Nothing Can Shine

It was too enclosed, the walls were constricting her, Rarity couldn’t remain in any building. She was progressing, like a snail trailing the pond bottom for a decade only to finally outgrow the shell. The porcelain shell she’d carefully nurtured all these years, shielded in monotony, manifesting herself all wrong. The useless shell she’d discarded and torched, thrusting herself naked and alive into the world. And certainly she was more aware than ever, yet not as bright as she’d been, mind and senses always feeling dimmed and worn. Yet still no relief to her ill fit body. What could she do to improve her existence, to remedy where she’d gone awry, to even make it worthwhile? Rambling through the constructs, up and down roads at steady or variating pace, that’s what she excelled at. Her time tested skill if memory was still reliable. Yet it reeked of routine, the old ways were out of the question, she needed something fit for a mollusk. A suitable habitat for a mollusk, there was an idea.

In the distance Rarity recognized within her vision a reserve of trees, and as she closed in a sign handily declared it Ponyville Park. Having previously avoided all to do with nature, she almost found herself eager expose herself to such stimuli, to blaspheming creation, possibly trampling flower gardens and pissing in the bushes.

But her enthusiasm was cut down in its infancy as winding up the path she quickly found it was a tangle of activity and children. The foals playing their stupid games in the grass, laughing off-pitch and pretending to be junebugs. Families out picnicking and convening, all the while unaware they despised each other. She could feel her mood slipping fast, the equilibrium she’d been carefully maintaining. This whole environment was warm and ill fit, it had been a poor choice, nature running meticulously wild. Even the clouds overhead were muddling any attempt at clarity, pretending at various shapes and polygons they had no business being. She shielded her eyes and thought to turn back.

No, too late to reverse course, she was progressing. Had to go forward. Rarity claimed an empty bench and shut her eyes entirely, sanctuary from the rest of the environment. A minor refuge that separated her from the other ponies, that would allow her to cultivate solitude and get on admirably. And despite being cumbersome and undoubtedly carrying the stains of innumerable unwashed hooves, she dwelt on wood, not the same ground their filthy feet treaded. Not really any difference at all actually. What was there to do here anyway? Sitting on a bench blind and deaf wasn’t progression, she needed to make use of her consciousness while she had it. What could she do on a bench? What could she accomplish that wasn’t a mere distraction? Erect and alert on the bench, where would that get her. There was always the off chance she’d be struck with a stray universal truth if she squatted here long enough, but the grotesque youth was clouding any sense or relief she might have attained. Even with closed eyes, she could still hear the giggles and screams, could still smell the roses. It all only brought to mind her decay.

Maybe drown herself in the pond like a snail. Quench her last thirst and get over with the whole sorry affair, finally of use, corpse home to the pond scum. Dead and at rest as the algae flourished in her skull and the minnows nibbled on her bloated flesh. She always knew it was her destiny to be fish food. No, that was awful. She couldn’t consign herself to fate, she had too much to live for.

Too much to live against, like the stallion who was now positioning itself on her island. Seeing her take notice, he dressed himself in amiability and conducive gestures. “Hello. The sun is shining with the joy of a thousand smiles and it sure is beautiful, isn’t it?”

Rarity sought solace in a sneer. “It’s hell, those rose bushes smell like sulfur and so do you. Go away.”

“Those are the most commendable bushes I have been witness to.”

Trying to rub his optimism off onto her. “You’ll be witness to nothing when you die unhappy and in company. Leave me be,” she repeated.

It’s face only grew hopeful and replied, “There it is! People are a pleasure, my company will undoubtedly raise your spirits.”

“I have no spirit. Piss off.”

“Ah, I’m sorry to hear that. Something you’d like to share?”

Still! This was her burden to bear alone, and she wouldn’t let some go-lucky stallion steal it from her, not if she could help it. “No, I’ll share nothing, you mongrel. Take your troubles and babbling and shit back to the pit you came from,” she spat, sliding away on the bench.

But it pursued with damnable grin. “Calm yourself, friend,” a hoof extended toward her. “I’m just trying to extend some compassion on this nice day.”

Compassion? She snorted. It’d never believed in her nor she it. Only yet another illusion professed by that swindling universe, laughing as the ants tried to scurry on all the while. And in her own way, she’d done similar with the mare she’d ended. She’d been laughing at that time, it’d been worthless. Existence did strike the acquainted mare as a worthless endeavor, why not further the notion? Not her this time, but the rest. The ones with the presumption to live with smiles on their faces. She wanted to stamp them all out, be the pristine heel that ground them in their place.

“No one’s ever lost forever, when they die they’re caught inside your heart.”

