Them

by Baffles

The Birthday Disaster

Author's Note:

I'd like to thank Coalfire for helping me with editing.

I'd also love some feedback. This is a story that just came to me a few nights ago, and I quickly got on it.

Birthdays were always supposed to be times of happiness, thankfulness, gifts and love. At least, I’d always thought that.

My parents and I would always set the day aside to do something special. Maybe a visit to my favorite park, a movie, or lunch out. Something that was meaningful to whomever’s special day it was.

I sat at the door, waiting for my parents to come home. It was my seventh birthday. We’d planned to go to a museum today, the Equestrian Museum of Natural History. I was doing a school paper on the evolution of ponies and I’d been begging them to go for the past week.

I’d gotten to get out of school early, and luckily for me, school was only a few blocks from home, which made it an easy walk. I’d come home to a little letter on the fridge, letting me know they were out doing last minute shopping. It said they would be back by three. I looked up at the clock across from where I sat. It was almost ten past three in the afternoon.

Being late was a normal thing. As long as they came home soon, I’d have nothing to worry about. My head was on my hooves, as I watched the door impatiently, wishing they’d get home sooner. After a while, I didn’t care about the museum anymore. I cared about them. I wasn’t going to panic though, panicking was the worst thing I could do at this point.

I closed my eyes and took a hard long blink. My eyes were dry and scratchy. I kept looking at the clock, unable to stop checking it every half minute. It was impossible to look away, impossible to stop worrying.

I got to my hooves, presuming they wouldn’t mind me eating a little snack. It was almost 3:30 now, and I’d eaten lunch at noon. I was a growing pony, after all.

Mom always tried to make me choose better foods than flowers and sugary things, so, that day I thought that instead of being my usual cheeky self, I’d make her proud.

I opened the fridge with my tiny horn and looked for something that’d have nutritive value. Something filling, but not overly sugary.

My eyes locked on last nights leftovers. Curried chickpeas weren’t my favorite, but it was the only thing I could see that wouldn’t require cooking. My parents didn’t like me cooking that much yet, and I tried to respect that.

I pulled the leftovers out, crawled onto a chair near the microwave, and set it for one minute. Now all I had to do was wait. I could hear the machine working, heating up my food.

An obsessive glance at the clock told me it getting late. What could be taken them so long? Long lines? Traffic? Maybe there was an accident holding them up? All of those were realistic possibilities, but something in my gut told me this wasn’t normal.

“Always trust your gut,” Dad used to say, “it usually sees things your eyes don’t.”

I wouldn’t get worked up though. I refused to; it wouldn’t solve or help anyone, but my ears folded down.

“Where could they be?” I asked softly, just as the microwave beeped, announcing that my food was heated. I jumped a bit at the sound and wondered why I was so easy to startle. My food was fully heated and giving off wisps of steam, though, which was consolation enough for me.

I took it in my magic, moved it down to the counter below the machine, and rummaged in the drawers below which held the silverware. I opened it, grabbed a spoon, and closed the drawer again. When Mom finally gets home, there’ll be no lectures about tidying up after I’m done.

I took a moment to blow on the food and make sure it wasn’t too hot. It took me a few tries to get it to a comfortable temperature, but once it was there, I gobbled it up. It wasn’t that bad after all, and I was glad I had given this a second try. Mom deserved some compliments!

Once I’d put my empty dish in the sink, I looked at the clock again. “Almost ten after four... Where are they?” I asked aloud just to break the silence around me. It was unnerving just how horribly silent it was. I heard the ants chatting below the floorboards, or maybe termites. I wasn’t going to question the entomology of my auditory hallucinations. The point was, it was so quiet, I could swear I heard the bugs.

The house itself was an old wooden house that my parents had gotten before I was born. I think it had been in the family. Maybe it used to be my grandmama’s. It was two stories, full of great places for hide and seek. The best places were under the stairs, in the back of the basement, and, my favorite, in a closet that was attached my room and to my parents’. In there, there was a small storage room behind the racks. That was the place Dad had never found. I still don’t think he even knew it was there at all.

I got down from my perch and walked. I could hear my hooves breaking the horrid silence. Another quick glance at the clock again told me only two minutes had passed. This is killing me, this waiting game. Why, does time go by so slowly when you’re missing your family?

I decided to go upstairs, thinking that maybe playing with some of my toys would distract me until my family returned.

I was the only foal of my parents. I’d heard they’d had another, but it didn’t survive. When I asked why, my parents told me it was terribly common for fillies and colts not to make it into the world. This seemed strange to me, since there seemed to be a lot of ponies in the world. When I pressed for answers, they told me I’d understand one day. I hated being told that. It didn’t make sense. How I couldn’t understand something now, but as I got older it would. Balderdash. That was just one of those silly grown-up responses when they didn’t want to talk about something, and I knew it.

