Sometimes it’s hard to believe, but we were all just children, one day. Once upon a time, we were all innocent. We were all free from the terrors of the world, protected from harm by the warm glow of the sun. We could find nothing in the world to hate. To fear. To be shy from. The world was bright as the sun. Even at night, we could find safety in the fact that somebody is watching us, protecting us as we walk. That we were never alone...
Once upon a time.
Then, the time inevitably comes when reality sinks its claws into us. When we have to see past the sun and stare into the endless blackness of space. The eternal vortex that sucks the life out of us. Eventually, we must all learn that the world isn’t a place in which we can walk safely. It isn’t a place where the sparks of hope which we once felt may ignite.
Only three thousand years ago, a group of heroes, ponies who could see through that darkness and were true enough to fight it, braved the Wasteland and, against all odds, brought the darkness to it’s knees. Equestria was reborn, but it could never be the same as it was before. Those who survived from before the war, and lived to see the downfall of the wasteland, did their best to restore it, as well as those who had never even seen the dead earth in all it’s terribleness. They were as close to untainted as any could have ever dreamed to be. Those sparks of hope that had once been extinguished were relit by both the youngest and the oldest.
But an apocalypse is, and always will be, the end of the world. It is an irreversible turning point in time. All people, those who live through it, and those who live after it, are poisoned by its plague. The earth was made a place between Heaven and Hell. A place where no spirit could ever be wholly virtuous. And yet, no spirit can ever be thoroughly satanic. The Wasteland brought us many steps closer to Hell. We lost the will to hold on to our virtues for the sake of doing the right thing. And since then, we’ve been poisoned by the darkness of past transgressions.
It’s hard to just get to know somebody anymore. Either they have a reason to cut your neck, or they’re too uninterested to spare you more than a moment, if that at all. It’s not only a busy new world. It’s a dangerous one. It’s only a chance that a cloud will have a silver lining, but it’s a guarantee that every closet has a skeleton.
Anyone, everyone, has been born into a simply resurrected nation. A place where only the strongest can hope for happiness. The world was built from ashes, and therefore can only ever be as much. Those who follow were born to follow. Those who lead fought, some for their lives, to get where they are. Nobody can be expected to be generous, or accepting.
This is the future. It’s a place of power and abuse of evolution. Where grand progress was predicted, we’ve destroyed ourselves.
Some say there was a time before the Wasteland. Before every step was only another pace towards death. And they may be right. Long ago, we might not have been like this. Long ago, there may have been a world where murder, madness, and war were unheard of. A time of peace, harmony, and serenity. And maybe... friendship.
Why is it, I must ask, that trams never arrive on time?
Even if you managed to leave early, you will always be late. It's like some force that doesn't want you to get where you want to go. I don't understand it. I can't hope to understand it. I just know that it's never on time, and that the tram's the only way I've got.
Steel sliding doors with long-since faded warning signs creaked open on awkwardly warped rails. A far too large crowd of ponies pushed out the door, there being only one. The ground outside was wet and slippery, water dripping from the above ledges. The city had been pelted by a storm lately, whether it had been last night or the one before. Tall, sharply wired railing ran along the walkway, the room extending on either side into flickering warm light. Guards, all either unicorns or griffons (as far as aerial defense went, griffons were as fast as pegasi, and significantly stronger), stood sharply, not sparing us glances as we trampled down rickety stairs to the lobby.
Hoofston wasn't what anyone would typically consider a leisurely city. It was large, loud, with the semi-occasional riot and quick military dispatch to shoot them down. There’s the protesters, who march in the alleys with signs that usually read something along the lines of ‘THIS CITY WAS GREAT’ or ‘WE KILLED THESE STREETS.’ Nopony pays them any attention most of the time, though there’ve been fights and petitions demanding they be removed. Officials have never bothered taking the time to respond.
If you want at least some peace and quiet, you stay well away from politics.
Or find a hotel. That usually works too.
If you’re a lower citizen of Hoofston, you’re better off finding a hotel more than anything. Every one of them, everywhere, is built and funded completely by the government. At least, in Hoofston they are.
