Normally, when somepony or something wakes you up during your slumber, it might make you upset wondering why did they, or it, wake you up. Usually when somepony or something wakes you up during your serene nap, they would do so to tell you something. They might wake you up to wish you a happy birthday and proceed to give you a birthday present or a card they picked up at the grocery store; they might wake you up if you were falling asleep during an important lecture you must know for who knows what; or they might wake you up for a flight that for some reason, is booked at two in the morning, which, happens to me during my trips to Indoneighsia. But if there were something that woke you up, maybe a falling cabinet when someone is robbing your house that woke you up in which then you should be a bit worried that he might do things that you don't want him to do like leaving an envelope with the money he owed you back during the trip.
Unfortunately, our protagonist has been woken up by some thing. And that thing, is a artillery shell that landed near him, exploding in the most spectacular fashion, exploding fragments of shred metal towards their target.
His eyes suddenly shot open from some thing, exploding almost next to him, making him jump out of his fur as he shoved himself off the side of the trench and away from the shell, even if it already exploded and barely missed him. He looked at the crater it made. Unfortunately, above that crater, is a cloud of bloody mist with a few pony parts left in the center of the crater. His thoughts got the best of him and not before long, he started to panic. Pupils shrunken, blood running cold, uncontrollable shaking, and other physical, maybe mental, factors that fall in the definition of fear, had already shown up on him as he looked at the mutilated body and back at him, covered in the poor pony's pH 7; blood.
When somepony is scared out of their mind, a figure of speech which means here "nearly put into shock after witnessing what was left of the pony's body", they wont respond to outside contact, like a shuttle orbiting behind the moon losing communication with ground control or sticking a pair of noise-canceling headphones and drown out the world around you with music. The best way to snap a pony out of it is to give them a good shake to bring them to their senses which, one of the soldiers did to our main character to try and snap him out of it.
"Hey, snap out of it! You alright?" a fellow soldier asked him. He didn't respond, his mind still taking a toll. He shook him again, not wanting to slap him out of it as slapping a pony instead of snapping a pony out of it, normally would be more effective but the pony you would be slapping out of it probably will be in pain and mad at you for slapping him in the first place saying it would be better if you were to keep snapping him out of it.
He gave him another good shake to bring him to his senses but it didn't work. He swallowed a nervous lump in his throat as he slowly raised a hoof and brought it down on our shocked protagonist's dirt-coated face. Immediately our protagonist sparked to life again like the old computer I have that still has a floppy disc drive that's sitting under a desk, never to be sparked back to life as I have a better one. He shook his head and rubbed the side of his cheek that his comrade had harmed.
"Ow... why did you do that?" Our slightly annoyed main character said, "you could have snapped me out of it instead of slapping me you know?"
"Sorry but, I had to" he said, already regretting what he'd done.
our hero gave a frustrated sigh, still shaken up from his earlier experiences, "It's fine. I must have been out of it for you to do that."
Both of the soldiers stood silent on the front not having anything else to say to each other, but what's not silent is what's around them: barking machine guns, cracking rifles, explosions from distant mortars, artillery, grenades, which ultimately ruins the effect of the two of them being silent. When you have a moment of silence with others, possibly for a fallen pet or person or friend or broken computer, everypony should be silent. Should. As there is always a couple not giving the fallen pet or person or friend or broken computer their sympathy, essentially ruining the whole, "moment of silence". Ponies can talk in an inaudible whisper to others when having a moment of silence, possibly talking about what they should do after this, "moment of silence" or talk about the vacation to Indoneighsia and visiting Blitar; the hometown of a parent of mine and how they should do it over the summer. Rifles, machine guns, grenades, and explosions however, cannot be quelled when they go off. Sadly enough, the two probably wished they were at a summer vacation, and not in the front like where there are several factors of death, and that everything is going to be swell.
"I wish I can be on a summer vacation than to be here," our idol pony's comrade said.
