> Phobia > by Deathpony45 > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- > Phobia Part 1 > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Phobia Part 1 It was a dark and dreary night as is usual for moments such as this. A pony walked the streets of Manehattan rain pouring on top of his head. He had an important place to be but not one he cared to get to quickly. He strolled casually through the streets his head bowed low, counting the cracks on the sidewalk. two hundred thirty two two hundred thirty three two hundred thirty four The stallion muttered out the numbers under his breath almost whispering them reverently. It was his habit and his solace one of the few things that kept him sane. The dark stallion continued to trudge down his lonely road since he had gotten back it was all he had known, and apart from the occasional respectful glance and humbled bow his life was just that, lonely. All the ponies respected him and empathized towards him, this he hated, their kind smiles, their praises of his actions, he was no hero but they treated him like he was Supermare. A grunt and continued counting was all other ponies ever got out of him as his heavy hoofsteps fell against the shattered sidewalk still counting. He reached the outside of an apartment, his apartment and the counting ceased. "One thousand two hundred and twenty eight." He muttered to himself, "that's five more than yesterday this damn sidewalk is to fragile." He walked into the reception room of the apartment completely drenched from his walk around town. As usual the attendant greeted him with a sunny smile, which he promptly ignored as he made his way to the elevator. He shook his coat off inside the confined space. He hated elevators, two cramped for him, but the stairs were even worse to walk up for him, he still couldn't bring himself to do it. His hoof reached out and pressed a button turning on an internal light that highlighted the number 14. The soft elevator music playing in the background always soothed him it was nice and slow just what he needed after his walks. His slow demeanor followed him out of the elevator and down the hall to a room labeled 14D. He unlocked the box next to the door and grabbed the keys. Fumbling with them for a moment until he could finally fit the, in the Locke he turned them and heard the familiar click. The door opened and shut as the pony walked in. He knew why he was here but he didn't want to be here, he hated having to do this, to relive those memories. But he was forced to. The rain pelted against the rooftops not one of the perks of living on the top floor of an apartment. The lights were already on as he had expected and also as he expected he saw a strange pony sitting at his dinning room table with another pony standing next to him holding what seemed to be an audio recorder. The reporter took a deep breath and signaled for his companion to click record on the tape recorder he raised his eyes and adjusted his glasses trying to get a better glance at the veteran pony who sat across from him in the dim lighting of the home. "Well sir could we start with your name please?" "No," came the curt response of the grizzled stallion his deep voice contained a grit that could only come from prolonged military service. The reporter coughed a little and adjusted his glasses trying to gain some sort of comfortability I the hardwood chair that was the only furniture of the home he dared to sit on. "But sir surely you want the great ponies to know your name don't you?" "If I wanted fame I would've become a musician or something I don't give a royal shit about other ponies knowing what I went through and I don't see why they give a shit about what happened to me." "Sir you were the only one to survive ponies want to know what it was like." "Then maybe they should've joined the damn military if they want to experience war so badly why not do it up close and personal." The stallion's responses were full of malice as if the very thought of others knowing his story sickened him, the reporter just could nt understand why but that was because it was something he had never had to experience. The reporter coughed nervously and looked to his friend "Ok well then would you like to get started telling your story for us?" "I would mind, in fact I don't even know why I agreed to this interview in the first place you should probably just get out." More shock from the reporter surely he hadn't come this close to getting the story of the century just to lose it when he was so close to learning what no pony else had before him. "But sir," the reporter replied earnestly, "the ponies want to know your story everypony does they want to hear how you survived don't you feel they should know?" "No I don't think they should know it's not a story that should be told it's a story that I myself don't want to know, I've already told you this." The reporter flinched fully aware his repetition was about to lose him the story of the century until he saw the stallion pause and turn around. "But if everypony is so eager to hear the wonderful story of my war experience then fine I'll tell them. But I want you to know you will get every single graphic detail I can think to give you got that?" The reporter gulped nervously, "Yessir," the stallion smiled at the reporters response. Not a happy smile but a smile void of life and emotion, a smile that only served to increase the nerves of the reporter. "Well then," the stallion grinned even more as he reclined slightly to get comfortable "let's start from the beginning." The stallion closed his eyes and remembered, he remembered the sound of helicopter blades slicing through the air and the last time that he had smiled in so long the memories almost brought tears to his eyes as they played through his head. "It all began with the sound of a helicopter."