MINIFIC LIGHTNING ROUND

When she was very small, her grandmother had told her that there was nothing in life more important than memories. It didn’t really matter what kind they were: happy, sad, good, or bad. All of them were special, and important in their own peculiar way. Different colors of paint that formed a beautiful portrait; unique, peculiar flavors that mixed into the tastiest cake anypony ever baked. Without all its parts, the whole couldn’t exist. Without memories, there was no point in living long enough to remember.

So it was that life went on, every day an opportunity for new adventures and new memories. She had seen a lot of days by now, enough that she looked very much like Grandma had so long ago: her legs withered from too many hugs, her face wrinkled from too many smiles, her head bursting with tastes and colors too vivid to forget. The sun had set outside her window; it was time for her to sleep, to relish in the drying of the paint, the scent of delicious dough rising in the oven.

She made her way to her bed and slipped under the covers, her cheeks creased under the glint of the waning moon. She had known this time would come, just as day had ended and night begun. Just as it had for neighbors and naysayers, for family and friends. As it had for five young mares before her, and would for so many more after.

She had so much to remember, so many adventures to keep her warm as the room darkened around her. She remembered rivers she had crossed, castles she had climbed, colossal mountains higher than yawning canyons had been low. She remembered dragons and changelings and nightmares and dreams, and conquering each of them with her friends by her side. She remembered honesty, loyalty, kindness, generosity, magic. Friendship.

She remembered laughter.

She remembered parties. Parties for birthdays, for schooldays, for lazy Sundays, for hectic Mondays. Parties for celebration, parties for graduation, parties for no reason at all and parties for all the reasons in the world. She remembered balloons, streamers, ribbons, confetti, presents. Music.

She remembered dancing.

Yes. Dancing. They used to dance all the time, she and her friends. It’d been a while since she’d had a chance to try: too many birthdays passed, too many empty chairs at the table afterwards. That was all she had left now: memories, colors, flavors. Emptiness.

And yet, the night didn’t chill her, and the loss of the day didn’t fill her with fear. They were gone, their imprints on her mind all that remained of their time with her, but not forgotten. At twilight, she was alone, but when the sun slept, so would she. She would sleep, and she would dream, and they would greet her like an old friend, the last to arrive at a party that never had to end.

She laid her back against her pillow and closed her eyes, and soon enough her dream began. The darkness of the night vanished, driven away by a light so blinding it streamed right through her eyelids. Her bed left empty, she walked to the door, and as she opened it the light washed over her, and the stars fell like snowflakes from an endless yellow sky.

The years melted off her skin, pooling around her hooves in rainbow-streaked puddles as she bounced, then bounded, then sprinted through the fallen heavens. She ran for hours, for days, shedding decades and memories until finally the light swept her aching legs out from under her.

The sky shimmered. Only five stars remained. They smiled. She laughed.

And they danced.