She couldn't see. She couldn't feel anything. She couldn't hear above the soft breeze of her surroundings. All thought was lost in the sea of darkness that surrounded her. She also felt hungry, starving actually. But fear gave way to hunger, and curiosity as well. Where in the name of pony feathers was she?

She opened up her eyes, almost tentatively, and when she opened them fully, she had no idea where she was. She was apparently lying in a bed, and there was a canopy above it, but that was all she could see so far. She rubbed her eyes, apparently still groggy from a long nap, and attempted to sit up. This was harder than ever to do, because she felt as though her presence was practically glued to the bed, and her limbs felt like lead. But she persevered, and could now get a full view of her surroundings.

Her first impression: The whole room was made of wood. Her second impression: She had no idea where she was. The room was mostly bare and empty, save for a vanity mirror that sat from across her bed. The pony that stared back at her was young, no more than a filly that had a coat colored yellow, with a red mane and a reddish-pink bow that was tied to her hair, most likely for decoration.

Apple Bloom. My name is Apple Bloom.

She paused, wondering. How could she not know her own name before? How did it escape her, when she should've know before if it was common knowledge? Then it horrifyingly dawned on her. She didn't know anything at all. Family, friends, lifestyle: all of it was missing in the warehouse of her mind. And Apple Bloom didn't know where to start looking.

She would've continued to wallow in this state of confusion and fear, had not a certain sound that sounded like animals growling came belting out of nowhere, along with a strange sensation of vibrating in her upper midsection, right below the chest. With a sheepish grin, Apple Bloom knew that she didn't have to be a brain scientist to know that she was starving.

She lifted herself off the bed, intending to land on her feet, but her legs didn't respond and they collapsed like jelly beneath her. Her face collided with the wood floor, causing her vision to swim a little. Clearly she hadn't used her legs in a long time if she was this unstable.

"Help," she managed to croak. "Help me."

There was silence. No reply, not even the smallest squeak of wood.

All right Apple Bloom, she scolded herself. You need to get a grip on yourself. Nobody's gonna come, and apparently you have no family to take care of you until you manage to find them. Right now you need to carry yourself.

Safe to say, the trip to the kitchen downstairs (how did she know it was downstairs?) was painful. She tripped twice on her chin, and she fell down the stairs as she reached the fourth step, landing with a thump on the floor and nearly busting her jaw again. She then had to drag herself into the kitchen - which was empty save for the counters, bellows powered stove, and fridge - by her front legs and pry the fridge open, which was no easy task. Inside she found a bowl of spaghetti, some grape jam, and a few biscuits. She tried to pull them out of the fridge, but ended up with the food spilling onto the floor, the spaghetti bearing the resemblance to spilled guts mixed with purple bruise.

In her condition, however, Apple Bloom wasn't picky, and she scooped up the mess like a cannibal with fresh kill in front. She horked it down with great slurps and moshing, all table manners and etiquette forgotten, until there was nothing but a stain of red and purple, with a few missed strands of spaghetti. With a burp of satisfaction, she lay down upon the floor on her back with full contentment.

In her dream, there was only whiteness.

White, like her, but more of a purity than her alabaster color, which contrasted with the whiteness to make her visible. The only thing that blemished it was her rose and purple mane and tail, which was another thing that kept from blending in and being lost in the white.

It was also quiet, she noticed. Sound seemed non-existent in this quiet nexus between wakefulness and unconsciousness, and there was simply nothing and yet everything, where nothing is made in this world but it is open to any possibility. Just a blank sheet of paper for a plane of existence.

Where am I? she asked in her mind. Then, out of hope, desperation, and a whim she added, Luna, are you here? If so, can you tell me what's going on?

[There is no Luna here, young'un. There is only Now.]

The words startled her. They were calm and soothing, but were disembodied in a way that made her shudder. She wheeled around, sure that she heard something behind her. No one was there. Who are you? Show yourself! she barked, hoping to channel an inner Rainbow Dash, though right now her knees were knocking hard against each other.

[Then turn around, and see me for who I am.]

Normally, she would've trusted her better judgements than then take the word of strange disembodied voices, but against her common sense and before she could stop herself, she wheeled around in the opposite direction. Her eyes were met with the sight of a...

Desk?

She blinked, rubbed her eyes a little, but it was still there. And it was a desk, made of solid oak and looked like the kind you could store things while writing on them as well. The handles were made of a black metal that she couldn't place, and in front of it was a large chair. With a slight smirk on her face, she was reminded of that chair that Diamond Tiara used to sit in when she was (briefly) the editor in chief of the Foal Free Press. She must've been real comfy in that chair back in those days, because this one looked good enough to sleep-sit in.

