//------------------------------// // Neon Gravestones/The Hype // Story: Trench // by Dashie04 //------------------------------// “Wait, Wingless is dead!?” I shout, with half of my tone of question, and half of it on emotion. “Oh, yes,” Ocin says smugly,”I saw it with my own eyes. She’s dead, and you know what’s even crazier? She killed herself.” This shakes the foundation of my world. It seemed so out-of-character for Wingless to commit suicide, but then again, I was constantly learning new things about her. “She really got that distraught over losing a fight?” I ask, hoping to verify my suspicions. “Yep,” Ocin says with a grin on his face that makes me want to punch him,”she begged us. Put her out of her misery, really.” I hang my head in defeat, Trench was invaded, Wingless was dead, and I was too sad to come up with some crazy plan. “Trench is about the only thing that’s getting out alive here, we’ve let them live. You, however,” Ocin says, pointing a hoof at me,”are coming with us.” I feel like I’m dying a little more inside with each and every statement Ocin hammers into my skull. I submit without resistance because right now, all I need is some time to think. They start on the day-long trot back to Lema. I follow like a servant who has no choice on whether he can follow or not; a matter of life and death. The only good thing about the trip is that it gives me time to think. I think plenty to myself, why does suicide exist? And why is it used as a jailbreak for life? It’s like ponies think they can end all their suffering by suicide, when in reality, it may end their pain, but everypony else still has to live with it. These questions swirl around in my head, and only make me feel worse, making me want to join Wingless in afterlife. She was the only friend I’ve ever had, and a worthy ally to have in battle. My thoughts are broken by a gruff voice in my ear, one of Ocin’s guards. “Move it! Our town has no place for people who constantly look like they have an inner war! Perk up Pracey, or you won’t get off with a warning!” That certainly shocks me, and makes me raise my head. I still have the questions in my mind, and the depressing thoughts of Wingless’ death. After what feels like several millennia, we finally reach Lema just as the earth is leaving my vision. They recite some password that’s about three dozen characters long and impossible to remember, especially for a pony as sad as I, and drag me inside the glass dome. I’m quickly released, and trusted to go straight to my house. They were right, as I go straight to my house. I take off my jumpsuit, bunch it up, and throw it right beside my bed. I lay on my bed and cover my head with my wings. And I cry. I cry without stopping, my emotions flooding my mind and heart. I lay there, shivering and not wanting to move, feeling like the world is against me. I know tragedy builds character, I’m not that stupid. However, I really feel like I got burned a little too hard. I don’t know where I’ll go from here, I just know that it won’t be very good. Finally, I uncover my head and stand up, shaking. I am still unable to think straight, but I at least know a couple things. First, I wasn’t going to commit suicide, never mind the incredibly scarce ways in my house by which I could. I didn’t know many ponies, but I wasn’t going to leave Trench without a leader. Second, my jumpsuit is a worthless piece of shit, it’s not going to cover me, just make me stand out. The ultimatum’s still the same, my friend had committed suicide. This makes me feel no better. I don’t know how long I stay in my house without leaving. Days, weeks, or months, but I’m running criminally low on food, and needed to go out eventually. I’d recovered enough sanity to think about what Ocin had said, Luna-knows-how-long ago. I’ve also shaken the moon dust out of my mane, and I’m officially back at square one. I’d had plenty of time to think though. I remember his words, and the more I think about them, the more holes appear in them. I know Wingless, and she’s one of those ponies who would rather die fighting than take the easy way out. Hell, she raced like a mustang back to Trench just to make sure her legion was OK. Also, if anything, her last words would’ve been some snarky comment, and not begging for death from the one pony I’d told her I loathed. These holes make it clear, she was a victim of a homicide, not an assisted suicide. The pony who would most likely kill anypony in his way was likely the culprit, Ocin himself. However, this doesn’t change the fact that I need food, and I’ve regained enough sanity to go shopping. Finally leaving my house, I take a walk to the store nearby. I enter the store, and get stared at by every Lunar Pony in the vicinity, as if they were shocked I’m still alive. I find this utterly ridiculous, and I just go about my normal shopping list. I’m picking up some vegetables and haybacon, which are located in similar aisles, when I see a shady pony lurking in the corner, wearing a yellow jumpsuit that doesn’t cover their whole body. I thought it was some figment of my imagination, due to my undetermined amount of time in solitude, I figure I’m just seeing things that don’t exist. After all, they even look and sound like they’re the punchline of a bad joke. So, I finish my shopping trip and go up to the cashier, who quickly scans my groceries. However, my curiosity gets the best of me, and I go back to the place I saw the pony earlier. As soon as I approach the pony, they pull me down with a hoof. I’m clearly very shocked. “What the hell?” I ask, not caring who hears us. I’m told to shut up by the pony, who doesn’t say a single word. Their glare makes me lower my voice a little. Now that I’m closer, I can make out their features. I notice a very square jawline, clenched as a coping mechanism, his red eyes, and deep brown coat, but most of all, his hair. He’s clearly not given a buck about keeping his hair presentable. His hair is a mess and covers part of one of his eyes, but not to the extent that Wingless’ did. “Who the hell are you?” I ask, quieter. “I’m on your side, Prancey, trust me. Name’s Dust.” He says, quickly, and a little nervously. “That doesn’t exactly answer my question.” I reply.”I don’t know who you’re loyal to, and how the hell do you know my name?” “We’re a group inspired by the first pony to escape in decades, we previously thought escape was impossible, but you changed it. We’re the rebels, who want to escape without coming back.” That last sentence is recited with a little poison clearly aimed at me.”We’re the Banditos.”