The Hen House
Have you ever been scavenging, your belly grumbling with hunger, and all you can find are empty tin cans, faded wrappers and bleached bones, but then suddenly you come across a Trader or a Merchant and, Praise Celestia, they have plenty of meat or even, miracle of miracles, a cupcake to trade?
Have you ever wondered to yourself, as you stand there watching the Trader trot out of sight, your belly fuller and your cap stash lighter, where all this food comes from after two hundred years and change of scavenging and war?
You may not like all the answers...
A stallion in ragged combat armor walks down a dimly lit corridor, a baton held in the sickly green glow of his magic lighting his way. As he trots along he taps the baton on the bars of the rusty cages lining the walls on both sides of him, from some of these glazed forlorn eyes look up, unfocused, at the sound.
The stench of moldering plumage, waste, and despair hangs thick in the air, sobs and labored breathing compete with the sounds of the ancient ventilation system.
The stallion reaches the end of the cages and ducks through a doorway coverd in flaps of dirty plastic. Here a new reek of fresh blood and rotting ofal assaults his nose, but he is numb to it. He sees a large earth stallion in a stained leather apron carving meat from a twitching carcass.
"Hey Cleaver" He says, "You about done with this last batch? We gotta get this stuff in the wagons."
Cleaver spat the carving knife down and answered, "Yeah yeah, just got this last one to box up and then grab the eggs."
The stallion pointed his baton at the bloody mess on the table that had mercifully stopped twitching, not that he cared. "Fine, you finish this and I'll go grab the eggs"
Cleaver grunted and picked his knife back up to resume hacking at the corpse as the guard stallion turned and ducked back out of doorway, trotting back down the row of cages and turning right at an intersection to enter a large high ceilinged area with cages held on stands, oddly swollen griffon mares crying out in pain and anger as ponies took thier fresh laid eggs and packed them into straw filled crates labeled Sunshine Foods Inc.
"You lot got that shipment ready yet?" The stallion called out, "We are behind schedule!"
The ponies packing the eggs shuffled nervously but did not answer, continuing thier work. The stallion raised his baton, ready to shout when a voice like poisoned honey dripped into his ear.
"Now now Trotter, whats this about being behind schedule, hmmm?"
The stallion, Trotter, used every last drop of his will not to scream in surprise and fright as he slowly turned around to face the huge lavender Basilisk directly behind him.
"S-s-sillia! Ma'am! I was just! The wagons! The wagons are ready! Eggs! I came for the eggs!!"
"Ahh, yessss, eggssss" the giant snake hissed as she slithered by, her tail stroking Trotter from cheek to flank and nearly causing him to faint outright. "I do sso love eggsssss. Sso sssucculent." She raised herself up on her huge undulating body to peer into a cage where a tawny young griffon was crying in labor pain, fighting her own body to try and keep her egg inside and away from these monsters, her body swollen and agonized by the drugs and hormones she was forcefed daily to encourage maximum 'production'.
Sillia watched in anticipation. "Eggsss are sso much ssweeter when fresh, dont you agree Trotter?"
The stallion tried his best to conceal the gulp and not to stutter. "Y-yes my lady, f-fresh is best" "Thats what Sunshine Foods does, f-freshness!!"
"Indeed" the Basilisk hissed softly, reaching into the cage with its mouth and scooping up the still warm goopy egg the young griffoness had lost her battle to save. The snake creature took the egg from its mouth with its tail and said to her stallion, "Double thisss oness dosagess of hormones and feed, i want her fat with eggsss and extra plump for my next meal. The young ones are ssso tender. I will be in my quarters."
The stallion backed away slightly, even his callousness not able to contain his revulsion completely. "Y-yes, yes my lady, I will see to it."
As the Basilisk slithered away with her prize Trotter shook himself and turned back to the other ponies in the room. "Allright you lot get those Luna damned crates packed, we have to have this meat and eggs to New Appaloosa and TenPony by tomorrow night and there is a lot of road to cover! Move it, move it!"
His baton came down on a nearby trashcan with a loud clang and all the ponies hurried to finish and carry crates to the waiting wagons. The cries of griffons in cramped dirty rusty cages falling on uncaring ears.
Author's Note
First publication, yay :D Have you ever wondered where CRAM and other such tasty foods come from after 200 years of scavenging? O.o
HotD: 002 When Pull Comes to Shove
When Pull Comes to Shove
Every pony knows that farming is hard work. Even more so when you are trying to farm under a sky that never opens up to the sun. What makes things worse is there is no farmer left in Equestria that does it for the joy of working the land, or even just to grow food. No, farming in the Wasteland is a very different sort of survival....
