Of Journals

by RavensDagger

Rating: teen
Tags: Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Twist, Tragedy, Dark, Sad, Main 6, Applejack
Length: 15989

Applejack wakes up to find everypony gone. The wind has eyes.

Journals, diaries, logs, all books used to record one's thoughts, ideas and feelings. They act as eyes into the mind of the writer. What happens when that mind is sick?

A cold wind is rustling.

Published 2012-05-08 16:34:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-10-17 04:01:40 UTC

Honest Journals

The stallion trotted by the tall, unkempt trees, some of the lower branches scratching his thick coat or getting caught in the straps of his large, well-worn saddlebags. Beads of sweat poured out of the edges of his mask, fogging its glass face after each panting breath. Deciding that he had had enough, he leaned against the nearest tree, the sharp bark of it catching on the material of his hood.

He looked up, the bright midday sun catching on the glass of his mask and sparkling brightly. He looked back down in shame; the sun's light was too beautiful for the darkness of his heart.

With a grunt, he pushed himself away from the tree, trying to walk away before his stomach reminded him of an unfortunate truth. The growl was loud, unbearably so in the quiet that dominated the orchard. Not a single bird sang, nor did the wind whisper between the trees in the unnatural silence. The world was in mourning... And yet, he wasn’t.

Twisting around, the stallion flicked his saddlebags off his back and onto the ground, throwing open the flaps dismissively to peek in. They were mostly filled with tools: ropes, pieces of cloth, a clean blanket, a flint to start fires, a small wood carving knife with a blunt, rust-red edge. No food.

Air flushed out of his mask as he sighed, leaning down to slide the bags over his back again. Glancing up, he saw a few apples halfway up the tree, their red forms almost glowing against the dull grey sky. Mouth watering, he walked back to the tree, turned, and bucked it. The sharp clack of hooves on wood echoed through the orchards and along the barren roads.

A single apple fell, its form bouncing once as it hit the yellowing grass. Smiling to himself, the stallion walked over to it, pushing the mask up his face as he did so. As he stood above the fallen apple, he inspected his surroundings, ears perked. He was alone, quiet pervading the peaceful place.

He grabbed the red jewel, rubbing it against the insides of his dirty jacket before putting it in his mouth, his eyes inspecting his surroundings the entire time. His teeth sank into the apple, his eyes widening as he realized that something was really wrong. Coughing, he spit the chunks of apple out, the bits and pieces flying everywhere as he sputtered.

The apple was rotted, holes having been burrowed into the once sweet core by hungry worms. The inner edges were brown with sticky rot that bubbled in the warm air. In disgust, he threw the deceptive little fruit, its small impact against a nearby tree splattering it into a million pieces.

Grunting unhappily, the stallion replaced his mask over his face and trudged on, his hoofsteps heavy on the sodden ground.

Soon, he came to a once-clean sign. ‘Welcome to Sweet Apple Acres: Best Apples in All of Equestria’ it proclaimed proudly in a beautiful, yet rustic, script. The edges had long ago been worn and dented. The few screws still holding the old sign in place were heavily rusted. Even the slightest breeze threatened to tear the sign from their grasp. Across the entire thing was a hastily written piece of graffiti declaring, ‘They’re all dead’, followed by the vaguely carved outline of an arrow under the phrase, "Inky was here."

He harrumphed at it, placing a gloved hoof over the weather-worn carving before abandoning it to the road. Not too far ahead was a barn and a small country house, the red paint of the buildings peeling away as vines crept up their sides. The lawn was dirty, small trees and unruly bushes poking through chest-high grass.

He started towards the house, the overgrown weeds swishing lightly against his belly as he trudged onwards. From the corner of his eye he spotted two graves. The ground was still brown-ish around the two mounds; only a few weeds had grown on the fertile soil. Both graves were adorned with jury-rigged markers, names carefully carved on the smooth wood.

He didn’t bother to read the markers, preferring to inspect the house.

The door was a mess: parts of it --the handle and lock-- were still stuck to the wall, while the rest hung on a single twisted hinge. The smell of stagnant water emanated from nearby puddles that had formed on the deck.

He avoided them gingerly as he walked into the home. The scene that met his eyes upon entry was not that of a well-kempt household. Things had been thrown off shelves or stacked haphazardly on nearby tables. A stove in one corner had been emptied of its ashes, which lay in a pile at its base. An oil lamp rocked lightly, creaking as it hung on a rusty nail, still half full of its precious liquid. Empty boxes of foodstuff lay scattered across the floor, as did bottles of still-sealed bottled cider. Flies buzzed around a bucket of rotten apple cores in one corner.

Even through his mask, he could smell the mold and rot that had began to form. A wooden creak broke the silence inside the house. His ears perked beneath his hood.

The wind was picking up.

Turning, he ran to the door, forcing it shut with a loud metallic squeal of protest from the damaged hinges before returning to his position in the centre of the room. Rearing up, he grabbed the lantern before reaching into his bags and grabbing his flint. With two quick strokes the lantern was lit, casting an eerie yellow light throughout the room.

He glanced around again, this time aided by the lamplight. The windows had towels stuffed along their edges, and the legs of chairs had been ripped apart and now served as makeshift barricades. He nodded silently, admiring the quick handiwork of a fellow survivor. Walking forward and deeper into the building, he found a staircase beside a pantry, the latter having been raided already.

Trusting his instincts, he began climbing up, his ears picking up the faint sound of leaves rustling in the wind. His breath quickened.

His hooves stomped against the steps, purposefully loud so as to warn any possible bystanders. It was best not to surprise somepony that was sleeping afraid. At the top of the staircase was a tarp, covering the entrance entirely. Depositing his lamp on the step, he ran a hoof along the edge until he found a catch. There he fidgeted with the material until it let go, allowing him access into the upper floor. Nopony was there.

The stallion let out a relieved sigh upon inspecting the upper floor. In one corner, heaps of canned food and sealed bottles had been stacked in neat rows. Clean blankets were folded and pressed beside them. Holding the lantern aloft, he examined the rest of the room. A bed had been placed in the centre, the covers cleanly pressed and collecting dust. A thin black book placed atop the bed caused a ripple in the otherwise smooth blanket.

On one wall was a calendar, dates crossed out in more and more erratic fashions until only the last few remained, blank. The chimney of the stove on the lower floor had been pierced, and the hole stuffed full with a blanket. A small pile of straight cut wood was stacked nearby.

The wind whistled outside, stronger now as it battered against the side of the house. Fearfully, he looked down a nearby corridor, almost melting in relief as he saw that every doorway had been nailed shut and insulated with thick woolen blankets.

A smile crossed his lips. This place was safe, or as safe as any he had found in a long time. Trudging over to the stack of cans he picked one at random, finding a rather conveniently placed can-opener as he did so.

Opening the can, he pushed up his mask, emptying the contents into his mouth. Baked beans. He had had worse, he concluded as he smacked his lips.

He sat on the ground, eyes closed and brow furrowed as he observed the world around him, listening to the wind as it howled by. After a few minutes, he opened his eyes. He would be here for a while.

He glanced at the bed and at its inviting sheets. Shrugging to himself, he walked over to it, dumping the small book on the ground before billowing out the covers. Dust speckled the air before he jumped in between them, bouncing on the springs like a foal.

He lay there, quiet, thinking, trying desperately to sleep. The sound of the wind rushing by kept him awake. Sighing, he leaned forward, one hoof popping out of the covers as he started climbing out. It landed on the book. Glancing down, he inspected it. Across the tanned brown cover, the word ‘Journal’ had been written in a flowing gold script. The edges of the pages were tattered, beginning to yellow with age.

An eyebrow perked up as he lifted the book and brought it into the bed with him. Propping himself on his elbows, he flicked the first page open.

It was a list. Materials, provisions and numbers had been written and crossed off along the sides. Small notes had been tucked into the margins. He examined the items, everything from food to water, to some medication and tools that had been placed under a ‘to get’ column. He nodded sagely. He had a list much like it.

The next page was a map, with ‘Ponyville’ scribbled at the top in steady, precise hoof-writing. Under the title was a hoof-drawn map of the nearby town. Areas had been marked around it, pointing out locations that held various provisions and others that were dangerous.

Smiling to himself the Stallion kept turning pages, only to be greeted by half a dozen blank sheets. Finally he found writing.

6th day of spring.

Not sure how to start this...

My name is Applejack, I’m an apple loving farmpony who works real hard to keep her family afloat. I really love them, Apple Bloom my little sister, Big Macintosh my older brother and Granny Smith, my grandmother. We all live on Sweet Apple Acres, where the best darned apples in Equestria are made!

Twilight gave this to me, a ‘journal’ she called it, just an over glorified diary if you ask me. But I’m bored, nothing else to do since I pulled a tendon on my good bucking leg. Doctor said I’d be fine in a week or two, just a lot of rest and all that.

Hope I’ll be able to heal up in time, we’ll have to start planting soon. Big Mac might be tough and all, but he ain’t that good.

7th day of spring.

Woke up to see Rarity and Fluttershy leaving this morning, hadn't heard them trot into my room. Oh well, hopefully I’ll remember to say thank you to Rarity for the blanket, it’s real nice, although I don’t think I’ll admit that to her. She might try to teach me knit.

Had a fever most of the day, didn’t know you could get that from a knee injury. Apple Bloom left to get the doctor, when he arrived he took my temperature and almost begged me to go to the hospital. I don’t want to leave home. Gave me some pills, they’re making me drowsy.

I think I’ll just sleep for a while.

8th day of spring.

Big Mac woke me up this morning, told me that something was going on in town and that everypony had to go. Of course he left me here, can’t remember what it was about. I was too tired through the whole thing.

Been waiting ever since, clock on the wall reads eight thirty at night. Still no sign of anypony.

My fever’s starting up again, think I’ll take a few more of those pills, they made me feel real good.

