Aspen opened his eyes, the bleak wall stared back at him. The cold fingers of the wind had awoken him as they slipped through the cracks in the walls. He turned his head to gaze the rest of the room. The floor was nothing more than packed dirt and sand. The furniture was rough and rotting, its paint was peeling in flakes to the floor. Piles of fine sand were pressed up against the corners of the walls. Mold was growing in speckles of black, white, and green on nearly every surface. He pulled himself out of bed and carefully balanced on his three legs. As he struggled to the door, he tried to reach out with his missing foreleg to push open the door, but hesitated as he realized the futility of the action. The grim red scar on its end served a constant reminder of what had happened. At first, he had sworn vengeance, but now nothing could help. Using his mouth, Aspen turned the handle to the door and pushed his way through.
The room was not much warmer. The wooden table he had woken up on the day before had been cleaned off, but a red hue still remained on its surface. A wisp of smoke curled from the small overused candle that lit the room. As Aspen looked at his stub, he felt his mind begin to wander. Where is my other leg anyway? His mind thought as he gazed at the eerie table. Where is Lilac?
“Hello?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper, “Is anypony here?” A door slowly creaked open behind him. Thank goodness. He thought as he looked behind him. But the door was only swinging in the drafts that blew through the house, nopony was on the other side. “Oh.” He whispered as he let out a sigh. What am I even doing here? He thought as he sat himself onto the floor. My home, my family, my leg, my caretakers... my life... all gone. Why even bother. He thought as he turned back to the door and trotted back to his bed. He walked back to the makeshift bed and curled himself on the warm spot he had left from the restless night before. Aspen looked out of the small cracks in the walls. The little light that spilled through them was too bright for Aspen to perceive the outside world.
Not that he wanted to of course. The shack was surrounded by dead grass on all sides, and Aspen felt no desire to look at it. In fact, the only thing that invoked any emotion in his heart was the thought of his family, but every time he thought of them, he could only picture their fiery coffin, nothing else. The small amount of joy was quickly replaced by a mixture of despair, sadness, and a worsening sense of hopelessness. As Aspen continued in the cycle of memories of his family’s life, and of their death, a small dark thought began to grow in the back of his mind.
Why don’t i just end it all. There’s no point to living without hope anyway. He shook his head as the words drifted through his thoughts. I can’t let myself think that. Shoo. He thought, trying to banish the idea. But when it left, only the image of his burning house remained before him. The memory of his home’s destruction left a grim reminder that his wife, his daughter, his home, his live, were all gone. And for what cause? The guards simply did not care enough to try and help the ponies in the cottage.
Aspen pulled himself back to reality. He realized he was standing. He took a deep breath and trotted over to the weathered mirror that stood above the dresser. The face that looked back at him was devoid of any emotion, just a former shell of once was. He reached his hoof up to the hardened face and stared in disbelief of what he had become. He looked down, ashamed at what he had become from the events that had taken place over the past day. He scratched the wood of the cabinet, anything to keep him from looking at the mirror. His hoof snaked its way over the rough wood, fascinated with the bumpy texture in a trance like gaze.
His hoof trailed off of the surface, causing his ankle to rub gently against the edge of the cabinet. The new feeling pulled him back to reality and enticed him to investigate the drawers of the cabinet. He carefully slid the top drawer out. What he saw inside sent a faint spike of fear down his back. A matte black revolver lay dead center in the drawer. The little voice in the back of Aspen’s head came whispering back. Just do it, there’s no point anyway. What can you possibly accomplish now. Aspen slowly reached into the drawer and pulled out the weapon.
He looked at its slightly marred surface intently, gazing over every inch of the gun. Its over, you will be doing yourself a favor. Aspen turned the weapon around and looked down its barrel. There it is. He thought as he looked at the bullet in the chamber. This is where it all ends. The barrel drifted from his sight as he lifted it to his temple. As he drew the hammer, it locked into place, sending a piercing click that echoed through his mind. He glanced at the mirror. The pitiful face stared back at him, a gun held to his head like a pony being held hostage. Tears began to well up in his eyes as he stared at the stallion. He knew he was already dead on the inside, but the image of suicide stirred the little emotion he had left in him.
