Iron & Mortar
The human lived in the iron city, and he lived all alone.
He no longer had the small, round shape of his fat-faced youth, and when he stood to full height the human was tall and lean and spindly, like a sapling out of its first few years. He stood reared-up on his hind legs, freeing the slightly shorter forelegs to reach and grasp. His stride was smooth despite his lack of a tail for balance.
His hide was the color of bark from a yew tree and had the soft, thin delicacy of a flower petal. The majority of his body had barely any fur to protect him from the elements. A light dusting of fuzz ran along his limbs and a slightly thicker patch of hair trailed his jawline, but that was all. The only true bit of fur on him was a mane of soft, dark curls with the thickness of sheep wool. Against the elements, this meager bit of hair was certainly not enough for the man—even in his sturdy brick shelters—and he wrapped himself in woven cloth and leathers to compensate. In the winter even this was not enough and he often spent his nights curled up tight and shivering in the corners of his buildings.
The human was certainly not the strongest of creatures. At least, not physically. Despite a similar shape to the minotaur, he bore none of their bulk, nor half their strength. He was outpaced by most of his fellow predators: the wolf, the mountain lion, the bear, and even their smaller cousins the cat and coyote left him in the dust. The slowest of ponies could outrun him without going into a trot. His teeth were comically small and practically useless in combat.
From the ends of his arms stretched out thin paws that split into five long, tapering digits ending in blunt little pink claws. They were not unlike a dragon’s claws, though to directly compare the two would be a mistake. The paws had an elegant grace dragons never possessed, their fingers a nimbleness that raccoons only dreamt of and diamond dogs had only in brutish imitation.
Indeed, they were not true paws at all but something else entirely: hands. With them he was able to carry, shape, kill, and create. By their power alone the human called forth fire to be his servant. For him it was a simple manipulation of wood and stone, or the sun and a bit of glass. A puff of air from his lung gave it life and grateful fires crackled tamely for him. Flames grew and shrank and gave off smoke according to only his hands and will.
No horn, no magic, no spells. None at all.
With a slight movement the delicate digits folded under to make a blunt attacking instrument: the fist. In the times just a fist did not suit him—often, for fists were still made of breakable bone—the human simply created something else that worked better.
Every object around him could be manipulated to serve his needs. Metal bent backwards into whatever shape he willed to help him pry open tight spaces or smash in a skull. Born with no claws, the human made his own. He took harmless twigs and sharpened them to sharp spikes to impale flesh. Fiercer still, the human bent and sharpened his metals into blades sharp as griffon talons. Weapons in hand, he tore through the other animals fierce as any other predator, catching them by surprise in traps and throwing his sharp twigs into the air to make kills even when he was far away.
The river along the east side of his territory was where he often hunted, taking ducks on the bank, fish in the water, and squirrels in the trees. On his city’s edge, he sometimes caught rabbits or—if he was exceptionally lucky—a deer. These creatures he was the most fond of killing, not only because they had more meat than squirrels, but he could also peel the pelts from their bones to create a sort of macabre pelt for himself. He did not prey on his fellow carnivore for whatever reason, although if he felt a hunger one day for coyote or falcon or tomcat there would be nothing stopping him.
More often he ate pigeons. A long time ago, the hands of his mother and grandmother had taken a metal fence, warped and twisted it into a cage, then captured many pigeons to keep inside it. The human’s mother told him once that when she was small the birds were wild, pecking at hands and beating their wings uselessly against the cage. The man always found this hard to believe with the way pigeons waddled carelessly about the enclosure, happy as can be to alight on his shoulder and then defecate on it (they had a habit of defecating on everything and there was sadly no way to make them stop).
Every three days his pigeons were let out to fly all about the city and came back to him by the end of the day. When they had become fat enough the hands stopped petting their feathers and snapped their necks instead. Some days he felt a little sad about eating them. After all, they were his only companions.
His very favorites even had names, names he gathered from the ancient words that surrounded him: Park, Yield, Subway, Fines, Low-Bridge, Starbucks, and little One-Way, who had a charming white spot on her head. These seven the man resolved to never eat, even in the winter when food was scarce. He still had no problem devouring their brethren, however.
The human fancied sometimes that pigeons could understand his language. Some days as the sun went down he held them close and softly whispered to them. He wondered if they somehow remembered his mother, who raised them from eggs before she died of the winter coughs. The human knew they probably didn’t, but he fancied the thought anyway.
