Silence.
It was an odd thing, to have only the sounds of silence echoing in the air.
About a year ago, silence was a rare thing. The air was filled with the sounds of birds chirping, wind whistling, foals playing, and the occasional roar of a beast from the Everfree forest.
Now there was nothing. It was eerie, almost as if time itself was standing still, waiting for...something to happen.
However, the pure silence was finally broken by one thing. Hoofsteps.
A lone figure trod on the cracked cobblestone of a dead city, listening for sounds of...anything besides themselves. The figure was a middle aged stallion, caked with dust from the rabid sandstorms that blew past every now and then.
He knew this place, it was a city once known as Appleoosa. Now it was just an empty broken wreck somehow still standing, defiant even after it was dead. The city had bustled with lights, sounds, and life. Now it was just...this.
The stallion passed by old chariots, rotted and worn with age and weather conditions, as well the rubble of long collapsed buildings and chunks of torn up road.
A new sound broke the near quiet; the sound of stone colliding with stone jolted the lone stallion, causing him to give a little yelp. He spun around quickly, his horn igniting and his magical aura wrapped around an old service revolver sitting snugly in his belt.
He let out a sigh of relief, when he realized it had just been a chunk of rubble that had fallen from a building nearby. He let go of the weapon in his belt, turned back to the road, and continued on.
Occasionally a flicker of movement would catch his eye, and he would glance at where he thought it was to see if he could catch anything. Nothing was ever there. He had a slight suspicion that he was beginning to hallucinate. He hadn't seen another living being in...months? Years? It all seemed to blend together.
He ignited his horn again, reached into his bag, and pulled a milk jug from it. The milk jug had only about a fifth of its contents left. He downed the life preserving water inside down greedily, and sighed in content, wiping his mouth with a hoof, before coughing uncontrollably.
He took a peek into the jug, before shoving it back into his pack. Empty, and he hadn't seen a non radiated patch of water in days. He needed water, he needed food, he needed sleep.
Scrubbing at his eyes with his hoof, the stallion decided sleep would be the first thing he would take care of. He was very tired, and although the dust that hung in the air made it hard to tell, he had a hunch night was slowly approaching. It would be best to get off the streets before then, the creatures that lurked the night were not to be trifled with.
The lonely stallion turned off the road, stepping over an old barrier that had probably been put up to direct ponies to a safe haven. Celestia only knew that probably hadn't worked out.
He nestled himself in a corner of an old building, getting as comfy as possible. Although one of the interior walls had collapsed long ago, and all mechanical luxuries were rusted with age, the survivor found it cozy.
All the doors had been locked, and most of the windows had been boarded up, so it had been tricky to find a way in without breaking anything that might keep out any hostile creatures, the stallion had eventually managed to get inside via the roof.
He had to use another building next to the one he now sat in as a sort of spring board. He climbed the second building, and jumped across to this one.
It hadn't been easy, but he had succeeded.
There was a pretty decent sized hole in the roof, so he had slipped through it and had made himself at home.
He could have sat somewhere more logical, however, the couch didn't look that appealing, and the chairs were either broken or rotten.
Everything was rotten. The buildings, the land he walked, the air he breathed, life itself.
When what he called ''The Event'' struck, everything he had known collapsed. The earth would open up, swallowing ponies whole without so much as chewing. Rabid toxic dust storms blew past, killing off those who didn't wear special gas masks. Fires, tornados, horrifying thunder storms that ripped up just as much if not more than the tornados, disease, and eventually, ponies turning on each other in sheer pits of madness, rage, or simply to survive.
Things may have settled down, but who knows how long the calm would last, the events that wiped out Equestria might happen again, possibly worse than before.
It was hard to believe that he was still alive. What if this was all a dream, what if this was all a hallucination. No, this was more like a nightmare. Maybe this wasn't real, maybe it was just in his mind as he slowly died somewhere far from here, only imagining he had come this far.
Shaking the thoughts from his head, the stallion stood up, lighting up his horn in an illumination spell. It was starting to get darker outside, he needed to set up a source of light that didn't wear him out.
The stallion glanced around his surrounding, when his eyes caught hold of the broken wood chairs. They were still somewhat fresh. So maybe...
Finishing up his little fire pit, the stallion levitated a lighter from his pack, and brought it up close to the wooden planks sitting in the circle of rubble he had constructed.
Flipping the lighter open, the stallion spun the spark wheel, igniting the lighter. The stallions aura lowered the lighter down, igniting the wood. Slowly the flames began to rise, creeping its way up, until there was a nice moderately sized fire crackling warmly in the slowly dimming room.
Rolling out his sleeping bag, the stallion groaned, as he sank down onto the bag; his eyes heavy, and his spirits low. However, he didn't feel like sleeping just yet.
He lit up his horn again, reaching into his bag and pulling out the few worldly possessions he had left. He stared at them intently, as if judging their worth: there laid an old service revolver, the backpack of course, a lighter, an empty milk carton, and a small crank radio.
These were all he had left.
He had no food, he had run out of water, and he only had two shots left in the gun. He was going to die out here.
The lone survivor leaned back against the wall behind him; his hope finally sank into despair, as he saw the grim reality before him in full detail. He was alone, and would quickly die alone.
It wouldn't be earthquakes or radiation that would kill him, it would be the simple fact that he couldn't go on. All sense of self preservation left him, and without realizing it, his magic ignited and slowly began lifting the revolver off the ground.
Maybe he would be better off dead, he wouldn't be alone anymore, he could see his friends in the afterlife, he could start truly living again.
Everything went silent; even the fire stopped its cackling as his aura lifted the pistol all the way up to eye level...a hiss.
The sudden sound turned into a soft whisper, and a sound that the stallion hadn't heard in so long rang out from over the radios static.
A voice.
''Hello?''
The lone stallion quickly let go of the weapons grip, and stared shocked at the device, he had thought it was long dead.
The voice called out through the static again: ''Hello?''
Slowly, he reached down, acting almost as if the radio might explode on contact, till hoof met plastic. He raised the radio up to eye level.
''Anyone there?'' The voice called out again.
Slowly, the stallion placed the radio back on the ground, and pressed the talk button, and something happened to the lone stallion that hadn't happened since the incident:
He smiled.
Author's Note
What if you were alone in a desolate waste. Would you do the same?
This fic was inspired by my thoughts on what it would be like to wander alone after the world had ended. Thank you for reading.
