Waiting

by Tayman

Rating: everyone
Tags: Princess Celestia, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Sad, Princess Luna
Length: 2772

Immortality doesn't just mean losing every pony close to you. It also means watching the world crumble to dust.

Featured on Equestria Daily June 16th, 2012.

Published 2012-06-01 07:34:02 UTC
Last updated 2012-06-01 07:34:02 UTC

Waiting

“Please, do not forget me, Celestia. Let me live on, if only in your memory. You will be here when the earth begins to crumble. My bones will be gone then. Do not let my spirit drift away as well.”

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I opened my eyes, the dream rapidly disappearing from my recollection. I was met with a sliver of moonlight. I squinted, barely making out the jagged, rocky walls and stalactites. I pulled myself off the ground and shook off the dust that had accumulated upon my coat over the centuries.

Pausing, I turned and glanced at my sister, her sapphire form nearly indistinguishable from the darkness that surrounded us. Her long, deep breaths as she slept were the only sounds that dared disturb the silence.

Sleep. It was such a peaceful experience, and I dare say Luna was an expert at it. She has always found the task of slipping into slumber to be quite a simple one. Her naps tend to last an average of... a few millennia, each? I’m lucky if I can sleep for a few hundred years at a time.

I calmly strolled towards the entrance of the cave, my hoofsteps clacking against the rocky floor; all else remained still. Eventually I came to the gaping opening of our home and stared up into the shimmering blue abyss.

Should I let the sky remain in a state of eternal night? I pondered the question for a moment. In her slumber, Luna wouldn’t notice if I decided to lower the moon and extinguish the stars, turning the world black. At least I wouldn’t have to see anything that way.

I decided to close my eyes and channel my energy forward. A clear image of the sun came to mind, and when I opened my eyes, the fiery orb had been hurled into the sky, incinerating the pitch blanket of night that had preceded. The task has become so commonplace that nowadays, it is akin to a unicorn filly effortlessly levitating a feather. I can only imagine what force could be wielded if I actually concentrated my magic. Likely, the very mountains would crumble to nothing.

My eyes turned towards the desolate landscape, thousands of feet below. The sunlight illuminated a desert of dirt that seemed to stretch on forever. I found myself searching for any stir of motion; I was only met with billowing dust clouds. No rivers flowed. No pegasi flew. Not a single creature enjoyed the warmth of the sunlight.

I shook my head. Raising the sun is irrational, I told myself. Perhaps deep down, I clung to the hopeless thought that illuminating the land would bring about the old days, when raising the sun served a purpose.

The years have reduced my memory to but a foggy haze, but if I recall correctly, we ruled over a kingdom a long time ago. A kingdom named Equestria that once enveloped the entire barren wasteland stretched out before me. Cities of happy ponies dotted the emerald landscape. We resided in a capital named Canterlot, in a breathtaking palace etched into the very mountainside. Happy ponies bowed in the streets as we walked past. Scholars wrote that our reign would last for millennia, if not forever.

However, not even we could conquer time, the force that tears everything apart. No matter how powerful our magic is, the creation of life is beyond us.

Now, the pages the scholars had written, their desks, the homes in which they had resided, their cities, and their very bones had disintegrated to dust, indistinguishable from the dirt that howled in the wind. No trace of their dreams or their very existence remained in this world, not even in my memory.

My eyes drifted upon the sun, its light wavering in and out as suffocating streams of dust howled about, the eerie wailing pounding in my ears. In the years of civilization, I possessed numerous companions, friends who rapidly flickered in and out of existence, hoping that they would leave a lasting impact on my life.

I have long since forgotten any pony’s name, let alone any detail of their lives. I do believe I had a particularly prodigious unicorn student long ago, but her name has been erased by time.

Occasionally, I dream about her, but these dreams always fade to a fuzzy outline when I awake. She was... skilled in magic. Faithful. These are her only traits that I recall.

Now, the dust is my only company. Luna is often deep in slumber, and it would serve no purpose to wake her. But the dirt is constant, always there when I decide to step outside the cave.

I turned my gaze towards the horizon, where billowing dustclouds thrashed about in the wind, concealing a jagged mountain range in the distance. Far below, the ground was completely obscured by a constant jetstream of ash.