Of all the fucking stupidity! “Isn’t that special,” she growled. “Though I doubt you’ll be finding enough space, with your thick head. But,” Rarity produced a knife she’d forgotten about. “you’ve had enough time to dig your grave. Now it is time to lie in it.”

Finally the cheery air dissolved. “What? Good god!” The stallion shielded his face but remained fixed to the spot. “Please, I can’t die, I’m a consumer! I need to smell the roses! ”

Rarity allowed a grin to her face as he continued to plead on his haunches before her. With a jab she pierced his quivering gut and cut vertically along the abdomen, let him pour his heart out just as he’d wanted. She watched him stagger off the bench, fumble at his spilling organs and collapse with dying gurgles.

Rarity watched the blood drain and pool together and began to feel her own, throbbing under skin, pulsing through veins. She threw herself off the bench and sat in the mess, continuing to mutilate the pony. Prodded the cavities, disrupted the flow. She spread out his entrails and revelled in them, praised them for their honesty. But it was disgusting, and though it was a corpse she could not help taking notice of persisting cries despite. Rarity wandered away in solitude.

She attempted to keep course straight but always seemed to stray off in one direction or another. Not only the occasional veer where none intended, no, curves dominated her path, wouldn’t take their leave for a moment. So she traveled great distances in ellipses and spirals of differing dimensions and proportions, sometimes for hours and sometimes for what seemed days, always finding herself recurring at the park. And when not ambling, she explored its recesses and otherwise remained a nuisance with vandalism, no flower left unsniffed nor unstomped. Tearing up the grass. One of her preferred activities was climbing trees and hiding nestled in their branches, staring swords at those busy at pretend below her. Some full days had been passed tormenting families and hurling slanders until they packed up for home. On several occasions she’d nodded off to sleep in her tree only to fall out.

Now there was a note. From the meek yellow pegasus with the butterflies, couldn’t recall when she’d last regarded that one, inviting her to visit if lonely.

Loneliness. Yes she'd often previously heard mention of that term and the explanation had been entirely foreign to her, having gotten on fine all this time herself. Rarity didn't believe it for a moment and would not go so far as to call it a concept. Some things were so simple as to not need a name, certainly such an intrinsic facet of existence as the solitude of an individual. And the opposing notion it implied, that there could be a genuine companionship or meaningful connection to something else similarly thrown into this mess, it was thoroughly absurd. A freakish desire at any rate.

Rarity let herself in the cottage. Threw hate at the walls until the mare quickly revealed herself. All yellow, she appeared in the room nervous but throwing on a benign look nonetheless. Hair astray in all the right places. Tentatively she put forth, “Um, did you come for my company? We can have a good time as friends.”

“Aren’t you just a radiant cunt,” she shot back, tossing the crumpled note at her. “Tell me what’s the meaning of this. Carrying out your invasions with paper now, summoning me like one of your mangy pests?”

“No, just it, it’s not good to be alone so I thought—”

“That word again! Haven’t had your fill yet, haven’t shoved enough of your treachery into my skull?”

“But I haven’t.”

She’d always promised some glow about her, the deceiving wretch. There was no halo, only tricks of the light. “And all the ponies dreamed they’d be your friend,” Rarity jeered, advancing forward. “I’ll admit you had me when I was still naive, jabbering incessantly into my ears. All the time you wasted with your fucking butterflies!”

“...D-did you want to talk about it?”

Trying to lock her away with falsities and empty promises. “Even now peddling companionship? I tore down the earth pony, you thought I’d be still too compliant for you?!” Rarity thrust a hoof.

At that the snake retreated to the wall, attempting to blend with the clutter. “Oh, I, I can make tea, you like tea! I can make tea and we’ll make sense of everything else at the table.”

“I do not have time for tea!” she screeched.

The pony before her cried in response, face flared in fear. Deceit drowned with feebleness, a disgusting combination all round. If it wasn’t a lie, that only made it all the more repulsive.

She eyed shears on a side table. Seizing them, Rarity lunged at the mare and plunged them in its eye socket. It screamed. Pinning it down, she pushed them in deeper, twisting the blades. Crimson poured out the orifice as the pony writhed frantically but Rarity gritted her teeth and held tight, until it gave final gurgle.

        She stared down at her bloodsoaked hooves, and went to wash them in the sink.

Rarity took a loaf of bread to stuff her throat with and as she set on the path back to town, a tiny squirrel caught her eye, lingering at the edge of the grass. She drew closer. It still didn’t seem afraid of her, so Rarity pulled off a corner of the loaf and held it outstretched in offering. The rodent eyed her warily.  But it soon skittered up to her, carefully taking the gift. Its nose twitched as it inspected the bread, deemed it satisfactory, and began gnawing.

She sat back and observed. It seemed to hold an appreciative expression, eyes a happy shade. Almost as if a lower animal could comprehend good will. But how much could a squirrel comprehend? Could it understand benevolence? Friendship? Were they really that different from ponies?

