//------------------------------//
// The Flame 
// Story: My Life as a Receptionist in the Afterlife 
// by Another Army Brony 
//------------------------------//


The Flame


Echoing my somewhat paranoid fear from earlier, the door opened and wisps of smoke coiled out of the elevator. The stallion within stumbled forth into the light, coughing heavily as tendrils of smoke curled out of his muzzle with each spasm. Had I not seen him emerge, I might have been convinced that the entire place was about to go up in flames. Except for the fountains, of course. Those would probably be fine. But everything else! 

I shook my head to clear out my thoughts. This coffee was not doing me any favors, though it had seemed like a good idea at the time. I was still sitting behind the desk amidst a slew of crumpled paper cups containing the dregs of my coffee binge, contemplating walking over to welcome this new guest. As his coughing slowed and then ceased, he took a few deep breaths to gather himself as he began frantically looking around, searching for something. His eyes locked on mine as he began to pull himself to his hooves and stumble in my direction. 

"Miss! Miss, have you seen any foals come through here?"

I felt a stab of pain at his question, and I couldn't help but wince. Though he was still quite far away, he caught sight of my grimace and collapsed to his knees, his head drooping in defeat as he stared at the ground.  In the preternatural silence, I was barely able to catch what he said next.

"I failed. I didn't get to him in time."

There was a ray of hope in my heart as I heard this, one that lifted my spirits as I found that I finally had good news for the dead.

"The foal that came through here was a filly, not a colt."

The stallion's head snapped up to look at me, his expression torn between hope and grief. 

"There was a filly? There wasn't a colt, are you sure of it?"

"Mister, I'm perfectly capable of telling the difference between a colt and a filly. She was a filly, no two ways about it."

His shoulders slumped once more in relief, instead of grief.

"Oh, thank Luna."

At this, I cocked an eyebrow, shooting him a dangerous glare. Catching sight of my expression and realizing what he'd said, the stallion quickly began to verbally backpedal.

"I- no, not like that. I wasn't thanking Luna that it was a filly, just that it wasn't a colt. I mean, it's terrible that she died, but at least it wasn't him..."

My glare could have curdled milk at this point, and he gulped heavily as he tried to dig himself out of a hole. I knew what he probably meant but this, but what he meant and what he was saying were two different things.

"What I meant to say is, that it's terrible for any foal to die. It's just that I was more concerned with him, because he's the one I'd been trying to save."

My glare melted into a dumbfounded stare as the implications of his words had registered in my head. First, he knew he was dead, and had accepted that. Secondly, even though he had only just died, his first concern was to see if the colt had lived or not, instead of groveling or lamenting his own death. I had no words to describe his selflessness. As my glare died, I could hear him sigh in relief and begin to climb back to his hooves. My own hooves were shaking as I flipped open the Codex. I had to know, for his benefit as well as mine, whether the colt survived. Just because he wasn't here didn't mean he lived; he could simply be the pony another receptionist needed to meet. Flipping open the Codex revealed not the biography page that it usually did, but a newspaper clipping instead. Where Sage's had been the tragic tale of a father who'd seen his only child stolen from this life, the article for this stallion was a farewell to a veritable hero.

In what is perhaps one of the most tragic acts of heroism and selflessness ever witnessed, a local stallion has died a hero's death. Any problem, big or small, Sam Cross will help with them all. His dependability was so well known to the community that it was made into a foal's rhyme. In the twenty six years that he has lived in this town, his name has become synonymous with lending a helping hoof, with truly being the embodiment of the Equestrian Creed. To many, being called a "good Sam" is a badge of honor, the mark of one who has become a pillar of the community. And it was by doing precisely what he had always done that Sam Cross has become more than a local folk-hero. With his last deed in this life, he has become a legend among ponies. He stands alone as an ambassador of our Beloved Princesses by his deed and virtue.

Sam Cross did not intend to become a hero that day, but he rose to the challenge set before him instead of shying away from it. When the Daffodil home caught fire three days ago, he was one of the first to smell the smoke and rush to help. When he arrived there were already two ponies on the scene, but they had fled the flames and were not in any shape to provide assistance. Hearing cries from within, Sam did the only thing he knew; he helped. He ventured into the burning home not once, not three times, but four. As a direct result of his courage, three ponies are alive today who would not have been otherwise. As he carried the last mare from the house, she began to cry out for her son, begging for him to be brought to her. Without a moment's hesitation, Sam rushed back into the flames in search of the colt. By a wicked twist of fate, the smoke inhalation caused a tragic misunderstanding and sent Sam in search of a colt who was in school at the time of the fire. The building collapsed shortly after he reentered it. The only victim was the rescuer.

