The pony I killed; he was young, my age, I guess. He sat with a grin on his brown, crimson stained face, eager to see me, like it made his day. He was, I think, learning to be a doctor, back home far away from me. Before me. Then, he was told to come kill me, and that was all he needed.

This story was inspired by a short story from Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried. This story was designed to set the stage for a greater universe I hope to create, and as you can see also to be rather sad. If you don't like sadness, I don't recommend you read it; other than that, critiquing is appreciated, I'm working on learning how to improve my writing as this is my first story. I'm also waiting for some cover art, and buddy, if you're reading this, no sweat. I'm in no hurry.

Thanks to Keetasari for the first comment on the story after pre-reading that just made my day. For real, it really made me happy.

To Darksonickiller, who gave me an offer I couldn't refuse, and for pre-reading. I promise I'm working! I just need time!

To my close buddies ArTic, and Vinyl Moon for being awesome guys.

To Astral Blaze for pre-reading and giving some good advice.

And to the runaway, a former author here that helped inspire my writing style, and gave me some excellent advice. Wish you could have stayed with us buddy. Also, the comments are old, and I'd like to believe I fixed most of the problems, but if you spot some, please let me know.