//------------------------------// // July 8 - 9, 1916 // Story: Journal of a War Pony // by CrackedInkWell //------------------------------// YouTube Reading #3. July 8, 1916 – The horror of this day! Today I had my worst panic attack that I had ever experienced. I am just now calmed enough to have my handhoof to write this down at all! I will take as long could to write the events of today. During the last few days, I've been exploring the farm as well as the town. This afternoon, I ran into her. That curly pink mare with the balloons as her mark. I have to confess that I had a really hard time trying to understand what she was saying. It's not that she spoke in a different language, but rather she talks so ridiculously fast that I think that tobacco auctioneers would scratch their heads at what she was saying! It's a wonder in its self how she's even breathing. Suddenly, she gave off a few violent twitches before she stared at me. I asked if something was wrong. She asked, “Your lost and trying to get home right?” Even now, later in the day, I still haven't figured out how did she know that? I played this memory over and over, but never once had she gave me so much as an opportunity to speak! I didn't even get to say the word “Hello” to her. Anyway, I was about to ask how she knew that, but she spoke first: “Come to Sugar Cube Corner at Seven o'clock, so don't be late!” Then she quickly hopped away. It only left me dumbfounded for a good solid minute. Hours later, Applejack escorted me towards a shop that looked like the witch's house from Hansel & Gretel. As it turns out, it was a surprise party in which I think at least half the town was involved. Admittedly, the surprise made me jump, but that wasn't why I had my panic attack. The pink mare, which I learned to be named Pinkie Pie (how fitting), was the very first to greet me. But after a minute of her talking about who-knows-what, she left me alone to wander around. Among the party, was the four other mares that I've already become acquainted with. However, what interested me among the crowd was a white unicorn named Rarity. What stood among the rest was the way she spoke. The accent was eerily similar to British, which no doubt had fueled my curiosity. Up until then, the accents were anything but English. I had but a small conversation with Rarity. She seemed to be a bit aristocratic for being in a town such as this. I knew this from her comments on small things such as the quality of the plates to what ingredient might have been used in the drinks. She also seems to be a lady of fashion going by the remarks of my rags of a uniform. Now, the only reason why I have written “a small conversation” was when Pinkie interrupted, she gave me my most intense panic attack to date. Out of nowhere, she produced something that I've hoped that I would never see again. A canon aimed right at me! When I saw it, Pinkie said five dreadful words: “Is this party the bomb!?” That word! That dreadful, unholy word! Bomb! She pulled the string, and even though I got hit in the face with confetti and streamers, in less than a second, my mind flashed to those memories. Every single memory from the previous year and a half: every explosion; every cry; every bullet; every drop of blood; every scream; every cave-in; every sickness; every whizzbang; every barbed wired memory came right at once me like the shrapnel shells. Only two words screamed at me: “TAKE COVER!!!” And with that, I dove right under the refreshment table to cover my head. Now, as I've written before, when I have my panic attacks, the only way I could describe the feeling, is like feeling panic, dread, fear, terror, paranoia, and extreme sadness all at the same time, but it keeps going for hours. With the thought that I can die at any second from one of those bombs. That, and shaking so much that I could barely walk (sometimes, never walk at all) and having my breathing speed up to a broken machine gun's pace. The six mares looked under the table with confusion and worry on their faces. Fluttershy somehow had calmed me enough to at least stand on my four legs. But even then, I would still be shaking and too terrified to speak. At that moment I just wanted to leave, to go back to the room on the farm to sleep. The six of them followed me all the way back my new room. Helping me back up to my feethooves at times and they rained upon me comforts and apologies all along the way. I know they are trying to be helpful. However, I can't accept any of them because they don't understand. No one in this strange world has experienced the horrors of war for centuries. Not one of them has even the slightest idea of what I saw, heard and felt. None of them knows what sort of things that make me stay awake at night. What is the worth of their comforts if they don't even know what they are trying to comfort? But they have left a few hours ago. As of right now, I still don't even know what to say to them. Because I highly doubt that they would even understand. July 9, 1916 – When I woke up early this morning, I found a huge breakfast waiting for me downstairs that was prepared by Applejack and Granny Smith. During breakfast, Applejack told me that Pinkie Pie was feeling incredibly guilty about last night. “It's not her's or any of your fault, it's me,” I told her. She asked what happened at the party. I didn't use the words “shell shock” to her because I figured it wouldn't make sense to her. I ended up telling her that I have an extreme form of a panic attack. Of course, she asked if there was something that she could do. I told her that she can't, “Even the field doctors couldn't help me. My mind is wounded you see,” I said, tapping my head to make this point. Right then, she suggested about turning to Twilight for help. I asked what