“Apple Bloom! We’re home! Have ya been a good little filly while we were gone?”
Uh oh. Apple Bloom would’ve recognized that voice anywhere: her Granny Smith was home, and by the sound of things Big Mac had returned with her. This was a real problem: Apple Bloom was still an undead abomination with a make up that flew in the face of all established law and logic where science and magic were concerned. Were her granny to see her in this state, she would probably try to butcher her or have Big Mac rip her apart with the utmost prejudice. She was completely unrecognizable as… well, whatever this was.
Apple Bloom lifted her head from the sheet covering her small mattress, attempting to listen out for the sound of approaching hoofsteps through her blanket. At least she was covered with something, as insubstantial as that comfort was. She wiped what was left of her blackened tears from her cheeks and the spots under her eyes. She had mourned for two and a half hours after making the horrid discovery, but by now had calmed down considerably, content to hold her breath until she died from oxygen starvation. She had been doing so for the past hour, and had yet to feel even slightly dizzy; she decided that being undead was not without its perks, but at the moment those perks were clearly working against her wishes.
The sound of hooves on floorboards echoed throughout the house, before they seemed to begin steadily gaining elevation. She knew that this indicated that her gran and brother were making their way to her room by way of the stairs, meaning that they would arrive at her door in ten seconds at the most.
She began to become extremely apprehensive, wondering how she could hide her monstrous appearance from them without arousing suspicion. She was already covered by her blanket, but they would insist that she remove it so that they could greet her face to face. Of course, there was always the option of jumping out her window; the problem was the next course of action. Make her way to Ponyville? Only if she wanted to be reported to Celestia herself as a new type of dangerous creature never before seen by modern ponies. Escape into the Everfree? Sure, why not make it even easier for those logic-starved denizens of Sunny Town to locate and capture her. Of course she’d love to spend the rest of eternity with those murderers. Hide in the apple orchards for the rest of her life? Not a chance. She may be undead, but she was sure that the boredom would kill her twice over. Find the other members of the Cutie Mark Crusaders to formulate a plan of evasion and survival with their help? Now that sounded like a great idea.
Her decision made, Apple Bloom threw the blanket off of her bed towards the door, aware that her family had reached her room. She quickly undid the latch on her window and looked down.
Unlike last time, there were no conveniently placed hay bales to cushion her fall, just a straight descent from her current position down to the soil and a small plough underneath her window, a dangerous distance for a small filly such as herself to cross under the influence of gravity.
The door knob was turning.
Out of ideas and time, she jumped. The air was rushing past her face with increasing speed, the ground approaching frighteningly quickly. She barely had time to think of how stupid this idea was before slamming into the soil directly below her window.
She rolled a good few metres before coming to a standstill near the barn. Her eyes opened slowly, in complete disbelief at the fact that she had survived. She attempted to survey her surroundings, a bit disoriented after her solid meeting with the ground. Her head rolled first to the left, then the right, before coming to a stop staring at the sky. She was fortunate that she hadn’t sustained any injuries from that fall; actually, it was a miracle that she was still in one piece.
Apple Bloom lifted her right forehoof, getting ready to stand up and gallop off into the distance, hopefully before Granny Smith and Big Mac spotted her lying outside of the house. Her forehoof made contact with a hay bale.
How peculiar. She was sure that there were no hay bales near her part of the barn. She rotated her head to take a look around and managed to spot a small black object moving around to the side of the house, a great distance away from her position. It was moving in tandem with her thoughts, attempting to wiggle into a position that would allow for it to stand upright.
She looked back to the spot directly underneath her window, spotting a bit of movement there as well. It was the rest of her body: her remaining three legs, tail and barrel. She looked at the small plough, realizing that she must have severed her foreleg from her core during her descent.
Slowly, she began to wonder why she couldn’t see her head attached to her body. Then, a thought occurred to her. It went something like this:
That’s a dumb idea. Ya need yer eyes ta see, Bloom. Yer eyes’re in yer head, so if ya manage ta see yer head away from yer eyes then ya got a problem
I know that. I was just wonderin’ how I can see anything at all, given the fact that a head don’t work detached from a body.
True. Actually, that’s a bit of a dilemma. How are you seein’ from a head that’s been decapitated?
I dunno. I was hopin’ that you’d know, maybe give me some kinda answer.
Sorry, but if you don’t got any ideas then neither do I.
How come?
‘Cause I’m you.
“What?!” Apple Bloom exclaimed in surprise, the absurdity of the entire situation finally getting to her. She was a head lying on the ground debating with herself over ideas that were blatantly obvious, only to be told by herself that she is, in fact, herself. It was a bit strange that she had even forgotten that fact in the first place.
Unfortunately, her realization had been accompanied by a rather loud exclamation. So loud, in fact, that her gran and brother were able to hear it from her bedroom window.
“What in tarnation was that?” asked Granny Smith, approaching the window cautiously. Big Mac just shrugged.
“What’s that lyin’ on the floor over there?” asked Granny Smith, leaning out of the window to look at Apple Bloom’s detached head lying near the family barn. Big Mac just shrugged.
“Why’s there a small black filly’s body lyin’ down underneath Apple Bloom’s window?” asked Granny Smith, staring in horror at the small corpse idly resting on the ground directly beneath her. Big Mac just shrugged.
Granny Smith lifted her head to peer at Big Mac in irritation.