I got my blocks out and began building. Being a foal, though, it wasn’t long before I had lost interest. I knocked the blocks into a disorganized heap.

I didn’t have a clock in my room, and I suppose I was glad, since I’d have looked a thousand times by now.

I got up to look out my window. The sun was casting gold, orange and dark yellow colors over the roofs of near by homes. They still weren’t home, and I began to dread if they would ever be.

Something in the corner of my vision drew my attention. Is that… smoke? Not something I usually saw, but it certainly was curious. A fire? Fires didn’t usually affect the suburbs of Manehatten. I opened my window to see if I could hear any rescue sirens. Instead of hearing them from the direction of the smoke, I heard them from all over the area. Some came from the north, some from the south, where the fire was. I quickly shut my window, and my heart began to race.

I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew one thing: I’d never heard that many sirens at one time. Something big was happening. I didn’t know what the emergency was, but I knew what I had to do.

“Remember,” Dad’s words rang out again, “if there’s ever an emergency and we aren’t home, stay inside and keep yourself safe until we can get to you.”

Moments later my tail stuck out from under the cover of my bed. I had scrambled under it, and there I stayed, shaking. I sucked in air and exhaled just as quickly. They weren’t coming back. Something was keeping them. My little muzzle peeked out, followed by an eye.
Will somepony come and ransack the place? Will they kidnap me?

No, that’s foolish, nopony will steal me. Right? Maybe that was a foolhardy thought. If everything went to the dogs, there’s no telling what ponies would do, but I held on to the idea anyway. I couldn’t bear to worry about my parents as well as getting kidnapped.

I waited, and waited. Nothing happened. Nopony entered the house, nothing attacked, nothing happened. Absolutely nothing.

It was when I was waiting for something that I realized if my parents weren’t coming back, Dad’s advice didn’t matter. I’d have to prepare.

Once I was absolutely sure they weren’t coming home, I creeped out, taking my time just in case. I listened and looked for a place to hide just in case.

I went to my closet, and brought out the biggest saddlebag I had. Upending it, spilling all my school books on the floor, I resolved to make it my bug-out-bag.

I didn’t think this was a time to worry about cleanliness, at least until my parents came home. If they came home. If they did, then I could explain to them why I had made a mess. They’d surely understand. Once it was empty, I put it on. I locked it tight, so nothing on heaven or earth could rip it from me.

Then I ran to the washroom and unloaded some of the medicine, bandages and hydrogen peroxide. Luckily my saddlebag had two big compartments on either side of my body next to smaller ones for notes, pencils or pens. That’s where I put these, making room for food, and water. Two of the most important things I’d need.
I didn’t need clothes, I didn’t need toys, I needed a map, in case I had to leave the house, food, water and a steady supply of both.

Once satisfied with medical supplies. I ran downstairs to the kitchen, and into the pantry. I grabbed cans of beans, peas and even brussel sprouts. I wrinkled my nose at those, but if this was going to be bad, it was best to have food. Even if I didn’t like it, I could eat it. Better full of bad tasting food than hungry. Cans, jars and bottles flew into my bag, until it was heavy. I gave a snort and a nod. Happy with my work, I then flew back upstairs as fast as my hooves would carry me. I opened my secret hideaway, tucking my food and supplies in. I put piles of clothes in next, making a small nest. Then, finally, I put myself in. I’d hear if anypony came home from here, I was sure of it. As darkness fell completely, I closed my eyes, and drifted away in the small dark cubby hole I’d made for myself.

I was one of the few foals that wasn’t afraid of the dark. Making this an easy, and safe place to be. Another plus, I didn’t make a lot of noise when sleeping. Unlike my father, who often snored. Something loud brought me back to consciousness at some point in the night. It might have been morning, but from my fortress, I had no clue. As I moved to open the cubby enough to see, my bladder twinged with pain. I realized I hadn’t used the bathroom in hours. This made things very difficult. If somepony was in the house, I didn’t want to expose myself as being here, but I couldn’t wet my nest either.

I sniffed, there was a rotten smell that hung in the air, a terrible funk. A loud gurgling groan filtered up the stairs. It was haunting, but it didn’t seem anypony was on this floor, which was good news. I might be able to zip to the bathroom, and then return before anybody knew.

I crept from my hiding spot as quietly as I could. I knew this house like the back of my hoof, and I knew there was a floorboard that creaked. I avoided it, and ran to the bathroom, closing the door as quietly as I could.

