• Published 20th Nov 2013
  • 2,213 Views, 33 Comments

FoE: Snippet Story - Windrunner

Set at various points in the Fallout: Equestria universe. Each chapter is intended to be a unique story unto itself. So many references, both ludicrously obscure and blatantly obvious. Even the title. No, not that. You will never figure them all out.

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Alarm Bells


The untrue abounds here in these darkened days. A hinted at scent that gives rise to shivers down the spine. Maybe you will even hear what you want to hear, but the alarm bells are ringing deep inside. It is naught but a lie to oneself to feel better about it. You can sometimes touch but feel nothing. Perhaps a silent prayer to the sky above that will receive no answer. The sins of the past are simply too great a weight upon all to come after. The treachery of a fleeting stab in the dark is sometimes the only thing standing between you and the darkness eternal. There is no light here with which to blaze forth and shatter this infernal conundrum. Pain unfettered, unhinging the poor souls sentenced to such endless misery.

For misery, is all that exists here. The few standing forth to present themselves as would-be heroes fail and fall with alarming regularity. All know it, all feel it. This concept of existence is wrong. Something is missing, incorrect. But, what else is there? The illusion of freedom crosses all eyes and adorns the yearnings of strained hearts seeking meaning in this meaningless anguished place. The true depth of this misery unknowable. Something foul prowls just outside the senses. A blurry, malevolent feeling follows it everywhere it goes while the ghosts of the past are calling for redress with silent voices unheard. The small smattering of actual plans made do not even amount to a mockery of planning.

The wicked and treacherous stalk those the slightest bit unwary in this wasted slate. A horrific art gallery of terrors set loose upon the land from that very last day in the light. What is this chill feeling that freely flows forth from some unknown chasm to set even the darkest heart to shuddering? The way ahead is unclear, if there is indeed any way forward at all. The pitch of nearly eternal dimness and dull gray surroundings dampens all spirits perpetually. What is it that strides forth from the mists of memory and time to proclaim its dominion over this utter futility? Why would anything bother? The charred lands carry little of actual value. Who or what would want the sum total of almost nothing?

The lingering pain within all that still eek out a living in this twisted visage of existence is tremendous. Some try to simply ignore the feeling and seek what little fortune they can. If they can even manage that much. The world lays only a blistered and blasted wreck around them. Among this wreckage lay so very many hints that long ago, there was true color to the world they now wander in near aimless fashion. Some might have occasion to wonder 'why?' Why did those before them let this come to pass? Did anybody truly want this to happen? Surely not. The epic futility of it all surely speaks for itself. Some, a rare few, know with the deepest conviction in their hearts that this, is wrong. It looks wrong. It feels wrong.

Even as it lay silent and still, something is not right. The pieces appear to fit to all but these rare few. It makes only for further pain and suffering given. The minutes have been falling dead on the clocks for ages now. What if they actually moved but a half-moment ahead of where they all stopped? Will some new horror rise yet again only to tumble down upon those daring enough to face it? But time does not move here. Nothing ever moves here. Or does it? It is just a passing bad feeling like the many already inflicted on the remainder. The dead skies remain gray and blank as the ground. Passing time may as well not exist. This feeling however, refuses to go away. The sheer wrongness of it spilling out everywhere.

What is it? What can it be? This is no passing chill. Even the very air itself tinged with the feeling it may well attack any unfortunate passersby. An all-encompassing dread given over as if some twisted gift to well up from deep inside. Who can give voice to this rising feeling of further despair? Perhaps there are none with the strength to make a move. Any move at all. Does the board lay static, the pieces sitting in quiet deadlock? Is this stalemate eternal, never to be broken? Do any yet possess the will to push the pieces across the board? The remains of the world sit a flickering dying shell of themselves. If anything is possessed of the clarity to take action, it is not saying a word.

What is there to accomplish when the world is just one quick breath short of ended? One quick strike and all would be over. This is how close to the abyssal edge the world is truly teetering upon. A sliver-thin knife-edge is all that remains between life and an already dead world becoming completely hollow. Even bothering to give it that final push would seem a futile action in itself. After all, the world already ended. Life still refuses to completely yield. Defeat is never easy to swallow. Perhaps all those clinging to life are just going through the motions before finally collapsing in totality along with everything else. Those little flickering lights in the darkness mean little to any but themselves.

Life refusing to yield is perhaps nothing but flailing about while sinking to the bottom of the deepest trench. The pervading feeling of wrong grows ever stronger, turning even the staunchest heart to fear. Something is stalking, waiting in that darkened pitch to pounce, perhaps after a final end to it all. Or maybe it is nothing whatsoever. This chill is settling over all things, setting those alarm bells ringing very far down within. Somewhere not so far away, a little something has developed a little crack. So small it is unseen, so tiny it should mean nothing. How very wrong.

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Bestill my beating heart. If I had one.

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