Seeking the best in others is part of what defines us.
Thirteen years ago, I discovered a hidden vault of the Canterlot library. It was sheer coincidence that I stumbled across it in the musical section of the library, full of symphonies and ballads and threnodies. A false book magically triggered a portion of the far wall to slide away, revealing a large chamber filled with scrolls and leather-bound tomes. Text upon text detailing things long forgotten: royal decrees, noble houses, and so on.
But two things in particular grabbed my attention and held it fast.
The first was a thick book, simply titled An History of War in Equestria. Ponies are familiar with the term, of course, but only as an idea. The mere concept that ponies themselves had ever been involved with war after the Union of the Three Tribes is staggering, given our way of life today. It amazes me that such an important detail has gone almost completely unnoticed in our culture.
The second was an ink sketch draped over several stacks of scrolls. It depicted a creature, one that had appendages on its forelegs and stood straight on its back hooves. There was no caption, no hint as to who these bizarre creatures were or how they came to be drawn. It was simply a picture of something completely alien to me, like nothing I had ever seen before.
Thirteen years later, the image still burns brightly in my head. Even with my eyes closed, my hooves plucking at the taut strings of my lyre and my mind clear of thought, the drawing is there plain as day. The ink strokes are sharp, the parchment yellowed and cracked beneath it. In fact, the only part that I can’t visualize is the face. Was there a face? I can’t remember.
No one believed me at the time and no one believes me now, so I no longer bring up the subject. But in my gut, it exists, or did at one point. The creature, I mean. Why else would there be artwork of it?
My hoof slips. There’s a discordant thrum of several strings not meant to be played together, and I open my eyes. I exhale. I inhale. I exhale. My brow furrows and I will my lyre back in place, ready to try again. I pick at several of the strings, adjusting them back to their normal sounds.
And then there’s a sound like a match being struck, and then a resounding boom, and then silence.
I jump up from my sofa, the springs groaning as the ripped cushions propel my body towards the front door. Without even thinking, a thick winter jacket and a golden scarf wrap themselves around me. My horn glimmers and the door to my cabin opens. I shiver and pull the jacket closer to my body as a slicing wind whistles into my home. The flames in the fireplace flicker a few times before reassuring me with their warm and inviting glow.
There’s no time to waste. Slamming the door shut, I trot out into the dense snow. Living so near the Everfree is both a blessing and a curse, I’ve learned. Ponies are not meant to be isolated creatures. We need interaction. We crave it. I’m fortunate enough to have become close to Zecora, the shamanistic zebra that lives in the Everfree itself. Were the sounds her doing?
No. It would be entirely unlike her to frighten others on purpose. She’s a good soul. This thought in mind, I trudge further and further away from my cabin of logs, away from the glow of my warm home, and head towards the foreboding sea of wilderness that lies like a sleeping dragon, sprawled out for everyone to see. A thick column of smoke is rising from somewhere in the forest. Somepony may be in trouble, and I gulp.
Tall pines and oaks swallow me whole as I step into the forest proper. They stretch for what feels like miles, and I have to look down again quickly for the vertigo to pass. To say the Everfree is big would be the understatement of a lifetime. It’s nothing short of massive, and frankly, it’s terrifying. I’m a simple unicorn. Adventuring and finding secrets are not my idea of a good time. I summon up the willpower to keep moving forward. I do, for a while. And then I see an unearthly sheen and freeze in my tracks.
The surrounding snow-capped bushes and shrubs gleam orange from the light. I whirl around in an effort to discern the source. Then I smack myself, realizing that it must be further ahead. I try to move, but my legs lock. What if there’s danger ahead? What if this light is all an elaborate trap? The noises? I shake my head to clear the paranoia, but my gut is never wrong.
Something was waiting for me up ahead in the frozen undergrowth.
But if someone—or, stars forbid, something— is in need of help, it is my civil duty to do everything in my power to aid them, isn’t it? Yes, I say to myself. Yes, I say again, with more conviction than I really feel.