“Y’know, Big Mac; had I wanted such interestin’ company, I’d’ve brought a scarecrow upstairs with me, or maybe a used meat grinder. I dunno where ta find one of ‘em, but it’d be more engagin’ than you right now.”
Big Mac just shrugged.
Granny Smith narrowed her eyes, stared at the large red stallion for a few seconds, and began making her way down the passage, fully intending to go outside in order to see just what a rotten corpse was doing on her proud family farm.
Apple Bloom was beginning to panic. If they started to inspect her body parts then they were sure to realize that her limbs were still moving, attempting to escape whatever fate awaited them at the hooves of her well-meaning relatives.
She began directing her three attached limbs to rise, and piloted them over to her remaining foreleg. It was difficult to estimate movement from her position, but she attempted to reattach her leg while watching from a distance, mainly using her sense of touch and her body’s spatial awareness in order to correctly orient her leg with the opening and jam it into the waiting joint. She could feel the decayed flesh grow and twist to accommodate the new limb, sealing over the cuts and slices until one would be unable to tell that her foreleg had ever been sliced off.
She then began to rotate her entire body until it was directly facing her head, and took off at a full gallop. It was a bit of a surreal experience: she felt every sensation as if she were there, but she knew full well that her head was lying directly outside of the family barn, watching as the rest of her body approached in order to attempt to do something before she was caught by her brother and grandmother.
Her body reached her head, stopped before it kicked her off into a distant field or orchard near the back of the farm, reached down with a forehoof, picked her up and placed her neck upon the gaping hole above her shoulders, reattaching her head to the rest of her body. She sighed in contentment as she swivelled her neck from side to side, happy to actually be in one piece.
“What - what - how - who - Big Mac: do somethin’!”
Her granny’s shrill cry brought Apple Bloom out of her reverie, just in time to see Big Mac barreling down the stretch of farm to her position, obviously fully intent on teaching this small monster a thing or two about reattaching body parts on Apple property.
She turned tail and bolted, all the while crying out for her big brother to recognise her.
“Big Mac, it’s me: Apple Bloom!”
Big Mac remained silent, narrowing his eyes as he rapidly closed the space between them. Her voice must have sounded wrong; he always recognized her shouts of terror.
She needed an escape, some way to evade the brother who was attempting to rend her limb from limb. She looked out to the orchard, then started running for the closest tree that she could spot. As she reached it, she launched herself upwards to meet the bark of the tree’s sturdy trunk, then frantically shimmied her way up towards the branches of the plant. She alighted upon one of its many limbs, then looked down to see her brother’s cold eyes staring back up at her, silently wishing death upon the intruder who had attempted to soil his sister’s good name by claiming to be her.
Apple Bloom watched in horror as her brother faced his back to the tree, then charged up a mighty kick that would no doubt tear the wooden obstacle from its roots so that he could brutalize the undead abomination resting on its branches. This was a stallion who could casually tow houses when he was in the mood; she rightly suspected that neither she nor the tree stood a chance against her big brother in a contest of strength. However, perhaps she could use her wits to escape the onslaught of force coming her way.
She looked out to the trees near hers, hoping that there was something she could see, use or do that would delay the seemingly inevitable conclusion to her situation. Seeing nothing, she turned her attention to the ground underneath her large hideout. Suddenly, she spotted a means of escape: there, no more than twenty metres from her current perch, was a hole opening into the ground. It was large enough for her to fit into, but it would take a lot of digging in order for her brother to have any hope of maintaining pursuit. Thankfully, she knew that her brother, while physically strong to the point of overkill, had no idea as to how one would go about digging anything other than a vertical hole in which to place a new sapling.
She looked back to her brother; he was almost ready to unleash his almighty kick, his back legs tucked firmly into his flank. The entire time, his head was twisted backwards to stare at her, a murderous glint in his eyes.
Now or never.
As he unleashed his legs at full force against the trunk of the apple tree, Apple Bloom jumped.
The effect of the impact was monstrous. The area directly under Big Mac’s back hooves seemed to stay upright for an instant, miraculously holding against the incredible energy unleashed in its direction. However, it was nothing more than the illusion of strength. Directly afterwards, the trunk exploded outwards in a shower of splinters and chunks of bark as the crown of the plant was launched into the sky at blistering speeds, destined to land somewhere on the cliff face near the city of Canterlot. All of the leaves formerly attached to the tree’s branches shot off like confetti, landing around the large red stallion in clumps or individually. Through it all, a resounding crack could be heard as far away as Ponyville, the result of the sheer speed of Big Mac’s legs as they made impact with the tree’s surface. He admired his work with pride.
Only to be disappointed when he looked off to the side and spotted a small, dull red tail disappear into a hole a short distance from his position.
He dipped his head, closed his eyes and sighed in disappointment. His quarry had escaped, gone off to who-knows-where. He slowly turned and shuffled off in the direction of the farmhouse, not eager to confront Granny Smith after having failed to apprehend the little monster. She would have some choice words to say to him, and he couldn’t really blame her.
That was rather pathetic.
Apple Bloom followed the network of tunnels through to Ponyville. She continued to track Sweetie Belle’s cutie mark the whole way, hoping that she would be able to pop up somewhere in her area without arousing suspicion. In her current form, that was a task that bordered on the impossible; emerging anywhere even remotely near the town would likely cause for a few heads to turn, but anywhere else and she would be unable to reach either one of her friends. Scootaloo, though a pegasus, lived in Ponyville as well; a fact that was a result of her present inability to fly. Some ponies believed that Scootaloo was permanently disabled due to a genetic defect resulting in underdeveloped wings, but her fellow Crusaders were sure that she just needed to give them time to grow. Not everyone can be experts at stuff immediately, no matter what anypony had to say on the matter.
