The Flame of Life

Remember at the beginning when I said that memoirs usually start at an early memory? Well, this experience wasn’t one that could easily be forgotten. Consequently, it became my earliest memory.

It was traumatizing, life-altering, and overall just plain scary. But let me tell you, I would never dream of wanting to forget about it. Do you know why? You could probably easily guess after having been given a major clue.

It was a normal day; my parents and I were hiking along the forest trail. I was a mere lad, young and carefree. My pride had started gestating early, so I both enjoyed being praised for a good job and disregarded any sense of doubt of my own handiwork. Hiking was one way for me to represent myself as being hardy and proud of what I was able to do. Those trails were long and rough, and I always made it through.

There was nothing different about that day from any other day that we went out hiking. The weather was nice, the sun’s golden rays shone through the leaves above us, and a cool breeze whirred by ever so slightly. Birds chirped from their perches and the wildlife on ground level stirred busily around us. It was truly a quiet and peaceful day.

The ground shook. The sound of birds and a slight breeze were overcome by a low rumble. My parents and I stopped in our tracks wondering what just happened. We didn’t have to wonder for long: it happened.

Despite being blinded by the forest canopy, we knew exactly what that specific sound was – an explosion. The volcano was erupting. My parents rushed me to hurry up so we could get back to the village and into the emergency bunkers.

My legs were very short back then. I may have said that I was able to get through those forested paths, but I never said that I could do it quickly.

I tried my best to keep up with my galloping parents, and they would always look back to make sure I kept pace with them. Alas, my small stature betrayed me, and I tripped. My parents didn’t notice, but I never blamed them.

In a panic, I tried to catch up to them after getting back up, but the panic had overwhelmed me and I kept tripping over myself, unable to control my own balance. Whether my parents noticed my absence or not, they were long gone. I was alone.

My mind was clouded. Fear and panic gripped my very being. I knew the lava would reach me soon. That was my panicking mind’s only thought. Every foal was taught about the volcano and how to stay safe if it ever erupted. I tried my hardest to remember what to do. All I could think of was to gallop away, nothing else, just gallop.

So I did.

I hadn’t a clue as to where I was headed; I just knew to get away from the sounds of the fiery eruption. I tripped often and it was starting to hurt. I remember the increasing pain each time I fell to the ground. Finally, it was too much for my small body to handle and I just collapsed. Out of breath and out of time. Fleeing only delayed my demise. The crackling of burning foliage surrounded me. I could feel the heat getting more intense as I ran, and I knew it wasn’t from overexertion or being overheated from the day.

I could smell burning wood nearby, and soon I could see it as well. The lava crept closer and closer, scorching everything in its path from low vegetation to the trees. I was too tired and I ached too much to run any further. I didn’t want to give up, but I just wasn’t physically able to go any further.

The lava was getting closer. It was a shame to know that a pony so young would be victim to such a cruel fate. Death was imminent. To have that thought in a young colt’s mind is frightening. I didn’t fully understand the concept of death; I just knew that nopony comes back from it.

Whether it was panic inducing that “life flashing before your eyes” deal or just a random thought, I suddenly remember how my mother frequently used magic to do things. She always told me that magic can allow me to do anything I could ever dream of. I know today that that is untrue. There are many things that magic can do, but there are some things that are taboo and forbidden or even just plain impossible.

Anyway, I knew that since I was a unicorn just like my mother, I could use magic as well. I tried doing it before, but it always ended up as just a few puttering sparks.

The lava was getting close, and I could feel my own flesh sizzling. I was desperate. I needed to at least try to save myself from burning alive, so I concentrated on my horn.

Nothing.

I tried harder. It felt almost as if I was trying to force magic out of my horn like it was a substance.

Nothing.

The lava was getting too close, I had to muster up something to protect myself, but nothing would come out of my horn except puttering sparks. It was getting hard to breathe now, which was bad because my mother told me that breathing is key to concentration.

I was scared out of my wits. The lava was then just hooves away from me. I was too scared to think, much less concentrate on producing magic.

Closer, closer. I closed my eyes. I hoped for something to save me. I hoped for any spark of magic from my horn to come out and protect me.

Just as the molten rock was supposed to envelope me, something happened. I opened my eyes to see that some sort of solidified aura had surrounded me and was protecting me from the lava.

It was hot, hotter than even the lava itself, I thought. But there was something about it that was less menacing and more protective and secure. I thought my mother had come to save me and protect me from harm as she had always done before.

Before I could look around for her, though, it went black. I had fainted, probably from the intense moment’s strain on a young foal’s mind. The next thing I remembered was waking up in the village with my parents standing above me, relief and happiness in their eyes. I thought it all was a dream, but then I saw the burned buildings and the hardened lava covering half the village.

Something told me that that didn’t matter to my parents, though. Their little colt was safe and unharmed. But how? I looked to my mother about to ask if she was the one who saved me. As if she could read my mind, she nodded towards my flank, as if that would answer my unasked question.

What I saw I didn’t believe, for on my flank was a sparkling mark that was and always will be unique in the world.

My cutie mark is the veil of fire that once protected me from the lava all those years ago. Ever since that day, I’ve always believed that it still protects me, even guides me, throughout my life.

The story of a pony’s cutie mark is likely the most important story of any pony’s life. Whether it’s a simple circumstance, the finding of one’s true calling, or, as in my case, a near death experience, one should never forget his or her cutie mark story. Despite having been almost killed in the process of receiving my own cutie mark, I chose to remember it. After all, it makes an amazing story on its own!