And I continue north.
***
I stare at the hulking behemoth in front of me. Fire shoots out of its belly and I leap backwards, eyes widening of their own accord. Smoke billows out in a great plume from the beast. I was clearly mistaken to think that the great monsters of the Everfree were hunkered down in hibernation. This one is enormous and fills half of the clearing. All of the snow has melted around it, and the ground is scarred from where it walked.
Or did it walk? There aren’t any visible legs on the creature, that much is clear. The grayness of the thing is frightening. So devoid of color and life… I almost feel sorry for it, whatever it is. But something seemed off. Maybe…
Inching a bit closer, it is obvious that this monster is, in fact, a monster. Just not a living one. But where was the fire coming from? I squint at the flames and think back to my humble fireplace at home. I shiver again. These flames are cold, unwelcome. Not something I’d like to be close to, if at all possible.
There’s a dull gonging noise when I strike the ship with a hoof. The vibrations burrow through me and harmonize in my bones. I need to sit down for a bit. I need to think.
Metal. It has to be. Nothing else could make that sound. But then, what purpose does this monstrosity in front of me serve? Metal isn’t alive in the slightest. Manehattan and other large cities have tons of the stuff, but here in Ponyville? Most everything is wood or straw or brick. Simple building materials for a simple community. I trail a hoof across the smooth surface. The texture is almost unfamiliar, but then, my lyre has a steel frame. Or is it brass? I can’t remember. The flames dance and cast villainous shadows across the ruined earth.
Like the flames, the metal is cold. Something catches my hoof.
There’s a seam here, a flaw in the otherwise pristine metal. And three more close by. It’s polished as much as the rest of the surface. Why? Hesitantly, I reach out and touch it. My hoof stops a half-inch above where I thought the surface to be, and I realize it’s a button.
Should I push it? There’s no telling what will happen if I do. This metal unit might divulge some previously unknown horror, or some closely guarded secret that no one else will be privy to. But is it worth the risk?
I brace myself and push the button.
A loud hissing noise fills my head. Wincing, I cover my ears in a vain effort to drown it out. But just as soon as it came, it stops. A transparent dome twice as big as me folds upward into the shrouded night, the only hint to its existence a burning reflection.
This is a container of some kind. What could possibly be so grand, so enormous that it requires such a large storage unit? The answer lies inside, I know it does. Is it a good idea to explore this thing, this hollow metal behemoth? Should I simply walk away, back to the comfort and safety and familiarity of my home, forgetting all about this strange endeavor? Would I regret doing so?
That alone makes up my mind.
Hooking my limbs around the lip of the newly opened portal, I manage to pull myself up onto the slick steel. It’s hard to balance. My leg slips, but I steady myself and peek into the container’s ovular abyss.
Darkness stares back. A tendril of magic, and then I can see faint outlines. Lowering myself over the edge and into the container itself, two doorways make themselves apparent. One is dimly lit for a few feet before fading to black.
The other one, the closer one, has small pinpricks of light inside that change colors in a sort of order, and this is the direction I head in. My hooves clang against the metal floor, sending echoes in front of me and around me and behind me. My head hurts. I sniff the air for any signs of danger, but only a paltry metallic stench replies, not even enough to form a taste in my mouth.
Light shines over the interior of the room. There isn’t much here at all. Two black chairs and some sort of large electronic device that extends beneath a large window. Why doesn’t the window open? Buttons and lights are crammed across the entire unit. Each has some sort of black marking beneath it, but I don’t know the significance of them. Nothing happens when I push a few. My tail flicks.
Heading back to the entrance, I linger just a moment before venturing through the other doorway. There’s nothing to be afraid of here. This container can’t hurt me. A small room blooms in front of me. Colored strands hang loose from the ceiling. Small bolts of lightning shoot from them, and I involuntarily rear back. Pulling my coat closer around me, I shuffle around the room and peer at the walls.
Thump.