Apple Bloom turned her attention to the task at hoof. Sweetie Belle was in her upstairs room in Rarity’s famous Carousel Boutique. Okay, no problem. This was just a small hurdle that she needed to overcome. Oh, and there were at least twenty other ponies within the structure at the moment. Once again, not a problem. She just needed a disguise that would hide the fact that she was technically dead; those were a dime a dozen. Just find a trenchcoat, slap on some shades and hey presto! You got yourself a master disguise. It had worked every other time, so why wouldn’t it work now?
She positioned herself directly underneath one of the boutique's storage rooms, intending to surface for an outfit that would work as a functional disguise without letting Rarity know that she was ste- borrowing it until she had an opportunity to return it at some future date.
She quietly lifted one of the floor panels and slid out onto the ground, letting the tile down gently so as not to create a noise that would no doubt attract the attention of the fashionista or a concerned patron. She carefully trotted over to a display sporting ready-made clothing for fillies her age.
Strange; one of the jackets on display had her name on the tag. Had Applejack been saving this as a surprise for her little sister? Or perhaps it was Big Mac. Of course, Apple Bloom wouldn’t put it past Granny Smith to do something nice for her every once in a while. Sure, the old pony was more ancient than the town itself and probably dangerously senile, but she had a heart bigger than most sane ponies, and could probably outperform many of them physically as well.
Apple Bloom slipped into the small nondescript jacket. Now all that she needed was something to obscure her face. After some searching, she was able to find a pair of sunglasses that fit the bill, and more importantly, her face, perfectly. Disguise assembled, she opened the door slightly and peeked out at the shop floor.
Nopony was looking in her direction. Most of the shoppers were looking at the assorted displays, interested in purchasing something that was a blend of Rarity’s fashion sense and their own design ideas. Confident that she would not be found, Apple Bloom stepped out of the store room and shut the door quietly.
“Oh, hello dear. Who might you be?”
Consarnit. Not even one step outta that room and already Rarity had spotted her. She decided to play it cool and pretend to be some other pony who was probably new to the town.
“Well howdy… I mean, uh, good day there, miss. My name’s, um, Sparkle… Guild...er Fitzherbert Junior… The Second.”
Nailed it.
“Oh, how adorable, Apple Bloom. You are the most precocious little thing.”
Never mind.
“Howdy, Rarity. I’m lookin’ fer Sweetie Belle. Ya seen her?”
“Why yes. As a matter of fact she’s…” Rarity paused to allow herself a moment to take in exactly what it was that she was seeing.
“Apple Bloom, what is the matter with your, well, everything, darling?” asked Rarity. She seemed to be very concerned with Apple Bloom’s appearance now that she had crossed the shop floor and managed to get a good look at her. To Rarity, Apple Bloom’s look was unnatural; she didn’t know of a foal who could so thoroughly dirty themselves as to obtain a blackened colouring. She also noticed that some patches of her fur were missing entirely, showing areas of skin that seemed to be diseased, though her flesh appeared to have become so unhealthy that it was practically lifeless.
Before Apple Bloom could react, Rarity removed her sunglasses to get a good look at her face.
“Sweet Celestia!” she exclaimed, recoiling in horror at the sight of Apple Bloom’s evil-looking red eyes. By now, the attention of every patron in the shop was on the two ponies, and their reactions were very similar to Rarity’s own. True, they had seen their fair share of horrors, but most of those were not actively malicious; misguided, yes; hurtful, certainly, but not evil. Now, faced with something that exuded sheer wrongness in quintessence, they could not help but be terrified at the sight of the turned filly.
Apple Bloom needed to think, and fast: soon, the shop would become a stampeding ground for panicked ponies mindlessly galloping about screaming their heads off, instead of calmly approaching the exits to leave.
She shouted the first thing that came to mind.
“Hang on everpony: this is just my Nightmare Night outfit!”
She hoped that they would buy it; it had seemed rather convincing to her.
Rarity seemed to visibly calm down, though her face was now overtaken with confusion.
“Apple Bloom, isn’t Nightmare Night at least another five days away?”
Dagnabbit, more quick thinking.
“Yeah, but I wanted fer this outfit to be well worn by the time I wear it fer real. Ya know, ta make me look more undead and such like.”
Rarity slowly nodded, another question obviously making its way to the surface. Before she could ask any more, Apple Bloom decided to interrupt her.
“Rarity, I’m kinda in a hurry. Me and the Crusaders’re workin’ on a great plan ta get more candy come Nightmare Night, so I need ta talk ta Sweetie Belle right now.”
Rarity seemed to be taken aback at the bluntness of the filly’s request, but quickly recomposed herself and gave her a polite smile.
“Of course, darling. She’s in her bedroom, just upstairs.”
“Thank ya kindly,” Apple Bloom replied courteously.
Sweet freedom.
Apple Bloom rapped her hoof impatiently on Sweetie Belle’s door, wishing that she would hurry up instead of taking her time. She’d already had to stand outside the room for at least a minute, impatiently waiting until her fellow Crusader was good and ready to receive her.
