Twilight's consciene

by lpsfan100

Rating: teen
Tags: Tragedy, Sad, Dark
Length: 434

I don't really like the title but its ok anyway the summary is Twilight's angst about the murders she's committed under some group. Reviews please POSSIBLY ONESHOT.

I don't really like the title but its ok anyway the summary is Twilight's angst about the murders she's committed under some group. Reviews please POSSIBLY ONESHOT.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-05-16 04:23:34 UTC

Twilight's consciene

Twilight POV.

She knew ponies that slept for the sheer enjoyment of being pulled into another world in their dreams.

Or rather, she used to know ponies like that.

The fact of the matter is that she was not like that. She hated returning to her room to sleep on a bed. She hated anything associated with sleeping—dreams, rest, tranquility, and all the like.

She didn't deserve sweet dreams.

She would never be able to rest.

She hadn't been calm and peaceful for a long time now.

She hated sleeping. She only slept when, after working without rest, sheer exhaustion claimed her body and she fell into a semi-unconscious state.

At least, when that happened, she was far past the realm of dreams…or in her case, the realm of nightmares.

Although, even though she didn't sleep, she could still see the faces of those she couldn't save…of those that she killed. Faces that rose up to her in waves, threatening to engulf her in their horrified shrieks of pain. Soft wails that grew louder and louder, until it was a chorus of screaming, pounding in her ears.

She can still remember the first time she took someone's life. She came back to her room in Ponyville and promptly vomited in the bathroom. She remembered putting her hoofs under the scalding water, rubbing them vigorously with soap to try and get the blood stains out until her hoofs were raw.

After that, she gradually felt herself becoming more detached in her kills. But that didn't mean she was used to the sight of death…of blood…of pain…She would never get used to those sights. She would never get used to the sight of a child, screaming and crying, his parents' dead bodies lying around him, their eyes wide open and blank and staring into nothingness. Or of innocent children, their eyes closed and forever they would be, for she had acted like Death itself, sweeping down and murdering all with her white blade.

Sometimes she would lie in her silent room, quietly crying for those who had died, all curled up in a tiny ball, trying to drown out the cries of pain, trying to banish all the nameless faces of all she murdered.

She used to wish that it was all just a dream, and that she would wake up in her bed back home any moment, and see her mother and father and brother again…

But that was not the case. She knew now not to wish for such frivolities now.

After all…

There's no hope for the damned.

THE END