by Green Pepper on Tue Mar 05, 2013 2:35 am
Green was in bad shape. After the rib popped out, a flurry of activity and noises sounded as everypony voiced their opinion as to the best course of action. Like typical smoothskins, most seemed perfectly willing to order somepony else to pick him up, but few were willing to touch his flayed and mangled corpse.
The female griffin scoffed at the very idea of helping him, while the prissy unicorn threw orders at everypony, although no one listened. He heard the tour guide say something, then she grabbed his bone and pushed it back in!
He vision blanked, it was so painful. Bone's are menat to be set, or in this case, doused with enough radiation to heal on their own. Just grabbing the thing and slamming it back in was obviously not the thing to do. He arrived at the conclusion that the mare was an idiot.
He soon arrived at another conclusion, that he was about to die in the middle of a crowded street, when the other end of the damaged rib snapped and punctured his lung. Not that he needed to breath, but that was just a little more life-threatening damage. He felt the edges of his vision start to go dark.
Ironically, if this had happened just a few months ago, he would have given up right then and there. Died the death he should have been given so very long ago. It wouldn't have been a punishment, but a release. Now, however, he was finally in a good way. He had a ghoulfriend, a smoothskin that wasn't prejudiced against him, and a little potato plant, just like back on the farm.
And now the wastes saw fit to take him away from all that. Gal dangit, he wanted to live his undead life while he could. He felt a black fluid, cold and slimy, leak from his tear ducts. Jeez, even his tears were necrotic.
Then, he felt a small hoof touch his. He blinked away his slimy black tears, and saw the silent zebra filly. She was looking at him without the slightest trace of disgust or hatred. Bless her, she was trying to tell him that it would be all right.
"Don-coo," he groaned in his low, raspy voice. No good, his fused vocal cords combined with the lack of air power made his words all but indeciferable. Instead, it would appear that he would have to communicate in the oldest known language: Body language.
He looked straight into her eyes, banishing the fear and loathing he felt for smoothies from then, and allowing his honest farmer self to reappear. His muzzle curled into a small grin, and he nodded. Then, the world lost clarity, and he blacked out.