Da Capo. From the head. The beginning.
There was a deafening silence as the symphony was about to begin. The bustle of the crowds fell silent as the orchestra began to warm up their instruments behind glorious red curtains. A terrible metaphor, now that I think of it.
There I sat. Silent as always. First chair. Bow carefully held in one hoof while the other hoof rested on those four strings. The four strings from which I had said more words than any that had escaped my throat.
I had chosen a life of vocal silence. My father had taught me that I should never speak unless I know the right thing to say. With your voice, any word can be wrong. Where I say yes, somepony else could say no. Where I say left, somepony else could say right. Where I say 'I love you,' somepony else might say 'I hate you.' There is no such thing as the right thing to say.
But music has no opinions. The sweet sound of strings carries only loving tones. Music cannot be right, and cannot be wrong. It is the only form of perfect expression that we possess. Therefore, I do not speak. I play music.
As I sat behind the glorious red curtains, something seemed strange. Unsettling, even. A curious aura of darkness began to flow about the room like an unwanted mist. A chill traveled from my tail to my skull. Something wasn't right, but I couldn't quite figure out what it was.
I looked down at my bow. Perhaps I needed to adjust it. Had I forgotten? Was it loose? I turned the adjustment screw slightly, and felt the hair. I tightened it more, and began to shiver. Was I nervous? I tightened it more. Was it because Vinyl wasn't in the crowd tonight for the first time in years? No, I understood completely, her competition in Ponyville was much more important, it's not as though this was any more than a routine symphony. I tightened it more...
The crowd had fallen completely silent. The unsettling chill was making me nervous. I broke my composure, needing assurance of my security, and looked to my left. Fellow members of the orchestra were finishing tuning their instruments. I turned my head to the right. More orchestra members and.. Was there somepony else here?
At the stage-right exit, there was what looked like a silhouette, a pony without any discernible features. Was it my imagination? Was somepony playing a prank? I felt an uneasy silence fall on the room, the orchestra members all having finished tuning their instruments.
SNAP!
My bow hairs suddenly broke, and I turned my head back to it, seeing the broken hairs dangling from my bow. Behind me, a sickly hissing noise sounded out, but it was quickly drowned out by applause. The orchestra began to play the opening song to the night's symphony. The audience was much louder than usual. Instead of quiet applause, there were screams, and roaring rumbling, as though they were giving an ovation to the climax of the symphony.
But there was more than just screams and rumbling... The audience was crying for help. Screaming for salvation.
The curtains rose, and a horrific scene was presented to me beyond it. Behind the red curtains was an equally crimson display, the walls painted unnaturally red, ponies running every direction, horrific inside-out looking creatures covered in various drooling maws dragging them across the room to the walls; where giant blood-soaked holes in the walls were waiting for them.
I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't even scream. Was this a nightmare? That was the only logical explanation.
I watched, in silence, as the masses of flesh, blood, and bone carried the audience one by one into the holes in the walls. I watched as support beams and girders fell from the ceiling, long tentacle-like appendages whipping down from the roof and lassoing ponies, pulling them into mouth-like holes in the ceiling.
I looked away, turning my head to the right, only to see the featureless gray pony again, red veins now running around its body, while its mouth distended to unnatural lengths.
"What's going on!?" an orchestra member shouted, drawing the attention of the gray pony. It turned, without even moving its body, just rotating on its axis, and faced my fellow orchestra member. The red veins covering its body parted, like seams in a dress, and the gray pony became a mass of various mouths, all snarling and hissing. It jumped forth, and devoured the pony who'd shouted, tearing her to pieces before my eyes.
Other ponies in the orchestra began to shout, backing away, running. I sat, in silence, and watched as more gray ponies emerged from various corners of the room, chasing down the screaming orchestra members, violently decapitating them.
I couldn't even cry. Shock had completely numbed me.
I had so many things running through my head at once. I wanted an explanation, I wanted to close my eyes, I wanted to wake up.
But alas, this horror I was witnessing was no dream.
I sat, broken bow in hoof, four strings of my cello in the other, and silently watched.
Five minutes of carnage had passed, and there I sat, alone, silent, in the midst of a room coated with red, white, and pink. Blood, bone, and organs. Why was I spared? It took so long to figure it out. Too long.
Perhaps I could have saved Equestria if I had told them how I survived. But alas, I didn't know.
I sat in silence for what felt like another hour, the creatures all having left, the mouth-like holes having receded from the walls, the entire amphitheater left in a disgusting silence. The audience gone, the orchestra gone, and all that remained was a few gray, featureless ponies, standing still, like mannequins, scattered about the amphitheater.
I stood up, slowly, and gently placed my cello against its stand. I set the broken bow on my stool, turned to stage-left, and slowly, quietly, left the theater. My shock had become like a disturbing calm. I was too afraid to even be afraid anymore. I was certain it was just a dream. It had to be.
How foolish I was.