Sam leaves behind a loving wife and beautiful daughter, both of whom feel his loss most acutely of all. For the majority of the town, this final sacrifice was the true mark of a hero, and it solidified his status in their minds as such. To his family, he was already a hero. His death will be felt by all parts of the community, for his charity was far reaching. In this time of pain and loss, please do not overlook those who are hurting the most, who have suffered the greatest loss. 

As I'd read the article, Sam had approached the desk and stood silently on the other side. I wiped the dampness from my eyes, passing the article to him. As he read, I could see the tears fighting to be free, and I could hear the catch in his throat as emotions threatened to overtake him. Once he'd read the article, he slid it back to me across the counter. Silence once more hung heavily in the air as he came to grips with the fact that his wife and daughter had been left behind by his ascension to legend. The solitude stretched on and on, only to be suddenly shattered by a grim chuckle from across the desk.

"Heh... my wife is going to kill me for this."

The absurdity of this was enough to draw a chuckle from me, despite myself. I didn't have time to feel foolish or ashamed of this, for Sam joined in almost immediately. There was a deep and terrible pain present in his laughter, but he laughed in spite of it. Sometimes, when everything was going wrong and it all seemed like too much to take, you needed to either laugh or cry. Sam had chosen the former, had chosen to giggle at the ghosties. I couldn't thank him enough for that, for reminding me that sometimes, you just have to smile.

Our mirth wound down as the harsh reality settled back in, driving away the laughter. It was again Sam who spoke first, preempting the awkward silence.

"So what now?"

Perhaps it was the way his ability to laugh in spite of the pain he was feeling, or maybe it was the caffeine. Either way, I smiled at him and offered him the improbable.

"Coffee?"

In a beautiful role reversal, this time it was he that laughed first, and I joined him again. Cutting off quite abruptly mid-giggle,  I shocked him into silence for a second by my coffee fueled subject changing.

"Hehehe-- no, but seriously. I have coffee."

He just nodded his head blankly for a second as the words registered, and when they did, he broke out in a wide smile. As I emerged from the closet with a pair of cups balanced on my back, I was met by a warm smile and a simple declaration.

"I do love me some coffee."

"As do I," I replied with a smile. My smile was matched by his as we sat down together on the nearby bench. 

The first few moments passed in silence as we each enjoyed the coffee. Hesitantly, I ventured to break the stillness around us.

"So, it seems that you've done a great many good things in your life. You've helped a lot of ponies and set an example for generations to come."

Sam deflected the compliment with a wave of his hoof. "I've only ever done what needed to be done. There's nothing special about it."

I stopped mid-sip and lowered my cup.  "You see? That's where you're wrong, and also why you're so special. You're right in that there shouldn't be anything special about it, because everypony should always do just that. And yet, they don't. I wish I could say that we always do the right thing, always try to help others in need, but I can't. But you did, Sam. You did."

Sam sat silently through my praises, neither accepting not rebuking them. His gaze fell upon me, unwavering; it was as if he was searching for something. And as I spoke, he seemed to find it. He let the quiet sit between us, neither awkward nor comfortable, just quiet. When he spoke, I was not prepared for what he said, the questions he raised.

"Miss, you seem very passionate about this subject. Why is that?"

I'd been holding his gaze until then, but with his last three words, I couldn't bear it any longer. The demons of my past played in my head, beckoning the memories I'd tried for so long to forget, the selfish act that I'd spent the rest of my life trying to make up for. I had never told a soul about this most shameful part of my life, and I'd spent years covering up the truth to bury the past. And even now, I knew I was about to tell Sam. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to gather my thoughts before speaking. 

"The reason it means so much to me now is that I made a terrible choice when I was younger, one that carried an unfathomable consequence. I'm no master of my craft, I've only been at it for five years or so. When I went on my very first expedition, I was only seventeen, full of confidence and ignorance. I'd come across some information about a small temple to the south of town, one that had escaped notice for so long because of its location; inside the mouth of an Ursa's cave. There was a small village near the cave, and when they learned of my goal, they were very excited. There was a tablet fabled to be lost in the temple, one which held the work of their greatest shaman and the cure to the terrible affliction that plagued their people, and they would give anything to have it. I promised them that I'd bring it back if I found it, and they sang my praises as I hiked towards the cave. I never intended to live up to my promise. After all, it was just a bunch of superstitious nonsense, what did I care? I investigated the cave and came away with a treasure trove of information about other structures in the area. I left the cave with a smile on my face and told the villagers that I hadn't found their tablets, when I in fact hadn't even looked. 

