On a shelf, in a blink

by Shirlendra

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Original Character, Mystery, Science Fiction, Violence, Death
Length: 2966

A journal forgotten among the ancient stacks calls to the adventurous.

Long description:

Long ago, a story was told. You, the reader have picked up the journal off a shelf in a little known alcove and have decided to flip through it's ancient pages.

Smell the dust, enjoy the pictures, and try not to worry too much about that rip in the cover.

Authors Note:

Originally written as a prompt for Bean's Writing Group - Fimfiction

Prompt 11, "Earth Pony Magic" with bonus "No main characters".

Reading by: Nailah - Fimfiction https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yelN_jGomEc

Although not fully compliant in it's execution, I wanted to write what I felt was a story that captured the feelings of both understandings.

Comments are always appreciated.

Published 2021-09-09 05:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2021-09-09 05:00:00 UTC

On a shelf, in a blink

Tucked into a dusty bookshelf among so many relics, one may be forgiven in missing the faded blue cover. It doesn’t exactly stand out as the most impressive relic among the collection. Nor the collection itself even the most impressive among the others. But open the book, ignoring the rip across its front and the dark splotches staining it and one will find a most remarkable story.

On the interior of the cover lies a few short lines. The first few are faded, shaky. The last are bold, strong.

I remember the Ships. The Mission. Our Final Assault against The Sun.

I remember the flash. It lit up the morning sky as it broke over us.

I remember the faces of those around me. Scared, Stoic, Angry.

I remember the cold, the bitter, bitter cold.

I remember the first time we awoke, to this strange place.

I remember the first who died.

I remember the uprising, the bodies thrown against the tide.

I remember the peace, quiet and lithe.

I remember the foals who did not survive.

I remember the sons and daughters of my line.

I remember the forests and the streams.

I remember the sky the way it used to be.

I remember the plot, I'd make it my home in time.

Scribbled at the bottom of the page, partially erased by water damage lay a solitary line.

I remember Equestria.

The Final Assault

When I awoke this morning, I had not thought I’d be here. I thought I’d be standing over The Sun, blade in hoof, my fellows at my back.

When I awoke this morning… my bunk was still intact. I woke before the dawn, it was a chill morning and I had some cramping from my hammock. It used to be someone else's, I don’t know who. Me and my fellows gathered our gear. We stood upon the deck, our eyes glued to the passing clouds.

It was quiet, if not for the humming of the engines we might as well of been riding upon the clouds themselves. Even our Officers were silent for once. There was to be no shouting, no commotion until we reached the docks. No commotion until we held The Key to Victory.

The Sun broke over the horizon, it glittered against our peytrals and gleamed off our helmets. The shieldbearers had shined their charges to a sheen. The cannons however, were dull in comparison. Ugly pieces of gray Minotaur metal, shaped and beaten until they functioned.

Someone noted that we seemed a few ships short from the fleet. Someone else mentioned they may have fallen behind in the night. It was of no concern, our victory was assured.

This morning, when I awoke. I did not imagine the carnage, the blood that ran through the streets. There was not supposed to be a defense. There was not supposed to be The Guard. We spotted Them too. The silver pins, those dark manes. They were there, along with our Brothers and Sisters. They killed us as we killed them.

I saw Four as our final victory drew near, They hovered near the final barrier. I watched them as we advanced. The first shone in the sun, I saw the glint of the blades covering those wide wings. The second stood beneath the hovering form. I remember that deep cowl and the shimmer of glasses from it. I saw the third, clad in naught but a dreamy expression, their attention… elsewhere.

I saw our Key, they stood away from the others.

I saw it happen. When our Key began to cast the Final Rite. It was to secure our victory. There was no doubt in my mind that we’d all be fine, The Rite would wash over us and cleanse the rest from the world.

I saw the dreamer. I don’t know how but suddenly they were there, their hooves wrapped around Our Key in an embrace.

The Rite consumed them both.

For a moment, it was hot. Too hot.

I saw the Fifth then. There was no fury, no rage. I saw… only sadness, then the flash.

The next it was cold, far too Cold.

I don’t know if we won.

I only know that I am alive.

This Strange Place

The first thing I remembered was the bitter cold. It felt like I’d been frozen and if someone were to of come along and tapped on me I’d of shattered into a thousand pieces. When I realized I wasn’t dying, or at least not at that moment and was able to take a look around I found some very odd things. To start with, the city was no more. The second thing I noticed was the sound, it was… quiet, peaceful.

A small stream lay beside my resting place and as I turned over to dip a hoof in I suddenly realized that my armor had indeed frosted over. Spiderwebs criss crossed it’s surface and as much as I wanted to admire these odd patterns I needed a drink.

