Colors of Sanity

by Basement Native

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Human, Dark, Alternate Universe
Length: 7866

Story of Adofo, a lone Egyptian freedom fighter, and his fight for sanity and survival.

Adofo's world is gone. He has spent years uselessly fighting back against the brutal American army with his comrades. His family is gone. Society is gone. America will conquer all. Adofo's sanity is long gone, and his only safehouse is his old storage building built by the Congo's natives a long time ago, in the old village. Everything is captured by nature, and survival is something he has done for too long. Nothing remains that is intact, besides the old useless computers, and the small charm on the chain necklace of the yellow horse with wings, green eyes, and a long pink mane. This is the story of his reincarnation.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-10-20 17:42:53 UTC

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The extremely nauseating, rolling motion in his stomach was the least of his worries. Right now, his loose  turnequitte was his main priority. The half-clotted blood was running slowly, but being out of antibiotic made this an extreme situation. His linen mess was probably not helping right now, digging into the deep slash wound when it got caught in the door handle. He had no need to scream, because pain was something regular now and did not have much effect in this particular area on his abdomen. The heavy, polluted rain poured down onto the large, silvery tent. Extra noise was quite the issue, because silence was necessary if you wanted to shoot the other one first. Or the crazy tribal, for that matter. Looking out one of the small plastic windows, he saw nothing but the fog blanket that coated the lightly forested plateau. Ripping open the door in the first aid box, he yanked out the roll of gauze and begun wrapping it around the area beneath his for-the-most-part shattered ribcage. Safety-pinning it tight, he decided it was good enough and decided it was his shift to scout the perimeter. With a hardy "Hey Muhammad!" in his heavy African accent, he replaced the heavy set man, one of the still-sane few left. Wiping dirt, sweat, blood, and whatever other grime was coating his body, off of his face with a hand that was just as dirty, he hiked out of the area of the tent. His current clothing consisted of an almost demolished, used-to-be bulletproof vest, complete with shrapnel, blood stains, and a large rip across the lower right-half, some equally-demolished black pants, pockets filled with dog tags of fallen allies, and a standard military helmet, just a dark grey, heavy, waste of metal. His shirt that used to exist under his vest was discarded the week before, when he had received the kind gift of a bayonet slash to the stomach and a stomp on the chest from the enemies heavily weighted boot. Their boots also release a small amount of burning phosphorus upon a command from a button upon the wrist. It was a brilliant tactic, lighting whatever they desired on fire with a brilliant green blaze, a tactic designed to intimidate the Congo's natives. It also burned like boiling wax upon a large gash. Only one-thousand fold. The mark it left was of a charcoal skinned torso, and the bleeding imprint of a boot upon his shattered ribs. And he was one of the lucky soldiers. He went unconscious. Many of his comrades weren't so lucky, screaming in agony as their body boiled or falling towards the relieving bottom of a cliff. He was snapped out of his flashback by the side of a dead tree colliding with his skull. He didn't care what everyone told him. He didn't care what mental issues they claimed he had developed. He didn't care about any damage he took. This tree needed to be sent to Hell, now. Screaming like something out of a nightmare, he assaulted the tree like he did his enemies. Fists pummeling dents and cracks into the tree, screaming an insane "WAAAAAHHHHH!" he sent splinters and whole pieces of the innocent tree flying through the foggy, polluted morning air. The tree was non-existent anymore, but he needed to hurt something. Badly. He ripped the knife from his belt and tore through his forearm, laughing as the blood spurted to the ground. Stab and tear out, stab and tear out. It hit his mind like a brick: WHAT the HELL am I DOING? He yelled and whipped the knife off the sloped cliffside and ran back to the tent. The affected forearm was not in much pain, being dulled to pain as it had been experienced so much lately, but with the remembering that he had killed about 30 different things yesterday, gangrene was sure to occur. With this in mind he sprinted faster than he had when his wife was being slaughtered. Oh well, he had thought afterward. Death was a normal thing now, with half the Earth under control of that horrid country, America. The blood was now pretty-much clotted, with the half-hour sprint back to the tent. Dashing inside, he screamed

     "Doctor! My arm!" but soon realized that there was nought but bodies in his tent. Again. He instantly, on instinct, slid underneath the table and grabbed the rifle he  had duct-taped to the bottom of it. Always a useful tactic. He stopped his breathing, and listened to the voices outside. Idiots, he thought. They hadn't even noticed his yelling. They must be preoccupied.

     "Yes, sir. Area's been cleared, and's bein' double-checked by uh small group uh soldiers."

