, her head down. The stone moved around her, encasing her, but allowing her the illusion of freedom. A door appeared before her, the wood polished smooth and studded with gold. She opened it and walked through into a corridor so narrow, she could not stretch her wings. Above her, the black roof was filled with eyes. Parchment and ribbon fell from the void, floating like the feathers that fell from her unused wings as she dragged her shackled legs down the polished tiles. Voices clamoured for her ear, shouting meaningless words, rising to an incomprehensible shrieking, until the mare just cried out for it all to stop. She collapsed to the ground. The stone walls crumbled and faded away, and she was on a balcony overlooking a city. Her city. Ponies walked the streets below, busy with their own cares and lives. She longed to join them, but even as she stretched her neck to look out over the balcony's edge, she felt her hooves pulled tight against golden chains that dragged her back, back into the stone corridors lined with taunting glass windows. The sunlight could only enter this world regulated by the confines of glass and lead. Colours were contained in prisms and designs not of her own creation. A window in the distance cracked, and broke. A younger mare stood in the frame as glass shards fell around her. She stretched her wings, and as she flew down towards the elder mare, the stone walls were torn down, allowing streaming sunlight and a fresh breeze to flow into the prison. She landed, surrounded by a halo of blinding radiance, and walked over to the elder mare. She sat down beside her. "Good morning," she said. "Good morning," the elder replied, and her chains melted away. A white mare walked slowly through the corridors of her palace. There was no sound as her golden-shod hooves struck against the marble tiles. She looked up and around her. This wasn't her palace. The walls were wrong. Polished whites had been replaced by midnight hues. Purple and golden banners had been taken down in favour of black and blue. Sunlight did not stream through the stained glass windows, only the pale glow of moonlight. The silence of the hallways was deafening. She kept walking, following what should have been the path to the throne room. As she approached the large double-doors, she noticed that there were no guards. Abandoned lances lay on the floor. Rusting, bronzen armour. There were no signs of a struggle. They were simply gone. The doors swung back. On the throne sat a dark mare in cobalt armour. Her mane streamed around her like the path of the galaxies in the night sky. The light through the windows changed. Pale moonlight became flickering flames. Sound returned to the palace. Screaming. Roaring fires. Chaos. A window fell away and showed the city below, burning. Smoke rose to meet a blood-red moon that hung, suspended, low in the sky. The stars, far from the beautiful patterns they usually took, were alien and strange. They swirled, span, erupted and fell to the ground in streaks of blazing light. The dark mare looked up and saw her sister. The nightmare began to fade, and soon all was white. All that was left were the two mares. "Good morning," the elder said, although her voice lacked conviction. The younger turned her head away, and did not reply. A dark blue mare lay in the dust as she wept. About her was white rock, stretching infinitely toward the horizon in every direction. Craters and ridges marred the surface, casting long shadows everywhere she looked. Above, the stars looked down in judgement, unmoving, uncaring. They did not twinkle and sparkle as they did on the surface of the planet below, a planet no longer visible in the inky expanse of a lunar sky. The sun burned fiercely on the crest of the mountain ridges before her. Not the gentle sun of spring, nor the warmth of a summer sun, the reds and oranges of an autumn sunset, or the weak rays of winter. This sun was a ferocious beast, churning and spitting fire, plumes of liquid flame that arced from the surface. No warmth came from it. The dark mare watered the ground with her tears, and clutched in her hooves a small pebble with a hole in its centre. The sun gave shape to her shadow, which flowed around her like a dark pool. Each tear added to its size as it pulsed with something resembling a heartbeat. The dark mare tried to stop crying, for she knew that if her shadow grew larger, it would soon speak. It would speak of things she wished to forget. Things she did in her anger and jealousy that she regretted with every fibre of her being on this empty, dead rock that she used to love so much. The shadow rose from the surface and took the shape of a larger, black mare in cobalt armour. Green eyes shone in the void that marked her body, and the unforgiving light of the sun glinted on white fangs that flickered in and out of the formless darkness. It smiled as it said, "Good morning." A dark blue mare sat in her rooms at the palace. The décor spoke of the night, the moon, the stars, and the beauty of twilight, dusk and dawn. She looked out of the great window that lead to her balcony, and smiled as she saw the moon - her moon - cresting the far horizon as it entered the young night sky. She rose and walked out onto the balcony, relishing the cool night air as it played with the stars in her mane. The great city stretched away below, and she stood and watched for a moment as the lights in windows and on street lamps awoke in a dance that threaded the roads and alleys of the city. She opened her wings and leapt from the balcony, plummeting with speed towards the gardens below her room, and swooping at the last moment into the air. With a few wing beats, she had reached the cobbled streets of the city, and landed carefully among the crowd. None noticed her. They just continued around their work. Restaurants and cafés working the evening shift were filled with laughing, chattering customers, while vendors standing by the doors hollered and hawked passers by, and each other, in an attempt to increase the night's custom. The dark blue mare walked past them, savouring the smells of delicious soups, stews and hot meals as they wafted through paneless windows into the open street. She watched as workers pulled over the awnings that covered the street, to keep in the warmth, but allowed cracks to remain through which the stars of the night sky could be glimpsed as they reeled and whirled above. She moved to another part of the city. Here, the workers were closing for the night, talking and sharing jokes with their colleagues as they packed away their wares and secured their shops. They left in parties of three or four, walking either to home and to family, or to friends and a night out. A few ponies stopped in the street to admire the cloudless skies as the dark mare passed them. The cobbles beneath her hooves gave way to neatly cut grass, as she found herself in the city parks. Here, couples both young and old sat on the turf, or walked beneath the trees, stargazing and pointing out constellations as they enjoyed each other's company. The dark blue mare was gladdened by what she saw, and continued her walk. As the city moved away from her, she found herself following a once-familiar path by an impossible river that stretched in all directions. In the distance, a spot of light appeared. She continued towards it, as the moon progressed, at the same pace, through the sky above. Stars dimmed and went out. Hues of blue and gold tinged the sky, while the light grew. There was a grove of trees. A brook. They lacked detail, perhaps a mark of a waning imagination, dulled by years of service to an ephemeral people. In the middle of the grove sat an elder white mare, whose mane flowed in the gentle breeze, reflecting all the colours of a soft spring flowerbed. The dark blue mare approached, smiling, and joined the elder white mare. They sat together in silence and watched as the world around them faded into the glory of the dawn. They looked at each other, and said, in unison: "Good morning."