9th, or maybe the 10th day. Not sure.

Nopony was home today, and I mean all day. I screamed, kicked, hollered. But nothing.

Stuck here all day long, had to do my business in that bucket Big Mac brought for me to puke in, I’ll let him take care of it too! So, nothing to do but lay here and wait. Oh, and write in this stupid thing. I can’t believe my friends haven’t come to see me yet!

...Still the 9th.

Wind is picking up, I tried to get out of bed to see what was going on but I got dizzy the second I got on all fours. Think I’ll have to take a few more of those pills. Although they don’t seem to work as good anymore, takes two to put me down for a few hours now. They sorta taste like oranges.

10th.

Got outta bed today. Made it all the way downstairs before I put too much weight on my back leg, hurts like mad. Took half a pill, feel a bit better now, still drowsy. Had a nasty windstorm last night, the windows in my room were shaking like crazy. Kept me up for a while.

Made breakfast for myself, just toast and jam. Spent the morning planning out my revenge on my friends, but I’m half worried that something bad happened, you know, for them not to show up like this.

Tomorrow I’ll try to go to Fluttershy’s place. It’s not too far, and I’ll be able to figure out what’s going on.

11th

Didn’t make it to Fluttershy’s. Got outside to find that nopony has cut the grass in a few weeks, the apple trees didn’t get trimmed yet, the soil still needs tilling, and worst of all, there’s smoke coming out of Canterlot. And I mean lots of it.

I could see the towers, some of them anyway. Big holes in others. And full of smoke everywhere. Ponyville seems alright. But it’s the opposite there, no smoke whatsoever.

Need to find my family and my friends.

But first I need to find out what the hay is going on.

Saw something in the field today, I’ll go there tomorrow, it’s little, and brown, and alive.

Kinda weird, haven’t seen anything alive in a few days, really scary.

12th

It was Winona, my dog. Cruel irony right? Not big on that stuff myself, Twilight was always the bookish one. Guess I’ll leave it to her.

Anyway, Winona is injured, hurt, not sure what is wrong with her. Now I’ve cured sheep and cows before, and I ain’t scared of looking, but I can’t find anything, nothing at all. She’s real weak, coughing up blood and whimpering. I think Fluttershy has this stuff that Zecora brewed up for her, another reason to go there tomorrow.

Noticed something else, there aren’t any birds. Nothing, the cows are gone, I reckon they stampeded through the fence out back. Even the sheep are all gone.

Today I made a list of everything I had. I`m going to run out of pills, have to take one every few hours to stay painless. Enough canned food for quite a while, and two entire barrels of Cider in the cellar, that ought to keep for quite a while. Went out and picked some apples too, they’re starting to grow wild. That’s no good.

So Fluttershy’s tomorrow, I have to save Winona, she’s the only one here with me.

The page rustled and crackled lightly as the stallion turned it. An eyebrow arched as he ran his hoof over the wet circles that dotted the page.

13.

Can’t stop myself from crying.

Fluttershy’s place was a mess. The birds that she had left in cages were all dead. Her garden out back was overgrown with weeds. Critters were gathered around her place, most dead, some dying. They were coughing up blood.

I couldn’t stick around, I

I couldn’t take it, had to vomit in one corner. Angel Bunny was there. Staring at me. Tiny black beads of his eyes just there. He started coughing, but his eyes stayed open. I, I think I killed him, it was the right thing to do... I think.

I galloped back home. Didn’t realize I was running again ‘til I arrived at home. Downed a few pills, the numbness helps.

Gave what I had to Winona, she seems to have regained some colour.

14th day of Spring

Winona is better, mostly, she can bark and walk a bit, still seems a little weak, real thin too. Gave her what was left of the dog food, bunch of worms and stuff in it. Guess we aren’t that alone, worms still alive and all.

Was going to head towards town, then the wind picked up. Winona started barking, pulling me back into the house. Don’t know why, something about it scared me. Felt my mane freezing up, maybe I’m becoming like Pinkie Pie? Ran back in and shut the front door. Locked it behind me, in hindsight that wasn’t a good idea. Don’t have the key for it, and that door’s a pain to open.

Stayed huddled upstairs. Winona was afraid of the windows, so we stayed in the main hallways. All I had was Rarity’s blanket, this journal and a pen. Least it’s something right?

15th

Woke up to find Winona gone. Panicked before I found her running around outside. She’d found an old toy somehow. Played with her for a little. First time I laughed in a while, it was fun. Still, I miss my friends, and I miss my family. Turns out the toy belonged to Apple Bloom, started crying when I found out. Winona stayed close, snuggled me and all that.

We’re alone.

Fixed up some food, and my old saddle bags, tied Winona to a tree and walked towards Ponyville. Didn’t make it far before I saw something strange. A sky cart or carriage, Rainbow would know.

It was broken, it was also weird, not like the one the Princess uses, this one was boxed in and painted bright yellow. There was a pegasus at the front. Dead. Flies and the likes were going ‘round him. I puked again, popped another pill, will have to be careful, running out.

Decided to search the cart after waiting a bit, figure whatever it is that killed him isn’t around anymore.

Hazmat suits. I’d seen ‘em before, few of the ponies in Ponyville had some. Anywho~ the cart was full of them, all folded nice and neat inside these big glass helmets. I think that whatever it is that’s going around is contagious. Seems like whoever planned to send the suits forgot to give one to the pegasus.

There was a note tied to the case nearest the door. I’ll slip it in here. Picked a few of the suits and decided to run back home, too much time wasted already.

Formal Request For Emergency Protocol Number Five Zero One

Thirty Hazmat Suits For The Ponyville Region

-

-

Note: This is the third shipment and we still haven’t got news of the last two, honestly I am not sure why we’re still sending these over there. We could use them to help Canterlot, but the Princesses’ orders are the Princesses’ orders. There were supposed to be six more, special models or some-such, real nifty. They’ll ship with the next trip, hopefully the town won’t get hit until then.

Make sure everypony gets one, that big box at the back has masks, they are not as good, but they’ll do the trick.

Oh, and please stay indoors. Heck, barricade yourself at home and try to make it airtight.

Signed: Scribeswell

The stallion shifted, squinting as he tried vainly to read the next page. Grunting, he looked up. The room was dark, almost foreboding as the only source of light began to flicker and die. Sighing, he moved out of the bed, sliding across its surface until his hooves met the ground.

The building still creaked as the windstorm outside beat heavily against its old wooden sides. A shutter somewhere had gotten loose and was now battering the walls with a disconcerting frequency.

He trotted forward, grabbing the lamp in a hoof before expertly twisting the cap off. Glancing around the dark room he spotted what he wanted. In one corner was a thick glass bottle, filled with a viscous yellow liquid. Grabbing it with his other hoof he tipped the bottle into the lantern, filling it with oil. The thick fumes wafted into the air, choking him with its cloying scent.

A flick of his flint later and the lantern glowed a dull yellow, illuminating the room once more. Frowning to himself, he grasped a small table, which rasped against the wooden floor as he dragged it alongside the bed.

With a tug the stallion dropped the lantern on the table and hopped back into bed, enveloping himself back with the thick blanket. Propping the journal onto a dirty pillow, he read on.

16th day.

Finally made it to town today, if you’ll call the outskirts the town. Took a peek inside and decided otherwise. It’s empty, at least from what I can tell. The market was still open when everypony... left. Roseluck’s flowers were all wilted and dead and that big pony who sold asparagus would be mighty mad if he saw his cart now.

No fires from the chimneys, doors and windows are still open. Half expected somepony to step out or stick their head out a window with a big smile. But there’s nopony there. Something about the town feels wrong, I’ll wait a few days before trying it.

Found something odd on the edge, two ponies, both dead.

One of them was wearing half a hazmat suit. From the marks on the ground I think they fought. One of the ponies, a green mare that I recognize, was wearing the helmet, the other was wearing the rest of the suit, looks like the mare fought to steal the helmet, then they both died.

Felt queasy, took another pill then made my way back home.

19?

Haven’t written in this for... Three days? maybe four, pinned a calendar on the wall, still hard to keep the date. Twilight would know how to tell.

I-- I found Granny Smith. She was under that bridge. The one you need to cross to get to Ponyville from Fluttershy’s. She was brown, soaking wet and cold as her lifeless eyes stared at the sky. I’d never seen her afraid, not really, she always smiled at scary things. When I found her, her face was stricken with terror.

Took me a day to put her on a tarp and drag her home. Dug a grave in front of the house. She’d have liked that.

Didn’t know what to do after that, started to dawn on me that I might really be alone. No sign of my friends in... a week, almost two? Don’t think they’ll come back for me. The more I thought the deeper into the bottle of pills I got. Winona stayed by my side. She’s sad too.

Canterlot stopped burning.

My pills are running out.

Food is under rations.

I’m all alone.

The 20th.

Saw Winona stuck to a bush in the middle of the orchard. Started running towards her when the wind started to pick up.

I was afraid, honestly afraid. I ran back home.

It was dark, the wind. So dark, it smelt of rot and sickness and death. Winona started barking.

No, she started crying.

I don’t think I’ve ever put something on so quickly, Rarity would have been jealous. I ran out, Hazmat suit on, my back hoof started to burn as I galloped madly towards Winona.

The wind attacked me, slashing and cutting and punching me. It took me forever to reach her. By the time I found her she had stopped crying, her brown coat wheezed as she breathed in and out, blood trickling down the side of her mouth and eyes.

I got her out, not sure how, but I did. It’s still a blur, but I made it from the orchard to the house carrying Winona’s tiny frame on my back. When we arrived at the house the door was locked, I had left the keys inside.

It took three good bucks to break the door open, all the while the wind howled and neighed around me, screaming as it took the form of horses and ponies with wicked blue eyes.

We got upstairs. The wind was weaker there, even weaker when I shut the stairwell with Rarity’s blanket.