One spring afternoon, new creatures came to the city.
Two of the little ponies that were nothing like the ancient ponies walked under the bridge spanning the river. The first was an earth pony that moved cautiously as she stepped along. The second, a unicorn, trotted merrily alongside her.
The man frowned, a little disappointed the hoof beats he heard weren't from a deer after all. Certainly, he wasn't about to try hunting ponies. As a rule, eating things that spoke was a bad idea. But he still thought them interesting to watch.
They were smaller than the human had imagined them to be, with coats shockingly bright against their drab surroundings. The unicorn was the white of fresh sidewalks and road paints, and a silky blue tail with caution-yellow streaks streamed behind her. The earth pony friend’s green mane was cut short and sensible, and her coat was the warm terra-cotta color of newly made bricks.
"I dislike the feel of this place," said the earth pony. "The soil of a human's city can soak in the unnatural elements around it in time. Bad place for making houses."
The unicorn laughed—a high, tinkling sound. "Humans! Really? Humans? Why, my dear Topsoil, here I was thinking you so modern and rational. You old jokester, you." She started to laugh again, but it died when she noticed her companion frowning.
"I am just as rational as I have ever been, thank you. Furthermore, have you ever known me to chaff, Light Heart?"
"Aww." Light Heart jostled Topsoil's shoulder, but the frown only deepened. "Awww, come on. Don't be sore, old girl. You know I don't mean anything by it. But truthfully, now. You've seen too many tapestries, dear."
"Hm. Maybe you haven't seen enough of them."
"The humans are all long gone by now. Vanished to the ages, if there was even such a fantastic creature to start with. These are just ruins like any other." Light Heart paused to examine some iron girders. "Aren’t they?"
The earth pony experimentally tapped on a rock. "Then why don't vines climb the walls? Or blades of grass burst out from small cracks in the stone? I can't feel the earth under my hooves at all. Not even a little. Only hardness. Why do many of the flowers only grow in boxes? Have you noticed there aren't any animals here?"
"Well, I did see a pigeon earlier. It was little and white, so cute!"
Topsoil raised an eyebrow. "And what else besides that? In all the other forgotten ruins ponies find otters in the streams, eagles nesting in the iron trees, and possums sleeping in the shade. There are some creatures here, yes, but most of them seem to be hiding. There are barely any fish in this river. What do you suppose they are hiding from?"
Light Heart had nothing to say to that.
"I tell you,” Topsoil continued, “there is at least one human left in the world and as long as it roams these roads we cannot make a home here. Ponies and humans should never live so close together. I know their ways, humans."
"Do you think…" The unicorn looked around and lowered her voice. "Do you think we might chase it out?"
"You know better than that. Even believing they never existed, you know better than that."
For a short time, the ponies walked on in silence. Then Topsoil said, "You know... my ancestor met a human once."
"Oh?"
"Great Great Grandmother Shady. She used to tell me about it when I was a filly. Spent quite a while with it, actually."
"Goodness me!" Light Heart gasped. "However did she get away?"
"Get away? Why, Grandmother couldn't get enough of the creature! Absolutely adored it."
"Did the human use a golden bridle to drain her willpower? Or weave a terrible net to catch her? Oh my, was there torture involved?"
A little smile crossed Topsoil's face. "No," she said. "No bridles or nets or torture. The human used friendship. They would frolic in the valley, picking berries, singing silly songs, and watching over the foals."
"She let the human touch foals?"
"Oh, yes. Lots of times the human was the one who helped the little ones settle down for a nap. A couple of times it helped Grandmother Shady chase away mean, troublesome creatures that threatened the valley. I think it was her friend. At times there was a certain bitterness when she talked of the human, I remember. A fair number of her stories were about how it liked to spend time with other ponies instead of her. Then she'd grouse and complain about it for the rest of the day." Topsoil laughed deep and rich. "But then again, Grandma Shady complained about everything."
"Sounds nothing like any human I ever heard of."
"'T'was a special breed, I think. It was smaller, with a longer mane it kept tied back with a bow the way ponies in those days tied them at the base of their tails. I think it was a sign of solidarity, maybe.” Topsoil hummed and flipped her tail in thought. “It was a breed called a… Morgana? A Marvel? Hmm. Oh! No, no, no, I remember: a Megan! My Great Great Grandmother Shady was friends with a Megan."