I answered the call of nature, and felt the best relief I could remember at the time. I didn’t flush, because it would surely draw attention to myself. Instead I just opened the door, and began creeping back. Halfway there, a horrible groan came from under my hooves. I grimaced, and folded my ears back. How could I have forgotten?
The sounds from downstairs stopped, but the horrible groaning moved, coming closer to the stairwell which was by now only feet from me. I bolted, closed the cubby door, and huddled in the dark, panting, until I heard the sound of hooves come into my parents bedroom, or, maybe it was mine.

It was terrifying. The sound it made -- whatever it was -- sounded disembodied, painful, even beastly. It moved closer and closer, and just when I thought it would open the door, it went right past. Not that the door was obvious, it was still hidden behind my mothers numerous pairs of dresses, but that disguise wouldn’t hold up to any real scrutiny. I thanked my lucky stars it hadn’t found me, but this presented a new, more terrifying problem. Who or what was it, what did it want, and how could I get past it? It was getting cramped in my fortress. My food pack was large, and pushed against my body. It felt like it bruised wherever it touched. The air was stale, with the rotten smell wafting in. I had to cover my nose and fight back the retching. It was a sickening smell.

Lucky for me, my meal seemed to have passed through, and didn’t make me feel totally ill. A thin beam of light filtered into the closet, lighting up dust particles floating on invisible currents of air. I watched, mesmerized, distracting myself. It must be early morning now, and there was still no sign of my parents. My birthday had gone by, and I’d had nopony to spend it with. Since it was my birthday, my teacher had told me I could go home early, but I liked going to school so I left early to get there too. This left only enough time to say goodbye to my parents. I sighed, rested my head on my hooves again, and watched the floaty things. I blinked, coming back to my senses. I needed to get out of here soon.

It was when my limbs were numb and stiff that I finally felt I had to go. It had been more than a day and a half since I’d seen anypony. I couldn’t keep myself holed up in here forever. I’d starve, sucumb to some sort of disease. I didn’t want that, not at all.

I plotted, I waited, and I listened for any signs of newcomers. I had to listen carefully, making sure I could slip past them, not into them.
It was a long process, figuring out when they came, and past, and how long it would take for them to come again. Maybe I’d get a glimpse of them, whatever them may be.
To finally understand what was going on. But of course, most things weren’t meant to be.

After what felt like forever, I gently opened the closet door. It had been a few minutes since one of Them came by. I figured it was safe. I shrugged my saddle bag on, and looked both left and right, as if I were crossing the street.

Without another look, I took off. Down the stairs, jumping the last stair to avoid another squeaky spot, and out the open door. What sight met me churned my stomach.

Pillars of smoke from homes, buildings, even trees nearby. It seemed everything I knew was ablaze. Even my school was, I could see it from here. I couldn’t stay and wallow in grief, I had to keep moving. I had to get someplace I couldn’t be seen.

I took off into the shrubs, thankful for my small size. I easily fit into the brush, and was hidden. It wasn’t much, but at least I was safe for the moment. Once I was free of the carnage of the place I loved, and grew up. I sorted my bag, making more room. Organizing things to optimal use.
I was already thirsty, so I opened one water bottle. Taking a long swig, I had to reserve as much as I could, for I didn’t know the next place I’d find fresh water, or more bottles. I had to be smart, conserve to better survive whatever I was in.

Looking about my surroundings, I was in the forest adjacent to our home. My parents didn’t often let me go in here, for fear I’d get lost, but that might be just what I need now. To be as far from homes as possible, it seemed that’s what They were attracted too.

Once my bag was better packed, I got it hooked up, and walked. I wasn’t going to stick around, on the off chance my parents returned. They weren’t going to. I knew it now, they’d never taken this long. It was clear I was on my own. Not exactly what I had planned. But I was going to utilize whatever I had given to me.

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It had been a day of walking. I’d met no other ponies, nothing, no sounds of Them. I had called them that, to give them a name, things with a name seemed a little less scary. Plus I had no idea what they were. But there were warning signs if they got close. Smell, sound. But I didn’t know if I would ever see one. I probably would if my luck was consistent.

Until the sun began to set, I hadn’t stopped except to release and drink to rehydrate myself. Even though I was in the shade, it wasn’t easy going. I was only seven. Already I was alone, without guidance. I was going on the information I’d read in my favorite books, tv, and my own common sense.

I had to find a source of water, that was number one. Was I supposed to look for other ponies, or avoid them. That was a thought I was struggling with. I didn’t know if that was a good idea, what could happen? What happens when ponies are thrown into a near impossible situation. Luckily ponies were herbivores. I was glad of that. But if I had to survive and couldn’t find food. Would I eat a pony?
I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer that.

