//------------------------------//
// Entry #2: A Different Perspective 
// Story: As He knew it 
// by Suke 
//------------------------------//


Date:



Dec 21st 2012


As it turns out, I was right. The world didn’t completely end, but only as we knew it. Most would be happy after surviving such an event, but -                    - Sorry to anyone reading this. I’ve been phasing out here and there from a concussion. Two blows to the same place on your head’ll do that to you. My spelling seems to be fine though. Anyway, like I was writing, I don’t think I have much reason to be happy of surviving.

I’m all alone They’re all gone Frankie’s dead.

During the initial quake, the mansion I won’t go into Her head’s completely gone. It’s pulp, back on the party floor. I was upset when I first found out, that’s to be sure. It had really felt like we could have made something of us. The constant phasing in and out and the pain in my arm has been taking my mind off of it mostly. Oh, the arm -                    - I’m told by Vern, who was the first to come to, that the roofing that crushed Frankie’s head killed Frankie had also trapped my arm that I’d had around her.

There’s heavy bruising where I’d worn my watch, and Vern suspected there was at least a fracture. The watch in question survived, but not without the clock telling Maryland time stopping. The smaller ones, one telling G -                    - GMT, and the other no time in particular, are working fine. Whenever I look at the device, it tells me the time Frankie died; when I failed to save her.

One thing I do remember, even in my current state, is the dead. Vern was barely hurt, scratches here and there and dusty -                    - clothes the only hints to what he’d been through. Oh, and there was the blood, none of it his. He spent his first waking hours saving as many lives as he could amongst the mansion’s rubble. Other lucky ones helped with moving debris, and followed the doctor’s orders concerning the easier to treat vic -                    - victims. I had been laid out on a sun bathing chair by the pool, and just watched. More corpses bodies were being placed in the ‘dead pile’ than anyone would want to admit.

At some point, I’d decided to get up carefully and roam over to the pile. One of the many was the man Vern had ra -                    - randomly glared at. A piece of -                    - metal stuck out of his chest. Weirdly enough, it stuck right out of the eye of the cartoon character that covered his T-Shirt. A big red horse with a stick of wheat in its mouth. Dunno why I bothered to remember the actual character.

On the opposite side to where I’d originally been placed, I found Frankie’s body headless. Tu -                    - Turns out those filmmakers really knew their stuff when designing headless corpses. I spent my next few minutes throwing up in a garden bush.

Eventually, Vern decl -                    - declared any more searching to be pointless, and the next job to be getting those who need more attention than can be given -                    - without the proper equipment. That’s where I am now, a couple hours of stumbling walking later; a hospital, waiting to be looked at. Que -                    - Queues aren’t as big as one would expect post apocalypse. Seems most who got injured were too far gone for recovery.

I’ve managed to learn a few other things about the current state of the world. The worst hit places were coasts, built up -                    - places and, for some reason, the southern borders of Mexico. As all my info is from eavesdropping, I haven’t been able to make out anything that makes sense. It once sounded like there was no land past Mex -                    - Mexico. Landlines still work betw -                    - between the states, as well as Canada and Mexico, but there’s apparently no reaching out of North America. Oh, we can contact Greenland too, as much -                    - as that helps. Seems all satellite connections are kaput. And lastly, to add to the whole confusion even more:

A not so lucky surv -                    - survivor had had all their limbs trapped, crushed even, and until being found and rushed to the hospital, was stuck staring at -                    - the stars for the short time between the world en -                    - ending and dawn. The time had been long enough to dri -                    - drive her mad. All bar one limb now amputated, she was rolled out of operating. I know all this because I’d asked her frie -                    - friend what had happened after hearing her ranting. One of the poor sod’s hobbies was star-gazing.

Her rant went a -                    - little something like this: “They aren’t -                    - our stars! Our world is gone!” This would cont -                    - continue, fading out of earshot, on a loop.

I’m beginning to the -                    - theorise a couple ideas abo -                    - about what happened nearly -                    - twelve hours ago. The ti -                    - time is now 22:57 GMT, making it 17:57 Mar -                    -

God dammit! Hate concu -                                                                                                                                   -





“You did what you had to do Doc,” said one of the unharmed.

A hand rested upon his shoulder.

“He’s right Doc,” said another. “Euthanasia was the best way forward.”

“They-” started the first.

