The Wither Effect

  Two months.

  It had been two months.

  Why didn't she run? Why? Was it fate? It couldn't have been, she didn't yet have her cutie mark. Not that it would make any difference. She was dying. Death was creeping towards her. It was inevitable.

  There was no cure.

  In fact, she wished that death would come faster.

  Her little-remaining flesh was dark gray, red in some places where it had just started to rash. The rashes didn't itch or hurt, they burned. They felt as if she were being stabbed by a knife and left to rot. The red patches of furless skin would tear and blister and rip, peel themselves off of Apple Bloom's muscles in a slow rolling motion. The skin in those places would turn soft, mushy, useless, like apples left in mud after a long, harsh rainstorm. If it managed to cling onto the flesh by a fiber or two, it would stay attached until the strands of solid flesh rotted away. Then it would fall off.

  And the dark would spread.

  Apple Bloom could feel the rot spread through her bones, crackling as it slowly ate away at the marrow, dissolving it, as it crawled forward, unstoppable. It would harden and thin the bones until they were more brittle than bird's limbs. It ached; it was as if her bones were being squeezed by some sort of dark magic.

  Which was what it probably was. Dark magic.

  Cureless, aching pain, rendering her muscles, nerves and bones utterly useless. Eating her alive.

  Making her wither away.

  Somepony spoke to her: "Apple Bloom, yer friends're here!" Probably her sister. She didn't care much for Applejack anymore; ever since she started dying she could see right through bullshit and that sickly sweet, 'tarnal optimism. For instance, Apple Bloom could almost smell the dishonesty dribbling from her sister's apple-eating, retarded mouth when she claimed that "she'd always be there" for her. It smelt of rotten fruit. It disgusted her, appalled her.

  But her friends were here just now, right when her internal organs were stinging, burning like fire, aching as if- wait, they were rotting, but still. Now? When she was just about to die? Never before? Who the hell did they think they were, little assholes?

  Well, they were here now. None the matter. As they entered the dusty room, smelling of carrion, Apple Bloom felt a twinge of despair, anger, depression, all packed together like a compressed explosive about to burst, amongst her sea of fake, sickly-sweet happiness.

  "Apple Bloom?" Scootaloo's voice was bold and shaky at the same time.

  "Girls!" exclaimed Bloom, voice sounding like grating metal, full of mushy pleasure. A large patch of skin curled upwards with a sickening "rriiiiiip". "I knew y'all'd come!" Her bones crackled and shook. It would be over soon. Her false friends would see what they had done by not stopping her.

  Her two fellow crusaders looked at her.

  Stared. Stared. Stared.

  And then they burst into tears.

  Apple Bloom had to stop herself from rolling her eyes and/ or bursting into laughter. "What's wrong?" she croaked, pretending to be unaware of the fact that she was dying.

  Sweetie Belle looked up, sniffling. "W-we... I... I'm sorry, Apple B-Bloom..." Another choked sob. AB would've winced if she could've... No, no, just a coincidence. That little fluffy marshmallow was just so pathetic. She didn't ask the question, that "Why are you sorry". Her throat was starting to burn, as well. Almost over. Almost over. Oh, how happy they'd be without her, continuing on their lost-cause cutie mark search. They'd probably replace her with that pathetic, sniveling foal, the unicorn foster daughter of that dumb-ass bi-

  "We're s-sorry... it's all our faults..." A sniff. "We sh-should've s-stopped you..." Apple Bloom felt her heart ache... but maybe it was just the rot. It didn't sting, though, nor did it burn. It was a deep ache, hard and painful. Yes, you should've, she thought. You just realized that, little daughter-of-Winona...

  But her heart tugged against it.

  And then there was silence. Apple Bloom's muscles twitched. Her body was surrendering to the dark magic. For once, she didn't want it to. Her blood blackened, burned through her veins, dissolved them. It wouldn't be long, but Apple Bloom now had a reason to live. She always had, but she'd just realized it.

  The sounds that came out of Scootaloo were muffled, but Bloom could hear them through the static of her slowly-dying ears, and the words they formed made her want to keep her eyes open forever.

  "We love you. I love you." Scootaloo's voice was warm, but it shuddered like a cold filly.

  Scoots leaned in towards AB slowly. She stared at the dying pony, stared, thrust her head forward, and let her lips meet the rotting half-corpse's. The kiss was long-lasting, warm, full. Apple Bloom returned it as well as she could. It was awkward, but...

  Their lips left each other, and the orange pegasus thrust her forelegs around Apple Bloom, bursting into tears.

  "Don't leave us, please don't leave us..." Choked sobs, shaky wailing. "I love you, Apple Bloom! You mean everything! Everything!! I love you.... love you..."

  AB's memory swirled, shook, raced back, back to that one Saturday, even though it hurt, playing it backwards in her mind... before she walked out into the forest, not looking back...

  "Ah'll try."

  And then a wave of happiness, real happiness, flooded over the small, once-yellow filly. The first that she'd gotten in two full months.

  These were her friends. They were here for her now.

  The darkness was falling over her. She couldn't hold it off or make a barrier. She felt her muscles cramp, stretch, disintegrate. Her remaining skin bubbled and fell, popping like soda candy introduced to wetness on her deathbed.

  "I-I love ya'll too." Her voice was grating, rough, sandpapery.

  She closed her eyes, smiled, and sighed contentedly.

  The darkness covered her, eclipsed her. Her last sensation was that of her heart frozen solid as it was eaten away at slowly and liquidized. A small tear, part saltwater, part dark blood, dripped down from her half-gone tear duct, slipping through the riddled maze of rotten skin and crack-riddled bones that was once Apple Bloom's face, using its own material as fuel, leaving it behind.

  "Apple Bloom?"

  There was no feeling at the scene but a deep, aching depression and a hanging, heavy sense of loss.

  Nothing was left of the small earth pony but dull-gray, brittle bones and a large, pink bow in a pile of rotted flesh, disintegrated solid blood, and thin, fair ash.

  The light clicked off.

  All was dark.