About four ponies, each one as grimy as was probably possible, forced themselves into BedBusted, a place I’d read was very much aptly named. One that was kept around more for the sake of filling space and not having to pay for a new building. Cheaper, and a better deal. If you’re stupid. Fortunately, I seemed to be.
There wasn’t really anything along the lines of a ‘desk,’ which one might at least assume they’d have for check-ins and ‘outs, The windows were the most effective light source, overpowering the dim lights and radiation fueled lanterns that were considered the replacements.
Whoopty-freakin-doo, the first night was free. And I got to stay in room 1408.
Great...
It honestly could’ve been worse. The room wasn’t in particularly bad condition; it was just bland. Tan carpet, transparent (slightly moldy) curtains; there were no windows though, which I didn’t quite understand. And a single-sized bed with grey sheets. I wasn’t sure I liked the beds. I think a sort of pale blue would work better for them. The room wasn’t unbearable. Boring and uncomfortably cramped, but not anything to really complain about, apart from the heater seeming to be broken. I should probably ask about getting that fixed; it’s really cold.
I wasn’t sure if I should’ve been sleeping or exploring the city. I was tired. I had also just spent sixty hours on a small, sweaty, crowded, questionably-lit tram.
I also valued my life. I decided on waiting ‘till day to walk.
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The room’s phone rang. The alarm clock was also beeping. I hadn’t even realized it had gone off. Had I set that last night?
I picked up the phone and propped myself on an arm (Could these beds be any stiffer?) and
answered.
“Hello?” I asked.
No response.
“Hello?” again, this time a little more impatiently.
“What? Oh, right.” a clearly bored mare answered. “Yeah, room 243... or maybe it was 343. Anyway, they called last night and asked for you. You’re 1408, right?”
“Yes.” I said, briefly.
“Well one of em’s is looking for you. I don’t know what for, but-”
“Wait, did you say they called last night?” it seemed a bit strange they hadn’t called me till now.
There was a pause, then a “Well... um...” and then she hung up.
First night was free I reasoned. I was closer to 343, and considering the hotel didn’t have a single damn elevator, it would be a pain to have to climb back up a flight of stairs.
My brain said I was just lazy. My legs said I was being efficient. I said this place needed a better way up and down.
The stairs didn’t have a railing, something I hadn’t noticed on the way up. Even now, most places had guardrails. I figured I should ask about that. Not falling was easy enough, though. The staircase was rather wide, which I suppose made up for it. Still, I was liking this hotel less and less with virtually every step I took.
The building got less and less moldy the further I went down. Yet another thing I seemed to have missed on the way up. It was hard to imagine Hoofston in daylight. It looked so fitting in the night. It wasn’t like I was able to see it from inside, since the hotel had no windows. It felt like solitary confinement, but with better furniture.
Room 343’s door was a little more decorative than the others. Each corner of the door had a six pointed star. They were very crudely carved, only lightly scratching the paint. An interesting design. I knocked on the door only once, and it opened limply, unlatched. As a matter of fact, the door didn’t even have a latch. The lights in the room were all on. I stayed outside, instead calling to see if anypony was inside. No voice responded. I thought about going down to 243, but I reasoned that I could check in here first.
Just in case.
The bed was made. Maybe there really was nopony renting the room? Nopony woke up and decided to make their bed in the style hotels do. Even this poor example of a place to stay for a night or two actually did it right... to an extent.
SLAM. That was the door.... Behind me was a very serious mare. She was brown-on-red, with a straight one-sided mane and matted tail. She didn’t quite look in the mood to talk about the weather.
“You’re late,” were her only two words. I searched her up and down for some expression to explain something.
“Can’t say it was my fault.” Her glowering became increasingly apparent.
“Look, I’m not a fan of you being here. I’d much more prefer you be alive when you leave this city, not in a body bag.” I didn’t follow. I kept searching her face and body until she continued. “Most of the Selections are biased to the point where they’re not even about chance.” She came closer, until she was standing muzzle-to-muzzle in my face, scowling. “And frankly, you won’t be high on the list of survivors.” Still, there was absolutely no emotion other than her virulence. She walked around me, myself turning with her, until my back was to the door.