My thirst slated I decided it was time to locate my fellows. But as I took stock of the forest around me I found those odd things I’d begun to notice earlier seriously take root. For one, the trees were… wrong. The leaves, too broad, the colors too vibrant. The bark, which I inspected first with my eyes and next with my hoof was… spongy. Although I could not push through it, it gave way at my touch.

Not wanting to waste any more time in that place I began to call for my fellows. My calls were answered by a griffon, our emblem coated in ice lay against his coat. He and I made our way through the odd forest, locating more of our fellows. And soon, we had collected a small band. With those few, and more calls coming from the forest we were able to collect nearly everyone.

We noted, at some point during our searches that the light level never seemed to change. It was as if we were in a perpetual twilight. And although we located a great number of our comrades and even some of our ships, broken and twisted beyond all repair, that light never shifted.

There is a section that appears to have been intentionally blotted out with ink.

What remained of that detachment is hard to say. Even more difficult to put into words. It was as if they had torn each other to pieces. Out of grief or madness we could not say. We buried them as best we could with our hooves, the few griffons stood away.

They didn’t even manage to lift a single claw.

The Eternal Summer

This was not Equestria.

We knew this from the moment each of us awakened. Those first few… well, they weren’t really days so much as they were twenty four hour periods. A few of our watches had survived the… banishment. There was no other word for it, one moment we had been within striking distance of victory. The next, we awoke, ice in our bones, some of us hideously disfigured from pieces of gear that froze to our bodies.

I… didn’t like to dwell on the lines in my fur, the channels along where sweat had run and had frozen, etching the fur and skin below with its intense cold.

Food was plentiful, we found the “Bark” of the trees was edible and even a small amount would keep a body fed for some time. We of course experimented with seasonings, local plants and what we assumed was a kind of lichen that seemed to grow like mad around that area. There were a few missteps, a few fell ill but once we determined what exactly was edible it became simple to create food stores.

The air of this place… we found it rich. Those griffons who grew up in the high mountains found it intolerable, too heavy, they said. It made them irritable, and slow in the sky.

Housing was of course a concern, but the weather was temperate. And we quickly found we were alone in this part of the world. Not even tiny bugs and critters to keep us company. It was as if we were the only things in the forest. We realized our mistake, when the first storm came.

It’s said that the storm took the first of us.

I knew different. I knew those marks were from no tree nor stone. I knew the mark of Unicorn Magic.

When we’d finally cleared the debris and buried our fellow, we set about locating stone and the dense hulls of our twisted ships for reinforcement. We began to build and in time, when the second storm came, we weathered it with little more concern than a passing squall.

In regards to our “Days”, that we had first set when we began to keep track of time. We’d later realized that the planet did truly move and spin. With precise measurements from our rudimentary gear salvaged from the ships and beaten into working order we determined that the one day on this new world constituted some one hundred standard Equestrian days.

This of course meant we had less than twenty days until whatever happened when this portion of the planet spun beyond the twilight zone and into presumable night.

The Uprising

Twenty days is not enough time to make a rational decision to abandon the shelters we had created.

It took less than five before we were at each others throats.

We’d broke into camps, it wasn’t intentional. Just how it had been back in Equestria. The griffons and the few unicorns that had by right of their magic been placed higher on the hierarchy in one. And we, the Earth Ponies, along with the Pegasi, who numbered less than three hundred on the other.

I remember the silence of it all.

Sneaking through the trees with bits of our ships tied to our hooves.

Our sentries, the Earthponies whom had offered their services to the unicorns and griffins in anticipation of this moment.

I remember the blood of the Unicorn officer on watch staining my fur.

I remember her face, the shock apparent on it.

Idiot.

Our plan was simple: gather the Griffons and Unicorns into the central storehouse. We’d only intended to hold them there till we’d pressed on, a few of our fellows had volunteered to stay behind and keep watch. If the nightfall wasn’t too bad, a courier would be sent to our column and we’d head back to our original site.

Plans - are rarely that simple.

It was a slow cascade, a shout, a door, heads poking from windows. We surged, but by that time the advantage was lost. The griffons may have been slowed in the air, but so were our pegasi. We’d put them on the flanks to catch any stragglers, but the only thing they caught was the Unicorns magical artillery.

I’d expected Unicorn magic to be flashy, make a lot of light and sound like it does during magic shows and party tricks. Those trained in the art of destruction spend no extra effort in that regard. A flash, a ripple of the breeze through my mane, the smell of air torn asunder and those beside me simply ceased.

I thought perhaps we’d write songs about it. After, that is… when we were on the march away from the encroaching darkness.

