The Voices Inside My Head

The Voices inside My Head

By: The Sentimentalism Brony

Chapter 2

A Surprise

With the talk over and done with, I made my way back towards my home. The night was definitely my favorite time of day. The way Luna’s moon shined against the water, and the way the stars sparkled in the sky, it was…Transcending, exhilarating even. It just really got to me. It made me feel like a completely different stallion. The kind you only heard of in radio plays.

Stepping through the threshold of my door, I made my way back to my typewriter. I looked to the clock before seating myself. It read, 11:30PM. Shit, I thought to myself, I really let time pass me by. Regardless of what I did, or what I wanted to do, I felt accomplished, like I had achieved some sort of higher being. The latter being the ability to finally come to grips with society as a whole. The whole thing was still peculiar, and I had never been the most outgoing pony. I tend to keep to myself, refusing outside connection with others. Well…Except Fluttershy and her family. That had been one of my only exceptions: One, because she was gorgeous; and two, because my inner being yearned for me to. I don’t know why, and probably never will, but it’s always been a reoccurring question resting on the back of my fractured mind.

Sitting at my typewriter, I look down at the keys and begin to think, hard. Where should I go with this? The answer to said question sat at the tip of my tongue for a lone time, too long perhaps. But when the answer finally came to me, I began writing furiously, the familiar click of metal under my hooves returning as music to my ears.

I returned to the previously deranged imaginings I had hours before. The muse was back, and as strong as ever.

‘The sticky red mess would be dense, covering almost everything in the room with it. The liquid would run from his forehead, soaking into his, mane, coat, and bed respectfully. The crimson red wine-like –No, redrum- like drink would then flow over the already soaked sheets, and onto the hardwood floor below, staining it. The stain would be there to remind any and everypony who thought they could push Azure around. And Azure hated being pushed around!

Azure pulled his typewriter out of its travelling case, and held it in both hooves. The marvel sparkled in the moonlight, the way pond water shines under the setting sun. The sight was magnificent, mischievous, and downright evil. But Azure like evil, even craved it.

Placing his hooves at the sides of the machine, he raised it above his head slowly. The action – If Shadow where awake – Could scare his spirit right out of his body. But, thankfully Shadow was snoring heavily, indicating he had not been stirred from his sleep.

Beginning to laugh out loud, Azure brought the typewriter down upon Shadow’s head with the force of ten anvils. The initial strike, causing blunt force trauma to the prefrontal cortex, opened the flesh and exposed cracked bone. There was a slight hole in the skull, but Shadow still managed to survive, attempting to open his bruised eyes after the fact. Another strike pushed his head back into the pillow beneath him, and further opened his cranial cavity.

The blood began to pour from his forehead, but Azure kept going. Each time he relieved himself in the desecration of this murderous act, he felt whole, complete.

Azure continuously struck Shadow’s skull causing, bone, flesh, blood, and a small amount of brain to fly around the room. The remainder of bone and brain that had not left the body, stayed within the confines of Shadow’s skin flaps, proceeding to be pounded into a pulp. The mess was everything Azure had hoped for and more. He was finally happy, content with life once more, or, at least for the rest of today and some of tomorrow he was. For tomorrow night was a different situation and nopony, not even Azure, knows what he is capable of…’

I pulled my head from the keys and looked up and out my scenic window. The forest beyond the glass was pitch-black, lacking any and all color or light. You could hear the crickets chirping, and you could see the firefly’s flying about, dong there eternal nighttime dance of self-gratification.

Turning away from the window, I pulled myself off of my chair and made for the kitchen. The light was already on…Peculiar, I thought. But regardless, I walked within. The kitchen was one of the only two rooms in the house I cared about: The first one being the living room, the second one being the kitchen. Something about the kitchen seemed important to me, as if I needed to create something interesting within its walls. Tell a story perhaps. But I couldn’t tell you, as I have no clue as to why.

I pulled the chrome trimmed fridge door open, and pushed aside some random food stuffs to get at what I really wanted. Juice. Juice was probably one of my favorite drinks, next to tea of course. There was just something about its considerably fruity and citron nature that caused me to nearly melt every time I drank. The liquid was like velvet as it caressed my tongue and throat.