Only now, there was no stuffy, prissy editor in chief, and Diamond Tiara had come a long way since then. But there was someone sitting there, she could already tell from the fact there was a head poking from over the top. But it wasn't a pony's head, for it was rosy-pale in color, and the only hair she could see was a short brown crop on the crown and down the back. The ears were rounded and didn't sit atop his head (she was sure it was a he), and as she walked over to examine a side view of him, she noticed that his muzzle had shrunken to a single blunt point in the middle of his face.She also noticed he had longer back legs and arms with pinkish, fleshy, sausage-like things on the end.

She couldn't see above the desk, small as she was, but seeing that a pencil was moving vigorously with those strange talons of his, he was clearly writing something. He continued this ritual for a few more minutes, then looked up, a sign that told him he had a visitor, and turned to her. He wore a pair of glasses, and his eyes, unsmiling though not unkind, looked down into her green ones. She was surprised by their startling blue color, and by how they seemed smaller compared to hers.

Who are you? she asked.

He did not answer at once. But when he did, she found herself surprised by what she heard, for it was not in words, but in her head.

[I have many names. Sometimes I'm Dale Fallow, sometimes I'm Darrell Chad, othertimes many call me Dave Cratchit. Some call me the Writer, the Illustrator, the Man of no Place.]

With that, his eyes changed to the milky white of a blind person.

[But if you want my real name, then I shall give it. My name is Zachary Nicholas Walden.]

Out of all things she could've been, there was one thing that Scootaloo wasn't: a thief. For her part, the proper word was "scavenger."

Ever since everything went down, the orange pegasus filly had believed that taking from the properties of former Ponyville citizens was close to the sin of stealing. Sweetie had to remind her 3 times in the past few months that if no one lived in Ponyville and they left behind things, then it was theirs by right, since nobody was going to use it.

Still, it kind of felt wrong to take something that wasn't theirs, and think that it was for a worthy cause didn't make her feel any better. She didn't want to take, she wanted to fly through town on her scooter, using ramps to soar across the sky, listening to the long sought out compliments of her idol as she blotted the view of the sun.

But that was just talk, the talk of a dreamer. Rainbow Dash was either missing or vanished, the bad guys patrolled the streets every night for potential runaways, not to mention the occasional flight across the sky during the day. Their rules were rules, no matter how much they sucked. You had to avoid the inspections, plunder what you could, or you did not survive.

Today her supply mission was to the one place that brought bad memories. The red farm was in sight, with its hanging Apple sign, and Scootaloo had to admit, despite the fact that the plants from the Everfree were now mounting an invasion on Ponyville, it seemed that Sweet Apple Acres was well preserved in some way. It could've been a curse for all she knew.

She checked her watch - a relic from the old days before holograms were invented - and found it was almost 12:00.

Some more time before patrols, the filly thought to herself. I'll be done by then. This all I need to do for today.

She climbed one of the hills that gave her a view of the house and it's surrounding yards, and parked under a particularly dense tree, grabbing the three burlap sacks that sat in the Radio Flyer, a small metal wagon she had managed to procure from her old house and made a device to attach the wagon to the scooter. Now all there was to do was collect the apples and get home.

She prepared to walk to the nearest tree when she looked back at the farmhouse, then at the small horn attached to the handle bars, and smiled a sad, nostalgic smile. She remembered how Apple Bloom would run out the door and laugh every time Scootaloo honked the small horn, and there would be more crusading to do when that happened.

So, with no small fanfare and little announcement, Scootaloo honked that horn. Two small toot-toots in the direction of the former Apple family residence. Not that anyone would come out, she thought as she looked back. I'd be lucky a lucky filly if I could see...

Her smile vanished abruptly. She blinked once, twice, then rubbed her eyes with her hooves. She could be dreaming or crazy or maybe even both, but she could've sworn she saw a figure exiting the door to the kitchen. A federation spy, perhaps? A scavenger looking for spare parts? A thief who liked to take what was theirs and sell it?

Better go and investigate, she thought. The apples could wait, and besides, Sweetie Belle's burn apple pie was something she could live without for now. Her cooking might've gotten better over the past few years, but she was still working through the deserts stage. Scootaloo thought that if Sweetie Belle made another apple turnover, she would have stomach pains for days. Not to mention she was still protective of the house and it's possessions. It was a place that was a reminder of the happier times, and times that could come again, so her feelings were sentimental.