"Three months later, I returned seeking information that I'd mis-copied or lost in my travels. When I got there, the entire village was deserted. I didn't have to look very hard to find the ponies that had lived there. Around their altar there was a ring of bones, the remnants of desperate ponies who had clung to their beliefs in the twilight of their lives. At first, I was repulsed and horrified by the deaths of so many ponies, young and old alike. Upon venturing back into the cave and the temple therein, I found something that hammered home just what I'd done in my blind self interest. Atop the stone altar at the center of the room was a single tablet. Reading the tablet, I found it to be exactly the thing I'd claimed not to find, and it was just what they'd said it was. It was a remedy for what had plagued their village. I'd used it to copy my notes on three months before. My inaction had killed them."

Sam was unusually still for a moment, seemingly lost in thought.  After a spell, he focused his eyes on me once more, looking as if he was on the cusp of understanding.

"So you care so much about helping others and doing the right thing because you remember what happened when you failed to do just that?" 

I nodded. "All I had to do was look for and retrieve the tablet. But I didn't, because it served me no purpose. I'm sure that there were several attempts made to recover the tablet, for many of the pitfalls had fresh victims. In my efforts to hide the terrible thing I did there, I ended up learning just how this had all come to pass. The first to die from the illness was the shaman, the only pony in the village who knew how to safely navigate the traps."

Sam just stared at me with mournful eyes. "So, is that why you are here? As punishment for that deed?"

"Not punishment. Penance. This is the way that I can earn eternal peace. Speaking of which, yours awaits you on the other side of that door there."

Sam didn't even glance at it. Instead, he took my forehooves in his, squeezing them until I met his gaze with mine.

"The story you told me, and the way you told it to me... I have no doubt that you have done a terrible thing. What I also have no doubt of is that you have suffered greatly for it, made great strides to make it right. If you had not, then you wouldn't be here. But you are not alone in this. We all have regrets, no matter how much we claim not to."

I wiped a tear from my eye as I held his gaze. I think that we both knew what I was about to ask.

"Even you, Sam?"

He sighed, his gaze faltering for a moment before returning, every bit as firm as before.

"How could I not? My biggest regret is that I left my wife as a widow, my daughter without a father. I saved lives, this is true... but I couldn't save the one that mattered most."

Once more, the stillness set in. There was nothing more to say. Ask any laypony if it was better to lose one and save three than to lose three and save one, and their answer would often match. Three lives outweigh the one. How do I console the one?

"Sam, I don't know what say. You died a hero, earning the respect of hundreds by your actions. But you still died, and you left behind a family. There is no way back, no way to undo death. The only thing left to do is move on. There is nothing for you here except regret and longing. Regret, longing, and coffee."

Sam smiled in spite of it all, and I couldn't hold back a grin of my own. I knew from the moment that he'd made me laugh at the counter why he was a pony that I needed to meet. He was more than the embodiment of what I strove to achieve, more than a role model. He was the one who reminded me to giggle at the ghosties. I walked to the door with him by my side, a quiet resignation plain on his features. Without warning, he turned and embraced me. Though I was shocked, it didn't last long and I soon returned his embrace. There was no romance in this embrace; if I had to ascribe it a quality it would be fatherly. 

Breaking the hug, Sam favored me with a genuinely warm smile. "Here I am, having spent the last who-knows-how-long conversing with you, and it only just occurred to me that I don't know your name."

I smiled back, feeling a spark of happiness for the first time since I'd died. 

"Jade," I said. "My name is Jade."

"Well Jade, it's been a pleasure meeting you, and I thank you for the conversation."

"And you as well."

Sam's face grew serious for a moment, as if he was about to pass on information of great importance.

"Jade, no matter what you feel or think about yourself, remember this: whatever your faults, your shortcomings, your failures... you wouldn't be here if you weren't redeemable. Whatever is out there, whatever powers that be, they have decided you are worthy. Just remember that, and you'll be fine."

I felt a tear welling up and blinked it away, replacing it with a smile.

"You forgot the most important part, Sam."

His serious demeanor faded, a quizzical one taking its place. "Really? What's that then?"

I smiled all the wider. "You have to remember to giggle at the ghosties."

Sam chuckled a bit, nodding as he did. "Well, you seem to be in better spirits now. It would seem that, even in death, I'm still helping ponies." Turning away from me, he propped the door open a bit, shooting me one last smile before he disappeared. 

Humming once more, I set about cleaning up the cups and the spilled drops of coffee across the desk. This job was nothing if not surprising, constantly throwing twists and turns at me, but that was okay with me. At least now, I remembered to whoop it up with the weepy. I was interested to see how a bit of laughter would lighten the mood around these parts. 

For the first time, I found myself looking forward to the ding of the elevator.