"Me too," he agreed. And they said nothing more.
They sat in the war-filled silence--war-filled meaning not quiet, not looking at anything in particular as two reiterated the past moment. And of course, this being a battlefield littered with trenches and barbed wire and such, there is not a place that is ever safe and that unsafe place, is where they were standing as another shell so happened be heading their way, producing an ear-piercing whistle as they were standing in the un-silent silence. Let's not hope that you will be bombed by a shell anytime soon but, if it were to happen, you would hear a faint whistle as it makes its way through the war-filled air or what ever air you're breathing, if you're lucky, you would hear a faint boom. If you're not lucky, you would hear a Zing! instead, indicating that you should probably duck your head down and pray to Celestia that you wont get instantly vaporized from the high-explosive projectile.
Thankfully the shell hit an empty lane in the trenches around the corner behind the two as trenches are dug in a type of zig-zag fashion to prevent the enemy from jumping down, and firing down the lane. At least they redeemed their poorly-thought tactics a tad. But because this isn't the first time our hero faced death, he just had about enough of this war and now he dropped everything he was doing--if he was doing anything at the moment--and ran through the zig-zagged trenches and into one of the bunkers.
I just had about enough of this war!, he screamed in his head as he ran through the zig-zagged trenches and into one of the bunkers and curled up into a ball.
There are many reasons why you would curl up into a ball: you might be cold and you want to tuck your arms and legs closer to your body to keep warm, you could be tired and curl into a ball so you can sleep in a comfortable position, or you might have lost your sanity and curling up into a ball will keep you feeling slightly safer.
With a bit of research of The Pointless War at that moment, it's safe to say that he wasn't cold as it was a nice sixty-five degrees outside; perfect weather for an average Californeighan like me who is currently typing a story about a soldier who was taken prisoner in a pointless war to tell to the few readers who may or may not read this story. It's also fine to assume he wasn't tired as he apparently had a nice nap before being abruptly awoken by a loud and deadly noise so the only conclusion is that he lost, or is losing, his sanity, curling up into a ball to feel safe. Although war is never safe.
He was losing, or was losing, his sanity, fearing for his life in the farthest corner in the bunker, staring out into the empty space that was in front of him hoping it would take his mind off of going insane. From the sudden change in shading from standing in front of the entrance, somepony walked into the bunker, clomping their hooves, making their way though the dark dugout maybe to find a spare rifle, or maybe him. Our main character however, was trying to control his breathing to prevent hyperventilating, and telling his mind to calm down, as to prevent a heart attack to even bother trying to figure out who the other pony was when he noticed a shadow in front of him. He carefully came out of his hiding to look at the pony that was in front of him that was illuminated from the door-lit room. It wasn't just any pony, it was his best friend.
When you're feeling upset or confused or losing sanity, your best bet is to have your best friend comfort you, whether by his or your consent to give you advice on things or just being there to make you feel better. Unfortunately, this part will be quite off as I have no experiences of friendship of any sort to possibly give you an accurate dialogue of having the protagonist's best friend comforting him as he goes through the aftershock of nearly dying--again.
The sight of his best friend eased him slightly to see a familiar and quaint face, but he was still on edge. There was a silence that was left when the clomping of hooves subsided, and his friend was formulating words--comforting words--to say to his shaken-up companion.
When first trying to say something comforting to a friend that is uneasy or upset or saddened, it should be words that, well, comfort him. Saying things that he wants to hear like, "you're too good for her," if he was breaking up with somepony or, "It will be okay," if they're unsure about the events to come, or even, "you probably should've been increasingly vigilant about the chemically explosive power of a metal artillery shell spiraling through the air at two-hundred miles per hour" if they underestimated the power of a chemically-explosive metal artillery shell.
