The room was black, all black. It had been so forever, but not before yesterday. Or was it the day before yesterday? Either way, it had been forever, the black room. Stick knew this, he knew it very well – it was all he knew. It was all he cared to know.
There was something familiar to all this, he had to admit. And yet it was different.
“Cent, vent, tent,” he muttered while finishing his work. This knife wasn’t as sharp the one Trail had ruined, but it would do nonetheless. It would because it had to.
The cutie mark, or the piece of skin which Stick hoped to contain Ember Trail’s cutie mark, came off with a wet smack. He put down the blade, groped around a moment and then put the piece of flesh in a jar with some liquid inside. He closed it tightly.
A job well done, he thought to himself.
Yes, answered another voice. Good work. Good Stick. My good Stick.
He smiled faintly.
Now, all but one more thing.
He staggered up and took the jar to the room with all the rest. Trail’s cutie mark sloshed around gently as he set it in a circle with all the rest. There were five of them. With his mind’s eye, he could see them glowing.
He fumbled his way back. It took a few minutes, but finally he found the other corpse. By the softness of its fur, he could tell it was the right one. And of course the belly was telltale enough. Holding his breath, he pressed his ear against bloody fur.
From the absolute stillness, there came a beat. A rhythm that only a heart can make. A heart in its making, really, but a heart nonetheless. He raised the knife. And started working.
For the future. For the future. For the grand, brand new Future.