Two glass cylinders loom in front of me. Something is inside of each. Something gray. What is it? How did they get in the glass? A set of pictures adorns the space between the two glass structures. Most depict a black series of shapes in various positions. I skip over these and move to the last one. It shows a colored circle, a violet one. Twilight Sparkle pops into my head. I wonder…
Turning, I trot back to the room with the lights and scan them, blue and green and red and…
And purple. A solitary violet button stands out from the rest, isolated in the corner. With no hesitation, I press it.
Something whirs in the distance. I gallop to the other room just in time to see the glass cylinders rotate into the wall, exposing the gray forms within to the open air. They look like large ponies that have their forelegs down by their sides. Perhaps this container—this machine—was an experiment from the big city using live subjects? Twilight Sparkle would probably know. I’ll have to ask her about it.
A muffled bang erupts outside. An awful smell creeps into the room. It’s getting hard to breathe. If these gray objects are living ponies, they won’t last in here. They don’t budge from their spots, no matter how hard I pull them. Little bands of metal wrap around their hooves. I run back to the button room and press the violet one again. There are a series of clicks followed by twin thuds. Racing back, I pull the ponies towards the entrance to the machine.
There’s another violent sound. Various pieces of something hit the outside of the ship and smoke fills the interior. I’m choking. I have to save these ponies. It’s sweet and bitter all at once and it’s too much and I cough and gasp and heave for air as I finally, somehow, get out of the container. The fire has grown and spread. The heat is sapping my energy, and it’s all I can do to pull the ponies in gray across the clearing, away from the machine.
Something bursts and there’s a fireball and I’m deaf and I’m blind and then the strange container is in pieces all around me with more falling from the sky.
I need to get back to my house. My life and these ponies’ lives depend on it. I run as quickly as I can. My scarf flaps in the wind, but it stays put. I’d hate to lose it, but I know the dressmaker could fashion another just like it in an instant.
Is that my cabin? It is! I’m safe. I’m safe I’m safe I’m safe. I throw open the door with my magic and tumble inside, landing on top of the ponies I’ve saved. I inwardly thank them for breaking my fall.
One of them groans.
They’re alive! This is good. This is very good. But they need rest. I prop the two of them up into a sitting position of sorts on the sofa. The springs creak in protest as they take the full weights of the ponies.
They’re big. Their legs are longer than what I’m used to seeing. Spheres of something completely obscure their heads. Identical gray suits cover their bodies completely. I wish I could see their cutie marks.
No sense worrying about things now. It’s late, if my clock is to be believed. I crawl into bed and look at the two ponies together on the sofa. They must be friends. How did they get in the glass tubes, or the container itself? I’ll ask them a few questions tomorrow. I’m sure they’ll be glad that I saved them from the explosion.
I surrender myself to my dreams.
***
My face is warm. The inside of my eyelids are red.
Groaning, I sit up and look around me. Ack, sun in my eyes! I squeeze them shut and bring a hoof to my forehead. Something happened last night, I’m sure of it. Maybe Applejack kicked me in the face. That’s the only reasonable explanation for this headache.
The covers fly off me and I step onto the floor. There’s a carton of juice in my fridge and oatmeal in my pantry. They sound delicious right about now. A bowl comes out of a cabinet and sets itself down on the chipped elm counter. Fighting off a yawn, I fish out the cylinder of oats from the back of my pantry and set it on the counter.
I need water. I put on my coat—did it always have a scorch mark on the lapel?—and head to the ancient well behind my house. I live simply, and the well stands as an everlasting reminder to that testament. It’s been here with its stone walls and rotten roof since I took over the cabin from my parents seven years ago. They’re in Orlandoats, retired the both of them. I should visit them soon.
An oaken bucket leans against the side of the well, and it’s only a moment before I take it in my magic and scoop up a gallon of water. Leaves and pine needles float on the surface. Clumps of dirt cling to the sides like moss to a rock. My mouth contorts in a frown.