She rode down the hill going into "auto mode" and let gravity take her to the dirt road that led to Sweet Apple Acres. Once she hit the dusty track she put on the speed and flapped her small wings in quick, hummingbird flaps. The scooter was in no time rocketing down the road.

Apple Bloom would've lain in full ecstasy had she not heard the honking toots of a child's toy. She managed to lift herself slowly - half with renewed strength, half with lazy reluctance - and managed to trot out the back door, which took effort because it was difficult to turn to knob to the lower part of the door due to the fact that not all her strength was there.

When she did manage to get out, she immediately pulled a hoof over her eyes to ward away the blinding light of the sun. In the house, the shutters had been drawn and closed and the windows seemed to be boarded, for only the faintest traces of light had only been able to get through the cracks. Now, seeing it here in full blast, Apple Bloom realized that she had never seen the sun during her sleep, whenever that started.

When the sun did give her eyes a chance to adjust to the bright radiance of the solar body, she saw only one thing: fields. Gigantic green fields filled with trees speckled with fat, red, heart-shaped fruits

(Apples...)

that seemed ripe for picking and tasting their juicy flesh. She turned to her left and saw more field with more apple trees, and the same to her left, only it appeared that there were three small structure with slanted roofs and behind those, there was a compound behind it with a half-circle ring of fence that she recognized as a pigpen.

To where she was, she looked behind her only to see a large structure made of red painted wood towering above her. By the look of the steeple on top, with the Apple weather vane on top pointing west, Apple Bloom guessed that it was a barn converted into a home fit for ponies. Not that she couldn't be one of the ponies that lived here; she could barely remember where she came from.

Then why does this place seem familiar?

She decided not to stress the point. It would be best if she didn't think about it now, and find a place to stay, someplace that wasn't a barn. She could see a village in the distance, one that seemed to be a place where there could be a pony that could help her. The only solution was to start walking.

"APPLE BLOOM!"

She turned at the sound, but only managed to see an orange blur hurtle into her before she was knocked over with the breath driven out of her as she was thrown to the ground. The force of the impact rocked her, causing her to black out for a moment before she regained consciousness, although she found that there was a humongous weight on her chest that had crushed out her breath.

It was only after her vision stopped swimming that she realized the weight was a someone, and someone she didn't recognize. She was a small orange filly, with small wings attached to her back

(A Pegasus she's a Pegasus)

with her mane in a shock of unkempt purple hair, with eyes to match the color. Apple Bloom couldn't recognize her, but the filly could certainly recognize Apple Bloom, cause she began to lift the yellow filly into the air and squeeze her in a life-killing hug, all the while gleefully trying to hold a conversation with the already speech-dead Apple Bloom.

"Where have you been all this time?" the orange filly cried, squeezing the other harder. "When I didn't see you in the evacuation I thought you were dead or something, then I see you for the first time walking around Sweet Apple Acres like you never left, and just don't know how to say how excited I am that your here!"

Apple Bloom's face was turning blue with the crushing embrace of the orange filly. Luckily, she saw the consequences of her hugs and let go, letting Apple Bloom fall to the ground with a whump.

The orange filly sheepishly scratched the back of her head sheepishly. "Sorry, I went a little Pinkie Pie there for a second. Just don't tell Rainbow Dash I went sappy with you."

Apple Bloom sucked in a load of air before asking, "Who are ya?"

The other pony recoiled a little, taken aback. "What do you mean, 'who am I?'" She puffed out her chest with pride. "I'm Scootaloo, one of the most well known scooter champion and Cutie Mark Crusader, and your saying that you don't know who I am?"

Apple Bloom managed to pick herself up and look at the orange filly who called herself Scootaloo, and shook her head, feeling frightened by how the pony knew her more than she did. Seeing the look that Apple Bloom that must've been bewilderment, she asked, with growing horror and concern, "Apple Bloom, you're not kidding, I hope? Please tell me you aren't kidding."

"Ah'm sorry, but..." she said. "Ah don't know where Ah am, or who Ah am, or why Ah'm here. It's just so hazy."

She then looked at Scootaloo, hopefully. "Maybe you could tell me?"

Scootaloo looked like she was going to answer, but suddenly there was a beeping sound that made Apple Bloom jump a little. Scootaloo lifted her hoof, where what appeared to be a small metal band was beeping loudly and annoyingly

(A watch)

before Scootaloo clicked it of. Then she ran to a nearby bush and pulled out a scooter with a wagon attached to it.