Winona was dying, I did everything I could, all the medication I had gotten at Fluttershy’s, all the clean clothes I could find, all my tears.

In the end she lay there, a mummy of useless bandages as she squirmed and coughed on the floor. Her eyes looked up at me, filled with a lonely sadness, a pity, not for herself, I knew, but for me. She knew that I was going to be alone now.

Gave her the rest of my pills.

Grave beside Granny Smith’s. It’s nice. Got a little marker and everything, piled some of her toys on it, then cried for a while. Felt better after.

Raging headache, and my leg hurts again. Need more pills. Cider helps.

Feel sick, stayed in bed all day, didn’t do much. Ceiling has one hundred and fifteen tiles.

I want to taste oranges again.

Twilight visited today, or was it Fluttershy? Said that the doc’s place has pills, so does the hospital. She’s such a good friend.

Feel sick, I’ll be going to the hospital, I’ll bring some bits. Wonder how much pills cost?

Guess I’ll tidy up first, make sure everything is nice and clean before I go.

Weather is really nice outside, there’s a breeze.

The stallion turned the page, finding it blank. Raising his head he looked under the nearest doorway. Light spilled through, it was daytime. Raising up on sore legs he climbed off the bed, his ears perked and listening as he did so. No wind.

Nodding to himself he emptied his saddlebags on the ground, throwing anything useless away before replacing it with food from the corner. He made the bed, pressing the sheets until they were nice and smooth. He found a small broom in one corner. Using it he wiped the floor, cleaning off the bits of mud that had trailed in after him. When he was done he sighed.

With a twist of his head he shut the lantern, casting the room into darkness. It suited it, he thought as he walked out, carefully closing the tarp with a zip that screamed regret.

Wrote this in a day, took two to edit... Yeah, I really should work on my important projects more.

Edited by:

Burraku_Pansa (The first half, section with the stallion)

Sorren (Everything else)

Millennial Dan (Proofread)

Frederick the Saiyan(Proofread)

Cpl Hooves (Proofread)

Generous Diaries

The morning sun rose quietly, unannounced by the songs of morning birds or by the crowing of roosters. Branches lay across the small roadway, bent and torn from the nearby trees, fresh sap still flowing out of the open wounds left from their separation.

Stretching his forehooves, the stallion stared forward, dark eyes hidden by the shadow cast upon his face by his thick hood. A sigh escaped him, the air hissing through the gaps in his mask.

A hoof reached out, pushing against the remains of the farmhouse’s battered door which creaked and squealed as it opened. Hoofsteps rang out over the empty fields of unkempt grass and gangly trees as he stepped across the home's front porch. Every hoof fall was followed by a wooden creak.

It didn’t take long for sweat to begin pouring along the edges of the stallion's thick coat. His saddlebags bounced, their heavy load slapping the stallion’s sides as he began wading through the sea of grass. The only sound accompanying him was the swishing of grass against his stomach.

His eyes shifted in focus as his mind wandered, ears absently perked and alert to any dangers. Suddenly, a thick, cold shadow crossed over him. Ducking down into the grass, the stallion scanned the world around him. Above him, tall, thick branches poked at the sky as limp leaves baked in the hot sun.

Another sigh escaped the pony’s mask, turning into a single bark of laughter as he trotted to the thick willow, tapping it with a hoof before leaning against it. Below him, the landscape dropped, slowly cascading hills leading to a tiny, almost idyllic town.

Thatched roofs of every colour shimmered in the morning heat as bright beams of sunlight reflected off windows. Narrowing his sharp eyes, the stallion took in the smaller details.

Pastel tufts of rotting fur were tucked in the corners of alleys, and spilling out the doorways and windows of homes. The small sparkles of sunlight reflected off broken glass. Toys, tools, and clothes were scattered and abandoned to the mercy of the weather and the wind.

He shook his head and closed his eyes, before looking up to the sky in a vain attempt to find peace. There was none, all that met him was a sky filled with unmoving clouds. His head thrust down suddenly, eyes picking out his destination that lay past the small town.

The large red cross of the Ponyville hospital was still clearly visible despite the grey muck that had splashed across it. The beige building had all the obvious signs of disuse, from a recently smashed in door to grass poking through the paved entrance way.

The stallion nodded to himself, picking up his resolve with a huff before he began trotting down the hillside. Sharp blades of grass sliced uselessly against his coat and hood as the heavy pony raced down the hill, kicking up a cloud of dust that immediately settled onto the dry ground.

Finally, he slowed down upon reaching the worn, paved road leading to town. The glass of his mask clearly reflected the peaceful little town as it slowly grew larger and larger.

His hoofsteps subsided as he neared a sky-cart. The vehicle was leaning on its side with its driver and pilot hung crookedly off the harness. Behind it, boxes with yellow suits littered the ground.

The stallion averted his eyes, preferring to pick up his pace once the scene of death and despair was behind him.

Ponyville didn’t have a real entrance. There were no gates marking where it began, nor were there signs that marked its boundaries. Instead, houses and small shops just started haphazardly as the road widened to encompass the small stalls where ponies used to sell everything from cabbages, to apples, to farm equipment, and flowers.

He stopped near one of the stalls. This one was in bad need of maintenance as weeds began to poke through its latticework. A sign above it proclaimed that it sold the best cabbages in Ponyville, though all that was left of the vegetables was a brown muck. The putrid smell of decay made its way into his mask, choking the stallion with its repulsing odor.

In disgust, he shoved the stall away, only to have his coat catch onto its material. With a loud rip that blared through the empty town, the stallion’s coat lapel tore, leaving a gaping hole in the soft tissue. Groaning to himself, he lifted the jacket and inspected it.

Dirt, grime, sweat and even a few splotches of blood adorned his precious jacket. Huffing disgustedly he dropped it and began walking forward again, only to be followed by the nerve wracking sound of the material scratching the soil’s surface.

He sighed, the hole in his mask jutting out as air escaped. His eyes wandered the area, searching for anything that could help, when suddenly they alighted on a store shaped like a carousel that had mannequins displayed behind its dirty glass windows.

Shrugging, the stallion trotted across the empty street towards the building, casually shoving the door open with a bump of his broad shoulder. Inside, dust mites floated idly in the stale, stuffy air. Pieces of cloth and unrolled bolts of tissue gave the bleak un-washed room bright splashes of gaudy colour that assaulted the stallion’s eyes.

Looking around for any signs of danger, he trotted into the building.

Ding-A-Ling

Skidding around on the wooden floor, the stallion turned to face the entrance, forehooves set defensively as his body lowered into a fighting stance.

A tarnished brass bell shivered slightly as it hung on a rusty chain above the doorway.

He barked a laugh before untensing his shoulders. Shaking his head to himself, he turned around and headed for a small entrance in the room labeled ‘Studio’. Within, well-oiled sowing machines were collecting dust on tables covered with materials of every type and expense.

Racks at the back held bolts and rolls of tissue firmly while a skeleton-like apparatus in one corner held onto a dozen forms, each cut and pressed by a steady hoof.

He trotted towards the rack, passing a gentle hoof over the tissues to feel them. From soft to coarse to rugged and frilly. Finally, he found what he wished for at the very bottom. Cotton, black and yet still containing the lustre that indicated the waterproof mixture it had been subjected to.

The stallion yanked the material out and brought it to the hoof powered sewing machine, rudely ripping a half finished garment from the machine’s grip and tossing it aside. In a flourish, he removed his own coat and began sewing the thick cotton onto his coat.

Suddenly, as the machine swirled and moved, a slip of paper poked out from beneath it. The machine stopped, its tiny flywheel grinding to a screeching halt as he begrudgingly pulled at the little piece.

More followed, until an entire book came out. It had been opened, its covers bent onto each other so as to unfurl the pages.

With a deft twist of his hoof, the stallion clacked the book shut and examined the front cover. ‘Diary’ was written in a flowing golden script that screamed girly.

Curiosity getting the best of him, he cracked the book open, releasing the thick musky smell of a fresh page before he began to read the first page.

Diary of the marvelous Rarity. Designer and fashionista supreme.

Sweetie Belle, if you have opened this I swear to the powers above that I will end you. Calmly put it back where you found it and never touch it again.

Intrigued, the stallion flipped by a few pages, opening one halfway through the book at random.

Twenty days before spring... and it’s not soon enough!

The weather is warming up, winter wrap up is quickly approaching, and the spring fashion season has begun!

The order that Hoity Toity sent me is going to be the death of me. Really, I should hire some help... Maybe Spike would do; I have to use that silly crush of his at some point!

Regardless, the weather is warming up, and if I’m quick I may be able to squeeze some time to make some of those marvelous hats I saw in Canterlot!

Saw Lyra and Bon Bon today. They were so happy together. I’m almost envious, if it wasn’t for the fact that I happen to know what happened between Lyra and Carrot Top yesterday. Ah, the juiciest gossip is always the hardest to keep.

Speaking of gossip, I heard the most incredible rumours about Rainbow Dash... Seems like that rainbow mane really does suit her! Poor thing, one of these days I’ll introduce her to a nice colt friend!

One of the stallion’s eyebrows perked up. Slowly, he flicked a few pages forward.

Three days until spring and the winter wrap up!

Twilight’s been going on and on about some scientific and magical beeswax. Really, she’s sent more letters to Celestia in the past twelve hours than she has all year.

Meanwhile, I can’t finish my order! The extra supplies are just not coming. At this rate somepony is going to get a very angry letter.

Speaking of angry, Carrot Top approached me today. She wanted to do the same thing to me as she did to Lyra. I was simply appalled, can you imagine the gall someponies have!

I learnt today that Pinkie Pie has been all alone in her house for over three days! Seems like the Cakes left with their two foals on a family trip... and you’d never guess where! Appleloosa, that little dingy earth-pony town. You’d never catch me dead going there!

