Prompt #289: "A Pony With No Name"

Amidst a great plain, a single pony stood. He knew not where he came from, nor where he was going. The only thing he knew was that he was completely alone. Alone and wandering. So much time had passed since the last time he had spoken that he didn’t know if he could speak at all. So long had it been since another had called out to him, uttered his name.

He had forgotten his own name. Without use, the one thing he had been most attached to- his name- had faded away with time, along with the very mountains, whose foundations had become mere rubble. In places where there once was flowing water, instead there was only dust. All things that once were had all but vanished, leaving behind only fragments of themselves.

The lone pony looked over the horizon, the bleak and grey world that lay ahead of him. It looked exactly like the land he had already passed by. Scattered ruins and toppled trees, they seemed to be the only things worth noticing. Everything else seemed to blend together in an infinite pool of grey.

Where did the ground end, and where did the sky begin? How did this happen? Who was this nameless pony?

He suddenly stopped walking, and looked over at the remnants of a nearby town. Devoid of life, as every place he had found. Something was different about this place, though. Something was drawing him in, inviting him, calling him forward. As if in a trance, he walked into the ruined city.

He felt strangely at ease, like this place was his home at some point, like he had many friends here, like he had many fond memories of being here... but he could not remember any of them. Try as he did, he couldn’t remember a single thing about himself.

As he looked around, he noticed there were a lot of bones throughout the town. Quite a few of them piled up next to what appeared to be a hospital. The doors were blocked with wooden planks. Whether it was to keep ponies in or keep them out remained a mystery, as did most things.

There was something about the air, something indescribable. It seemed to get harder and harder to breathe every second, and soon he began coughing up blood. He thought this must be what had happened to all the ponies in town, that they had all caught some horrible disease and by simply being in the town he had been infected.

What would happen if the last pony alive died? Would the world cease to exist? Would it start over? Would it fade away?