Sweetie Belle’s door began to open slowly, painfully slowly, so slowly that Apple Bloom felt as if her friend were intentionally teasing her with the pathetic pace of her room’s reveal. Finally, as soon as the door had opened enough to allow her a line of sight into her friend’s private chambers, she spotted the marshmallow coloured filly herself standing in the doorway.
Upon obtaining her first look at Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle began to appear slightly afraid. Of course, Apple Bloom had left the stylish shades downstairs in her haste to escape Rarity and reach her friend.
“Um… can I help you?” the pale white Crusader asked with a hint of fear in her voice.
“Sweetie Belle, it’s me: Apple Bloom.”
At this, the small filly relaxed her posture and adopted a curious smile.
“Apple Bloom? What’re you doing looking like that? You know that Nightmare Night is still a few days away, right?”
“Oh, ha ha,” Apple Bloom replied drily. “Real funny, Sweetie Belle. That’s exactly what yer sister said ta me on the shop floor, so the joke’s old. If ya let me in, I’ll explain why I look like a Nightmare Moon wannabe as best I can.”
Without hesitation, Sweetie Belle stepped back from her door to allow her friend access. Apple Bloom let out a sigh of relief, entered the room and gently shut the door behind herself.
She shed her coat and turned around to face her fellow Crusader, finding her staring back quizzically, as if she had many questions to ask yet was unable to grasp the words that would allow for them to find expression. Thus, all that she could do to indicate her confusion at the slightly peculiar situation was stare. Apple Bloom decided to get straight to the heart of the matter.
“Okay. First off, the reason that I look like I’m wearin’ a cheap zombie costume is ‘cause I am a zombie. Or at least as close to one as I can be without knowin’ whether I really am. I’m cursed in some weird way that makes me become like this at night, but fer some reason the curse is a little broken and now it’s happenin’ durin’ the day. I dunno what ta do, and I need yer help: yours and Scootaloo’s.”
Throughout her short explanation, Sweetie Belle’s expression of confusion only seemed to deepen. It also seemed to be increasingly accompanied by a hint of scepticism that Apple Bloom knew she would need to overcome if she were to obtain her friends’ help in remedying whatever it was that had gone wrong with her.
But how? How to convince her friend?
She could try self-mutilation, but that would likely just scare her away. Perhaps holding her breath? No. Sweetie Belle would think that she was cheating by keeping her breathing very shallow. Cutting herself and showing that she wouldn’t bleed? Again, no. Sweetie Belle was a bit squeamish when it came to blood, so she would likely refuse to look at all.
What to do?
If only she could reveal her pony half to Sweetie Belle, get her to see that she was only partly an abomination. That would surely convince her of the truth of her claims; then they could set about trying to fix the problem and undo what was done to her, whatever it was.
The problem was that she had already tried that out: some of her earlier moping had been spent willing herself back to normal, all to no avail. She couldn’t understand why she had been able to switch between forms so freely at the dinner table, as it seemed that she was unable to do so after seeing herself in the mirror. Perhaps it had a time limit within which she was able to change back, and she was just unfortunate enough to have stayed in one form for too long. Regardless, she couldn’t do anything about it, and would have to be content to wait until she could show Sweetie Belle that she was being serious.
Sweetie Belle gasped.
Apple Bloom looked over at her friend, curious as to what had amazed her so, only to see her staring directly at the undead filly in wonder, and a little fear. Apple Bloom looked down at her own body in confusion… her yellow, healthy, living, decidedly normal-looking body.
She stared down dumbstruck, in shock over the sudden reversion to her natural filly form. Her body was back to normal, looking as if she had never been one of those monsters in the first place.
A thought occurred to her: there was only one way to make sure that this was a true transformation.
She twisted her head around and angled her body to see the spot where her cutie mark should have been. She silently prayed that it was really there, and that this wasn’t just a temporary respite until night fell, at which point she would be back to her dark and twisted form, out for the blood of those whose passions and talents had been realized and physically symbolized by a mark of certainty that adorned their bodies.
Her neck stopped rotating, her eyes set on the spot that would reveal her fate.
It was there. Her cutie mark was there. The curse was gone. No, it was more than that: it was as if the curse had never existed at all. Her mark hadn’t reappeared in a flash of light, anymore than her backwards transformation had been accompanied by much pomp and fanfare, a heralding of goodness and harmony back into her small body. It just happened, it was just there, had always been there. It was as if it had merely been obscured by some dust or dirt for a time, and was now finally visible once again.
But how was that possible? She’d spent over an hour in her bed wishing for normalcy, hoping with all her heart - with everything that she was - that she would change back, yet she had stayed a miniature monster. How was it, then, that calmly pondering methods of plainly revealing the truth of her predicament to her friend had cured her? And so suddenly, too. It made no sense whatsoever.
She looked over at Sweetie Belle. Her jaw was practically on the floor, her eyes wide enough to be mistaken for grapefruits, had it not been for the difference in colours. She was attempting to find some words that could accurately describe what she had just seen, or call it into question. Unfortunately, she was failing dismally, as all that she had succeeded in doing was stand frozen in place with her mouth agape while a series of small whines and squeaks escaped her throat.
Apple Bloom decided to reintroduce the concept of speech into the room.
“So, uh… that was somethin’.”