We didn’t.

The March

We walked, I knew not how long. We had decided to travel light, burdened only by meagre gear and salvaged bags.

And the guilt.

That first day was quiet. No one spoke, I don’t think we knew how.

By the fourth we reached the edge of the forest, and found what we’d later call the great chasm.

Although we had pegasi, their effectiveness was limited severely by the atmosphere. Even the mightiest found it daunting to do little more than fly high above to get a gauge of the land.

We spent hours arguing, some maintained that we must stop and make camp. A few, the more cowardly among us, suggested we ought to turn back. To retreat to our ships and wait out the coming dark.

We parted ways there.

The next few pages contain sketches, high cliffs and rock faces. Figures, draped in shadows, faces turned away from the recorder.

The final page depicts a gentle hill covered in black formless shapes, rising into the clouds.

The Darkness

The first night was difficult. Much more so than we anticipated. We had ascended for no more than two days when the darkness finally overtook us on the third morning.

We had scaled past the clouds and could, by gazing into the distance, quite literally see the wall coming towards us. We knew not what it brought, but as it inched its way towards us, the morale of my fellows waned.

It was… not unpleasant. Darker, darker than we were used to perhaps. But the stars above bathed the surrounding landscape in their own light. A strange light, it illuminated the surrounding countryside near as well as the twilight had.

After my fellows regained their composure we continued our trek up that hill. Bathed in little more than starlight and our meagre possessions. We trekked, endlessly upwards, towards some peak we could not see. The forest, a long distant memory.

The hill, like the forest we’d come from, was covered in a type of edible lichen. It had been one of our first concerns, when we emerged from the chasm, whether we’d find food and water to sustain us. The land held both in ample supply.

By the seventh day, more than a few voices among our group called for rest. We were, at this point fully adjusted to the starlight. This however was not our only concern, as we’d ascended it had steadily become chillier. We had little in the way of portable warmth and had already begun sharing sleeping rolls.

And so, a rest was called. We camped there on that hillside with the stars overhead the lichen beneath our heads and frost on our breath.

In the morning, we awoke to a silent lightshow. Great streams of light burned above us and faded just as quickly. A meteor shower, a sign of good luck on our journey.

It was two days later when we hit the wall.

It is… difficult to describe the wall. It manifests as nothing. We can’t see it, we can’t touch it. We reached it and crossed into it before we realized what had happened. We nearly lost a few of our weakest to it.

Some, those originally from more mountainous regions faired better. But the fact was, we were unable to continue our advance.

So, we retreated.

There is a drawing on the following page, a gentle sloping field under a blanket of shining stars.

Streaks, mark the passage of shooting stars across the inky blackness.

The Light

We were fools.

Fools to think the sun would bring us comfort.

We watched the sunrise this morning, and for the first time in… months, we had real light.

At first it brought us joy.

By the third day, we wished for the return to the dark.

The Stone

Our first foal did not survive the daylight. Neither did the second. Nor the third.

We came to realize a pattern, a sickness that infused them from before they ever saw that dark tapestry.

It was this world.

We believed it had done… something, too us.

We spent years trying to determine what had gone wrong.

In the end, we found that we’d done it to ourselves.

The page across has a simple drawing.

A stone, with rows of tiny imprinted hoofprints encircling it.

The Foals

My first daughter was born on the final day of the seventh year.

We’d resolved the difficulties and were hopeful…

Determined

To right the mistakes we’d made.

She was beautiful.

The next few pages are filled with drawings

A group of foals playing under a twilight sky.

A couple of buildings, the remnants of ships hulls and bits of metal gleaming in the starlight.

The foals, now larger and a great many in number standing in rows, their faces to the sun.

The town, grown. Huts and small buildings grander, local materials replacing the vestiges of those ancient ships.

The foals, grown and foals of their own, playing among the outskirts of the growing town.

The outline of a ship, sketches of a hull.

Our Forgotten Home

I have little left to record.

Those who have followed us create their own story now.

Our little town has grown and with it our legacies.

Those of us who still remember our homes have tried to pass that knowledge along to our youth.

They do not understand.

How could they? There is little of it left and what is there is little more than relics to them.

How can one explain a world to someone who has known nothing else?

My sons and daughters are grown now, they have foals of their own.

They still visit with me each year.

They touch the old scars beneath my fur, and ask questions about the old world.

What can I say?

A series of small images dot the following page.

The bones of a great ship.

A road, trees lining its way.

A great chasm.

A hill, void but for a solitary figure.

A starry sky.

A single spot on the hill.

I’ve selected my resting place.

I’ve only to finish the work and it shall be mine.