I’m sure I have a strainer inside. Stamping my hooves against the well-worn doormat, I rummage through the cabinets until I spy a square of silk mesh. I call a second, newer bucket over to my side and, placing the strainer over it, upheave the entire bucket of water into the new container.
Container. That sounds familiar. Was there a container last night?
A curious feeling comes over me. I rotate my head and look at the sofa in the corner of my one-room cabin.
Two gray-clad figures are sitting upright. I think they’re looking at me. I can’t see their faces. They’re wearing roundish helmets. Neither of them say anything. The old well bucket falls from my magic and clatters onto the ground.
With a rush of images and sounds, everything comes back to me. All of the events from last night play out in my head. I can feel my knees trembling. The gray monster, the glass cylinders, the colored lights… I glance at my scorched coat.
The explosion.
The creatures in my house don’t say anything. Are they waiting for me to initiate contact? I guess I don’t have a choice, do I? If I want to find out anything useful about these creatures, I’ll have to ask them myself.
I walk up to them, trying to mask the fear that I know is clouding my face. The helmets rotate downward. The black circles on the front of the headpieces seem to pierce my soul. Emotionless. Limitless. I shiver and catch myself. Here goes nothing.
“Hello, I’m Lyra Heartstrings.” Stick with the facts, I guess. “There was an explosion last night in your machine. I pulled you to safety. Do you remember?” I need to control my stuttering. I gulp and clear my throat several times. There’s no response from either creature. Now what?
One of them reaches out with a foreleg and I jerk my head backwards. The creature stops and bends his spidery hoof upwards. What does this mean? It reaches out again, more slowly. I don’t shy away. It touches my head lightly runs the appendages through my mane, stroking my neck.
It feels nice, and I let out a content sigh. The creature follows the same motion again, and it feels just as great as the first time. Perhaps sensing that I enjoy whatever it’s doing, the creature continues the caress. Its helmet rotates towards the second creature, who is still sitting motionless on the old cushions. The first creature nods, and then a second foreleg reaches out and touches my head. Are the appendages something similar to bird claws?
It doesn’t matter. These creatures are nice. I simply lie there in the sunlight, letting two unknown beings feel my mane and neck. I can’t think of another instance where I felt as satisfied as I do right now.
And then one of the creatures says something. My ears prick. The second creature responds in a series of grunts and monotone noises. The first barks loudly and its shoulders shake up and down. Are they talking about me? Something about them feels familiar…
The drawing! In the library! Oh, I wish I made the connection sooner! Those creatures do exist, and two of them are sitting in front of me with their forelegs in my mane! I knew I was right! I knew it, I knew it, I knew—
What am I doing? There’s no time to waste! I need to know what they’re saying! Twilight Sparkle has a book about speech-based spells, I’ve seen her reading it. I need that book. I try to copy the creatures and hold my right foreleg straight out in front of me. They look at it, and then my coat is covering my back and the tattered golden scarf is around my neck and I’m running through the deep snow for Twilight Sparkle’s library.
***
It’s on the other side of town, but I’m here already. I knock three times on the door. I prance in place when I hear light steps from inside pitter-pattering their way over to the entrance.
Spike cracks open the door and peeks out at me before opening it fully.
“Oh, hi, Lyra. Twilight’s still asleep, if you were looking for her.” He’s adorable, he really is. So compassionate and loyal to a fault. Without really meaning to, I grin at him.
“That’s okay, Spike. I just need a book right now. One about… about languages.” Do I sound suspicious? Desperate? I bite my lip and stare at the ground.
Regardless, Spike doesn’t seem to notice and waddles towards one of the huge bookshelves that fill the library. He waves a hand over his shoulder without turning around.
The library always seems bigger on the inside. It sounds silly, I know, given that it’s inside of a tree, but I can’t explain why the library feels so large when compared with the exterior of the building. Maybe it’s the fact that nothing is out of place: no books littering tables, no ink pots or quills knocked over onto the floor, nothing even remotely messy.
It’s inviting. I feel safe in the library. I sound like Twilight, and the thought makes me giggle. She’s not the only unicorn with a passion for learning.