The dirty grey mule pulled at the plow as hard as he could, tears streaming down his cheeks. Even this far out in the field he could still hear the screams and cries of his mother and two sisters. Every time an especially shrill scream from one of his sisters would reach his ears he would half turn to go back to the house, but then he would catch sight of his father's grave and with new tears would return to straining against the yoke of the plow.
He could hear the gangers' laughter too. Knew what they were doing to his family. They had done the same thing last season when they killed his father, after they made his father watch. He also knew what they were doing to his mother and sisters because that time they had done it to him too.
No, he couldn't think of that. Had to plow, had to plant. They had barely made it through to this season. The baby. There had been a baby. His mother. She didn't want it. But even if she had there had not been enough food. It didnt grow right. He had burried it beside his father. He figured it wasn't the baby's fault how it got made.
No no, he had to get this field planted. If they didnt have food they would die. His father could have had this done in an afternoon, but he was gone now. His mother and sisters couldn't pull, they were... hurt, by the gangers, not just thier bodies, thier minds. It was up to him. He had to do it.
He fell. He cried into the rocky soil. He whimpered as cold drops of rain began to fall on his back, soon it was a downpour, muffling the sounds from the house. He slowly got to his hooves and tried to pull again but the plow wouldn't budge.
He dropped the yoke and turned towards the house. His tail clamped firmly between his legs at the thought of what awaited him there, so instead he ran to the barn and curled up in a dark dusty corner, as far from the missing door and hole pocked east wall as he could.
He awoke shivering. It was dark and his wet fur was matted with mud and dust. The rain had lessened to a drizzle. His body was stiff and aching and he badly needed clean water.
Unfortunately the only uniradiated water was in the house. Slowly peeking out the barn door he saw that the front door of the house was still open, and no lights were visible. This was concerning. Where were the gangers? Where was his family?
Creeping cautiously forward he inched across the farm yard to front porch of the house, and tippyhoofed to the front door to peer inside. He couldn't really see more than vague shadows though. Creeping inside he slowly made his way through the small front living room, to the kitchen where something seemed to be piled on the dining table.
Holding his breath as best he could he reached out to touch the pile on the table when suddenly the front door slammed shut behind him. Clamping his hooves over his muzzle to stiffle his shriek his eyes were dazzled by a sudden light as a lantern flared to life from beside the door, illuminating the craggy face of the huge unicorn who lead the gang.
"So, you finally finish plowin' my field for me little colt? Come to get yourself plowed now?" the unicorn sneered down at the mule. The other gangers now visible around the room laughed. The mule just whimpered and turned away, which was a mistake. In doing so his eyes fell upon his mother's prized dining table, and his mother strapped face down on top of it, blood and other fluids leaking from her abused body and pooling underneath the table. Her eyes awake but glassy and unaware, her breathing ragged.
"Mother!" Before he could rush to her several gangers grabbed him from behind and turned him back to face the leader. "Now now little colt, you best learn to be good to your guests. Your mama and sisters know how to entertain a buck, but they didnt seem to want to be accommodating as to fixing us a bite of supper. Wheres the food?"
The young mule struggled futilely against the two large bucks holding him tight, trying his best to avoid looking the leader in the eyes. He then felt the point of a blade press into his barrel and noticed a red glow of magic. The leader growled "I said where is the food colt?"
"Th-there isn't any! Its gone!" He whimpered, trying in vain to edge away from the knife.
"Bull! This is farm! You grow food! Dont lie to me." The leader raged as he backhoofed the mule across the cheek.
"W-we haven't been able to grow anymore! You took everything last season!!" The young mule cried shrilly.
"Horse apples" the leader hissed, looking down at the quivering mule, then around at the small farm house and his bucks. Turning to a beefy earthpony with a jagged mane he asked, "You sure you searched this whole place?"
"Yeah boss, we got every bit of food n goods they had stashed, wasn't much of nuthin', and wasn't nuthin' we didnt see last time niether."
The unicorn leader turned back to the little mule, pulling his knife away and resheathing it. "Well Luna's Crusty Craters, if the farms got no food, guess we'll just have to take something else of value boys. Take this colt to bedroom and tie him up with his sisters, I want to have some fun with him before we leave, then strip this place of all we can carry. In the morning we'll take these mules to GlyphPort and sell 'em to the Remnant. Those Zebra scum are always lookin' for more slaves."
And as the gangers cheered and began ripping the small home apart, a new voice joined the tiny chorus of screams echoing into the night.
Author's Note
Because usually the weak suffer and if they cant save themselves no one will. :(
