Dreaming, Conceptualizing, Experiencing, Doing
What Was Dreamed
A pornographic penetration of pistol-propelled bullet to quivering hoof, conveying hair, sinew, and gluey bits from pony to pond, where they sink, forever lost like the life of the perforated pony!
Griffonian comics always had the goriest extreme scenes--torture, cascades of scarlet-strewn limbs, severed stallion heads in beds. No Equestrian Comics Cordiality Authority (CCA) oversaw the freewheeling Griffons to ensure harmonious depictions, so it was always an appetizing adventure when Griffonian goods traveled to the postal slot at Gorey's familial abode.
Gorey read and adopted the name of his favorite Griffonian wordsmith--abandoning his birthpony name of Body Count--while his parents worked and worried what to do with their grim progeny. Customers had turned elsewhere when confronted by the chilling child's caustic comments. Although he pointed out to his sire that Panic Pants was an overly-sensitive stallion, many mares and a surfeit of stallions were outraged. So, during the day, he read.
At night, at the family business, he leered at the goods on ice, staring at the motionless mares, the vacant eyes, stagnant stallions. Occasionally, a twisted ankle tempted him for examination, or battered ribs, once a deliciously twisted neck. But that was rare.
"Might you assist with this interment? Contribute to develop deceased dignity? Embrace the embalming?"
Gorey turned up his snout. He enjoyed observing and he'd taken the medical courses but he'd been scolded more often than the Mane Six saved the world about his peeling back hides and mangling manes--not focusing on his task--not treating the shells with dignity and respect. But he wanted to confirm what the comics insisted lay beneath and what wasn't covered in the anatomy classes, except in creatively censored pictures and x-rays (he became banned from using the machine). Even when instructions were followed, his wandering mind made mistakes; subsequent scoldings weren't worth the trouble. And this month, the Griffonians' Gorey had a new product called a "Griphic Novel"- thrice as long as the usual format and perfect bound!
At least he had his comics.
What Was Conceptualized
A disturbingly potentially pleasant announcement--the Enemy had made a move, assaulted Equestria, but the Mane Six, the greatest heroes, were with Equestria and had triumphed many times before against great odds.
Gorey licked his lips. Maybe it would be as bloodless as the Mane Six's other victories, but perhaps casualties would come and he'd firsthoof see the injuries he'd studied in comics--a cavalcade of carnage, a grotesquerie of gore, a holocaust of hooves.
Border-dwelling Vanhooveran ponies went for a picnic to see the Mane Six defeat the Changeling Hordes. They were overrun; picnickers and partisans both. Papers shouted about the outrage--literally in Las Pegasus with the aid of Dr. Hooves' experimental speakable print. Flim and Flam hawked battle bonds in the square, and the Mane Six limped back home; worry swept the land.
Air raid sirens and hoof-wrung announcements in the square brought home that the war was coming even this far deep in the country. The Changeling invasion laid waste to fortifications and they buzzed overhead even of this farming village in the outskirts of Las Pegasus. Panic Pants ran around in circles till he passed out; others fled. Gorey's sire grimly began preparations, sawing in his yard, hammering and crafting. He could have left, but he said it was his duty to help ensure dignity. Gorey was glad he'd be able to see gruesome war injuries.
The family business's flag bearing the sire's cutie-mark coffin flapped in the cold breeze while ponies below felt the chill of inevitability, a winter of discontent much like that experienced by the Changeling-dominated Olenians(1. Quite a deer country) but two years prior. Friendship and Harmony had not saved the deer, could it save Equestria now?
"Ask Not What Your Friends Can Do For You, But What You Can Do For Your Friends!" His dam's proffered propaganda pamphlet proclaimed, requesting All Able Ponies to do what they could for the War Effort--join the front lines, join the back lines, do your part, serve. The army seemed like a lot of work. And why should he do much for anypony since nopony considered him a friend?(2. Mired in Rarityesque self-pity, he may (just possibly) have overlooked someponies.) His time was better spent with Griphic novels. He threw away the pamphlet and went back to reading the Griffonian comics. Today's offering featured muscular Minotaurs masticating delicious Diamond Dog bones in their moving mouths.(3. MINO Madness, iss. 17) Maybe he'd see bones similarly stripped of sinewy skin in a few weeks...if he was not forced to flee.
