Stories for Good Little Fillies and Colts Who Love Their Lives and Do Not Wish to Die

by Fiddlebottoms

Ash and Cinder (FiM -- Rarity & Applejack)

—hey, sugarcube?

No sound but the sound of tramping hooves on gravel. Ash uncoils itself across the plain. Dead trees creak as they lean against the breeze.

—um, hey?

The silence stretches on again and then another voice.

—yes, darling?

—where we headed?

The hoof steps continue. Step after step crunches and reverberates against a slate grey sky. Chapped lips smack together and throw a gob of spit to splatter among dead grass. She swallows and coughs and clears her throat preparing to repeat herself, but is interrupted by the clearer voice.

—elsewhere.

—sounds right enough.

Hours pass and are marked only by the crunch of gravel.

—y'all think anyone else made it?

The gravel crunches underhoof. There is nothing else to hear. No birds sing. The sky darkens by a degree.

It is miraculous how things can always afford to get darker.

---

The rock face looms bare. Claw marks deface it with obscene figures. Soot fills in the gaps. Grey shades twist in agony. They will dance and dance and never die.

A fire barely illuminates the two faces around it. Their hooves, dry and rotten through, hold over the flames.

—hey, sugarcube?

—yes, darling?

—how much farther you think it's gonna be?

The fire lunges. The fire retreats.

—to where?

—where y'all are headed.

The fire swirls around borrowed roots. It learns its own language. It speaks in squeals and pops.

—aren't you coming with me?

—i can't be certain if i don't know where y'all are headed.

One hoof barely white under the dust that clings to it reaches across and clings to another hoof faintly tan under the dust that clings to it.

—i can't get there if you aren't with me.

—but where?

The fire mutters its strange language. It never learns but it discovers itself each moment. Wild and ambitious until the last ember is consumed. But the forests are gone now and there is nowhere left to live in but this pit.

And the pit's mouth is filling with ash.

---

—hey, sugarcube?

The rockface is invisible now. Their fire is dead. There is no moon.

—hey, sugarcube?

Something rustles in the ash. It groans.

—yes, darling?

—you awake?

—i am now.

—i can't seem to sleep.

—have you tried closing your eyes?

—how can i tell if they're closed? it's all dark.

—you're not going to tell me you're afraid of the dark now?

It smooths the ash with it's hooves. A blanket spread out beneath it.

—aren't y'all?

The ash scrapes. The ash displaces.

—i am.

—and how do y'all deal with it?

—i don't. i'm just too tired not to sleep.

The ash-silt whistle-slidles slips on the wind-slipping. It pauses. It is restless.

—sugarcube?

The ash will never settle. The ash will never die.

—sugarcube?

—i'm right here, darling.

In the darkness, one hoof snakes out another. They cling together desperate against the dying.

---

—hey, sugarcube?

It wasn't quite a fork in the road. Just two alien paths meeting in the plain. The one of gravel they had been walking on, and then a second one. A deep furrow ripped in the ground. They stood together in the ditch. A muddy trickle of water slurried through the bottom of the furrow around their hooves.

—yes, darling?

—what do y'all suppose made these tracks?

The temperature settles another degree. Some demon or monster has been here. It's ominous tracing now etched permanently upon the earth. She shudders and grips the edges of the cloak toward her against the dead wind.

It is miraculous how things can always afford to get colder.

—i'd prefer not suppose.

—but, supposing ya had to suppose.

The sides of the ditch rose over their heads. Together they pull clods of earth down and their own bodies up.

Her formerly white forehooves scramble against the mud as she struggles to pull herself upward. Her mismatched rags catch on the edges of the ditch. Her purple mane fading to grey hangs sweat soaked over her back. She struggles. Her voice is a grunt.

—i'd suppose it was some kind of snake.

The other starts and slides back into the ditch. She drops into a crouch beneath the unicorn. She grips her hat with one hoof. She ducks. She scours the ground for the sight of a serpent as if she wasn't surrounded by the proof of its passing. As if she could look down on what did this.

—why'd y'all have to say snake?

With an unladylike growl the unicorn hauls herself upward. Her belly scrapes along the edge of the furrow. She stands. She turns to the earth pony who remains below.

—because snakes don't have claws.

—claws or fangs. it ain't much of a choice.

—i'd prefer no claws. i'd also prefer to move on from here.

She leans over the ditch. Her hooves reach down and grasp the hooves of her companion. Her back arches. A staircase spine presses against the inside of her hide. She hauls the pony toward her.

Together they grunt and struggle. Hindhooves of the earth pony claw the sides of the ditch and kick loose, dead earth free. Finally, like a cork from a bottle, she pops upward and lands beside the unicorn.

They sprawl.

They lay together in the ash.

The solid wall of cloud passes above, split by tendrils of free radicals erupting in the upper atmosphere.

—you're very light, darling.

—you're very thin.

—i have been dieting.

—y'all will fit a size zero in no time.

Their laughter is dry and quiet. The faded sun brings no warmth to their faces. Limp and bedraggled manes hang like dead standards of dead armies. Only their eyes shine now.

---

—hey, sugarcube?

—yes, darling?

—y'all suppose you've got enough firewood?

A pile of limbs mounted higher than either of them. She went back into the darkness and returned again with her mouth full of twigs.

—i want to make sure there is enough.

—for what?

—to keep the fire up all night.

—why?

She wanted to say, so you won't be afraid.

She wanted to say, because I can't stand it when you're scared.

She wanted to say so much.

She didn't. She just ventured back into the dark for more wood. There was no hurry. The fear wasn't going anywhere. The dark wasn't going anywhere. Not for a long time.

