Equestria: Fabrication

When she awoke from her slumber, Klip was unpleasantly surprised to find the stallion gone. His bed, tatty thing that it was—nothing like her own heavenly, king-sized model—was made neatly, to give him his due. In the corner of the room, a torch had been lit to, she presumed, give her some light; with him gone for now, she couldn't think of any other reasonable explanation as to why he would keep the room illuminated otherwise.

She hopped down from her bed carefully, well aware that a heavy fall could be rather painful—alas, one of the few things that Rainbow couldn't fix. When she found herself to be alright, though, she grinned rather triumphantly at the successful landing and then slowly turned around to face the stallion's simple dresser. As she pushed the duvet from her sight, she then glanced about quickly before opening the first draw slowly. It scraped on the old wood as she did so; she winced at the noise and stiifened up but, to her relief, no angry stallion came running. So, with more determination, she pulled it open the whole way.

To Klip's disappointment, there was little to be found inside other than a small piece of paper and a photograph. She folded them up quickly and hid them between the wall and the frog of her hoof, keeping a hold of them with her innate equine magic. She then slid the draw shut quickly and opened her mouth to open the next when a low rattling noise sounded.

She gasped and stiffened up momentarily before she crouched low and slunk into the shadows which the torch didn't quite kill. She held her breath as natural light then flooded into the bunker. The stallion soon appeared when his head poked inside and he hopped down from outside, using wooden crates as makeshift stairs. When he reached the bottom, he looked about slowly with fallen ears until his gaze landed on Klip, at which point his expression grew slightly happier—which she took as her cue to escape.

She shot forwards, springing off with powerful hindquaters before she smashed into the stallion's side and sent him stumbling. She leapt from each crate two at a time until, with a look backwards and a snort she hissed, "I can look after myself, thank you!" Then, without a second's hesitation, she bounced up into the light of the day and shot away from the hole in the ground. The stallion's weak attempt at wrapping her hoof in magic did little to slow her.

Her hooves slammed against the ground with each step that she took. The surface was uneven and treacherous; one misplaced hoof could leave her with a broken fetlock. Rainbow couldn't heal injuries, after all.

She had to get back home, had to take her meds. That thought rung true in her ears as she fled; with each stride she thrust her neck forwards as if doing so would make her run faster. She kept her eyes focused on the ground the entire time, cautiously placing each hoof down. It was unfortunate, she realised, that she only had her strength and senses to rely on; unicorns or pegasi would have had much less trouble. But then again, their bones were more fragile, so it was perhaps a difficult claim to make.

It was a matter of seconds, however, until Klip came to the realisation that she had no clue where she was. The landscape was like nothing that she remembered, and then there were the buildings...

As she glanced to her right to look at one of the closest houses—though to call it as such was a rather great stretch of the truth—she felt her heart ache. She could understand why she felt so hurt, so empty at the sight of the derelict shell of a home, but it strung a chord in her chest nevertheless. She struggled to contain the whimper which tried to break through her lips at the sight—but a moment later, she came to her senses and snorted, cracking her tail against her side by means of a scolding. Her shoulder stung at the impact, but Klip didn't regret the action; she was being weak and stupid and depressed.

Depression was not allowed in Equestria. Those who were depressed were Menas. And she... she was no Mena.

She was not a Mena.

Whatever the truth of the matter, though, she was hungry, a fact of which she became actutely aware when her stomach growled lowly. But, where there had been bountiful meadows of grass and flowers and trees yesterday on which one could snack, there were now only scrappy weeds and lifeless, rotting tree trunks. She scrunched up her nose in disgust and then looked about, horrified when she realised that the entirety of the landscape seemed to be the same overgrown, untended bombsite.

Bombsite... Klip shuddered at the mere thought of the word and lowered her head slightly when a nauseous feeling—surely psychological—rose in her throat. These thoughts... These awful, awful thoughts that she kept having...

