/pj2023/ Last Flame


                                            >She set it ablaze…

                                            >A yellow glow washed over the area within seconds.

                                            >Warm, birthed by flames, fights against the cold around her.

                                            >What once was a collection of the past, is now coalesced into its present state – a pyre.

                                            >Little by little, it burns away, going off to a better place; a better future.

                                            >Since the very beginning of time, this ritual has been performed.

                                            >However, in every other previous instance, it was done by those who were older, more knowledgeable, wiser, and greater than she could ever be.

                                            >A random pop, and/or crackle will reverberate throughout the air every now and then.

                                            >Smoke wafts about, though not unpleasantly, but instead, as more akin to incense that soothes ones self.

                                            >Despite that, there is no calm whatsoever here.

                                            >But that is how it is supposed to be, because it is all done for a simple reason – to let go, and to free one.

                                            >For everything – great and small – must be let go at some point or another.

                                            >When watching this ritual take place in a time before, it had a strange sort of beauty.

                                            >Again, there is none of that here.

                                            >Change was thrust upon her, much like this duty has been.

                                            >What lies here now is something else entirely; a far more primordial type.

                                            >To put simply: loss itself.

                                            >A warm, wet bit of essence makes its way down her cheek, then falls freely to be swallowed by the snowy earth below.

                                            >As much as she yearns to turn away, or to express /particular/ feelings, she cannot.

                                            >To turn away would be wrong.

                                            >To express would sap what little is left.

                                            >All that can be done is to accept what is – to hold onto it, remember it – in its entirety.

                                            >Once the fire dies, the embers will begin to cool.

                                            >Once the embers fade away, only cold ash shall remain.

                                            >Then, and only then, can she do all else she needs, or wants, to do.

                                            >Those who have done this ritual before did it, so shall she.

                                            >It is her duty, it is in her blood, forever eternal as the stars themselves.


                                            >Standing here, waiting, watching as the pyre burns, Crystal Rose can only let her mind float like a feather on the wind.

                                            >Despite the warm clothes worn, cold air still manages to nip at her amber coat.

                                            >Perhaps it is not the cold that bites, but the spirits themselves who bite.

                                            >She would not doubt it, not even for a second.

                                            >After all, the spirits can be cruel, especially to those who deserve it.

                                            >Being apart of all things – this world and the next – they do whatever/whenever they will.

                                            >In the paleness of winter however, among the greatest spirits stands strong, absolute – death.

                                            >Young ones fear it the most out of all other spirits.

                                            >And why wouldn’t they? It takes, and takes, and never gives backs, or stops.

                                            >No amount of pleas, nor any kind of bargaining can convince it otherwise.

                                            >As such, it is taught to not fear death, but to instead, welcome it as an old friend when it arrives to claim any.

                                            >That lesson (like many others) is supposed to be ingrained.

                                            >In her however, it failed to take root.

                                            >Because in truth, she knew that all within her tribe feared death just as much as the youngest do.

                                            >So they too, failed.

                                            >That fact always remained hidden somewhere behind their eyes, away from all others.

                                            >Not her, though.

                                            >The mark adorning her flank ensured that.

                                            >A rose represents a tie between others – love and friendship.

                                            >But unlike other flowers, hers is crystalline in appearance.

                                            >So although she could make ties with another easier than most, she also possessed insight to what lay within.

                                            >To the tribe, this was a blessing.

                                            >It meant that she could help out in certain matters, and even possibly become a leader in time.

                                            >To her however, this is a curse.

                                            >For it lead to knowing far more than she ever wanted to know.

                                            >Certain… truths, should remain unknown, always.

                                            >Such memories are thankfully locked away at this time.

                                            >That does little in the way of their mere presence, though.

                                            >Another bit of essence departs from her once more.


                                            >All she needed to know – everything – is laid out here before her now.

                                            >She lacks the intensity of the flame that burns.

                                            >She lacks the wisdom of the wood that fuels it.

                                            >She lacks the grace of the wind that strengthens it.

                                            >What she lacks most of all, is company.

                                            >There on the pyre, becoming one with the ancestors, is the only other member of her tribe.

                                            >Crystal Rose is alone.

                                            >Everything happened so fast, without mercy, but, with reason.

                                            >Long, long ago, before her time, when the tribe was young, they made a grave choice: casting aside the great earth mother.

                                            >While half agreed, the other half, did not.

                                            >Disagreements lead to conflict, a great bloody one.

                                            >From the first stone cast, to the last body to fall, the great earth mother watched, and wept.

                                            >The battle came to an abrupt end after some time.

                                            >Those who survived, splintered into two groups, and went their separate ways.

                                            >Neither side cared to learn from what had happened.

                                            >Ignorance, arrogance, both festered.

                                            >Thusly, a curse was placed upon them, at least, that’s what happened to her tribe.

