Nothing Can Shine

           It had gotten on for a while, she’d lost count. It was so longer amusing.

What else had she expected?

Gray sky expanded overhead, blurring into the ocean horizon. She sat on a pier. Same as she’d done time and time ago. Lighthouse ruins a distance away, ashen brick in disrepair, testifying to their former prime. It seemed that had been her doing once, or if not her, somehow a product of her influence. She did have a tendency to attribute results to herself, not much else left, if it was to be done at all. Tried to prevent activity but it always marched forward.

Her solitude was innumerable, but so that she could not see how far back it trailed or if it trailed a considerable distance at all. Somewhere along the way she’d misplaced her reference points, only a few persisting fixtures remained in her to extrapolate from, to assume there were gaps that had once been filled. Blank walls. Babbling corpses. A spool and needle. The yellow pegasus with butterflies. That one recurred often within her, tried to hold a faint glow. The sky above was dimmed with clouds, as if to rain. The general state these days. Rarity didn’t care much to turn back time, but previous periods must have been better than this, at one point at least. Now all she knew was mounds of gore.

The sea flowed before her, drab waves in their incessant recurrence. Carried all away in the cleansing tide. Should she be washed away, endeavors erased and once more a blank slate? Get a better start? On principle, Rarity was inclined against. She had chosen her muck and would lie in it—not like the alternative held better. But the elements conspired to give her little choice regardless. Her memory was far less than the not-much it had used to be. Bits of her constantly crumbling away, locked out of reach in that space not her.

Who had she been? Who was she, considered as a whole? Rarity would never get the chance to view her full product, the total accumulation of her design. Never be hers to see. Yet another complication to the matter and even if Rarity chose to change her mind, she wouldn’t know where to begin. Didn’t even know what path she’d gone down, let alone if it was the proper.

Perhaps an outside source could shine some light. Again, the butterfly pegasus resurfaced. In her youth, they’d spent a significant portion in each other’s company, she could recall that much. Dragging through meadow or mud, specifics out of question, something resembling a connection had developed between them, as much as a drowning animal could make sense the jabberings of another. But she knew there had been fond moments. The idea was stark in her skull, that yellow pony with its meek nature and insufferable shyness had helped her achieve ease on several occasions. She couldn’t conceive how. The notion was at odds with any acceptable concept of the universe as Rarity knew it. Must have been when she was a yolk. Still forming, even more unawares than now.

However she was not yet at end, unsure how greatful to be, and might possibly act on it. Yes, she was compelled to admit it was too far gone to make a full recovery with her withered form. But perhaps it was still possible to smooth out some creases, or more likely make contrasting indentations in the fragments she still held. It would mean forgoing her solitude but she might locate the butterfly pegasus and make her to provide whatever sustenance she had before. Combat her decline. Matters would not return to the state they’d been before, Rarity remained unsure if she even wanted that, but they might be able to at least reproduce an effectful imitation.

They would sit in fine chairs and chat as companions might, pegasus might be able to put her near ease and tell pleasing stories of their exploits as larvae. Bring a shadow of youth to the matter and convey a working template of the unicorn. Evenings would pass with all sorts of discussions and distraction designed to put out of mind existence. They’d bask in the glow. At this stage sincerity might be out of question, but she’d contribute her best efforts toward companionship and progression.

That was too far for the mere possibility. Rarity found herself looking to the horizon, she could not resign. All of her efforts up to now had been to rid herself of her humanity, the miserable muck it was. Before her was the lighthouse that had once stood tall and defiant against the elements, now in a heap after meeting the only fate available. The coast pattered off unobstructed in the distance. The sky was too encompassing. Wherever she tried to hold plays at companionship, its empty endlessness would hang over her. All too wretched to put out of mind.

The good vibes were gone, buildings and sustained civilization fell from view. Foliage grew formidable and stained autumn. Rarity was unconcerned and continued ambling around as she did, ever on the forward. Found herself in countryside and stumbled through fields, living on beats and burning the occasional tree or pony too big for its roots. Of course she also took advantage of the resources that presented themselves.

