Even Kindness needs Kindness

by Crowley


Part 2

The rumbling and shaking finally subsides. Every nerve throughout your body stings with the sudden fear of being left in the blackness that leaves you blinded, stuck and hopeless. Unable to see your own hoof in front of your face. Unable to stand up in the dirt-ridden coffin. Unable to breathe or even think.

Struggling back the way you came, you desperately push yourself up against the rocks while the sense of claustrophobia sinks deeper and deeper into your gut. They don’t budge in the slightest. Kicking the rocks with your hind legs doesn’t help either. You’re trapped. Trapped and buried alive.

When kicking against the rocks for the tenth time doesn’t work, you resort to lying on your back, pushing against the top of the cave with your hooves in a dire, useless attempt to make more room. Maybe you’re going mad when you feel the walls closing in on you, smothering you in the darkness as the perceived lack of air turns you light-headed. It’s only now you notice the terrified, demented screams that have been filling the cave this whole time. And a moment later you recognize them as your own.

You have given up. You can't leave now.

You’re trapped in here forever! You’re going to die down here!

“You’re going to be okay. Everything’s going to be alright.”

The dreadful words inside your head begin to soften, turning into a gentle, reassuring voice that slows your beating heart is only by a fraction. You suddenly realise that these calm, welcome words aren’t in your head after all, but from the pony girl who had also been a victim of the collapse. Perhaps fear had made you forget until now.

“You can do this, you can help us.” the tender tone continued, “You can help us both. Please, just be brave. For the both of us. Please.”

You take a few deep breaths, steadying yourself enough to give a coherent reply in short, high-pitched bursts; “Brave? How would that help? How is anything gonna help us now?! Are you even afraid?”

“Afraid?” she whispers, “To be honest… I’m terrified.”

Those quiet words are enough to reduce your nerves from a flustered wreck to a mildly-panicked hum of guilt; how the heck could you be so self-absorbed? The frail female pony - who was sobbing to herself no more than a minute or two ago - was more in control of her fears than you! And until now, you’d have quite comfortably called yourself a fully-grown stallion…

“But,” she continues, “If we keep calm, maybe we could find a way out. We just need to keep ourselves under control. Please?”

“You… you’re right.” There’s really no way you can argue with that - if not for her sound reasoning, at least for her soft, honeyed voice, “I’m sorry. I guess I just lost it.”

While the gnawing claustrophobic fear still bites into your mind, you have to admit, whoever this little pony is, her presence seems to dispel the grim hopelessness of your situation. You can even breathe easier, unless that’s just a trick of the mind.

“When the rocks fell, they blocked off the way we came in,” you explain to her, “I can’t budge them either. Do you know any other way out?”

Unknown to you, she shakes her head, then, realizing how uninformative that action is in total darkness, she speaks; “There isn’t one. I only crawled in here to fetch Mister Scabbins-”

“Who?” you interrupt, “You mean there’s another pony in here?”

“Um, no, he’s-”

“Wait, don’t tell me, a friend of that white bunny?”

“Y-you’ve met Angel? Yes, Scabbins is a friend of his. Oh…” her voice lowered to a heartbreaking realisation, “At least, he was a friend.”

You decide it’s best to keep talking to her, as a way to keep both of your minds off the whole ‘stuck and buried alive in a cave’ thing.

“Are you saying this Scabbins guy is dead now? Was he the small dead thing you were holding?”

Her reply consists of a dismayed squeak and some despondent sniffles. You then decide it’s best to change the subject, before you make her cry.

“So, we’re stuck and buried alive in a cave, huh?”

No, wait, any other subject than that, idiot!

Assessing the situation, you confirm that there is no way to push or shift the heaving rocks firmly lodged into place. Feeling with your hooves, the dirt directly above the rocks felt soft, no doubt loosened during the collapse. Perhaps you could dig out, digging directly upwards, using just your bare hooves?

“A-are you sure that wouldn’t cause another cave-in?” the timid mare asks when you relay your plan to her.

“I have no idea.” you admit, “but we don’t have a lot of choice here, uh…”

Huh. It took you until now to realise you didn’t even know her name yet. Best save that question for a less hazardous time and place, though.

*******

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sound of you striking your hoof against the cave’s interior becomes familiar to you both as the minutes drag on. You’ve been making good progress considering the lack of tools, too, since you can almost stand up on all fours in the area you‘re digging. You choose to remain on your back, facing upwards, however; a good position for breaking up the earth once you ignore the dirt falling into your face and mane. Fighting against light-headedness, you can’t tell whether you’re tired from digging, or weak from the lack of air. After a while, your shy, reluctant companion says something;

“Um, excuse me mister.”

“Is everything alright back there? How are you h- Aack!” You quickly learn it’s not clever to dig and talk at the same time; the falling dirt doesn’t taste nice. “How are you holding up?” you croak, finishing your sentence.

“N-not that it’s any of my business of anything,” she whispers, “but you might want to dig more like a mole. It might be faster that way.”

“Like a mole?” you ponder, “Are you sure that would work?”

“I’m sure. I mean, not sure. I mean…” the mare’s voice delicately flusters, “you can’t be sure unless you try.”

Taking what she said to heart, you throw your fore-hooves with all of your strength into the dirt above you. You then push outwards, prying the dirt apart, feeling it crumble and fall over your face. Your eyes are tightly shut, preventing any loam from blinding you - not that having your eyes open would help you in this darkness. Digging in a second time, you can’t help but notice a difference in your progress; that one burrowing action just brushed aside two, three inches of soil, instead of just a few millimetres like most of your past attempts. Unbelievable.

“It’s… it’s working.” you call back to her, “That worked!”

For the first time, you feel you are genuinely going to be alright. A full minute of frantic mole-like digging goes by and you find yourself having to stand on your hind legs to keep tunnelling upwards. Another minute and you can feel small, wispy roots scratching at your hooves. Grass roots. Soft, green grass, trees, sunlight, air… it’s all right above you.

One powerful thump from your exhausted hooves and a thin beam of light pierces the blackness. A second thump and the hole is almost enough to squeeze through. A third and final thump, and you burst through the ground, out of your tomb, and to freedom and fresh air.