“-Were in pain, I know,” Vern interrupted, having heard this line many times in past, let alone umpteen times today. “I just... could you leave me be for a bit? Prepare the wounded for movement.”

“Aren’t there more in the rubble?”

“More than likely, but we’ve got so deep and we’re only finding more dead. No-one could survive any further down.”

There was a silence then. Long and lifeless, like death itself. As if no-one had survived at all.

“Come on Chris, the Doc’s right. Your brother’s gone.”

“... I can’t deny it anymore more can I?”

Footsteps indicated their departure from Vern’s vicinity. He looked at the pile of corpses. Even some strong stomached doctors would normally cringe at the sight. Unbeknownst to everyone else, Vern had been drinking every intact bottle he could find. Not much had made it through, just like the people, but enough to give him the buzz required to block the tide of despair the bodies threw at him.

The brony with a Big Mac T-Shirt stared lifelessly at the sky. Admittedly, the euthanasia on that guy was easier for Vern. He just couldn’t and wouldn’t understand what drove grown men and women to blab about the little kiddies show like Beatles fans back in the 60s. And some of the stuff they came up with on the internet; disgusting. Vern wasn’t even sure if euthanasia had been required. The guy might have been savable, but only with great medical attention. Man’s lung was punctured.

Vern didn’t intend on telling anyone he was actually on probation. Last week he’d refused to treat a brony who’d accidentally swallowed a My Little Pony toy when kissing it. It was all kinds of wrong in his opinion. Thing is, he has no real reason for his nigh on hatred of ‘The Herd’. He’s alright with everything else that some others connect bronies with, or just didn’t believe others when they said things like ‘Bronies are terrorists just waiting to happen.’ He certainly wasn’t a homophobe. It just seemed to pull on him in such a way that he wanted nothing to do with it.

Vern shook his head. Now was not the time to think about that. To distract himself, he looked over to Buddy. Poor fellow was curled up in a ball and shaking, bad arm held awkwardly. Moments earlier he had found Frankie’s remains. He and Vern were there because the host was a friend of a friend, only Buddy’s friend was more than that. Vern hadn’t found his own friend, but he considered him more of an acquaintance, nothing like Buddy and Frankie’s bond.

Another member of the deceased pile was the host. He hadn’t bothered asking for her name when he’d found her. She was well on her way. Before Vern could speed up the process, she’d grabbed his collar.

“How’s Frankie?”

Vern didn’t know whether there was more than one Frankie, so he just assumed it was the only Frankie he’d met last night.

“She’s gone. It was an instant death.”

“What about the Brit?”

For someone coughing up blood, she spoke surprisingly clearly.

“He’s well enough. Still unconscious right now.”

With another unexpected burst of energy, she quickly explained Buddy’s situation. Frankie had been a closer friend to the host than most it seemed. Why a young adult’s last words would be explaining some random’s plans for Christmas, rather than saying how they wanted to live, or how much they loved their family and friends in general, Vern would never know. She passed half way through some part about Frankie’s previous love.

Now, still staring at the lonesome Briton, Vern decided he would make sure, of everyone here, that Buddy lived on, got off this continent, and into the care of those more capable than a borderline alcoholic with a degree in medicine.

Vern strode over to the emotional wreck. The man was phased out from the world, a symptom of his concussion.

Buddy muttered to himself repetitively, “Journal. Journal. Journal.”

Miss Host had mentioned a journal too. Something about Buddy bringing it with him. Odd to bring one to a party. Then again, never know when he might have wanted to write in it, drunk and all. Now where had the women said she’d had him put it? vern clicked his finger in time with his remembrance.

“Bookcase by the door!”

Others stared as he ran around the side of the house, ducking and leaping through the mansion debris. The road out front had fissures in it, with no obtainable pattern. Cars were spread out all over, the shaking having managed to move them here there and everywhere. Many were crushed by lamp posts, one even having an arm sticking out. Vern paid all this no heed, rounding on the stubborn front door, which refused to fall.

A firm tug pull the portal open, clean off its hinges and onto the concrete path. On the right, the very bookcase Vern wanted to see. Almost all the books were sprawled across the floor. The doctor only had to look for a ring binding, there being one alone amongst the more normal plain hardback books. Lo and behold, the ring bound book held the title, ‘A Brit’s Adventures in the States’.

Seconds later, Vern was back at Buddy’s side.

