Hey! It looks like you're new here. You might want to check out the introduction.
Show rules for this event
There Are No Graveyards in Equestria
I shivered in the gray and wet daw, tightening the cloak around my shoulders. I was getting old, too old for this, and I would soon have to find somepony else to share the Burden. There were a couple of candidates in Ponyville, but it was a difficult choice to make. I needed more time, I—
The flock of sparrows left the roof of the house, a whirlwind of wings fluttering and not a single chirp. It was time.
I sighed and hitched my cart on my back. Knowing it was coming never made it easier, and the farmhouse felt like an eternity away as I walked up to it. Rows upon rows of trees on each side stood silent, mourning, ignoring me as they should.
I left the cart in front of the main entrance and pushed the door open. The hinges had been oiled, a little courtesy I appreciated, made me feel less like an intruder, helped me with my role. One would think that after all these years I had become used to it, and yet I still tensed with each squeaking door or creaking floor.
That would be something I hoped my successor learned better than me. Maybe I should start early, make sure they would get it while young. We are not intruders, we play no part in the pain.
That's what I repeated myself while, not for the first time, longing to be a pegasus. It was so easy for them, I bet they didn't even have undertakers.
As I walked through the kitchen I heard a whimper coming from the next room. I pulled down the veil covering my face and adjusted the cloak. A brief look at myself to be sure it fell right and covered every part of me, and then I walked on.
The siblings sat on the sofa, Applejack hiding her face in Mac's side. The colt stoically glared at the floor in front of him, not moving a muscle. I remembered when I helped bring him into this world, just a small bundle of red fur and powerful lungs. It broke my heart looking at him, but this was not the time for me to offer condolences or comfort.
Granny Smith was in her rocking chair, a yellow foal held tight, her lips a thin line and her eyes locked on something behind me. It was good to know you could always be sure of her being proper. The little filly babbled and reached with a hoof to me. She was too young to understand, too young to know the traditions. She too would learn to not see me.
The rags I bound around my hooves helped me feel like I wasn't really there. It was so strange how easy it was to ignore something when we couldn't hear it.
I glanced briefly over my shoulders before climbing the stairs. I would leave form the back door, even if it meant I had to work harder. I had forgotten about lil'Bloom, and it wouldn't be good for her to see the vessel. She was too young to understand. Leaving my cart in front of the house had been stupid.
I reached the room, I knew where it was, I had been here before. So many times before.
Pear Butter's body laid on the bed, eyes open and empty, a glass on the carpet in the middle of a damp spot. I already missed her, her and Bright Mac.
I glanced over my shoulder to be sure of being alone, then reached for the body and pulled it from the bed to lift it on my back. It was lighter than Pear Butter had ever been, a small blessing in this day.
The way back down and out felt easier. Seeing the corpse devoid of anything that had made my friend what she was helped me to put some needed distance between me and my role. It always did, and yet I never remembered. It was frustrating.
I threw the body in the cart and hitched myself in again. Time to bring it out in the forest and get rid of it, then I would have time to mourn too, to offer comfort to those who remained and to truly accept that my friend would never return.
As I walked, I thought again about whom could be the next carrier of the Burden.
The flock of sparrows left the roof of the house, a whirlwind of wings fluttering and not a single chirp. It was time.
I sighed and hitched my cart on my back. Knowing it was coming never made it easier, and the farmhouse felt like an eternity away as I walked up to it. Rows upon rows of trees on each side stood silent, mourning, ignoring me as they should.
I left the cart in front of the main entrance and pushed the door open. The hinges had been oiled, a little courtesy I appreciated, made me feel less like an intruder, helped me with my role. One would think that after all these years I had become used to it, and yet I still tensed with each squeaking door or creaking floor.
That would be something I hoped my successor learned better than me. Maybe I should start early, make sure they would get it while young. We are not intruders, we play no part in the pain.
That's what I repeated myself while, not for the first time, longing to be a pegasus. It was so easy for them, I bet they didn't even have undertakers.
As I walked through the kitchen I heard a whimper coming from the next room. I pulled down the veil covering my face and adjusted the cloak. A brief look at myself to be sure it fell right and covered every part of me, and then I walked on.
The siblings sat on the sofa, Applejack hiding her face in Mac's side. The colt stoically glared at the floor in front of him, not moving a muscle. I remembered when I helped bring him into this world, just a small bundle of red fur and powerful lungs. It broke my heart looking at him, but this was not the time for me to offer condolences or comfort.
Granny Smith was in her rocking chair, a yellow foal held tight, her lips a thin line and her eyes locked on something behind me. It was good to know you could always be sure of her being proper. The little filly babbled and reached with a hoof to me. She was too young to understand, too young to know the traditions. She too would learn to not see me.
The rags I bound around my hooves helped me feel like I wasn't really there. It was so strange how easy it was to ignore something when we couldn't hear it.
