Waving Flags

by PoniesMine

Rating: teen
Tags: Griffons, Violence, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Original Character
Length: 1039

Flags change, but not always in the best of circumstances.

Equestrians have always lived happy lives, completely oblivious to what happens in the outside world. That is, until it's on their doorstep.

Published 2019-03-04 03:50:01 UTC
Last updated 2019-03-04 03:50:01 UTC

Changing Times

Sunshine radiated intense rays of energy in the surrounding environment, a single hill, located in the centre of a meadow, draws everyponys’ attention. A flag featuring the Equestrian pennant is held up by a pole, proudly waves in the bellowing winds, towering over the adjoining domain. This flag is ultimately special. Ponies visit it every day, solute it, give it their thanks or just stand there, admiring its beauty. The pole felt overjoyed at its current predicament, life could not get any better.

Peace, however, never lasts.

One concept the pole thought was grieving, was that some species felt jealous about the particular banner situated on top, others would love to hang their own. Thus, lead to the awful event that is to take place.

War.

Bratatattattattattattattat—BOOM!

Machines capable of great atrocities, machines that ignore the natural environment, machines whose sole objective is to take.

The pole no longer felt content.

The steady hum of machinery, jagged pipes stickup in seemingly random directions, exhausted clouds of ash and smoke, obstructing the clear blue sky, into a deadly coal black. Animals scurried to elsewhere, to escape the hurried onslaught. Winds changed directions, aiming against the invaders, pegasi attempting to remove the foul beasts of the underworld from the surface. It all proved to be naught however, the metal monsters continued to easily cut through the atmosphere.

When technology doesn’t progress for more than a thousand years, opposing countries tend to have much more sophisticated knowledge. No equestrian even had a remote chance to terminate them, spears couldn’t damage thick metal plating, their armour couldn’t stop bullets, and arrows didn’t even get the chance to penetrate anything, simply bouncing off everything it touched.

The pole now felt terrified, ‘Are they out to destroy me?’, ‘What is their purpose?’ The approaching armies didn’t seem interesting in removing vegetation or other organisms, that was just by accident. So what are they here for?

It's simple, to claim me as their own.

The only way to fight back is to retire to their level, to copy their tactics, their machines, their weapons, and kill with no mercy. So that’s what the ponies did.

A group of griffon soldiers faces obstructed by the shadows of their helmets. Marched directly towards to hill with purpose. The gathering carrying their own flag, ferociously swishing in the air current. Explosions, of molten lead and surfer, was thrown at these marines. Yet they continued forward, not giving in a single centimetre, their courage and pride were bigger than themselves.

‘Quickly!’ The leader yells over the ear-shattering artificial noises surrounding the area, ‘Hang the flag!’ The group drops one by one, that is, until a single griffon, reaches the pole, the captain is the only one remaining, using his right claw, he yanks the rope hanging on the side, and jerks it downwards. The Equestrian flag located on top, drowns under the force, forcibly killing it. The soldier feeling no remorse, violently tears the material off the pole, scrunching it up, and hurls it to the side, roughly sticks his own flag to the rope, and pulls in upwards towards heaven, slowly and confidently.

The pole wasn’t sure what to feel about this, should it be happy to have a new flag to present? It certainly doesn’t feel that way.

When the Griffon Empire’s pennant finally reached to top, it seemed to pause, then, slowly but surely, hesitantly starts to wave in the wind. ‘It just needs time’ the soldier thought, ‘Then it’ll be flourishing in the breeze.’ He stood there, attempting to admire the flag for all its beauty, to scrape as much reasoning for what he had been through thus far.

The pole wished that the soldier had been correct, for, over the decades, and centuries, it never felt the same again, it no longer felt satisfied. Machines continued to become more advanced, with even more capabilities than the last. Each tearing at the ground, leisurely wearing the earth down until it's only a slick collection of muddy clumps. It was no longer green, the air was stale and polluted, the sun was blocked by ash, and animals became extinct.

Through all of it, however, the pole stood, acting unfrazzled by what is happening in its surroundings. Although that’s not true, it just can’t do anything, forced to watch like a person whose eyes are taped open. Never to be closed, no matter how much effort is administered.

Flags changed, each time more violent than the last, the pole hated this, it wished it could hold one single flag, as it never had enough time to adjust to the current one. In fact, everything got so dreadfully bad, the banner was changed almost every, single, day.

Then, the fighting steadily slowed down, until it all stopped. No more sounds, no more explosions, no more death. Just the eerie silence of the wind whistling through the atmosphere. Clouds loomed overhead, casting the entire surface with an abnormal shadow. The ground, as bland as stone. Contraptions of metal and oil lay destroyed and left to rust. Bodies long dead, decomposing into simply bones.

The pole has had enough. The singular flag located at the summit doesn’t blow. Even though the winds roar by at a highly unnatural speed. Still, it never moved.

The flag fell, detaching from the pole that no longer cares, slowly drifting to the earth until it landed softly. It sat there, discarded, forgotten, removed. Never to be placed on top of a pole ever again, opposed what it's supposed to be. The wind eventually became too powerful, sweeping away the fabric far away, to unseen before lands. Never to be discovered again.

All violence was for nothing, all that effort, death and destruction, was for completely, and utterly nothing. Nobody ever wins in the end, both sides always lose. Is it really worth to sacrifice everything a country has always worked for? Is it worth gaining such a small amount, for such a cost? In the end though;

No flag waves in the wind.

Author's Note

I decided to do something a little more symbolic. This was just a small side project, though, I'm still writing 'The World is my Sandbox'.