When the World Is Running Down
Applejack navigated the rows and rows of dozens of apple trees on her farm as she looked for any tree which would possibly bear fruit. Most of the trees lay dead and barren, their fruit running out, their leaves wilting after years of diminished sunlight. Applejack glanced upwards at the heavens and saw the taunting sky. Perpetual, steely grey clouds stood overhead Sweet Apple Acres, as they had for years and years. The cumulous formations seemingly taunted her at every turn, making the prospect of agriculture a tedious and arduous affair.
If only the pegasi could schedule a few clear days-- her mind started, and then stopped. She chuckled nervously. Of course, there were no pegasi left. The weather would remain like this forever.
After several more hours of searching, she finally located a small pinprick of red light against the fields of brown: a solitary resilient survivor in the field of endless sunlight-starved death and decay. She galloped over to the fruity oasis, flipped one-eighty, and bucked the wooden trunk as three red apples begrudgingly fell to the ground with a plop.
She took one of the morsels in her hoof, extended it up to her mouth, and took a large bite. Her molars chewed and chewed, as the sweet taste of apples assaulted her tongue like a drunken visitor who had overstayed his welcome. With a great effort, her tongue pushed the sustenance down her throat to her stomach’s nauseous protest.
Applejack never would have thought that she, the greatest apple farmer in all of Equestria, could ever tire of apples, but after eating nothing but apples for years and years, even she had begun to tire of them.
Maybe I can go into town again, she thought. It might give me something to take my mind off of all this.
Applejack walked back through the rows and rows of apples and to the dusty trail leading into town.
Applejack looked at the long, empty rows of cottages in Ponyville as she walked down between the deserted houses and buildings. Sidings and shingles hung from the buildings, ever in a state of constant disrepair. Moss and vines crept up the sides like whiskers on an unshaven beard. Holes and cracks disturbed the sides of the cottage, making the buildings look like swiss cheese.
A few raindrops fell from the unattended darkened sky, giving the perpetually damp and musty world more fuel for its continued course of rot and decay.
Applejack glanced at Sugarcube Corner. Hopefully there would still be baked goods and treats available here. She hadn’t ever bothered to take an inventory, for she was the only one who ever raided its supplies.
She walked into the frosting covered building. Mold and dust and decay of all sorts infested the exterior and interior of this once happy and bustling establishment. The ghosts of Pinkie and the Cakes hung heavy in her mind like leaden shadows. She could almost hear their happy voices.
Behind the counter stood cakes and pies that were molded and infested beyond edibility. Black, green, and white colonies of fungus sat on the tops of the baked goods. A rancid stench rose from them.
”More like baked bads!”
Applejack was not concerned with these easy pickings, content to leave them with the microbes. Rather, she walked past them and into the cupboard of the kitchen.
Inside, she saw a candy jar, the contents of which were running out. Only three wrapped delicacies remained, their plastic wrappers concealing them from the parasites and vermin of the outside world. She reached into one and pulled out a single small piece, a wrapped chocolate treat.
She opened the wrapping with her teeth and plopped the candy into her mouth. A burst of flavor exploded in her mouth, but rather than the feelings of joy or satisfaction, it brought only a sense of longing and nostalgia for the days when she would see the caretakers of the bakery, smiling and ready to fulfill her requests. Perhaps that petite bit of pony contact was a bit more important than the act of nourishment itself. Maybe it always had been, but she was unwilling to acknowledge it back then.
Back then…
Applejack continued onwards towards the old treehouse library. Packs of rabid dogs and rodents scampered in her wake as she walked down the street. The vermin were used to a certain sort of eerie tranquility inside the town, which the outsider pony was disturbing.
A flock of crows scampered out of the leaves and fluttered off into the wind as she approached the library. The limbs and branches of the tree where unruly and ill-kept, in need of a good pruning that nopony would ever again provide.
She walked inside, the dusty floorboards of the library cracking under her weight, not used to bearing a burden any more than a spider, rat, or occasional stray cat.
As Applejack walked off towards the audiovisual section of the library, spiders on cobwebs scampered out of her way, hiding from this potential disturbance. Though she was a predator, she was not the sort that their instincts had compelled them to fear: she sought a prey of a purely informative nature.
She reached the AV section of the library. She flipped through the few records until she found the one she wanted; she retrieved it in her hooves, walking over to an old record player. She put the record under the needle, flipped the switch, and the old machine whirred to life after some protest.
“The Best of Equestria Show proudly presents…” the record began. Applejack’s heart skipped a beat, leaping for joy at the prospect of hearing another pony voice, even one immutable and captured forever in the vinyl and plastics of an old LP.
“One of the greats of our time…” Applejack said along with the announcer, knowing every word by heart.
“Fillies and gentlecolts, please give it up for--”
The record skipped. Applejack waited for a few moments, but it did not resume. She reached over and tried to put the needle back in the groove, but the old record still wouldn’t play. After fiddling with it for another hour, and trying several different records, she reached the conclusion that the old record player had simply quit working for one reason or another.
“Well, it ran for years and years…” she said, her voice trailing off at the end, sad at one of the last few comforts of her miserable world fading away.
Applejack felt a trembling underneath her eyelids as a fine mist accumulated, ready to burst forth into a waterfall of sorrow. But she held back.
Don’t waste my time with tears, she thought. Gotta stay strong. That’s how I survived.
After some time, she won the battle against her sadness. She sat up, moved her hooves, and left the library. As she walked outside, Applejack set off down the street, and back towards Sweet Apple Acres.
Author's Note
The title of this story was inspired by the name of an old song by The Police.
