Desolate
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The dead silence was absolutely fascinating. Never before in my life had I ever heard a sound so deathly close to nothing. The only sound was the incredibly light breeze that gently lifted up the dust and took it away to wherever it saw fit.
Similar to the dead silence, never before in my life had I ever seen such emptiness. Such...stillness. The only movements detectable were that of the wind, the dirt, and of my searching eyes.
Everything was past the stage of rot; if it wasn't gone by now, it would never be. The particular building that I stood in appeared to have once been a grand palace. Several large, broken and shattered stained-glass windows adorned the vast opening. Much of the stone roofing was collapsed, letting some scant sunlight inside.
Above, in the sky, was that old, ever-present cloud. It stretched vastly, beyond any hope of sighting the end of it, far beyond the horizon. It was dark, and always rumbling with thunder and perhaps even the occasional flash of lightning, but never releasing so much as a tiny drop of moisture from its greedy confinements.
I decided to break the deathly silence with a step. And another. And then another.
Shuff... Shuff... Shuff...
I walked slowly, taking in my surroundings, and trying not to disturb the dust; even it can become angry, and one must be careful as to not upset it.
I found my way onto a vast, tattered, purple rug that disintegrated wherever I touched it. I simply opted to skirt around the old cloth and make my way to the exit. The hinges were there, rusted and worn, and not a single shard of wood was attached. The steps were cracked, worn, and had given in to nature. Nature. It never gave up, it even grew in stone, splitting it. Even in this dry, almost dead world, I could see small vines clinging on to their small life. It was heart-warming, if nothing else.
I made it down from the steps, not disturbing any of the small plants, who knows, maybe they could become angry too, and found my way into what I suppose used to be a garden. Now it was nothing but a flat expanse of gray dirt, without a single hint of plant life anywhere, no evidence of any kind, past or present...
I slowly made my way out of the garden and saw a city stretch out in front of me. I'm sure that the buildings were once proud, colorful, and creative. I'm sure that many banners and signs hung, and I'm sure that many ponies walked the streets, going to or coming home from work, purchasing food, or simply chatting. I'm sure...but not now. Now all I saw were empty, gray husks of buildings. The wind picked up a bit, grabbing dust and throwing it around.
Better be careful, I thought in a cautionary tone, don't want to anger the dust...
Suddenly, the wind dropped, and the dust began to scatter.
Told you...
The city was most certainly interesting, but I had a limited amount of time to be here. In its stead, I decided to travel to the main event: Ponyville, a name forgotten by all but myself and the dust. Dust gets angry, and it knows names. Most people, ponies, or any other living creatures for that matter, do not know that about dust. In fact, I think that only myself and the dust know that. Well, I'm not really alive, so I guess not a single living thing in the entirety of realities is aware of that. Well, I guess there's him, but I'm not sure if he's all that alive either. Ah, him too, but I most certainly know that he's not alive.
In the speed of a thought, I stood before a building that had had, by far, the most influence on this reality: an old tree. It was dead, had been for a long time, and all of the leaves had long since crumbled away into nothingness.
The door was gone, but many patches of the walls were gone, so gaining entrance was not a difficult task. Shelves. Rows upon rows of shelves, each of them stuffed to the maximum with books. I reached out and grabbed one. I opened it but the paper had long since turned to dust, which cascaded from the old binding and onto the floor.
Uh-oh, sorry boys. I'll be more careful next time.
Well, turns out, the dust was eager to get out of there, really boring inside that old leather, so it was happy. In fact...
I spent the next three hours opening every single book and dumping the dust out. The dust was on my good side now. That was a good thing, you always want to be on the dust's good side. Always.
I turned around and surveyed all of the empty bindings and piles of dust which varied in size. Then I realized how absolutely awful this act would've been considered by one particular librarian...
Oh well, she as long gone by now. Numbers cannot express how long she, along with all of her kind have been gone. You may ask something like, "Well, that seems like a pretty long time. I'm pretty sure that even the sturdiest of stone would've been gone by then," and you would be right. Problem is: I can't tell you. It has something to do with realities and physics that not even Alicorns, nor Goddesses nor Gods could understand. Plus, dust has kept it a good secret so far, and, like I said, get on dust's good side. You will go far.
I repeated my freeing of the dust on the upstairs level and explored up there as well. Nothing but some old, wooden chips that must have been furniture, and some rusty metal and broken glass.
Well, time for the next visit.
Milliseconds later, I was outside of a barn. Or what was left of one, only a pile of wooden shards and old, rusted tools. The house up the hill was the same, save some glass. Around me, an endless expanse of fields that once held apples ran, as far as the eye could see, right up to the mountains. The ponies who had once lived here, so long ago, did good work.
Again, I visited another old building that once again was nothing but shards of wood. But, in all of that wood, one could spot a few bits of cloth and fluff. I even spotted a rusted, bent pair of scissors.
The bakery was almost entirely gone, not even a pile of wood...but what's that? On an old shard of glass, protruding from the ground, something was waving at me. Ah. A single strand of pink hair. I gently plucked it and tucked it away, as a possible memoir of sorts. Or perhaps I could return it to the original owner one day, be it in the Aether, or in another life, mine or her's.
Then I was outside of a vast, dead forest. Once more, nothing stood here. Nothing but memories of kindness and love for all living things.
And, finally, I was atop another hill. Absoutley nothing remained of this individual's home, as it had literally been made of floating water. Perhaps, somewhere above, it still floated, but not where I could see.
In the blink of an eye, I stood outside of the wasted, crumbled town. I looked back at it, thoughtfully, and I was hit with a wave of nostalgia. I shook my head. It was time.
A rift opened up next to me, and I took a step forward.
Once more, I looked back.
This reality had been one of the most beautiful, most influential, and most memorable of them all. It had been so strong that it had literally projected its feelings to other realities. But it was old, ancient, and it was taking up space; it had to go.
I cried. I cried in sadness because this realty could not stay, but I also cried tears of joy that such a realty had ever existed, and I was also glad that it could finally get rest. I could always visit the previous residents elsewhere, where he lives anyway. That was good too. I knew that they would be watching as their old home crumbled, crying for the same reasons as I.
With one more tear, and one more peek, I ducked inside of the rift. Before it closed entirely, I was fortunate enough to witness the reality begin to leave. I cannot explain it with words, and even if I could your mind would not be able to comprehend it.
The rift closed, and I found myself elsewhere. The place that I called home.
Oh and don't worry about dust, he's fine.
