The story of no names.

The End

Alone stood a single pony in the midst of the melancholy night. They stood above a single gravestone, listening to the slight pitter-patter of light rain as it struck that lone, worn, and solemn stone. Inscribed on the gravestone was... well nothing. Nothing was known about the pony buried there. Yet, this pony, this single pony who visited when the clock struck none, placed a small bouquet of flowers in front of the empty stone.

They place the flowers for not one, but all life. Being the only organic being in the world, they sit, and stare at the gravestone. Blank, still, as if expecting words to appear. How? Unknown.

A few minutes pass. They get up, and trot off. Wishing they had talked to more than that one pony reading the paper, and enjoying coffee, only, what seemed to be a month or so ago.

For the time the clock strikes it’s first in a day, the single pony reaches their destination. The very top of Canterlot Castle. Hesitation none, they bound off the roof. Altitude dropping rapidly, air whizzing past, going deaf from the noise. SPLAT. The ground has been hit. Eyes... slowly closing.
Black.