To The End
The wind brushed the leaves of the thousands of trees that stood on the farm. The sun diving behind the horizon at its usual sluggish speed. Amongst the trees was a red farmhouse. Inside said building, the deathbed of a once young and proud stallion.
Macintosh Apple’s head lay on top of the bed’s pillow, turned in such a direction that he was staring out of the room’s windows, examining the apple orchard he always lived on. His coat, rugged and patchy, mostly covered by the bed’s sheets.
Slowly, he moved his head as to look away from the outside, and onto the ceiling. He was alone, completely alone. It was already too late for him when he learned that everyone goes away in the end. Apple Bloom, Applejack. Both lived on, moved away, leaving him alone.
His mind was full of broken thoughts. Thoughts he could not repair. Feelings that came by, only to disappear shortly after. At most, he focused on the pain, the only thing that was real enough for him anymore.
So many things had happened in his life, things that in reflection, seemed meaningless. People moved on, but he was the same. Now that the end neared, he could not help but to remember. Remember times, simple, but gone. No expression was on his face, he knew there would be no tomorrow.
He never had many friends. Mostly family. But, like said before, they moved away, but he was still right there. He found it kind of funny, how people can cut bonds just like that. He didn’t quite understand how, but nevertheless, it happened quite often.
All he could do was to hug Miss Smartypants in a weak manner. He didn't have strength anymore. Images of Princess Twilight flitted through his worn mind, wondering why he never gave Smartypants back to her. Just another things he didn’t do in his life.
He wished he could go back in time, a million miles away, and do everything he didn’t do at first.
Going outside was out of the question. People just looked right through him, but their faces familiar. It was truly an odd world, not apt for him no more.
He wondered what his relatives were doing, the people he knew. Probably living their lives out, unlike him. Many were dead already. He couldn’t remember. People just started disappearing as time moved on, leaving a sprite that would fade away as soon as the last person to remember moved on. It was a reality that was hard to take.
All he really wanted was to know if there was something waiting for him at the other end. It didn’t matter too much anyways. The concept of life after death failed to sprout in his mind. He thought it to be another life to waste away after the other.
He found it hard to take. So many things he wanted to pass on to others, but he was alone. The body worn out, the soul fading. No expression on his face. Perhaps, as he thought, he was already dead. It seemed like the moments before death were the most painful.
Wishes. Wishing he was once again a young, strong stallion capable of enjoying simple things. Too good a wish to come to life. Where had he gone with his life? Stuck in the same farm for his whole life. It didn’t seem like he went very far. He wished he had somepony to share such thoughts with.
A million dreams had passed him. Why wasn’t he crying? Why should he? At the point in which he was, death was a relief.
He never had a mother to arm his soul, nor a father. Perhaps he was meant to die alone. Both his sisters would probably die in the opposite manner. But he? He was a work stallion. Always focused on work. No friends, no nothing.
Silence was the hymn of death. It haunted him in his waking dreams. He couldn’t bare to hear it. Silent violins with a mad and sad overtone. They echoed off the floor and walls. Perhaps he was already losing his grip with reality.
He mouthed off the words, “Come on…finish this,” begging for the pale windigo to bring an end to the peaceful suffering. The sun already far beneath the horizon, the midnight moon ruling the land. Like a practiced concert; the silence, the pain, the mind.
Sleep was all he wanted. No more, no less. Why die awake? He couldn’t tell anymore. Things were too complicated. The violin continued to play.
He was scared. The future was uncertain. The room he was in, lit by candlelight and lunar glow. It overwhelmed his breaking heart. No more, he wished for.
Would he finally meet his parents after crossing the line? Something deep within kept telling that he would die and continue to be alone. Leaving behind a life of journeys, images and sounds.
He coughed. The violins kept playing. Mad overtone that accented the state of decay. He could not bare to hear no more. Inside his mind, he called for every god he knew; an attempt to call off the orchestra of silent pain.
He realized that throughout the whole experience, he did not shed a single tear. But the black sea of darkness kept snuggling with him. What was real at that point? The mind and the body both fading away, one leaving reality, the latter staying to leave a shade of rotting flesh and bone that would surely be tossed in a hole, to be forgotten forever.
The room was dark, darkness consuming the light. And from his head he looked around, not crying, not making sound. Just, dying. The silent violins were drowned out of tune by the incessant buzz of the dimensional travel. Moving from one reality to another, nothing that could stop the separation of body and mind. The heaven’s were making way for him? He hoped so.
And during that second, Big Macintosh understood everything.
