Why couldn't they make cupcakes instead?
Why couldn't they make cupcakes instead?
The dark walls oozed damp in the chill air.
Two children, a boy and a girl, huddled together for reassurance while the pallid sun outside threatened to ebb away, making way for another relentlessly cold night.
The partially destroyed building in which they huddled had once been a bustling convenience store in one of the more opulent suburbs of the city. In happier times, it had been run by a cheerful old couple who had always been happy to while away quiet moments between customers by catching up on gossip with the adults, and sharing stories with the children.
The children had heard some of the old stories many times, of course, but they never minded, as the kindly old shopkeepers would always bring these tales to life with the rare ability of true storytellers. Sometimes they would race each other to the punchline and break out in giggles of delighted laughter.
That was before the war came.
Happiness had been brushed aside in an instant when the first bombs fell; terrifying bangs that were felt from the ground and through the air. Sometimes, this would be the prelude to a building falling down and everyone prayed they wouldn’t be buried in the rubble, or know anyone who was.
Some families had packed up what few possessions they could carry and had left, aiming for whatever sanctuary could be afforded far away from the sounds of the bombs; anywhere to get away from the horrors delivered to them from the air every day and every night. These children’s parents had chosen to stay in the city as they had not known where to flee that would be any safer, and decided to brave it out, telling the children to stay because help would surely come to the centres of population first. However, the parents had paid dearly for their decision, and now the children were alone.
Their friends had either gone or had been killed as they drifted into a twilight existence that was not living, at least not in the sense they had come to appreciate, protected by their loving parents and wider family. Now they were on their own with nobody to look after them to tell them where to go, what to do, or even feed them.
At first, they had felt the slightest hint of rebellion at not having to brush their teeth or change their clothes, but after a while, even these small acts of mutiny had paled under the withering reality of friendless days and cold nights.
The convenience store had partially collapsed following a massive explosion and the ceiling had come down at one side, leaving the shopping area at normal height in some places, and at others, compressed down to the floor. The place had been ransacked by those desperate to escape with what provisions they could carry, and later, it had been the scene for a gun battle between those in military uniforms, fighting each other over what scraps had remained. However, adults could not reach into the very tightest spaces where the ceiling was almost touching the floor, and in these places was food and other sundry items that only children could get to.
They had been scared to start with, worried that the ceiling and the remains of the building above would come down and crush them, but hunger soon won out and they capitalised on what few spoils they could find. Fortunately, this was the part of the store they knew and liked the most because this was where they would always find potato chips, sweets and toys, and from where they could now forage enough to sustain them, although no nutritionist would be especially proud of the diet.
“I can feel something” said the boy, straining as he stretched, his fingers brushing something soft.
“It may be warm clothes or a blanket” he continued hopefully, extending his arm beyond what seemed possible.
Finally, he managed to close two fingers around the soft and alluring item and gently freed it, inch at a time from the rubble. Out came a plush toy, that even in the fading light, he could make out as being bright pink.
“What have you got?” asked his sister, hopefully.
He withdrew the dust covered toy, noting it to be a pink pony with three legs, the other presumably laying separated under the rubble.
“Let me see” the girl insisted, reaching up eagerly with both hands, and in response, he brushed the dust off as best he could to hand her the trophy with the flourish of a magician.
She took it with the first smile he had seen on her face in days and held it close to her, stroking its fluffy pink mane.
”She’s got a very happy smile” said the girl gleefully, “I like her!”
“How do you know it’s a she?” asked her brother.
“Because” she answered, still focusing intently on the toy, “Just because.”
The boy knew he couldn’t argue with such logic, but didn’t want to upset the oasis of happiness that this toy had given his younger sister.
“Look!” gasped the girl in excitement, pointing to the flank of the toy’s remaining hind leg, “She’s got pretty balloons on her. We always have balloons at birthdays and Christmas, so I think she’s a happy horsey!”
Her brother smiled softly. He seemed to remember something about magical ponies on television, but that was a long time ago before he had become more interested in football, and she had been too young back then.
He struggled back under the rubble to rescue some more junk food that would suffice for dinner before the light went completely. After probing the narrow space with his dusty fingers for a few more minutes, he emerged with a few squashed and ripped packets that he brought back to his sister who was making happy clip-clopping sounds playing with her new toy, delightfully transported into her pony dreams.