Rarity crushed its skull in case.

Memories were made. And when not, Rarity radiated ill will, constantly scorning the amity that nevertheless imprinted her. Even the nights she spent under the open sky, glaring at the cosmos and searching for stars, weren’t free from extrinsic influence. Other creatures burdening her. So she’d torched the forest and instead dwelt around various side streets, committing petty theft and kicking the impaired or otherwise enfeebled. Usually brought a smile to the face. And when not rampaging, she directed her steps away from others, avoided them as she achieved orbits around the outskirts of Ponyville. She forgot how long she’d been at it. One of her back hooves had began the process of going numb, often provoking more halts than was proper.

Having gone a good distance since the last pause, Rarity settled against a building but did not sit. Too upright for that, she had an insatiable hunger in her soul, an intense flame building and building and waiting to consume it all up to the heavens. She’d go to the deli and order sandwiches if she could stomach the thought of eating. Useless organ it turned out, never able to hold any down. Rivalling the mind at regurgitation, and that was only on the inner front. Dealing with the jabberings and moans of the public, there the mare knew was the true test.

        Ponies trotted disgustingly up and down the road, in and out buildings, circulating like the world’s stupidest blood vessel. A hemoglobin male in particular moved close to her, suit atrocious and mane a hideously combed mess. Rank amateur at best, conceptions clearly tinted by cholesterol, trying to carve his polygon into a shape able to possibly fit in society. Just like the rest carving off themselves, limbs and protrusions, so they can all push and crowd in together. Enough to at least make Rarity consider herself better off than them, aware of the ugly mite she was. Here, they told themselves in idiotic tones, was a place they belonged. They’d like to think this place was shaped exact for them. Fit right in here with their plastic houses with their neighbors selfsame with their town founded on nonconflict. Unsuited to any else, without being squashed in with the other cattle to hold them in place they’d fall right down. No legs of their own left. Shuddering and convulsing on snatched shoulders, telling themselves it was best, confusing the body heat for affection. Veritable humanists then. They had made this place, and in turn it would make them. Would spit out little worms just the same, brought up to pretend and play at benevolence. To bestow for themselves the right of existence, to declare themselves the radiant ones and continue the cycle anew.

All the while she held the lines in the witching hour, withered and spoiled from the elements, a fragment of what she’d once been, a shriveled vegetable left in the garden. No, she was the only non-vegetable, ever stumbling blindly in the dark as it. All too aware of every stub and scrape and fading breath. It was getting to her again, she needed to kill something.

Rarity knocked on the nearest door.

A stallion and a mare appeared on the other side as it opened.

“Do you own a child?”

They squinted, thinking to squeeze out sense. One gave a short nod.

Rarity swallowed her disgust and proceeded with communication. “Where is it? I want to interact with it.”

They stood stupid and astounded. The mare cautiously opened her mouth. “Our foal sleeps upstairs, in his crib.” The male remained silent beside her, a bundle of passivity, mind full of excrement.

Sun was too bright and she could feel her lungs again. Rarity took up the reigns, roughly pushing past them up the stairs, and the two listlessly followed behind in awe.

Without further guidance, she simply peered into the first open door and there was the mentioned crib, and inside her aim. The sleeping mite, crammed with vitality and budding life, bright ignorant future ahead of it just waiting to unfold. She’d been a foal once. Rarity did not care to remember. Yet was that not also the time she’d been at her peak, faculties at their most functional? These days some insufferable great divide always inhibited her senses, sticking her with a rotting corpse. Even now the foal didn’t look right from this distance, vision seeming to have been once better than this. But she would not dwell.

Rarity stepped into the room. One of them finally worked up nerve to ask. “What are you doing here?”

She scowled but didn’t bother to answer. What a useless question, hell if she knew why she’d been stuck on this rock. Her voice was firm, “Give it to me.”

At that the pair flinched away in bewilderment. So predictable, she could see the thoughts turning in their skulls. Hesitant of failing their self-given role as parents, yet no spine of their own to pass on. Considered themselves enlightened yet even more in the dark than she was. The rare occasion they considered the child as an existent would only bring irritation anyway. Here she sat rotting and everyelse might as well been a potato.

“Pass the lump to me,” she repeated.

It was enough to work away the last of their strength and the female pulled out her child and warily passing it to Rarity.

It was still slumbering, bundled in blanket and respiring steadily despite the untowardly noise. A dirty mahogany coat with the start of a yellow mane. Mouth fit for a worm. Horrible mix, she scoffed, yet more justification she was doing it a favor, if any was needed. She never needed any.

Firmly gripping the foal, she sat on her haunch and held ready a pillow from the crib. Any being forced a taste of life knew it was best stomped out by hoof.

