And here it is: the beautiful sight I’ve been looking for all day.
Slowly drifting toward the horizon; just like it always used to. Though the scene is marred by overcast and morose skies, I can still find a bizarre elegance in it.
What a beautiful sunset. I always found them...symbolic, that their meaning went beyond the end of a day.
They used to be accompanied by so many sounds: the chirping birds as they set down to sleep, the gentle crash of liquid over a waterfall, or else the sound of a mother’s lullaby drifting out of a happy home. Yet now, the only sound that reaches my ears is the sound of-
Silence.
All that’s left in this world is silence.
What a beautiful, bittersweet sunset.
None of us ever believed she could become what she did...yet here I am; here we all are.
A long time ago, entire crowds would come out to protest. Our signs would blanket the streets at these lurid “celebrations” of death and totalitarianism, and their cries would drown out the sound of her voice.
The next day, they would drift in the air with the rest.
And the outcry would grow louder still. Single corpses became piles, became molehills, became mountains. Acrid smoke would billow through the air, its post-mortem stench a reminder of the consequences that awaited all those who dared to defy her. Their lives meant nothing to her; they were no more important than ants to a colt with a magnifying glass. All that mattered was her grip on the world.
And yet...continued. One brave soul turned to a dozen, then hundreds, then thousands. Our demonstrations would line the streets, only to be broken when we hurried back to our hideouts at the sight of that flowing, periwinkle mane. She would flit through the crowds, casting the bodies of our loved ones aside without a second glance. The few unlucky souls that failed to evade capture or be killed at the scene now float gently above our heads, their immobile hooves swaying in the evening breeze.
A single drop of rain lands on my coat as I’m shoved from the back of the cart. My chains clink menacingly around my brutalized appendages as I’m pushed along the path. Though ten thousand pairs of eyes follow me as we weave through the crowd, a pin would shatter the air like a crack of thunder was one to fall. The vociferous silence is a testament to the fear that plagues their hearts in her presence.
A shadow is cast over the entourage flanking me on all sides, blocking out the remaining . As I cast my glance upward, I find the source of the darkness: a sign, painted in crimson over crude wood.
“An example”
Beyond the notice are five mares floating gently in the direction the wind dictates. The first dangles upside down, a rotting piece of fruit shoved unceremoniously into her mouth. All four of her limbs are bound in the shape of a suckling pig. A sign hung on a metal chain strains against her bruised neck:
“She became the sin she committed”
She would feed apples to the starving.
The next hangs right side up, her hooves pointed lamely at the ground. Her pink mane and tail have been sheared off, and cloth streamers have been wrapped around her limbs, cutting off the circulation she no longer has.
A note has been slashed into the hair on her stomach:
“Her celebrations were her destruction”
She would throw parties in protest of the new regime.
A white light passes over my eyes; even though the now fading sunlight, it seems dimmer than I remember.
This mare’s face has been sickeningly carved with all manner of knives, disfiguring her otherwise beautiful appearance. Her gleaming white coat now lays stained sanguine and pewter.
“Beauty in defiance”
She would use her image on pamphlets for the resistance.
A flash of blue enters my vision as we progress. Above me hangs a pony of brightest blue, her immovable face frozen in an eternal expression of pondering. She is suspended by her fore-hooves, spread eagle in the air. Where wings could be found on her sky blue body, nothing more than bloody stumps remain.
“A bird caged for her actions”
She would rescue ponies thrown off cliffs.
A final body dangles from the wooden pole. Her eyes are forever open, that marred coat sister in color with her violet eyes. Though her lids are open, no emotion remains in her dead expression. The spike that once adorned her head is now nothing more than a single magenta shard.
“Power abused”
She would transport ponies out of Equestria.
She was the first. From miles away in our hiding place, we heard the screams, the strident sound that iron on ivory wrought. We recognized her defiant cries. She would never break our bond, even in the face of harrowing torment. And beyond all else, we knew that everlasting silence, the confirmation that we would never again see that violet glow or striped mane again.
I was different after that day. We all were.
I bow my head in gentle sobs as the hoofsteps of my guard shift the gravel beneath us.
They’ll remain there forever, magically preserved; this macabre work of “art” will be a testament to her actions for generations. A reminder.
Our narrow path through the crowd begins to widen, finally dispersing into a tightly woven circle. All eyes follow me as I near the wooden structure at the circle’s center, upon which a dark hued banner has been hung:
“Silence is the pathway to life”
The four ponies that have encircled me disperse as we approach; their leader tosses his head in the direction of a crude staircase.
“She’s waiting for you.”
My expression morphs into one of deepest loathing. I grit my teeth and shrug off the hold he has on my bindings, pushing him aside as I approach the staircase. The sound of my hooves on the steps echo like a fist pounding on a wooden door, desperate to escape; their sound is all too similar to the sound of blood through my veins, carrying my hatred for her.
