Hope wrote a few more words on his script, before flipping it over and sighing. It had been years since he had started, it seemed, but yet, the book he wanted to make still felt empty. He had poured out his spirit into it, all of his life gone into attempting this work of art. But still, something felt wrong. Something was lacking in that work which was his. He opened the shutter of his dusty attic for the first time, the motion blowing out the numerous candles that flickered around him, the accumulated wax creating impressive patterns on the oak table. Looking at the world outside, thinking of the ones that gone before him. The ones that had sculpted worlds, filled oceans, built wonders. But yet, as he sat at his table, the quill pen beside him, the work on his book was still as good as naught compared to the others.
He stood up, the chair creaking beneath him, his mouth a bitter line. Folding the paper into a neat square, he placed it gently beside a stack of hundreds more. Enough was enough. He knew, deep down, no matter how hard he tried to fight against it, that this was not his battle alone to be fought. He glanced at the posters around him, each depicting books, worlds beyond one's wildest dreams. He sighed, placing his weary hoof on one of them. The time had come, for him to finally give up, it seemed . Pushing past the stacks of plates and dishes that had accumulated, he walked out the front door of his home, feeling the sun on his coat, the wind rushing by his mane. He spared no thought for the other ponies frolicking out in the sun, not a care in the world, but continued walking towards the cliff on which he intended to throw himself off.
Still, as he walked on, the cliff coming closer and closer, his steps numbered, he stopped. Looking at a colt, under a tree, alone. He shook his head, walking on. The colt noticed, running up to him, a short written paragraph in his mouth, begging him to verify it. Hope smiled sadly, shaking his head no, and continued walking on. He had seen enough of the written word, no more. The colt persisted, and Hope finally gave in. Just this one, he thought sadly, just one more paragraph of a child's innocent mind, free from the burdens of the world. Patting the colt on the head, he walked over to the tree, and began to read, his thoughts tinged with sorrow. Just one more, before I let the gods seal my fate.
He read and he read, the simple words striking a chord deep within. Even in darkness, there still is light, the simple message declared. There is always a way. There will always be a way. Hope stopped reading, looking at the colt staring at him, the one who somehow had managed to relate to him, through his simple message of hope. The colt placed a hoof on his wrist. "Don't do it, mister. There will always be people who need you, no matter how much it seems like the world is hopeless, be it past, present or future." Those simple words shook Hope to his core, banishing the thoughts of suicide from his tormented mind. He smiled sadly, patting the colt on the head gently. "You're right, young one. I still have much to do." He turned tail, walking back up the cobblestone path, away from the cliff.
Returning to his desk, he sat down and began to write again. Not just an ordinary story, but a message to the masses, one of love, joy, peace and hope. Welcoming those who needed love, to be loved, the hurt, to be healed, the sorrows to be removed. The replies flooded in, messages of other writers in his shoes replying to his composition. For once in all these years, Hope smiled. Gathering a small group under his wing, he formed a community, one that would change the world, he hoped, or at least correct lives like his. He welcomed visitors to his home with open arms, teaching them how to set their lives straight, how to build, as it seemed, stories that would last, correcting them if necessary. The community grew, it's numbers growing. Hope picked the fellow writers that had joined him at the beginning, sending them to out to guide the newcomers.
Still the numbers continued, till it's members grew far beyond count. Hope looked at the community, thriving as it were, fully capable of running itself, under the watchful eyes of the senior writers. He smiled, recalling the events that had led up to this moment. It had been two years since that colt had stopped him from taking his own life, and in that two extra years he had saved countless others from sharing his fate. But still, there was unfinished business to tend to. Walking up the street, now lined with brand-new houses, the architects themselves brought up in this very community, he went back to his house, back to his writing desk, and began to write.
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Hope lay on his deathbed, recalling all the events that had taken place in his short life. The community still thrived even now, his command no longer needed. It had been a good life, well lived. A stallion walked in, a bound book clamped firmly in his mouth. He walked up to the aged unicorn, placing the book reverently at his bedside. Hope picked it up, it's cover glowing all the colors of the rainbow. He ran a hoof across the first page, smiling weakly. His time was up, it seemed. The stallion gave a small nod. "You did well, mister." Hope nodded, placing the book back, closing his eyes for the last time. Brohoof was complete at last.
((And that's how Equestria was made, folks! On the other hand, however, this little backstory-story is just my mind going haywire with my whacked-out-of-sync-mood today, sorry...))
((If it DOES manage to make the cut though, I'm going to need someone to help me with the desc of Hope, if that's going to be his name. All I know is that he's a unicorn. :/ ))
Edited by High Orbit, 06 February 2013 - 01:52 PM.