12

by SterlingNomad

Rating: teen
Tags: Tragedy, Dark
Length: 1541

12 ponies, 12 days, 12 graves a day.

lolololol

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-03-25 07:50:56 UTC

The Start of Something Sinisiter

The pony that sat serenly upon the Fillidelphia park bench in the crisp winter air was nothing special. His brown coat, black mane and ambiguouse three horseshoe cutie mark may as well have been invisible to the ponies of this industrious little city, who all lived their busy lives, blindly following what they were told, and never looking at the Why.

But the Why, the reason, the very inception of an idea is the mosty important thing of all. The pink ones, the blue ones, the red ones the brown ones. Some wore a tie, most nothing at all. All so similar, so unbeliaviably unaware of the life out side their dear city, let alone the life out side their own Nation.

But they would.

Soon enough.

Had anypony taken an interest in the stallion on the bench, they would have immeadiatly noted the the way his hind legs drapsed over the lip of the bench seat, like some mangled puppet without its master, floppy and weak. But they didn't, becuase he was just anouther pony, just anouther thread in the tapistairy of life that they were all a part of. Why would they take note? Indeed, the busy ponies of fillydelphia had no reason at all, content to be ingnorant in their bliss becuase life was simply easier that way.

But not for long.

As morning turned into noon, the pony sat, his head tuned toward the ground in a deflated manner, as if he bore the world upon his shoulders, and then some. But this was just an act, for the pony on the bench, his locks of black fringe covered the content smile upon his face. It was nothing if not offputting, his secrene face sporting this, this Grin that told nothing of the pony's true feelings. His true feelings, were infact nill, however. He had a job to do, and when one goes about their job, it was natural that they did so with little emotion.

It was ten till one now, and still he sat on the bench. His forehooves thrown over the back of the bench,k the bench he had been sitting at for almost four hours. Snow had started steadily falling, but the pony made no intentions to move, instead he stoicaliy sat and let the white powder built around him, and indeed atop him. He couldnt move now, for the time had come, and he had the perfect position right here in the middle of a destitute park within a destitute city. Only one other pony was in the vicinity, an old mare, whose golden locks had discolored over time, parting to allow a stubby horn to peep through, and her face had curled and crinkled with age. Yes, she would be perfect.

He knew that right now, all over Equestria, there would be ponies sitting, leaning, standing, crouching, lying...Waiting, for the time had come, and now the ponies of Equestria would be brought to their knees. For twelve days they would suffer, and for twelve days he and his kin would rule. A snide grin had formed upon his face, for now, now it was time.

Desert Perl had always looked down upon the unhappy youths that seemed to over populate the streets of her once great city. They were every where these days, sitting on benches, taking up space. With their fringes down and their coats brown they were like an invasion, an army, an infestation here to take advantage of the toils of the aged, and spend them on... Cider... she shudderd at the thought. The one infront of her now was propably wrestling with the drink's devilish after affects, his black fringe hanging low over his young face. She couldnt see his muzzle or eyes, but simply assumed that they two would be down cast, if not cringed in pain.

She could never recall being in a similar situation in her youth. Her golden mane still pooled and flowed down the nape of her back, and it was always perfectly coiffed. she had always been happy. Never sad. Why should she be? Being sad was for the earth ponies, the farmers, the poor. she just couldnt fathom it. Why would anypony wish to put themselves through such ardouse torture. surely they could just educated theselves out of their little hole they found themselves in. But Perl was not like them, no, she would work her way out if she ever got stuck in some hol. becuse she was smarter than all of them. Her father had treated her to the very best tutors of the age, and they had always dutifully reminded her that she was the smartest pony they had ever met. and the most beautiful. and kind. In fact Perl could not recall a single one of them scolding her like other young fillies had been, or nagging at her that her grades had been slipping. She could just be forgetting, for it had been such a long, long time ago. But no, Perl knew she was just special like that. Why would the tutors have been so nice otherwise?

She shook away the happy memories if her bright eyed past, to see the youth finally look up, and his mane flopped out of his face, giving the mare a good look at his fetures. Nothing eye popping, no signs of seriose weight loss or gain, something else she that annoyed her about the poon and young. No, he was pretty ordinairy. Had there been a crowd, she probably wouldn't have noticed him at all, even though she had been sitting across from him for almost 20 minuest now, on her favorite bench, where she always sat after a light lunch on the lawns of the park, not too far from their current positon. His eyes, she could see, his eyes were a bright irridecent red, but they were not large and limitless like most ponies. Infact they almost apeared distant, simple windows from which he was viewing the world. Probabliy too many Video Tennis games or what ever they called them these days. Finally he gazed at a pocket watch that he had produced from, somewhere, and a devilish grin had fromed upon his face.

He got up from his seat, a bear patch of wood had remained, safe from the downfall of snow that covered every other surface. He shook his Head in a manner similar to some animal shaking the snow of his coat, the ice in his hair remaining stubbornly in place. Non the less he was on four hooves now, and he inexplicably began making his way over two Perl, who stayed put resting on her bench. He was but a few meter away now, and his trip had only taken him but a few seconds. he was so close already. Finally he was almost upon her, and she could smell him now, a mix of ozone and body odour, and her face twisted into what resembled a gag. She didnt think he smelt that bad per se, but his sudden closeness was disconcerting, almost scary, but Perl remained dignified. What sort of pony would do anything.. untoward.. in the middle of a public park? She could even see some fillies and colts playing in the distance, about a hundered paces away, their screames of happines and delight peircing the cold air. It would be the last thing she would ever hear.

He was quick, lighning fast and it caught the elderly mare by surprise, he mouth halfway open, whatever she was about to say lost in her throught. The blade had come from under his fur, nestled under his fetlocks of his left hoof, which he had deftly swiped across the mares neck, the razer sharp blade making life a hot knife through butter. There was no pressure, nothing to stop the blades way across her skin, slicing through cartlidge and fat. The thin metal had been retracted within moments, and his hoof had hit the ground even before blood bagn to pour out the forsaken mare's throat.

She didnt even have a chance to claw at her wound or her attacker, her slow and aged reactions laboured in their comprehension.

By the time She flopped off the bench with a hollow, unnerving thud, the stallion was already around the coorner.

By the time her final breath had been spent, he was almost fifty paces away.

By the time a young filly noticed the sweet old mare had dissapeared from sight, he was already out of the park, tapping his hoof impationately as carts jostled this way and that at the intersection dividing Parkway and Mainstreet..

By the time a piercing scream bellowed around the park, young, innocent and pure, he was gone.

For the Time had come for disention to spread, for fear to breed, for the halls of power to be rocked by terror once more.

For the time had come for twelve ponies to make their stand, and take their ignored message to the houses of the holy, and to bring an unhonerable nation to its knees. This message was simple.

We are back. The Agent's of Chaos are Back.