Pulling a jug of citron juice from the fridge, I popped the cap off greedily. Lifting the jug up, I placed it against my lips and began to chug the liquid down as if I hadn’t drank in weeks. The act would be quite embarrassing actually, but only if anypony else had seen. One time, I even managed to get nearly covered in the stuff, when I was slightly off in my hurried aim and struck just below my lips. The liquid had rushed over my coat, rendering me sweet, yet sticky. The sticky part I wasn’t quite fond of.

Setting the jug back down, I made my way from the kitchen, to the living room, to the bathroom upstairs. Opening the door to full gape, I trotted inside and closed the door behind me. The room was of a bright white color and disorganized to some degree. I always thank Celestia that Fluttershy never seen my upstairs bathroom. For if she did, she might suffer from a stroke due to its untidy stature.

I proceeded to have a shower. Finishing, I scrubbed the water thoroughly from my fur, and then entered my bedroom. I threw the towel in the bedroom cloths hamper because I had forgot to discard it in the bathroom.

I then climbed into bed, concealing myself in the blankets, and slowly began to drift off to sleep; the soft cotton blankets only making it easier to drift into a blissful slumber.

2…

The morning came rapping through the blinds covering my window. The lightest sunbeam penetrating the fabric barricade of my widow, as the light cascaded upon me, slowly nudging me from sleep. Peeling back my eyelids, I moaned. Mornings were definitely not my thing. Actually, I really hated the mornings, especially Monday mornings. Now I know what you’re thinking, “You’re an author, correct? Why would you need to wake up early in the morning?” Funny question, because I don’t want to wake up, but my body…Kind of forces me to get up. It’s not my choice, and I would never condone such a thing to anypony unless they were crazy. Either that or a teacher perhaps…And the mayor…And the worker ponies… Okay, okay, maybe I was wrong, mornings are important. Just not to me, I guess. Maybe I should try and change that, I thought.

Attempting to get off the bed, I pinched a nerve in my back, and nearly keeled over in pain. Okay, I thought, scratch that! I still and always will hate mornings. Regardless of how may stories you tell me about how mornings could be "wonderful and delightful."

Massaging the pain in my back away, I trotted from the room, showered again (I like to be really clean), and then headed back to the kitchen. Walking into the kitchen, the phone rang. I walked over to it and picked it up, answering it delicately.

“Hello,” I said, “Azu –“I caught myself. “Amethyst speaking.” Man, I must be more exhausted than I thought.

The pony on the other end began to boom through the receiving speaker. “Hello, Mr. Pen. This is Mr. Tumble, manager and owner of the Overlook Hotel.”

“Yes,” I said back, “I know who you are Mr. Tumble. Hear all about you and your hotel in the papers well over ten years ago. How, may I ask, did you acquire my phone number?”

“I looked you up in the phone book, dear Amethyst. Your phone number isn’t hidden, you know? In fact, it is highlighted: ‘Amethyst; the novelist.’ I just figured that was you and called.”

“Fucking phone companies giving out my phone number like it’s some kind of lottery prize, eh.” I was thoroughly pissed.

“It seems, Amethyst…” There was a pause. Perhaps he thought I would hang up and was waiting to hear the dead tone ring out. But it never came and he continued. “Anyways, I would like to implore you about something, if you don’t mind me doing so?”

I raised an eyebrow concernedly. “And what would that be, Mr. Tumble?”

“I,” Mr. Tumble began, “would like you to come by my offices to discuss something of great importance.”

“And that would be?” I questioned.

“That can wait for now, Amethyst. Can you come by sometime around 5:00PM tomorrow?”

I thought for a second, contemplating the experience of being on the same ground the incident had occurred. Maybe I could even see the recreation of the original room?  My thoughts reeled around in my head, before coming to a focus point of concise decision.  “Yes, Mr. Tumble, I would be delighted to stop by.”

“Excellent Amethyst, excellent! That’s great to hear. I can’t wait to talk to you tomorrow.”

I was about to respond, but was cut off abruptly by the sound of a dead line. He must have been in such an excited hurry that he hung up the phone?  “Huh,” I said out loud to myself, “I have to go tell Fluttershy…”