My sister and I have wondered the wasteland countless times, covering every single inch of the earth and digging down through miles of dirt in an attempt to discover something, anything that could serve as a connection to the old world. A gold-tipped quill. A strand of hair. A blotch of ink. We must have spent thousands of years searching, just a mere sliver of our lives.

I’m glad we did not find anything. Any reminder of the past, a past we could not recover, would have only sparked unnecessary grief.

Why did we do it, then? Perhaps it was simply an activity we could attempt to enjoy, the only possible hobby that existed anymore.

Now, we are certain that not a drop of water, not a blade of grass, not a single pegasus feather remains. My sister and I are the only stains of color tainting this bitter earth. At one time, we clung to the hope that other immortal beings roamed with us, but that hope has long since been extinguished.

My clearest memory is that of the last being that shared the earth with us: an ancient dragon who we found slumbering in a forgotten cave, much like ourselves. Perhaps our kingdom had a quarrel with dragons in the past, perhaps not. It did not matter. At that moment, our mere existence made us unconditional companions.

There was no joy in meeting the last remaining being in the world. We talked, although I do not recall which topics we conversed over. We soon came to realize that exchanging words with an expiring hourglass was pointless. To develop any sort of attachment to a dying flame would only bring us grief. For the rest of his days, we simply stood by his side, so at least he would have some company when he passed away. He spoke, and we listened with stoic ears. He did not require words of response; he only needed his words to be heard. He needed to reassure himself that he would be remembered.

I imagine his dying words were in the manner of “As long as you live, do not forget me. Let my name exist, if only in memory. I have lived a long and fulfilling life. Please, don’t let it go to waste.”

Then the last spark of color faded away, and we felt nothing. We were utterly, truly, completely alone in the world... and we felt nothing. At that moment, the realization dawned on us that what had transgressed was the final conversation we would ever have with another creature.

And we felt nothing.

I do not remember his name, or his words, or his memories. Only that he existed.

Does he live on in memory? Does merely recalling his existence count as a memory?

He died with the eternal hope that he would live on somehow. The exchange only served to strengthen a lesson I had learned in the years I had spent with countless ponies on their deathbeds, ponies with hopes and dreams and memories that were all fading away with their final breaths. All they ever wanted in the end was to be remembered, to leave a mark on the world long after they passed away, so that a mere flicker of their existence could remain, even if their bodies could not.

The Universe refuses to honor such a simple request.

Initially, even I was unable to comprehend such a reality. I have attempted to take my life countless times. I have starved myself; my stomach does not growl, despite the fact it has not seen sustenance in millennia. I have slammed my horn against the sturdiest cliff wall with all the magical strength I could muster in the desperate hope that severing my magic would sever my life as well. The horn remained sturdy. I have hurled myself off the tallest mountain and let my body tumble down the jagged rock face for miles. I still persevered. I have mutilated every inch of my form in a fashion that would have torn any mortal pony to shreds.

Yet I still live. Now, I feel nothing. When the only possible emotion is overwhelming sadness and despair, the only other option is an attempt at complete and total indifference.

Hoofsteps from behind reached my ears as Luna stepped out of the cave, taking her position next to me. She did not even acknowledge my presence as she raised her head and gazed into the sun, her complexion betraying no discernible trace of emotion.

We rarely speak anymore during the incredibly unlikely times when we are both awake. Conversation was our only escape when we first retreated into the earth, but now, we have exhausted every conceivable topic of discussion over the countless years. Every book we had ever read, every song that we had heard, every possible emotion tugging at our hearts, and every memory that we tried to cling to... an exercise of futility, as the words only serve to belittle the spirit of the past.

I once thought that not even time could wither down the bond between sisters. We have spent an endless parade of years together, forging countless memories together. Our connection was supposed to be eternal and provide comfort during these times.

Comfort. I do not even know what that word means anymore.

I looked at Luna. Her eyes remained fixed on the horizon, her mane slumped over ruffled fur and tangled knots in her coat.

At times, I wonder what she thinks about. Most likely, everything and nothing, just like myself. There’s simply nothing left to think about in a world that provides no new topics to ponder.

We never could have imagined it would come to this. At first, the most difficult pain was being forced to lose every pony we were ever close to. Now, that pain has long since faded to nothing. I have attempted to search my memory for any pony I could weep for, to feel anything, but I simply could not.