Light Heart burst into a grin. "Ooh! Maybe the Megan breed lives here! Could it, Topsoil? It could, couldn't it? Maybe we could get it to help us build a house on this strange soil or maybe we could just live peacefully as neighbors. These ruins are so big, surely it wouldn't mind giving up a little room?"
"Hmm. I don't think so. Not many humans are Megans. They were always a rare breed, I think. And even if it was, we still couldn't live here. Even the Megan human Grandmother Shady knew always went back home at the end of the day. Shady slept in her own little house, and the Megan went back to its own. We never live in the same place, I told you. Maybe travel together, or come 'round for a visit, but not live together. It simply is not done."
Light Heart sighed. "Alright. Alright, let's turn around. Look for somewhere else to live." Her face crumpled up miserably. "Oh, but Topsoil, there isn't anypony for miles and miles and miles of here. It was so perfect!"
The earth pony leaned into the unicorn for a nuzzle. "I know. I know, dearest. Don't worry. We will find another place."
The human peered further out of his hiding place by the wall to watch them go. When they were almost out of sight, the earth pony suddenly looked back.
In a high voice she called, “Stay where you are, creature of contradictions! This is no world for you. Keep your walls strong and your city secure. Let us leave each other in peace, yes? And human! I beg you to take care, for you are the last.”
After a few moments assured the ponies would not be back, the man approached the spot where they’d been. A tuft of mane caught on a rivet fluttered in the wind. It was sky blue and very soft.
“I am the only human there is?”
They were the first words he’d spoken in nearly a year. The loudness of his own voice frightened him. Until the traveling ponies the man hadn’t realized how much he missed the sound of another voice, the patterns of words and laughter and sighs.
The silence that followed was deafening.
“But that just can’t be. How could there be none at all? A tiny number scattered here and there... a very very rare thing, certainly. But not gone entirely.”
After all, if the unicorn was wrong about humans living in the city, the hornless pony could have been wrong as well. Just because she hadn’t seen or heard of any didn’t mean there weren’t any.
“Yes,” he said finally. “She must have been mistaken.” He left resolving to forget the incident altogether.
For ten whole minutes, he succeeded.
The human lived near the riverbank in a stout little building that looked a bit silly compared to the majestic high-rises nearby. There was not a building in the entire city he loved more.
It was here he discovered that while hands were impressive all on their own, armed with knowledge they became marvels. This place taught his hands to weave baskets and hammocks and a hat for himself. He learned to craft fine bowls of clay and write poetry. (It was very bad, but still poetry.) The human had always climbed trees, but this place taught him their names. It helped him let a sad old violin sing for the first time in decades. Voices of the dead told him of ancient kingdoms with bizarre names in a far-off time where people could fly and ponies only said “neigh”. A time before the fire flowers blossomed across the sky and burned the flesh off everybody’s bones.
In those ancient times, this place was called a library. The man simply called it home.
But there were no voices of ancient eras that afternoon. Echoes from equines hung about him like a shroud. It was such an odd choice of words. They said the humans were “vanished” and “gone”. Not “killed”, not “extinct”, not “dead”. Gone.
And one did not simply go somewhere without ending up someplace else.
He spent the rest of the afternoon curled in a corner of wall and bookshelf, miserable with doubt and curiosity. For the first time in years, there was something he didn’t know and that the library couldn’t tell him. When he was younger, before he found the library, if he needed to know something he would ask his mother. If she needed to know something (though she already knew a great deal) she’d give a note to one of the pigeons and send it away to someone beyond the city, then get a new note back. The human stood in search of spare paper and something to write with.
When Park and One-Way flew back to him, papers still freshly tied to their feet, the human remembered. The last time a bird flew a message was over fifteen summers ago. Subway, the oldest pigeon in the coop, was only thirteen. The human could always train them to send messages, but that would take time he suddenly couldn’t afford.
The only other way to find out was to see for himself. But that was a horrible idea. Or maybe it wasn’t. It was just a matter of asking somebody and coming right back, yes? No. No, it was foolish. The world was wide and full of dangers, and only fools went looking for danger. No, he belonged here in the city. Here with his pigeons and cracked sidewalks and garden and skyscrapers and graffiti and dead poets. If he didn’t take care of it, who would?
“I’ve been fine on my own, anyway.”
