"And it is said that if you look across the battlefield at sunset and listen real close you can still hear the faint sound of marching hoofs and drums as well as the spectral army as it marches cross the field to a peace they will never reach."
Wardrum beat a lonesome rhythm, eyes closed as she marched along the empty plain. She could feel the fading heat of the sun against her back, whispering the coming of night, but still she marched alone. It was the least she could do on this day.
Memories burn deep.
She remembered all of their names, all of their marks. Winchester, Lancer, Ensign, Driller; all ponies of war, marching out to face death with a sneer. They had engaged and pushed their enemy back for six days, and this was to be their last open battle before the 43rd battalion relieved them to carry on the fight. One more day of gunpowder smoke, and two days of well-earned rest would follow.
Archer had been smiling that day, loudly bragging that he was going to enjoy his date the night after the battle. The others ribbed and teased him—perhaps they had been jealous, or were giving him some strange form of encouragement. Wardrum hadn't joined them; she had been beating their march, guiding their formation over the rocky plain, but she had smiled at their antics. They had been so alive then.
Old Crackerjack had a limp. He'd been shot in his right hind leg only two days before, but he stoically carried on, never letting it even slow him down. Many of the younger colts found themselves looking up to him, inspiring them to be tougher than nails and harder than diamond. The old stallion would put on a air of indifference, but Wardrum would catch him smiling at the young ones as they tried to emulate him.
Hoist had been the youngest; eager, too. The greenest of the bunch, she marched proudly while holding her flag high, but still she would miss steps in the marching rhythm. Wardrum remembered when she tripped, and Ensign had called the whole division to a halt while he berated her about poise and duty. Hoist had been close to tears by the time the march resumed, but there was still that sparkle in her eye. It said that she was proud, and she was determined, and she would fight even her own body's weakness to prove it. She struggled, but her flag never dipped again.
Not while she was alive.
Sharpeye had been their scout and lookout, even after the loss of one of her namesakes. Everypony had taken to calling her "Glass-eye," but only the bravest to her face. She was a whirlwind in combat, and deadly accurate with her rifle, lance, or hooves. She was a great pony, a great friend. An orphan, Wardrum remembered that she'd dreamed of having foals of her own, and of being there for them. She'd dreamed of giving them a life worth living.
Memories burn deep.
All too vividly, Wardrum remembered the ambush. It was sudden and quick, and over half the division was dead or wounded before they knew what was happening. She saw Hoist fall beside her, the top of her head sprouting a throwing axe. She heard a cry from Archer, and it ended in a gurgle of blood. All around her, screams pierced her ears, and confusion rattled those still standing.
Ensign had been standing by her side, and he reacted quickly, lowering his flagstaff and charging into the enemy. She watched helplessly as several javelins sprouted from his side, ending his charge long before he ever reached them.
A gunshot went off; old Crackerjack, now with fresh wounds, smiled as blood ran from the corner of his mouth. His rifle was smoking, and one of their enemy fell. The rest of the ponies heard the shot, and immediately they all became focused, unslinging their rifles and lances, and issuing a warcry as they sent more lead at their enemy. Wardrum, feeling ready to fight again, changed the beat of her drum into a battlesong.
She saw the stone the moment before it hit her temple. A glancing blow, it hit with such force she fell to the ground. A moment of dizziness, and she felt her consciousness leaving her. As the world faded to black, she heard the brave shouts of the soldiers, her friends, slowly vanishing. The last thing she saw was Hoist's flag, standing tall as she held it in death.
She didn't know how long it was before she came to, but the world was dark when her eyes opened. She felt weak, and might have lay there and died if she hadn't kicked her drum. The sound reminded her of what happened, and of her duty. She had stood, then, and struggled back to camp to try and give a report. The whole way back, she had cried.
It had taken five years for the fighting to stop. Now she walked this same path, three years after peace had been declared, and all the wounds still felt fresh. Even after all this time, she wondered if it had all been her fault, beating the drum as they marched. Had she alerted the enemy to their presence? Was she responsible for all this?
The soft pap of a tear hitting the drum accompanied her lonesome march. She kept moving forward, marching in her memories.
No, I kid. Seriously, if you want to wordsmith, then I suggest reading poems. If you hate the likes of Frost and Longfellow, then work with hip-hop and slam poetry. Here, uh... [link] [link] Stuff like that. Listen to the wordplay, and imagine. From there, it is a simple matter of making it your own.
Second bit, practice. Even if all you do is write one haiku a day, you're doing something. On occasion, try browsing DeviantArt and find some picture that inspires you—like this one, or this over here: [link] Don't worry if you are unsatisfied with the result—I so very much wish I could edit these. Just practice. Write.
Detective Arcane"Deadalus" Shadow: * Uses a Xyngese nerve knockout spell to the Earth Pony* *points Colt hoof revolver (the barrel tipped with a sound suppression device) on the back of the doctors head* Your friend here will be incapacitated for at least an hour. You will let the mare leave with me so I don't have to pull the trigger. doctor: Just who do you think you are we were in the middle of treating this patient! Detective Shadow: I think I am the Inventor of both Smokeless Gun Powder and of the Fire Arm Sound Suppressor. Know listen here a weapon fitted with both of those pointed directly at the back of your skull. I was hired to escort Miss Screw out of the premises so I suggest you let me do so. doctor: You can't get away with this, you will be.. Detective Shadow: Nothing. It would be easy to dispose of the evidence, not to mention make all records of your existence disappear. Miss Screw can you move? Screw Loose: Ye-s-s-s-s-s-s than-k-k-k yo-uu. Detective Shadow: Good, come here. Screw Loose: *trots to the detectives side* *Uses Xyngese knockout spell on the doctor* A sly smile appears on the detectives face. Shadow and Screw Loose walk out of the padded room, afterwards he closed the steel door behind him and used a flame spell to weld the door shut. Detective Shadow: Let's leave. They both trot to the front desk were an undercover Nurse Redheart was waiting for them. Nurse Redheart: I am guessing she's the one. Detective Shadow: Yeah. Nurse Redheart: Did you have to brag about your patent's? Detective Shadow: You have a point.
Half an hour later and a strangely quiet, three hour train ride to Ponyville plus a five minute trot to the front of a familiar house. Shadow, Redheart and Screw Loose stand in front of the door, Shadow moves in to knock and is stopped by Doctor Sun Stable opening the door for them.
Detective Shadow: Sun, perfect she is Miss Scre-.
Screw Lose gallops towards Doctor Sun Stable embracing him in a warm long overdue hug and of course Miss Screw is dry it's thanks to a dry spell from Shadow done before entering the train something about the conductor not letting a wet filly in.
Doctor Sun Stable: I can't thank you enough. Detective Shadow: Watt are friends for? Plus you should't thank me yet, not until I clean the records of her being there. Doctor Sun: Okay, do you want to come in?
Redheart and Shadow walk in with Stable and Screew loose. The evening was passed drinking tea and in the case of Shadow a Gin and tonic from the Globe Bar in Doctor stables living room. Nothing better than reminiscing with old friends right?