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'Stare between dawn's breaking light, and the escalier home will show itself to you.'
Precious, those words. Bejeweled, like chandeliers, this cleverly woven fable. Idiosyncratic, as such lines often are.
His grandmother was eccentric, never quite seem to belong in this world despite all the fantastical wonders that came with it, yet none could refute her wisdom. That old mare had many a word of advice to gift to all her grandchildren, yet he had forgotten all but one of them.
Caramel remembered how loud the rocking chair squeaked. He remembered the slow climb of the winter sun, as reflected by her sparkling glasses. He remembered silver, in her mane and her shining smile. He remembered her laughs, often chained to her throat lest they came out as wheezes. He remembered her docile voice, recounting tales of swashbucklers and airships; of waterfalls cascading to the sky and clouds flowing across the ground; of a city built of gold and jade fringed with bands of ebony and ivory, powered by the very light of the stars.
He remembered, living under the city, his favorite character amid the colorful cast: a young mare who galloped through the night, who chased after all the twinkling stars with nothing more than a butterfly net, all to add to the lifeblood of the city. She would always capture one or two, perhaps even six or seven on a good night, and on those good nights she would hide some of them away in glass jars, which she would then place one by one on a subterranean shelf that stretches to the black nadirs of eternity, and she would sit there and admire them like he had admired her.
Above it all, he remembered how the story would always begin.
'Stare between dawn's breaking light, and the escalier home will show itself to you.'
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His grandmother had passed on a summer's night.
Exhaustion, some murmured. From the summer heat, others added. Yet deep down, they all agreed it was only a matter of time.
The wake was uneventful, the funeral even more so. The morning she was lowered into the earth, he dared not count the faces that attended. It was unfortunate, how lowly the world thinks of her: his parents came begrudgingly only after listening to his many implorations. His aunts and uncles ignored his pleadings, and among his cousins, only one decided it was worth her while to attend. As such, most of what he remembered that day was his fidgeting hooves scribbling in the damp soil. Nevertheless, there came a time for him to finally raise his head and confront all that attended, and that was when it came his turn to utter the eulogy.
He had forgotten every word of it, alas this creature of disgrace.
He remembered, however, nine shocked faces.
And as quickly as he remembered, so shall he forget.
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Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Poignant, certainly, yet untrue. Perhaps so for ashes, but not dust.
Caramel wandered the nearby sods, sauntering with a hunch in his shoulders as he usually would after a horrid day, searching for his way home. He desperately tried to wipe if off his head: the sound of his boss's voice tearing through the roof, all because he had forgotten to arrange a meeting with some important folks from the capital. He tried so hard to forget that moment, yet to see that glare, to hear the fetid words spewing out from those runny lips, it just... stuck with him. Funny how he remembered that with utmost clarity, of all things. By the time the ranting and raving came to a close, however, he no longer belonged there anymore.
He spent the night before as he usually does after such ordeals: drinking his flank off until all that's left to feel is an aching numbness in his gut. When he came to, he found himself already here, covered in bruises and cuts — from a row he incited, perhaps — with the weightiest, most infuriating pang in his head. Like a worm, he wriggled in the mud. Like a wolf, he howled at the sky. Like a banshee, he screamed at the ground, hooves pummeling the soil. When daylight struck his cheek, only then did his temper simmered to a calm.
And in that brief moment of tranquility, came those precious words.
'Stare between dawn's breaking light, and the escalier home will show itself to you.'
Poignant, certainly, yet...
That thought passed him as did so many others. Certainly, the one advice he remembered from his grandmother must mean something? Without a second thought, Caramel squinted his eyes into the sunlight, watching as he was dragged into its tenacious embrace, only to have the moment stolen away by a passing shroud of clouds. He blinked out of instinct when daylight struck him again, his hoof quickly rubbing his eyes free of the stinging. Once more, he squinted, hoping to see the light.
He saw, instead, dust.
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On the anniversary of her death, Caramel was the only one who returned to her grave.
He grew tired of pleading. He grew tired of waiting. He grew tired of almost everything, really. And so, he had readily forgotten it all.
