Blinders On

You'd think I'd get used to it.

Let me set the scene for you: it's the Everfree Forest. Night. We've been lucky enough to get a full moon, but the cloud cover's pretty heavy for this time of year. The sound of wildlife softly rises from the forest. There's a rise—cliff, really—jutting out of the forest like a broken bone. You start to ascend the cliff face, when something catches your eye. Against the stark white of the face you make out a struggling black mass. Yeah, that's me.

You continue your way up, ignoring my struggles because you are cruel. As you crest the top of the cliff, you see six or seven obscure forms making their way down the mountain path. You can't quite make them out with the clouds obscuring the moon, but you can tell that there's only one filly amongst them. That's the one I want you to look at; I want you to burn every shape, every curve of her into your mind because she is important. She's the one who just killed me.

You come back to me as they walk away. Can't say you're too impressed by me. Can't say I blame you, either. My hair's falling out, my tie's undone and I'm scored with old bruises run yellow—yeah, don't blame you one bit. Even my hat—long known to be my best feature—even that's blown away in the wind. Hanging from a tree root I was lucky enough to catch in my teeth on the way down. You take a look at my face. Half closed eyes. Thoroughly pissed expression. I've got a mad on for the whole world and I don't care who knows it.

You'd think. But you'd be wrong.

I struggle to find purchase on the rocks, wishing I had wings or magic, something to get me out of this. If I was the praying type, I'd start asking the gods some seriously pointed questions.

Just my sort of day, right? I'd grin if it wouldn't kill me.

You think you hear the tree root cracking? Yeah, yeah, that's the root. I was never the lucky one. You watch as my lifeline cracks and I drop, snapping to a halt as the rest of the branch catches. Then again.

And again...

...Until all that's left is the thinnest sliver of wood. I can hear it straining. I don’t move a muscle, don’t so much as blink, just hanging there, willing it to hold. Just one more second.

Celestia hears. She graciously permits me an extra second to order my thoughts and regret not asking for more time. The branch snaps, and you can see me plummet into the darkness, towards the grasping trees.

Oh, I forgot. Never introduced myself proper. Name's Shank Cartwright. I'm a PI. And I think I'm dead.