Again he looked down as the tears rolled off his nose. They fell into the drawer and struck a small piece of paper, slightly marring the hoofwriting on its surface. Aspen blinked away the tears and looked at the letter. It was addressed to him. He placed the weapon back into the drawer and pulled out the note.
Dear Aspen
We had to leave. The empire doesn’t take too kindly to ponies being as shrouded as we were. The only thing I have left to do is tell you this: There is a resistance that is trying to change this nation. They have a ship docked in Fillydelphia for a few more days. Please go to them, they are the only ponies who will help you, the guards will not.
Signed Lilac
P.S. Burn this letter, if the Empire finds it, there could be serious problems.
Aspen read through the letter several more times. The words gave Aspen the glimmer of hope in the darkness of pain. A realization suddenly came over him. There is a lot more than meets the eye here. I might as well try and find this ship, it’s better than killing myself I suppose. Aspen thought, not realizing how close he had come to ending it all. He looked to the grimy window. Several small streams of water had formed as a drizzle began to fall from the dark clouds overhead. Aspen walked to the window and placed his hoof on the cold glass. Several cracks ran its length and he could swear he felt them give at the touch.
The door creaked open as a draft blew through the house. Aspen looked through the frame to the worn overcoat next to the opening. Several patches dotted the fabric, a tale tell sign of the use it had endured. He walked over to the coat and struggled to drape it over his back with his mouth. As he trotted toward the door he took one more look at the shed. The old, worn out, deserted building that had changed his life. He shook his head and closed his eyes. Just leave, there’s nothing more here for you. Aspen thought as he turned to open the door.
The rain was just a drizzle, and it caressed the ground with its water, but the land did not receive it. The grassy fields that had used to roll over the landscape were now dominated by muddy desolate land, created by the farmers in their attempts to grow only the most profitable crop, wheat. The land had been completely deprived from its overuse. Nothing grew anymore, and the city was suffering because of it.
As Aspen trotted into the town he realized how bad off it really was. Ponies everywhere were emaciated and sickly. Their coats had long since lost their shine from the lack of nutrition. The typical bustle of the streets had been replaced with an overburdening sense of nothingness. Aspen tried to find something, anything, to pique his interest, but everything was lifeless. A small group of younger fillies and colts galloped past him and paused. They tried to look away, but their naïve minds could not bear to avert their eyes from the strange looking three-legged pony before them. One of the young colts stifled a snicker.
Aspen looked to the ground, half in shame, half in sadness. If I saw a pony with one foreleg when I was young, I would have laughed too. He thought as he tried to curb the emotional pain, but it did little to help..Their less than covert whispers reached Aspen’s ears, making him begin to awkwardly trot from them. His strange gait made it painfully obvious how different he really was, and only intensified his shame.
Hoofsteps in the distance immediately silenced the whispers. Aspen looked back to see a middle aged mare shooing the children back to their house. He felt some relief that the mockery had stopped, but now he had an entirely new issue at hand. If that’s how the children treat me, what will the locals think. No sooner had Aspen thought the words than a stallion rounded the corner before him. The stallion briefly hesitated, but noticeably so, as he looked at the three legged stallion walking toward him.
“Hello there.” The stranger said, putting on an air of friendship to mask his childish fascination with the dismembered pony before him.
Aspen flinched, he had never enjoyed interaction that much, but now, it seemed even worse. “H- Hello.” he stammered, trying to avoid the conversation. The stallion did not reply. Aspen was relieved when he passed the stranger. He let out his breath, unaware he had been holding it since the exchange was begun. Nonchalantly, Aspen looked behind him at the stranger. The stallion was standing in the middle of the road, staring at him. Aspen’s throat constricted and beads of sweat began to roll down his forehead. Why can’t they just mind their own lives and leave me alone. He thought as he began to pick up his pace toward the end of the block.