Forever is a very long time for a mortal. Not for a god, though. Or a monster. Or anyone who lives forever, then it is just the blink of an eye. Forever and it is gone.

---

—hey, sugarcube?

—i have a name you know, darling.

—i've got a name, too, and it ain't darling.

A mountain rises to the left. It is only visible in its outline limned by fire. The form of a tower juts out from it. Tall and proud and stupid and dying like everything is and had ever been.

—so we're agreed then? we both have names?

—yes.

Not even the faintest rumble can be heard from this distance as the tower breaks. It may as well be on the moon. It crumbles, disintegrating as it falls as it returns to the earth as it becomes a landslide sliding silently into the dark.

No sound but the crunch of dust and gravel underfoot.

No light but the distant flames.

And Things move amongst the flames. Immense Things. Horrible Things. Shadow gods.

—it just don't feel right to say a name. that's all.

—it doesn't.

The world disappears within outstretched wings as one of the Things passes, miles away but still blotting out the pale sun.

Then it is passed as if it never was. The fires again, highlighting the horizon. The mountain continues to stand and perhaps it will stand forever, but no trace of the tower remains. No trace of the city.

No trace of the gods.

—y'all suppose it will ever feel right again?

No answer. They carry on. The mountain fades from sight as they continue through the forever twilight.

---

—hey, sugarcube?

—yes, darling?

The ground has been rising for the past day. They're approaching the mountains. The peaks are still invisible. Clouds of ash blot the air before them, promising the things lost to them are concealed with just another step.

—why don't y'all ever say anything?

—don't be ridiculous, i'm saying something right now.

—that's not what i meant.

—then you should have spoken clearer.

---

—hey,

She coughs. Hacks. Her spit spatters thicker now. Ripe ropes shot through with red life. But the hoofsteps don't stop. The gravel keeps crunching.

—hey, sugarcube?

—yes, darling?

—do y'all suppose it hurts?

Now the gravel stops crunching.

—what do you suppose hurts?

The silence spreads out to fill the space it finds and it settles like the heavy ash that falls to cover the ground in thick waves of luxuriant grey like the heavy blankets that once swaddled an infant with so much potential to give to the world.

—y'all know what I mean.

—then it doesn't need to be said.

---

Dawn stretches its rosy red finger through the coin slot left between the horizon and the sky. Everyday it has made this abortive attempt, stretching a sole digit hoping to find life before abandoning the earth behind impenetrable clouds.

Someday, it won't even make that effort.

—hey, sugarcube?

—yes, darling?

—is it morning? is the sun up?

—what a silly question. of course it is.

—i think,

She coughs. Spits. Thick phlegm settles in the ash.

—i can't.

—can't what?

—don't you see?

—see what?

—i ... i ... can't.

She looks up. Beneath her faded hay hair, her eyes are running with yellow pus. The orbs can't focus. Pupils now colorless float grey upon curdled milk. Green is gone from the world.

—i can't see. why can't i see you? what's,

She coughs again. Spits. More phlegm joins the fluid puddle at her hooves.

—what's happening?

—shhhh, shhhh, shhhh, shhhh, shhhh, shhhh

She says nothing else. Just grips her blind friend in her hooves and holds them together. Waits as her friend sobs.

—i'm scared of the dark. it can't be dark. Rarity, don't let it be dark. i need to see.

—shhhh, shhh, shhh, shhh, shhh, shhh, shhh

—help me.

—shhh, shhh, shhh, shhh, shhh, shhh, shhh

—help me, please.

—i can't.

—i'm scared, Rarity.

—i know.

The day passes them over together. The night returns and brings it's indiscriminate dark. She makes no fire tonight. The warmth of her body will have to be enough.

---

—hey, sugarcube?

—yes, darling?

—what are you doing?

—i'm tying us together.

Her horn strains to accomplish even this. Feeble light strains against a piece of ribbon.

—don't be getting no funny ideas now.

—i wouldn't dream of it.

—i can still buck like a draft horse.

The rope holds them together. Their sides press. Their ribs interlock through paper skin. They start to walk again.

One is blind.

Both stumble.

It is terrible how things continue to live.

---

—hey sugarcube?

The head lolls on her shoulder. The unicorn drags herself and her companion forward with a mindless perseverance.

Always forward.

—yes, darling?

—did y'all ever decide where we were going?

—somewhere better.

Always forward.

---

—hey, sugarcube?

—yes, darling?

—thanks.

—for what?

---

She stumbles to the left. The familiar weight isn't pressed against her side anymore. In a daze, she turns to see her companion sitting in the gravel. The shredded ribbon lays between them.

—darling?

Her bony haunch is visible through loose skin. Her head swings back and forth. Her chest heaves. Her sunken stomach sucks in and spills out.

—darling?

Her legs tremble. The corners of her eyes twitch. Her freckles stand out as livid white spots. Her mouth hangs open revealing yellowed teeth and blackened gums.

—Applejack?

—i'm,

Applejack tries to spit. The thick clot only droops out from her lip in ropey strands. Red and brown and green, the brightest colors this season. The brightest colors ever again and they swing from her tan lip.

—I'm real sorry.

She lays down. Her dead eyes point aimlessly forward. She retches. There is nothing left to come up.

—Applejack, don't

There is no sound in response. The sky flashes white then grows even. The afterimage of crags and broken stone and heaving earth and spreading stone and dead and dead and dead, dead, dead desert for miles.

—Applejack,

There is nothing but slate from here to eternity.

—don't leave me here.

The road goes on alone.

Author's Note:

This one doesn't follow a neatly demarcated Three Act structure and also is very dark and the "jokes" are not really jokes. It does follow the pattern of the odd numbered stories being apocalyptic, though. Anyway.