Her recent endeavor had been coming upon a farmhouse and killing the inhabitants who’d cheerfully greeted her, as consistent. Rummaged through their items and taken a summer coat. Now she was steadily working her way through their pumpkin patch, course straight as able, taking care to squash each in her path. Orange mess trailed her. Her mark on the world, Rarity laughed.

Her hoove crushed through one, surging pain through her joints. The pain had claimed her for a while now, but did little to deter Rarity. Nothing really but to endure it. She was long used to surface agitations, but as her skin shriveled, she’d began to feel aches in her constricted bones. Joints felt out of order, motion in the back right had become such that the mare had to compensate with increased limp. Hard pressed to find any spot of comfort throughout her anatomy.

Squashed another pumpkin. It almost seemed they knew her. But that was foolish, she spat, they could never know her. The light had gotten too harsh, she couldn’t look up for very long before forced to return to the sod, eyes stinging with tears. It only made her endeavor all the harder. Rarity didn’t know what the sun was playing at and why it insisted on hiding the pumpkins, but it would be hers. She had already made that clear to whatever of the heavens there existed. Whatever thing had set up this game did not play fair, certainly she had to marvel at the ingenuity all the while she cursed, kicking a pumpkin.

Here, she’d come upon the end of the patch. Undertaking to raise her view, Rarity looked across what she could see of the expanse. Looked to be the last field in sight. She didn’t see any trees ahead either, having left them behind in favor of the pumpkin fields some time ago. The unicorn had to muse whether it was worth going back to ruin the remains or plow forward into the nowheres and see where that got her. But this all depended on her course persisting straight in one direction and there had never been any guarantees there, if need be proof only look at how far and long it had taken for her to get here with her stutters and strays. It didn’t help that Rarity was forced to penetrate the matter entirely in the dark either. Certainly, if she’d been supplied these spatial coordinates within any reasonable degree of accuracy, she might have arrived on point much sooner and spared all the superfluities.

Might as well discard the farmland as well and see what else sprang itself up around her, something always did, no matter how far trod or destroyed she never seemed able to leave everyelse behind. Put your best hoof forward Rarity had always believed, she was hosed there, life of course never worth it. But stride resumed. The orange was sickening her anyhow.

There was still the possibility she hadn’t yet gone far enough. Perhaps the edge was still before her, off in the foreseeable distance, and all the mare had to do was continue and she’d finally reach the void empty of all else. Then there’d be nothing left to perturb, only her in stasis, at last able to cultivate her isolation. But Rarity put that out of mind. Such hopes were out of place this late in the game, and it was not necessary either. No matter what she found herself facing, she would get on with it.

Rarity continued over hills and flats, continued staggering in her direction, continued stomping until the time she’d sat down and never gotten back up. Then these others had flocked to her like geese after a discarded slice of rye, but even then she relinquished nothing. They propped her up in a fluorescent room filled with sterile clutter.

For some duration, they had subscribed her to a routine or at least what she assumed was, leading her in a wheeled chair on various comings and goings to certain rooms at what seemed regular intervals. But there were no clocks for her determine time or if there were they were well hidden, which Rarity considered a waste of effort because any information she might’ve gleaned likely wouldn’t mean much to the mare despite, her notions all a jumble.

And the rooms themselves had been reduced to a fog as well, each appearing remarkably similar to the others, the main difference to tell them apart being the odd picture on a wall or chair out of place. Often was the case they took measurements or made her drink various liquids, kept the stomach cramped with all manner of sustenance. For your health, the horde insisted, whatever that was meant to mean. You might consider kindness, one of them had once told her. She’d only snarled at the time. Bah, she had no obligation to them, no need to go along with their charades. Spared no indignation yet on the whole Rarity reacted little, usually too ill to offer significant protest and preferring as little communication as able. And when she worked up the strength in a limb to strike at one, all it got her was restrainment as they proceeded ahead anyhow.