They couldn't be real, could they? The screams and the pain... Had that truly happened?

Klip shook her head quickly so that her mint-green mane flew about her muzzle. She then stood to attention and focused her gaze on the row of destroyed houses; though they were unhealthy specimens, they surely had some food to help her make it through the day. Or, even better, some Rainbow. It took little more persuasion than that thought alone to encourage her.

She ran faster this time and took much less care in her steps than she had before. She stumbled about dangerously and was sent falling more than once in her haste; she hardly faltered each time she slipped, however, her eyes wide and focused on the houses. Her heart now pounded full of life in her chest so that it could fuel her muscles to let her gallop harder, faster. She was so caught up in her desperate fantasies of watching this horrific reality fall away, in fact, that she hardly noticed when her forehoof fell down at the edge of a small crevice; her body tilted and she gave a yell when she then plummetted forwards, her chest taking the brunt of the impact before her muzzle smashed into the cold ground. The pain was immediate and there was no way that she could have avoided the need to cry out and scream, her hoof crushed beneath the own weight of her body at an awkward angle; when she shakily rose to a standing position, she hardly had to let her hoof brush the floor before she gasped once again.

The houses were close by now, but Klip's enthusiasm had all but dissipated. Nevertheless, she could see the dark storm clouds gathering in the sky pushed by teams of oh-so-happy pegasi and was well aware that she couldn't stay outside, exposed as she was. And so, with tears which streamed down her face and splashed the rock-solid ground, she began to lamely hobble forwards. Each hop jolted her elevated hoof and made her gasp and groan, but when the laughter of the pegasi as they danced atop the storm clouds sounded she was well aware that she had no time to stop to lick her wounds.

The droplets of water splashed down slowly, at first. As they trickled down Klip's side she shivered and hopped forwards slightly quicker with her tail draped over her back, the only protection she could give herself from the rain. It was a particularly feeble attempt at keeping dry, but it was the best she could do.

When she finally reached the closest of the crumbling houses, Klip let out a breath as she scampered clumsily inside and fell to the floor whilst she heaved and gasped for breath. There had been no issues with finding the front door to get inside; not when the entire walls had been blown apart—no, not that. They had simply fallen into a state of disrepair, that was all.

That was all.

Klip scrunched up her muzzle in disgust as she looked about and took a gander at all the unpleasant little details of the residence. Rocks and debris lay forgotten—or, she guessed, ignored—on the floor of what was surely once the lounge area. The sheltered side of the room where she now rested was little better; soot from the burning fire which could be found at the edge covered each inch of the floor and junk, be it scraps of metal to empty tubs and packets, littered the cold tiles. Even more disturbing, though, were the messages written in a deep, bold red on the wall. The words themselves weren't so horrific, though they sent frustration to her core—"it's not a lovely day" was something no healthy rainbow user ever wanted to hear or see—but rather the ink was offputting. She couldn't quite place why, though it felt as if it was staring her right in the face.

And then, in front of her very eyes, an image flashed. It was vivid but so fleeting; she didn't have time to process the scene before it was gone. And, no matter how much she strained and no matter how much her heart warned her that she had missed something so important, that brief vision refused to resurface.

Klip snarled slightly and rubbed her eyes with her good hoof, teeth gritted. When she at last accepted that it was inevitable, however, she thinned her eyes, held her breath and unsteadily rose to her aching three hooves. The injured brushed across the rocks and made her yelp; with yet more tears gushing from her eyes as she whined and groaned, she hopped towards the long-broken refrigerator and pulled it open slowly, painfully, with her mouth.

There was little to be found in the fridge, and even less that was truly edible. Drawn by the smell, though, Klip was well aware of the fact that something was surely delightful; when she lowered her head down to the just warm cooking fire, above which a saucepan was hovered, she sighed at the smell and grabbed a ladle with her hoof. She took care in scooping out only the thick parts of the stew and was even more aware of the fact that it needed to be cooled. But once it was an edible heat? Well, she merely scoffed it down in one mouthful.

