I don't want to yell anymore...
A light wind passes, pushing the umbrella in my drink, making a light clink. Though I don't drink alcohol, I want to relax today, so I fluff up my cheap chair and feel the light push back from the chair on my hooves.
My view of the wondrous mountain in front of me pleases me, though I do not want to reach it. By moving around to pop my back, my charred mane gets tangled up again in the chair.
"Wake up!" I yell to my platoon, raising them from their beds. My sunglasses covered my eyes, my men stared at my eyes and saluted me, not knowing how little I had slept.
I lay in my chair, reclined, sipping on my light blue drink, feeling relaxed.
"Sir!" said a low-ranked soldier, saluting me. His eyes were full of passion, burning through my sunglasses, but I just looked at him and pretend to look him over. He was unshaken, but I saw many mistakes in his outfit. He seemed to not know of the failures of his apparel, even though he should have been taught this the first year of Equestrian Army Training.
"Major," I yelled, "golden armor is only for times of peace, not for our current state of affairs!"
His passionate eyes shook, but stayed undeterred. Just this act, at that time, pleased me greatly. Secretly smiling, I moved onto the next man, who cowered before me. His armor was, ironically, in shambles unlike what his name meant. The men around him each had passion in their eyes, but his eyes were blue with fear.
"What kind of man doesn't know how to fight?" I said, nearly screaming in his face, "A man who cannot stand for himself!"
He stared back at my sunglass-covered eyes. I stared at his eyes, surprised that his eyes were not blue from fear, but of an undying fire. The passion was more subdued than his fellow man, but it was there like a lightning bug flying through the star-filled sky..
I put down my drink onto a blue basket and pull out a cigar box that was almost empty. The box is cold, for it has not been used in a week. I smile at my old friend, pulling out a cigar and placing it in my mouth.
Though I was supposed to be a Brigade General, I was only assigned a hundred men, but they were all highly-trained. All of them ignited the air around them with passion, strength, and irresistible force compared to what the royal guard produces while they lay behind the safety of castle walls.
I close my eyes, feeling the bliss of rest befall me, but it stops before I can finally sleep.
From our messenger bird, Ivan, we were delivered a package from Equestria's Missionary Department, which has been trying to spread our religion before being turned into a survey corps., which is on the other side of the river. It told us of a large group of elite griffons coming our way.
We all laughed, drinking a few drinks after our absolute victory over a twenty-strong group of elite griffons. Everyone's eyes dimmed in the liquor, unprepared for tomorrow.
I light the cigar, which blew into my face a bit.
The two passionate men stood beside me, their faces caked in dirt and grime. We were ambushed after our idiotic celebration by the true elite group. We had tried to run and get reinforcements, but the messenger birds were dead, so we ran to the platoon. A hundred of other ponies dead surround us on the floor, their eyes cold compared to their previous flare. The Griffon Elite Army stared right at us. Their eyes burned with the same passion as us, but their army was ,like ours, decimated from the one-hundred elite troops to only ten. One of them set up a shield while the other began to create a spear. I pumped my magic into them at a high speed, watching the ten elite troops fall to the spear as we cried for the fallen.
I smile, looking at the clear-blue sky, which has happy clouds. I look to the small shack, reminding me of the close combat.
I stood, saluting my friends as they were awarded Medals of Honor, but no one was smiling. Many were lost that week, but at the end of the battle, the Griffons realized the atrocities that could happen. A diplomate from the griffons sat in his little corner, crying himself, but no one felt sorry for him. As they were walking down the aisle, back to the main room to commemorate the lost; I saw the griffon run up to one of them, and while he dropped his cigar, the griffon pulled a string and a shield erupted. It was, sadly, not to be.
I drop on cigar onto my belly, burning me a bit. I punch it off, feeling a bit uneasy.
I cried myself to sleep that night, alone and away from anyone else, but I still felt horrible for doing so. In my time of pain, I dragged out my artbook and looked at happy pictures to cheer me up. He would have made fun of my ability to draw, for I should've been a 'ruthless' warrior, but he wasn't there anymore. I sat in my chair, staring at a picture of a mountain.
I get out of my chair, my tears dried and his last cigar burnt, and put up the mountain picture. I use my magic to turn off the air conditioner, not needing to conceal the sound of my tears anymore.
Rubbing my eyes for one last time, I pull out a blank canvas and begin a new work of art. I draw nothing on it except its name, 'The Last Tear' and I put it underneath the fan.I climb onto the basket, turning off the fan and putting jewelry on it. I look to the canvas, which had nothing on it but my shadow, and I put on my only piece of jewelry, kicking the basket.
