The sun had been desperately trying to break the hoof-made cloud cover, thick and miserable, hanging over the heads of everypony who found themselves alive at the moment. Nobody had removed the darned thing for the past two centuries, and the earth started getting tired of it. Nothing would grow, not a plant, not weed, nor grass. It was all yellow and dried.
The wind blew my mane off my face, but I could hardly notice that, I was too busy looking down to my best friend, as he lay helplessly in my hooves. I took all the screws off, and disassembled my best friend. His barrel needed cleaning. I took a ram-rod and stuck a piece of my ragged, oily clothing on it, and started cleaning the barrel. The caliber this handsome one used was a .308. Powerful and precise.
As I cleaned all the needed parts of this beauty, I re-assembled it, and stood up, throwing my rifle round my back, the strap tightening around my frontal hull and neck. It was a feeling I was too familiar to. My saddlebags weighed so, that I could run away, or in case of no-run-away case... To shoot back. I had enough ammunition to assault Friendship City, and then Tenpony Tower in the same day.
I gazed over the beautiful scenery, so melancholic, so devastated, the mere sight of it, leaving an Impression one can't forget. The smell was no different. Seductive, opiotic. It blew along with the wind. I took a step forward, and as I did, the caps rang. It is a sound so dear to me and my colleagues, it's what unites us, and divides us at the same time.
Fortunately, and unfortunately at the same time, my colleagues rest three feet under a layer of thick, black, dead mud. Maybe one day... they will fertilize the ground for a nice tree to grow. But, I mean, a tree, not those black scorched statues that pop up around every corner of this Celestia forsaken, and blessed place! I've found a few good books, in good condition, in some towns, villages. They tell of a much more colorful place, of a place so beautiful, so euphoric, that it inspires suicide.
No I wouldn't want to live back then. Too boring for a pony like me... Too... happy. I like this, almost forced melancholy, it makes every little thing so much more beautiful and meaningful. Back then it was a matriarchal society... The Motherland. One could do nothing all day, and then munch on the fresh grass if one felt hunger.. Or if it was winter, one just had to trot up to a door and ask to stay until the winter gets wrapped up. Now, to me, that sounds a bit too Utopian. You didn't have to worry, it was way too happy, there had to be something, some things that now seem trivial to us.
I don't know, what I do now is that, I like this chaotic, depressing, patriarchal worrisome society, if it could be named so.
I looked over the peisage* one more time. The dirt under my hooves was stiff and cold, like a coat of a dead pony. There was a forest to my left, one I spent so much time in, that I knew it like the pocket of my saddlebag. In front of me, a never ending steppe of dead, yellow, frail grass. Rocks spawned here and there, of all shapes and sizes. Not only those, but boulders, ones that could save your petty life. This place screamed out the words 'Ambush'. The sheer beauty calling me to enjoy it's poisonous risks, and it's soothing smells and sounds.
The wind blew once again, the hum of grass seducing my ears. I felt every muscle in my body tense up, and then relax, I don't know how I could walk at that moment... I didn't, I floated in the air, the sounds making me levitate to it's climactic harmony.
But such a thing came at a fair price... Death was sharpening her scythe with a whetstone, for the song that I had been listening to, was a symphony of silent death. Slythering past my ears seducing me to the point of no return. My hearing had betrayed me, but my sight, not yet. I saw a flash, striking the corner of my eye, from the forest. It was a faint flash, because sun stayed behind the cloud cover. But I had seen the flash. It wasn't a shot, if it were, I'd have already been dead. It was a scope. Someone had his, or her sights on me, a rather inexperienced pony.
The glint followed my every step. I glided along the steppe, heading for a boulder. I casually walked up to it, and behind it, so that the scope could no longer see me. I quickly turned around and dove for the long yellow grass. If I was lucky, this rookie marskpony would keep aiming at the boulder. I crawled on the ground through the thick grass that was now my bestest friend, next to my rifle of course. Sliding down the dead earth wasn't the most comfortable experience, not for my coat, nor my stallionhood. Luckly, I had rags to save it.
It took me a short time to crawl over to the edge of the forest. The wind brushing against the grass concealled my approach. I rolled out of the grass and looked to where I last saw the flash. For a moment, I thought I saw a shivering pile of cloth, but I soon realized that this marskmpony's skill of tracking his pray did not reflect his skill to hide properly. I felt my face turn up a grim smile. I quietly reached into my saddlebags, and carefully pulled out a bayonet. I held it in my muzzle, ready to advance on the hunter. I was the hunter this time.
I approached my first victim in two days. My belly shall be filled with this one's tasty flesh. He was so small, he could've been a colt, so he should be full of life, and all the needed proteins. I just needed to think of something, to scare him. But, as much wit as I had for survival skills, my charisma was too low for such a task. I had make up something smart. Something funny. But it seems as if I had to go with the classic. I tapped his shoulder with my foreleg.