It was far from restaurant quality, though she had expected that. This was surely the house of one of those pesky non-compatible ponies who couldn't stomach their Rainbow—Wailers, they were usually called—so she hadn't been hoping for fine dining. Hence, the fact that none of the ingredients tasted particularly rotten was quite the pleasant surprise.

Klip gave a short snort at her pleasure—to be pleased with fresh food, of all things—and turned on the spot, licking her lips as she did so. Her hoof throbbed painfully, but it was surely nothing a doctor couldn't fix; hence, when a more confident grin spread across her muzzle, she hopped over to the old, dust-covered cabinets and began to pull them open, one at a time.

Wailers or not, they surely had some Rainbow lying about. It wasn't as if they didn't want to take it, after all.

With each opened cupboard, Klip felt her frustration rise. The things were barren, not even containing the slightest hint of edible food. When she opened up the last, the sight of a single rotten potato almost seemed like a relief from the sheer emptiness—but it still wasn't enough to contain her groan at the fruitless task, nor enough to prevent her search. But that endeavour, it seemed, would be easier said than done; for a pony without wings or magic, the prospect of climbing to the top floor—the stairs had long fallen down—was an immense and challenging one. But Klip was not the sort to give up at a minor set back, nor was she one to rely on others. She was independent and strong and incredibly proud of her heritage and race; even if it was only to prove to herself that earth ponies weren't weak, she would make the treacherous climb.

With a gulp and a glance back at her cutie mark—a hedge in the shape of a hoof print through which an eagle flew—Klip willed herself not to tremble. Then, after she touched her injured hoof to the ground and squeaked at the pain which arose, she began to hop towards the fallen down wall. Somehow, she had to jump from the pathetic remnants of the wall, only a metre or so high, up to the next floor—all with only three working hooves. It was a horrific prospect and the rewards were probably not worth it, but she couldn't stop now.

With a snort, Klip jumped awkwardly up to the highest portion of standing wall. It was a thin beam on which to stand and hardly felt stable but, at the end of the day, it was the best that she had. She then placed her good forehoof gently against a thin outcrop from the wall which must have once made up a portion of the stairs and took a deep breath in. She then focused her gaze on a crumbling section of half-fallen floor and leapt.

For a moment, she felt free as she soared through the air, almost like a pegasus. But she had no magic to keep her up; she only had her strength. So, as the ledge drew closer, she opened her mouth and readied her good hoof. A breath's time later, she clamped her jaw around the outcrop and gripped on with her hoof just as her injured leg smashed against the wall. She choked back the natural urge to scream whilst tears filled her eyes and then, still with her teeth tightly clamped around the thin floor, she began to pull herself up. Her rear legs kicked out through the air for any extra elevation and, after a moment's struggling, she just about managed to get at the right angle to kick off from the wall. The force swung her body around so that she could pull herself the extra few inches before she then gasped and heaved, springing off with her now aching and bruised rear legs when the unstable ledge fell away beneath her.

For a moment, Klip could hardly move. Her body burned and she had only the will power to curl up in a ball and cry. But doing so got her nowhere; not long after, she unsteadily rose to her hooves and tripped over to a motheaten old sofa which sat in the corner, partially exposed to the elements under the hole-ridden roof. As she then got comfy, she felt the paper from earlier fall from her grip to land on the mossy floorboards on which the seat sat.

Frowning, Klip lowered her head slowly as she shifted about. With her hoof draped over the edge of the sofa to let it rest, she then poked the picture and paper with her muzzle and lifted it into her lap. What she saw made her frown grow larger.

The first item was a scrappy message, half ruined by the damp. It was only a few sentences long and written in a hastened scrawl; red splotches obscured a few of the letters, though not enough to prevent it from being legible.