     "Quite impressive, sergeant, this was their largest regiment, far as the intel covers." He heard the official-sounding footsteps of what he assumed was the last one talking, and saw a pair of legs enter the tent. Opening the   miscellaneous rations locker, he pulled out a cigar and heard a lighter click. "Southern bastard. Lost 3 men killing 20. Ungrateful prick." He heard the man say, and watched him exit the tent. He gripped his dog tags, as a reminder of who he used to be. He already knew what they said, "Adofo ----------," his last name was scratched out, as a reminder that nothing matters of his Egyptian heritage anymore, as Egypt was no more. It had other information, but that was gone as well. Adofo gripped his rifle tight, and snuck over to the section of the tent where countless emergency packs were piled. He quickly grabbed an ammunition satchel, clipped it to his destroyed belt, not caring what kind of bullets it contained, grabbed a ration pack, thrust it onto his back, and bolted out the doorway, heading straight to the small forest that was just a cliffside away.

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Rifle strapped to his backpack, he wandered through the forest, heading to the small village he hoped the two squadrons still remained at. With the village fairly visible in the distance, between the tall trees and hillsides, he remembered back to what he saw when he was there last. Lots of old computers, many of which were collected by the natives, back when they existed, and stashed up in one old storage building. When his fellow squadrons, simple groups of 25 soldiers, had been fully intact, and not spread out all over the continent piece by piece, they had camped out in this village. Many of the computers were used to compile data they hoped to make sense of, but there were a few that weren't so useful. In case the world was rebuilt, they wanted to save as much data from the old societies as possible. Several computers were completely full of useless things like business transactions, pornography, and corrupted files. Another was filled with useless video and documents and songs based in some kid's show, way back when. Adofo tried examining the contents of this very computer, but it was all in vain. He realized then that the generators they set up to use the computers were probably destroyed, or out of fuel, or something. He did what he could now, meaning yell at the rusted generators, and hope they did something. There was no one else to help him, probably anywhere. He decided to keep moving, the whole village being infested with many forms of wildlife, and go... Somewhere. He had nowhere to go, he sure as Hell couldn't fight off a whole country's military force, and was probably insane. I am in no way insane, he often thought to himself. Yes, he had gouged his body with that dreaded knife many times, and yes he hadn't cared when his wife died, and yes the world was completely doomed, but he didn't care. It was destined that was. In fact, he was quite looking forward to his trip to Heaven. Oh wait, he gouged his body many times, didn't care when his wife died, and didn't care the world was doomed. This realization had hit him many times, and every time he thought, oh well. This apocalypse had had him thinking that there was no God. He had ditched his Bible way back when, and never regretted the action. Adofo quickly forced this thought out of his head, and moved on. "Back to my trek to nowhere" was now his favorite quite. Not that he had have anyone to share it with. Nighttime had fallen, and he had made no progress. He was about a mile from the old village, in a slight jungle area, and he felt he urge to go back. A slight pull, as if he had missed something. He encountered a bright green snake earlier, up in a tree, and it was now headless, bleeding in his pocket. Dinner tonight, the voice inside his thoughts said. His pack was empty, sitting in a bush on the side of the trail he had passed through. Arriving at the old computer building, (he had thought it was the most secure, being useless) he laid down on the small pile of tree leaves he had gathered for sleep. Food tomorrow. Before dozing off, staring at the old computer, he had noticed a small charm hanging off a chain necklace. It appeared to be a yellow horse with wings, green eyes, and a long pink mane.

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

     Adofo's  eyes snapped open at the sound of... Nothing. Paranoia, not a big surprise. It was kind of... His friend now, always by his side, always being there for him. Whatever was in his pocket... The headless green snake, he remembered, was now nothing more than mud. The memory of his short trek through the jungle days ago flashed through his ravaged mind once again. Oh well. It was to dark to see, with only a small window cut into the scrap-metal wall. Handywork of the pocketknife he had found in the pocket of a comrade he had searched when he visited the tent again. It was completely stripped of everything except the bodies. American sloths. It was still raining outside. It had been for days. Leaning up, he compressed his abdominal wound with... The... Missing  turnequitte... Into one big mass that bled a mixture of orange, black, and purple liquids. Blood no longer resided there.

     Stepping out into the acidic rain, into the village proper, or what used to be the village proper, he thought back to the previous weeks. Squadmates killed, ran for hours, sank into the leaves, charm on the necklace. Groggily walking back into the building, he discovered it was still there, hanging onto one of the broken monitors. Examining it closer with a slow move of a deteriorated arm, he could not see the significance of it. It was simply a little, what he presumed aluminum, charm in the shape of the horse it resembled. It sure was adorable though. The backside of it had what looked like a brand logo, but he couldn't read exactly what it said, with the lack of food, sleep, blood, and sanity. He could, hardly, make out the letters "H--b-o" and "F---t---hy", but it hardly mattered to him. It did, however, keep him preoccupied. A savior. It was mostly the colors, but day after day he couldn't stop looking at it.