                                            >Many moons passed, with the curse never coming to pass, which reinforced their beliefs that they were in the right.

                                            >But all things are paid for, in time.

                                            >Within this very year, that payment finally came in the form of four spirits.

                                            >The first, war, beat its mighty dreams; calling upon all those to bring conflict from inside her tribe, and from the outside.

                                            >The second, illness, brought forth a great plague upon the land – spreading like wildfire from the plants, to the animals, and of course, to the ponies of her tribe.

                                            >The third, winter, conjured the fiercest blizzard imaginable to strip them bare.

                                            >The fourth and final was there all along, death, who claimed any and all.

                                            >Young and old; strong and weak alike perished the same.

                                            >Except for her.

                                            >No cost seemed worth this.

                                            >Yet, despite the cruelty of this calamity, it was entirely deserved.

                                            >To deny one’s own parent, and to slay one’s own kin; to never learn from one’s own mistakes, that is a crime to be paid.

                                            >It is a lesson that the tribe taught, but never learned from.

                                            >Again, except for her.


                                            >The fire has died down a great deal since she let her mind float on.

                                            >In addition to what little remained of the pyre, only a little remained of the flame within herself.

                                            >From happiness, to sadness, all of those emotions and more, have become duller, like a worn out blade.

                                            >Although such a tool can be sharpened to be relied upon once more, there is no point.

                                            >This blade (her), is brittle and tired.

                                            >It should be allowed to rust away, and to finally let go at long last.

                                            >In spite of that desire, it cannot be granted.

                                            >Death will not claim her, for the great earth mother has deemed Crystal to remain living.

                                            >Here in the twilight hours, her magenta eyes glitter as the same as the few seen stars within the heavens high above.

                                            >Light, in almost all forms, is nearly gone.

                                            >Small puffs of warm air escape from her nostrils in short bursts.

                                            >Sounds that come from all around still make her ears swivel and twitch about.

                                            >Her silvery mane and tail gently move in the invisible wind that gently billows occasionally.

                                            >Somewhere, deep within herself, questions bubble to the surface.

                                            >Why was she chosen out of all other members of her tribe?

                                            >Was there not some pony more worthy?

                                            >Why does she live?

                                            >Why her?

                                            >Why?

                                            >Silence is the only answer that comes about.

                                            >In the lingering void, the embers have vanished entirely, leaving only a pile of frozen ash where the pyre once stood.

                                            >With no more heat left to resist it, the frigid air begins gnawing away at her very being.

                                            >Even if she were to let it tear her apart, death still would not claim her.

                                            >She would survive, suffer, and live on.

                                            >No matter what may happen today, tomorrow, or so on, she will not fall so easily.

                                            >But staying here in sorrow will do her no good, because in doing so, it would dishonor those who have fallen.

                                            >Although she may be young, lesser, and without the wisdom of those older, she must move.

                                            >Very slowly, she shifts in place.

                                            >Some snow, or perhaps ash, falls from the clothes that cling to her small frame.


                                            >Some noise from elsewhere shatters the silence in an instant, giving her some pause.

                                            >It sounded so close, yet, so distant.

                                            >As she listens carefully with her complete attention, it becomes more familiar.

                                            >A voice.

                                            >The one who it belongs to is gone, though.

                                            >It doesn’t stop speaking, and several more familiar voices echo along with the first.

                                            >The words themselves are incoherent, but, hold a meaning.

                                            >None of it is malice however, it is something else entirely.

                                            >Understanding settles in, and with it, she knows now what she must do, for things are clear – crystal clear.

                                            >So with one last look to what once was, she says a silent prayer, then begins to depart away.

                                            >Many other snowy, ashen mounds are passed by as she solemnly treads along.

                                            >What few remaining homes still stand among the wreckage that was once the village, her village, her tribe, her home.

                                            >She does not dwell upon them currently, for the time for that has long since passed.

                                            >Looming over all, atop the hill, is her destination.

                                            >The great hall.

                                            >Unlike everything else here, it remains completely untouched.

                                            >Whatever the reasoning for its unspoiled nature is unknown, but then again, many things are unknown.

                                            >Snow softly crunches under her hooves with every step towards the building.

                                            >Upon reaching the door, she pushes hard against it; letting out a small grunt in the process.

                                            >Just as it seems as though it won’t move, it finally opens inward with a  loud creak.

                                            >Some light from within briefly blinds her, but as it settles, her eyes linger on the space before her.

                                            >Several candles are still alight from the last time she was here.

                                            >A small fire gathered at the pit within the center of the room still burns as well.

                                            >The tables and shelves still hold various items.

                                            >This place feels frozen in time, like nothing were wrong.

                                            >If only that were true.

                                            >There, towards the back of the hall, is where the elders once sat, and would deliver wisdom.

