Hitmare

The world isn't perfect, all sunshine and rainbows. That's why I exist. That's why there are ponies like me.

<--->

One day, when I was a young filly, just 7 years old, I was sitting on the roof my cloud-top home. The air was crisp and cool, the sun shining down through the bright, clear, blue sky. I looked down and saw a beetle crawling past me. I watched it, thinking about the insignificance of its life. I raised my hoof, held it in the air for a few moments, considering, before squashing it. I lifted my hoof again, wiping the innards that had bled from its broken carapace onto my fur off on the cloud. The beetle twitched, hanging painfully on to the last remnants of its life.

I had no idea what exactly possessed me to do it, to take a completely innocent creature's life. It hadn't bitten me, stung me or even touched me. It was completely unnecessary and I was totally in the wrong, yet I felt no remorse or regret. I had killed it, but I didn't care.

That was the day my bloodlust began. I bid my time after that, getting my 'fill' with woodland animals, then moving up to making a few pets disappear every now and then. I knew that what I was doing was weird and unnatural, but that didn't bother me, because I also knew that it felt good. Like their life-force sustained mine.

9 years after that fateful day, I was ready. I had got my equipment, I knew where I was going. I had read every book on anatomy in Cloudsdale's library- I could take a pony apart and put them back together from memory if I wanted to.

I pulled on the clothes I had made- a pure black cape, long and wide enough to cover me completely, but not enough to hinder my movement, and a small bag containing everything I could possibly need. The clock read 1:00 precisely. Enlarging the hole in the wall of my bedroom that was my window, I extended my wings and took off.

I flapped only when needed, trying to glide as much as possible to reduce noise. I surveyed the town, my shadowed eyes sweeping through the puffy, pale-white streets. Not that I needed to of course. I knew precisely where the house was. I had left nothing to chance.

Waiting until I was directly above the house, I closed my wings against my body and dropped like a stone. Nearing its cotton ball-like roof I snapped open my wingspan as fully as possible, catching myself at the last second. I hit the building silently, perfectly. I looked at the house as I flew off the roof and down to the back of it. As I expected,there were no candles to signify that anypony was awake in the residence.

Pulling two wires out of my bag, one straight, one ending with a hook, I inserted them into the lock of the back door. After a combination of raking back and forth and jiggling, I heard a click and pushed the door open. I was pleased the lock picks had worked for the second time; they were self-made and I had used them before to steal a knife from the cutlery shop; I knew that purchasing a knife in the days before somepony died would look a little suspicious.

I stepped into the house, shutting the door behind me, and padded through the kitchen, into the hall and up the stairs. Peering round an ajar door, I saw Long Feathers sleeping soundly, the covers rising and falling rhythmically. I frowned, remembering his and his friends' constant bullying for being a blank flank. Not for long. I could feel it.

I was just glad that I had made my own cutie mark before then. I mean to be known as the pony who's special talent in life was ending others'? I would never be accepted. What I had instead was the perfect cover up- quite literally. Nopony would ever suspect me of being who I really was. So I had essentially created the exact opposite to be my persona during the day. At night, I could be my true self. In my element.

Creeping along to the next room, whose door was also slightly open, I saw two ponies sleeping in the same bed. Shuffling round to the opposite side of the room, I stood over the sleeping mare, studying her features. In the dim light of the moon, I could see her that her light green mane lay over her dull crimson face, covering it. I pulled a filled, hoof-made sheath out of my bag, removing the knife smoothly from its holder and replacing the latter.

Twirling the sharp piece of metal in my hoof, I watched as the faint reflection spun rhythmically around the room. I strengthened my grip on it, took a deep breath, reared onto my back legs and lunged forward with both front hooves. My left, containing the knife, connected with her throat, slicing straight through her windpipe and into her spine. My right simultaneously covered her mouth. Her eyes barely flickered open before juddering closed, like she was sorry to have opened them. Like she was sorry she had ever been alive.

Undisturbed, her husband didn't even move. I left the house the same way I entered it, jumped into the air and flew back home.

I hung up the cloak and bag in my closet before pulling out the knife. Strolling into the bathroom I ran it under the tap, the blood having not even dried yet. I dried it and replaced it in the sheath in the bag. The deed was done. I looked over at the clock. 1:05. I smiled and climbed into bed, a warm feeling spreading around my flank. I lifted the cover and saw an off-white skull on my upper leg, contrasting somewhat with the light yellow of my fur. I fell asleep, contented.

<--->

My mother always said "Make you natural tendencies pay." She used to, anyway. She, and the rest of my family, no longer want anything to do with me, knowing what I do now. I don't know what she says now. Maybe it's something like "Make your natural tendencies pay, unless they're horrific and sickening."

I am a biologist, alchemist, chemist, inventor, master of stealth, agility and armed and unarmed combat. I'm very good at what I do. I know 5 ways to kill someone with a spoon. 2 are quick and painless, the others aren't.

I'm a hitmare. My name is Zule Kalasha. But you might know me as Fluttershy.