I glanced briefly over my shoulders before climbing the stairs. I would leave form the back door, even if it meant I had to work harder. I had forgotten about lil'Bloom, and it wouldn't be good for her to see the vessel. She was too young to understand. Leaving my cart in front of the house had been stupid.
I reached the room, I knew where it was, I had been here before. So many times before.
Pear Butter's body laid on the bed, eyes open and empty, a glass on the carpet in the middle of a damp spot. I already missed her, her and Bright Mac.
I glanced over my shoulder to be sure of being alone, then reached for the body and pulled it from the bed to lift it on my back. It was lighter than Pear Butter had ever been, a small blessing in this day.
The way back down and out felt easier. Seeing the corpse devoid of anything that had made my friend what she was helped me to put some needed distance between me and my role. It always did, and yet I never remembered. It was frustrating.
I threw the body in the cart and hitched myself in again. Time to bring it out in the forest and get rid of it, then I would have time to mourn too, to offer comfort to those who remained and to truly accept that my friend would never return.
As I walked, I thought again about whom could be the next carrier of the Burden.
Felt like mostly just worldbuilding to me? The emotional arc was there, but it seemed a bit weak. I'm left with a lot of unanswered questions about who this pony actually is.
I have to agree with >>Not_A_Hat
I searched through the story to see if there were clues to the narrator's identity but I did not figure anything out.
The concept is great, and the writing in the story definitely packs a punch. Really good.
I searched through the story to see if there were clues to the narrator's identity but I did not figure anything out.
The concept is great, and the writing in the story definitely packs a punch. Really good.
Gotta say that my opinion lines up with Hat and Whit here, the main appeal of the story here is the worldbuilding. The writing is enough to carry the concept and give the emotional arc a bit of a punch, but the real meat here is the narrator and his job. I’d love to see this expanded with more focus on the narrator’s job leading up to this particular event.
An interesting idea and nice, introspective writing. I assume the pony might be Burnt Oak (he would, after all, often be taking a cart to the forest), but the story doesn't really tell who it is other than a close friend of the family, and that works for me.
This story took too long to hook me, I was a little bored until the end of the 6th paragraph. And I think the arc is playing it too coy, hinting at little details like passing on the burden, or the narrator's real identity, but it's all obfuscated. I felt frustrated rather than intrigued, like it's just teasing me.
I do admire the tone of this fic, it all feels like a unnervingly silent scene, with little creaks or whimpers around the edges.
I do admire the tone of this fic, it all feels like a unnervingly silent scene, with little creaks or whimpers around the edges.
So they throw dead ponies in a trench that runs throughout the forest? Ecological.
The tone is interesting, but the pacing is slow and some of the fic seems like padding to me. I understand it is introspective, but the introspection drags a bit.
Also, is that carrier like a pariah? A bit what old executioners were at the time. Or?
All in all, evocative but at the same time reminiscent of a subject that has already been covered many times.
The tone is interesting, but the pacing is slow and some of the fic seems like padding to me. I understand it is introspective, but the introspection drags a bit.
Also, is that carrier like a pariah? A bit what old executioners were at the time. Or?
All in all, evocative but at the same time reminiscent of a subject that has already been covered many times.
This is the sort of story where leading with a strong hook is more engaging. I see no particular reason to not just lead with what he is instead of being coy. The title spoils it for the reader if you are actually trying to be coy, and the mood setting isn't really strong enough to engage out the gate. Just do it right out the gate. "I am the one who lays the dead to rest" or whatever. Bam.
Which leads me to the next thing... there isn't a strong arc because we spend too much time splitting between things: the narrator's concerns re the next bodytaker (which runs into some logical errors in both being a new idea and, well, cutie marks being so important to later professions) and the reaction re: the emotional impact on characters we like.
I dunno. The idea is fine, but I think using the Apple family is to the story's detriment, as readers are going to be more interested in a very definitive moment in their lives than random OC on average, which leads to a tension in what is driving interest at any given moment. So yeah, tighten, I think. Pick one thing and do it.
Which leads me to the next thing... there isn't a strong arc because we spend too much time splitting between things: the narrator's concerns re the next bodytaker (which runs into some logical errors in both being a new idea and, well, cutie marks being so important to later professions) and the reaction re: the emotional impact on characters we like.
I dunno. The idea is fine, but I think using the Apple family is to the story's detriment, as readers are going to be more interested in a very definitive moment in their lives than random OC on average, which leads to a tension in what is driving interest at any given moment. So yeah, tighten, I think. Pick one thing and do it.
Well, sheesh, that got me in the feels.
The specifics of the situation surrounding the pony undertaker, and their choice of occupation, confuse me. And I agree with the previous comments that it took too long to explain itself to the reader.
But in terms of tone and plot, this is probably the most eerie, Halloween-y story on my slate. I gotta give it props for that.
