A War

by Comma Typer

Bread and Butter

Cheese Fly had bandages and syringes applied to him, lying on a sofa in that fine living room of paintings, pottery, and literal peanut galleries where individual specimens of peanuts were put on pedestals and under roasting lights, to be endlessly exhibited to all who would gaze their eyes upon this marvel of Equestrian ingenuity.

Or just plain boredom.

But, back to more serious matters—a doctor and a nurse propped him up on the sofa, the former putting a stethoscope on his chest for the fifth time and the latter asking him a barrage of questions to which Cheese Fly responded with a nod or a shake of his head.

Outside the glass door, right at the street, was a group of armored soldiers and a double-decked wagon with a lot more—the recruitment officer, distinguished by his blue star cap covering his face from the blinding sun, impatiently tapped his hoof on the sidewalk, directing his view towards the recovering stallion.

A pegasus mare walked into view, coming in from a darkened hallway with some stairs, putting on a hat graced with flowers on its thin brim. Nervous eyes, a tense accent: "I-Is he alright?"

The doctor took out his stethoscope, looked over the patient's shoulder. "He's alright. Mostly unscathed, actually. But, as you know, he's next on the list of draftees."

She bit her hoof.

He took off his glasses and faced her straight. "Butterbread, none of us can do anything but obey the Princesses. He has to go to war. Comfort yourself with the thought of him becoming a national hero."

The mare pawed her hoof on the carpet. "And then what will I do if he comes here dead?!"

"There's nothing complicated about it," the doctor replied. "We're not fighting those who may or may not be evil. We're fighting those who are definitely evil."

"Why can't Celestia just use the sun against them?!" Butterbread shouted. "Not a single one of us has to die!"

"I've heard it a thousand times, ma'am," the doctor went on, rolling his eyes, "but the consequences are dangerous. She doesn't want to rule out of fear, and she wants to play by the rules of war."

"What rules?!"

"Never shoot a medic, never harm a noncombatant, take good care of POW's—"

"I don't want rules if it means suffering!"

Treading her way to the doctor.

The nurse eyeing her, rickety in her limbs.

Cheese Fly turned round to look at her with his face in bandages.

Butterbread stopped.

The couple looking at each other.

Medical ponies slowly moving away from the scene.

"I'm sorry," he began, "but, what can I do? I can't dodge this one. It'd be unlawful for me."

She shivered.

Took off her flowery hat.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Butterbread said. "It'd be horrible to see you go, much more if we hear of you dying out there."

He made a smile which stood out against his bandages, against his injured face. "I must obey. If I die there for Equestria...wouldn't that be a good story to tell our kids?"

She avoided his stare.

Looking away.

Trying to see what's outside.

Yet the soldiers by the road stood in the way.

---

Butterbread sat alone by the fireplace, brushing her yellow mane and warming her hooves.

At night, the living room was an impeccable modesty. Excepting the paintings, pottery, and peanut galleries—also the usual furniture—it was bare, giving more emphasis to the selection of carpets and rugs burying the floor underneath, sprucing up the space with pretty arrangements and shapes to trot upon with clean hooves. The aroma of burning wood wafted up and throughout, the brown walls daintily reflecting the fiery glow of the fire.

Her shadow flickering on those walls.

"Ma'?"

She whirled her head around, seeing a colt and a filly standing by the door to the kitchen.

"Why is Daddy not home yet?" the filly asked, her mane tied up in a bun.

"It's ten o' clock, and he's still not here," the colt stated, his mouth messy with biscuit crumbs.

Butterbread gulped.

Put on a smile.

"Why, he just had o-overtime! He wrote me a letter just a few minutes ago that you should eat your milk and cookies before you go to bed. I-I'll read you a bedtime story tonight if he hasn't arrived yet."

"Where's the letter?" her daughter asked, trotting up to Butterbread with her brother. "I wanna see it!"

Their mother gulped again. "Well, I accidentally burned it! You know me—slippery hooves and all! Clumsy me!" She motioned towards the fireplace. "It's over there, b-burning. Can't read it now!"

"Aww!" the two foals yelled out.

"But, I wanna read it!" the colt shouted.

She leaned her head a bit at them. "Leaping Heart and Mean Keen, you know you can't read ashes. Now, go upstairs and let Momma be. She's very busy."

The two foals nodded, saying their "Yes, Ma'," and ran out the living room.

Butterbread heard the hoofsteps, their trudging upstairs.

A door opened.

A door closed.

She looked back at the cackling fire.

Let out a sigh.

Continued brushing her mane by the fireplace.

