In the middle of Equestria there is a grassland, the largest on the planet as a matter of fact. It has many names, ranging from anywhere as formal and proper as The Great Open Plains of Equestria, to something as simplistic as The Plains. Although many just call it the Open Plains. Any name is acceptable really, and anypony knows exactly what you’re talking about regardless of which is used.
The Open Plains is exactly as the name suggests: a completely uninterrupted expanse of rolling hills and flatlands of nothing but the greenest grass—not even the smallest pond or rock blemishes its surface. There doesn’t even exist a single settlement within its boundaries. The entirety of the landscape stretches on for several million square miles, only to be finally contained by the tallest mountain ranges, the widest of rivers, and the driest of deserts.
Weather is a curious thing here: with no pegasi around to manage the clouds, one would expect them to run amok, storming thunderously here while their absences cause droughts over there. But such is not the case. These plains only receive the fairest amounts of rainwater, neither too heavy nor too light, and the winds are nothing but gentle as well. Light falls only as much as it needs to and the grass doesn’t grow uncomfortably tall either. The ecosystem here is entirely self-managed and no one knows why. It’s just one of the many mysteries surrounding the Open Plains.
Almost in the exact center of the Open Plains, however, there is a wall. It stretches on for roughly a kilometer, straight as the path of the setting sun and as level as the flat earth it sits on. It’s about a meter thick, its surface smooth as silk, and stands to be as tall as Princess Celestia herself. And to top it off, it’s a solid construct. The wall is one complete slab of granite with nary a sign of tool markings, chipping, cracks, or even erosion all over its surface. But perhaps the most confusing aspect of this wall is that it’s magically inert.
Ask any unicorn, they will tell you. Around our world there exists these metaphysical connections between every living pony, every rock, every animal and blade of grass, and they are known simply as leylines. Leylines are in a sense the fabric of reality, the strings that attach everything together, existing in a dimension all their own and miraculously unicorns are born with the capability to manipulate these strings. Yet, within this web of consciousness, the wall is a void. In a field of gold this wall is a black stain. No leylines enter it, no leylines exit it, and in fact some would argue they go out of their way to avoid contacting it.
A curious thing, this wall is.
Many eons ago before recorded history, this wall has existed. We know because languages long dead, tongues that will forever remain unspoken again can be found only on this wall. You see, when a pony comes to this wall all they do is write on it. No one knows who started it, but that's what everypony does. A pony can write whatever they want on this wall—as they have been doing so for countless millennia—expressing their thoughts, desires, or simply what they had for breakfast that morning. Chalk or charcoal seems to be the utensil of choice, for oddly enough the rain doesn’t wash either way. It’s just another mystery of this wall and the Open Plains it calls home.
Most ponies who come here simply sign their name and the date like this one did: Ink Quill, 156th Moon.
Others choose to be more wise or cryptic, such as this one who wrote: We love life, not because we are used to living but because we are used to loving. I wonder what stallion wrote that.
Others still write simple inanities nopony could ever hope to decipher: The hiatus is dead. Long live the hiatus. Who knows what that means anymore?
Some ponies make it their life's dream to make the grand journey to these plains, just to visit this wall and leave their eternal mark on the world. However, most wouldn’t care less whether or not they made the trek and left their words for the next adventurer to come and wonder over. Instead most make their voices heard through other, more practical means. For some this something is as endearing as becoming a school teacher, to help spread knowledge to some younger pupil to carry on into the world. For others it’s as hearty as a politician, making the legislative decisions that would set the future of an entire country in stone. There are ponies who excel in sports and put themselves in the halls of fame; fashion models who have their faces everywhere in every magazine; a humble father who simply wants his son to live the life he had given up on long ago. Some just don’t care to visit the wall regardless. All these ponies have their reasons—right and justifiable ones I might as well add—for not making this journey.
My question is simple. Why are you here?
“It’s tradition,” she says.
Ah, yes. Tradition. Would it be too bold of me to ask what that tradition is?
She shakes her head and smiles. “Not at all,” she says in a sweet and gentle tone. The tall grass tickles at her legs in the ever-present, silent breeze, and her mane and tail sway idly from side to side. She tilts her head a little, gazing up at a string of words written centuries before her time. “Just look at all these ponies who came here before me. They undoubtedly traveled exhausting distances, had numerous and difficult trials, just to come here and write their words on this wall. These words hold incredible stories behind each and every one of them. It’s customary that more get added to it, to keep these memories alive, and I’m more than happy to help extend their longevity.”
Don’t you ever worry about running out of space? I mean, this has been happening for eons.
She looks down either side of her and the wall seems to disappear on the horizon. “There’s plenty of room,” she says, reinforcing the point by pointing to all the gaps in front of her. “I don’t think that’s going to happen any time soon.”
Don’t you find it silly then, that with all the words on this wall, no one has yet to write on the opposite side? To start something fresh and imaginative? You could easily jump over there now yourself.
She tilts her head again and expands her wings, fluttering up onto the wall to get a peek at the other side. The wall casts down an enormous shadow in the midday sun, putting the other end in perpetual darkness. “There’s not enough light to see,” she says, poking her head over the edge. “And besides, it’s blemish-free over there. Why would I want to ruin it?”
Maybe not ruin, but start anew? Give a new leaf to a dying tree?
She shrugs and lowers herself back down on the bright side of the wall. “I don’t see the point in doing so. I guess that bridge will be crossed when we get to it.”
That might not be for many more thousands of years. Just think about it. Whoever it ends up being won’t be you.
She nods her head acceptingly at the fact. “I still don’t think it’s necessary. It may not have always been, and it may not always be, but this wall is an important part of history. I feel honored to have come this far just to make my mark here. I only wish my friends were here with me to contribute.”
Oh really? May I ask where they are?
“Back home,” she says with a smile. “Family, business, parties, sport, charities; they were all too busy to come out here with me. I guess they just don’t see the importance in doing this. But I don’t hold any of it against them for being unable to come.”
Don’t let me stop you then. Do as you wish, but I will advise that you consider your actions thoughtfully. These words you end up writing will last forever and they will be around for countless future generations to read until the end of times.
She nods again and a piece of purple chalk floats forward in her aura. “I already had something in mind,” she says, and with the fineness of a symphony she scratches her memories into the wall.
Friendship is Magic. How cute.
“It’s a lesson I’ve had to learn many times over,” she says. “Sometimes the best lessons make up the fewest words. Not to mention I left plenty of room there for others.”
That you did. Though I can’t help but wonder what’s next? You came all this way to just write those few words on this relatively small wall in the middle of nowhere. What are you going to do now?
“I think I’ll go home and finally settle down,” she says, looking off into the distance. “I came this far and did only what I wanted to achieve. I don’t think there’s anything left for me here.”
And just like that, the little purple alicorn spreads her wings and flies away over the horizon. Here she had come, an impossible journey all on her lonesome, a feat only she herself had pushed herself to do. This is a feat a higher percentage of ponies saw no real point in, ponies who didn’t see anything that could be taken away from it, but she had gone the distance. And in the end she did leave something behind, perhaps more than she knows, but maybe took something with her as well. Who knows what’s going on in that little pony's head?
Truly, it’s just another mystery of the Open Plains.
Written by, RazgrizS57
Author's Note
I impulsively wrote this story in about an hour in the middle of the night when I should've been sleeping. It's a small experiment in world building partially inspired by Cold In Gardez’s story, The Fortress City of the Clouds. Hopefully someone found something to take away from this.
