The Elevator

by Schwabauer

Rating: teen
Tags: Tragedy, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Death, Sad, Original Character
Length: 1014

The story of a grain elevator in rural Equestria.

The story of a grain elevator in rural Equestria.

This story is an entry in the Experimental category of the Thousand Words contest!

In addition, this story is a prequel to Tending the Field!

Published 2024-07-14 06:50:01 UTC
Last updated 2024-07-14 06:50:01 UTC

Elevator

The conveyor belt at the elevator ran quietly and quickly. The gears thrumming along to a nice gentle hum of a well oiled machine. Grain kernels were chugged up and tumped into the silos, healthy and well hydrated from the recent harvest. Carts continually came and went, dumping more and more seeds and kernels onto the conveyors.

“We’re going to have to close most of the mills along this route. Much cheaper to have a single central mill at the end point, ”

“Yes, I see that. Pull the most experienced mechanics from each mill and move them to the end of the line. Have them cannibalize machines for spare parts, and then lock up the fences. ”

“The locomotives and cars?”

“Pull the locomotives, leave the cars. Not worth the scrap value. We’ll have a fence installed and signs posted. Send somebody to check the integrity of the fence every year or so.”

The conveyor belt at the elevator ran quickly. The gears, some chipped or scarred, thrummed along to the struggling chug of a well oiled machine, some pistons catching when they fired. Grain kernels were hauled up and dumped into the silos, healthy and well hydrated from the recent harvest. Carts continually came and went, dumping more and more seeds and kernels onto the conveyor.

A griffon sighed and sat on her fish trawler, legs kicking the rusted side. The stink of rotting fish permeated the sea around her. She glanced back towards her fish stores, before looking back down at the water. Steeling herself she stood and trotted to the trawler’s controls, quickly dumping the hold’s stores into the harbor.

A black sludge of mush fell into the harbor, and the griffon slowly wandered to the dock, watching her feet. Day old newspapers blew, cut and discarded, fluttering into the water or sticking slime pools dotting the dock. She paused and read a headline she now knew by heart.

“Gerald Fish Processing Plant imminent closure!”

She scoffed and kicked at the headline, only for her foot to slip and she tumbled beak over tail into the water. The griffon sputtered and came up for air, treading in the frigid Griffonstone water.

The conveyor belt at the elevator ran quick enough. The gears, frequently chipped or scarred, and increasingly rusted at the top thrummed along to the struggling chug of a machine, some pistons catching when they fired. The conveyor’s belt was sometimes caught on the underside, binding the whole system for a moment before chugging along again. Grain kernels were hauled up and dumped into the silos, healthy and well hydrated from the recent harvest. Carts continually came and went, dumping more and more seeds and kernels onto the conveyor, with a slowly growing line.

A pony approached the meeting room, a bundle of posters and charts rolled onto his back. He licked his lips, and his hooves skipped steps. He pushed through the doors, dropping a tube of paper that clattered loudly across the floor of the muted room. A large group of ponies sat waiting for him.

The stallion quickly stumbled to grab the dropped paper. A mare leaned down and quietly helped him gather his lost sheets.

Once the charts were all set up the pony began to explain in depth just how utterly devastating the new experimental weather pattern had been. Snowmelt was lower than normal for that time of year, and the scheduled rains were too infrequent and sparse to make up for the losses. It was utterly disastrous for the ecology of the rivers and natural lakes, not to mention Manhattan or Philadelphia's water supply.

“Well, how do you propose we resolve this?”

“I uh, suggest we open the uh, floodgates. If that’s acceptable. Just until we balance out the rainfall next quarter.”

The conveyor belt at the elevator ran, that’s what mattered. The gears, mostly chipped and rusted, thrummed along to the final gasping chug of a machine, overdue for an overhaul or outright replacement. The conveyor’s belt was sometimes caught on the underside, grinding the whole system to a sparking, hissing halt. Grain kernels were hauled up and dumped into the silos, shrunken and dry. Carts continually came and went, dumping more and more seeds and kernels onto the conveyor, a fine dust of grain floating slowly into the silo. The air around the top of the elevator looked like a great brown cloud.

In the blazing hot afternoon sun the waiting farmers congregated in what little shade the elevator offered, sliding in close to the cool metal and concrete walls. They shouted over the clanging of the conveyor, laughing at the expense of the increasingly poorly trained mechanics, or bemoaning the exponential cost of high quality cooking and machinery oil. Nopony bothered to comment on the drought, by this point a well worn conversation. The thrum of elevator machinery continued to vie for dominance in the conversation.

Suddenly the conveyor belt caught at the top of the elevator, knocking chips of rust and the fine, powdery grain into the silo before. The gear teeth ground into the metal belt sending fine, hot shavings into the silo.

The shavings burned through the cloud of dry, fine dust and grain.

A bright, brilliant blast of flame erupted from the elevator.

From the windows,

To the cracks

Between the twisting metal

Around the falling concrete.
The elevator exploded.

A reporter rushed to the scene, pen and paper in hoof, trying to find a harried firefighter to interview. Most of the grime and soot covered stallions turned back to their work, but one sat reluctantly on a twisted metal beam. After brief introductions with names and experience the reporter began questioning the firefighter.

"Do you know the cause of the explosion?"

"No."

"How many survivors have managed to pull from the wreckage so far."

"None, ma'am. We're doing recovery, not rescue."

"We are gathered here today to mourn the terrible loss of Mountain Meadow, an upstanding stallion and father who was at the...