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                       Make it stop                        
                   -by The Psychobrony-                    
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                       Make it stop.                       
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Make it stop.
No matter what Sweetie Belle did, no matter how much she tried to distract herself, no matter how much pain she subjected herself to, the music just would not stop.
Safely hidden from prying eyes in the middle of some prickly yet harmless plantation on the outskirts of the Everfree Forest, she took another swig from her deceptively harmless looking juice box. Drinking didn’t stop the music, nothing did, but it was one of the two things that helped her endure it. The other was held loosely in her front hoof. She examined the small silver object through half closed eyes. It was funny, she mused, not for the first time, how such a tiny, easily passed over object could bring such blessed relief. Taking yet another swig, and still grimacing at the taste after all this time, she rested the edge of the razor blade against the mass of scars that used to be her cutie mark and began to cut.
The music had started one year, four months and three days ago. Sweetie Belle knew this because it was the same day her cutie mark appeared. It was also the day Applebloom had died.
Sweetie had been there, at the end. Rarity had wanted her to stay at home, but after a few half-hearted attempts at persuasion, a small tantrum, and lots of tears, she’d agreed to take Sweetie to the hospital. Scoots was already there, as was the remainder of the Apple family. Applebloom was fading, that was clear to all gathered around her bed. Yet she’d never been one to give up, and even in her unconscious state she was still fighting. Sweetie had sat next to her on the bed, Scoots mirroring her on the other side. They each held one of their friend’s unresponsive hooves in their own. Sweetie had looked down at Applebloom’s comatose form, each breath a miracle, and known deep down it was time for her to let go. Fighting back tears, she began to sing.
She couldn’t explain where the melody or words came from. They flowed out of her, reaching for her friend. The hospital room had fallen silent as soon as Sweetie had started to sing, but she had hardly noticed. The song poured out of her, somehow she knew exactly what Applebloom needed to hear to know that it was okay, she didn’t have to fight anymore.
After what seemed like an eternity, Sweetie Belle’s song drew to an end, and Applebloom stopped breathing.
It wasn’t until Sweetie managed to force herself out of bed the next morning that she realised her cutie mark had appeared.
Sweetie Belle took another gulp from her juice box. Ever since that day, the music had been in her head. Melodies and lyrics swirled around, fighting to get out. Every time she came across a pony who was struggling with something, a new song would join the throng, the perfect song to ease that pony’s troubles. And yet Sweetie refused to sing them. How could she justify using a talent she’d only discovered through the death of her best friend? So instead she hid it. She’d started off wearing dresses and skirts, and then learnt to cover her flank with make-up stolen from her sister’s supplies. She’d become an expert at pretending she’d moved on, pretending she was still searching for her special talent. It had taken a long time, but she’d even managed to fool Scoots.
And yet this was her reality. Hidden in a bush getting drunk and covering up her talent with scars and pain, trying to drown out the music in her head that was slowly but surely driving her crazy. She reached out and slowly stroked the large knife that she’d stolen from the kitchen and kept buried under the most vicious looking of the surrounding plants.
One day she’d find the courage.
One day the music would stop.