That's all he wrote

by Rarity Belle

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Original Character
Length: 1815

All chapters of life must come to an end, but it never means the story is over. Some leave without a word, others make quite the scene. But there's one author out there, who does it his own way.

Authors are a strange kind of beings, that isn't much of a surprise to anypony. They just see the world a little different than most others and find enjoyment in that. Some just fade away when they decide to leave, never to be heard from again. Yet one of them tends to go out on his own terms when the time is there. For one author is the end of a chapter right in front of him, and a new one waits just beyond the horizon.

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Coverart created by: avui
Quite possibly my last fanfic ever, wanted to finish it in style.

Published 2017-03-08 00:50:02 UTC
Last updated 2017-03-08 00:50:02 UTC

One last epilogue

The sun hadn’t revealed itself over the hills just yet. Not yet had its warm rays come over to thaw the frozen lands of Equestria from winter’s grasp. It mattered not much to many ponies. The vast majority was still peacefully asleep and dreaming the dreams both given and made. Yet there was one place where activity brew like no other. Somewhere along the outskirts of the quiet, quaint town of Ponyville had light emerged from within a home. Somepony had awoken early in the morning. Whatever need drove them to leave the bed so early, to walk the frozen earth before daybreak? It was a question that any pony could ask. A question to which no simple answer was possible.

In the two storey building could a stallion’s shadow be seen moving around and about. Neither haste nor stress washed over it as it went. Instead it carried an unusual calm. The shadow didn’t seem irritated or annoyed that it had woken up so early. The pale blue magical aura engulfed the presumed living room of the building for a moment. Though that light faded just as quick and mysterious as it came. The candles hadn’t been powerful enough to flood the entire building with light. What they did create however. was a strange but charming atmosphere.

Within the walls of the living room he wandered. The stallion who belonged in that very same house. With a gentle trot he made way to the kitchen. Tunes from songs that belonged to the sea left his mouth in a faint whisper, a haunting melody lying underneath. The aura appeared again, revealing that the stallion was in fact a unicorn. A blond coated, light brownish maned stallion stood there. His magic opened one of the kitchen cabinets with care, not wanting to make the hinges creak.

Moments later came a single slice of bread out of it. A slice which made its way to his mouth. The stallion seemed to prepare himself for another day on the road. Despite his rather chubby appearance, he moved around in silence with every step made. A feat which even surprised him to that very day.

The magical aura vanished once the slice was devoured by three massive bites. There was little else that managed to spark his interest in the kitchen. He turned around and as he did, a loud yawn left from his mouth. The hooves then brought him then to the stairs. After a quiet inhale he went up. He lost himself in thought with every step made and was brought back by another. That, or he hadn't properly woken up yet.

There was a single room upstairs that he wanted to visit perhaps one last time before leaving. Something that had always been dear to him. Something that could be considered his entire life.

Yet when he walked past the light of the hall, the bags underneath his sapphire blue eyes became visible. Either he hadn’t had any sleep last night alone, or he was a terrible sleeper in general. Not that the stallion gave much thought about his appearance. He just continued on to a shut door to his left. A silver hoof was laid atop of the knob and turned it.