Eight maggoty pony corpses out of ten.
The specifics of the situation surrounding the pony undertaker, and their choice of occupation, confuse me. And I agree with the previous comments that it took too long to explain itself to the reader.
But in terms of tone and plot, this is probably the most eerie, Halloween-y story on my slate. I gotta give it props for that.
Eight maggoty pony corpses out of ten.
Strange. It's a bit of worldbuilding that lacks the right context to let it stick the landing. All this stuff that happens when somepony dies, and yet there's no effort to make sense of it.
On the one hand, this is loaded to the brim with the Weird, which would normally make it right up my alley. But for once the questions feel more like a deterrent. This is a very peculiar system that, from what we're seeing, has no basis or reason to exist. Maybe my hesitation comes from the fact that I spent most of my developing years working at a cemetery, and as such the lack of them in any form confounds my sense of logic?
All of that being said, this does a decent job with atmosphere, setting and emotion, and so it'll still land in the upper-middle of my slate.
On the one hand, this is loaded to the brim with the Weird, which would normally make it right up my alley. But for once the questions feel more like a deterrent. This is a very peculiar system that, from what we're seeing, has no basis or reason to exist. Maybe my hesitation comes from the fact that I spent most of my developing years working at a cemetery, and as such the lack of them in any form confounds my sense of logic?
All of that being said, this does a decent job with atmosphere, setting and emotion, and so it'll still land in the upper-middle of my slate.
I had honestly forgotten the Writeoff, so this story was written in a panic-filled hour of frenzied writing under the deadline. It has tons of issues, but I must admit I'm still satisfied with how it came out, considering all the limitations.
What I wanted to do was to give ponies a different approach to the dead, and have them place no worth on the physical body. Once a pony dies, only a worthless corpse is left behind, a corpse which, in ancient times, was prime scavenger and predator bait. Enter the undertaker, the pony responsible for carrying the carcass away, add a couple of millennia of traditions and social constructs and you get the situation of the story.
Thank you for having read and commented the story. I agree with almost all the problems pointed out, and will try to fix them in some way.
>>Not_A_Hat
>>Whitbane
>>regidar
>>Bremen
Well, originally I intended the pony to be the midwife (midmare?), but I think about using a different character, somepony who has a stronger connection to the Apples. I will have to expand upon their role and how it relates to others.
>>Haze
I admit I managed the scarce space I had less than gracefully. My choice of psychopomps was also less than ideal in building up interest, I suppose.
As for the silence, that will stay an integral part of the story.
>>Monokeras
The rhythm has to be polished, no arguing there. As for how the Apples reacted (or didn't react) to the undertaker, well, that begs for expansion. It isn't as simple as the pony being a pariah, but that never really came through in the story.
>>AndrewRogue
I will try to keep the different threads, but they will have to be handled more organically. I'm not so sure about using some other family for the scene, as it would risk leaving the reader without any kind of anchor point. That said, I will have o find a way to make the main character a bit more compelling to balance that out.
>>Posh
>>PaulAsaran
The word (and time) limit was a tyrant I couldn't defy. I will have to expand the context in which the characters move and why they do what they do. The challenge will be doing it without falling into the usual traps.
Thanks again to the commenters, it's for you that I return to the Write-off again and again.
What I wanted to do was to give ponies a different approach to the dead, and have them place no worth on the physical body. Once a pony dies, only a worthless corpse is left behind, a corpse which, in ancient times, was prime scavenger and predator bait. Enter the undertaker, the pony responsible for carrying the carcass away, add a couple of millennia of traditions and social constructs and you get the situation of the story.
Thank you for having read and commented the story. I agree with almost all the problems pointed out, and will try to fix them in some way.
>>Not_A_Hat
>>Whitbane
>>regidar
>>Bremen
Well, originally I intended the pony to be the midwife (midmare?), but I think about using a different character, somepony who has a stronger connection to the Apples. I will have to expand upon their role and how it relates to others.
>>Haze
I admit I managed the scarce space I had less than gracefully. My choice of psychopomps was also less than ideal in building up interest, I suppose.
As for the silence, that will stay an integral part of the story.
>>Monokeras
The rhythm has to be polished, no arguing there. As for how the Apples reacted (or didn't react) to the undertaker, well, that begs for expansion. It isn't as simple as the pony being a pariah, but that never really came through in the story.
>>AndrewRogue
I will try to keep the different threads, but they will have to be handled more organically. I'm not so sure about using some other family for the scene, as it would risk leaving the reader without any kind of anchor point. That said, I will have o find a way to make the main character a bit more compelling to balance that out.
>>Posh
>>PaulAsaran
The word (and time) limit was a tyrant I couldn't defy. I will have to expand the context in which the characters move and why they do what they do. The challenge will be doing it without falling into the usual traps.
Thanks again to the commenters, it's for you that I return to the Write-off again and again.