Sweetie Belle tilted her head slightly, her eyes still as wide as they had been since she had first witnessed the reversion. She seemed to be trying to understand exactly how it was that Apple Bloom was able to speak given the extraordinary circumstances. Then, as if she had just remembered how to form words into coherent sentences, all of her unexpressed questions emerged in a hurricane of panicked exclamations.
“How… how… how did you end up becoming a zombie?! That’s completely impossible! Twilight says that zombies don’t exist, at all. She’s always right about this kind of thing; how was she so wrong now? What happened? I need to know what happened!”
“The first time or the second time?” Apple Bloom asked, a laugh dancing just out of her reach at the back of her throat. This conversation was shaping up to be good fun for her.
“Second time?!”
After a few minutes of explanation that almost expanded into an hour’s worth of backtracking for the sake of the horribly confused unicorn filly, Apple Bloom was confident that she had sufficiently elaborated on the events that had transpired that day in Sunny Town, and the transformation that had occurred at the dinner table that morning. Sweetie Belle, however, was still trying to come up with “rational” explanations for what she had just witnessed.
“Are you sure that it wasn’t just a disguise spell that you applied by mistake?”
Apple Bloom’s face deadpanned.
“Sweetie, I’m an earth pony. We ain’t exactly well known fer our magical abilities.”
It was still hard for Apple Bloom to believe that she had reverted, just like that; doubly so given the fact that the curse was supposed to be permanent. For Sweetie, the whole thing was as incomprehensible as an M.C. Escher work shown in three dimensions. She wasn’t just having trouble wrapping her head around Apple Bloom’s story: she was finding it impossible to understand that everything every adult had ever told her about the way the world works could so easily be called into question, her comfy reality shattered by nothing more than a string of words about one pony’s experience with the forbidden aspects of their world.
“Okay, hang on. I get the part about your trip to Sunny Town, but I still don’t get how you got so messed up without even being there.”
Apple Bloom rubbed the back of her head with her right forehoof.
“I don’t rightly know the answer ta that one myself. All I know is that there were ants in the kitchen, spellin’ out “Help us” everywhere they could scurry. I only started feelin’ funny after knowin’ what it was they were tryin’ ta tell me. Then they were gone, and I became that… thing.”
Apple Bloom shuddered slightly when remembering what she had been for the better part of that day. The worst part for her was that she had felt completely normal in that state; there was no inherent feeling of evil or wrongness with her situation, just the same feelings she always got - minus all biological needs, of course. She had felt happy, sad, angry, indifferent, her ordinary range of emotions.
What she had not felt was pain, nor hunger; there was no need for water or air, and she had not found it necessary to even be in one piece to stay not dead, yet not alive. It was a surreal experience, one that she did not wish to repeat.
As she was deep in thought, a blinding flash of lightning illuminated their surroundings to a dangerously bright white, followed by a great crash of thunder which shook the small bedroom.
Sweetie Belle looked up at her window, startled and confused.
“I didn’t hear anything about a scheduled rain storm today. Did you?” she asked the equally perplexed Apple Bloom as large raindrops began to crash into her window pane.
“No. Nothin’. My family likes ta keep on top o’ the weather fer the sake o’ our apples ‘n crops, so I dunno why I didn’t hear anything ‘bout this.”
She turned to Sweetie Belle, a look of suspicion on her face.
“Actually, now that I think about it, the sky was completely clear when I was runnin’ from Big Mac in the apple orchard. I know Rainbow’s fast, but that’s only when she’s buckin’ clouds away, not when she’s tryin’ ta get them into the sky, and even the weather team ain’t that efficient as a whole. What’s goin’ on?”
Sweetie Belle shrugged, flinched as a second clap of thunder resonated throughout the room, then motioned towards her door.
“Why don’t we go and ask Rarity?”
With that, the two fillies made their way downstairs to ask the white mare some questions regarding the weather schedule, sure that they must have missed something somewhere. However, upon reaching the ground floor they noticed something that concerned them greatly.
They turned their heads in tandem to face one of the boutique’s large display windows, sure that something was amiss. Or, more accurately, missing.
Beyond the single pane of glass separating them from the outside world, they did not see what was expected at such a time. Instead of darkened skies filled with the flashing images of warring white masses as their electric sceptres clashed with resounding explosions across the horizon, the two friends were able to see the sun shining brightly over the town of Ponyville, not a cloud in the sky.
Confused, they trotted back upstairs to Sweetie Belle’s bedroom. The lightning nearly blinded them when they stepped through the entrance, the thunder causing for their eardrums to ache with its volume. Through it all, the rain seemed to be assaulting the boutique, attempting to drill a hole straight through the roof. The downpour was so ferocious that the room vibrated in rhythm with the pounding sheets of water slamming against it. Contrasting with the warm colours of the boutique downstairs, Sweetie Belle’s room looked as if someone had intentionally sucked most of its rich hues out, leaving so little that it appeared as a dull monochrome, yet just enough to create the suggestion of colour, the impression of vibrancy.
“I’ll go check the window in Rarity’s Inspiration Room!” Apple Bloom screamed over the cacophony of noises generated by the destructive weather phenomenon. Sweetie Belle turned towards her to indicate that she had indeed heard her shouts, even with her forehooves clamped over her ears.
Apple Bloom stumbled towards the open door, amazed by the sheer amount of noise within the small room. As she stepped outside, every pounding slam and almighty crack that came from the unnatural storm immediately stopped. Shocked by the change, she immediately turned around to look back the way she had come. She could only see Sweetie Belle folded over inside with her hooves still firmly held over her ears, vibrating to some stimulus that was now completely undetectable to the farm-raised filly.