Winter wrap up!
Winter wrap up!

Let’s finish our holiday cheer!

Winter wrap up!
Winter wrap up!

‘Cause tomorrow spring is here!
‘Cause tomorrow spring is here!

Ah, I still have the song in my head! This year's Wrap Up may have been the best in Ponyville’s history! With Twilight organizing and us taking care of our own divisions... It was brilliant!

Everything was absolutely perfect! I wish things could always be like this... oh, who am I kidding, nothing changes in Equestria!

The stallion rolled his eyes and huffed, flipping forward a few pages to find something more interesting.

Third day of spring.

Twilight went full-on crazy. She somehow found all these... ‘Hazmat suits,’ and is insisting that we wear them. Now, I do enjoy having her side with me in attempting to make others wear clothing, but these things are... atrocious!

Still no news from the company I order my cloth from. I’ve sent three letters already and no response!

Odd ponies have been trotting into town recently, some look out of it. Fluttershy’s been having a field day taking care of them, so many are hurt...

I went to the hospital for Sweetie Belle’s vaccination shots today and overheard a little something... Seems like Carrot Top got her karmic retribution.

Fourth day of spring!

Pinkie Pie has been going crazy, she emptied the town's entire stock of party supplies. She even borrowed some of my own... Goodness knows she couldn’t afford the things I gave her, but she was so ecstatic about the new ponies. Most of them seem to appreciate it. They look so tense!

I must admit, I did enjoy some of their company, although they seem nervous to address the ‘why’ of their coming here. Guess I’ll find out soon enough.

Heard an odd rumor, have yet to confirm it myself. Seems like Rainbow Dash has been spending some time with Carrot Top... She said that there hasn’t been any wind for a while and that the skies are clear because of that... I’ll have to watch out for her, young, inexperienced, and impressionable as she is she’ll get herself into trouble!

This time off is doing wonders for me! Having no materials is an excellent excuse to waste away some free time! I must visit Aloe and Lotus soon~

Fifth day of spring.

An odd day today. Nothing happened.

It was eerily quiet today. Even the birds seem to be moving away, so have Fluttershy’s pets. She’s been having a fit trying to convince them that it’s not autumn yet.

Speaking of critters, Opalescence decided to scoot off as well, I’m certain I’ll see her around soon.

Saw Twilight today. She had teary eyes. Said something about the ‘end being near’ and ‘this might be the last time I see these ponies,’ then ran off. Poor dear, I think she’s been studying way too hard! Princess Celestia might be a great ruler, and Twilight’s mentor, but there are limits to how far our favorite bookworm can be pushed!

Lyra and Bon-Bon broke up. I must say, I never expected Lyra to have such a strong voice!

Sixth day of spring.

Today has been horrible!

Right from the bat, I receive a box from that nice cross-eyed mailmare. Thinking it was my cloth I brought it in and tore into the box. It was a hazmat suit. One of those ugly things. No return address, no message. Nothing I can do about it.

Worse, it’s been made out of white and purple materials, it even has a small symbol of my cutie mark on one side.. I don’t know what’s going on, but somepony is playing a mean trick on me!

To make thing worse, Applejack hurt herself last night, something with her back leg. Stubborn mare doesn’t want to go to the hospital, I even (secretly) offered to shoulder the cost!

Guess I’ll find the time to make her something pretty. A blanket? Oh, maybe a parka!

Miss Cheerilee visited me today, seems like Sweetie Belle and her two friends decided to mix up some trouble with Snips and Snails. I’ve no idea where they learnt of what they did, but it certainly isn’t from my house!

Seventh day of Spring.

Went to AJ’s this morning, she seemed fairly chipper, unaffected by the tension that’s been growing in town. Would have spent more time with her, but there’s some sort of assembly at town hall tonight, and Twilight wants to see us all before it starts. Just enough time to write this and spruce up!

The stallion flicked forward a few pages, finding only blank, empty sheets. He slapped the diary closed, and moved to throw it on the desk before reconsidering. He could always use some fire-starting paper, he told himself as he tossed it into his saddlebags.

Turning, he resumed his work, forelimbs pumping as the machine worked its way through the fabric. In moments, he was done. A large dark patch covered the old tear in his coat.

Smiling beneath his mask, he put on the coat, then threw on his saddlebags. Shifting the weight of it around until comfortable, he walked out of the small studio and into the main room, heading for the exit.

The bell jingled again as the stallion threw the door open and walked out. The sun was noticeably higher in the sky then when he had walked in. Flies had begun to gather in droves above rotting fruit as shimmers of heat rose off the paved road.

Ignoring the thick wave of nauseating heat that battered him, the stallion pushed forward and out into the road, his hoofsteps muffled by the sand covered paving. Back bent, and head held low, he trudged along, uncaring of the world around him as his ears twitched. Occasionally, he would pick up random sounds that never repeated themselves... That is, until he heard the hoofsteps.

Maniacal cackling filled the air. Suddenly, a tall and gangly earth pony ran out of a nearby house, the door slamming against its home with a booming clack.

The pony sprinted forward, hooves sliding against the ground as he came to a sudden halt.

The stallion rose up, placing his hooves in a defensive stance as the two stared at each other. His eyes instinctively searched for cover in the large square he was now in. To his right were chairs and benches, all placed in neat rows facing a not-to-distant building with the label ‘Ponyville Town Hall.’ Amongst the heaps and piles of broken chairs were the trampled remains of dead ponies. His right held a small alleyway, equally filled with junk and garbage that rotted and stank in the warm humid air.

The stallion sighed; there were only two directions he could take: forward, or backwards.

The earth pony laughed again, stomping an injured leg against the ground. A splint, made of an iron pipe and a used shirt, was wrapped around it. “I hate you,” whispered the green earth pony, eyes tearing up. “I hate you soo much! I’m going to eat you!” He screamed. Reaching down, he pulled out an old rust-orange butcher knife. Tears, his own, ran down the blade’s length as he sobbed and laughed maniacally.

Wind rustled as the two faced each other, both panting, both waiting. The earth pony’s long black hair flapped and flew in a strong breeze. “I’m going to kill you!”

He charged.

So did a yellow blur that galloped out of the nearby alleyway. “C’mon, we neeth tha go!” it screamed, grabbing the stallion’s leg and dragging him along.

He recoiled at first, standing his ground, but the fast approaching form of the mad pony changed his mind. Two ponies ran back into the alleyway, jumping over tall piles of trash as wind following them, kicking up dust and debris. A knife, strong and lean, made to cut meat flew through the air, embedding itself into the alley’s thick brick walls.

“I’m going to get you!” screamed the mad-pony to the two dissapearing forms. “I’m going to get you, and when I do, you’re going to die!”

Wind rustled.

Who likes cliffhangers? I do!

Edited by:

Frederick the Saiyan

Bearycool

Cpl Hooves

Twisting Tale

“C’mon, ith’s almoth here!” yelled the little foal in the yellow jumpsuit as she hopped over a pile of week-old refuse. She landed with a clatter on the other side before sprinting on.

The stallion grunted in acknowledgement, his own heavier hoof-falls only seconds behind her own. Both ponies glanced behind them, looking at the mad, cleaver-wielding pony that was pursuing them through the narrow, junk-filled alleyway. His mad laughter and unbridled urge to kill spurred them on.

The wind wailed.

The high-pitched whine screamed as it twisted over the rooftops of nearby buildings and into the passageway, pieces of loose paper and debris taking flight and rustling in midair.

“Fathter!” screamed the filly. Her voice filled with panic as her back arched and fell with heaving pants beneath the hazmat suit. The stallion’s eyes broke away from her, staring ahead instead. The alley entered a slight curve that emptied out onto one of Ponyville’s large streets. A corpse, flies buzzing around it, marked the threshold from dark alley to unbearably bright street.

Beyond the roadway stood a tall, hollowed-out tree, with a small balcony and thick windows whose shutters were ripped and torn. Clouds high above the tree hovered and shifted, raining fear, despair, and wind upon the tree’s thick branches.

“Getsh to tha library!” she screamed, giving a last burst of speed that shot her out of the alleyway. Her rear hoof clipped the body, sending her plummeting against the ground. With a loud crack, the glass front of her suit impacted the paved roadway, smashing itself into a hundred pieces that sparkled as they skidded across the road. She looked up, revealing a white face framed by a red mane, thick purple glasses hanging askew beneath her cut forehead. “Help!” she squeaked to the stallion.

He skidded to a halt, hooves screeching as they scuffed along the road. Twisting around, he scooped up the filly and threw her onto his back with a shared oomph.

“Go, go, go, go, go! It’sh coming!” she hollered from atop his back, a note of relief mixed into the panic.

The wind howled.

He bent forward, his legs thumping in time with that of the screaming mad-pony who followed at his tail. The pony waved rusty cleaver that sliced through and past the wind. Bolting forward,the stallion reached the library’s front door. The door was closed firmly as the stallion rammed it. His shoulder dug painfully into the hard wood until the rusting hinges gave, spilling both him and the filly into the library.

Getting up in a hurry, the stallion twisted around. The soft material of his coat swished along the ground as he gave the door a swift kick. The door shivered with a dull thud that had a ring of finality to it.

Bump, bump, bump...

For a few seconds nothing happened. Only the wind moved, howling around the tree, making the entire building moan. “I’m going to eat you!” screamed a muffled voice from the other side of the thick door.

Looking around quickly, the stallion spotted a large, toppled bookshelf, its contents piled in a heap at its base. Running to its side, he began to pushing, grunting as the heavy shelves moved in front of the entrance.

Both ponies lay still, staring intently at the door while it shook and shivered violently. Finally, it stopped. The mad-pony’s heavy panting muffled by the thick wood. Hoofsteps on paving sounded out as he abandoned the chase. “I’m going to get you little girl, I’m going to eat you, I’m going to open you up...” the mad-pony’s mutters faded into obscurity.