The rain still lightly pattered against the ground, creating muddy puddles along the pitted roads. The city had not fared as well as Aspen’s village had over the past several decades. The village was isolated from the Empire, deemed too inconsequential to benefit, so guards were never deployed, but Phillydelphia was a different story. When the guards were first deployed into the cities, Phillydlephia was one of the first to go. It started small, with pictures of Celestia painted onto some of the old dilapidated buildings. Then the real changes came. The Changeling Rebellion’s startling uprising prompted several sweeping reforms through the nation.
“Watch where you’re going ya disfigured creep!” A half intoxicated shouted as he stumbled into Aspen, sending him crashing into a puddle. Several ponies in the road immediately began to back away from the incident, trying not to get involved with the drunken stallion.
“I’m sorry.” Aspen said as he tried to pick himself up.
“You better be!” The stallion shouted as he knocked Aspen back to the ground. “Why don’t you just go back under the rock you crawled out from?” Aspen was silent. The memory of crawling underneath his burning house burned itself on his mind’s eye.
“Leave him alone!” Shouted another stallion as he galloped toward the drunk.
“And what are you gonna d-” The drunks words were cut short as the stallion threw his body into him, sending him crashing into the ground. An audible pop emanated from the drunkard’s body followed by an agonizing scream. “That ought to teach you a lesson or two about throwing somepony to the ground.” He said, standing over the screaming pony.
“What’s all the commotion!” shouted a guard as he too sprinted toward the ever-growing group. He trotted up to the screaming drunkard on the ground and ran his hoof along the stallion’s shoulder. “Who did this?” he shouted over the commotion of the crowd. He looked to Aspen and kneelt down beside him. “What happened to your leg?” he asked.
“I, um, had an incident a while back.” Aspen said, afraid the stallion might be one of the guards that had found him in his village.
The guard leaned in close to Aspen and whispered in his ear. “My mother used to tell me that when life gets you down,” The stallion paused as his expression changed from caring to stern. “Suck it up”.
“Yes sir.” Aspen said meekly.
“Now the rest of you, scram!” The guard shouted as he trotted from the scene. Aspen waited for the crowd to dissipate before he struggled to his hooves. His cloak and coat were soaked in the disgusting filth of the road. His body was bruised from the fall. He did his best to clean himself off, but only managed in smearing the grime over a larger area. Realizing he was doing more harm than good, Aspen abandoned his attempt began to walk down the road. He was now attracting more attention as half of his body was caked with refuse. He quickly rounded the corner, more to remove the thought of the towns folk staring at him than to try and get to the harbor. On the other side laid a long line of emaciated ponies. Mares, colts, stallions, and fillies alike stood in the winding queue that wrapped around the building to the door of a bakery.
A short stallion with a white bakers hat stepped out of the door, followed by a young filly clutching a small crushed loaf of bread. “I'm sorry, but the bakery is closed.” He shouted over the mumble of the crowd. As soon as the words reached their ears, the murmur changed to a myriad of moans, cries, and a feeling of dejection as they feebly made their way back to their families to deliver nothing in return. The line quickly disappeared into the night, but the baker remained.
“These rations are killing everyone.” The Aspen heard the baker mutter to himself as he sat down on the curb of the road. He tossed a pebble into the drain. “This place just isn’t what it used to be.” he let out a sigh, his breath turning to a cloud of mist before him in the cool night air. He paused for a moment as he watched the puff slowly dissipate. He pulled a small loaf of bread from his pocket. The tiny ball of baked flour was the only thing his ration had allowed. He took a nibble and cringed. The flavor of the moldy bread was horribly bitter, and it took all his ability to swallow the bite.
“This isn't food.” he said as he stood up and trotted back to the store. As he turned his head, he noticed the stallion standing against the wall. “I’m sorry, i didn’t see-” his voice trailed off as he saw the gruesome scar on the abrupt end of Aspen’s leg. His mouth hung slightly ajar at the sight of the stallion as he tried to think of what to say. “W-we don’t have any more bread.” He managed to stammer as he slowly backed toward the door. He pressed himself against the glass, frantically trying to find the handle. “Now just be on your way.”
