Nostalgia

A buzzing noise came past his ear; he had been taking a little too long on this one. But... how could he not, with such a fine specimen? Each muscle of this stallion was finely tuned to the job of working in the field, and each cut sent a wave of movement throughout them. He didn't scream... the stallions rarely did, but today he had a reason. It had been long since his last public appearance, and a lack of a mane would seem out of place among the workers which would often had long manes, uncut for years at a time. So, today, he had to go wig shopping. He found the stallion working at the edge of a farm, away from anypony else to see. I well-placed hit to the head left him unconscious for the entire drag back.

Before proceeding with removing the hair-piece from its current owner, he was sure to have his fun. Skinning off the stallions cutie-mark was his first act, leaving only bloody muscle visible on the flanks. Each cut made them tense and each time blood would spurt out from underneath the skin, adding a little reward for each of his acts. After the marks came base of the hooves, made hard from decades of walking through dirt and gravel. Though they were hard, they were comfy too; a few weeks early, he had started to make a pillow for himself made from the stitched together pieces. He was happy that he was one step closer to using most of their bodies; he hated wasting things.

Sadly, time was running out for him, so he started removing his new mane. He held the hatchet steadily, sure only to cut with its tip. Starting from the tip of the stallions forehead, he cut an outline to peel from. He slid all the way to the base of the mane, and the tip of the spine. Blood trickled out of the cuts, leaving a stream heading from the top of the stallions back, down to the floor. After cutting a clean outline of the mane, he turned the hatchet to its edge. Slowly, he slipped it into the cut. A smile crept over his face as blood slipped down the hatchet and to his hoof. Time for a scream.

The echoes lasted but a moment inside of the poorly made hut. Shame, he had to find a nice large building one day, the echoes overlapping the scream was a beautiful harmony. The swing had ripped the mane, and now a large white streak was visible, soaked in blood. All of that would have to be wasted, and he might run out by weeks end; but it was worth it for the new look. Adorning the piece over his head, he felt a warm feeling creep over his head; he could almost sleep like this. A new brown head of hair would fit his tone nicely, and maybe a few mares will give him a few passing glances. Tomorrow would be filled with the rest of the preparations, but for now that was all. He turned and narrowed his eyes at the panting stallion, letting his grin grow even more and expose teeth. He crept towards the opposite corner of the room. He turned and crouched; The Best Part.

Each time his heart sped, and each time he shook with joy. No matter how long it took, no matter how much they screamed; this one part would never change. He loved it when things were unvaried. Yet, ponies weren't unvaried... they were the opposite, they were well... varied. Exploring something new gave some excitement, but he loved to see the same old splat, the same old squirts of blood, and the same old tensing.

The dirt kicked up as he sped off, running straight at the stallion. He saw the blood squirt out from both the head, and the flanks. His own muscles tensed as he twisted around, planting his front hooves down, and pushing off with them. His back hooves connected, and the audible crack relaxed him. No more echoes, and no more squirting; just dripping. He was sure to catch some of it in his mouth, he loved samples. He picked the matter off the wall, and dropped it into a leather bag. Inside, blobs of purple and pink packed together soaked in a red broth; That would be enough,but he was sure to get a couple more jars of blood. He would have to make his next time earlier than usual if he wanted to have enough supplies, it would be a trying couple weeks for him. Licking the blood off his left hoof, he slipped his hatchet into its home and slung the holster over his back, followed by his bags. Finally, he folded up his table and slid it into the empty bag, opposite the bag of goodies.

He couldn't wait for his project to be complete. He wanted to hear that scream, that beautiful sound; a sound that resonates throughout the depths of his body; his spinal cord will dance and his eardrums shall tremble in delight. He couldn't wait to stick his hatchet in her, whomever she will be. The screams will echo, and the harmony shall be the greatest ecstasy in all of Equestria.

Soon... however, more preparations were necessary. He didn't know how long it would take to get a mare to love him, but however long, it would be worth it. He slipped out the door, giving a final admiration of his work in the form of a smirk. He trotted out into the mud. He was happy now, but how happy would he be after his project ends? He could only imagine, and imagine a fraction at that! The blood again soaked down through his fur, and down to the ground. He sucked on his hoof, trying to stop as much of it from being wasted as he possibly could. Again, his smile grew as he realized...

He was always happy.

And it always rained.