The End

What does it mean to die? Does it mean we go up to the eternal herd in the sky? That's what we're taught growing up: dying is simply being elevated to a higher form of life. A life where you face no fear, no regret, only love and tolerance. But why does going to such a paradise require so much pain?

I look at the magenta locks hanging in front of my eyes. I don't even have the strength to blow them away like I usually do, but it's not like that's the only disparaging part of my appearance at the moment. Not with my broken wings, shattered legs, and bloodied torso. My mane can wait.

My name is Skyward Glory. I lay here, on the cool grass, dying. I wish somepony would come along and save me, but as always, my wishes will most likely go unanswered. I wish I could see my daughter again, I wish I could have seen her grow up...I wish I would never have let her go.

My magenta gaze drifts to a nearby tree. The shade looked inviting under the hot afternoon sun. I slowly put my one good forehoof on the ground, wincing at the pain of my injured shoulder. I put it down a few inches away and used my strength to pull me ever closer to the arboreal paradise a few feet away.

I finally get there after a few minutes, and a few collapses that resulted in me screaming in pain. But I'm finally here. I'm propped up against the tree, I let my wings droop to the side so they don't come in contact with the hard tree. I finally had time to just...breathe.

I close my eyes and lay my head back against the bark. It may be rough and uneven, but it feels like paradise to just relax. After a few minutes, I open my eyes and finally look down at myself. My once shining yellow coat lay in tatters. Blood spills from open wounds without stopping.

This is when I start coming to the realization that I am close to my end. So close in fact, I can feel the call of the eternal herd. Welcoming me. It's a warm welcome, one that I wish to embrace this very moment...but there is one thing I must do before I go. My good hoof reaches up to my mane, withdrawing a small journal that usually lay within its tangles.

On it is written my name, and within it, my story. I want whoever finds me to know who I am, what I've done.

My whole life has been one inevitable mistake after another. Now, the only inevitable thing left is death...but I am not afraid of it. I do not regret it. This is the one thing I look forward to. Absolve my sins, eternal herd, and make me whole.