     He thought maybe it helped with his mental problems. What mental problems? "I'm not crazy!" He thought to himself. Once again. He grew bored and he stuffed it into the pocket that didn't have the mashed snake inside, and started back out the door. As he was walking, he got the feeling, that he was being.. Watched. He quickened his pace and headed directly for the forest that lay nearby. His body had gone too long without sustenance, and was quickly destroying itself  The forest was abundant with snakes, rodents, and birds, but, again, with his lack of food, sleep, blood, sanity, and know-how, he failed to capture the smallest thing, save for a small frog he pulled off a tree. It was bright orange. He swallowed the frog whole, enjoying the tickling feeling he got with it sliding down his throat, squirming around. Minutes after longer searching, his head suddenly felt like a brick just hit it. And his stomach. He collapsed upon the muddy ground.

     He heard voices, some sounded fake, others were from the men that were standing in front of him, heavily armed, and with brilliant, green, flaming footprints behind them. He was hoisted onto the back of one of them, and the world turned black. He was soaring through the air, everything a cloudy haze, with his 2 favorite brothers, Osahar and Muhammad. They were both clothed normally, and seemed to be enjoying themselves as much as Adofo was. They had just finished talking about the Abu El Haggag Moulid festival that will be taking place in Cairo in a couple weeks. Horseracing and music were two of his favorite pasttimes. This dream ended suddenly with his eyes groggily opening, and he appeared to be on an operating table, with lots of people around, in a tent much fancier than any of his. He was completely naked, and he had many scars on him, but there was one that stretched from the middle of his clavicle to his waist. And it was red. And covered in stitches.

     One man with a surgeon's scrubs approached him and said,

     "Look who's finally awake. You know how many people uh yours we've killed, but somehow you've gotten away? Your A...Dofa ain'tcha? Yeah, all the dyin' breaths uh men, an papers we've recovered, point to you existin', but  we ain't managed to get you yet. Now we do!" the man started giggling happily and did a little jig. He appeared too happy about this.

"You know what you did? You killed mah' brother, you son of uh bitch!" with the last word, he slammed his fist into Adofo's chest, not illiciting much pain but forcing him to cough. Blood. The man's face was now coated with tears, and was red.

"You KEELED HIM!" he was absolutely balling now and was huddled on the floor.

     "Alright, let's go." one man in layers of protection said to Adofo. Him and another picked up Adofo, and draped his arms around their shoulders.

     He could hardly move, and did not care much where they put him. He instantly regretted saying this when they put him in a chair and handcuffed one arm and one leg to the bars. Another man sat across from him, what seemed to be the same man who had taken the cigar from his tent.

     "Well, little Egyptian. You appear to be the last revolutionary that's around here. We were ordered to kill every last one of 'em, and you are the last one. I'd like to clear your thoughts before we send you to Hell. America is simply taking control so we can protect everyone. We are-," he was cut off by another man, dressed similar to him, arriving in the doorway.

"Sir?" the interrogator managed after a few awkward moments of silence. The other managed to make a "Come here" motion. The interrogator sighed and walked over to him. There was a key on the table. The one used to lock the handcuffs.

     Adofo snatched it with his free hand, and quickly set himself free. He bowled through the two men at the doorway, and sprinted toward a random room. It was another operating room, with an opened body on the table. He dove over the table, and his foot got caught on it and he fell face-first into the dirt floor. Another soldier came running through the doorway, and immediately stomped on his chest. Leaving behind a brilliant green fire. But Adofo didn't feel it. He was too preoccupied staring at a bright white light on the ceiling. It seemed so peaceful, so... Out of reach from these monsters. He hardly heard a man scream.

     "Don't kill him! Set him back on the table!" Adofo didn't want to move, didn't want his peace disturbed. He noticed a small charm on one of the necks of the doctors. It appeared to be a yellow horse with wings, green eyes, and a long pink mane. The thought was still in his mind when he absent-mindedly pulled the pistol out of the holster of an unsuspecting soldier and shot himself in the head with it.

(Author's note: Don't worry, this is not the end.)