Spike’s struggling to reach for a thick red book on the top shelf. My magic engulfs it and I pull the book towards me, scanning the cover. Nothing in the way of a title; only a picture of a pony’s head, mouth wide open, the edges pulled upward in a jubilant smile.
“Can I get back to sleep now?” Spike looks at me with wide, shimmering eyes. He bats his eyelids and I ruffle his spines. “Cut it out, Lyra! I won’t tell Twilight, okay?” That’s enough to stop me cold.
He’s right; Twilight’s one of my closest friends, but she can’t know about this. Oh, imagine if knowledge about the two creatures on my sofa was made public! Terror and mayhem in the streets, shutters slamming, windows boarded up…
I grimace. Spike glances up at me, brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”
I clear my throat. “Fine, Spike. Thanks for the book.”
He doesn’t say anything, just nods. And then he climbs upstairs and disappears from view.
I let out a breath. Quietly, I turn and walk out of the library. The door shuts behind me with a slight creak before I begin the miserable plod back through the early morning snow to my cabin.
***
They stop talking when I walk in.
The creatures don’t think I hear them, but I do. The whispers and grunts of the two, though somewhat muffled through the door, were perhaps not as quiet as they would have liked to think. A blast of warmth barrels through the open door as I stamp my hooves on the mat outside, and a fresh chill sweeps back in with me. The book levitates onto my bed and lands with a muffled thump. I pull the winter garments off and hang them up on a small coat rack before trotting over to do some research.
The spell that I’m looking for, thankfully, is in modern Equestrian. Who knows what would have happened if it hadn’t been. It’s complex, but not difficult. It’ll take some time, though, so it’s best if I get started on the matrix sooner than later.
A wave of focus washes over me as I stare at the book. My surroundings blur and twist until I’m standing in a pastel meadow. No sun gleams overhead, but the day is bright and new. The grass is there, but I don’t feel it. A shade of brilliant blue lies above me and I barely notice it.
The book and I are all that are real in this realm. I glance at the intricate design on the page in front of me. My muscles are loose. My head is clear. I’m ready for anything.
So I close my eyes, taking my sweet time, vision slowly fading to black. A soft breeze plays over my back and I hum to myself as I compose the first movement of the spell. My magic creeps out in a small tendril, poking and wriggling its way in front of me. It drags itself into a horizontal line of gold before taking a sharp downward angle to the right, stopping in a perfect line away from the beginning. An upside-down “V” forms and creates a sort of “A.” One last stroke upwards to the right and the star is born in a blaze of shimmering yellow. Slow melodies fade in as the star casts its brightness on everything around it.
Furrowing my brows, I will my magic to be green, and it obeys without question. A circle is formed with small and precise motions. Runes make themselves apparent in wells of blue that completely fill the ring. Darker and faster instruments join in the tunes of the star and create an altogether different piece. More exciting, adventurous.
And then I repeat the entire process once more and create harmony.
Now comes the tricky part. I clench my jaw tighter and tighter. I can feel sparks flying as magic, pure and unbridled, jets from my horn. Whips of red scar the air between the two rings in loud, boisterous percussion that brings the entire symphony together. With resounding booms, gray runes sear the space between the crimson lines and the song is over and I’m panting and oh my goodness did that actually work?
The field fades and I’m back in my rustic cabin, mere inches from the book. I give a yell and topple backwards onto the floor. The creatures are upside-down and they stare at me without saying anything. I get to my hooves and walk over to them, not afraid of them like I was before I got the book and cast the spell.
“Do you understand—?”
“You talk! You’re a talking pony!” The creature shrieks a name I can’t pronounce and I leap backwards, head low and hooves clutching the ground. The second creature doesn’t react much better than I do, opting to fall off the sofa completely.
“Yeah, um… what kind of creature are you?” That was idiotic, Lyra. Really? What a terrible question.
“We’re both humans,” he says. I can’t get my tongue to say the word correctly. “What’s the atmosphere made of here?” the creature asks. The voice is so deep that it must be male.