"You probably should'be been increasingly vigilant about the chemically explosive power of a metal artillery shell spiraling through the air at two-hundred miles per hour you know," our hero's friend told him in a calm and comforting tone, sitting down next to our less-frightened advocate slowly and gently putting a hoof on his shoulder as if he were petting a worried hedgehog. Our worried hedgehog was comforted by his friend's touch, reminding him of a time back when they went to school together which made his tenseness dwindle away. They sat in the dimly lit bunker pretending they were away from the front and they would wake up and think it was all a bad dream. But the hollowed-out ground wasn't away from there, no, it was right in the trenches that were in the front where an artillery shell detonated, shaking loose the dirt ceiling, sprinkling the two in debris. The hedgehog flinched and curled up into a ball again and his friend started to gently rub his back, desperately trying to calm him down as he knew he was down-right terrified.
Now it took a while for our hero to be less than a frightened hedgehog so I will provide some fillers here and let me comfort you worried hedgehogs with some unusual fairy-tale that I will attempt to allocate in my mind as a type. But I'm so tired I can barely type these worfs.
"Worf," said Worf, the fantasy-like creature who was a combination of two animals that I don't know of. Worf lived in a nice big castle lined with beautiful candy trees and bright sun and happy creatures that lived in the castle. The one day, the antagonist of this fairy-tale wanted to talk to Worf, so he went from his evil castle, traveling the few dirt roads, and to the entrance of Worf's castle to talk to him about something. The castle guardians, who were lions for some reason, lowered the drawbridge across the maple syrup-filled moat after making sure that he wasn't going to hurt the residents of the castle. The evil person walked across the giant castle being greeted by many friendly-looking two-animal creatures who he thought was Worf, so he stopped by them to tell them something but to find out only that they weren't Worf.
The bad person talked to several other Worf-looking creatures walking around the castle. He was so tired that when he found the real Worf, he was too tired to talk about his evil plan to evilly take over this castle with his evil army at his evil castle, but all he could think of is trying to catch his breath. He gave up trying and left Worf to do the talking. Worf looked at him, "Worf," said Worf, the fantasy-like creature who was a combination of two animals that I don't know of. And the evil person smiled and turned good and they all lived happily ever after.
Even with such a fairy-tale like this, there is always a morale to a story or event. For example, the moral of The Wonderbolt Academy is, don't pair up with such a meanie. The moral of Daring Don't is, know that your favorite writer can become the character of their story at any given time. And the Moral of The Fairy-Tale Above is, when writing, don't confuse your worfs.
Turning to a less fairy-tale like story, our protagonist has finally started to release his pent up fear from the fight as his muscles relaxed and his breathing started to become less ragged and he was slowly coming out of his curled up ball position in the corner. His friend gave him a gentle smile, "You alright?" he asked our less-than-frightened hedgehog. Our hero only gave him a subtle nod in reply.
They shared the moment of silence in the spacious bunker with our soldier curling his head towards his body again, trying to shut off the outside world. A few munitions and support beams that, well, supported the ceiling from collapsing, letting only a sprinkle of dust fall on the two if a shell were so happen to be close were the very few things that were inside, save for themselves. Time passed by and every so often a few light shafts would bathe them in the darkness from the few soldiers that trotted by the entrance, not noticing them as they were blanketed by the dim dugout. A peaceful time in the front for them.
After what seemed like hours did our main character propped his head up and turned to his friend who was ready to listen to our hero.
"Why did I come to the war?" he asked his friend.
His friend thought about it for a while, then let off a huff in mild frustration as he can't really answer such a vague question.
"I don't know, why did you come to the war?"
Our hero was a bit disappointed that his friend didn't answer his question but at this point, he couldn't have cared less as he closed his eyes and thought of the reasons why he came to this war himself.
"I guess I didn't want to be the only one in the class to not enlist," he said, answering his beginning question, "you saw how everyone was all for it when the teacher gave his speech."
"Yeah, I know," his friend agreed as they both delved back into their memories to bring up that time, which I will not write because of possible spoilers and such, giving them that feeling of unknown but comforting nostalgia. "Well I wasn't sure either, but look at yourself; you're a lieutenant, record time at that"
"Record time for kissing up to the generals" he scorned.
