Blade

      It was elsewhere. That’s all it really came down to. Where she was, which town she had drifted into, what the sun fell over; the answer was all there. It was indeed elsewhere.

She didn’t like searching in the sun. The sun burned her eyes. The night was far more soothing and she could be slick and sly in the darkness. She couldn’t be seen by the passers-by when she searched for the sources. But, the source was near, and her master wouldn’t stop pestering her about it, so she set out into the town of Baltimare and began her search for the Wrath.

She looked up at the beige apartment building for no more than an instant and she was corrected.

No! Not there! Didn’t you hear what I said?

Trixie gritted her teeth, frustrated. He wouldn’t shut up.

“Trixie thinks it would be easier if you actually told her where they were, instead of those stupid riddles!” She shot right back with her mind.

Oh, you’re no fun, my dear. Get creative! I’m not in a rush. You’ve got months. It’s nothing to get in a fuss about.

The sorceress groaned. She pouted stubbornly before asking for the riddle again. Her master giggled childishly before he recited his little poem once again.

Search not for evil by eyes but instead by heart,

See another sin of ours take place, look for Greed to take a part.

Find one who loves the pain of mortals, who makes their anguish a feast.

But do not search with your eyes, my child; Tis strangely beauty that is the beast.

Trixie grunted again.

“How do you expect me to find them before sun down? You aren’t giving me enough to work with!”

Suddenly, Trixie felt a volt of fear rush over her. She felt all of her blood drain from her arms and they grew cold. She tried to cry out in pain, but she couldn’t breathe.

Her master’s voice became that of ten million demons, one that possibly only the dead hear.

DO AS I SAY YOU FUCKING WORM! I AM YOUR GOD! YOU HAVE FAR TOO LITTLE A SPACE TO NEGOTIATE! NOW DO AS I SAY!

Trixie gagged and choked. A few of the town’s folks looked over their shoulders. Seconds later, she was released.

Trixie crashed on the concrete and bit her tongue.

Now FIND her.

Trixie tried her best to pretend she hadn’t just been strangled. She shifted her eyes around at those looking at her.

“What are you all looking at? Take a picture why don’t you?” She shouted at them.

Then she stumbled off further into her search for The Element of Wrath.

Pinkamena sat in her basement staring at the bodies again. The only noises she could hear were the moist air flowing in the room and the clock she had purchased the day before, ticking away much louder than clocks were supposed to. Maybe it was just her imagination though.

Then Pinkamena thought, what else could be in her imagination? Could all of the things her mother had told her about right and wrong be in her imagination? Was Hell a real place where you went when you killed someone? She looked at Flam and figured that if anybody was in hell after what she had done, it would be Flim and him.

Pinkamena didn’t feel like she deserved Hell. She didn’t feel bad at all, in fact. She shifted her eyes to the slit that had been put into Flam’s skull. The flesh around the edges had gone yellow and black stuff that looked like it could have been ooze at some point was crusted around the wound. It was disgusting, but Pinkamena somehow felt like it would have hurt much worse to somebody who didn’t deserve it. Maybe that was why it felt so blank. It was a job she had to do. After all, she was unemployed. She needed a job, anyway.

Pinkamena had been reading a lot of books recently. They were interesting. They taught her things. Who needed ponies to learn when she could either get it from a book or figure it out for herself? One of the books, “Crime Investigation History Volume 1”, was very interesting. She read about a lot of other ponies who had killed someone, but they all got caught because of stupid mistakes like not having an alibi, or leaving hoof-prints. Pinkamena realized that she had been very lucky with the last two murders. She would have to be more cautious if Tag ever wanted to play again.

Pinkamena also hadn’t been feeling very happy recently. Of course, this was normal, except that she didn’t feel anything else either. She hadn’t been crying or thinking about anything sad. Everything was nothing. Pinkamena remembered that she and Ariel had once tried to make a rock laugh, but it didn’t work. They had asked their mother why the rock had no sense of humor, and she had told them that rocks couldn’t feel anything. Not sadness, not rage, not happiness or glee. It was just a rock. That was how Pinkamena felt. She was like a rock.

Scootaloo lied awake in her bed and could feel no bit of goodness in her. All had left except for misery, and she couldn’t kick it out.

Diamond Tiara had said something that wouldn’t stop replaying in her head.

Are you sure you weren’t in the same explosion as your deadbeat daddy was? It would explain your brain damage!

And then she laughed.

Scootaloo was hurt. Those words apart were just words, but Diamond Tiara had crafted them into a lance with teeth and it had torn right through her victim. Scootaloo actually felt real pain in her heart.

It was despicable.

What made Diamond Tiara want to hurt her so badly? What had Scootaloo done?

Nothing could excuse that horrible thing she had said. Diamond Tiara had been smiling when she said it, like it was a joke; a sick, rotten, awful, foul joke.

It was later that day when Scootaloo had to leave that Mrs. Cheerilee asked her why she had been so upset the whole day.

“Diamond Tiara made fun of my dad.” Scootaloo had said timidly, without looking her teacher in the eye.

Cheerilee gasped ever so slightly after hearing this. For a moment, Scootaloo’s spirits were lifted. Perhaps she’d get some justice for the wrong done to her; just maybe she’d be smiled upon by a sliver of good fortune.

“That’s terrible!” Mrs. Cheerilee had said, putting her hoof up to her chest. “I’ll be sure that she has to write standards!” She promised.

And that was it. No punishment, no justice, not even a scolding.

Hope rushed out as soon as it had come, and Scootaloo was alone.

The night was cold, but she didn’t care. Maybe she’d die and be able to see her father again. That was all she wanted. She thought about it hard, and really saw that she had nothing to live for. Why waste time dreaming about something that could never be. Scootaloo intentionally left off her covers in hopes she’d die, but she only woke up the next morning with a cold.

Pinkamena woke up the next morning and inexplicably wanted to see what the sweets at the new bakery tasted like. She hardly got any sweets when she was young. In fact, she hadn’t had sweets in years.

As she trotted down the lane toward the town, she saw a homeless pony begging for change. As she passed, she noticed a sapphire coated white maned mare walk by, smoking a cigarette. Without warning, she flicked her smoke out of her mouth and into the beggar’s hat. Some of the paper money inside got singed, and the homeless pony had gone frantic trying to put it out. The mare then smiled and said ‘Oops’ then sniggered as she left, swinging her hips.

Pinkamena didn’t like the look of that mare. She didn’t like it at all. She also noticed a small whip sticking out of her shoulder bag. It looked stained.

Then she heard a voice whisper.

She’s It.