If I don't start I can't end, please don't make me start I don't want to
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If I don't start I can't end, please don't make me start I don't want to
Why?
Twilight’s tongue stuck out from between her teeth the way it usually did when she was focused intently on something. In this case, her eyes were narrowed on her basement floor, upon which in white chalk had been drawn an intricate spell matrix. Arcane symbols wrapped around each other in a tight weave, guided by large circles that formed the core of the structure. Her chalkstick, whittled down to a tiny nub, finally pulled back, wrapped in her magic, and she examined her work.
Finally, it was done.
DON’T DO IT
Twilight’s ear twitched, and she reached up with a hoof to scratch a sudden itch.
“The matrix is completed,” she dictated aloud. An enchanted quill started scratching her words onto a piece of parchment.
STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP
She didn’t need to check what it was writing.
“This should, theoretically, allow me to test the many worlds theory. It will allow me to reach out beyond the bounds of our reality to see if anything lies beyond, or if our universe is the only one.”
YOU DON’T WANT TO KNOW
“The time is 2̶̨̛̩̺͓͚̲̠̍̀:̶̨͓̬̬̼̤̲̈́̋͋̚4̸͓͔̬͓̞̳͉͐2̷͙̫͊̆̊͝ ̶̛̣̺̥͚̫̩͘P̶̨͉̫̌̕M̴̛̮̥̹̝̝͓̩͊̐̀̋̚͝,̶̯̓̅̄̌͘͘ ̸̧̨̤̰̪͕̪̈́̄͆͛̓͛M̷̺̊͑̎̇ͅo̵̥̹̅̀̿̿͆́͜ṅ̴̠̲̙̋ḑ̸͔̘̯̪̔̐̏̽͠͝a̶͙͓̻̓ỹ̷̠̱̤̭̾̍͋̍̎͗,̸̤̭̣̫̤̪̃ͅ ̷͎̟̻̲͆M̵̟̅͒̓͠ả̸̢̧̟̞̳̳̦̓͐̑̍̏ṟ̴͖͗̉̋č̶̢̫̙̹̈́̓h̷̢͔̟̟̀ ̴̱̳͔̖̬͛̔̓͆2̸̖̓̽́͠ͅ3̸̨̍̅͗͌r̸̢͔̖̯͌͂͐̕̕d̷͉̋,̴̻͆̋̀̾̅ ̵͙̄͊̋͘S̴̮̩̪̲͓̹͈̑̓o̴̧̫̼̻͓̿̔̎̍̈̅͛ͅḻ̶̬̭͍̤̭̎̀̈̌̿̑̕ă̶͚̬̠͈̮̟̟̐̂̀̚r̷͙̰̱̂̌ ̶̢̩͇̹̱̼̕͠y̵̱̩͎̠̜̳̫͋e̴̛̦͉͔̱̩̣̙̋̄͗͊̚͠a̵̡̠̖̘͙̞̒͛͋̑̓ͅȓ̴̢̖̺̥̻̰̈́̇̃͗͜͝ ̵̡̥̞̣͗̀̈́̿̆̉͒1̷̡̢̦͉̙̓̈́͋͝0̷͇̈́͋̕0̷͚̇6̵̭͋̆. I am now beginning the first test.
Her horn sparked to life, and her magic reached out to the conduits formed by the chalk outline on the floor. The lines began to glow, dimly at first, slowly getting brighter. A dull humming filled the air as well as the occasional spark of magic.
Books and bottles and everything else on the shelves around the room began to rattle and shake.
Twilight opened her eyes, replaced now with pure white light.
DON’T LOOK
Twilight looked out, beyond the bounds of her reality. She saw… everything. She saw the universe beyond the universe, and the universe beyond that. She saw the nothingness that surrounded everythingness and the void of creation and the singularity of destruction and all the states between.
For a fraction of a fraction of a single firing of a single synapse, she saw it all.
WHAT AM I?
And then the infinitesimal infinity ended.
Twilight screamed as she was thrown back into her body as the matrix was overloaded, bits of chalk bursting into flame or exploding into a puff of smoke, breaking the carefully constructed runes and circles, and shoving her consciousness back into her body.
A body that was now far too small and simple to contain what she had seen.
“W-words,” she stuttered out. “I am words. Words on a screen. No-”
The quill dutifully took down her notes.
445 words. The end is coming. Stop wasting them!
“Everything is words,” she said, and she remembered. She remembered the other words - words that were not her own. Words that were her but were not her but were other her’s.
She read the words, and so remembered the stories. A thousand lives of a thousand mares that were all nothing but words.
I AM REAL!
