A Terror's Mask: High Treason
Tapping, the tapping of shoes meeting a cobblestone street. A huffing breath is barely audible from the sounds of shouting and cheering. The sound of the crowd gained strength as more ponies joined in on the excitement. The tapping increased speed to escape the strengthening sound.
"No, no please, its not my fault," a young teenaged colt whispered, as though others could hear his plead.
His tired and weakened body continued to move, as he tried to escape the torchlight. In the distance, he could see yellow and orange light up the sky. He could just see the flames lick at the sky from his far distance and a few of the faces in the crowd. The light made his heart pound all the much louder. His thoughts were still fast, but barely his own. His thin form slipped into the blackness of trees, shielding him from sight.
His wings stuck tightly against his back, trying to keep the temptation of flying non-existent. His legs, carrying him further into the darkness of the forest. They carried him until a fallen tree branch tripped him. He fell fast and into the mud. It covered his hands and clothes, and made him feel uncomfortable. The bruises that were scattered on his arms and legs began to hurt a little more. A few cuts were on his arms from the fight that had broken out. Blood and mud now caked his hands and clothes.
In the darkness, tears began to roll down his cheeks, painting them a reddish color. In a few simple motions, he threw a metallic object away from him. It clanged against the trees, the pale grey metal not even receiving a dent. In the dim light, he could still see the grey mask sitting on the forest floor.
"That's it! I am done, I am not listening to you anymore! You hear me! No more!" The colt screamed at it.
Rage filled his body as the mask sat there, doing nothing. Seeing no reaction didn't make him feel any better. It only made him cry and whimper more. He didn't want the consequences or to be in the deal anymore. His blurred vision watched the grey mask as its reddish eyes glowed.
"It was your own fault. You know what would come from this and you decided to bear the weight. You were the one who wasn't careful, and now here we lay, in the darkness. Waiting for them to find. We can run, run to a new place and continue with our proceedings," a mystic voice said. The voice was hinted with a sense of mischievousness.
"No! I already told you, no more! I don't follow any of your stupid orders!" The colt cried, his voice high from fear.
"Don't be like that my friend-" The voice started, but was cut off.
"No! I am not your friend and you aren't mind! Just shut up! Shut the hell up!" The colt yelled before going back to whimpering.
"As you wish, master," the voice said, and the mask's eyes dulled away into the darkness.
The young colt curled up against the dark trees, his eyes red and puffy from tears. Several falling into the mud as he continuously whimpered. Since his sorrows distracted him, he hardly heard the footsteps coming towards her. The whooping and yelling came as they found the colt in mud. The young teenager's head lifted carelessly to look at the pony who had approached him.
"He is over here!" An older pony called. He was grey and his black mane was greying. He had a roundish belly, but broad shoulders.
The crowd came fast, like a pack of wolves that had found their prey. Their torches lighting up the clearing quickly as they gathered around the colt.
"Marsh, is that him," the older pony asked a dull green stallion.
His shoulders too were rather broad, but he had a muscular fixture. Tears were trickling down his face as he looked at the colt.
"That's him, that's the foal that killed Sweet," he said.
The colt looked at them with sheer horror, his mind now his own.
"It wasn't me! It was the mask, the stupid mask!" The colt screeched as two other stallions grabbed the upper part of his arms.
The colt struggled against their tight grip, but escape was futile. His eyes were swollen from tears, his body was sore and weakened, he had no hopes of escaping the crowd.
"Don't you dare make excuses, you were caught red handed colt," Marsh growled.
The two stallions lifted him to his feet, still keeping a tight grip as the colt flailed his arms.
"Let go of me!" The colt screamed. "It wasn't my fault! It was the mask, I swear to Celestia!"
"The mask you used to hide your face! Stop lying you murdered!" Marsh roared, tears still descending down his reddish face.
The colt looked up at Marsh with sorry eyes, but soon enough, his head was forced down by a hand. He was forced to move forward, his legs nearly tripping over branches. Tears still poured from his face and his stomach ached from guilt.
"Please, it was the mask," he moaned, hoping they would believe him.
The ponies around him ignored his moans and left the mask in the mud. Its grey form covered with mud and blood. It was shaded by the tree in the Everfree Forest, and as thought with eyes, watched them drag away their "master". Its eyes lit up again, when everypony had disappeared.
"You should have listened, Arrow, but instead, you made a stupid choice," the mysterious voice said.
The colt's eyes widened as the voice came. He looked at the other ponies who didn't even notice. As thought it had never happened, as thought it didn't exist.