“Buddy? Hey Buddy? Look what I found.”

Vern waved the journal in front of Buddy’s line of sight. In an instant, Buddy snapped back to reality, snatching the thing to his chest.

“Welcome back Buddy.”

“Can’t say it’s good to be back, but it’s better than being dead... I think,” said the Brit.

Morbid tones were strong in the man’s voice.

“Look-”

“I know, I should get on with living; she’d want me to. Gotta get back to my family.”

“That... was exactly what I was going to say.”

Buddy cautiously placed two feet on the ground, sitting up, and slowly stood up. He wobbled a little at first, but steadied himself eventually.

“First, we need to get you and the others to the nearest hospital.”

“Where might that be?”

My hospital, Vern thought to himself. He didn’t want to go there, but the second nearest was twice as far. The walk needed to reach the first would already be pushing for some.

“Two hours walk, North Westerly. If we just head towards the city proper, I’ll know my way from there.”

Others overheard the conversation, and called out for everyone to leave what they can. People began to put on coats they’d found, only then realising it wasn’t winter anymore. The weather was more spring like, the temperature warm enough for shirts alone. It was funny what the world ending did to the mind, making people slow in realising the most obvious of things. Even Vern hadn’t noticed until then. And Buddy still hadn’t seemed to have noticed, not having a coat to put on in the first place.

“Everyone ready?” Vern called out, the automatically designated leader.

A chorus of agreement followed, some adding Doc or Vern to them. One guy even called him Jack. No idea where he got that name from.

And so, they set off. The remaining party survivors numbered 13. 5 ‘unharmed’, 2 wounded, and 6 in need of medical attention of varying levels. Vern had listed Buddy under the latter group, even if he was walking fine enough for the time being. The wounded consisted of a torn ligament for one and the other medium cuts on a leg and an arm. The ligament had formerly been unharmed until trying to lift heavy rubble. It would have been considered idiotic if not for the fact that action made sure their 13 wasn’t 12.

Two unharmed carried a makeshift stretcher. Vern, the other two unharmed and the medium cut wounded helped the remaining majorly wounded (bar Buddy) with their walking, holding them steady and giving them something to lean against.





“Is it just me, or is this getting boring again?” Rainbow Dash asked.

“I have to agree with Dash on this one,” said Twilight. “We’re not really learning anything right now.”

“I’ll try getting us to some sort of plot development,” Celestia said with a sigh.

It really must have been boring if even Twilight wanted to skip ahead.





Vern ran as fast as he could. The voice continued to cry out for help. There were just so many flights of stairs to climb. He didn’t have the stamina to keep going much further. Thankfully, the stairs came to an end.

“I’ve been calling out for ages, and nobody’s come... Fuck this!”

An abrupt bang came from the same room as the voice. Vern knew a gunshot when he heard one. He peeked into the room. The gun came into view, then an open hand, then the arm, shoulder, head-





“MERCY ME!” Rarity cried out.

The unicorn covered her sister’s eyes.

“Hey, but I wanna see.”

“No you don’t darling, trust me.”

“I’ll skip further, but I can’t promise I’ll do it later on. Those scenes can be important too.”





The hospital was same as it always was, bar the odd crack here and there, and the queue of people wanting attention. Vern’s probation had been revoked in light of the situation. A short while ago, he’d pushed a triple amputee’s wheelchair out the hospital. They had a friend, but she’d been distracted by Buddy asking her questions. When they’d both left, Vern watched Buddy scribble away into his journal.

Every so often, he’d freeze, eyes glazing over, only to come to again, become frustrated with his journal, and keep on writing. Continued surveillance revealed the pauses were becoming more frequent. Then, Buddy slumped over completely, dropping his journal and pen.

“HEY!” Vern called out to a nearby nurse. “I NEED HELP WITH THIS GUY!”

In seconds, they had Buddy on a bed and rolling into E&A. Vern was going with them before he was stopped.

“I’m sorry, but we can’t let you come in. You’re too acquainted with the patient.”

“That’s bullshit!”

But, it was too late. The doors were shut in his face, I he couldn’t risk being a distraction in the end. Instead, he moped on back to where Buddy’s Journal still lay on the floor. Without a second thought, he sat down and gave it a read.





Buddy’s Footnotes:

Adventure nearly ended here before it even began. I missed all sorts of shit too.



P.T.O