With a gentle, soft click was the door opened. The creaking of the aged wood was almost magical and music to his ears. The stallion smiled at it and then slipped through the opening, leaving the door open. In the last bits of light from the hallway, his cutie mark was revealed. A quill, and a piece of parchment to write on. From the walls within the room, a gentle exhale of relief could then be heard.

~~~~

The stallion sat down in a chair. He gave his eyes the time to have a good gander around the room. A room that almost felt surreal to be in. His magical aura flared into existence once more with a gentle nod. The arcane energy proceeded to ignite the candles present. While the light of the flames managed to take a hold, it drove away the light from his horn. The magic soon faded whole and the candles took over. It was a strange harmony that brought everything together in a silent symphony. Finally, there was a good look at the stallion himself, and the room he found himself in.

He looked like every other stallion that lived in Ponyville, albeit a bit on the chubby side. He was just an average pony doing mostly average things. But the room he sat in, that was the true treasure. The sapphire blue eyes glanced at everything once more. It couldn’t be described as a trophy room of some sort. A ‘collection room’ was more fitting for it. Items from ages gone by were set on display with pride. Collections of toys filled most of the shelves. Though most importantly, the giant bookshelf that occupied the wall next to the window.

His eyes had another look at the whole thing. The stallion smiled at the sight of it. It was a thing he had worked to for years. In the light of the candles, the spines could be read clear. Each book had a different title and coloured spine, but there was one thing that remained the same across them all. Each of them was labelled with: I. ‘R.B.’ Sapphire. All books, written by the very same author.

The stallion chuckled to himself and let out another content exhale. “This is what all those years of work came and result to, Inkwell,” the stallion spoke aloud. His eyes had one last look at the novels written, then deemed it was time to take his leave. To leave the room and house and be going before the first ray of sun would hit. To see whatever the day brought to him.

He stood up from the chair, looking still pretty young. His eyes betrayed a wisdom of ages old, and a hint of healthy madness. He left the room for what it was, keeping the door open only slight. The light in the room faded when his magic came in once more. Every step he took caused the house to be reclaimed by the darkness of night.

Inkwell went back to the hallway and down the stairs, only to have a look out the window of his front door. His promise of being gone before dawn had shattered. The sun was crawling up already on the horizon. “Dammit, I’m gonna be late if I don’t start to move now., the stallion muttered to himself. Not that it mattered too much. With the help of his magic, he reached for his purple top hat from the hat stand. It was placed atop his head with grace and a sigh of familiarity. The magic ceased again and the lid of the hat found a hold against the horn.

~~~~

The front door was opened, letting in the cold of winter in to his home. A shiver went down his spine. But the warmth of the sun soon would engulf him too. One last sigh left through his nostrils. The eyes had a look to the horizon with a glance of hope and wonder.

“Some ponies just say that, when you need to quit, you should quit. Others tell you to just stubbornly keep going until you find something that works for you. But what if you can’t have, or maybe can’t do neither? Where do you go from there? What future is there to be experienced within? Life, every life, is divided by chapters. Some are long, others are over in a whim.”

He took the first step to the world outside, letting his silver hooves crunch the snow underneath them. One of the upsides of being his body type, cold wouldn’t get to the stallion that fast. A fact that Inkwell loved about it.

“But every chapter, must come to an end. Every book, has to end eventually. But even with a written ending, it never means that it is the definite end of things. Funny thing, imagination is. But how long do you want to make your chapters? Do you let them continue long enough? Or over extend? That’s the question that has been bothering me for such a long time now...”

Inkwell shut the door of his home and began to walk. He would still be talking to himself, as if there were other ponies listening to him. Phantoms that joined him on his walk, figures of imagination that he could only see. In reality was he just speaking to himself.

“Most just leave without a single word, never to be heard or seen from again. But, that’s not my style. I like to depart with things on a good note. And this, seems like a very good one to me. The Book of Life takes many strange turns and counts countless chapters throughout it.”

His gaze shifted back to his house, to the room that held all of his most prized belongings. Yet in the rising sun, he could see the top of the bookshelf peeking through. His eyes softened, remembering the ears of vivid and eager work spend on each.

“All chapters must come to an end, one way or the other. And I’ve decided that this is going to be the end for this one. I close one chapter of my life, only to open another one. One, that will be just as amazing as the previous.”

A chuckle came from his mouth. His gaze shifted back to the rising sun. Inkwell felt the warmth and cold clash against one another. A battle of who would stay and remain emerged, toying with his feelings for a bit. It placed him in doubt, as he had been so many times before.

In the end had the warmth won, vanquishing the coldness of night and winter.

“With these words, I end the chapter of writing fictions for fans, and begin the one for myself.”

Inkwell Sapphire just stood there, gazing at the rising sun while the world passed by. The warmth comforting him like a mother’s arm. All the feelings of doubt washed away. He had made the right decision for himself, though a single tear still went down his cheek. Life would go on and he would do what he loved most, just a bit different than others were used from him.

“We mustn’t forget the road we took to come somewhere, but never dwell too long in the past of things either. The future may break the chains of imagination, and invites one and all to try ideas. Just because things do come to an end, it never means they are over. They will never be forgotten, as long as they are always remembered.”

And that, was all he wrote.