---

The avenues were barren, too, for the most part. Sparse were the carriages roaming around, and scarce were the ponies on the sidewalks. So few were they that a pony on one side of the road could, with strained ears, get more than half the words and almost all the meaning of chatter carried out on the other side.

Such was the case of Tipweight today as the skyscrapers stood high but stood alone, their magnanimous heights and designs left unappreciated before sidewalks mostly devoid of passers-by.

Over here, by more skyscrapers, was Butterbread and her two children, accompanied by none but two other ponies walking the same way, minding their own business.

Walking by an almost empty road save for the parked carriages.

"Ma'!" Leaping Heart, the filly, shouted, pulling her mother's leg. "I wanna buy those fancy hats!"

Butterbread nodded. "Don't worry. When we get to the mall, I'll get you fancy hats."

"It's a waste of money!" countered Mean Keen, the colt. "I can't eat a hat!"

Butterbread gasped. "But, Mean Keen, you must know that life's more than just eating. There's also clothes to wear for different occasions. Your sister here sees lots in it—she never misses a day in playing dress-up, you know."

"Can't eat 'em," was Mean Keen's simple reply.

Leaping Heart punched him on the cheek. "You take that back, meanie!"

"I'll take it back when you wear canned beans on your head, fancy-schmancy!"

"You take those hurtful words back right now, or I'll call the police!"

"I'll call the police of the police!"

"No, I'll call the police of the police of the police!"

"No, I'll call the police of the police of the police of the police!"

"No, I'll call the police of the police of the police—"

A brown hoof cut between them.

"Stop it!" Butterbread ordered. "You're not getting anywhere with arguments!"

The three of them stopping right at the intersection, letting the two other ponies cross ahead of them.

Faced Mean Keen as he cowered before his mother's angry growl.

"You were the first one to hurt somepony's feelings. You say 'sorry' to your sister!"

Mean Keen sighed, looked at Leaping Heart. In a glum voice: "I'm sorry, and I mean it."

Butterbread faced Leaping Heart who also cowered before her.

"Your brother may have started it, but it's no excuse to fight back with quarreling. You say 'sorry' to your brother!"

Leaping Heart sighed, too, and looked at Mean Keen. In a doleful tone: "I'm also sorry."

Butterbread smiled, putting the two of them closer together. "Now that you're fairish with each other, let's get some fancy hats, shall we?"

The filly jumped about, a gleeful grin on her. "Yipee!"

The colt, meanwhile, groaned.

As they crossed the street.

They stepped on to the new sidewalk and walked to the glass doors of the mall.

Only to be stopped short by a police officer who was not the police of the police of the police....

Butterbread raised her head, looked around. "Uh, what's going on? Isn't the mall supposed to be open on Saturdays?"

The officer held up her hoof, biting on a whistle. "Not anymore. Good Deals Mall is closed until further notice."

"Oh, so that means on Sunday we'll—"

"'Until further notice' means it's closed indefinitely."

Butterbread shook her head dismayed, glancing at her wondering foals. "But, what's the matter? Was there a fire or a plumbing disaster or—"

"Mayor Giftaway said he's received a royal proclamation for the city that he close down all major shopping businesses until further notice due to the war effort. Even if I let you in, you won't find much—the staff's gone out to fight or work for the cause, and the mayor sent out a team before sun-up to grab as many items as they could get for recycling purposes."

Leaping Heart whimpered. "Does th-that mean...no more fancy hats?"

The officer bent down to her level. "Sorry, little one. No more fancy hats, at least for now."

Butterbread hugged her daughter.

Feeling her about to cry.

---

"'Canterlot Front's Record Gains! Is the War Nearing Its End?!'"

That was the headline of "The Tipweight Daily's" nightly edition on this Monday.

As Butterbread sat on her recliner by the fireplace, away from the floor, she continued reading what lay there.

"The Equestrian Guard made record gains over the past weekend in Central and Northern Equestria, taking back cities like Lighthoof, Cornhusker, Sir Chef, Bowed Tendons, Crowhop—as far as freezing Snowrolls.

"The recent successes have been commonly attributed to the rigid and strict discipline of the military, the influx of conscripts from all around Equestria, the utilization of all forms of weaponry, and the constant food supply from the homefront outpacing that of the Crystals.

"Various war analysts have given estimates as to the end of the war, with their most conservative estimate being mid-to-late winter this year.

"According to Captain Shining Armor of the Royal Guard, 'I'm surprised that, despite having multiple fronts now, we're making good progress. Our troops down South fighting the Crystals in the Badlands are doing a terrific job at holding them back, capable of holding McIntosh Hills despite staggering losses.'

"Currently, only a scant number of refugees have been recovered, with the majority of them transported deeper into Crystal territory."