"Hey kiddo," she read aloud, the sound of her own voice soothing over the roar of the rain. "I know you're a stallion now, but I'm not gonna be around anymore to look after the old gal. I'm not dead, don't worry. Whatever the case, and whatever you do with your life, I'm proud of you and want you to know that I'll come home one day. Until then, just keep your spirits up and you'll make it. I know..."

With a frown, Klip turned the crisp scrap over but to no avail; there was nothing else to be read. She huffed slightly and folded the letter back up inside her hoof, then pulling the next piece to her side. It was an old photo, or so it appeared from its condition. Months of being folded into four could do that to a picture, a fact of which Klip knew well; poor little Loop Hole, before she went on vacation, had been so distraught when she found the picture of her old cat ruined. The officials had sent her on holiday to improve her mood, even, though she must have been incredibly down to not have returned yet after so many weeks. Nevertheless, it was funny how little things could matter so much, especially to a filly, but nopony had expected her to even go off her joy because of it. It was almost as if she'd had a traumatic past...

Klip shook her head quickly when the screams from earlier began to resurface once again. The sound of them... They were such genuine cries, it wasn't so hard to imagine that they had come from a war zone.

She gave a small, forced smile. The power of imagination was so incredible, she thought to herself—but when she took a closer look at the stolen photo, she felt her heart drop right out of her chest.

Arranged in neat lines of about ten, though she didn't take the liberty of counting each individual, ponies of both genders and all colours stood tall, each wearing the same bland uniform as their companions. Upon each pony's chest a large, bronze-coloured badge in the shape of the sun glinted in the light; the swords and bayonets at their sides were even more eye-catching. At first, she tried to smile at the sight when she noted each pony's grin; a second later, she came to the realisation that no one was being genuine. The smiles were too large, too fake; not a single eye shone with true delight.

Just like the ponies of Equestria. Sure, their beams were hardly forced, but their eyes... There was no sparkle to be found.

She snorted and stomped her good hoof down on the photo, more than willing to push it away, when she froze in her actions and a breath caught in her throat. As she then moved back slightly, oh so slowly, she felt her world fall apart around her.

A young mare, maybe twenty-five or so, stood tall a little way off from the others at the edge of the row. There was no forced grin was on her muzzle; rather she wore a look of disgust. Her light yellow coat was slightly bloodied—not unlike her companions', in fact—and her pale green mane had lost its shine and volume. She was no different to the others, not really, but Klip knew for a fact that she was so much different.

She looked up slowly and glanced about before her eyes then landed on a cracked wall mirror in the corner With a wince, she hopped slowly over and hooked the photo behind the corner of the reflective glass. She then stepped back, straightened her hoof without quite placing it down and stood as tall as she could, letting her own muzzle scrunch up.

Lo, she was no different from the mare in the photo.

Klip gasped as her body slouched and she snatched the picture back quickly, putting it back in her hoof. Whilst she did so, out of the corner of her eye, a particular rounded tub caught her attention at last. And, when she hopped over and plucked the lid off, it was indeed filled with just what she needed; Rainbow, and the chocolate flavour to boot.

As her ears pricked forwards and her mouth opened, however, she faltered; with a glance back at the scrap of paper and the photo, she then took a slow step backwards and eyed the pills slowly.

The stallion's words from before rung in her mind over the muffled screams in her head. Was she genuinely happy on her meds?

Klip groaned and hung her head, her eyes still focused on the little box. It belonged to a Wailer; they wouldn't mind if she took it. And yet, though it never had done so before, her heart burned at the thought of taking one of the little brown pills.

Sighing, she stumbled over to the sofa once again and shivered while she glanced up at the night sky. It was bleak and dismal and still obscured by the torrents of rain and yet, somehow, it seemed almost important that she look at it. But her eyes couldn't withstand the barrage of depressing sights and so, with a body that burned with pain, she curled up into a ball, draped her damp tail over her back and let her mind wander as she tried to find some warmth.