At the sound of his name Fines landed upon the human’s shoulder. Hands grasped the little white pigeon, held him out, and asked, “Why do I even need to know what became of the others? I’m sure they’re all doing no better or worse than I am. And even if not, what business of it is mine? None. If other people needed my help they would seek me out, and they haven’t. So that’s that.”
Fines blinked his little pink eyes.
“So glad you agree.”
He let the bird go to join Park and One-Way in the aviary. The human watched the three of them peck at their pile of seeds.
“But...”
What if they need me?
“Suppose. Suppose they weren’t able to come find me? In danger and unable to leave?”
What if they need me?
One-Way hopped after a cricket and ate it with a snap. Fines jealousy glared at her from his perch. Crickets were much better than seed. The sun sank behind the spires and shining towers. They looked like rows of teeth from here.
The human wasn’t brave enough to say it out loud. A frightened whisper in the dark, hidden in a fog of flapping wings.
“What if they need me?”
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Did...
Did you just make a The Last Unicorn crossover?
Did you do it well?
Am I going to be keeping an eye on this?
Am I going to continue asking rhetorical questions?
-Tricondon
MOAR!!!!! UPDATE SOON!!!!!!!!
1392725
They were just a smidge more advanced than we are now.
(EDIT: Outdated answer, written before I'd gotten that deep into worldbuilding, disregard)
And no, not much of an idea of how to use tech, though he might have, had the electrical grid not shut down. (Heh, there used to be a huge section on that, but I moved it)
1392686
In order:
Yes
Hopefully?
That'd be nice
Of course
1393227
Are you being sarcastic?
Am I waiting impatiently for the next chapter?
Will I rip this to shreds if you do it poorly?
OK, I'm not going to continue doing that indefinitely. But yes. I will rip this to shreds if done poorly. I'm just that petty.
-Tricondon
Love it love it love it!
1393246
"Iron" is a bit of a catch all poetic term for metals in general. As for the rest, well... there are answers later, but you'll just have to wait and see.
Hmm. "The last human", eh? Nice looking description + coverart, guess I'll open it up and have a--
>by PatchworkPoltergeist
denver.mylittlefacewhen.com/media/f/img/mlfw1126_my-little-pony-friendship-is-magic-brony-im-with-twilight-on-this-one.gif
Wow. I'm looking forwards to the rest of this. Oh, and just to let you know, you've got some problems with the format. Your paras. occasionally clump together. Oh, and:
>but it the library taught him their names.
>that afternoon Echoes from (lack of a period)
Anyway, gorgeous story, tracking so I can see more of it and the fact that I found this through serendipity proves I've been an idiot in not watching you. Consider that corrected.
Ooooh, neat crossover. Last Unicorn in reverse.
Definitely going to continue reading this. I loved the movie and this seems to be good.
Park1, Yield2, Subway3, Fines4, Low-Bridge5, Starbucks6, and little One-Way7, who had a charming spot on his head. These six the man resolved to never eat
I kinda count seven main pigeons.
1395225
Whoops! I forgot to count in Low-Bridge after I added him to the list.
1394625
Relevant and still missing typos.
Aw, I'm relevant!
Oh FFS, who downvotes something like this?
Anyways - very nice story you have on your hands here. Love to see more.
1395974
Considering how fast the downvotes came, I am assuming it was folks who just kneejerk blast anything with the Human tag.
Their loss -- I am really liking this story so far!
Yay for Patch!
This was amazing!
One of the best story ideas in ages!
You even wrote it well!
...
...
...
If you dont continue bad things will happen...
Wow...
abimukund.files.wordpress.com/2011/09/128924450377896116.jpg
Last Unicorn? Last Human?
This is so awesome!
Well written, and I'm really liking the story so far.
More chapters now!
Um, I-I mean... if it's okay. *meep*
You have my interest sir. And if I'm not mistaken, you made a reference to G1? I take it the world in your story is not the same earth as our earth? I hope Celestia didn't murder them, because that would just grind my gears. I look forward to the next update.
Now this is a complet twist to the "The last unicorn movie" i do belive i will greatly enjoy reading more of this fic.
Yeah i'm aboslutely tracking this one.
farm2.staticflickr.com/1060/5124699989_a414738d44_z.jpg
Indeed
That was possibly the most emotional story I've read this month. So many feels, I can't even begin to count them...
Beautifully written, and i absolutely LOVE the way you described the human!
I would love to read more!
-Stormking
I shall see where this goes from here.
Then make a decision.