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Adofo was being formed unto a body. He knew everything one moment, and forgot everything the next, in a strange blur of light and color. Adofo... No... The unnamed child was slowly raised into the view of the parents, crying as infants should in their first few moments of life. Star Listener noticed a stream of tears out of his wife's eyes, but he thought nothing of it, having his own. They were not crying for the joy of having a child, they were crying for the fact he had only one wing. The dark, sand colored pegasus baby's one wing was large for an infants, but he had no other. Nurse Redheart had no words for them. Except for the few, vain reassurances, like,

     "It may grow later on...". All three were genuinely sobbing now, the crying baby's noise drowned out by the melancholy of the others. Star Listener's deep purple coat was completely out of order compared to how he always had it combed finely, as with his bright, sky blue mane.

     Stone Grace, with the baby at her side, was the most distressed of them all. Her magenta eyes were bloodshot, and her face was stained with the sadness of the knowledge of her child being a disabled pegasus. The next hours were silent. Heads hanging low, except for Stone Grace feeding the baby. No more words were said that night, not even about naming their newborn. Star Listener awoke in his bed, the intricately engraved wooden ceiling not interesting him, as spending three years in a home begins to dull the way the house appears to those who live there. Turning to his wife, he was thinking about how large she was. She had thick, solid bones. She had been born with them, hence the "Stone" in "Stone Grace". She was magnificent. He got up, and sluggishly made his way to the baby's bed. He lay there, a small smile on his tiny face. The baby's mane was short, being a day old, but was still existent enough to be able to tell what it would look like.

     It was bi-colored, a light grey and deep auburn brown growing in patterns in different areas. He was laying on his side, his one wing folded tight against him. He seemed to not notice he was disabled. He was content with how he was. Perfect tranquility. Star Listener continued on through his day, his work at the observatory, and off to his routine again. Many weeks ahead, the baby had grown significantly, his progress fast but not unheard of. Stone Grace and Star Listener had gone with the name, "Valiant Tranquility" because of how confident he seemed, and how calm he was when he wasn't doing anything of interest. His wing was constantly flexing and opening, and seemed to be quite powerful. Only flight was impossible. Knife-edge flying didn't happen anywhere in Equestria. The time seemed to fly for the three, months passing like days. On his first birthday, he was able to crawl quite well.

     His mane grew as any normal child's should, as his tail did. His wing grew normal, still no sign of another. If he had another wing, he would be perfectly normal. He didn't seem to want to be anything else. Perfectly fine with who he was. At this age, his personality seemed to be very developed. On Valiant Tranquility's first birthday, he was an out-of-the-ordinary filly. But he didn't mind. He didn't notice much. In his mind, everything was great. In his mind, he was in a paradise.

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

This is the story of his reincarnation.

Chapter 6

It was just another day. Oh wait, it was his first birthday! He knew he was short, though he thought nothing over it. Early he was thinking about that, thinking about how he should be taller for being so big now. He asked his parents, and they said he was actually pretty big for his age, but nothing out-of-the-ordinary. The small celebration that his parents had thrown him wasn't too elaborate, being only one, and the only people who would remember it were them, but it wasn't a sad excuse either. His speech was still developing, slowly but steadily, and was turning out normal. For his age. Most words he had  trouble with, but some of the longer words he had even more trouble with. Not that he could speak correctly yet anyway. Normal for a young foal. Or filly, or colt. He had trouble remembering what those three were, and mixed them up frequently. Still to be expected.

     Star Listener and Stone Grace especially happy today, and this was noticed by a few other family members, who thought it was strange they were so happy. They had stressful jobs, and stressful lives. Maybe a child is just what they needed.

     "Hello, how have you ponies been doing?" Star Listener was asked by a fashionable pony named Rarity.

     "Everything is going good, particularly better ever since little Valiant came around. He is just a conduit of happiness, isn't he? I just wish he could've had the chance to do more some day." Star Listener sighed, a deep sigh of eternal stress.

     "Well, look at the bright side, darling! At least he'll stand out now. And he is quite handsome, and I would absolutely love to stitch him up some fancy garments!"

     "Well, now we could not ask you to d-" he was cut off by Rarity marching away, nose in the air. Star Listener opened his mouth to yell after her, but decided it would be no use and closed it.

     Rarity had already approached Stone Grace and was probably talking to her about it now while he thought. Oh well, there was no problem with his child having more fancy clothes. Too bad he would need new ones soon, with him growing so fast. Stone Grace had just finished having a conversation with Rarity when she was approached by the young colt himself. Valiant Tranquility was shakily trotting over to her, legs much more stable than they were the weeks before. He appeared to not notice he was slightly puffing his chest out. "Little captain of the guard" she thought to herself, a small smile arising on her khaki face. For not having many ponies here, there did seem to be a lot of conversing going on. Pinkie had really worked hard. Stone thought she was being unfair with how she had paid her. Pinkie Pie was a generous soul though, and had done it almost purely just for the fun.