“Ah, I think it’th gone,” said the filly, her entire body shaking as she tried to remove the helmet of her suit.

The stallion watched her, head cocked to one side while she struggled with the latches. Walking forward, he reached out a hoof and touched the helmet. The filly flinched, backing away from him suddenly with her eyes wide and her lips trembling.

He sat down, raising his forehooves in surrender.

“Oh,” she said, bowing her head in shame. “Thorry, I thought... never mind. You can help me, I gueth.” The filly leaned forward, a few pieces of glass falling out of the helmet and onto the library’s wooden floor.

A quick twist of his hoof later and the hazmat suit’s helmet plopped off her head, rolling on the floor. “Thank you, misther... Tho, what’th your name?” asked the white and red filly, her scared face looking up to his, eyes fixated on the two glass panes of his mask.

The stallion didn’t answer. Instead, he got up and looked at the entirety of the room. Books, scrolls, and even a few pens and quills lay strewn about the floor. Most thrown haphazardly, but some stacked in a semblance of order. A staircase at the opposite end of the room led upwards and into another closed off area. “My name’s Twitht,” said the filly as she moved a step closer to him. He cast her a furtive glance, then resumed his search.

She took another step, placing herself between him and the rest of the room. “We-we can thtay here, I guethh. The wind never thayth for long, and... and the crazy ponieth have a thort attention thpan...”

“Move,” he said, gently placing a hoof on her tiny shoulder and pushing her aside. She obliged, gasping as he made contact with her coat.

For a short while she remained quiet, brooding over the situation as she sat near the door, with her eyes fixated upon him. Every few seconds he would peek at her, looking into her pink eyes. “Tho,” she asked. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing.” The stallion grabbed a few books, tossing them aside after a cursory glance at the cover.

“Nothing? How could nothing have happened? Everything went crazy, the whole town got dethtroyed!” The filly walked forward, her small brows furrowed as she talked about her horrifying tale. “I hid under my bed, like a baby. Mommy went out, tho did daddy. Haven’t theen them thince. When I went outthide I fou--” Her voice cut off as the stallion shoved a hoof into her gaping mouth.

“Shut up,” he said, gently removing his hoof from her lips and pressing it to his own, “Shh.” Two sets of ears perked up. They were met with only silence. “Too quiet.”

“The wind ith gone,” said Twist, a small shudder escaping her. “It never thtayth for long.”

“Right.” He trotted around her, hoof-falls silent as they tapped against the soft covers of books. “Let’s make it quick.”

“Let’th? Wait! Doeth that... doeth that mean you’ll let me come with you?” Tears lined her pink as the filly grabbed at his old, rough coat.

The stallion sighed, hoof rubbing at his temple as he turned to look at her. “Maybe.”

“Really? Really, really? Oh, thank you tho much!” she yelled, grabbing the wide-eyed stallion in a tiny hug. “I thought I wath alone, It’th tho thcary out there, I-I-I...” Tears marked his coat where her face rubbed against it. The filly sobbed, her body wracking up and down as it sobbed uncontrollably.

“There... there?” he said, patting her back awkwardly.

“I-I’m thorry,” she said between sniffles, wiping a tear off of her cheek. “You’re the firtht non-crazy pony I’ve thee--” Her small, sad rant was interrupted by the hungry growl of her stomach.

Both ponies stared at each other, the silence thick until a tiny smile cracked along her face. First she began laughing, only to be quickly joined by the stallion. The sound contrasted oddly against the bleak surroundings and the dull, dark tones of the room.

“I have some food,” said the stallion as he took a step back from the filly. Reaching around, he opened his saddlebags and pulled out a dented tin can, labeled with the faded image of carrots. Holding the can in his mouth, he moved towards the back of the room, tilting his head at her to follow him.

She complied, a minuscule smile still on her face.

The stallion moved into the next room, his broad shoulders pushing the door aside before they both entered the kitchen. Dust speckled the air, tainting it with the stink of week-old meals that sat on the carved, wooden counter-tops.

He ignored the counter-tops, instead heading straight for the cupboards and opening them all. Eventually he found what he was looking for: two bowls and two forks. Holding his bounty in his hooves he placed them on his back before trotting back to the main room, a curious Twist in tow.

Arriving in the library proper, he dumped the two bowls on the ground and threw the forks into them. “Can opener, little pocket, back,” he instructed the filly.

For a few seconds she stared at him, her expression blank as she worked out what he meant. “Oh.” Reaching into his saddlebag she pulled out the device and passed it over.

With an expert twist, the older pony popped the lid off the can and poured its contents into the two bowls in equal portions with tiny plops of the orange goop. “Eat,” he said, sliding the bowl towards the filly.

Eagerly, and without giving thanks, Twist dug into the bowl, morsels sticking to her face and running down her chin as she gobbled it up. Suddenly, she brought her head up, a few slices of carrot still stuck to her face. “You’re not eating, mithter?”

The stallion shook his head before grabbing his own bowl and turning around, back towards the filly. His mask, a dark and dirty thing, hit the ground with a squishy thump.

“Ith everything okay, mithter?”

He didn’t reply.

Curiosity getting the best of her, Twist leaned forward, trying to see over his large shoulder. “No,” he said, voice firm and clear as it boomed in the large room.

Twist squeaked, her red mane standing on edge as she backed away. Gulping, she slowly returned to her meal, eating it in a slightly more subdued fashion. Moments later, she licked her lips happily, her stomach rounding out as it was filled.

“Tho, what’th your goal?” she asked cheerfully, the happiness out of place within the desolate building.

The stallion stopped his own slurping, and his back straightened as he stood up. “What kind of question is that?”

The filly blushed a little. “W-well-well daddy always thaid that everypony hath to have a goal, and that that goal told you a lot about them... I mean, if you don’t mind.”

He sighed, a hoof reaching down and grabbing his gas mask. “I made a mistake, I want to correct it. Ponyville had the keys, they’re gone. I need answers.”

“To what?”

“Questions.”

“What kinda quethtions?”

The stallion glared at her until her smile faded, and her mouth shut of its own accord. Slowly, he turned, grabbed the still half-full bowl, and dropped it in front of her. “Eat, I’ll search.”

The stallion walked around, head low and scanning books while Twist ravenously jumped into the new bowl, slurping its contents. Having finished, she lifted her head and let out a loud burp. “All done!” she exclaimed before flopping onto her back, her huge belly making a mound under the thick, yellow hazmat suit.

Twist followed the stallion’s progress as he shuffled around the books, tossing aside those that didn’t suit his needs or irked him. “What are you looking for?” she asked again, earning another glare. “Thorry...”

“I’m looking for anything that will tell me what happened to the mare who lived here.” he said as he tossed another book aside in disgust.

“You mean, Mith Twilight?” He shot her another look. “Thorry, I thwear I’ll thut up! Pinkie Promith!!”

“No, tell me more about her!”

The filly’s brows furrowed. “Um, she’s really nice?

“No, I need to know what happened to her! A journal, a diary, newspaper clippings, anything!”

The filly hummed as she thought, one hoof pressed against her chin. “Maybe you thould look at her log?”

The stallion stopped dead in his tracks. “A log?”

“Yeth, she kept a log of everything that happened. I thaw her with it once or twithe...” Twist trailed off as the stallion rushed towards her, placing himself only inches away from her face.

“Where does she keep it?”

Gulping, Twist lifted a hoof and pointed towards the door at the top of the staircase. “There, I think.”

Twisting around, the stallion ran towards the staircase, scattered pages fluttering in the air as he trampled and kicked them out of his way. He took the stairs two at a time, his hoof-falls thundering throughout the building until he reached the door.

His hoof reached out and touched the cold metallic handle lightly before he began twisting it, the rusting mechanism squeaking in protest. The door swung inwards, the resulting draft of wind sending pieces of paper flying across the empty room.

He walked in, eyes surveying the bedroom. In the centre of the floor lay a tiny bed, like one used for a dog or other large pet. Bookshelves lined the walls, these ones untouched by anything but the light sprinkle of dust that came naturally to the unkempt house. He kept searching, above and beneath the tiny well-pressed bed, past the window and its sill that held pages of notes filled with scientific jargon and mathematical equations. Finally, he reached a desk, this one holding only one thing: a notebook.

He grabbed it, flicking it open to the first page.

Log Encompassing the Attributes of Friendship and the Magics Contained Within: A Field Study by Twilight Sparkle, PhD. M.D. N.A.S (Professor of Arcainum) etc.

This journal of events has the goal of cataloging and collecting every event, experiment, and analysis done during my time studying the cardinal sciences of Friendship.

It will also be used as a reference when sending letters to Princess Celestia (PhD./M.D./P.M.D/Goddess)

The stallion shook his head, trying to make sense of the words on the page. He flipped onwards through the book.

Four days before the yearly celebration of Winter Wrap Up.

Temperature: -2° Celsius

Barometric Pressure: 765.3 mmHg

Magic Field Interference: Five on the Swirl Scale

Local Inhabitant Morale: Friendly. Anxious

Interesting series of events today. I have received a letter from my mentor, Princess Celestia. Something has happened in the northern region of Manehattan and she immediately dispatched the Canterlot Royal Guard.

Hopefully it’s not the changelings again.

Also of note, my brother, Shining Armour, and his new wife, and by extension my sister-in-law, Cadence, happen to be in the region. I’m positive that Shining Armour will get to the bottom of this!

With Winter Wrap Up only a few days away, I have put some of my smaller projects on hold. Spike will aid me to keep the larger ones running. I guess the party cannon test fire will have to wait.

Three days until the yearly celebration of Winter Wrap Up.

Temperature: 2° Celsius

Barometric Pressure: 763.4 mmHg

Magic Field Interference: Five point Three on the Swirl Scale

Local Inhabitant Morale: Friendly. Anxious. Possibly Excited.