Apple Bloom quickly cantered over to Rarity’ Inspiration Room, intent on taking a quick peek out the window in order to ascertain the conditions outside at that moment and then make her way back to the other room to see what lay beyond the boutique’s walls.
She trotted over to the window, got up onto her hind legs and peered outside. Nothing out of the ordinary. She was on the second storey of the boutique, looking up into a serene sky tinged orange by the warming rays of the setting sun, the whole scene peacefully played out above the rooftops of every cozy building in Ponyville.
She dropped back onto all fours and made her way back to Sweetie Belle, hoping that she could get a quick peek out of her window before they left the room to get out of the area affected by the anomaly.
Upon entering the room, she was almost knocked to the ground by the sudden influx of sound and flashing light that seemed to plague the area. She saw Sweetie Belle lying on the ground, hooves over her head in an attempt to drown out some of the noise brutally assaulting her senses. Apple Bloom carefully stepped around her and shakily trotted over to the window. Reaching it, she drew herself up to stand on her hind legs, planted her forehooves on the windowsill and peered outside.
She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
Normally, Sweetie Belle’s window showed a view out over the roofs of most of the buildings in Ponyville, with a line of sight that allowed for one looking out of it to see the town hall. Now, however, the perspective from the small opening had changed.
From the window Apple Bloom could see that she was at ground level, in line with the doors of most of the buildings in Ponyville; this despite the fact that she was on the second floor of the boutique. She also noticed that instead of facing the town hall, her line of sight went in the other direction, a fact that confused the small filly greatly. If the window was in one place facing in one direction, how was it possible that her view from it extended in the other? Her curiosity was becoming insatiable, a desire for knowledge that became stronger the longer she continued to stare out the window.
She needed to find out.
She dropped to all fours, turned around, stumbled back to Sweetie Belle and nudged her in the side with her right forehoof. The little filly looked up slowly, the strain of attempting to block out the overwhelming sensations evident on her face.
“I wanna see what’s outside the window; I’ll be back in a few minutes!” Apple Bloom shouted, straining to be heard above the fierce storm. Sweetie Belle slowly shook her head, obviously not wanting for her friend to venture forth alone.
“Don’t go!”
“I have to!”
“Please.”
“I’ll be quick!” Apple Bloom replied, attempting to reassure her friend.
Sweetie’s eyes pleaded with her to stay, obviously fearing for both her friend’s safety as well as her own. Apple Bloom’s resolve wavered for an instant, before she lowered herself to her friend’s level, softened her voice and began to reassure her.
“Listen, Sweetie Belle; I’m not goin’ anywhere. You can even watch me from inside. I’m only gonna be on the other side o’ yer window; I wouldn’t dream o’ leavin’ my friends behind. Ya know me. As much as she might irritate me at times, I aim ta be like my big sister: loyal, dependable ‘n honest. And right now, I can honestly promise ya this: I’ll be right back ta see ya again.”
Sweetie Belle seemed to consider her confident statement for a second, before asking, “You promise?”
“Yeah!”
“Then…” Sweetie Belle paused to think, before continuing her sentence. "Then I’m coming with!” The filly decided, rising to her hooves. “If you’re going, even for a few seconds, you can’t go alone: buddy system!”
“You sure?”
“Nope! Are you?”
“Nope!” Apple Bloom replied, laughing while trotting back over to the window. “But, ready or not, I need ta see what’s out there!”
She struggled to undo the latch on the window, before managing to unjam the small mechanism. The window violently swung open, nearly colliding with Apple Bloom’s head. She got onto her hind legs, looked outside for a few seconds, then jumped through the small opening. Sweetie Belle followed suit a few seconds later, and bumped straight into her friend’s flank. She looked at Apple Bloom, noticing that she was standing rigidly on the spot, before realizing that it was due to the ferocity of the wind; she was trying her best to stay on her hooves.
Sweetie turned her head to look back at their entrance into this unholy storm, wondering whether Apple Bloom would be content with returning to the room soon.
Her window was gone.
Sweetie Belle stared at the blank space for a few seconds, her young mind temporarily unable to understand just what was happening. The spot where they had emerged had no windows or other openings; it was a section of the Carousel Boutique’s wall, devoid of anything that could have been used as an entrance.
She turned back to Apple Bloom and shouted out, “How are we going to get back inside?”
“We’ll just jump back through the window!”
“There is no window!” Sweetie replied hopelessly.
Apple Bloom turned back to look at their means of access, intent on proving her friend wrong. However, she too was unable to spot anything that even resembled an entrance, seeing only a solid wall.
Before she could express confusion or concern, a shrill cry was heard by the two friends, coming from the opposite end of the street on which they were standing. They turned to look at the house situated there, and saw something that surprised Apple Bloom and concerned Sweetie Belle.
There, pinned against the wall of a brown house with an orange stable door and green windowsills, were Applejack and Fluttershy, taking shelter in the alleyway between two structures. They looked ragged, as if they had been out in the storm for days without finding respite for even a moment. Fluttershy’s pink mane was waterlogged, her hair plastered to her face and back. She seemed to be badly injured on her stomach, a gaping wound evident in that region. Her face was contorted into an expression of pain as Applejack tried to use part of her ripped Stetson hat to slow the bleeding.