But the Changelings wouldn't get that far. Equestria's heroes would regroup as they had many times before.
At least, though, there might be something worth seeing.
What Was Experienced
Death came to Las Pegasus as Changeling tanks trembled the town's terraces and their guns fired and they replaced the leaders.
Gorey watched, fascinated, more engrossed and distracted by reality than enthrallment by most comics could manage, until the warm blood of a mare splashed across his face and her body fell across him. He lay under the stiffening body for hours until the firing faded, distant, moved on to the big city. And he crawled out, ambling toward the ruins of his family's business. No dam. No sire. Merely some pieces, of business, ponies, comic mirrors of misery, and all. He couldn't look.
He wandered the desert, ate alfalfa, roots, whatever could be found. Time passed. Thoughts dulled, filled with a focus on avoiding eye-pecking by voiciferous vultures and little else--no Griphic novels, no revenge, no justice for his unburied parents, no chance to entomb them.
But amid desert dunes, desiccated corpses of perforated plummeted pegasus ponies loomed. He passed their beak-pecked bodies, then he passed back. Not to leer, but because although he didn't give his sire final dignity, he could do something here. He buried them, scraping in the dirt and sand with his hooves even after they were bloody. And he took their ponytags (he also ate their nonperishable saddlebag-sealed rations--powering his pony-plowing).
At least he had done this work.
What Could Be Done?
Months passed alone in the desert save for the critters and the grains of dust, until he heard a sound. The tide had turned and ponies were on the march again. They picked him up and sent him behind the front lines for treatment. He watched them work.
There was the hero Rainbow Dash, blue flank with the sonic rainboom well-illustrated, a maneouver that stunned enemies and had assisted in the evacuation of post-picnicker panicked Vanhoover. At her side, pegasi flew and earth ponies marched- did he catch a glimpse of Panic Pants among them? Gorey squinted. But the ponies moved away, as ephemeral as his journey into the desert, or his name. He introduced himself with what he had been called at birth.
Behind the lines, where he--Body Count--had been taken, there was the famous Fluttershy and others like Doctor Redheart who ministered to him, patching up the wounded, triaging them apart from the tragic. Reading material was also available to mollify the lame. Griffonian works dominated because Equestrian publication was thrown into a panic, its resources diverted to the war effort. Griffonians had pivoted to producing propaganda-inspired comic works, though still not CCA approved. One cover for a work by Body Count's favorite Griffonian, Gorey Edweird, bore a macabre Changeling skull sneering and summiting the willowy words--"Mares Massacre Monstrous Menace: Marching Meters Towards Victory". Body Count didn't open it. Smell of decay surrounded the camp. But he wouldn't wallow. Instead, he looked toward Rainbow Dash and the Front, then to Fluttershy ministering at the back.
And he took a hoofstep toward one of the heroes. It didn't matter if he wasn't perfect at what he did. But he should do something. Everypony was needed not just to win the war, but to ensure life, and death, had dignity. Gorey's imaginary gore could rot. Body Count needed to ensure there would be fewer real rotting and perforated pony parts-- he wanted to do his part.
It was worthwhile work to do.
Author's Note
Olenians - Inhabitants of Olenia, Kingdom of the Deer.
Mentioned Famous Ponies (Dramatis Nobilis Mannulus)
Flim and Flam- brief mention (+. Buy battle bonds now!)
Fluttershy- briefly onstage
Dr. Hooves- brief mention (++. TOO LOUD FOR YOU, EH?allons-y to victory!)
Nurse Redheart- briefly onstage.(*. Field-promoted to Doctor)
Rainbow Dash - briefly onstage
Rarity- microbrief allusion(**. Too brief to be fashionable?)
The Mane Six - mentions.
If you liked this, please see, The Changeling Collar, for a Changeling defector's experience during the war.