I see his logic. “Nitrogen, mostly, but I think we breathe oxygen. You’d have to ask Twilight Sparkle, she has all the answers.”
The creature seems to consider this, shrugs, and removes his helmet. His face is close to normal, thankfully. Two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. A dark mane covers his scalp like ponies, but his ears are rounded and attached to the sides of his head. It’s far from grotesque, so maybe that’s why I can feel my heart rate go down. He breathes in deeply, coughs twice, and exhales. And then he does something that puts me at ease immediately and crushes all of my doubts about him.
He smiles.
“Take off your helmet, you big lug,” he says to the other creature. “It’s breathable on this planet.” It’s clear from his tone that he’s joking, and that only serves to relax me even more. “He’s my older brother,” the helmetless creature tells me.
The second one sheds its helmet and I’m surprised at how similar the humans look. Mane and coat colors are almost identical, and their eyes are the color of chocolate. It’s considered odd amongst ponies if siblings look alike. Griffons, not so much, but I can never tell griffons apart anyway.
“I can’t believe that there’s a green unicorn talking to us,” says the second brother. “I’ve never seen a real live unicorn before.”
I blush. “Oh, well, I’m not the only one. There are a lot of us in Canterlot.” The human tilts his head to the side. “Oh! It’s the capital city of Equestria. See, we live in a diarchy—”
"What is this?"
I turn. The other human points directly at Equestria on the globe on my desk. It’s a nice model, made of oak and hand-carved by some bigwig in Canterlot.
"Oh, that's Equestria. Where we live! Our land, you know?"
"Equestria," he says, and the way his eyes narrow make me worried as he gestures to his brother. "No, it isn't. Look. This isn't Equestria, little unicorn. It's something else."
"Um... No? It's not?" I say, ears folded down. "That's the country ponies made."
"No," says the first, holding the globe in both hands. "This wasn't Equestria before.” His eyes are wide as he stares straight at me. “This was home."
That’s not possible. There’s no way. I remember the picture in the library, thirteen years ago.
It’s dead silent as the brothers’ eyes move in silent shock, first to the globe, then to me, then back to the globe. The first human works his jaw several times but settles for falling backwards onto the sofa. The springs squeal and he slumps down where he sits, a giddy expression on his face.
The second brother follows suit. I settle for collapsing where I stand, grinning so wide that my cheeks threaten to burst.
“I haven’t seen this planet in years!” The first brother is shaking with excitement and he turns to me. “We left it ages ago, I didn’t think there’d be a trace left of the old thing!”
“‘Ages?’ Shouldn’t you be, y’know…?”
“Dead?” He says it with such nonchalance. “Well, not literal ages, I guess. See, our ancestors left about six millennia ago, but we’re still taught about this place with maps from the time period. Bit unfortunate that we can’t get back now, actually…”
“So that machine was yours? The one that exploded?” I ask.
The two brothers look at each other and then turn to me. “You mean our ship?” asks the second one.
“That wasn’t a ship,” I say. “Ships are great wooden structures that travel across water.”
“Not ours,” says the first. “Ours travels across space. Or did, before we hit that meteor shower.”
Meteors! They’re exceedingly rare on Equestria. To find a whole slew of them must have been an incredible experience.
“Well,” continues the second, “nothing can be done now. Looks like we’re stuck here for a bit. Why don’t we go exploring, huh? Just the three of us somewhere. We can get provisions in your town, right?”
I want to say yes, but then I remember how badly everyone reacted to Zecora. Treated her like an outcast for months when all she wanted was to meet ponies. Would they do it again?
“Actually, I have a few question I’d like to ask about your species. It should only take a few minutes.”
***
We talk for the rest of the day. They’re such a fascinating and amazing race and have such a rich culture for science and the arts. It turns out that the “fingers” on their “hands” are great at playing the lyre! Who would have guessed?