     Her beautiful little colt had been standing under her for almost a minute now, while she thought. She finally noticed and her head snapped down to meet him.

     "Oh, sorry I was thinking about what a nice job miss Pinkie did here!" she let out a little happy giggle and stared down at her son. He had a serious face plastered on, but she knew that under his stone expression he was giddy as ever.

     "How do you think she did?" his mother asked excitedly, expecting nothing more than a nod or a laugh. His hardened face vanished, a smile arose, and Valiant let out an indecipherable jumble of words and skidded away happily, probably to the table of food across the main hall. She couldn't ask for more. She didn't want more. That's all she needed. Forever. Out of the corner of her eye, Rarity noticed a flash of movement and turned away from the pony she was conversing with.

     She saw a large glass punch bowl, followed by countless other glass objects, tumble and crash on the ground as a small flash of sand, grey, and auburn fly through the large house as the chaos ensued. She heard Stone Grace yell something as the rest tumbled down, and Rarity dashed over to the frazzled mother.

     "What just happened?" Rarity asked unnecessarily as Star Listener rushed over, panic across his face like the shock and question on Stone Grace's.

     "Have any of you seen Valiant?!" he shouted to the distressed dress maker and mother, expecting an answer faster than should be accepted.

"Well?!" he was not receiving an answer, so he dashed out of his shrapnel covered house and out into the Manehatten paths.

            --------------------

Hours later, Star Listener had returned home, to find a now-relieved Stone Grace and a similarly expressed Rarity awaiting him. There was a one-winged colt in a small bed in the home with them.

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Her ears felt like they were being pushed on constantly, with the occasional stronger push. It was loud, but she loved it. The rhythmic beats were her soul. Her very being.

The bass reached into her very core, and brought out the best in her. The joints in her neck were sore from bobbing back and forth, but she didn't care. Vinyl Scratch was at the prime of her life. She loved this more than anything. The oscillators and synthesizers and bass lines were her favorite thing. The saw-like noises of the drops and bridges were the opposite of the bane of her soul. The very thing she lived for. Her smile permeated through the hall, eliciting smiles from all the souls in the room. The final, most powerful chorus that ever seemed to exist exploded from the speakers, lifting her soul to an eternal paradise, a seemingly endless perfect that spread throughout her whole body, bringing the most perfect feelings ever to exist. The drop ended, resulting in a slow ending that echoed throughout the hall on the last note.

     It was the perfect ending to the night for Ponyville's resident DJ. Exiting the hall through some stone stairs, Vinyl Scratch was smiling still as she slipped down one of the stairs, hearing a small "crack" as she tumbled down each step. The staircase was at least the length of a full-size dragon, and each step caused a loud thud. As she was falling, every blow to her skull brought a screen of black and a numbing crack. Her glasses cracked, splintering into her battered, blood-coated face, as she hit the stone slab as the bottom with a sickening crack that ended her consciousness. On the way down, she managed to topple over a big, khaki mare who also tumbled down. Stone Grace's head was completely numb, rolling over and over down the hill that seemed endless. Her vision consisted of flashing images and constant blows to her body, ending with the crash into a big metal gate that made a resonating boom that echoed through the night air. Every movement, conscious or instinctual, caused a distinct pain that only occurs from blunt blows.

     Nausea set in almost instantly as she attempted to raise herself, in vain. Only one thing came to mind. The most primal of ways to receive assistance: scream. Stone Grace prepared her throat for a load call, but as her throat lifted for the action so did a big amount of blood. She just then noticed the crushed feeling in her throat, the  crumpled windpipe throbbing and swelling with each heartbeat. She coughed up another swell of blood, and another, before vomiting up more. She heard a deep voice yell

     "There she is, down there! Hurry! Get her up here! She's gotta get to the hospital!".

A aura of magic formed around her, carrying her up to the cart, and setting he inside before being whisked away, a city of muted color and shocked ponies staring at her in pity as she lost consciousness, a white and blue unicorn laying next to her. The world faded away, as a black shade closed her mind.

     ----------

     Star Listener lay solemnly, a single tear streaking down his emotionless face. His mane and coat were kept and normal as if nothing had happened. His wife lay in a hospital bed by his chair, her neck in a cast and heavily bandaged. She was asleep now, but just fell into it minutes ago. Valiant Tranquility was also there, just in another room, talking with a doctor about his condition. They did that often. Once a month they stopped by, so the doctors could talk to him to try to discover a reason why he was disabled in such a way. There were no answers yet. Still he held his head up high, optimism his supreme ruler. Star Listener thought about nothing. Not about his work, not about his injured wife or distorted child, nothing. Minutes later, and still nothing changed. Valiant even came back to his mother's room to ask his father if he could go with Rarity to go out for some sweets and a walk in the park, which he approved.