We did this to ourselves, and that was what really hurt, at one time. We wielded the Elements. We made ourselves to be as constant as the very air that now punished us with a never-ending dust storm. We had given ourselves refuge from time, just to relieve the world from a long forgotten evil.

Was it worth it? If we would have known that ridding the world of evil would result in us watching the it crumble beneath our hooves, would we have simply let chaos consume Equestria and suffered through it until our dying breaths? In the end, this land is dust, regardless of whether or not it was ruled by evil or populated with happy ponies at one time.

I do not know. I have become too numb to answer any question with poignant value. Dreams are the only time I feel emotion, when I can briefly relive long forgotten memories, often of a long forgotten friend. When I awake, I desperately cling to the grief while it is fresh in my mind, reveling in the despair before I slip into pure apathy once more.

Without a word, Luna and I turned and retreated into the cave, our bare hoofsteps echoing against the walls as we descended to a depth where the darkness was absolute. Luna dropped onto her haunches, her mane drooping limply onto her form as she drifted off to sleep once more. I fell next to her, closing and opening my eyes several times as the years passed in rambling thought.

“Celly?” The words from beside me came with the barest flicker of concern. Any other pony would have interpreted them as completely stoic.

I couldn’t recall the last time I had heard my sister’s voice. It is pointless to count the years anymore.

I didn’t bother to illuminate the cave. I knew her expression.

“Yes, Luna?”

I felt her curl up closer to me, her body heat providing relief from the damp coolness that sank into my bones.

“Are you scared?”

The faintest crack split down the wall of apathy I had erected. I extended a wing and cocooned my sister’s form tightly against my own.

“I don’t know, Luna. I have given the topic endless thought... but I still do not know.”

Luna snuggled her head under the base of my wing. The soft sensation was such a sharp contrast to the constant stinging of endless streams of dust.

Was this comfort? Could I even feel comfort anymore?

“It is reassuring to hear that. If you truly do not know, then you haven’t given up yet.” I could hear the faintest smile in her voice.

“Are you?”

How long did the following pause last? Several hours? A few days? Centuries?

“I’m scared, Celly.” I could hear her voice crack and tremble in a singularity of despair. “I’m so scared.”

I pulled her body closer as I felt it quiver and tremble in my grasp. Light sobs punctured the stillness.

My sister was crying. Feeling.

Perhaps Luna still possessed the capacity to feel? Or was this brief moment of emotion a mere aberration, never to happen again?

Might I momentarily break down at some point in the future, before withdrawing into my shell once more?

I stared into the darkness, rummaging my thoughts for any words of reassurance.

What could I say to show her that I cared? To provide her with relief?

I desperately continued my search, yet words refused to come. My eternal sister was completely consumed by bleak fear... and I could not comfort her.

The crack in my wall of apathy split even further, driven by a pang of fear.

Was I unable to comfort Luna? Had I lost that ability? Or did I simply not care enough to?

The crack disappeared.

My eyes were dry as I remained silent. We stayed in that state until Luna stood up and made her way towards the jagged entrance in order to blanket the world with night. When she returned, her sobs had ceased, and she curled up next to me. I felt her body rise in rhythm with her breathing, her body heat seeping into my bones.

I felt nothing.

Within moments, we fell into slumber. Without the sleep, we might have gone insane, if such a thing were possible.

This is the entirety of our days. This is what our existence has been reduced to. Cycling the lifeless days, sleep, and thought. Nothing else.

Is this eternity?

Or is it merely a stage in a cycle?

Might we awake one day and emerge from the earth to witness the seeds of life pushing free from the ash? Might evolution take hold once more, and deliver to us the gift of company? Even if it happens to be billions of years in the future?

The hope is but a mere flicker in an ocean of darkness.

More than likely, this is it. This is existence.

When will the very ground beneath our hooves crumble? When will the sun burn out and plunge this world into eternal darkness? When will the moon disintegrate into ash? When will the very molecules composing the dust break apart? A thousand years? A million? Billions?

Will time itself one day come to a halt, relieving us of our status? Will we float through the infinite void forever? Might we be drawn into the heart of a star and be subjected to unimaginable agony? Would this be a relief?

Or, might we witness the very end of the Universe? What would happen then? Would we exist? Could we exist?

I hope I am able to sleep forever. It is the closest thing to death I have.