Standing here, facing the tombstone, there was no sense of pride, yet there was no sense of shame either. There was only the fatigue of this life— no, this world, and he carried it along with him. He was bound to it, this lifelong curse. He often forgets about it when fortune comes along and carries him in its waves, only to be harshly reminded of it when he was thrown off by a riptide. And so, he sheltered himself from those stormy seas, and instead found solace in the only thing he remembered of his grandmother.
It was in honor of that great mare that he tried again. And he tried again. And he tried again and again. And he tried again and again and again and again.
And each and every time, all he could see was dust.
It came to a point where he continued doing it only because it became an unwilling habit of his. At first, it became another responsibility to shoulder, another weight to carry. Strangely enough, he remembered to do it as well as he remembered his grandmother's sagas. Every morning, he would waltz out into the outside world and view the morning dust, so much so that he somehow, just somehow, began to comprehend it.
The morning dust, should one call those glistening particles of white the morning dust, had a benign waltz. Its rhythm is impeccable, its fluctuations doubly so. It remained unfazed by any call of the wind or any change in the seasons. It would pirouette upon the Saddle Arabian sands as well as it would on the snow of the Frozen North. If he was being meticulous, it would spin clockwise, only to cease halfway and twirl counterclockwise. Then, after several more, it would suddenly switch it up: counterclockwise, halt, clockwise, and so on. It was this little dance, complicated in all its simplicity, that sure enough began captivating him after so many viewings.
The Dance of the Forgotten Fairies.
They most certainly were forgotten, otherwise they'd take a form that would enhance their grace. He knows they were forgotten, because he knows what being forgotten feels like as much as he knows how to forget. He empathized with those lonely little specks, which was why he gifted to them his companionship. And so, much to his delight, they ceaselessly danced for him, and he looked on in silent applause.
And it was on this day — on the anniversary of his grandmother's death — knelt before her tombstone in the grace of the morning sun, that he achieved enlightenment.
The first few steps were clumsy. There was a difficulty in replicating it, yet Caramel was confident he could. When he finally steadied himself and decided upon a stoic posture, he stared ahead into all the sparkling particles in the sunlight and followed their lead. Clockwise, pause, counterclockwise. Clockwise, pause, counterclockwise. Clockwise, pause, counterclockwise. And when it came the time to change, he made it seamless. Counterclockwise, pause, clockwise. Counterclockwise, pause, clockwise.
Sure enough, he soon saw it sparkling in the sunlight.
A spiral staircase of gleaming silver with gold handles, swirling up all the way through the top of the world.
With every successive spin, Caramel glided up the staircase, slowly but surely until he felt himself rising off the ground. The world of despondency was left below him as he strode into the clouds, laughing throughout his waltz in utter elation. With such a spectacular show, it was only about time before the morning dust soon converged upon this scene, dancing alongside him as if he belonged with them throughout their short existence. The world seared white, yet there was no pain. There needn't any pain. There was only peace, and with it purpose, and as the light of the dawn was forgotten, so too was the stallion named Caramel.
And with one final pirouette, he was gone.
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'Stare between dawn's breaking light, and the escalier home will show itself to you.'
That was all he remembered of the previous world.
That was all that remained.
With a groan, Caramel lifted himself from what seemed to be a stone floor. He brought a hoof to rub his aching temple, only to notice a small cut was made on its side. Glancing around in the darkness, he realized he was standing amid shattered fragments of glass, and he would've missed them were it not for the small flickering lights surrounding him.
"Oh my goodness."
There was a twinkle that came with the voice, like an angelic chime of the bell. When he turned around, he was met with a mare unlike any he had ever seen, carrying satchels of what seemed to be glass jars shimmering in starlight... much like the ones he's surrounded by, come to think of it. Staring at all the shards of broken glass surrounding his hooves, he came to an epiphany and, as the mare stomped up to him, he blabbered the first thing on his mind.
"T-This isn't what it looks like?"
"Wha— oh, you think I'm... oh, no no no, I'm not angry about that!" she giggled effeminately. "I mean, it's not the first time it's happened before, but it certainly is the first time seeing you here, dearie. We here always appreciate a new face to join us, see?"
"I... wuh... where am I?"
With a knowing grin, the mare gave an answer with the brightest twinkle in her eye.
"Home."
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Author's Note
How this story came to be:
I was bored. Two hours later, this existed.
Thanks for reading!