The farmer seemed to be frantic as she tried to patch up her friend, as if the strip of cloth she was holding was the only thing that would give Fluttershy a chance at survival. As she continued to work, she looked up to survey her surroundings. Her eyes became wide with fear when she spotted Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom staring back at her. She opened her mouth to say something, but the sound was lost to the ceaseless noise of the storm.
Seeing no response to her sentence, Applejack stooped down and grabbed Fluttershy by one of her hooves, trying to drag her out of their hiding place towards the two fillies; she obviously wanted something, but neither of the Crusaders could guess what it was. She repeated her sentence to them, hoping that her message would reach their waiting ears.
All that Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle heard was the sound of the storm, of crashing thunder and pounding rain, and the heavy, rolling noise of rushing water.
Wait - rushing water?
They reconsidered the last item and began to wonder exactly what it meant for their current situation, before their eyes widened in realization. They looked out in all directions, hoping to spot the danger before it was upon them. They turned their heads to either side of the street in order to survey both ends at once, Apple Bloom checking to the left and Sweetie Belle the right.
Down one of the roadways nearest them, Sweetie Belle saw what appeared to be a solid wall of murky liquid rapidly rushing in their direction. Realizing that it was too late to do anything, she barely had enough time to open her mouth before the flood was upon them.
The water plowed through the four ponies like a train, not even slowing upon sweeping them up in its relentless advance through the stricken town. Apple Bloom was thrown violently against various objects underwater, briefly broke the surface, and was sucked back under to be used as a battering ram against a window that was part of one of the many houses opposing the unstoppable mass of liquid. She flew through the centre of the room, was launched out of a window on the other side, broke the surface of the water again and began paddling in an attempt to stay above the turmoil below.
She weakly kicked against the downward pull of the flood, praying that her tired and injured legs would outlast the devastating phenomenon. She assumed that the Ponyville dam wall had been incapable of holding out under the torrential downpour, and so had given out as they had arrived in this… this…
What was it? Were they in the past? The future? An alternate timeline, a negated possibility, perhaps a parallel universe?
Were they even in their own Ponyville anymore?
And if not, what then? Would they be eternally condemned to wander this area, living out the rest of their days until their inevitable deaths? Or would an answer arrive unexpectedly, allowing for them to somehow create a window back home, back to their families and friends, back to the way that things used to be; how long would they have to wait for such a miracle, if it happened at all? They didn’t have forever. In fact, they were already out of time.
It was at this point in Apple Bloom’s tired musings that her legs failed her, her energy completely spent on staying afloat after the dramatic occurrences throughout the day. She gave a few more feeble kicks before becoming completely immobile; the downward current became irresistible, pulling her under within seconds. Her body went into orbit around various pieces of debris before settling at the bottom of the mass of churning water.
Well, at least she was going to die peacefully. There were worse ways to go out: the inhabitants of Sunny Town knew it, and would continue to know it forevermore.
She sighed, letting out all the air left in her lungs, and waited silently for death’s cold embrace.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Sweetie Belle wasn’t faring much better than her fellow Crusader. She had been holding her head above water for a few seconds after impact, before being slammed against the wall of Sugar Cube Corner. However, even after such a hit she would have been able to swim a few more metres at least; indeed, she had tried. The flood, unfortunately, saw this as an inconvenience, and decided to increase the difficulty of her trials. As a result, she found herself following the flow of the water nearest her position, back in the direction of the small bakery. She visually searched the wall nearest herself to understand why, and very quickly spotted the reason: one of the windows had been smashed inwards below the waterline. The flood’s top priority, at the moment, was to fill the newly discovered cavity to the brim, and it saw her as an acceptable object to fill that role.
She began to panic, frantically attempting to swim in the other direction. Her small legs kicked against open water to no avail; she was being drawn in, and no amount of struggling would prevent the terrifying eventuality.
As she began to tire, the current became stronger. She knew that that meant that she was nearing the opening in the wall: if she were to be drawn in, death would be the only possible outcome. She swam harder, even though she was beginning to become exhausted from the effort. Before she could give up, however, a small approaching wave rushed over her, forcing her through the open window.
She spun wildly through the entrance, tumbling headlong until she was unable to tell which way was up. She felt herself collide head-on with something hard and round, perhaps a bedpost or doorknob somewhere in the room. She was temporarily dazed, not realizing that she had started to fall downstairs towards the kitchen of the bakery.
Sweetie Belle found herself stuck submerged, in a rotary cycle that spanned the diameter of the kitchen and was constantly picking up speed as the volume of water within the house increased. She went with the flow for a few seconds, gathering her wits and obtaining her bearings; she was in Ponyville, had fallen into Sugar Cube Corner, and had reached the… floating knives, oven, mixing bowls, cutlery and crockery suspended in her fluid surroundings… yes, she was in the kitchen.
She started to search for a way up, hoping to locate some breathable oxygen above the surface of the massive flood, only to find that her one chance at survival was inaccessible: she was unable to return to the upstairs bedroom. The entrance was blocked by a bed and various furnishings that were plastered against the door by the pressure of the rushing water attempting to surge deeper into the two-storey house.
She swam back downstairs, aiming for the front door. She grabbed hold of the knob with her telekinesis and began to twist it. It wouldn’t budge; she was locked in.