The entirety of the Royal Guard has been wiped out.

Celestia sent me the letter and, judging by her familiar quill strokes, it was hastily written. Still uncertain of what has happened. Manehattan is evacuating down towards Canterlot.

The biggest problem, other than communication failures, seems to be that nopony knows what caused this. The guards were found with injuries, ranging from light to grave, and I am very saddened to say that three have died from lung failure.

Celestia is dispatching letter after letter here, seeking my advice. Honestly, this is really confusing and giving Spike quite the tummy ache.

Her last letter of the day kindly asked me not to reveal this to anypony, and to keep on with my life.

No news of my brother.

Winter Wrap Up.

Temperature: 4° Celsius

Barometric Pressure: 762.7 mmHg

Magic Field Interference: Five point Seven on the Swirl Scale

Local Inhabitant Morale: Joyous. Excited.

Today was actually quite good. The work gave me something amusing to ponder on, and everything went exactly as planned.

Second day of Spring.

Temperature: 12° Celsius

Barometric Pressure: 759.8 mmHg

Magic Field Interference: Six point Three on the Swirl Scale

Local Inhabitant Morale: Happy. Confused.

It’s coming this way.

We’re still not sure what “It” is, but the last letter for Princess Celestia confirms that “it” is heading towards Canterlot. And, if it continues along that same path, it will reach Ponyville within three days!

I received a package full of hazmat suits. I’ll start distribution today.

Ponies from Manehattan have begun to arrive. We need to find shelter and provisions.

The stallion eagerly turned the page, the sun’s dying light doing little to help him read it. With a huff, he picked up the book and trotted out of the room and down the staircase.

Twist was waiting for him, her small body leaning sideways against a knee-high pile of books as her chest rose and fell. Both of her eyes were closed and tiny, whistling snores escaped her.

He looked at her for a while, uncertain, before shaking his head and returning to the centre of the room. The stallion sat down at one of the writing desks before he turned around and fiddled with the insides of his saddle bags. Moments later he pulled out the stub of a candle and a small flint.

With a raspy scratch, the flint lit the candle, creating a small haven of light within the quickly darkening library.

Fourth day of Spring.

Temperature: 22° Celsius

Barometric Pressure: 757.8 mmHg

Magic Field Interference: Eight on the Swirl Scale

Local Inhabitant Morale: Confused, Nervous. Calm.

News from Canterlot. More accurately, from Princess Luna. She’s preparing to send a special envoy our way, Hazmat suits, supplies, soldiers. Basically everything we could need to keep going for a while. It sounds serious.

The Elements are on their way. I have yet to tell my friends.

The evacuees are getting restless, as are the townsponies. I have the impression that tomorrow’s going to be a hard day and, yet, nopony seems aware of it.

They look so happy.

Fifth day of Spring

Temperature: 24° Celsius

Barometric Pressure: 756.8 mmHg

Magic Field Interference: Eight point Six on the Swirl Scale

Local Inhabitant Morale: Nervous. Too Calm.

Everything is so quiet today. No wind, and np birdsongs, just quiet. I know why, but nopony else does.

I received a letter, another from Luna. The instructions were simple: get my friends and get out. She teleported a huge box into my house; it contained the Elements of Harmony. I’m supposed to leave with my friends in the morning and head West, to Appleloosa.

This might be the last time I see this town. Took a walk today, I was a little dazed.

I’ll try to get some sleep.

Sixth Day of Spring

Temperature: 25° Celsius

Barometric Pressure: 756.5 mmHg

Magic Field Interference: Eight point Eight on the Swirl Scale

Local Inhabitant Morale: Nervous. Anxious.

Applejack was injured last night, visited her today and gave her a few things to pass the time. Later on today I’ll go fetch her on my own. Now I need to convince everypony to get moving. I’ll warn as many as possible today and we can start the evacuations tomorrow morning.

First thing in the morning, I’ll go out and round everypony up. I won’t have a lot of time to explain, but that’s okay, they might not have the time to protest.

So many ponies are going to be hurt. But if we fail, all of Equestria might fall.

Goddess, protect us.

PS:

I’m missing something. There’s a nagging feeling and it makes my mane stand on end. I know I’ve seen it... it’s in my face, but I’m missing it.

Temperature: 28° Celsius

Barometric Pressure: 767.2 mmHg

Magic Field Interference: Nine on the Swirl Scale

Local Inhabitant Morale:

Today’s the day.

He turned the page, looking expectantly at the blank sheet that greeted him. With a frustrated grunt, the stallion slapped the book closed, the snap of the pages booming through the quiet library.

Twist gasped, her body becoming rigid with fear before she began shivering uncontrollably in the cold room. Two little, pink eyes searched the room frantically beneath the reflection of candle light on her glasses.

“Sorry,” he whispered in a hoarse voice. Reaching out, he grabbed the log and chucked it into his saddlebag.

“Ith-ith every...” began Twist, her body still pale.

“Everything’s fine, I just didn’t find what I was looking for.” The stallion got up, his limbs creaking as he trotted over to her. “Are you cold?” he asked.

The filly looked up to him. Eyes roving across the shadow-covered form of his thick legs, strong neck and to his masked face. The tab on his mask popped in and out with his even breathing. She gulped, shrugging back down towards the dirty ground.

He sighed, shaking his head from side to side before reaching into his saddlebag with a hoof. A blanket, thick and made of good wool, came out in a tight square which he unfolded as he threw it over her. The entire thing covered her until she poked her head out of its corner.

“Oh, um, thankth?”

“Scoot over,” he ordered as he shrugged off his heavy bags, letting them thump loudly against the ground before he pulled up the blanket.

The stallion dove under it, his body pressing against hers as he laid down and shuffled himself until comfortable. For a while, Twist remained tense, her eyes constantly glancing towards him. Finally, she spoke, “Tho, what’th going to happen?”

“What do you mean?” he replied, his voice thick with drowsiness.

“I mean, did you find what you were looking for?”

“No.”

“Are you going to keep thearching?”

“Yes.”

“What are yo--” She cut herself off as he twisted to look at her. “Too many quethtionth?” she asked, a tiny, nervous smile crossed her lips.

His chest rose and fell in a sigh. “One last question. More than that, you lose the blanket.”

She smiled, her cheeks puffing out as she grinned. “Thankth... tho, what are we going to do tomorrow?”

“We’re going to the hospital.”

“Wh--” she began before choking on her own words. A smaller smile remained on her face as she leaned forward, resting her chin between her forelegs. “Thank you, mithter. Thank you very much.”

The stallion grunted, settling himself before he too leaned down.

“Good night,” she said in a sigh, her eyes lidding over, “...you’re very nice mithter.”

The stallion’s eyes stayed open for the rest of the long, long night as her pondered the little filly that lay at his side.

It was Twist!

You could say that it was...

*Goggles*

A plot Twist!

*Readers shoot author*

Proofreaders:
Cpl Hooves
Frederick the Saiyan
Bearycool joined us this time!

Editors:
Arcainum

Mr.Chicken501@Gmail.com Email/Paypal

Also I’m saving up for Battlefront Two, cause that game was insane!

A Visit To The Hospital

A Visit To The Hospital

The early morning sun pierced through a crack in the library’s window, illuminating motes of dust that floated across the stale air.

As the light set upon the stallion, he stirred awake. A prevailing silence filled his senses. Even in his drowsy state, he was aware of the small filly cuddled close to him. He shuffled out of the blanket slowly, hoping not to disturb the young pony so he could get ready to move out in peace.

His efforts were for naught, however, as Twist stirred and opened her light fuchsia eyes. “Good morning,” she said with a yawn, feeling around for her large purple glasses that had fallen off during the night.

The stallion just gave a noncommittal grunt in return before sliding the filly’s glasses into her hoof. He carefully inspected his bags before casting one last glance about the library. After a quick nod, he grabbed the blanket and carefully folded it before stuffing it into his bags, leaving the hazmat-suit clad filly to shiver slightly in the chill of morning.

An imperceptible arch formed upon his back as he donned the sacks. Stepping lightly towards the entrance still blocked by a bookshelf, he perked his ears. Not a sound could be heard through the wooden walls.

It was safe to move, for now.

He grunted as he threw his weight against the makeshift barricade, the low grinding of wood scraping against wood filling the room. Superior strength soon found the doorway clear and the stallion turned back to the filly. “Follow closely, and don’t make a sound,” he said as she stood and shook the tiredness from her body. The sudden call to action seemed to unnerve Twist, but she did as told without question.

Or so he thought. As soon as he began to open the door, the filly opened her mouth. “How’re we going to get there?”

With a sigh that pushed the breathing aparatus of his mask out, he latched the door shut silently. “By staying in the open so we have escape routes available. Just stay close; you’ll be fine.” He paused as he waited for Twist to say something else, but she merely nodded and gave him a timid smile, her cheeks puffing out. He opened the door again, forcing it on the busted hinges and cringing slightly as it creaked on the last few inches.

“What about the crathy pony?”

The stallion’s head turned sharply and he glared at the filly. She scooted back and meekly nodded again. Returning the nod, he looked forward and took his first determined step outside.

Silence. Not a sound could be heard but for his hooves upon the dirt, He glanced back, checking that the filly was following closely, before heading towards the hospital on the outskirts of town.. A door screeched shut behind him before he could take more than two steps. Again, he looked back at the filly.

Twist was facing the library door and lowering her hoof from the door knob. When she turned around, she was met with the stallion’s irritated frown. She gave a small smile and opened her mouth.

The stallion quickly shushed her and shook his head. He waved her over and continued on, if only just to keep her silent.

Everything was still. Their soft steps seemed to echo against the buildings on either side of the road as if the town was truly abandoned. The stallion’s gaze constantly shifted, never looking at one thing longer than a few seconds. They were forty meters from their starting point when the local joke shop came into view, it’s facade covered in decorative colors faded over time. Quietude filled the air as they reached its front..