The night was cold and unforgiving, but she hadn’t noticed as she had been totally absorbed chatting to the pink pony about lovely times they would share together, and how she would find the missing leg so they could run around the park and play games together.
The boy awoke first, a trickle of icy water dripping onto him from somewhere above. The pre-dawn sky was sombre, promising nothing positive for the day ahead. He looked at his sister, curled up with her arms wrapped around the pink pony, the hint of a smile on her face. He wished her pleasant dreams wherever she and the pony were playing and moved around quietly to avoid disturbing her.
He cast his mind back such a short time to when they had both been doted upon by their parents and reflected how quickly events had led him to being his sister’s protector. He didn’t feel ready for the responsibility and just wanted to hug his mother while his father made everything safe and happy for them, but knew this was not the daily reality they were now living through. If they were to survive, it would be down to him.
They would be wanting breakfast soon, so he made his way across the rubble strewn aisles to the collapsed part of the store and lay down once more, pushing himself further in to see what he could find. His fingers found something round and hard, so he edged it out for later examination and pushed his arm in further. He fished out more packets and tins before his rudimentary inventory felt sufficient to make breakfast and withdrew himself carefully, inch by inch, before loading the items into a bag by touch in the dim light.
“Hello!” came a cheery voice as he got back to his sister, “Horsey and me have been at a big party.”
She started humming happily to herself waving the toy’s forelegs in time to a rhythm that only she and the pony could hear.
He shook his head softly with a gentle smile and emptied out the haul he had recovered.
He suddenly felt wary. Something looked odd. A warning was going off in his head, but he didn’t know why. That hard round object he found early in his search didn’t look like anything he had seen before in the shop. If it was a toy, it was not like any he had seen before. It was egg shaped and olive drab, not at all appealing as a toy, and there were numbers written on it, but nothing that made any sense. It did have a shiny prong at one end and what looked like a key ring. He put it down to look at later and went through the other items he had found; breakfast would probably be potato chips and chocolate bars again.
“Horsey wants to know what this is” said his sister picking up the dull coloured egg.
“I don’t know what it is” he said, “perhaps it’s a tool or something that grown-ups use. Put it down, it might be dangerous.”
“Horsey wants to play with it” she insisted.
As he made to take it out of her reach, she grabbed for it and managed to get her finger in the key ring, giving a sharp tug in an attempt to pull it from her brother’s grasp. As she did, the arm that had been attached to the side of the egg flew off and bounced across the floor.
“Oh, now you’ve broken it” said her brother accusingly, eyeing the discarded lever arm on the floor, the keyring attached to a pin on his sister’s finger, and the smooth egg shaped device in his hand.
She stared at him defiantly for a brief second before the grenade exploded with a bright flash and a loud bang that they never heard.
They stood on a patch of vivid green grass looking at a cartoon town not far away, nestled between impossibly steep hills.
“Hello!” came a cheerful voice from behind them, “My name’s Pinkie Pie; what’s yours?”
“You’re my horsey!” cried the girl, throwing her arms happily around the pony's neck.
The boy stared at the blue eyed, bright pink pony and could see trails of tears running down her muzzle as she worked hard at being happy.
“What just happened?” he asked uncertainly.
“Oh nothing” Pinkie dismissed breezily, “Other than you’ve come to visit us, and that means we're going to have a party!”
A group of pastel ponies in all hues wandered over from the direction of the town to say hello to the two new arrivals and all set about happily introducing themselves.
A lilac pony broke away from the group and took Pinkie to one side away from the children.
“Thanks Pinkie” said Twilight softly.
“It was awful” sniffled the party pony, more tears streaming down her muzzle, “They’re just kids. It’s really hard to be happy when you think about what just happened to them.”
She sobbed at the thought of the terrible things going on in another world far away, trying her best to be brave, but unable to hold it all back.
“Why do people make such horrible things when they could make cupcakes instead?” she sniffled, “I mean, everypony likes cupcakes, right?”
“I don’t know, Pinkie” comforted Twilight, draping a wing protectively over her traumatised friend, “But at least we can give them a happy future.”
