Monster

I was sobbing. I must have been. Screaming? Was I angry? Terrified? Sad? Anything? I must have been feeling something. I’m not an evil pony.  Only an evil pony could have stood there in front of a dying pony and not feel anything. But I don’t remember crying. I don’t remember being afraid. I don’t remember rushing over to Slammer and doing something to help him, even if I knew it was already too late.

I remember stalking towards him, a tired, cold feeling wrapping around me like the kind I would get on cold, rainy days in the winter. Cold. Unfeeling. Just watching and waiting for the next day to come.

“Am I evil?” I couldn’t help but wonder.

I was always smart. I had to be. Since I was a terrible flier, I had to keep my written score in my classes top notch. I never missed a question in my safety classes, and sometimes I would even silently correct my instructors when they misspoke about pegasus anatomy. You learned a lot about anatomy when you spent the day constantly wondering what bone your next fall would break.

I caught myself naming each bone that I saw jutting out of Slammer’s body as I approached. I thought to myself, “Shouldn’t there be more blood than that?”

I was startled by a cough. He was still alive! I looked him over. He had a giant branch stuck in his chest. If he didn’t move it and if I went to call for help, he might have made it. I might have been able to save him myself if I had the tools. But even still, I didn’t do anything. I just stood there, watching him.

“Bucking Clutzershy gotta screw everything up!”

Of course. His last words would be spiteful venom spat at the back of his killer. That’s what I was. A killer. A killer that didn’t even care. Look at me. I was turning around and ready to walk away. I just didn’t care.

“That’s cold. At least you finally stopped being such a wuss. You—” a wracking cough interrupted his monologue. He didn’t let it deter him for long. “You know, they say your life flashes before your eyes when you die. I just realized. I turned into my bucking dad. Discord damn I hated that bucking… bucker!”

I looked around for a place to sleep. Sleep sounded good. None of this unconsciousness bull hay. It would probably put a blemish on my grades though. Oh, well. I was sure the teachers would understand. Oh, right. Dead colt talking.

“…killed him, you know. He hit my mom one time too many and I just snapped. So did his neck! Hah!”

That’s nice. Oh, look. I thought I saw a barn in the distance. Maybe I could sleep there? Sleep is good. I liked sleep.

“You know, you’re just like me.” His face was pensive. Almost wistful. I didn't care.

“BUCK YOU!” someone howled. Oh, right. That was me, screaming in his face. “I’m nothing like you! You’re a bully! You hurt ponies for fun!”

His visage turned mocking. “Yeah. I didn’t used to neither. But I got angry. I snapped. And I got angrier. And I snapped again. And here we are.”

“I’ll never be like you. So shut up.” I had stopped yelling at that point. He was wrong. I was right. He hurt ponies. I hadn’t hurt anypony. Never!

“You’re weak, Fluttershy.”

“I’m not the one with a tree in his chest, loser!” My hoof flew to my mouth as his mouth twitched upwards as he coughed blood at me.

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, young filly?” he mocked in a high pitched faux-girly tone. He stared at me and spat out, “You’re a scumbag just like me and my dad.”

“I’ll never be like you! I’m a hero! I saved that poor colt from you! You hurt ponies! I save them! I SAVE THEM!” A little bit of spittle clung to my chin. I lifted a hoof to wipe it away.

Slammer gazed at me with such scorn and pity that I felt the edge of my vision go red. “Yeah? Well I got a tree stuck in my chest! Save me, oh great hero!”

I panted deeply. A brilliant idea struck my mind. I could save him! He must have been in such horrible pain. I could save him from that. He wouldn’t ever need to be in pain ever again.

“I’ll save you, Slammer.” I crept closer to Slammer, a kind smile on my face. “You won’t hurt ponies anymore. You’ll see I’m a good pony. I won’t let you bully ponies or be in pain anymore” I looked up to the sky. “I am Fluttershy, and I am a kind pony!” I screamed.

I smiled down at him. A kind smile. I could see fear on his face, but there wasn’t any need for it. He was muttering phrases like “bucking psycho” and “completely lost it,” but I knew he wasn’t going to be afraid any longer. I aimed a kick at the branch that jutted up through his chest and let my hind hoof fly. It struck true, and with a crack the limb snapped. Slammer fell down, blood pouring from every orifice in his body.

I patted him on the head and whispered down to him “Now, this will hurt. But I want you to be brave, okay?”

I took his whimper for a sign of readiness. He was in pain, and I couldn’t let that stand any longer. I was a good pony, after all. What kind of good pony would let another pony be hurt without stepping in to help? I was a good pony. A hero. Like Daring Do.

I drew out the branch from Slammer’s chest. His choked screams of pain hurt me as if I was having a tree branch dragged through my chest, but I told myself it was for the best. As I dragged the branch, I saw blood spurting out from the hole it left, pouring to fill in the gap. I saw Slammer’s eyes cloud over.

“I don’t wanna die!”

“Please!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!”

“glugle ugkkk hurf hack!”

I giggled. That last sound was so funny. His body lay before me. His eyes weren’t in pain anymore. That was good. His mouth was in a silent, bloody scream. That wasn’t good. I closed his mouth, and it wasn’t screaming anymore. That was good. He really looked peaceful when he was asleep. I just wanted to cuddle with him, even though I knew he was a bad pony before.

“Sweet dreams!” I turned and stumbled off to the barn in the distance. I wanted to sleep too, but a niggling feeling in the back of my head screamed at me to run away. To be anywhere but here. I didn’t really know what the feeling was, but I was too tired to care. But it wouldn’t let me sleep here either. So off to the barn I went, humming a happy tune, good deed done for the day.