Parking my flank on the root of a tree, I took my bag off. I had to find a place to spend the night, safely. The forest was beginning to become spooky, eerie sounds, hoots and strange shadows made me jumpy. I wasn’t a little foal anymore, I had to toughen up, or I’d never survive the night!

I crafted myself a makeshift shelter by making a magical safety net around me. It was a spell my mother had taught me, which didn’t use up large amounts of magic, but made it impossible for anything to enter without causing noticeable amounts of noise to the caster. I was still very young, but I could make it a bubble around me. If anything came close, sadly it would be fairly close, but at least it might give me a chance to run.

I kept my bag securely fastened to my tired little body. Making a small pillow out of fallen leaves, I rested my head, and drifted off almost immediately. Wondering where tomorrow would lead me.

Comments

[Bluedot]

Hey there, saw your story posted on the MLPLite subbreddit and I thought I'd give it a read. I liked it for the most part, but I do have a couple things to bring up.

First off, this colt (mare?) is a really intelligent seven year old. Doing a school paper of pony evolution. Even thinking to make a bug-out bag. I doubt that I would've thought of those things at the age of seven, but maybe I was an idiot. I suppose it could be argued that, since we have no concrete age for the ponies in the show, that ponies mature faster than people.

Secondly, not to be blunt but why was this set in Equestria? You could have made this about a kid in Manhattan instead of a colt in Manehattan and nothing would have changed. Also there was a microwave and a refrigerator (although, if I recall correctly, the Apple Family has a refrigerator). Don't misunderstand, it's not a bad thing this story was set in Equestria, just not entirely necessary.

It's really late here and I should be sleeping, so to finish this off I'm going to post the notes I made while reading the story.

Seventh birthday and he's doing a paper on evolution? Ponies must mature fast. When I was seven they taught me how to say island. That's the only thing I really remember from second grade.

Tags: tradgedy, sad, dark, adventure: parents not home= dead

Food in fridge? Made of parents

Microwave too? Is this the future?

Hidey holes in old house? Parents murdered

Giant fire? Manehattan? 9/11?

What seven year old would make a bug out bag?

zombies

So to end this all, pretty well-written story. A few grammatical slip ups here and there, but nothing too serious.

[Baffles]

5624032
Hahaha. I understand your concerns. The gender and looks will be described. I mostly left them vague because it makes the reader able to adapt them to what they find appealing.
It will come in the next chapter.

When I was 6 I was running away, with a backpack full of stuff, including my fathers wallet. So, for me, I was that kind of smart, I don't think most kids are, but. I am basing this off my own experience.

[Bluedot]

So I've thought about it and I realized I have an actual critique for your story. You're writing in first person, which means we, the readers, should know your character intimately. We need to know their every thought and feeling on what they're going through. I feel like I don't know your character at all.

For instance, take "Was I supposed to look for other ponies, or avoid them. That was a thought I was struggling with. I didn’t know if that was a good idea, what could happen?" That is an example of telling, not showing, when you should be showing, not telling.

Of course all this depends on your framing device. If this story is an older version of your character reflecting on something that happened in his or her youth and writing it down, this style makes sense.

If you want examples of good first person POV I recommend reading a short story or a book with that POV (The Dresden Files is an excellent example). Also, don't be discouraged. There's only one way to improve your writing: Keep writing. Keep writing this story. Write character journals. Take non-POV characters from your favorite books/movies/etc. and try rewriting a scene in their perspective. Whatever you do, don't give up.

Also I might just be underestimating the intelligence of seven year olds. Like I said, I don't remember much from when I was seven, and I never deal with children of that age in my day to day life.

[Baffles]

5625144

Don't worry. I'm not offended, or upset by this.
You're helping me realize holes in my style. I never claim to be a good writer. It's just not in my genes. I'm a visual artist.

I know this story isn't going to be massive, I know it's not going to be awe inspiring.
I'm mostly writing for the fun of it.
And I thought I had a good story. :)

So, no worries.
If you were being extremely jerkish, I'd call you on it, but you're being honest and giving me constructive criticism.

[ThatClosetBrony]

Like Bluedot is saying, the prose feels unnervingly adult. It honestly sounds like you took a person in their 20s' brain, wiped all the memories down to about 7 years of age, and stuck it in the body of a child. Also like he said, it would make more sense if he was reflecting on past events, but given there's "thoughts" such as wanting to make his parents proud and having the story be in the present tense makes that unlikely. I think the problem is that you have a good grasp of what you want to write, but you haven't gotten into the mind of your character enough to write in first person. Your mindset is still that of an adult's so I'm not sure if a child is the best vehicle to use to carry out your plot; you either need to tone down what he's doing to the stupidity of a child, or age up the character so his thought processes are more believably his age.