The Magic of Writing

by Carmine

Rating: teen
Tags: Sad
Length: 1105

Thirty Minute Pony entries.

Ah, the magic of writing. Something so archaic that it's lost upon today's generation. Even those that study this ancient art can not hope to succeed instantly, for it is through trial and error that one shall triumph.

We all have to start somewhere, though. Right?

A collection of short stories written for Thirty Minute Ponies.

Characters/tags will be added as the story progresses.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-08-01 01:54:03 UTC

A Heroic Beginning

Prompt - Last pony in Equestria

Pinkie sat down on the cold gravel, a slight grin on her face. She stared at the sign in front of her, weathered down over the long months from the unrelenting wind, paint completely peeled off. ‘Welcome to Ponyville! Population: 250’ it said in barely legible letters. Pinkie rolled her eyes, chuckling. One day she’d have to scratch that number out and replace it with a one. Or zero.

Would it even make a difference? She was the last pony in Equestria. One day she’d die, and the population truly would be zero. Would doing it before that moment save the time of whoever would fill the vacancy left in the town? She raised her hoof to the sign, silently stroking it. The splinters pierced her skin, but months of mental trauma and crying outweighed any sort of pain simple wood could cause her.

With a sigh, she stood up on all fours. She maneuvered around the sign and started walking down the hill that lead to what was once called Ponyville. Her movements were slow; tripping wouldn’t be fun, especially since the landscape had been warped so severely to include small spikes of rock and dirt that could most likely impale a pony. She giggled, imagining the last pony--the one who survived what most had called ‘the apocalypse’--dying because she tripped down a hill and landed awkwardly on a piece of dirt jutting out from the earth.

She looked down on her side. Her green saddlebag was wrapped tightly around her haunches, sticking to her like a thistle. With a small nod, she walked into the desolate city that had once housed so many ponies. Her mane, darkened with splotches of dirt and other less than desirable things, hung limp over the left side of her face, completely obscuring half of her vision. Pinkie blew at it, only for it to rise slightly into the air before dropping back into its usual place. She flicked her head backwards, and quickly jolted back. She let out a content sigh as a majority of the strands on her mane got stuck behind her ear, and were now hanging off to the side of her face.

She glanced over to the side, staring at the same houses she had etched in her memory from her many trips down the same road. Most of the homes were shells of their former self, destroyed, with massive burn marks covering what was left standing. Every now and then she’d catch sight of a skeleton poking out from the dirt coated the ground, the skull having some sort of a mocking grin plastered on its grey form. Pinkie grimaced before turning straight ahead.

Pinkie walked for minutes, keeping a slow leisurely pace, before stopping in front of a shell of the building she had once--and forever would--call home. Sugarcube Corner, much like the other houses, had not been spared from the inferno that had engulfed the world. Support beams, charred and splintered, littered the vicinity. The normal cheeriness of the bright paint inside had been reduced to pitch black. The top half of the confectionary was nowhere to be seen, most likely vaporized from the scorching heat.

The wind started to pick up, gently lifting her mane out from behind her ear and back in front of her face. She glared at her mane, before trotting inside the shell of a candy store. Pinkie made her way to the back of the nearly destroyed building and knocked on the door. Content with the silence from beyond it, she opened the door.

The darkness of an unlit room greeted her, alongside a musky smell she had long been acquainted with. She stepped into the room, and closed the door behind her. She walked down the stairs, each one creaking almost sympathetically underneath her hooves. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, she ran her hoof blindly along the wall. After seconds of blindly feeling the wall, she flipped a light switch. A light bulb flickered to life, before dimming down until it did little to hold back the creeping darkness.

She walked over to the corner of the basement, looking at the hollow shelves that lined the wall. The food supply in the basement had quickly disappeared once Pinkie realized that no one could stop her from over indulging herself on pastries. Much to her dismay, though, she quickly realized that there wasn’t a lot of food left in the entire city, which had prompted her to start traveling to other cities in hopes of scavenging any food that happened to survive the end of civilization.

Upon reaching the corner, she yawned, before laying down. She looked around, noticing a small skull staring back at her with hollow eyes. “Hello, Gummy!” she said, cheerfully. She grinned at the skull before removing her saddlebag.

“How have your last few days been? I’m so so sorry I took extra long coming back and that I broke my promise, but food was low in Canterlot! Most of it was already eaten by parasprites, but I managed to get some!” She opened her saddlebag, and held it upside-down. Yellow-greenish grass, a small cupcake, and a dented can of sarsaparilla rolled out.

“I think I got enough food to throw a party tomorrow, Gummy! Do you think you can attend?”

Silence.

“Oh, you can? That’s great! I’d go and invite my friends, but I can’t seem to find them anywhere... I’ll keep looking after tomorrow though. Tomorrow... we party!”

The pink mare laughed. “Oh, you tell the funniest jokes, Gummy.” Pinkie reached over and stroked the top of the skull, grinning. “We should get some rest, though. Tomorrow’s going to be a doozy of a party!”

“Yeah... I miss them as well. But they’re out there, Gummy. I can feel it! Not in a hooves on sort of way, I just know that they’re out there. I’ll find them, we’ll talk about what we’ve done, and we’ll throw the biggest party ever thrown!”

“It has only been three months since everypony went missing, Gummy. That’s no reason to... give up... hope... you know, you’re really being a downer-wowner tonight, Gummy. Of course they’re okay! Stop being such a silly little alligator!”

“Yeah... I guess it is time to get some sleep.” She yawned, wrapping her forelegs around the skull. Pinkie pulled it towards her chest, embracing it. “Good night, Gummy!” With a final stroke of the skull, Pinkie lowered her head on to her forelegs. With another small yawn she closed her eyes.

Before long, the pink mare was fast asleep.