"Hey, don't say those kinds of things to yourself," his school buddy sympathized.
"Well it's true," the pessimistic protagonist proclaimed.
"It's not," his comrade said in a stern tone, his mood changing, "I've heard from many other lieutenants that they're jealous of your quick rankings, even most of our schoolmates are looking up to you now because you're the highest rank in the class. Even me." he put a hoof to his chest to show his honesty in those words.
Our stubborn standard-bearer's mood changed rapidly to a bit of an understanding feeling from the few words, sporting a small smile for once in his first few days in the front, as he realized that everyone is behind him, slowly forgetting about the past few hours or so. He learned to appreciate a friend who is always level-headed in situations like these.
His friend noticed his mood change.
"Better?" he asked him.
"Yeah... thanks for being there when I need you the most" The lieutenant replied.
"That's what friends are for, you don't need to be thankful about it," his buddy said humbly.
"Well, I'm just lucky to have you as a friend."
They sat in the room, savoring the last few minutes of darkness and silence until they were shadowed by another type of darkness: somepony else.
"You two! Quit mating in there and get out of here!" the infuriated soldier shouted, "Unless you want to get in trouble with the lieutenant!"
Now when someone interrupts your peaceful time or something that you were enjoying like a two-scoop ice-cream on a hot summer day which then he would accidentally bump you and drop your delicious frozen treat or when you're listening to music in which you were enjoying and somepony would unplug the jack from your music player to tell you something, then you would be mildly or very annoyed which in this case, our lieutenant was very annoyed from the corporal's rude comment.
He slowly made his way to the entrance where the corporal leaned against the frame impatiently, waiting for the two to high-tail it out of the bunker.
"Can't you go any slower!" the corporal shouted, already losing patience
"Can't you learn any respect!" our protagonist snapped back as he stood parallel to the corporal.
"Why you little-," he brandished a hoof to smack some discipline into our advocate and was about to execute that until he fully realized the face of the pony who he now has a clear view from the sunlight, then caught his hoof right before he accidentally hit the lieutenant he was going to report the two to. His was awestruck from what he was about to do to someone of a rank much higher than he was.
"And that lieutenant would be" the lieutenant he was going to report to chimed.
He looked at him, then to his hoof, then back at him, and back to his hoof and snapped into a salute, hoping he wouldn't get reported himself for almost hitting the lieutenant.
"I'm so sorry sir!" he said in a panic, "I-I didn't know you were also in here! I was told there were two soldiers in here, nothing else!"
Our lead character kept a straight face at him, the air uncomfortably still--for the corporal at least--making the scolding soldier even more concerned that he was for sure going to be in trouble. Rest assured our lieutenant said the two words that he hoped to hear.
"At ease. You weren't aware of it, that's all," he reassured the saluting soldier who then lowered his hoof, "Just don't do it again. Or else"
That last bit scared him, as with anyone who has been told to do something, or else and with a good reason: you don't want or else to happen and the corporal didn't want to know or else. Or else.
"Uh, y-yes sir!" he said obediently, bringing his hoof to another salute, swearing to himself to make sure that he wouldn't make the same mistake again. And after our protagonist dismissed him, he left with haste to leave to two alone in the silence.
"I guess being a lieutenant does have its perks," our main character concluded after the corporal was out of earshot.
"You should have seen the look on his face. It was priceless," his friend said with a titter.
"Well I was right in front of his face to begin with," he agreed.
And with that, they shared a laugh together as our once scared pony's fear dissolved like foam, hopefully no longer bothering him. They both walked outside into the warm atmosphere, noting the lack of explosions and gunfire as they made their way back to their position to enjoy the cease-fire and get some much needed rest.
And now this is where the chapter stops as I cannot procrastinate this chapter anymore to release to the general public. And I will try my best to write faster if necessary, but I might go back on my worf.
