Fallout Equestria: The Long Road Home

For every great story I can remember, as long ago as I started reading -- for books were the means by which I learned of the great tales of adventure and danger, one common thread united all of them. Some told of the horrors and heroism of war, others of the toils and trials of everyday life, some of love, and some of heartbreak. Stories of friendship, valor, glory, and honor, each with a shining moral and purpose -- and each of them was about people who did what they thought was right. Every saga, each epic of a lifetime’s work told of people who thought themselves not great, but rather simply taking what was the upright and correct path. Even if they knew they served a greater purpose, they would ply their minds with humility and gird their bodies with grit to give more of themselves. I guess that is why my story isn’t nearly so noble.

Looking back, I can’t help but wonder...no. I know that there really wasn’t much of a choice. We did what we had to, what we needed to in order to make it. The intent to kill is far more deadly than the end of any gun, and when something so simple as a bottle of water hangs in the balance, it would be plausible just to move on and forget it...so it would seem. If the life of one you held dear was on the other side of that scale, all of the sudden that bottle becomes very important. Important enough to kill for. I wish I could say I hadn’t done that. There are many things I wish I hadn’t done. Given the choice though, I’d take myself and my friends being alive over my own conscience if I had to do it again. It would be easy.

Some could argue that we did the right thing. That what we destroyed, those who we hurt and who we killed were justified. Self defense and survival argued with the fact that no one had any better reasons than us. Hell, it’s what I told myself so that I could get to sleep each night and do it again the next day, at first. When you become so used to it, so numb to doing what would have caused you to vomit and cry weeks before that you don’t even flinch, that is when you know that you have changed. But when you only have your memories to compare yourself to, and those around you are changing just like you, the full extent of that change isn’t apparent until you get back home.

Home...such a simple thing, and yet the concept and reality are never quite the same. It is so much more than just a place to live. If you can call wherever you lay your head ‘home’, then I envy you. If you know a safe place without fear, and you can call that ‘home’, then I am more jealous of you than can be understood. We never meant to kill, much less become involved in a war, but everything has a price. What we wanted most was to go home, and in the end, we got what we wanted. My fear now is that while I recognize my home, it doesn’t recognize me. I’m not the same person who left it, and I doubt I ever will be. Still, should I ever come to terms with all that I’ve done, maybe I could forgive myself and let it all go. Failing that, at least I might understand. Perhaps you can help me?

Come, and I will tell you our story. Please sit down, because it will take a while, and take care, for it is not for the faint of heart.