Last of War

by Ambros

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark, Alternate Universe, Sad, Tragedy
Length: 2037

A lone warrior, stands upon a hill watching as his world changes.

When will we learn, what more lessons must we gleam? Can I say for certain what light may come after this ends? No, I suppose I can't. "I am become Death, Destroyer of worlds."

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-02-06 14:30:03 UTC

Black Horizon

Chapter 1: Black Horizon

I stood there a cloth clenched in my hoof, hoping to redirect the flow of blood out from the cuts upon it. I stand upon this hill, my eyes never leaving the horizon as I watch the sky grow dark from the sheer numbers of planes that approach our skies. Their shadows rolling over the sea towards the shore, like a great beast of darkness and despair, if I had to name it the feeling that it struck in my heart would be “War” itself, a being brought to life by our deeds.

Their numbers are endlessly growing closer, I never turn my head to check, but the steadily growing noise behind me, tells of the two once great air forces impending clash. Soon no light will escape the sky as they meet in a battle of twisting metal, and ponies that will set the sky ablaze. My eyes drift down from the horizon, and the sky, and all I see below are twisting structures of concrete, and steel. The first battlefield in a skirmish long gone unchecked.

In the center of this twisted mass of what used to be a city lies a single spark of color a bent flag pole, the flag hangs toward the ground twisted in its hoist upside down. I laugh because the symbolism of its accidental stance is ironic, and appropriate. We are indeed under duress, but more than just us, our whole world trembles in the wake. I let my eyes once again drift down, I look at the rags I wear. They once were a symbol of honor, duty, valor, but now they never cease to be a reminder of what has taken its place. They are ripped, and bullet holes that dot the edges mark so many close calls.

The stains upon its pattern are of a better camouflage then their original make, the blood, and grease, and oils matching the colors of this world far better than the greens it had once shown. Upon my hip, remains the only weapon I still wield, a small pistol with only a single clip to spare. So my gaze turns to the ground, and in turn the hill I still stand upon. There is no green, only brown and soot, the few trees that still stand, bare no branches. The many trenches we had dug are vacant. The twenty or so of us that had been sent here by command, and only I remained. We came to defend a hill that no one came to claim. With no word, and every hour getting bleaker, and with no other purpose the others decided to leave. Now I remain here its lone sentry, and witness. When they had told me that they were to depart, I wished them luck but I knew deep down there was nowhere left to go.

The ground war here had burned out months ago, and in the passing weeks I had seldom seen a pony between fifteen, and fifty. So with nothing to do, and with the fireworks about to begin, for the first time in my long life I abandon my post. I walk down the gently rolling slopes of destruction, dreaming as I go at what this place once looked like. As I descend, I greet other fallen attackers, and defenders wishing them a rest well earned. I have thought long in the few days since my last comrades’ departure. I hold no grudges now towards the magnitude of fallen enemies, it’s a funny thing that the smallest of slights could create all this. No one more particular of blame then the other, the truth is we are all at fault here. From the overburdened factory workers, to the leaders, all the way down to the grunts. The innocent bystanders, and the antagonists alike, each of us hold a small piece of the blame, but a piece no less.

My pace quickens if only for a moment as my boots race before the final steepest of steps, until I reach the bottom of the hill. I brake myself, as I set hoof at last upon level ground. With a few heavy hoofed steps, I make my way through the burnt shrubbery, and with its passing find myself upon these streets of ash. I pass casually all the toppled buildings, and burnt out shops, never ceasing as I search for a prize among rubble. It is not as long as I expected, I find a small shop half burnt out, but from the few letters that remain upon the broken windows, I make out “liquor.” With no reason left for tact, or subtlety I simply kick out the remaining glass, stepping over the small seal that held it.

I search through the broken shelves, and bottles, hoping to find if only a small reprieve. Most are broken, having spilled their precious contents. It is not till I accidently kick, and send a bottle spinning that I find a prize worth retrieving. I pick up the bottle, reviewing its label like some scrupulous eye from a connoisseur. It was not what I had hoped for, a bottle of wine. I would have preferred vodka, or even whiskey but a beggar cannot be a chooser.  I blow off the dust, and debris, smiling as I hold something so simple, but so precious as my prize. Turning to make my exit, my eyes rest upon a small wooden container upon the sales counter. Making my way over to it, I survey its offering to me. Only one of the torpedo cigars remain, and I snatch it up greedily, while I hold onto the bottle with one leg to spare. With my new found wealth, I leap like a fillie, once again through the windowless shop.

