2nd Hand Nightmare

Pain pulses through your temples. You feel as if you have just been hit by something along the lines of a full speed wagon. Groaning, you peek open your eyes. Only to close them again on account of a bring light. Shielding them from the light with your hoof, you try again. You are in a tent. A white tent. What your laying on is hard and uncomfortable. A standard military cot. Looking around the room, you see more. Dozens more. Hundreds maybe. All filled with bloody and battered ponies. Most are soldiers.  Others are ponies you know.

The local flower vendor is in a cot directly adjacent to you. And many others around you. But, at least you were not injured in any other way then a bump on your hard and a traumatizing night. Others had it worse. Most of the ponies were wrapped in bandages. A tinge of red to all of them. You notice you have a bandage as well. On your head where you hit the stairs. "Oh god. My house..." You think to yourself. Your house is ruined. Images of gore and death begin to stream back to you. The commander. The other two. The girl. The poor girl. Only doing her duty to her country. And she was killed for that.

A tear streams down your face. There is a radio playing music near you. It's tuned to the classical station where you can hear all types instruments being played. The music is relaxing. You also know it was being played by the only girl you've even taken a fancy to. Octavia. She is a wonderful pony. Bright, happy, beautiful. You sigh as you think about her. You two were great friends in high school. Your only regret is not telling her how you felt before she took a job in Canterlot to play her music. You are shaken from your daydream as an official announcement is blared on the radio. "Attention Ladies and Gentlecolts!"

This is the voice of the announcer that tells you the lies that your country is winning the war. "I have a letter here from the princess stating that the mandatory recruiting age has been lowered by two years. Please report to your nearest recruiting agency. Thank you." The entire tent stays in silence for an eternity. Then crying breaks out somewhere and the tent resumes its usual sound of moans of pain and agony. Its probably a mother that was crying with the new information that yet another son is leaving for war. Knees weak, but no longer jelly, you rise from bed with a burst of pain all throughout your entire body. With a groan, you leave the tent.

The tent is located in front of the ruined city hall. Smoke still curls from the burned timber. The air smells of sick and blood. Only after you walk a few feet away from the tent, the smell dissipates. Just as you begin to walk up the street, you hear a voice call out to you. "Sir! Wait!" You turn to see a white clad nurse running up behind you. "Are you ok? You have been unconscious for most of the day. A soldier found you in your basement where we think you fell."

"Sure" You tell her. "Is it safe to go back to my home now?."

"Ah yes, your home, about that" She begins. She begins to look to the ground and seems nervous something. "Your house, shortly after they pulled you out, caught on fire. I'm sorry sir, there isn't much left." The breath from your lungs refuses to come out for the longest time. She begins to say something again, but you don't pay attention. You just turn from her, and begin the walk to your newly gone house. Your mind is blank. Even the images from the previous night aren't there. Your just in shock. Walking up the streets, you have to make zig-zags on the street cobblestone to avoid parts of your neighbors houses. You see a large black patch in the line of houses on the left side of the street. Your house is only burned though. Many houses and apartments have been completely blown away.

As in you can see the foundation, and the rest of the house is scattered all over the place. Finally, you come on to your house. Your heavy front door is still standing, but it is nearly the only thing. There is no second floor to speak of and your first floor has been reduced to smoldering ash. You look away, barely able to believe your eyes. You walk again. Up the street. Outside the city. Anywhere. But you don't want to see your house. You just stare at the ground and think about the previous night. The memory is so vivid that it is almost like your watching it again. In the cold, dark basement.

You don't even notice as your feet crunch on dead leaves that litter the outskirts of town. You even close your eyes for a moment. Just a moment. Still walking. And a single tear streams down your face. "OOF!" The wind is violently knocked out of you. You fell, but not to the ground. You fell a distance that was enough to steal your breath and leave you gasping for air. You cough violently, and open your eyes. Your in a hole, no, a trench. A hoof built trench about seven feet down into the ground. And your breath was taken probably because the bottom of the trench is lined with wooden planks and rocks. With a ping, you realize where you are. The last place you want to be. The trenches from the beginning of the battle.

In the abandoned field not far from the village. You pull yourself to your hooves and begin to walk up the earthen hallway. There are small rooms build right into the walls. Most containing cots or kitchens. You come by a medic room. You don't even want to look because of the repulsive smell and the large amount of flies coming and going from the small room. The buzzing sounds like static from the radio. But, you just keep walking. Not long after, you come across a section that was just a huge crater in the ground. Like a large chunk had been cut out. Climbing the side of the trench, you can see lots of these craters. Looking right, you see your village. Seems you are on the front lines of the temporary trench warfare. Getting down, you walk backwards to try to leap across the gap, only to loose your footing and fall over again. At least this time you landed on your plot. And there is something that catches your interest. Between your hind legs, is a small booklet. Twine and cardboard bound. You pick up the small book. It is very thick. Flipping through the pages, just about all of the pages are written on. You turn to the front cover and look for a name.

"Property of Pvt. Cloud Dasher. 3rd Regiment of the 56th Infantry Battalion. NLR. Please Return If Found." Intrigued, you read more. "Entry 1, 5/7/10."

I don't like this chapter. Next one will be better!