"Looking for me?" I asked with a hint of a chuckle in my voice.
He gasped and squeaked? And turned around, his... uhh... Her scoped rifle dangling out of her muzzle and off of her hooves.
So...She was one of those who preferred weapons which are fired by tongue. Sure, you can run and shoot with the small ones, but a tongue controlled rifle? That's both impractical, and very dangerous. See, there's three ways of operating a weapon. A battle saddle, good for charging, but you can't aim for shit. Tongue operated, works only for pistols and such, and there's enlarged triggers for hooves. Which requires you to sit down, or lay your weapon on something and then shoot, but it sure as hell won't bust your damn teeth out.
To my surprise, it was a mare. Her coat so clean, and white, her eyes wide and such a beautiful shade of red, filled with fright.I couldn't see her mane, but what I saw was already enough for me. My jaws flopped open, the knife slipping out of my mouth. No, I couldn't eat a mare... I could only molest one, but, not this one. She was too beautiful to be mentally scarred. Too innocent. She was rather young, I could tell by the soft glint in her eyes. And, the scent as well... She was a go--
"P-Please don't kill me." She spoke out.
My body froze. Her voice. I've never heard such a harmonious set of colors in one's voice. No, not the sounds of grass, the whistles of the wind. Not that, my friends... Suddenly, I -wanted- to live in that colorful matriarchal society. I wanted to have this mare. Not physically, no. I wanted to sit by her every day, not worry for a thing, and just relax. Look at her non-Stop. I'd listen to her sing- Oh, imagine how she would sing! I bet her songs could heal the deepest of wounds, both physical and mental. What, in the name of The Two is she doing all the way out here with a rifle in her muzzle.
"Oh... No-no. Not ever. I would never end such beauty, not for all the caps in this world."
The mare looked at me, in a state of shock, as well as deep confusion. I could hear her breathing... I wanted to hear her voice at least one more time.
"Name's Sage... What's yours?"
The mare opened her muzzle to answer me, but as soon as she let her sweet voice out, I heard a shot ring from behind me. I felt immense heat, and an itch spread through my neck, as it turned into agonizing pain, I couldn't yell no. I raised my hoof to my neck, put it where it hurt, I felt liquid go down my hoof. I lowered my head to look at my hoof only to see it reddened by my own blood. I had better things to do. I lifted my sight up to see the mare. There was a drop of blood on the top of her snout, and it made me smile. I lifted up my weakening hoof, and pointed to her snout, and opened my mouth to tell her that.
Instead of words, outwards poured liquid. Brightest red I've ever seen. It spilled on the ground, and spread like wildfire. I soon found myself... and her, positioned on top of a growing puddle of crimson. The bitter smell of blood replaced the mare's sweet and soothing scent. And it was rather Ironic. I had killed behind the back so many times, and so many times I have watched two loved ones cry into each other, as one drew it's last breath, and other felt the wrath of me, or my colleagues. I suddenly felt guilt, passing over all the pain in my body, taking over it for a brief moment, but now my time has come, nopony else would have to go through a situation like that with me ever again.
The mare watched in horror, as my legs gave out, I collapsed to the side, but, I felt no pain. I couldn't hear either. Everything was ringing. I wanted to hear her voice one more time. Pain was there one moment, and the other it was washed away by her calming beauty. She quickly crawled up to me, revealing her grey, almost black mane. My smile grew wider. She had opened my muzzle to speak to me, but I could not hear her. The ringing was still there. I shook my head trying to suggest to her that I couldn't hear her. She lay her hoof on my neck, on both wounds, putting pressure on it. I felt less and less liquid seep out of the two gaping holes in my neck.
Her touch was firm, but oh so frail at the same time. I tried lifting my hoof to touch hers, but I lost all the strenght to. Everything was slowly getting consumed by darkness. I gagged, and coughed, the world around me slowly turning. The pain of the cough made me close my eyes, and when I opened them I could see her chest all reddened by my warm blood. I looked up into her eyes again, and she looked back at mine. Now only her name would suffice. A mare who I tried to kill, but she tried helping me while I struggled with my last breath.
She realized that I couldn't be helped, she let the wounds go, blood sliding down my neck, and wrapped her hooves around my head, pulling it closer, and against her soft warm hull.
I never drew a bigger smile in my entire life.
The wind blew once again.
Author's Note
I didn't want to write a full Fallout Equestria story.
And I was in sad mood.
One or two things I improved after reading Lunar Samurai's "The Blind can Never see"
I suggest you take a read at it.
It's an amazing piece of art.
*A peisage is an artistic scene of nature. That kind of painting is usually painted by artists of Realism and Impressionism.