---

As Butterbread trotted past the park, carrying her bag of groceries with one wing, she spotted a small crowd forming at the park, all gathering around an Earth pony mare atop a soapbox.

Butterbread hesitated for a moment, hearing her words in slight gibberish.

She entered the park, traveling the stone path and then on to the grass.

As the mare's words became clearer.

"...away from this beloved city, that we face absolutely no risk of invasion! We have all the reason to join our fellow ponies at the front and fight until the end! I fear that the recent attack on our fair Tipweight was because of our slack and laziness to rise from our slump, to rise from our sleep! Whether you believe it was secretly done by the government or by outside rebels—let's ignore that for now and focus on what will preserve us!"

"No way!" a heckling stallion within the crowd cried out, holding up a picket sign with the words "I have the right!" painted on it. "You're not scaring me outta' my house!"

The orating mare tapped on the soapbox, making loud thumps, trying to grab the attention of her impromptu audience. "I have to scare you out of your comfort zone lest more of us die without having done anything! That's how it is, that's the pattern—whoever's perpetrating the attacks see a city with lots of ponies just like us milling around and doing nothing. Then, they send a message by exploding bombs, opening gas containers—anything that'll kill!"

"If you're so excited about going to war," another pony, a mare, interrupted, "why don't you be the first to go out with all your uniforms and weapons?!"

"I have to stay here to warn everyone left in Tipweight!" the orator answered in a shout.

"Hypocrite!"

And she threw tomatoes at the soapbox mare.

Splatting her with red.

"Out with the imposter!" still another pony from the crowd roared, holding her own tomatoes in her hooves.

"Fake!"

"Phony bigot!"

"Let's see you die at the front—see how you like it!"

A shower of tomatoes raining on the mare.

The screaming mare, bombarded with tomatoes and contempt.

Butterbread felt the grocery bag slipping away, seeing the tomatoes float away from her. "Hey! Those are my tomatoes!"

The unicorn who had levitated them shrugged his shoulders. "Didn't bring mine!"

And he threw Butterbread's tomatoes at the speaker.

"Your incitin' made me lose my family!"

"My son could've been at my side by now! He was supposed to be on leave today, but he's dead!"

"I'm not falling for your tricks, missie! My cousin's sent them out, and now he's the only cousin I have!"

Butterbread was in a daze, becoming dizzy—disoriented.

Holding on to her bag of groceries, she dashed out of the park.

---

Saturday.

It was early morning. The sun was not out yet, though the sky was a kindling purple.

Butterbread trotted down the stairway, holding a cup of coffee with her wing.

Yawned.

Trotted through the dark hallway of paintings and portraits.

Portraits of a smiling family. The father, the mother, the son, the daughter. In some, just standing there. Others, in action—here's a photo of Cheese Fly playing catch with Mean Keen by the hillside, there's an image of Butterbread and Leaping Heart putting make up on each other. Here, another picture, this one of Butterbread and Mean Keen trying out dresses and suits for a formal party with the colt visibly displeased with his disposition; there, another picture, that one of Cheese Fly and Leaping Heart playing with some dolls on the floor.

Butterbread walked to the dining room, to the small table, put down the coffee cup.

Went to the light switch, turned on the lights there.

Trotted to the chair.

Pulled it out, sat down.

Stared at her coffee cup resting idly on the flat surface.

Examined her table.

A wooden table.

Studied the refrigerator at the far end of the dining area.

Still functioning.

Finally, looked at the chair across.

The empty chair.

She smiled. "Hello, Cheesewing. Sorry for the nickname, but...Leaping Heart made that one up. You should blame her, not me."

Giggled.

The empty chair did not do anything.

"So, how's the taxing last night? Uh, no, I meant taxiing—but it's a strange word. There's, you know, two i's on it, together. So unnatural! But, hey...when will you upgrade to riding the long taxis? The limousines? Ah, we'd be rich in a jiffy, seeing big names, not seeing them stumble off and die alone—"

Coughed.

Took a gulp of the coffee.

Slammed it back down.

"I mean, I'm...I'm doing good. The kids were behaved as usual yesterday, but...Tway Box gave our daughter his whole lunchbox! I know gestures could just be gestures—maybe he had a double breakfast that morning—but, well, this sounds a lot like he has a crush on her! And, did you know what she told me last night before she slept? She told me that she had a crush on him!"

Placed a hoof to her cheek, facing the empty chair in emotion.

"Well, kids these days! We've had crushes, too—of course, we wouldn't be here if it weren't for our own crushes for each other!" Giggled again, gazing dreamily upon the unconcerned chair. "But, how far they will go to tell everypony about their crush today! Ah, but it'll just be a fleeting love. Tway Box and our girl will surely drift apart as time goes on, you know."

