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// We're all out 
// Story: Short stories about ponies and whatnot 
// by shutaro 
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	I looked up from my dish, there was nothing left. Not the tiniest morsel, not the smallest crumb. But still the desire, the hunger burned in my stomach.
I had been to the hot south in my youth, were Celestia blesses the land with more sun than green and lush Ponyville. We had visited the market there and I remember I saw an old pony, his mane gray or rather white, bleached by the sun. He was begging in the street and I asked our guide what had happened to him. The guide told me that the old pony was a guide like him once and that he led not only groups in the city, but caravans all through the desert even further south where the camels’ caliphates are hidden. Deep into the heart of the endless sand he led them, where the day gets so hot the sand will bake your hoofs and the nights freeze so cold you might lose your tail. Nobody knew exactly what had befallen his last caravan, but the old guide was the only pony that returned from the desert and even he had gone mad from the burning heat, thirst and hunger.
That was how I felt right now. Like the last survivor of a lost group. A lone pony on her last limb and with the universe out for her. I stood up from my chair, walked over to the counter and looked the mare behind it in the eye. I saw it in the way she shrugged, in the way she tried to at least give me a smile, to comfort me with hope for a better tomorrow.
“So sorry Derpy. We’ll have more muffins tomorrow.”