At this point, Sweetie’s lungs were beginning to ache, and her vision was darkening ever so slightly around the edges. She knew that she didn’t have much time to escape, and so made her way over to one of the windows in the small bakery. She used her aura to grab ahold of the latch and began to pull it out.
Easier said than done; the small mechanism was jammed, apparently having been neglected for quite some time. It was typical of the Cakes: they had reinforced the windows to prevent Pinkie from blasting through them with her party cannon or smashing through when experiencing a greater-than-normal sugar rush due to overconsumption of the confections within the bakery, yet had failed to oil the hinges or maintain the clasps. By now, any one of a dozen things could have been wrong with the windows, and it was for that reason that Sweetie Belle found herself unable to escape her watery prison.
She was running out of time.
Her lungs were on the verge of giving out, screaming for oxygen. Her vision was beginning to become spotty, causing for her to see swirls of colour and dark clouds that had begun to obstruct her view. She thrashed her head from side to side, trying her hardest to stay conscious despite the lack of the all-important oxygen that she so desperately required at that moment.
Sweetie abandoned her mindless assault on the stuck window and swam up to the ceiling of the kitchen, hoping to find an air bubble or two that she could use to last just a few moments longer. She kicked off the wall and made an uncoordinated attempt to ascend, convulsing due to suffocation the whole time. She was sure that she could last just a second longer, just enough to reach the panels above herself, to find some sustenance before she expired.
On the way up, her lungs finally gave in. She expelled all of the air left in her body and took a deep breath of murky water, unable to get to a proper source of oxygen in time.
Her chest began to burn as the liquid rushed in to take the place of the absent gases she needed for her survival. She stopped moving in a set direction and became stuck in place, flailing her limbs about randomly. It was her last attempt to stay alive; she was trying to cling to some of the life left in her body, but knew that she was fighting a losing battle. As young as she was, she understood that death came for everypony: she was just the one unfortunate enough to meet her fate sooner than others.
Sweetie gradually gave up on her feeble attempts at avoiding death, eventually content to spend her last few moments of consciousness reflecting on her happiness in her short time in Ponyville.
She had spent time with her sister, had gotten to know her as both the mature, proper mare that she was to the outside world, and the fun-loving pony that she could be to those that she loved dearly. She had managed to form a relationship with her; one that, until recently, she had thought to be impossible due to their conflicting personalities.
She had managed to reform the local bully with the help of her friends, and had taught her the values and virtues of friendship. She had helped her to confront her manipulative mother, and had stood by her in her decision to do something charitable for the rest of the colts and fillies in her class.
She had become an enthusiastic student to her compassionate teacher, Miss Cheerilee. Yes, there had been hiccups along the way, but her educator, operating according to her seemingly never ending fountain of understanding, had forgiven her and helped her every time she had managed to make a mess of things.
She had two loving parents, ponies who worked their hardest to provide for their youngest daughter. She knew that although other foals may brag about their place in the parenting lottery, hers were the very best for her, and that fact could never be called into question.
Along with all of that, Sweetie Belle knew in the deepest parts of herself that she had the two best friends in the whole world. When she had felt worthless for being unable to earn her cutie mark, she had found them. They had not ridiculed each other, nor had they put each other down to feel better about themselves; they had selflessly devoted so much of their time and energy to try and help each other earn their cutie marks, all the while enjoying the benefits of such a close friendship between fillies. Whenever one had a problem, the other two were there to support her; whenever one was failing, the other two were there to help her; whenever one felt as if the world was against her, the other two were there to lend an ear, no matter how mundane or ridiculous the trouble.
Yes, thought Sweetie Belle, her last thought for all of eternity; her friends were truly the best ever. And if she could die knowing that to be absolute truth, then she would die a happy filly.
In the end, the entire town had been overtaken by the flood; not one rooftop could be seen above the waters, as if Ponyville had never been there in the first place, just a large lake existing over some oddly-shaped submerged rocks.
In that case, one might be excused for mistaking two specks in the vast expanse for ponies: indeed, they certainly looked like ponies. One seemed to be an orange earth pony mare wearing what was left of a brown Stetson hat, while the other one looked like a butter-yellow pegasus who was lying exhausted across her back. They were barely staying afloat, the orange one providing all of the buoyancy while the yellow one merely tried her hardest to cling to consciousness. They were both extremely tired, having weathered out the storm for a few days longer than anypony else, living off whatever they could find in the abandoned buildings of the once friendly, flourishing town.
After a few hours they washed up on the shore of the lake, both having collapsed from the exertion of their time spent surviving nature’s onslaught. They fell asleep soon after, not realizing that all of their trials in the small town were behind them. All that they were capable of perceiving was their need for food and shelter, two scarcities in an area utterly devastated by the watery assault.
After a few hours, the yellow one woke and looked out to the land beyond their resting place, squinting. She was sure that she had spotted rescuers or survivors, somepony else who was in better shape than either one of them, perhaps someone who would be able to help them in their time of great need.
She lifted her head and croaked out a short, simple request, one that could not be mistaken for anything else given their current situation. She hoped that whoever was out there was able to hear her; she didn’t want to die without putting up a valiant fight. Her words drifted out into the expanse ahead of them, seeking out anypony who would be capable of perceiving the message and performing the duty required of them. She collapsed, her mane cushioning her head as she thought of her words, hoping that she had been heard. She repeated them to herself one more time before passing out, her mind blank save for that one short sentence.
“Help us.”