After a modest dinner, I set them up on the sofa, adding blankets and pillows to make it a bit more accommodating. Supplies will be gathered tomorrow and I’ll show them around Ponyville and introduce them to some of my friends. They insisted that we take the night to recuperate, and I’m fully onboard with that idea.
I burrow into my sheets and turn myself away from the sofa. The fireplace is dimming and the remains of the branches inside will be nothing more than ash in the morning. I close my eyes and let sleep claim my mind once more.
Voices. Whose? Human? Whispers.
I force my eyes open and look out the window. It’s fully dark. Why are the humans still awake? Are they arguing?
The second brother says something about the globe, how it’s not entirely accurate anymore.
“Are you telling me that the Great Lakes don’t exist anymore because these ponies moved the water in them?” asks the first brother. I don’t like how soft his voice gets. It’s low and it’s quiet. “They’re terraforming, that’s what they’re doing! They can’t do that!” he loudly whispers.
“Quiet. And why not?” the second brother says. “We are the ones that destroyed this world, and they—” I get the feeling that he’s pointing at me— “fixed it. Who are we to say that what they have done is so wrong?”
“The original inhabitants of this world, that’s who! They do not have the right to disrupt what we have created! It is not their place to decide what is best for this world!”
My head hurts.
“We abandoned it! Do you not understand that we no longer hold claim to this place?”
I can’t move. I can’t speak. Sibling squabbles are one thing, but this is more than a silly argument. The two humans bicker and bicker back and forth. The sound is transfixing. I can’t even look away from the crescent moon hanging low in the sky as they quarrel. I feel like a filly again, listening to my parents argue; always frightening, never fruitful.
But they seem content to fight and make no headway whatsoever. It’s too much for me to take in, but my eyes just won’t respond when I try to close them.
“Fine!” snarls the first human. “But this isn’t over. I’m going to contact our planet and ask them to return here. We’ve waited years to return to our world, and I’m not going to let this opportunity go to waste!”
“The whole world will be polluted again! Do you want to destroy the thousands of years of work that has gone into its improvement? We’ll take over and then the planet will go to pieces for a second time!”
“You don’t care about this planet any more than I do, and we both know it! You’re fighting a lost cause!”
“And what about the ones already here?” The desperation in his voice is palpable and it echoes across the wooden floor. “What happens to them?”
“You already know.” The first brother doesn’t say anything else. I turn over, feigning sleep, and watch as he turns away from his sibling. He balls his fists a few times and finally sighs. The second human picks up something heavy and wooden. I narrow my eyes to a sliver. It’s my globe, the three-dimensional picture of the planet I love so much.
And he brings it down over his brother’s head with a crunch.
Again. And again. And again.
The body slips to the ground with a thump and a squelch. A pool of crimson eases itself over the floor. The second human is gasping for breath, but all I can see is the blood spilling out of his brother’s head.
There’s a series of bangs as the globe falls out of the second brother’s grasp and clatters across the room. The ocean is marred with red on the side facing me. I try to speak and fail. I can’t think of anything to say. His cloudy eyes are staring at me, wide open.
I can’t even shudder.
“Well,” says the living brother. “Well, that’s that.” I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes so I stare at the body in front of me. The human lets out a few shaking breaths and clears his throat. “I think I’ll live here for a while. I think there’s a forest nearby. No sense trying to return home, you’ve done well on this planet. It’s yours now,” he whispers to me, devoid of any emotion.
There’s a scuffling sound and a creak as the last human opens the door and puts on his helmet. There’s a slam as the door closes behind him and seals me in with the body.
I can’t go to Twilight or the town. I can’t trust this human.
All I can do is watch the body cool.
Author's Note
I'd like to thank three outstanding individuals who pushed me write this story:
- Themaskedferret, for great words of encouragement and valuable feedback.
- RazgrizS57, who, though not able to provide feedback due to his position as a judge, ~~threatened~~ gave constant support throughout the process.
- RedSquirrel456, for his editing expertise and his willingness to listen to me moan for hours at a time.