     Rarity was probably his favorite relative, and despite being young, he proved he had some logical thoughts in his small mind. He was glad Rarity came all the way from Ponyville to watch him for a few weeks, thought he didn't think of it now. Star Listener sat for a few more minutes in his expressionless stupor until sleep took hold and he passed into the realm of fiction.

     ----------

     "Hey Rarity, what did you say that colorful pony's name was?"

     "Do you mean Rainbow Dash?"

     "Yeah, her. I want to meet her, she sounds like such a cool pony."

     "She is quite extraordinary, with her stunts." Rarity and Valiant Tranquility walked down the well-paved roads of Manehattan, passing by ponies of all colors carrying all sorts of bags. It was soon after spring began, so the outdoor marketplace was open again, with large quantities of ponies filling the marketplace daily. They were headed back to the hospital, after taking Valiant Tranquility to get ice cream, after which they went for a walk in the park. Rarity felt uncomfortable the whole time, walking with a colt missing a wing, but she didn't show it.

     She did, however, feel good about supporting him, his mother being in the hospital. Rarity had told him some stories of her friends back home, their adventures, their good times. He seemed genuinely fascinated by her tales, absorbing every detail instantaneously. The next hour was practically silent as the happy but pitiful unicorn walked the joyful child back to his mother's hospital room, back to his family.

Chapter 1 (Rewrite)

Chapter 1

The source of his nausea, his mutilated abdomen, rest bleeding calmly. Right now, his loose  turnequitte was his main priority. The half-clotted blood was running slowly, pouring out of his dark yellow skin, but being out of antibiotic made this an extreme situation. Danger at a height. His linen mess was probably not helping right now, digging into the deep slash wound when it got caught in the door handle. All those times. Clumsiness is a side effect of being low on blood, sanity, and will. He had no need to scream, even while under attack, because pain was something of a companion now and did not have much effect on him. Heavy, polluted rain poured down onto the large, silvery tent. Extra noise was quite the issue, because silence was necessary if you wanted to shoot the enemy first. Or the crazy tribals,   suicidals, for that matter. Looking out one of the small plastic windows, he saw nothing but the fog blanket that coated the lightly forested plateau.

     Ripping open the door in the first aid box, he removed the roll of gauze and begun winding it around the area beneath his for-the-most-part shattered ribcage. Safety-pinning it tight, he decided it was acceptable and remembered it was his shift to scout the perimeter. With a hardy "Hey Muhammad!" in his heavy African accent, he replaced the heavy set man, one of the still-sane few left. Wiping dirt, sweat, blood, and whatever other grime was coating his being, off of his face and thick black hair with a hand just as dirty, he hiked out of the vicinity of the tent. His current clothing consisted of an almost demolished, used-to-be bulletproof vest, complete with shrapnel, blood stains, and a large rip across the lower right-half. Some equally-demolished black pants, pockets filled with dog tags of fallen allies, covered his mutilated legs. His shirt that used to exist under his vest was discarded the week before, when he had received the kind gift of a bayonet slash to the stomach and a stomp on the chest from the enemies heavily weighted boot.

     Their ingenious boots released a small amount of burning phosphorus upon a command from a button upon the wrist. It was a brilliant tactic, lighting whatever they desired on fire with a brilliant green blaze, a tactic designed to frighten the Congo's natives. It also burned like boiling hydrogen peroxide upon a large scrape. Only one-thousand times more. The mark it left was of a charcoal skinned torso, and the bleeding imprint of a boot upon his shattered ribs. And he was one of the lucky soldiers. He went unconscious then. Most of his comrades weren't so lucky, screaming in agony as their body was shredded by bullets, knives, or sometimes falling towards the bottom of a cliff, to their joy. He was snapped out of his flashback by the side of a dead tree colliding with his skull. He didn't care what everyone told him. He didn't care what mental issues they claimed he had developed. He didn't care about any damage he took.