A breeze ruffled their clothes.

They tensed, the stallion darting his eyes this way and that, scanning for the wind’s source as Twist shuffled behind him and clutched his jacket in trembling hooves. There were no dark clouds in the sky, nor on the horizon. Nopony was around. Nothing indicated that there was a threat. Then, Twist giggled, small shakes moving throughout her body while she held a hoof to her muzzle.

“Wath jutht a breeth,” she said, relieved, as she stepped back from the stallion. His gaze swept across the road once more before relaxing a bit. He continued onwards.

They didn’t get far before she spoke up again. “Why are we going to the hothpital?”

He didn’t respond at first, keeping his attention on the cobblestone street and surrounding buildings. His gaze shifted occasionally from busted windows and doors to the odd food stand, its produce rotten, or piece of trash in the streets. “Answers,” he said at a crossroads without looking back. “Now hush; we’re halfway there.”

Mad laughter could be heard down the road to the left, but it sounded distant. Conveniently enough, though, their path led them down the opposite road. That didn’t stop the stallion from being on his guard, and he would occasionally glance back as he walked forward.

“What’th at the hothpital?” Twist asked in a hushed tone.

“More questions, most likely.”

More houses and shops came up, these being in slightly better condition than those in the previous street. Instead of decaying doors on rusted hinges, these were firmly shut. Though a few windows were smashed here and there, the majority of them were intact. Even more unsettling was the general cleanliness of the streets here.

The stallion’s suspicions were high as they passed the structures. The edge of the clustered buildings were coming up and they could see the hospital in the distance. A loud bang of wood on plaster rang out in the streets, making the ponies tense once more.

The stallion whirled around and looked for the source, the filly once again huddling next to him. At first, nothing seemed to have changed. The streets were just as empty and no other sounds were heard. He inspected the area closer.

A door to one of the buildings was open where it wasn’t before, swinging slightly on its hinges. He began to take slow steps back while keeping an eye out. “Move, quickly,” he hissed before turning about and stepping into a trot, reaching the end of the narrow street in seconds.

As they exited the main part of town, the stallion cast one last furtive glance back and sighed. He turned forward and looked Twist over, inspecting her hazmat suit and missing helmet. “We need to get you another suit,” he said as he searched the semi-open plains. He paused and shook his head, vaguely wondering why he was thinking of the filly’s safety.

An overturned cart with a medical symbol on it was close, but not close enough to make it a simple detour. While their destination was a few hundred yards away up a hill, the wagon skirted the edges of the major business sector. A worried frown crossed his lips as he divided his attention between the hospital, the town, and the cart.

Twist twisted about, scanning for damage to her clothing before realization dawned on her face. “Oh! The helmet! Yeth, pleath!” she said just a bit too loudly with a smile, forgetting the bleak situation for the moment at the prospect of a new hood. The stallion quickly shushed her. Looking back through furrowed brows, the stallion scanned the land behind him.

Nothing moved; it was too quiet. He waved after the filly and trotted closer to the carriage, constantly looking towards the town’s border and back to the hospital that began to get further away.

The cart had been abandoned. Whoever was pulling it must have chosen to save themselves at the last minute and ran; no body was attached to its harness. They reached the downed cargo without incident and he waded through the refuse, throwing random boxes away as he looked for a helmet to fit the filly. Occasionally, he would perk up and check their surroundings.

After a moment, a new glass-faced hood was tossed Twist’s way. Her hooves kept slipping on it and she seemed to be juggling before finally catching it, just as the stallion stepped out. He looked between the helmet and the filly, whose face was slightly red, with an arched eyebrow hidden beneath his hood.

“Put it on and hurry up,” he said after a moment and began heading towards the medical facility once more.

Twist quickly placed the helmet on her head and it hissed as it made a new seal. She ran after the stallion and trotted beside him, legs moving slightly faster to keep pace. “Thankth again, mithter.”

He grunted an acknowledgement.

Another sound, though quiet, rang out from the town: that of a window shattering, its shards tinkling upon the cold hard cobblestone streets. He slowed to a halt, Twist quietly following his lead as he glanced towards the nearby town.

The business district was closest, filled with the still-gaudy buildings displaying their wares. His eyes scanned through the alleyways and ruts, looking for movement. On the main road that bisected the town, a single stray cup bounced across the path, carried by a strong gust of wind. As it reached a corner, the cup suddenly changed direction, turning at a square angle.

He furrowed his brow and took two steps back before turning towards his destination. Twist tilted her head in confusion at the phenomenon, but began running after the stallion’s quickened pace, trying hard to keep up.

The hospital rose imposingly towards the sky before them. The awning above the building’s smashed double-door entrance was speckled with rust and hanging on by just one cable, the other having snapped long ago. Only the one wire and the skilled craftsponyship of the builders were keeping it aloft. The beige paint was flaking off the exterior walls while the occasional window was shattered. Another gust of wind blew by them.

Hurried steps met tile as the stallion rushed in passed the doorway, quickly looking around before waving the filly towards him. He turned about as soon as she entered and pushed against the bent metal doors, watching as they creaked and inched closed under bent hinges. As soon as he forced the sister door shut, he took a moment to scan the building’s interior further.

A bi-level desk for checking in patients and guests sat in front of him, covered in a mess of papers and set like an end cap to the two parallel hallways running through the hospital’s first floor. Directly above it, written over the hospital’s name, were words written in a viscous red liquid. The letters, ranging from a shaky font to elongated smears, spelt ‘Bad is good. Find salvation in madness’. Twist once again tried to hide behind him, seeing the words as well.

Cast aside food and medical carts were haphazardly placed against the interior walls of either hallway. Gouges in the walls mixed with scuff marks upon the tile floor hinted at a large fight while a scalpel, stained with blood, was stabbed into the wall next to a displaced gurney.

On the furthest wall to the left was a small gift shop. Trinkets and baubles lined its many shelves as even more blood could be seen sprayed across its large glass storefront. Looking closer, the stallion could make out the words ‘Beware the wind’ within the stains.

The wall to the right held a large picture of the building’s layout and medical services, surprisingly undamaged or marked in any way. Upon studying the map, the stallion identified the hospital’s various sections. The pharmacy was in the middle of the hospital, conveniently on the first floor, with a general illness office and waiting room surrounding it. The floors above ranged between offices and patient rooms for specialized treatment.

“What now?” Twist asked as she surveyed the room apprehensively.

“I look for a log, or anything that will tell me what happened here,” the stallion said as he stepped up to the front desk. Papers were scattered about while office supplies were haphazardly placed upon them with no order. As he shuffled through it all, he came across a check-in log. He grabbed and opened it, skimming until he reached a more recent date.

Spring, 1st of new quarter:

Four ponies sent to Pony General Ward, complaints ranging from sore limbs to the common nosebleed.

9:25 AM: Apple Cobbler sent to level 2, Pediatric Ward

12:43 PM: Caramel sent to level 3, Psych Ward

4:22 PM: The Cakes sent to level 2, Pediatric Ward

Note: Pretty easy day. Surprised at the small number of injuries considering what happened last year during Winter Wrap Up.

Spring, 2nd of new quarter:

Eight ponies sent to Pony General Ward, most common complaint: a feeling of malaise.

8:00 AM: Filthy Rich sent to level 4, Administrator’s Office

11:00 AM: Large shipment of supplies signed in

12:12 PM: Bon Bon sent to level 3, Psych Ward

2:32 PM: Breezy sent to level 2, Radiology Ward

7:23 PM: Burnt Oak sent to level 4, Burn Ward

Note: Had a meeting today while the supplies came in. Seems we’ll be getting an influx of ponies from Manehatten and its surrounding areas.

Spring, 3rd of new quarter:

Fifteen ponies sent to Pony General Ward, most common complaint: nosebleeds.

2:12 PM: Cloudy Mane sent to level 3, Physiology Ward

Note: Not too many appointments today. Ditzy Doo missed her weekly appointment with Dr. Oroborous, again. The increased number of ponies to PG was surprising, but the meeting yesterday helped.

The stallion flipped between pages, noting the change from neat and orderly writing to a more hurried and scrawled print. He took a moment to glance towards the filly, but she seemed to be waiting patiently, if nervously, nearby. His attention moved back to the logbook.

Spring, 4th of new quarter:

Twenty-three ponies sent to PG Ward, most common complaint: soreness and nosebleeds.

Note: All appointments cancelled until further notice. PG is getting swamped.

Spring, 5th of new quarter:

Forty ponies sent to PG.

Note: What is going on?! There’s no reason for this!

Spring, 6th of new quarter:

Thirty-two sent to PG. Doctor sent out to Sweet Apple Acres.

Note: Administrator and Mayor Mare talked today. Something is happening.

Spring, 7th of new quarter:

Forty-two more sent to PG. Patients are spread across the whole hospital now.

Note: Tomorrow, there’s a meeting at Town Hall. Wish I was going, but someone needs to direct these ponies.

Spring, 8th of new quarter:

Sweetheart came in and told me what’s happening. I’m only a temp; I’m not trained for this! I’m taking some supplies we have in storage, throwing it on one of the hospital’s carts, and heading west. Forgive me for being a coward.

The stallion flipped through the remaining pages, all of which were blank, before adding the log to his growing pile of kindling. Though it helped explain some of the mess, it didn’t have all the answers. With another sigh of defeat, he turned to see Twist staring at him.

“Find your antherth?”

“Barely,” he said and started down one of the corridors. Wind could be heard coming through one of the windows as his hooves clacked upon the tiled floor, with the filly’s own doing the same.

Their steps alternated between ceramic and paper as charts and missives were scattered on the ground. An overturned gurney narrowed the hallway before them and they were forced to press against the wall, choosing to leave it alone to keep silent and as they were walking by the messy pharmacy, a bit of yellow could be seen.