Aspen stared in disbelief at the baker. Am I that terrifying? He thought as he watched the stallion quickly rush into the store and hastily place the closed sign on the window. The baker stood on the other side of the glass staring at the three legged stallion through the translucent barrier. His expression was one of sick curiosity as he stared at where the stallion’s leg should have resided. Aspen couldn’t bear to look at the stallion, and instead fascinated himself with the buildings to his left. His fear kept him from walking from the window, but his embarrassment kept telling him to move.
He stood for several seconds, not letting himself look through the glass at the baker. Nonchalantly he turned his head the other direction, giving him a fleeting chance to catch a glimpse of the baker. When their eyes met the confused expression of the baker turned to shock. He stepped backward and pretended to busy himself with the baked goods on the counter, but aspen saw his reaction. Aspen noticed how the baker averted his eyes, like he was at a carnival attraction, looking through the glass at a display of some grotesque being. Aspen pretended to find something that piqued his interest, attempting to rationalize his departure from the painful stare of the baker.
As he rounded the corner, Aspen noticed a large mural painted on a building in such disrepair that it had been roped off from the street. It held a massive cyan and pink silhouette of Celestia standing in front of a brilliant rising sun. Large scrolling letters spelled out ‘With every sunrise, there is opportunity!’ at celestia’s feet. Accompanying the words was a skyline of a city that stretched across the entire mural. The painting itself was old and faded, and the paint had smeared over its years of exposure to the elements of nature. It seemed to taunt the citizens of fillydelphia, telling them that hope still lingered, just out of their reach. Like a fly that skirts toward freedom, only to be caught in the long invisible strands of a spider web on the windowsill. As he looked on he noticed a phrase spray painted in red script atop the dark skyline at the bottom of the mural. They looked as if somepony had tried to chisel them off, but did not fully succeed.
‘The NLR is coming; there is hope.’ The words shocked Aspen. Hope? Here? The only hope the ponies have here is the hope to die.
“Psst!” A voice whispered from around the corner. “You with the missing leg. Get over here.”
Aspen tentatively walked toward the corner, craning his neck in an attempt to discover the source of the voice. In the darkness of the alleyway two eyes peered back at him.
“Get in here, quick!” The pony said again. Aspen hobbled into the darkness as fast as his legs would let him. As he got closer the pony spoke up again. “You must be Aspen.” Aspen did not respond. “I’ll take that as a yes.” The stallion said as peered out of the shadows and checked to see if the street was still empty.“But that’s enough of that. Follow me, we need to get to the ship.” Aspen looked around the corner of the alley to the mural again. “Yes,” the pony said as he rolled a used bottle of spray paint from the shadows. “I wrote that, now come on!” The pony galloped into the alleyway, but slowed his pace when he noticed Aspen struggling to match his strides. They rounded several corners before they made it to the harbor.
There, slowly bobbing up and down in the waves, was a massive cruise ship. “Welcome to the NightStalker.” The stallion said as he flung his leg out toward the boat. “This is your new home.”
Aspen looked at the pony, and then to the ocean liner. He knew the boat was supposed to be a safe haven, but all he could see was a water bound prison. With nowhere else to go, Aspen walked onto the gangplank. As he trotted on board he found himself in a massive cafeteria filled with ponies. The din of the voices was on par with the torrential rain that had pummeled the city the night when his house burned.
Aspen Sat himself down at the far corner of the noisy mess hall. Despite their previous attempts to interact with him, the rebels around him seemed distant. They talked amongst themselves about the latest news, mostly about the pony they had pulled from the sea a couple weeks ago. The name Shiloh kept coming up every now and then, presumably the pony’s name, but that did not matter to Aspen. Nothing mattered anymore. The only thing he could do was to eat and sleep. He ate his food, not because he enjoyed it, but because it kept him alive. His entire existence was devoid of hope. His only action was to live, day by day, he lived, and that was all. The noises around him were deafening at times, but to Aspen, there was only silence.