     This tree needed to be sent to Hell, now. Screaming like something out of a nightmare, he assaulted the tree like he did everyone else. Fists pummeling dents and cracks into the tree, screaming an insane yell, he sent splinters and whole pieces of the innocent tree flying through the foggy, polluted morning air. The tree was non-existent anymore, but he needed to hurt something. Badly. He ripped the knife from his belt and tore through his forearm, laughing as the blood spurted out, dripping to the ground. Stab and tear out, stab and tear out. It appeared in his mind suddenly as an apparition: WHAT am I DOING? He yelled and whipped the knife off the sloped cliffside and ran back to the tent. The affected forearm was not in much pain, being dulled to pain as it had been experienced so much lately, but with the remembering that he had killed about 30 different things yesterday, gangrene was sure to occur. With this in mind he sprinted faster than he had when his wife was being slaughtered.

     Oh well, he had thought afterward. Death was a normal thing now, with half the Earth under control of that horrid country. The blood was now pretty-much clotted, with the half-hour sprint back to the tent. Dashing inside, he screamed

     "Doctor! My arm!" but soon realized that there was nought but bodies in his tent. Again. He suddenly, instinctually, slid underneath the table and grabbed the rifle he  had duct-taped to the bottom of it. Always a useful tactic. He stopped his breathing, and listened to the voices outside. Idiots, he thought. They hadn't even noticed his yelling. They must be preoccupied.

     "Yes, sir. Area's been cleared, and's bein' double-checked by uh small group uh soldiers."

     "Quite impressive, sergeant, this was their largest regiment, far as our data covers." He heard the official-sounding footsteps of what he assumed was the last one talking, and saw a pair of legs enter the tent.

     Opening the   miscellaneous rations locker, he pulled out a cigar and heard a lighter click. "Southern bastard. Lost 3 men killing 20. Ungrateful prick." The man said hatefully, and he exited the tent dutifully. He gripped his dog tags, as a reminder of who he used to be. He already knew what they said, "Adofo ----------," his last name was scratched out, as a reminder that nothing matters of his Egyptian heritage anymore, as Egypt was no more. It had other information, but that was gone as well. Adofo gripped his rifle tight, and crept over to the section of the tent where countless emergency packs were piled. He quickly grabbed an ammunition satchel, clipped it to his destroyed belt, not caring what kind of bullets it contained. He gripped a ration pack with one hand, thrust it onto his back, and bolted out the doorway, heading straight to the small forest that was just a cliffside away.

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Star Listener was awakened by a gentle nudge from a small, sandy pegasus. Valiant seemed quite elated, his ears standing upward and a great smile residing on his face. The joy was infectious, and Star Listener instantly felt a lift in his heart.

     "Welcome back, how was your time with Rarity?"

     "Wonderful!" he dove up onto his father, letting his actions speak for him. They sat hugging for a few seconds more, until Rarity spoke up

     "We had a wondrous time! I'd love to do it again, but I absolutely MUST get back to Ponyville. I have dresses to design, and Opal must be absolutely homesick at Fluttershy's! I would love to come back an visit again sometime."

     "We understand. Come back soon!" Rarity trotted out of the small room, on her way back home. Stone Grace was currently asleep, probably bored from the long stay at the hospital. Their long embrace ended, and Valiant Tranquility bounced back to the floor. There was a moment of silence before he returned to his "calm" state. His smile died down, and he straightened  his forelegs and spine.

     "What're we gonna do now?"

     "Do you want to return home? We could go to a restaurant on the way home, or we could just eat something simple at home" Star Listener replied, expecting him to hesitate before replying. He was right. Valiant Tranquility stood wondering for a few moments, and said,

     "Let's go to a westaurant!"

     "Uh, restaurant, honey."

     "That's what I said!"

     "With an -R."

     "Oh... Really?" Star Listener chuckled quietly and nodded to Valiant.

There was nothing but black and white, shining dots. Star Listener took his eye off the large telescope and sighed heavily, mentally exhausted. His mathematics were wrong. They must have been. If they were correct, the moon would have been directly where it was pointed. It was about four degrees off. The thing that confused him the most was that he had never been wrong in his years of adulthood. He had been doing this all his life, and he had only been wrong when he was a child and an adolescent. Proof of his skill was even on his body, a cutie mark depicting an eye in a black triangle with a few white stars.

     "Maybe...uhh...telescope..." he mumbled to himself. Either the telescope was broken, or he... He couldn't think of any other reason. Everypony else had left, on account of it being almost midnight, and his insisted that he stay because he wanted to continue observing the effects Princess Luna has had on the moon. With her raising the moon now, it had to be a little different now, since it was no longer Celestia's task. There was the issue. Problem solved. Luna raised the moon lower than Celestia did. This may have a slight effect on water...