It roused as she pressed pillow to face.

Breath blocked, it began to panic and flail stubby limbs. She imagined deer eyes jolted in panic. The thought only made her push harder, disgust only fueled her pleasure. It transitioned into death screeches and she got excited, breaking into grin. Savored the seconds as she painfully pressed cotton into the malformed little face.

Finally the cries ended and the infant ceased motion, giving Rarity a good indication her moment was over. Went as well as she’d expected, another memory to the chest. She knew it’d be an event when that rotted crate would need to be dragged out and pried open.

Rotating back toward the crib, she saw the pair cowering in the doorway.

“Still here? Your attentive parenting surprises me,” Rarity remarked, dropping the carcass back in cradle.

“You—you killed our child!” the female blandly stated.

She did not care to know what they’d expected to happen when she smothered it. Time was ticking and they were of no aid. She wanted to excise their dullness from existence.

Rarity seized the mare and bashed her head in against a ledge. The other fled downstairs but she was ready and caught him before he reached the door, clumsy mammal he turned out. Took the time to fetch a nice knife from the kitchen and strummed his neck for all the music it was worth.

It was pleasant, but not much as the foal had been. And her glow faded soon after, discomforts resurfacing, sensations of her anatomy returning. Her back hoof ached. Right back where she’d started. What progress had she made at all?

Rarity felt adrift. Dropping stallion to the floor, she wandered around the room. Same pictures just like her walls had held, same knick knacks and doorways, even a similar shade of lavender paint, hardly any difference of significance from her own home. She adjusted a crooked vase. Didn’t know why, she hated these objects just as much as her own, if not more. They were pretentious and their accumulation was ridiculous.

Walking was ridiculous. Her vision swam and Rarity retreated to the firm upholstery of the room’s couch. She caught herself in a mirror, frayed hair no longer curled or provided any sort of maintenance, haggard face still so fervid and searching for meaning. If anything she’d only regressed, further eroded with nothing to show for it. Couldn’t remember anything greater than the limitations of her biology, thrown into this world on backwards legs. How had she ever managed to stand in these conditions? Rarity clung further to the seat but the estranged items existed unimpeded. They were out of place. But no, this was their place, right where these things fit in the most. Even the body leaking blood before her wasn’t a touch out of place, right at home with the indifferent.

She tried to head off these thoughts, avoid the objects and focus her gaze on a corner instead. A dim little angle collecting dust bunnies and negligence. A meager spider stirring, silently crawling down the wall toward its web. One leg in front of the other, eyes gleaming blankly at its prey. Simple, never questioning its absurd existence, only pursuing the hunger. Not a thought devoted toward anything more, while she sat here wishing for halos. Indifferent in its own way. This was its world.

Rarity didn’t belong here. Retreat to her house, the place where she could belong. But there was no place for the living. Nowhere to hide in this foreign universe, nothing that belonged to her, nor familiar.

She’d already done this. Sitting on the ass staring at walls, once more at stagnation. She was going to decompose like the corpse she was. But was not that what she wanted? Sure as hell didn’t want to be here, had never asked for this, to be alive and breathing with lungs pumping and inhaling air. Surely her hatred of life and existence extended to hers as well. And that was the root. Must get on the move again before the rigor mortis set in. What was her reason for getting on with it, how had she lived up to now? Rarity had forgotten, was forgetting something, it sat in the skull just out of reach and she could feel it. Fucking spider stealing her foundation. And what was the point if she was losing herself anyway, no one to entrust it with, no one she could use to keep her reason safe with. It wouldn’t let her deteriorate in peace, and she hated it.

She had nothing but hatred. The anger that drove her to kill, unrest that drove her to action. This damnable vitality that forced her into the muck of it. She didn’t have time for anything more. There was nothing more. It was better than rotting empty-hooved. She’d have to force her niche and take what she could, mar as many as she could. Go forth and she’d do just fine, Rarity thought as she left the house, and Ponyville.

Her dreams contained ogres, proud and tall, thick green gnarled limbs that carried mighty bludgeons. An army of them enough to blot out pastures. They set forth through the lands, across vast seas and mountains, conquering empires and erecting monuments in their name, holding grand feasts, uniting the corners of the world under their emblem. And she trailed after them tirelessly, burning everything they’d touched. Leaving nothing to show of their work. All their efforts in smoke. Nonetheless, the ogres persisted and refused to acknowledge her.

Rarity felt inspired to spend waking days bashing in heads. To suit the mood of the time, she. For a time she let nature to its devices and spread pain into cities and corralled the roaches. She spent a season erecting a tower of corpses to reach the heavens, then knocked it down like a child’s blocks. Endless disease blighted the land and repetition was her livelihood across new frontiers.