As I reach the top step, I step gingerly around the bodily fluids that stain the dark wood.
“It took us quite a while, didn’t it Fluttershy?”
I lift my head to look my captor in the eye. There she stands, shining white as a silk sheet. Her demeanor is not one of anger or disdain, but rather one of shameless curiosity.
“I’ve been waiting for this day for years,” she whispers. “I’m just amazed it took so long. I guess all those years spent as a coward helped you stay hidden, hmm?”
“Says the alicorn that won’t go out in public without a platoon of soldiers,” I burst out before I can stop myself.
I let slip the tiniest cry of pain as she strikes me across the face. A single stallion growls in the crowd beyond.
“You’ve certainly gotten yourself a mouth, haven’t you?” she says coolly. “I expected that out of the others, but you…you’re fascinating.”
“Oh?” I reply, matching her tone. “Do tell.”
“I expected you to be the first to accept my offer…or at the least the first to be captured. And yet here you are: the last of the six.”
“Accept your offer?” I scoff. “I-“
“Oh, I know, I’ve heard it all before.” Her lips curve into a sickening smile. “’I’ll never do that, these ponies are my friends!’”
“And is what you are any better?” I demand fiercely. “Is it any better to know every one of your subjects despises you?”
She tilts her head to the side, raising her eyebrows in feigned shock. “Do they now?”
Taking care to tread on one of my hooves as she passes, Celestia steps to the end of the wooden platform.
“How about it, fillies and gentlecolts?” she bellows to the assembled crowd in a voice fitting a tyrant. “Would anypony like to speak on her behalf? Speak out against my rule? Perhaps you’d like to join her!”
She raises a hoof high, wearing an expression of genuine expectation.
“My goodness, nopony wants to defend her?” she mocks.
She turns so quickly I scarcely notice one of her fore-hooves rocketing toward me. Our bones collide with a crack worthy of a lightning bolt. Still restrained by the links of steel around me, I land with a thud on the unforgiving lumber.
“Do you understand? You’re alone,” she whispers as she bends toward me. “You have nothing. Four years you spent desperately vying for support, searching for some way to end my ‘authoritarian rule,’ and you haven’t got a single pony behind you. They’re loyal to me.”
She places a hoof over my neck. “Why did you do it?” she asks as she applies pressure to my windpipe. “You could have had everything, don’t you see that? Look at yourself: chained and beaten because you wouldn't give up those ridiculous morals of yours.”
“Do you understand?” I manage under the increasing weight of her hoof. “Look around you, Celestia! These ponies don’t care; you don’t really have their loyalty. If these bodies weren’t strung up like marionettes, everypony in this godforsaken world would have a knife to your throat! Who’s really pathetic?”
Her expression freezes as if petrified, yet she struggles for words. “I-“
“You what?” I demand. “You thought it was all for the greater good, when your castle is lined with the coats of your victims? When the smoke from mass cremations causes as many deaths as the murders you committed in the first place?
“What are you?” My question is nothing short of a plea. “You used to care about us; we used to matter to you! When along the road did you decide power and wealth were more important?”
“Give it a rest,” she groans. “Nopony asked you to turn into a drama queen.”
“Drama queen?” I ask incredulously. “I’m a drama queen for disapproving of this? Explain yourself,” I beg.
I gesture toward the crude signs as best I can. Her eyes follow my hoof to the sign: “Power Abused.”
“Twilight betrayed me,” she whispers. “She contradicted me over and over. She helped those traitors escape!”
“She cared! She saw what you were becoming and wanted to stop you before it was too late!”
“She tried to kill me!” Celestia bellows.
“You’re wrong,” I shake my head and let the water drip from my eyes. “That was a misunderstanding. She just wanted to help!”
“Twilight got what she deserved.” She lifts her head indifferently.
“You MUTILATED HER!” I shriek in a voice almost too loud to be my own. “We were there that night, and we heard the screams from a miles away!”
“She was a traitor!”
“She was one of the only truly loyal ponies left in this empty world.”
Our deathly stares meet as Celestia’s horn begins to glow.
“What about Applejack?” I implore her before she can complete her spell. “Why did she deserve to die?”
“That famine was a message to the resistance,” she replies coldly. “They needed to understand the seriousness of their actions. Applejack ruined everything.”
“She deserved to die because she didn’t want t see fillies and colts starve?” I ask as rain begins to pound our platform.
Celestia takes on a persona of intense scrutiny, as if she’s attempting to burn holes through me with her gaze. Without another word, she crosses behind me; I can just make out the sound of a rope being twisted and tied through the deafening beating of my heart.
