Hitmare

The air was cold, and my thin, black cloak didn't help much. I shivered as I looked down the scope of of the crossbow, the crosshair dancing around all over the window. The picture grew as I flicked up a lever on the scope, but the cold still made me quiver far too much for a good shot. I sighed exasperatedly and pulled a small box out of the pouch underneath me and opened it, taking out a diazepam and popping it in my mouth.

Waiting sullenly for the drug to take effect, I surveyed the scene. The tree I was under didn't provide much shadow, as most of leaves had already fallen from its boughs, but it was better than nothing. The window to Big Mac's room was closed- no surprise given the autumnal weather- but it meant that I'd only have one shot; the crossbow was pretty much silent, especially from this distance, but the sound of the window breaking would surely wake everyone up.

I raised the scope to my eye again. I could see him more clearly now, the drug taking its course. His head was almost black and white in the moonlight, the slightest hints of colour bleeding onto the jagged hair thrown over the dark crimson face. His mouth was hanging open, the covers moving with his breathing.

The diazepam had done its job now, and I no longer shook. I steadied the black, metal barrel with my left hoof, shifting it for better comfort. Aiming directly for the head, I tried to steady my ragged breathing, and pulled the trigger.

There was a click and unusually loud snapping sound, but not the familiar zing of the bolt moving down the barrel. Is it broken? I thought. I brought the weapon down again. It looked normal; everything seemed as should have been after firing. Suddenly I realised what had gone wrong- I hadn't put a bolt in in the first place. My subconscious trying to tell me something, I thought, chuckling a little, which quickly turned to a sad frown. I pulled back the slider and hesitantly placed a bolt in the receiver. Putting the scope to my face again, I steadied myself.

It wouldn't hurt him, I reassured myself. He wouldn't even feel it. He- he wouldn't even see it coming. I was shaking again, but this time it had nothing to do with the cold. Whispering a barely audible "Goodbye, Big Macintosh." I pulled the trigger.

The familiar click, snap, zing. The smash. About 8 seconds passed and a candle was lit. The familiar scream- Applejack. 2 seconds, another scream- higher pitched. Applebloom.

I solemnly disassembled the crossbow, unscrewing the barrel, removing the arms and sliding the pieces into the case on my back. Spreading my wings, I flew away, tears falling from my face.