Doorbell ringing.

Across the house.

To her ears.

She flew out of the chair, almost spilling her coffee—rushed to the door.

"This isn't g-good," she whispered as she approached the door. "Nopony visits this early! This is impossible!"

Got to the door.

Opened it.

A yellow pegasus guard in armor, standing on the sidewalk.

"Agh!" was Butterbread's answer to his presence. "What're you doing here?!"

Flash Sentry lowered his head. "I'm sorry to tell you this, ma'am, but..."

"He's dead isn't he?"

Sentry blinked.

Was grabbed by the throat, eyes glaring at him, a mouth about to splash rage.

"You don't have to tell me!" she roared, floating above him and looking down on the poor guard. "Cheese Fly's dead! I don't have to guess, either! Crystals raided the barracks he was training in, didn't they?!"

Sentry's lips quivered. "Why, yes, ma'am, but—"

"If it weren't illegal for me to hurt soldiers like you, then you would face no end to your hardship!"

Sentry shook his head. "Don't shoot the messenger! I didn't kill him, I didn't want your spouse to die!"

Butterbread flapped back down to the ground, closing her wings.

Breathing slowly.

Sentry patting her on the head as Butterbread slowly took in refreshing air.

She Perked up. "Sir, could you do me a favor?"

Sentry looked confused. "What?"

"Help me pack up everything in the house," she said, glancing at the door. "I'm bringing the kids to Aunt Snapjoke!"

"Just the kids?" Sentry asked, wondering, seeing her shuffle inside. "What about you?"

She turned her head back to him. "I'm volunteering!"

Sentry took a step back, placed a hoof to his chest. "But, you said you have kids! They don't have a Dad, and they won't have a Mom if you go!"

"It's serving at the front or suffering endlessly without my love!" she yelled.

Sentry flew up to her. "Butterbread, please consider what you're doing! They can't go on without a parent—"

"I become a soldier or I suffer!"

Sentry shuddered, flinched.

Caught air in his throat.

"Th...Then....where shall we start packing?"

---

On top of a hill was a lonely wooden cottage with a chimney, overlooking the city of Tipweight. Its flowers and trees brought to it a kind visage, a lovely countenance. Birds chirped overhead, singing their melodies replete with harmonic, symphonic chirps joined together to form organic music for all to enjoy.

At the door, Butterbread and Flash Sentry put down the two children on the ground as they carried heavy bags, Leaping Heart levitating hers.

"What's going on, Ma'?" Mean Keen asked, looking up to his mother. "Why are you dropping us off at Aunt's?"

"Is she having another birthday party?" Leaping Heart asked. "We're getting to sleepover here this time?"

Butterbread nodded, hugging the both of them in succession. "Now, you two be a good boy and a good girl while Mommy's away. She's off to do some errands outside the city. I'll do my best to write letters to you!"

Sentry winced at that.

"But, why is Daddy not home yet?" the filly asked.

Butterbread gasped.

Covered her mouth quickly.

Looked up to the sky.

"Well, he's stuck in a jam in Manehattan and—"

"That's so far away!" Mean Keen exclaimed. "What's he doing there?"

"Oh, some mishaps, some mistakes—thought he was going to this place, when, really, he ended up there. But, he'll be back, he will be back and, uh, I will be back, too, you know!"

Sentry budged her with an elbow.

Butterbread glared at him.

Sentry looked away.

The mother kissed her kids on the cheeks.

As she heard the hoofsteps of Aunt Snapjoke coming down, she looked at them with a tender face.

Eyes wet.

---

Eyes wet.

With a tender face.

Remembering the kisses.

Looking away to the sky.

The wagon bumped and she almost fell over to the floor.

Sat back up, regained her composure.

Looking back to herself.

Held her hooves up.

Sleeves of gray.

Metal armor, metal helmet—bulky armor.

Around her, a mix of mares and stallions, of Earth ponies and pegasi and unicorns—all wearing the same uniforms.

As they passed by a wretched landscape of dirt, weeds, and craters.

Felt the damp air.

"Focus," the stallion beside her said, his once-combed mane now shaved short, still brown.

Butterbread sighed.

"So, how long 'till we get to the base?" asked Hoops, that muscular pegasus beside the first stallion.

Davenport shook his head. "Haven't kept track."

Leaving Butterbread on her own.

On her way to the front.

Comments

[Sir Budginton]

Why would you do that!!!, just spend 5 minutes thinking about it, and don’t be so bloody god damn selfish