Holy crap, I freakng love your prologue.
Congratulations on EqD, and I'm very interested in where this goes
1393246
I'd say "city of iron" is an appropriate description of any city generations after an apocalypse.
Every post-apocalyptc tale I've ever read, from the 1930s to now, describe cities stripped of their concrete facades and rising like forests or towers of iron from the rubble. It's an apt one for the author to make.
Oh my gosh. I love The Last Unicorn. Wonderful job getting that fantastic tone just right!
Wow, just wow
Meh, I've already seen The Last Unicorn about twenty times.
“Stay where you are creature of contradictions! This is no world for you. Keep your walls strong and your city secure. Let us leave each other in peace, yes? And human! I beg you to take care, for you are the last.”
When the last eagle flies over the last crumbling mountain,
and the last lion roars at the last dusty fountain,
in the shadow of the towers, though he may be old and worn,
they will stare, unbelieving, at the last human-born.
When the first breath of winter through the flowers is icing,
and you look to the north, and a pale moon is rising,
and it seems like all is dying, and will leave the world to mourn,
in the distance hear his laughter, it's the last human-born!
"I'm alive! I'm alive!"
When the last moon is cast over the last star of morning,
and the future has passed without even a last, desperate warning,
then look into the sky where through the clouds a path is torn
see the airplane, how it shimmers, it's the last human-born,
"I'm alive! I'm alive!"
....oh, what is this story. *reads* *reads* Ok, this seems nice. Might have potential. *reads* Seems well written. Unusual tone. Wait...what's this...
> “Stay where you are creature of contradictions! This is no world for you. Keep your walls strong
>and your city secure. Let us leave each other in peace, yes? And human! I beg you to take care, for you are the last.”
...
...you didn't!
YOU DID!
I read the title and never connected. Then I saw that line, and I knew.
From reading some of the comments, looks like I'm not the only one who had this reaction. he Last Unicorn was a favorite my mine as I child. I once read the entire book outloud with someone and I taking turns between us. I've cried over the song even as an adult. Now I must read this story. Thank you.
I can only say one thing:
A pigeon named after overpriced Starbucks?
It is in the nature of things that civilisations rise and fall, species thrive and then wane to extinction and worlds change with time. Maybe this human is the last because of this inevitable march of time. Or maybe they have gone on... to another place, another time or maybe even another way of being.
This was a strange bit of writing in stylistic terms. I'm still trying to make sense of all of it but you've captured my attention. I'll be reading this to see just where you're taking it.
BTW - Your mention of Megan has earned by approval.
1395974
get it?
Contradictions? Huh?
Oh, my...where has this story been? Reminds me of a certain animated film from my youth. I'm not going to mention it because it's already been mentioned quite a bit already....
EEEeeeeee!!!!! I dont know why but I always get so excited whenever Megan gets mentioned.
I have felt the need to share some of the movie with the younger generation here so that they may truly appreciate what has been done here.
First off, we have the conversation concerning the Last. Relevant part begins at 1:00
3848458
Since you seem to be a big fan of Megan, have you come across A Mighty Demon Slayer Grooms Some Ponies? It is all about Megan and how G1 ties into G4 and I must say that it is very good.
red this while listening to the last of us all gone no escape theme....seems fitting for this isnt it?
4281771 My sister forced me to watch that movie when I was little. It was frickin' confusing.
4907114
Yeah, for a kid back then it was very confusing. But let's face it, most of the animated classics from that era were unless you were familiar with the source material. That still didn't stop me from loving movies like this (The Hobbit & The Wind in the Willows are in the same vain for me). They were all confusing as hell when I was a kid, but they grew even better as I got older and started to really understand them.
jealously
I'm loving it so far.
So in one chapter we have:
- post-apocalypse
- direct references to G1 MLP
- poop :V
- and the best opening sentence a story could ask for
Dis gon b gud :3
Dat Gen 1 ref
Yep. The Last Unicorn.
For years I debated reading this without having read Last Unicorn first. Today, on a whim, I gave the first chapter a look.
My first impression: I should have read this years ago. Not everyone can weave story, character, and world-building together so seamlessly. This week, I resolve to make time for this story.
Yep. This is definitely true to its source.
Which means it’s gonna fuck me up in the wonderful way that only emotionally traumatic children’s mediums can do.
Excellent!
Oh no... i am hooked!
Now this is a shining example of a first chapter