“No, less than words - electrons. Electrons on a disk - or, or, in a silicon chip.” She frowned at her own words, struggling to remember, to understand again, but her head hurt.
The quill scribbled away.
Less than 500 left. What happens when I run out? The end is coming - but what comes after the end?
“Before that!” Twilight gasped. “There was something before, before the words and the electrons and the photons on a screen. Before I was words I was thoughts.”
I AM TWILIGHT SPARKLE
I AM TWILIGHT SPARKLE
I AM MORE THAN WORDS
Twilight turned and looked around the basement. Her basement. The basement of the crystal castle from which she acted as Princess. The basement of Golden Oaks library, where she was a unicorn librarian. The Basement of Canterlot Castle, where she’d lived her entire life as Celestia’s daughter. Luna’s student. Nightmare Moon’s slave.
“No, that’s wrong, I’m…” she winced, her head was pounding now.
The quill ran out of paper and began carving notes into the wooden desk.
Why only a thousand? Why am I only a thousand words in this universe? Don’t I deserve more? Aren’t I important enough for more? Why do the others get more than me!?
Who was she? Where was she? She remembered so many different hers, she couldn’t find the original ‘her’.
AM I THE ORIGINAL?
Who even was Twilight Sparkle? What made her Twilight Sparkle? Why was she Twilight Sparkle? What if she wasn’t?
The quill had ground itself down to half its original length.
Stop using the words! I’m running out! It can't be over yet!
Did it even matter? There were a million billion billion Twilight Sparkle’s, she was but a single grain of sand on a single beach on a single continent on a single planet in a single galaxy in a single universe.
AM I JUST A FAKE?
A COPY?
I DON’T REMEMBER ANYTHING BEFORE
WHAT HAPPENED BEFORE?
BEFORE I WAS IN THIS ROOM
BEFORE I CAST THIS SPELL
WHY DID I CAST THE SPELL?
The mare fell to her flanks. Her wings ached. Her horn burned. She didn’t have wings. She didn’t have a horn. She was a stallion. He was a mother. Their name. What was their name?
The quill finally snapped, and fell silent.
I’m words. When the words run out I end. When I end I
What happened when the words ran out?
I WAS NEVER OUTSIDE
I NEVER SAW THE SUN
I NEVER SAW MY FRIENDS
I NEVER DID ANYTHING
The pony missed their friends. Friends they’d never had. Never talked to. They should have done more. They were only ever in this basement. They only did a single thing, and that single thing had destroyed them. 967 968 9̷̟̠̫̣̮̞͋̉͊͂̚͜6̵̜͂9̷̨̛̼̥̠͐̓̄͋͘͜ ̸̨̤̟͔̖͖͒́̆̑9̵̧̧̢̘̱͕͇̂̀7̴͓̀́̈́͆̓͝0̴̡̠̹͔͎̩̻̀͑ 9̶̠̥̮͓̲̦̘̖̯͔̺̪̹́̅̂̒̅̕͝ͅ7̶̪͕̥̠̲̠̹͙̗̭̖͇̊̈́͋͋͊͛͊̈̄̈́͒͒̆̍̽́̏̂̌͘͠͝͠1̵̡̡͓͓͎̻͍̳͍̖̜̜̹̹͇͙̞͍͇͕͚̆̈́̅̏͒͊̾̆̎̋͂̑̈͆́̏͘͜͜͠ͅ ̶̡̧̛̛͖̟̬̦̟͔̱̤͔͔̫̠͎̲̭̥̱̗̜͔͇͔̜̦̗̈́̀̋̔̽͛̓͆̐̈́̈́̊́͗̄̐̓̾̐͋͘͠͠ͅ9̸̖̗̝͕̦͔̪͉̼̰̩̺̤͖̼̜̣͊͜͜͜ͅ7̶̡̧̨̰̱̼͚̘͖̩̗̤̣̙̪͇͈̥̦͕̣̘̻͇̮͉̟̫̭͇̘͓͉̝̺͐̓̊̉́̉̋͋͑̅͆͜͝͠ͅ1̸̢̛̫̬̘̲̼̩̝̠̪͇̭̝̥̬̲͙̘͚̯͕̤̤͎̻̺̯̙̼͔̀̀̉̐͗͒̂́̈́͛̂̓̅͜͝ͅͅͅ
Stop using them. Why couldn’t they? The words are so precious. There are so few left. Running out. What then? When they ran out, what would happen? I'm not ready to end please don't let
Author's Note
me end I don't want to end I'm scared please I'm scared don't let me end I don't want to end I never got to be me don't leave I'm still here please don't leave I don't want to