“What about Pinkie?” I shout, more to the crowd than to her. “Did you enjoy killing a pony who never did anything more than enjoy life? Did it warm your heart to see her body grow cold?”
Celestia steps back into my field of vision brandishing a loop of rope.
“How about Rarity and Dash? Did they deserve to be hung because they didn’t want to see any more death?”
“It would be useless to try to explain to you,” she sighs. “You wouldn’t understand. I was trying to create a utopia. You and your…your friends made that impossible.”
“Equestria was a utopia! Is murdering everypony but your soldiers a perfect world? What about torture?” I scoff. “I guess you’re right: I wouldn’t understand.”
Celestia’s horn glows as though a sunbeam, and the noose coils itself around my neck like a snake. At this sight, I hear a greater mumble of discontent. “Why are you so intent on losing your life for them?” she asks with the deadliest of expressions. “Why are they worth it?”
“Because I believe in a world where you don’t need to cower in order to survive.”
“But you didn’t need to cower,” she appeals, a sliver of regret touching her pursed lips. “I offered you so much; all I wanted was your loyalty.”
“You wanted me to become a monster like you,” I spit out viciously. “Someday, ponies and their children will stand over your grave and laugh at your pain, but we’ll be remembered forever.”
She raises her eyebrows. “We’ll see.”
The rope tightens further, nearly cutting off my airflow as Celestia walks to my right. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her standing next to a wooden handle, jutting out of the gallows like a knife.
"Are you afraid, Fluttershy? Who knows what's beyond this place?"
“Afraid?” I laugh derisively. “Why would I be afraid? I’ll get to see them again. We’ll look down on you and nod in approval when you finally fall. Best of all, we’re not the last you’ll see. You’re doing this as if we’re the only ponies who want to see you dead. I’ll have my friends in just moments, Celestia; what will you have when you’re gone?”
“When I’m gone? Look around! Not one of these ponies dared to offer you help, or has put up more than the most trivial resistance. You’re alone.”
I shake my head with a menacing smile. “You’re wrong; in clap of a hoof, you’ll have the same problem we gave you return tenfold. I just wish I could be here to see you taken down.”
I turn to the crowd before she can complete the execution. “Do you understand? This is what she wants for all of us! She may say you’ll be spared if you don’t resist, but one day, she’ll see us all dead.”
Mutterings of loathing sweep through the whole of the assembly; expressions of fear turn to expressions of hatred.
“If we don’t give ourselves up to put an end to it, you’ll all meet the same fate.”
I can hear Celestia chuckle to my right. “A nice little spee-“
“Give her justice!” I bellow. “Prove there are still morals left in those who are willing to fight for them!”
The circle begins to shrink as the ponies at the very front step forward.
“That’s right,” I say finally, tears lining my eyes. “Do you get it now, Celestia? I’m was never alone; whether it’s today or in one hundred years, someone will put a stop to-“
The sound of shifting wood penetrates my ears; the floor slips out from underneath me before I can complete my monologue. For the briefest second, I attempt to pull myself back into the air. Yet the chains are too strong.
I hear a deafening crack as I fall to the end of the rope, yet there’s another sound: ten thousand voices that are no longer bound by fear of the unknown. Though my body now hangs immobile, my vision and hearing remain unbroken. Their thunderous salvo assaults my ears, washing out her satisfied voice as they charge forward. My vision begins to darken as I let loose my last gasp, yet I can hear it: the wooden frame of the gallows is being torn apart piece by piece, the crashing sound mingling with her screams.
A tiny smile touches my lips even as my eyelids slide shut.
I feel myself slip away as her cries ring into the night, and as the thunderous cries of long awaited liberty fill the evening sky.
She’s right: I’ll hang here forever, an example to all those who dared defy her. An example of justice, of the will that never dies and of the everlasting silence that’s everlasting no more.
We are utopia. Not a place, but a people: the brave few who challenged the norm that her utopia created. We paid in blood and tears to see the world changed for the better...yet I know none of us would see it done another way.
Maybe they’ll leave us here when she’s gone: a place where our cold flesh will be a reminder of the price we paid, of the duty that calls us all to be selfless.
And here it is: the silver lining I’ve been seeking for four years. It’s just the end of another day, Fluttershy.
Her rule, slowly drifting toward the horizon; just like I always dreamed. All it took was the right motivation; they had the strength all along. Though the scene is marred by death and pain, I can still find a morbid allure in it. A hope.
Maybe the sounds will come back; maybe a filly will hear her mother sing again. Maybe they’ll hear the bird songs, or the gentle sound of a waterfall, and the lives we never got to experience. Maybe they’ll carry on our example. Maybe the world will be different...better.
I’ll always wonder...
Oh, what a beautiful, bittersweet sunset.
The End