I woke up alone. Again.
The cold bed and empty space beside me were hardly new. How many dawns does three years encompass? Over a thousand, I suppose. So for the thousand-and-first time I woke and ran my hoof over the rumpled sheets. Cold, yes, but still bearing a hint of her scent, of rain and the sting of ozone that filled the air before a thunderstorm. I pressed my nose into the spot and drew in a deep breath.
Time to go fetch her. I rolled out of the blankets and onto the soft cloud floor of our home and started up the stairs. Outside, through the windows, the night had just begun its long surrender to the day.
* * *
“Aurora?”
I thought she might have fallen asleep at her post, but her head lifted and turned toward me as soon as I called her name. Even in the faint light of dawn I could see the delicate sparkle of her mane, the vibrant blue of her coat. There were streaks of grey in there now, and perhaps a wrinkle or two around her eyes, but she was still as beautiful as the day we met.
Or more, I sometimes thought.
“Good morning.” She stood from her nest atop our cloud home, stretched, and stomped her hooves to get the blood flowing. Pegasi were not bothered by the cold, but being outside all night like that could still stiffen a pony’s limbs.
“Any sign?” I asked softly. I knew the answer already – the same as the past thousand dawns, but she needed me to ask, just as she needed to answer.
“No. I thought I might have seen him at one point, but it turned out to be a bird.” She laughed lightly, and Celestia help me, it sounded real. “Maybe you’ll have better luck.”
“Maybe. Get some rest.”
She paused to give me a peck on the cheek before descending the stairs back to the bedroom. I hoped the bed was still warm for her.
Behind me, the sun finally broke over the mountains, filling the valley below with pink light. The cloud tops caught fire and began to drift apart as they slowly warmed. For a moment, I could have believed them an ocean, and me a captain, searching for land.
I settled down in the nest and waited. It smelled faintly of rain and ozone, like the air before a thunderstorm.
* * *
The sun was well on its way to its zenith when I left the nest. Despite what Aurora thought, a few hours absent from my post wouldn’t matter to anypony.
Alto was already up when I reached the kitchen and was munching on some oat cereal she had fetched for herself. I gave her mane a quick nuzzle and poured myself a smaller bowl.
“Is mom asleep?” She looked up from her cereal after she spoke. A trail of milk dribbled its way down her chin.
I nodded. “She had a long night. She’ll get you from school, though.”
That was probably not true, but Alto knew nothing would come from correcting me. Instead she returned to her cereal, and we finished eating in silence.
I took the extra time to fly her to school. In the grand scheme of things, it was no loss.
* * *
Aurora was waiting when I returned. Less than four hours of sleep, but she was up on the walk . I could see the anger burning in her eyes even before I landed, and I steeled myself for another confrontation.
“You left,” she said. It was more an accusation than a statement.
“I had to fly Alto to school. She needs more time with us.”
Aurora snorted. “She’s tough, she’ll be fine. What if Cirrus had come back while you were gone?”
Then he would have woken you, and we’d have rejoiced, and it wouldn’t have mattered that I was gone for a few hours. I didn’t say it, of course. I couldn’t, not when she was in a mood like this. I bit my tongue and turned back to the ocean of clouds and resumed my watch.
Eventually she grew tired of staring at me, and mercifully left.
* * *
“Daddy?”
Alto’s voice jerked me out of my reverie. The sun was dipping toward the mountains again, and below us the cloud tops were tinted grey with the incipient night. I cursed myself quietly and turned toward her with what I hoped was a cheerful smile.
“Hey, angel. How was school?” Nevermind that we forgot to pick you up. Hopefully the flight home wasn’t hard.
“It was fine. I, um, I made something for you and mom. In our craft class.” She reached over her shoulder, where a large package sat between her wings. Delicately, she set it on the clouds between us and stepped back. I could see her wings fluttering, and her left hoof ground against the cloud.
Huh.
I leaned forward and carefully pulled the lid up. Inside was a paper lantern, the same pale grey as his coat. Before I could reach it, Alto darted forward to grab the wire handle in her teeth and lifted it out for me to see.
On its side were three wispy feathers, laid atop each other like clouds. I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“You made this?”
She nodded, setting the lantern swaying on its handle.
I stretched out a hoof to brush the lantern. “You remembered his mark. That... this is beautiful, sweetie.”
She set the lantern down to speak. “I used one of mommy’s pictures. The one with him in his uniform. I thought... I thought you could hang this lantern for him, and then you and mommy wouldn’t have to wait outside all the time.”
My vision blurred, and I blinked away the tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks. After a moment, I nodded.
“It’s worth a try, angel.”
* * *
“What is this?”
I winced at the steel in Aurora’s voice. She had never liked surprises, and the lantern hanging from the nest was certainly a surprise.
“It’s a lantern,” I said, as though that weren’t blatantly obvious. The candle flame inside danced in the light wind, and if I stared long enough, I could almost believe the painted feathers on its side were alive.
“Alto made it,” I continued. “She put Cirrus’s mark on it, see?”