                                            >Along the wall behind there, is the history of the tribe itself.

                                            >When she was younger, this place was so much more massive, more mysterious, than anywhere else around.

                                            >Now here as a young mare however, the hall is smaller, simpler overall.


                                            >An uncomfortable feeling wells up from within.

                                            >Without another with her, it felt… wrong to be in here.

                                            >But after all that has happened, there is no reason to deny her further entry.

                                            >So in spite of whatever is felt, she must pass, she must.

                                            >Summoning everything that she is, Crystal carries one leg forward for a first step.

                                            >Once it is taken, the second comes easier, then the third, and so does the forth, too.

                                            >The door shuts quietly behind her, and a sudden burst of warmth surges throughout, pushing her further onward.

                                            >All of her being is drawn towards the wall at the back.

                                            >It takes her mere seconds to reach it, though once she does, the sheer size is incredibly humbling to behold.

                                            >Many times before in the past she has seen it, but now? It is much more different.

                                            >Ancient, arcane writings, and many, many pictures cover it from one end, to nearly the other.

                                            >Much time was spent carefully crafting this work of wonder, in fact, many lifetimes.

                                            >Starting from the very beginning, is where her tribe was birthed forth from the great earth mother.

                                            >She bestowed them with ties to the land; granting them the might and ability to tame it.

                                            >Harmony was had for a time, where they multiplied, became fruitful, and prosperous.

                                            >Everything was well, good, and just in the world.

                                            >Then came the great fall – casting aside the great earth mother, which lead to the battle, which lead to the splintering…

                                            >Her tribe lived on, traveling southward to where they are now.

                                            >Well, where she is.

                                            >Attempting to ignore that darkness, she turns to the final entry within the history – to what happened recently.

                                            >Unfortunately, nothing of what has occurred can be ignored.

                                            >So much loss.

                                            >So much pain.

                                            >It’s so…

                                            >She closes her eyes to shield them from the waters that threaten to escape from within.

                                            >Enough has been shed already – both and tears – so nothing more should be shed again.


                                            >Her resolve strengthened, she refocuses her attention back to the history.

                                            >Many moons have passed since the split, but the other half of the tribe must still remain back in the northern lands.

                                            >Are they even alive, or have they, too, fallen like hers has?

                                            >Even if they still exist, would they accept her?

                                            >It is taught that grievances can be forgiven in time.

                                            >It is also taught that they can be paid for as well.

                                            >So to be the very last, is that not payment enough?

                                            >Perhaps it is, perhaps it isn’t.

                                            >The past itself cannot be changed, only learned from.

                                            >The present is one exists currently, living in the moment.

                                            >The future is sought after, and is what one wishes to persist through.

                                            >She swallows down a hard gulp of air, then nods slowly.

                                            >Certainty now reigns true inside.

                                            >Crystal is the last, she was chosen to bear the burden of her tribe, and thusly, to reconnect with the other half of the tribe.

                                            >The great earth mother has deemed it so.

                                            >Because that is why she lives – to tie the two halves together once more, just as a rose symbolizes the ties that bind one another.

                                            >Going around the village, she begins gathering what little is left: food, tools, clothes, and the such, all for the journey.

                                            >Among the last places to visit, is her home.

                                            >No flame burns within here, nor does a sound occur when entered.

                                            >Coldness, not just the physical kind, but the spiritual kind, dwells in this small space.

                                            >Despite the certainty she possesses, she does not linger here.

                                            >Fear, or something else, hastens her gathering.

                                            >Not a further thought is spared to her former home as she promptly leaves it, nor is any other for the rest of the homes.

                                            >A few tasks still remain to be dealt with before the journey can begin.

                                            >The first, a message is carved out in the large ancient oak tree at the heart of the village.

                                            >Whomever else arrives here needs to know of what once was this place.

                                            >The second, and third task lay within the great hall itself.

                                            >Unlike before, the door opens far easier this time.


                                            >Yet now, no longer does the fire burn in the pit; only a smoldering pile remain.

                                            >Almost all of this place is dark, quiet even.

                                            >But there, a last flame still burns – a single solitary candle.

                                            >With its aid, and with a piece of bark, she makes a rough map for where the other tribe may be.

                                            >Almost everything is ready, save for one minor thing.

                                            >Crystal’s gaze falls upon the candle again, though now, this small light holds her attention captive.

                                            >Much like her, this is the last of its kind here.

                                            >And just the same, it too, must go.

                                            >Closing her eyes, one final set of prayers are uttered – one of thanks, protection, guidance, and lastly, what she needs most of all.

                                            >Hope.

                                            >May whatever follows after this, bring about a peace.

                                            >Her vision is set upon the last small flickering flame once more.

                                            “Farewell.”

                                            >She blew out the candle.