He stopped abrubtly, turning slowly and angling his head to get a better look. The room held multiple aisles of medication behind a counter littered with paperwork, more so than the front desk. Empty pill bottles were scattered either on the work surface or the floor, and the yellow spot grew bigger. As his perception adjusted, he realized it was a tail. The stallion’s eyes opened wider and he took a few steps in to check the corners, finding them empty but for a few scattered magazines and tossed aside chairs, before darting into the room.

Behind the counter, lay Applejack, her saddlebags crushed beneath her. Her orange chest was barely rising and falling while her blonde mane and tail twitched, the frazzled mess missing the iconic bands. He rushed over to her and brought his head lower, listening to her labored, shallow breathing. A hoof was placed on her neck as he counted, finding an equally slowed heart rate. Upon opening one of her eyes, he could see dilated pupils, even though she was asleep.

His head snapped up and he cast his gaze around the room again. Next to the orange mare lay an open bottle with pills spilling out. Moving forward and avoiding the sprawling mess that covered the floor, he grabbed the bottle and scanned the label before catching ‘oxycodone’. The stallion stood quickly and started digging through the aisles, bags of pills and containers of various liquid medications being tossed aside without a care.

“What’th wrong with her?” Twist asked, her voice filled with worry as she peered around the counter towards the his panicked movements.

“She’s overdosed on opiates. Look for something called ‘naloxone’!” he said as he started tossing useless medicines aside. “Come on, come on...”

“Found it!” the filly exclaimed as she held up a bottle. The stallion darted out of the aisle and into the next, quickly grabbing the vial from the girl and looking over the label: naltrexone. He tossed it aside with a grunt and stepped over to where Twist found it.

“Close, but not it,” he said quickly as she looked between the medicine and the stallion in confusion. His hoof hovered over various pouches and, a moment later, he had it. He absentmindedly pushed the filly away and ran over to the equipment aisle. Upon grabbing a bag, the stallion ripped it open and a sterile needle poked out.

The stallion stabbed it into the bottle of naloxone, flipped it over, and filled it, before tossing the container away. It clattered to a corner, the sound loud in the haunting quiet of the empty hospital. He felt around Applejack’s arm for a moment before pushing the needle into it and injecting the fluid. Twist winced at the procedure and once the syringe was emptied, he removed it and threw it aside.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the mare’s breathing grew regular. The stallion pressed a hoof to her neck and found her heart rate increasing as well. He breathed a sigh of relief. The battle wasn’t over yet, but it would have to do. Until she awoke, they would have to wait.

He stepped over Applejack and headed to the doorway. Upon reaching it, he scanned the desolate and empty hallways before shutting the door and sitting down near it. Keeping the mare in his view, the stallion took the opportunity to relax, his tense shoulders slumping slightly. Twist sat between the two with confusion playing on her face.

“Wha-”

“Counters opiates. Serious side effects, but she’ll live, regardless,” he replied.

“What now?”

“We wait.”

The little pony walked over to one corner where paper was piled up and a small amount of brown could be seen. Rummaging through paper, she dug out a slightly tattered hat, brushing off small pieces of debris. Cautiously, the filly approached Applejack’s form and deposited the hat on her head.

"Why did you do that?" the stallion asked, his voice gruff as he leaned his head back and onto the cold wall. His muscles had calmed slightly, but the tension was still there, as if he was waiting for something to happen.

"It'th Mith Applejack'th hat," the filly said as if that explained everything.

One of his eyebrows arched. "You know her?"

She huffed indignantly. "Of courth I do. The made uth apple pie thometimeth, and the’th Apple Bloom'th big thith—" The filly cut herself off and coughed a few times, placing a hoof over her mask in habit. "The'th okay. I'm thure the ith. They all are, right?"

He looked away, somehow unable to focus on her bright, pink eyes. "I'm sure they're all fine."

She smiled, a sad, tiny thing that was so fragile, but a smile nonetheless. "Thank you, Mithter.” Twist paused, looking about the room at nothing in particular before returning her gaze to the stallion. “Maybe Mommy and Daddy are okay, too?"

"Ju-just rest a little while. Miss Applejack will be up and about soon."

She was quiet for a few seconds before she finally talked again. "Why're you trying to thave her?"

"What do you mean?"

"Thome of the other adulth, in town, when thingth were bad, they only thried to thave themthelves..."

He grunted. "She’s different. She's one of the Elements of Harmony."

"What'th—"

He shushed her once more. "Just rest. I'll keep watch."

Less than an hour passed before the earth pony mare gasped. The stallion watched as her eyes snapped wide and all her limbs began kicking out. When her hooves found purchase, she jumped up, landing squarely with no evidence of her previous injury. Almost immediately, however, the cowmare lost balance and crashed to the ground, sending a plume of dust into the air. She tried again, this time leaning against the counter beside her as she spun around, first looking at the medicine spilt upon the floor, then straight at him, glaring.

“Who are ya? Where am Ah? What happened? Did you do something to me?!” she spouted off, voice rising with a tinge of anger laced beneath the suspicion.

“Calm down. You’re in a hospital and you overdosed on pain pills. I saved you.” The stallion stood, stretching his limbs in the process. All her attention was on him, her bleary eyes following his every move as he took a determined step forward. She jumped back into a defensive stance and glared at him.

“Ah don’t know who ya are, and Ah sure as hay ain’t letting ya near me,” she growled.

“Mith Applejack?” Twist removed her helmet and let it plop to the ground beside her. “Are you okay?”

Applejack glanced away from the stallion to look at the filly. Her gaze lingered, tilting her head and squinting as if she couldn’t see her properly. “Twist? Is that you?”

Seeing that the mare was distracted, he gave the medicine aisles a quick peek. Every lane was checked before he pocketing a few pill bottles. When he came back to the counter, he saw them talking, the filly nervous with Applejack chatting happily about days long gone. The farm pony quickly turned back at him, though, when the vial he had tossed aside earlier rolled away from his foreleg.

“Who are ya and why do ya have Twist with ya?!” the freckled farm-pony demanded as she took a few hesitant steps towards the stallion.

“Calm down, Miss. I’m here to help,” the stallion replied while signalling for her to quiet down.

Whatever discussion that was about to transpire quickly stalled when maniacal laughter sounded from the other side of the door.

“W-what’th th-that?” Twist asked in a trembling voice. Inching nearer to the door, she could feel her heart beating in her chest.

“We have to go. Now,” the tense stallion answered as turned from the farmer.

“Aww no, Ah’m goin’ nowhere with ya!” The scowl upon Applejack’s face quickly warped into one of realization. “Ah need mah pills!” the mare screamed before running back to the counter, scattering the papers upon the floor.

The door splintered as a stallion smashed his way in and he towered over the trembling filly staring up at him with a manic grin. As the mad pony began cackling insanely, the wind picked up, howling wildly through the hospital. Twist stood frozen on the spot with her pupils dilated to pinpricks while the hooded stallion grabbed one of Applejack’s forelegs.

“Come on, Applejack! We don’t have time!” he yelled, tugging on her. She fought back against him, crying for the pills she felt she so desperately needed.

“Um... um...” The filly snapped out of her stupor, only to prance in place, trying to figure out what she should do. The mad pony stopped laughing and glared down at her, his ever-present smile unnerving her.

“I’mma get ya this time! I’mma cut ya an’ eat ya!” he said before lunging forward. Twist fell upon the ground, curling into a ball and screaming.

Two strong legs slammed into the crazed pony’s face, rocketing him backwards to meet the opposing wall. As he slumped down, the howl of the wind grew louder and the hooded stallion stood at the doorway.

“Come on!” he yelled, throwing Twist onto his back and dragging the orange mare, her weakened state doing nothing to help her fight him under his adrenaline rush.

As they left the room and started down the hallway, he couldn’t drag Applejack further, releasing her leg when she seemed to snap out of her insanity. She yanked her leg away and shakily brought her hooves under her once more. Then, her eyes fell on the unconscious pony. “What did ya do?!”

“No time! Move it!” came the reply as the stallion rushed to the other end of the hospital, the filly bouncing slightly upon his back.

“As if Ah’d go anywhere with you!” Applejack yelled after him, then glanced towards the front entrance. A veritable tempest of air marred her path, forcing papers to whip about chaotically. Pens and other light office supplies flew through the air like miniature missiles. She shivered as if knowing what it was before turning around and racing after the stallion. “Hold up!”

The rear exit was nearing. In the darkened corridors, the cowpony had trouble catching up, but they struggled onwards, even as debris slapped at their faces. Another pony stepped out of the darkness of a side room, laughing madly, and stabbed outwards as they rushed by without a glance.

A cry of pain elicited from the filly.

The stallion winced in empathy for the girl, then burst through the rear doors, Applejack’s hoofbeats right behind him. They kept moving as the sky filled with dark grey clouds and the wind grew ever louder.

When they were not but a few hundred paces away, the farmer looked back without stopping. A spiraling vortex of bluish grey wind was funneling into the hospital’s front entrance. She turned forward again, eyes wide in panic as she followed the stallion.

The wind whispered after them.

It lives!

Edited by:

-RavensDagger

-Cpl_Hooves

-Frederick_the_Saiyan

What’s this? Raven’s the editor? Well, who could possibly be the author? It is I, your friendly neighborhood stapled cactus, StapleCactus! Do not be alarmed, my fine folk. If you haven’t caught wind of it yet, let me do so now.

This marks the inaugural switching of the authors. I am essentially ghost-writing this story for Raven because of many reasons that I can’t be bothered to remember. Do not worry! This tale will follow strict guidelines given to me by that black bird with a miniature sword and I will do my best to make it a seamless transition. (Though I totally can’t expect that to be the case because we have varying styles of writing...)

And because we need more links to this thing: Philosophize!