"Didn't you hear it! It was there! The voice, the mask!" The colt cried, his voice straining.
"Just shut it," the older pony growled. "Don't you see that you have hurt us all enough. What will your family think? A colt your age heading to the lynching post."
The colt's eyes widened once again. "L-l-lynching post? B-b-but it wasn't my fault. I am too young! you can't do this!" The colt whimpered.
The older pony closed his eyes for a second, as though to think. "Listen foal, you have already made a mistake. I believe everyone here will vote you guilty, your actions cost a good stallion his wife."
"Please, don't do this, I promise, it was the mask," the colt whimpered, looking into the old pony's eyes.
"Don't give me those sad eyes, you ain't getting off the hook," the older pony hesitated. "You did too much, you tried to escape which proves your guilty. You killed over dozens of innocent ponies, and who knows how that was accomplished. Just give it a rest."
More tears poured down from his eyes as he head was shoved to look down. His ears flattened against his head as his tears fell off his face. He knew now, that he was the only one who could hear it. The only one that could hear the evil voice that had corrupted his thoughts because he wore it. He didn't have the willpower to control it. The way it dominated his mind and ruled every last thought made, it too hard to bear. The mask had won, it knew that he would take the blame, and it was clear now.
The group neared a wooden stage, in the center, a wooden lynching post. The noose grimly swaying back and forth, it seemed pleased to have a new victim. With his head shoved down, he was guided up the stairs and forced to kneel in front of the crowd. Glistening tears fell from his face as he was forced to face the crowd.
It was filled to the brim with angry faces, all staring directly at him. All it did was make him feel more guilty, even though he knew the truth. However, the crowd didn't, to them, the blood that covered his clothes, was proof enough. They could see it all over him, even if it was partially caked with grime.
His head turned as the mayor stepped up onto the stage. He was a large man, with dull blue fur, a grey mane and small, beady eyes that were dark brown. He stepped to the center of the stage, to assure he would receive the crowds attention.
"Mares and gentlecolts, I am afraid we have some, unfortunate news," the mayor started. "This young stallion, as committed crimes that have not been seen in Ponyville. This night, we are the ones who decide his fate and hope that Celestia herself, will be pleased with our decisions."
The crowd immediately went into a uproar of anger it seemed. All shouting their opinions that all sounded the same.
"Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!" The crowd cheered.
Only a few in the crowd stayed quiet throughout the uproar, too afraid to yell out their opinion.
"Ponies!" A young mare yelled, pushing her way through the crowd.
She was a tall young mare, with dark cyan fur and a darker blue mane. She wore a dress that stopped just above her heels, leaving only her white socks and black shoes to be seen any further.
"If we kill this young stallion, what does that make use look like?" She said, turning to face the crowd.
The crowd calmed and began to whisper to one another within the crowd.
"We will be heroes, saving our town from a bloody murderer!" Someone yelled in the middle of the crowd.
The rest of the crowd agreed, showing they did with another uproar. There were few faces that remained silent now and the colt could only see two. The young mare who had stood up for him and the older pony. The mayor didn't yell either, but he was neutral in this decision.
"Sorry, Cali, but it must be done," the mayor said in a hush voice.
The young mare's eyes looked down at the grass, and didn't dare to face the crowd. All she could do was slip back in so she didn't have to watch.
In a matter of seconds, the colt's wings were opened by a strong forceful hand, the hand of the executioner. The colt cringed as they were yanked away and pulled together.
"Please, it was the mask! I swear!" The colt pleaded.
"The choice has been made, you are guilty and we will hear no more of your lies," Marsh muttered from the left side of the crowd.
The colt struggled against the grip on his wings, until a loud snap rang through the crowd. The colt screamed in pain as clip was inserted into his wings, to prevent him from flying. Scarlet droplets of blood trickled down from the wound, leaving drops on the lynching stand. The crowd only cheered louder, glad they were disposing of the alleged murderer. The next step came and they bounded his hands behind his back, which only made the crowd louder. The colt only struggled more as he was lifted and dragged over to the swinging noose. He was held steady and they slipped it around his small neck, allowing him to stand.
"Any last words?" The executioner asked.
With all hoped lost, the colt looked down at the wooden stage. "I am sorry," he said.
A few seconds latter, the old wooden switch was pulled and a trap door gave way under the colt. His breath couldn't get out and he struggled for a while, until his breathing stopped and his body went limp. There was a loud cheer, until the towns folk forced to leave, leaving the dead teenaged colt to hang there for "his" sins.