The Classicist

I wish everypony would just shut their mouths for a minute. I know the situation is bad, we all do, but could they possibly be bothered to keep their hyperventilating to themselves? Losing our shit isn’t going to do anything productive… Who the buck am I kidding? I’m probably as panicked as they are. By Celestia’s fat flanks, I probably look like death warmed over!

Cheerilee though, she’s got all this shit figured out. A bucking genius, she is. Apparently, that thing that hit the news a while back - the one about the rock? - Yeah, It got out or something. Didn’t know rocks could do anything like that but what the hell do I know? Cheerilee says we have to wait for Twilight, so that’s what we’re doing. I trust her - the others? I’m not so sure.

The ground is still shaking - There’s so much dust in the air, it’s a small wonder I haven’t choked to death yet. I can’t read minds but I can read faces and I think everypony in here is thinking the same thing I am: We’re going to die here, down under the rafters of the Apple family barn.

There was a few jumps, the writings covered by splotches of water.

Flitter found some cider, might as well knock a few back before I kick the bucket.

Celestia, I hope Rumble’s okay. I shouldn’t have left without telling him anything…

Harmony held an empty jug upside down in her hooves, letting a pile of dust trickle slowly to the floor.

Shame, she thought. They didn’t save any for me.

She flicked through the few crumpled sheets spread along the floor. They did leave me a place to sleep, though. Nighty Night.

She tucked herself into the age-old sleeping bag, sharing her silence with the skeletons and rats.

I think I’ll pick up a journal from that quill store before I leave - I’m finding myself writing a lot more. It’s not like there is anypony here to stop me.