So they incessantly poked and prodded, carried and dragged, instructed and bitched, until they did so no longer. She could not remember when it had stopped, when she had received her last taste of foul medicine, last view of cramped corridors. Too difficult to tell day from night with all the other light meddling with her perceptions, she doubted they could either despite the claims. Perhaps they had gotten bored of it. She could imagine one of them turning to another and resigning themselves, Well I’ve had my fill, there doesn’t seem a worthwhile thing in this sorry endeavor. Yes, head hanging defeat, the pony would depart from their ranks and stumble on home to stare at ceiling fixtures, wondering how it all could have unfolded like this, clutching the temple in despair. And maybe he’d get sick of that too and come trudging back to her full of questions, asking how she’d managed. But Rarity would only glare up in defiance, wondering why he thought her to hold any answers. Not from her vantage, not from the spot she was fixed now.

The spot Rarity was now. Confined to a tidy cot in the room with a single window across from her, lighting still too bright despite a narrowing cone of sight. Several ponies still consistently intruding on her. Even now one kept complacent watch over her while another fumbled with something off to the side. Motion had grown increasingly difficult recently and sitting up was out of reach, her only capability being rolling to either side when she tired of gazing out the window. A recurring cough claimed the lungs and her mouth was constantly dry. Foreleg hurt like hell as always, hindlegs numb. Decay taking its course. None of the irritants would come out with it, but Rarity knew she was at an end.

Although her voice had been going, or perhaps because, she’d been more vocal recently. Now she was reprimanding them at every turn, getting satisfaction where she could from her cot. “Keep your carnalities and limbs to yourself,” she growled to the pony trying to once again shove substance down her gullet. They kept insisting, wouldn’t leave her be. She’d said that already.

With a grunt, Rarity swatted at him with her good leg but was of course ineffective. It was a knock that prompted the pony to scurry out of view. Another intrusion no doubt. She tried to look but couldn’t sit up, body as ever inept and defiant to will. Tortured wheezes shook her frame, putting an end to her struggles. “Get on with it,” she resorted to rasping.

A young mare materialized within her view, nervously hiding behind mane just like another pony she’d seen. So utterly innocent. She stared in contempt, wondering why they’d allowed youth in here. Likely their way of spiting her.

The mare gained the courage to speak, “Um, I’m a pastor... here for your last rites.”

Rarity regretted they’d known to keep away sharp entities. “More babbling about benevolence? Peddle your garbage somewhere else.” No more fate and no more mysteries. If there was one thing she’d have said, it was that she hated life in all forms it presented itself.

“But don’t you want to believe you matter? To confess and achieve eternal peace before you finish?” it continued. Looking so fucking radiant with eternity in her eyes, dressed in a coat of naivety. Something about butterflies.

It didn’t matter, was too late for all that now. Her mouth suddenly felt sore. “No,” was all Rarity coughed from the mattress. Her aches were her achievements. There wasn’t peace. She’d moved past that, hadn’t she? Another bout of wheezing dominated her.

The mare emitted another question, but Rarity paid no mind and turned to the wall in mundane pain. She stared at it and saw nothing but plain white paint. It looked just as any other. This moment was just like any other, end no different from beginning, hardly a middle to speak of. Where had it gone? She knew there had been one. Times when she’d wanted to do things and times when she’d known nothing could be done, but she’d persisted. She had progressed. Gone forth and blazed her candle at both ends in spite of. And there was no wick left to burn.

“Get out,” she forced from her throat. “I am going to die alone and bitter.”

They knew. Finally the voices shut up and she heard their steps as they withdrew from the room.

Abandoned her to the solitude she’d never left. That was the important part. She didn’t need the particulars, did she? As long as she knew. That she’d made answers. Hadn’t she progressed? Rarity searched the wall for anything significant, anything remarkable to show difference. Nothing to be found but aged paint. She’d never gone anywhere.

Now her last breath was approaching. Rarity closed her eyes in anticipation. She gave some final thought to her existence and what she’d made of it. She had managed, nothing gained. No alternative.

No regret.

Thought exited her skull.