THUG

I stand alone on the corner. I'm leaning against a brick wall. A gust of wind blows handfuls of litter past me. The cold rain relentlessly pelts my feathers. I don't feel it. Every extremity is numb. My mind is floating in a dull, warm haze.

My eyes are locked on the dirty pavement before me. I want to look up. I want to see the sky, but I stop myself each time. The way I am now, it would only make me sick. I might throw up. It would be a relief, but someone might see me. I'd look like an idiot, and I'd hate that.

I hear hoofsteps to my left. Half a block away, a pair bicker among each other as they trot toward me. They haven't noticed me yet. This part of town is shrouded in darkness. The shadow of the building behind me hides me from the moon. The black cap I'm wearing prevents the white feathers on and around my head from standing out. My black leather jacket does the same for the brown feathers and fur on the rest of my body.

The half-broken streetlight above me flickers to life every now and then. Its blinking glow flashes the various crudely drawn insults on the wall. I only remember fragments of words. They sound pretentious and boring. I think they are referring to the local guards.

I raise the bottle to my beak and take a swig. Liquid fire and acid caresses my tongue. A demon pisses into my mouth, then forces its way down my throat. Once it gets into my stomach, it starts kicking around like a rampaging minotaur. I can just barely hold it in. A wave of nausea and warmth passes through my body. When it hits my head, it washes away every other sensation. It wipes my mind clean. I lose every thought. Every feeling. The ache in my head, the drought in my mouth, and the sickness in my belly is gone. My eyes are half-lidded as I lose touch with my body and drift away.

A thought in my head takes hold. I can faintly feel movement. My head turns, and I notice that my foreleg is raised. I hold the bottle in my view. It's almost empty. I have no idea what's in it, but it's good enough. I took it from a drunk pony I found outside a pub. He didn't fight back much. I smashed his face into the pavement anyway. Just for the hell of it. The memory makes me chuckle silently. I think he's still alive, but I doubt he'll survive tonight's storm alone.

The chatter to my left intensifies. It breaks through my haze and makes me take a look again. The pair is still advancing toward me, completely oblivious. They trade short and angry bursts of speech. I hear every word they say, but it all just swims around in my head and coalesces into white noise. Their voices set off an irritating buzz in my ears. I grind my teeth together.

I straighten myself a little, look straight ahead, then take a deep breath and wait for them in a firm stance. When they're but a few hoofsteps away, the streetlight comes to life again. The words become caught in both of their throats. Their eyes widen, and they give a short gasp of surprise as they notice me: a lone, imposing figure leaning against the wall, blocking their path.

I don't move a muscle. Only my eyes turn onto them in a playful glance. I can barely hold back my laughter at their sight. They tremble uncontrollably and all but wet themselves at my mere gaze, and I'm not even trying to threaten them yet.

The stallion is the first to move. His foreleg tugs on the mare's shoulder, and he quickly whispers something into her ear. She gulps and nods quickly in agreement. They carefully take a few steps, then gradually move toward the edge of the pavement as they get closer to where I stand. My eyes follow their every move, while they only dare to take a few quick glances at me. I give them an evil smile whenever they do.

At first, it seems like they just want to give me a wide berth, then the stallion grabs the mare and drags her over to the other side of the street. She's drained of all color as she struggles to put one hoof in front of the other. I hear the stallion mutter things to her to keep her calm. I can sense the trembling in his own voice. Once they'd crossed the street, they turn at the corner and trot away quickly, though they try to make it look like they're not running from something.

I grin at their cowardice and lift the bottle to drink again. After the last drops hit my tongue and slides down my throat, I toss the bottle as hard as I can at the pavement ahead of me. The sound of it shattering echoes loudly off the walls around me. I hear the mare yelp in the distance, followed by the noise of fast-paced hoofsteps. No doubt the two made a run for it. I belch, letting a foul stench rise from my belly, then let out a long, hearty laugh.

"Dweebs..." I mutter to myself and shake my head.

Their cowardice isn't misplaced. Many who dare venture into the shadows in this part of the town don't come back out alive, or come back at all. Some who come back wish they never did. Not after what has been done to them. So even though I didn't try to hurt them, it was smart of them not to even risk it.

Getting to see their fear never seems to get old, though, and I always like to have a good laugh. If my stare alone is enough for such good results, then one can imagine what the rest of me is capable of. I just wasn't in the mood for any greater effort right now. I just wanted a good drink. Then I don't have to feel. I don't have to remember.

But the booze soon begins to wear off. I feel shaking in my arms. I feel the ache in my head return. My bladder throbs. My throat is dry and is filled with a foul taste. Voices and images float around in my head. Blue wings. A rainbow trail. Pink. A high-pitched, bubbly voice. For some reason, this stupid chant keeps looping in my ears. Something about "speedsters" who want to be "the very best."

My stomach burns, overwhelming every other sensation. I groan as I caress my belly with my claw. I reach into my pocket, then decide against it. Alcohol can only stave things off for so long. It's time to give my body what it really needs.

I push myself off the wall and start walking on unsteady legs. The streets become a blurry, dark mess in my eyes. I use the walls of the houses next to me to guide myself. Everything looks the same. Everything is rotten and dirty, including me. I can smell myself. I'm garbage, just like the piles of it that I pass every now and then. I don't care. I need something, and that's all I want to think about.

A few minutes later, I find myself in a more well-lit neighborhood. I creep into one of the alleyways and peek out from there to avoid being seen, though hardly anypony is outside at this hour. An old pony trots out of a nearby liquor store. A pair of large paper bags hang from a saddle on his back. He whistles a happy little tune as he makes his way down the street.

My legs drag me after him. I wait for us to reach an unlit section of the street, then lick my lips as I reach into my pocket. The cool metal handle sends a tingle down my spine. I take out the blade, flick it open, and my legs pick up the pace to close the distance between the pony and me. The gentle rain covers up the noise I make. He doesn't hear me approach.

I hope he was as hungry as I am. Those bags he's carrying look promising enough. One of my claws readies the blade, while the other reaches out to grab his neck. I take a deep breath, and my foggy mind prepares my speech for him.

If all goes well, I'll have another good laugh for tonight. After that, I might even let the old guy live.

Author's Note

"All these lame ponies are driving me buggy..."