Again out in the open, I take the small cigar out of its wrapping, and inhale a deep whiff of its aroma. It is not long that I savor its smell, before setting it in the pocket on my blouse. For now, my attention turns to the flag of color that had caught my sight once before. It had never been my intention, or my destination but I am drawn to it, like a moth to the flames. I shall share a bottle with a flag, one who has accompanied me through more than any other. I reach the flag pole, it sits in the shadow of once a city hall made of marble. I place my bottle upon its broken steps, for the first time I let go of the rag I had bound to my hoof. Letting the blood red wrapping blow away with the wind, and my exposed wound drip blood on the still pearly white steps.

My hooves shake, as I hold them out to the mast to untie the fixture of rope. No sooner than the knot is undone, the flag falls to meet me, I catch it before it touches the ground. Unthreading the rope through the holes, letting it be free. A breeze kicks up, and I hold the flag out in my wounded hoof letting my blood intermingle within its colors. I watch for a moment, as it becomes an extension of me, before I let the wind take what I can no longer carry. A burden which I let loose on the world, flying away from me, before floating eerily quickly to the ground. I would burn it, but there is no more reason for such protocol in this wasteland. It holds no value anymore. With it freed, and my fixation satisfied, I turn once more to the drink I had stolen from destruction. I pick it up, and set my teeth upon its cork. I no longer care for my teeth’s integrity, they could grind to dust in my mouth, and no semblance would disturb me.

The only thought I have, is hopping the cork doesn’t fly haphazardly into my mouth. I cinch down, and with one yank its contents now become free to me, spilling only a little, I set it upright, and spit out the cork upon the sidewalk in front of me while I take a seat upon the steps. Once again my gaze returns to the skies, I see the two sides growing close now, only a small line of light separating their inevitable clash.  A thought crosses my mind as I sit a spectator to this clash, “Don’t fire till you see the whites of their eyes.” Ironic that the saying that had just come to me, would have been more appropriate had I actually fought atop the hill I just occupied. I take a long drawn sip from the bottle in my hooves, letting the liquid flood into my empty, and pained stomach driving away some of its anger.

After a few minutes of sipping, I begin to feel its affect on me, loosening the invisible chains on my mind. I let my injured hoof wander to my hip, releasing the weapon from me. I stare at it, wondering what on Equestria has brought us to this. Before I chunk the slab of unwanted metal to the street in front of me, letting it hit with a loud clink before sliding away. With it now dispensed, I take the cigar from my pocket and spark it up before returning my gaze to the sky. They have met now, these two titans of industry. Spitting fire, and brimstone at each other. Soon their fireballs begin to rain down from the sky, leading unknown crews to tombs of fates choosing. I knew soon the fires would once again take hold of this empty city, and when night would fall.

The clouds would reflect that insidious orange back, emptying any doubt about our new hell. As I take a huge drag from the cigar, movement from my left alerts me to a new presence. I only turn to find a familiar camouflage but still not my own. In his hooves he wields a weapon, I long feared. On instinct I want to bolt for the weapon I had tossed, but I calm the cornered animal inside me. Instead I raise the bottle in my hoof, and motion for him to join me.

He hesitates but only for a moment, it would seem he is alone as well. As he walks towards me he slings the weapon across his back, and waves with a big smile. I pat the broken steps next to me, hoping he will not sit apart from me like the enemies we are. When he finally sits I pass the bottle to him. He takes a big swig as we both watch the balls of fire, and death once again rain upon our world. When he passes the bottle back, I also pass the cigar.

The last of my luxuries I have of a dying world, I now share with the only one around, my enemy. As I pass the bottle he passes the cigar, we both watch the bloodshed in the sky unfold. I take one last drag of the cigar before I turn to him, the first one to speak. And the first time I have spoke to another pony in many days.

“War what is it good for…” I trail off hoping for a response.

He surveys the scene in front of his eyes, before turning his head to the skies, and responding.

“absolutely nothing…”

We both laugh as we watch the battle unfolding quick but frightening, as we watched, drank, smoked, and laughed, hiding the seriousness of the unfolding events. Soon all that remained of the few mighty powers to be, broke their engagement, of the many numbers that had met now only a few dozen from either side flew away, limping home.

I saw a mushroom cloud, rising in the distance a blast rolling across the hill I had but an hour ago occupied. I reach out one leg, and place it upon his shoulders. He returns the favor in earnest. I think to myself if only for a moment before our imminent destruction.

“Thank you my new friend, for what its worth I do not blame you.”