“And what are the Selections?” I asked, briefly getting silence before she pushed me back into the door.
“Don’t stay, and you won’t have to worry about them when they come. You’ll have to get out before midnight tomorrow. That’s when everything shuts down. And I mean everything.” With a shove, she finally knocked me into the hallway. The door closed, even if it couldn’t latch.
I detached myself from the wall and stood before the door. The four six-pointed stars looked just a little less crudely carved.
==============================
So the hotel had an elevator... It ran from the second floor to the twelfth, skipped fourteen, and went on from fifteen. Of course it did.
I was still disturbed with what had just happened, though right now only mildly concerned by what she had actually said. She had, blatantly, told me to come to her hotel room, trapped me inside, yelled about how she didn’t want me here, then forced me out.
That had been an interesting wake-up call.
I didn’t go back to my room. I went down to the lobby and out. It was brighter than last night. What time was it? I had forgotten. Half of the more industrial section of the city was still closed, so it was probably around five or six. Still, Hoofston wasn’t as bright in the day as quite a long list of other places.
The back of my head was lingering on the... conversation. What what is she had said? The Choosings, the Selections? Yeah, Selections. She said I wanted to avoid them if I didn’t want to die. Should I believe her? Were the Selections like a lottery, and the mare had wanted me gone to increase her odds? No, this wasn’t exactly a charitable time or place, and there was the mention of the list of “survivors,” which sounded rather ominous. Was she making it up? It was certainly clear I was wanted gone.
I returned the musings to the back of my thoughts. I found that I had already started walking, my hooves of their own accord.
“Ice. Snow. Rock. More ice....
Oh right. And the DAMN WIND!
It’s never like they make it out to be in the movies. It’s like the ice age out there and even in this cave it’s cold as hell! Damnit!
The walls are littered with some psychopath’s insane preachings. Most of it’s rambling about “blessed unlife,” something having to do with the end of the Wasteland Era and the the end of nuclear blight. I’d be content with just the end of this damn freezing weather!
What I really need is something to drink. If I’m gonna die, I’d be just fine dying inebriated. Rapt in a glass of Sandy Tongue. That shit’ll have you over the edge just from the smell of it! The little I had left got “lost” by Botany just before she went missing. I swear, the next time I see that bitch, I’m gonna skin her alive, feed her corpse to the hellhounds, and wear her coat as a jacket.
Assuming I’m still alive the next time I see her.
I kinda wanted to record something that sounded semi-important, but there isn’t much of any significance anymore. There are things I can’t say. The people looking for me aren’t stupid enough to not check my audio logs. An uncomfortable change of pace, considering the Wasteland grows exponentially in idiots by the minute. It seems all anyone cares about anymore is blood, war, and more blood.
Greed. That’s what this all is. That’s all it is. An endless fight for power. They say that war never changes. That ponies never change. And while it’s true that ponies haven’t changed in centuries, they were once good. Now, we’ve fallen back into the cold, black embrace of cruel monstrosity.
Damn, it’s cold outside....
I guess I had more to say that I thought. The Wasteland is a hard subject to not think about when you have to suffer it every day. It keeps hammering it’s nails into your heart, pounding what you could have been. Ponies aren’t born cruel. We’re all born very peaceful, happy, spirited souls. And then they’re thrown into this hell, surrounded by death, violence, and war. Those souls are drowned in blood, their conscience washed away as they adapt. As the Wasteland tears away at them, piece by piece.
This is what we’ve become. There’s no denying the truth. The horrifying, inevitable revelation that even the worst of us realize...
We fucked up.... Again.
And this time, we haven’t been blessed with a Lightbringer. The select few that have survived are already part of the Wasteland. Corrupted by the endless fog of anger and murder..
We really fucked up. And I guess the only question I have left, before I freeze to death is... is....
Why?
