Day One - The Man Arrives
One Bad Apple
or
The Longland Bible
The Undertaker walked steadily into the town of Longland, taking his time to feel the dry earth under his hooves. His coat, a faded, ancient black that brought forth images of death and decay, seemed to draw the ponies most primal fears out to the light. And draw fear it did, as the townsponies ran to their homes and barricaded themselves within. Their terror was palatable, so much so that one could taste it miles away.
Tastes like apples, he thought. He had been told not to speak to anyone by his superiors, as it may disrupt the tests. The Undertaker did as he was told. He wouldn't be himself otherwise. He simply walked through town, admiring the dilapidated buildings and dry farms. A body was under an electrical wire. The Undertaker did his job with that.
The town itself was a seemingly small farm town, though there were around 30 ponies living there. Most of the houses suffered from dry rot and other damage, making the whole town look like it had gone through a few battles. A church rested on the hill, closer to the Author than the rest of the town. Small farms surrounded the whole area, all of them dry or filled with dead crops. It hadn't rained in months.
At the base of the hill, a carriage had been converted into a makeshift home. A tan pony sat out front, strumming a guitar slowly. The guitar itself was worn, the words “An eye for an eye, and the world goes blind” were carved into the front. The pony playing it was blind, and his Mark, as it was known as at the time, was a gold ring.
The Undertaker walked to the well in the middle of town and sat, a wicked smile on his face. He knew what was going to happen. He had seen it happen before.
The blind pony heard his footsteps and asked, “Are you the undertaker they're all freaking out about? They ran out of the church a few minutes ago, screaming about death and an undertaker.”
The Undertaker did not answer. He simply sat and waited. He was told to simply observe.
The Preacher walked out of the church, briefly staring at the Blind pony with hate in his eyes, before scanning the town slowly. The town cowered within their homes, fearing for their lives. Even without seeing the ponies themselves, one could tell they were hiding in the darkest corners of their houses, drinking or waiting to kill whomever tried to enter. "They should be cowering before me, not some undertaker doing his job." he said, quietly.
The Preacher, though a holy pony, did not serve the Author. He simply used the words to make others serve him. After all, the Author never made it a point to help anypony, so why not use the words to help himself? It's what most ponies would want him to do. Most, but the Blind pony. The only one in town who didn't attend church, who didn't fear the Author, who was always smiling and being kind. The Preacher hated him.
He shook these thoughts from his head, and started towards his home. He had plans for the Blind pony. It was just pure luck that the Undertaker arrived.
As he passed the Undertaker, the Preacher grunted out a greeting barely loud enough to be heard. The Undertaker remained still, not even acknowledging the Preacher. Freak, the Preacher thought, continuing through town. He hadn't noticed, then, how deafeningly silent the town had become.
By the time noon came around, the townsponies had long since barricaded themselves in their homes. Families had been taking turns guarding the doors with rusted pitchforks, or we're reading from the Book, or had begun drinking the moment they were secure. It was all they could do.
The Blind Pony, however, was sat outside what he had declared his home. His guitar still in his hooves, he played to no audience, completely ignoring the silent fear of the rest of the town.
He played a somber song. One of sanity slipping from the grasp of ponies, of the populous of a village turning on each other. He hadn't known he was singing of the town's eventual demise.
"...Years ago, the Sister of Sun had battled with the moon. The Earth shook from awe and shock, thinking they had both died too soon. The village called Agragora, a small place that birthed Ole' Lenora, shan't hear the news, for they've all got the blues, as ponies were haunted by the moon..." He sang. The town of Agragora was not real, of course. At least, as far as the Blind pony was concerned.
The Undertaker, however, was reminiscing about that little village. He was there, the day it happened. He had quite the productive day, all those years ago. The Celestial Sisters, the Author's Children, had gotten into a bit of a nasty spat, one trying to kill the other, though that's not how the Sun would tell it. No, the Sun would go on to erase such heartache from history.
Celestia, the Undertaker thought. He wasn't a fan of the Author's favourite child. It was always a shame to him that he couldn't make her coffin, as he did with so many others. After all, it was his job. Speaking of jobs, he wasn't doing his. Turning his attention back to the task at hand, he listened to the end of the Blind pony's song.
"...as the sun began to flicker, the mind began to die. And so I say, go run and pray, or hell comes for you and I," he sang. As he finished the last few notes of his song, a sting gave out, beaten from years of use. "Thank you, Longland! I'm here forever!" He called to no one. Sliding the guitar through a window, he stood and stretched his aged muscles, listening to his joints crack. He had decidedly had enough, and went inside.
The Undertaker chuckled at the aptness of the Blind pony's song. If he had known just how much he had gotten right, he may have known to run right then.
Author's Note
I still need to work on my writing.
Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed.