"Finally... Project... Done!" he slammed the folder filled with newly written papers shut, with more force than necessary. He felt immediate relief, and felt the need, the urgency, to lay in his bed. He left the telescope open, the papers out and unprotected, and left. The door clicked as it locked, and that was that. The hospital was on the other side of the city, about double the distance from here to home. There was no use going there tonight, as the ponies he would want to see would most likely be asleep by now. His mind had finally been alerted that he had been galloping at almost full speed. Unconsciously, his body felt the need to get home fast. What could be so important about getting home early? The aches, and the mental and physical exhaustion was great, but not significant enough to make it an unconscious emergency. With much resistance he was able to slow himself down, in the midst of the marketplace bathed in moonlight.  He yawned incessantly, desperately wanting to sleep. Anywhere would do. His thoughts were ignored, his body betrayed, and his determination to beat his subconscious was rising. Only a quarter kilometer to go, his home was barely visible past the blue wall that lay between him and his goal. The streets were clear, except for one filly and her mother walking down the other side of the stalls and booths, both perfectly content with this insignificant situation. But to him, it was a serious physical challenge. Each leg going down was raising his will for unconsciousness spectacularly. House in view, determination flared, he groggily made it to the front door, and blacked out as his unconscious body carried him to the lone bed, and almost instantaneous relief rushed out from his chest as the soothing nothingness healed his mind and tired body. One thought snapped him back to consciousness, and a state of panic. Where is Valiant?

(Author's Note: My story sucks just get out of this page)

Author's Note

I will probably be taking this down, so do whatever you want with it. Download, make it your canon, I don't care. Doubt I'll do another, see you. Feel free to contact me. Most of my accounts are under this name. Bye then.

Prologue, Author's note

Prologue, Author's note:

     Hello. I want to clear a few things and explain the basic situation that's going on in this story. First off: this is my first story. Since this is my first story, it's probably not gonna be the best. And there may be grammar errors, oh well. Second: this story is not set in Equestria, and does not directly relate to My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. It does have a few elements, such as the colorful charm, but otherwise doesn't have much to do with it. It is mostly just a war story, and it is my first. I don't really care how horrible I do/did/will do, because it's mostly practice for possible upcoming stories, I do like stories. Third: Adofo is a real name. I looked it up. It's Egyptian, but I'm not going to tell you what it means, look it up if it really matters. Fourth: the world is set in an apocalyptic time. No nukes, or radiation monsters, or anything like that. It's when America begins the takeover on the world. If you have any opinions, good or bad, please direct them to me. It's my first story, so I'd like to know how I did. It's no "My Little Dashie", so don't expect it to be. Fifth: as much as I don't want to, I'm going to be dragging this story out quite a bit, and the ending will be quite dramatic. Sixth: This is quite a long Author's note, so this is the end.

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Adofo felt like he was... A comet. Yes, flying, and really warm. He felt warm inside, the kind of warm you feel when you sit in front of a fire after a day outside in the winter, but on the inside. Extraordinary blissful. Extremely peaceful, and he felt he was everywhere. He was bathed in a hazy white light, and felt to be drifting towards... Nowhere. He had no cares in the world, because there was nothing. And he was happy. Happier than he had ever been. He felt a voice inside a thought, and that thought was far away. He could not fathom the origin of the voice, or why or how, but knew it was inside of him. He could... Feel it speaking calmly, but not hearing anything. He didn't exist, so he could not feel anything but happiness. He could feel the words "deeds" and "courage" and a thousand other inspirations inside of him.

     He was indirectly directed towards something, something of great happiness and harmony. He arrived, through the sea of light, at what seemed to be a cloud in the sea, with a large marble stairway, with several gates of many magnificent jewels and precious metals. The first had a large pearl in the top of the arch, the second with two, and so on. He suddenly existed, as a transparent blue representation of a blank man. There were many more in front of him. He was walking along the slow line, behind all the others. The stairs split into two paths. One, after a couple more gates, had an abrupt end. The other had a larger gate, full of the brightest, most perfect light. He was headed toward that one. He was walking, but could not feel anything but joy. He was arriving at the large gate, and watched the several souls in front of him step into it's majesty. The light swallowed him as he entered.

     It felt like riding the fastest rollercoaster ever to exist, exhilarating and refreshing and... Fun, only boiled down into one liquid emotion deep in the pit of his soul. He was purely ecstatic, feeling, being, only pure joy. He was feeling a combination of emotions, anxiety, and curiosity being the leading factors. He felt a thousand different connections as colors and shapes became existent, and he knew every one of them. Everything took form, in a thousand instant moments. Adofo felt everything begin as he knew everything was existing. Adofo suddenly... Became.

(Author's note: I know this is far-fetched. But it's pretty hard to provide an interpretation of Heaven.