Chapter: 13

by Chapter 13

[Fleeting Hope] Story Setup

Author's Note:

Description: If you're looking for a happy story, then you came to the wrong place. Happy endings died a long time ago. This is a story about survival, pain, and struggle.

Vamponies have taken over, almost eliminating the entire pony population. Only a few remain, and happiness isn't common among the survivors. Yes, survivors. We don't live—we survive. Every day was a struggle and every time you open your eyes is a gift. I won't save the day, I won't bring back the way everything once was... I will only survive.

Notes: Something I wrote a while ago while inspired by the story The Unconverted One.

Fleeting Hope
By: Michael A

Survival. It's one of the most powerful instincts, allowing you to perform amazing things that would normally be impossible. Some pony's drive for survival is stronger than others, allowing them to be pushed even farther before breaking. Some pony's are weaker and crack almost immediately. Life or death. Some can avoid death, doing the impossible to do so. Some barely cling to life, slowly slipping toward death.

I wasn't like that. I had the greatest will to survive I've ever met. Even when there is not chance that I'll live, I keep fighting. Giving up means death, and I feared death. It wasn't a crippling fear, more of a feeling of failure. I was born to survive, and I'd be damned if I failed that destiny.

Since the conversion, my will had been tested. I have seen countless fall to the demon that is death, some giving up and submitting, and others simply not being strong enough to fight it off. I was strong enough.

The numbers slowly fell; leaving less and less of us remaining. By us, I mean ponies. Vamponies took over, and they did so fast. Once upon a time, vamponies were a myth—a scary story told to foals to make them the bed. Now, it was ponies turn to be the myth. Yes, we were thought to be extinct, hunted to the last one of us. But are were wrong.

I can't say that we'll rise up and take back our home, but I won't give up hope.

Hope. Such a fleeting word. It pains me to remember how carelessly ponies used to throw it around. Hope for a new car; hope for a new phone; hope for something pointless. It was all the same, really. Now, we hoped for freedom.

We weren't prisoners, but prey. We were hunted and slaughtered. Every moment was filled with the fear of death; fear of them. But, some of us managed to survive, though our numbers were small. Almost hopelessly small. But hopeless was a banned world. "Giving up" and other expressions were now banned, and punishable to the full extent. If we were to survive, it would be through hope.

It was a double-edged sword. Hope didn't just keep us going, it also tortured us. How can you truly suffer when you give up? No, giving up was a release, and required no effort. Hope, hope required strength, fight, and energy. While we would survive through hope, it also slowly poisoned us.

We lived in colonies, spread out across the land. No one knows the location of all of them, more for safety than anything. Occasionally, you'll have a pony or two wanders out from one of the colonies, only to never return. Living outside of large groups was almost impossible.

Every once and a while, one of our colonies would be discovered. After that, it was only a matter of time before it was swarmed, and destroyed by the vamponies. It didn't matter how many of us we had—there was always more of them. The only way to survive was through secrecy. And that's what we did. We hid, we survived, and we repeated.

This story isn't about how I defeat the vamponies and bringing back the age of the ponies. No, that truly is impossible. This story is about survival and the fight against death. This is the story of survival, death, and struggle. If you want a happy ending, please don't read my story. Happy endings died with the princess, and, like her, would never rise again...