Author's Note

The Social Worker's POV

Late For School: 9

It wasn't like them to be late for school. Strange. Just as their parents were tidy and punctual, how could they have failed to send the two foals to school.

Fillies would be fillies, as they say, but this was still way out of their characters. If there had been a note of some kind, any sign of what had happened, but nothing.

In the end, somepony had to do something. That some pony was me, which I had to point out, is something I deeply regret, right now. Why did this have to fall upon my shoulders? What had I done wrong to deserve, what I was about to face?

I had knocked on the door, nothing, silent. Then I had knocked again, yet not a single noise from inside. I had to resort to more brute measures. After knocking a third time, this time insistent and loud, much more so than the etiquette would call for, if not for the fact that I had been summoned in order to investigate the absence of the fillies. They had never been seen at school during the entire day. Absence without due cause or even a lame excuse is intolerable, after all. We have a reputation to live up to.

Once I had given up on getting any response from inside, I did what I had been called in for, I forced my way inside. Good thing I am alone. There was none behind me, even if I may have enjoyed the company of a fellow guard to lean against, as touch as I may like to be seen, at least in public. I have a reputation to uphold, as a guard, more so than the common Cloudsdale Pegasus.

Heading for the parents bedroom first, in hope to see someone there, maybe they had had fallen ill and thus been prevented from responding? I guess I would have preferred that right now. I am not a Stallion to enjoy the sight of death, a dead pony made me sick to my stomach.

They are in their bed, al-right. Dead as dust. That is the pleasant part of it. They are not just dead. Some pony, or something had been in their room. Their wings cut off, cleanly. Who or what ever had done it, knew how to perform the surgical incisions in order to remove the wings with a minimum of effort. Then it hit me, it looks as if the Mare was pregnant, from a few months back.

I just wanted to scream, to turn tail and fly off, never to be seen. Yet, there are the two fillies to find. With that, I moved on and moved in, into the room. There they lay.

I took note of the scene, the pair of adult ponies laying side by side, just as they had as they went to sleep, never to wake up, ever again. Prevented, by death, a death caused by foul play as the term went.

From there, I moved to the next stop, the respective rooms of the two missing foals. I found them where I had expected them to be, on their respective beds, wings cut off, as it would seem. Once I came into the younger foal's room, I found a pillow casing on the floor, with a gruesome message written in what appears to be blood, possibly from the fillie herself? There was a pool of blood under her bed.

My obligation is to the living. Maybe I should manage to confirm a little fillie still among us. I also do have an obligation towards Cloudsdale and the guards who sent me off.

In the end, I managed to make myself moving to the room where the younger of the two had been, the one I thought most likely to be alive. Seems she had not died, not yet.

With this one, on the surface happy thought I left the building as it stood, flying back and reported what I had seen. The words I had never wanted to say, about the things I certainly had never wanted to see. It all disturbed me to the core.

“What!” the Captain responded, as he saw me slipping in through the door.

“Sorry, I couldn't really find the parents. Although a small fillie seems to be alive!” I mumbled.

“You couldn't find them? Had they just flown off, or died?” he enquired, now picking up on my sorry state.

“As dust. Send your most hardened medics. Don't bother the soft hearted once, it will crush them. Yet, they need to go, just in case and to mop up the scene. Seal off the building too!” I responded.

“Wait, you mean to say? Both parents are dead? Just don't tell me they were murdered?” he continued.

“Brutally so, and maimed. Some pony is mocking us. Seriously rubbing it in. Who ever is going there will see!” I pointed out.

“Mocking us, how so?” he enquired.

“Stuffing pillowcases with the deceaseds' feathers, how does that make sense? Aside from spelling out a message on a pillowcase, most likely in blood?” I pointed out, now looking down at the floor below me.

“Good thing you warned me. I could have sent some nice guards and nurses in there, but it wouldn't be nice, even if it is a matter of duty to clean it up!” he pondered.

“I would restrict information, just in case. Either fear of copycats. Neither is good, right now!” I continued.

“I think you should go, see the counsellor. I had not intended for you to see anything on this level!” he responded.

I tried to fly off in haste, only to wobble about, but finally did make it to where I was going without too much notice or problems.