"I can't tell you here," Scootaloo said, strapping on a helmet, her face unusually grim as she peered up in the sky. She seemed a little agitated now, and for a minute Apple Bloom though she was checking for rain."But we should get going, and fast. They'll be here soon, and I'm not going to spend the rest of my fillyhood as delinquent in prison."

"Who?"

Scootaloo didn't answer but motioned for her to get on, just as a sort of whum-whum sound reverberated through the air. It seemed to be coming from the east, a kind of thrumming, reverberating noise in the distance that was slowly growing in beat and noise. It felt like it was vibrating Apple Bloom's chest, threatening to shake her organs to liquid and her make her early appetizer of pasta and jam come hurling out.

She also had the feeling that the thing that was coming wasn't friendly. So she hopped onto the scooter without another word.

The ride through the village (Scootaloo called it "Ponyville") was no short of disappointing.

In truth, she was hoping to see a town filled to the brim with ponies like her, trotting through the streets and alleys on their way to their work, to stalls selling fresh fruits, or to talk amongst friends in taverns, restaurants, and bakeries. She hoped to talk to a few, ask her if they knew her, see if they could help her, and maybe get headway in finding out who she was.

What she saw were streets overgrown with crabgrass, dandelions, and various weeds: jimsonweed, plantain, and ground-ivy. There were covered in kudzu so thick that they looked more like veins than vines. The only beauty to this pitted and diseased town were a few beautiful flowers here and there.

But what caught Apple Bloom's eye most of all was the fact that there were no ponies in town, at least not any that were alive.

The whumming sound of the unseen vehicle in the sky was still hung, but it was distant now, having apparently not noticed them - to the surprise of Scootaloo - though when she tried to get a good look at it, Apple Bloom only saw a rectangular silhouette in the sky blocking out the sun before it zoomed away in an easterly direction. Apple Bloom decided not pursue any questions.

"And here we are!" Scootaloo's voice snapped Apple Bloom out of her reverie.

They were looking at a towering structure that was two stories high, sporting a largely cylindrical building shape with decorative pillars and galloping pony sculptures lining the lower and upper exterior, resembling a highly decorated carousel. The spire was topped by a small, triangular red flag that waved in the wind. It was clear that the place had seen better times, for the windows were boarded up, leaving nothing to be seen in the windows.

Scootaloo hopped off, lifting Apple Bloom off the wagon (with difficulty), and hid the scooter and it's trailer behind a bush.

"Why are we here?" Apple Bloom asked.

Scootaloo slipped off her helmet, tossing it into the bush. "This is home base. Hopefully Sweetie Belle will be excited to see you, seeing that your still alive and all that. Though let me warn you..." She leaned in to whisper in Apple Bloom's ear, "Don't try her apple pie."

Apple Bloom cocked her head. "Why?"

Scootaloo waved it away. "Just...don't. You'll have a stomachache afterwards for days." She turned and knocked on the door, shouting, "Hey, Sweetie Belle, open up! I got a surprise for you! Open up and let me in!"

There was no reply for a minute, and Apple Bloom was deciding to steal the scooter and blitz off, when a groggy voice answered from behind the door, "Did you bring the apples?"

Scootaloo suddenly seemed to realize that she had apparently forgotten something, then blushed sheepishly. "I...might've forgotten them," she said guiltily.

The voice on the other side of the door grumbled, then said grumpily, "Then unless the Feds have decided to take up farm life, or if some earth-shattering event has just occurred, then I'm not interested."

Scootaloo sighed in annoyance. "Sweetie Belle, just open up."

There was nothing for a few minutes, then to Apple Bloom's surprise, the door knob was surrounded by a green aura,

(magic)

turned in it's socket, and the door swung open. Standing in the doorway was a filly about Scootaloo's height and age, with marble-white skin, rose-and-violet hair, and green eyes. She irate and tired, proven by the bags under her eyes and the mussy hair, as well as her belligerent attitude as she blinked away the sun.

"Well, what is it? What is so important that it needs-"

Her eyes widened and bulged, her mouth went slack, and her ranting died in her throat. She was staring at Apple Bloom, who felt uncomfortable and wormy in her intense green gaze. The filly - apparently called Sweetie Belle - approached Apple Bloom, mouth in a wide "O" of shock, and touched the yellow filly's chest, as if testing to see if she was there.

"Uh," Apple Bloom said, shifting uncomfortably. "Hello?"

Sweetie Belle stared, stared, stared some more...then fainted dead away.

Author's Note

The "italics in parentheses" bit is borrowed from Stephan King. Love you man, and that's from the heart.

The rest of Sweetie Belle's dream will be revealed later.