Beyond

I am done. I have to be. I have traced the maze to its end, each turn forgotten as it was taken. Dreams do not last that long, do they? I cannot remember. I can hardly recall how the world used to be, its rolling meadows and invigorating sun. This place is cold. Its light is merely a mockery built to guide unlucky souls into the heart of nowhere. Souls like myself. What value has the light when there is nothing in comparison? What am I but a speck of gray in the white ocean? I slide down the idea of a wall. While I was running the maze, at least there had been an energy line to follow. Now that it has faded behind me, I am alone. My frustrated shout resounds off of infinity. For all I know, I have been wandering here for months, or just hours. Am I watching an endless sway of stars, or something else entirely? Is there a concept of space here?

What was that?

A voice breaking the silence! Somepony trapped here with me? Or perhaps salvation? She is nowhere in sight, however much that says. I focus all of my power in an attempt to respond.

Anyone there?

The very world shifts. Where previously dots of light would drift on lazy paths, they now dart too fast to watch. Perhaps they are not stars after all.

Oh, no. This is not happening. I cannot have lost it after all. Leave!

I am as lost as you are, if it helps. I have no vile intentions.

The lines streaking through the white void calm. At least I do not have to fear for this place's existence, whatever it may be. For now.

Tell me. Do you know where I am? Is this reality? The next beyond? Are you alive?

I hope I am still alive. I am Octavia. I was just living well until your voice appeared out of nowhere.

Well then. I am not certain I can say the same as you. But then my existence did not meet an end, and I came to you. I suppose death is but a door, time is but a window. Passing oneself renews consciousness in another form. I suppose that I am within your mind then, in one way or another.

I wander off again. While I doubt there is anything to find in this place, there certainly is nothing where I am. I have not felt tired in years, so why conserve energy? An opportunity could arise after all. It would be odder if it did not.

But who or what are you?

I had a name. Long forgotten, like the rest of my life. I can only hold onto the thought that I exist after all. What else matters.

Is it true that they say? A shower of rose petals as you depart? The innocent spirit of a filly to guide you beyond? To be flung back to resolve what troubles you?

I know little. But I remember that none of these things happened. Ooh, what is this?

I come before a set of swing doors. I had hoped the afterlife would be less literal, but I will take anything if I have to. In reality, I would be unable to move them as they ascend upwards out of sight. Here, they fling open with the first thought. I find myself within light-flooded halls. The glass ceiling shows no sky, but even the background of pure light is soothing to my nerves. At least it is proof that something exists around me. The room seems to curve into a circle around a pavilion, with a small well in the dead center. Stone benches line the pavilion's outer ring, carrying the same flowers that rake around the entire structure. The door snaps close behind me; It has now shrunk to being a little larger than what would be normally expected. What size would you expect of entry doors within the afterlife, anyway?

Fascinating. I suppose these would be the Dream Halls. Have they yet been described by the philosophers in your time?

I am not convinced I enjoy you rummaging through my consciousness.

The needs of me outweigh the loss of the few. I will probably be able to make it worth your trouble. If nothing else, this can only help me remember things, right?

You sound like Vinyl. That is not a compliment.

While they are all equal and unmarked, one door draws me in from across the hall. It swings open as soon as I touch it, and I am flung inside. For a moment, darkness, then the world becomes before me. Stars line and disappear, becoming the shapes I am to see.

As amazing as the experience is, as boring is its reality. The walls share a common brown with the furniture they surround. Blades of rain cover the window, twisting and turning the world outside until it is pointless to try and see it. I attempt to look around further, but the vision does not move with my will. Instead it turns down to a musical instrument led by grey hooves. Somewhere within the patterns and movements, something resonates.

This is not what I imagined when I sought the way out. There is a distant memory, though. I think I was like you in life. I was adept at creating the fleeting escape of music. A, D, then F... In fact, I remember what you are playing. It was written in my time.

The hooves skip a beat, but keep playing. As they play, the rhythm gets faster. I follow as well as I can, if only in mind. The notes link us, through space and time. As she cuts into the next line, barriers shatter and the hooves that guide the tune become mine, just for the brevity of a moment. Just to finish the song. With the last note played, I let go and all sensation but sight flees from me again.

What did you just do?