Relativity: Interstellar, Ponified.

by TheOrdinaryBrony

Rating: teen
Tags: Science Fiction, Adventure, Crossover, Drama
Length: 240

We were born on Equestria, we weren't meant to die here.

In the passing decades a crop-decimating pestilence known colloquially as: Blight has infested the crops of Equestria. As edible resources dwindle, the citizens of Equestria succumb to malnutrition, and respiratory ailments from the torrents of dust assaulting the land.

During this crisis, the Apple family trudges through destitution as the final acres of edible apples wane. Compelled to watch the decimation of Equestria around her, Applejack leaps at an opportunity from Princess Celestia and Luna: To locate a hospitable planet to preserve pony-kind.

Joined by the Mane Six, Applejack and company must locate a habitable planet before Equestria is no longer salvageable.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2016-09-10 06:37:17 UTC

Introduction

  The crops had failed again.

Applejack bows her head, solemn at the sight of the puckered apples swaying in the sighs of the halfhearted, stale wind. Dagnabbit. She thought to herself, throwing her cow-mare hat to the ground angrily. This was supposed to be the season! She huffed, exasperated with countless failures.

She trots dejectedly around the dying apple trees, double-checking, then triple-checking each tree individually for any apples. And each time, nothing. Only shriveled, hollow husks of apples. Inedible. Enraged, she snatches an apple from a low hanging branch. She twirls it about in her hoof, inspecting every edge, every nook. There’s gotta…Nothing. The rage chills to despondence, and the apple husk falls to the parched, infertile ground.

She collapses to the ground, pressing her flanks against the coarse yellow underbrush. Everything had failed once again. Even the grass scraping against her had refused to return to green, instead it is a dry, bristly yellow.

This *had** to be the one!* She thrusts the husk away, sobbing silently. It’s always, ‘wait ‘till next year, that’ll be the one…’ And it isn’t. Every year the Blight shears through crops, feasting on them like an inferno devours firewood. Wiping her face with her hoof, Applejack looks up at the apple tree, it’s gnarled, splayed branches raking at the sky. There ain’t gonna be nothin’ left. She shuddered, acknowledging the truth, the inevitable truth that, eventually, nopony would be alive.