good that would do. “If it's a mental problem, Ah bet Twi can help.” Back at the library, Applejack explained what she learned to the unicorn. “Oh! I can help with that!” the unicorn said enthusiastically. “Come right in and let me find that book.” Applejack said goodbye to me and I went inside. I asked Twilight what exactly is she going to do. “It's a kind of psychological healing spell. Where it needs the assistance of a unicorn like myself to pull it off.” “But what exactly do you plan to do?” “Well, it allows me to see, hear and if necessary, feel the memories that have been afflicting you. Don't worry, it won't erase your memories, but it will help you get over them. The only thing you need to do on your part is to simply remember.” “Um, alright... But what's the catch?” “Here it is!... Now give me a moment to reread this.” She opened the book to read it contents for a minute or two. She read out loud. “'It is strongly advised to use this spell for under an hour each day. Over an hour will cause mental harm to either or both to the caster and castee.' Well,” her horn glowed, an alarm clock and a couple of pillows came floating down the stairs, “I'll just set the clock under an hour so that I don't over do it.” After setting the clock, she told me to lay my head down while facing her. I did as she asked, and soon enough, she laid on the pillow in front of me, her horn glowed but I stopped her. “Wait!” I called out, “Um, before you start. In case this does work, I think I should let you know right here and now, that I'm not a pony at all. In fact, you would find that I and the chaps would look completely different and be walking on two legs.” She gave me a raised eyebrow, saying: “Okay... Now, just hold still, and do exactly as I tell you. Ready?” “Just one more question, will it hurt?” “No, at least, not to you. Even if you remember something painful, I for one will be able to feel it, but you on the other hoof won't be able to. The book also says that we'll be able to talk to one another, but you won't be seeing me in your memories. And I promise you that you will never feel a thing.” “Right then. Now what?” “Just close your eyes and hold still.” I did, then I felt her horn touching me right between the eyes. “Now, what happened before all of this started?” she asked. The very first thing that came to mind was our march towards the front in January of 1915. As soon as I thought of that, I heard the familiar thrump, thrump, thrump, sound. I opened my eyes to find that I'm marching again with my fellow chaps. “What are those?” I heard Twilight's voice that was coming from my head. “They're human miss, and so am I,” I thought back. My memory was when I began to notice that even in the dead of winter, there were craters every few hundred yards or so. Not only that but ahead of us on the horizon, there was the smoke that flashed with light, followed by the noise of the guns. Then my mind wondered into the trenches themselves; where there was ice cold mud, sandbags, the smell of decay, and the sounds of bombs and bullets going off with the occasional scream. Oh yes, I remember this day, it was the day that the Jerries gave us a bombardment, and they went over the top. This was quickly followed by my first Hun that I'd killed. I took aim at his head, pulled the trigger, and shot him through the neck. From Twilight I heard a horrified gasp. She did this after the second, third, fifth, seventh, fifteenth and sixteenth kills. My memory than showed the Sargent as he was telling us to get ready to go over the top. Suddenly, I heard something that I didn't remember. A loud ringing. The trenches faded and gave way to Twilight, quickly stopping the alarm clock. She stood there in silence for a long time, after that, she said one word. “Why?” 'Course, I knew exactly what she was asking. “Before I even saw the front," I explained. "I had only one order about the enemy in which I have sworn to king and country, that I would kill or be killed. The punishment for not doing so is I would be executed for cowardliness.” “They do that!” She said in shock, “That's awful! Goes beyond awful, I mean, killing your own kind?! How could you even live with something like that?” “I don't... Even now I don't. Had you ever wondered why I never stop shaking? Because I still tremble at not knowing how many hearts of families I've broken. I know it's a war and it's my duty, but killing someone isn't something that I can just brush it off like dust. If you really think about it, no matter what side of the war you were on, it's not about soldier versus soldier, it's really about coward versus coward. And frailer to fight means a death sentence for yourself.” Her reaction wasn't saying anything to me, but she gave me a hug. I don't know if it was out of sympathy or something else, I didn't stop her. Perhaps it was needed. After that, she told me to go see Pinkie Pie because she still wanted to apologize to me for last night. I left the library and walked down the gingerbread shop in which I found Pinkie. I apologized to her about what happened and she forgave me and apologized for making it happen. She also gave me an upside-down cake that was really upside-down as her apology gift. I told her that I didn't have money on me. “That's okay!” she told me, “I was going to go down to A J's to find you so I can give this to you. But since your here, I don't have to, so here you go!” “Can I have it in a box at least?” The rest of the day, I spent a good deal of time wondering through the park, eating the cake now and then. I have been wondering that since I'm in a new place with no money, how can I earn some here? Perhaps I should ask the Apple family to hired me temporary. Somehow today, I still can't explain how or why, but I feel a little less shaky today.