“Hm.” My wife’s expression softened when she saw the mark. For a time, only the sound of the wind and the swaying lantern filled the darkness.
I took a chance.
“She wanted to hang it for him, so he would see it when he returned.”
Aurora nodded faintly. Still she stared at the lantern.
“And we... she hoped you could leave it out, and come back in with us.”
The hope hung in the air between us. I waited, barely breathing, barely dreaming that this thousand-and-first night might be the last. That I might share a bed with my wife, and let my lost son rest in his grave – the wind.
She reached out a hoof and gently unhooked the lantern from its post. With a careless toss she sent it over the side, and it fell like a star into the clouds below.
“Go to bed,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Damn. Damn you. After the lightheartedness of the last fic I wasn't ready for something like this.
Amazing job crafting something like this is ~1000 words. People (ponies) deal with loss in different ways, some better than others. Aurora is so caught up in the past she neglects the present and forsakes the future.
Oh. Ow. That's a pretty hard blow to take after Just getting to know the characters.
...
... Dang.
So short, yet so powerful. The callousness, just... that says more than enough.
----------
Extra space.
That ending, like a punch to the gut.
Some of the writing here is so beautiful. I decided to read this aloud to myself, and I had to stop midway through that final paragraph. As others have said, that was almost like a punch in the stomach.
Dah.
This is some fine form here. I wasn't terribly surprised by the ending, but it did still hurt.
Descriptions here, specifically land- and cloudscapes, were wonderful. Short, to the point, and startlingly evocative. I was also pretty much shocked to see you handle the visual description of an OC pony so smoothly. I've told writers in the past that if you're going to do it, you need to find a way to make it part of the story and not just infodump to the reader. The way you do it here is really impressive.
I said this once to GhostOfHeraclitus, and I'll say it again here. Some of you people on this site are really making it clear to me how much I need to up my game. I'd love to be able to do what you've done here in 30 minutes. I think I could probably manage it in a longer time frame, but you make it look so effortless. This is truly wonderful stuff.
One thing I would point to here, by way of possible editing.
This feels odd to me, in the connotation of ponies' coats going grey as they age. I wouldn't be surprised if real world horses did go through something like that; I know dogs' coats can lose vibrancy as they age. But given the bit about Mayor Mare dyeing her hair gray in "Ponyville Confidential" (and of course our natural anthropomorphic understanding of things), it feels more natural to me that her mane would be described as going grey, especially going grey in streaks. To my knowledge, the show hasn't shown grey-streaked coats on any elderly ponies, despite showing a fair number of elderly ponies.
It's sad, soo sad. . If you finished this I would read it, even though it would do this to me .
Quite a good use of the prompt.
It amazes me that this was written in thirty minutes. All of these shorts do. I wish I could write this proficiently so quickly.
I hope they don't live over a forest.
Man that story was crazy sad I was hoping for something a little light hearted. Excellent job though.
This reminded me of Warrior Cats kinda *cough GrayStripe*. I thought the story was good. Sure it's sad but many good stories are.
p.s. For the story 'One Thousand and One'
This is REALLY well written! And would have been a pleasure to read if it didn't also tear my heart out and stomp on it.
Man, I just can't leave this, it hurts too much. It punched me right in the stomach. It got my imagination running in ways I haven't felt in some time. So... I hope this doesn't offend you in some way, but I wrote an addition. Something to make myself feel better; certainly not something you have to take as canon. But it was really therapeutic, and I thought I'd share. Hope you don't mind!
----
I stared at the spot where the lantern disappeared, numb. Aurora’s back was to me, already staring off at the horizon. The words slipped from my lips with a will of their own.
“How dare you.”
Her back stiffened, and she turned an icy stare on me. “What?” It was less a question, more an accusing statement.
I shouldn’t have said them, but they are out now. Pain, long suppressed, squeezed my heart and added heated emotion to my words as I pointed at the last location of the lantern. “How dare you throw away Alto’s gift.”
Aurora’s eyes were hard as stone. “It was selfish. She should know—”
“Selfish?!” Disbelief spread the heat in my heart to my face. “It’s selfish that our daughter wants to spend time with her parents?”
Aurora turned fully towards me, matching my rising fury and grief. “Yes! We have to watch for Cirrus! We have to be here when he returns!” A crack in her voice, a waver in her stare. I could almost imagine the tears she’d never allowed herself to shed pushing against the stone barrier behind her eyes, searching for a way through. My wife stomped her hoof, creating a small eddy of cloud. “She knows that! You know that! She just needs to toughen up!”
She’s tough. The same words she used that morning. My teeth ground together, my voice coming in a low growl. “She is a filly, Aurora.” I bit my lip, choking on emotion, wondering how we had fallen so far. “She shouldn’t have to be.”
Aurora stared at me, anger still on her face – the prison wall of grief and denial that locked away the loving wife and mother I had shared so many years with. “We all have to make sacrifices,” she muttered, although there might have been just a glimmer of doubt. “Until he comes back. She’ll be fine.”
