Light

There is no discrimination in war, no difference between a unicorn and a pegasus, between a mare and a stallion, between the old and the young. Everypony suffers equally when they find themselves in the front lines.

And there is no best way to prove it than the situation I have found myself in. A grey room with barely any light coming from the small windows that allow us to watch the place of our doom, and at the same time our salvation: The backyard.

There are no light bulbs anywhere in this room. We can see each other out of pure miracle, or perhaps pure hatred from destiny. We sit silently and give quick looks at each other’s faces before watching the dusty floor yet again. We are afraid, afraid that every look we give to any of us might be the last, so we look to the floor to forget the faces of our companions as soon as possible, to forget that there are friends in the room who share our fate.

All doors are locked tight; the windows have thick metal bars. We are too young and weak to try and rebel, we don’t have the strength to bring down the doors and if we did bring them down somehow, we would just be shot.

There are exactly thirty of us and none is older than seven years old. There are some of us as young as three years old in here. We used to live in an orphanage in the city of Fillydelphia before the pegasi started this massacre by declaring war to the rest of Equestria… actually, the room we are currently in is a classroom of said orphanage, but you can’t call this place an orphanage anymore, nor this congregation of ruins a city. Cities have ponies living peacefully, working one day and partying the next. This place has nothing but the stink of the rotting corpses on the street, and the constant screaming of somepony who lost a leg or two, or worse, who saw a friend lose a leg or two. If we’re lucky we might hear how somepony´s bones crunch. It used to be a horrible and disgusting sound, we would put our hooves in our ears so we couldn’t listen to it, but nowadays it is satisfying, relaxing even. It has become our only entertainment in our little waiting room. We often need to stop one of us who attempts to break his or her own arm just to hear that sound.

And without further ado, the door is unlocked and a beach mare in uniform steps inside. All eyes glare at her while shouting help through the frozen faces of shock they all have acquired, even myself. When I was younger I was always scared of huge monsters of legend, of ugly beasts that could swallow you whole... I could have never imagined with my innocent mind that one day my greatest fear would be nothing more than another pony, just like me. When did we become so scary?

And what is so special about the backyard I mentioned before? Well, two days ago we were told that there were too many of us children, that there wasn’t enough food to feed us all alongside the soldiers stationed here. They will choose some of us to be sent to the backyard and… to stabilize the amount of food everypony gets… those who are sent to the backyard will be shot.

She positions herself in front of us, brings out a piece of paper from her saddlebags, and starts to take attendance of us. With each name she says I sweat more and more, once she is finished she will say the name of the one who is lucky enough to survive the backyard. Who will she point to? Who will be saved?

We have our eyes fixed on her; we don’t even blink. We are too afraid to perform any move. The presence of that mare is an omen of calamity, a harbinger of death and destruction. She has the power to completely change the lives of thirty foals, twist and bend them to her will, yet there she is, yelling names.

She has finished taking attendance, now comes the part in which the chaos takes us into the box ring by force and smashes our heads in one swift blow.

The beach earth pony puts away the sheet of paper and starts to look at us one by one with indifferent eyes. I could not believe it at first but its true, she judges us by appeal.

I have lost all hope. Only one will survive, out of thirty. No matter how you look at it, the room and the mare are an unbreakable wall of reality. If Celestia could put all us foals into this situation, into this war, into this room with this mare, then we can’t trust the light that slips through the windows. The dust of the wooden floor is all I want to see now…

“You!” She screams. And my head tilts as the tears escape my eyes. I want to believe in the light! I want to imagine a future without scary rooms! I want to live! I want to live…

And I stare. The hoof of salvation is pointing at me. The face of the mare remains unchanged but… but she is pointing at me… she is pointing at me! I will live…

And so I look around at the devastated faces of my friends, whom I had forgotten in my desire to survive. There is no light for them, only death. Is the future I dream of really a good one when all these miserable foals are left behind? Can this truly be a symbol of hope? The death of twenty-nine children?

But out of the thirty foals, I was the most childish. It was not long before my ears vibrated along the tune of the hollowest despair.

“You will be shot.”

Author's Note:

Any punctuations out of place, any grammatical errors, anything, feel free to speak your mind. Hope you liked it.

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ExplosionMare

ExplosionMare #1 · Feb 4th, 2022 · · ·

This was a chilling read for such a short story. It told a lot in a short matter of time. When a selection was being made, I felt dread at the bottom of my stomach. I like stories that give me emotions, as if I’m actually there.

One question, though. Was the main character the one being shot or was the mare referring to a random foal about to be shot? It was a bit hard to tell.

Bronyofcuba