I swallowed, looking away. This wasn’t the mare I had married. But she was still in there somewhere. Give me the words to reach her, please. “Aurora… we can’t go on like this.”
Betrayal flashed in her eyes. “So you have given up,” she almost snarled. “Well I am not going to! I won’t forget him like you, like everypony else!” Another crack. “Even if I’m the only one left who loves him—”
“Don’t.” The word shot from my mouth like an arrow, and to my surprise, it made her stop short. “Do not claim that I don’t love our son. Don’t you ever do that.” My own voice cracked, I could feel moisture on my cheeks. I wanted to scream at her, to shake her, to make her see that he was gone, that we could still love him, but we needed to move on with our lives. But the words clammed up in my throat as we stared at each other; all I could see was the prison wall of denial and anger between me and my wife. I had to reach her. The cracks were there, but what could I possibly say that would widen them?
“I will never forget our son.” My voice was low, as calm as I could make it, but still streaked with grief in my ears. “When he comes home, he will find us. He will know we waited for him. But if we spend all of our lives up here—” I pointed at our perch, the perch of a thousand days, “—we are going to lose our daughter as surely as we’ve lost our son.” I felt the tear slip down my cheek, and flicked it off with the tip of a pinfeather as I held her gaze. “I can’t let that happen. We. Can’t let that happen. She needs us, Aurora. She needs us right now more than he does. And—” I almost bit the words back, fearing the response I might get to such vulnerability. But they made their way out in a whisper. “And so do I.”
I searched her face, heard her heavy breathing, looked for any signs that my words had pierced the wall. She seemed ready to explode; she had never struck me, but I wondered briefly if she might. Finally, she turned a cold shoulder to me, and returned to her perch. I take a step towards her, determined, but her flat tone was like an iron bar clanging shut across the door to her prison.
“Go.”
For a moment, I wavered, searching for what else I could say. But I could think of nothing more. With anger, hopelessness, regret tearing at my heart, I went inside. The image of Alto’s lantern burning through the sky like a meteor filled my mind’s eye.
----
It was well past midnight when I woke to a faint sound. I couldn’t place it at first as I lay in bed, searching my memory for something to match the unfamiliar noise. Finally shoving off the covers, I crept to the door and opened it, letting in more of the sound so it could become recognizable.
The sound of sobbing.
I found her on the walk, clutching something. A crumpled gray… what was that? I edged closer, and blinked in astonishment. Alto’s lantern. Wrecked and burnt at the edges, but Cirrus’s cutie mark was still visible. Aurora clutched it, crushed it really, against her chest, and sobbed. Huge, wracking sobs, tears gushing down her face. Her mouth was open as if in a silent scream between the sobs, her body unable to keep up with the sheer amount of grief, a tidal wave of emotion trying to force its way all at once through a small river mouth.
The wall had broken. Pain and hope warred in my head, tears spilling down my face. She turned to me, and recoiled slightly, as if she could find her way behind her guard again. I didn't give her the chance.
“Cirrus, Cirrus, Cirrus…,” Aurora bawled, clinging to the lantern as if it might metamorphose into our lost son like in old pony legends while I held her, letting her lean her weight on me as the suppressed grief of three years drained out.
It wasn’t long before another pony was drawn to the noise. Movement by the door alerted me to Alto, peeking out at us through eyes wide with worry. She should have been asleep, but who could sleep through this? “Daddy?” Then, with a caution that made my heart hurt in new ways, born from too many brush-offs and rejections by the ones who should have loved her most: “…Mommy?”
Aurora gasped for breath, her head jerking up. Seeing Alto sent fresh anguish across her face. “I’m sorry,” she wept, holding up the lantern. “I’m sorry—”
I pulled Alto into our embrace, and the three of us set together and grieved until the sun began to rise. We watched until Aurora’s body stopped shaking with sobs, the floodwaters receding to silent trickles down her cheeks. We watched for our son who would likely never return, for the thousandth and one time. But we watched together.
The grief was not gone. But it had found release. And in its wake came the first new sprouts of hope.
So sad!
8888330
That...that was excellent.
9488655
Oh! Thank you! ^^ I'm so glad someone found it! I'm really proud of how it turned out, which is sad for the fact that it must remain buried here in the comments of an old story. Thanks for letting me know you enjoyed it. =)
9489413
It's "buried" where it's needed. Not much sad about that, I think.
Ah, that kidney shot at the end...
Ow
8888330
Sorry to reply 5 years later, but I must let you know that that was beautiful
11577373
Thank you!!! I don't mind the late reply, I've always been proud of how that little offshoot came out and it makes me happy someone found it five years later ^^
8888330
That's why I read comments. Sometimes there are additional little snippets from readers or authors themselves. And sometimes there are a little gems like this one. I'm not a fan of sad stories, especially the type where charachers are utterly destroyed (no matter, physically or psychically), but this extension at least gives such a character a chance for redemption, gives a hope to turn off the path to nowhere.