Blade

by BranStanley

Rating: teen
Tags: Romance, Tragedy, Alternate Universe, Sad, Dark
Length: 80008

What would have become of poor Pinkie Pie had she not experienced the Sonic Rainboom?

It never happened. The Sonic Rainboom was never performed by the daring little Rainbow Dash. Twilight never passed her exam, Rarity never saw the gems inside the rock, Applejack never came home, and Pinkie Pie never smiled. Not even once on that day. Pinkamena Diane Pie was a miserable little filly, who grew up to be a miserable mare with two crossed pickaxes as a cutie mark. Nobody ever cared or listened to her heartaches. Nobody was ever there for Pinkamena. The only thing that kept watch over her throughout her entire life was the hungry monster that pleaded to be fed.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-08-15 19:24:58 UTC

The Brook

Pinkamena only went to the brook when the sky was completely grey. The soothing ambience of the babbling gave her peace of mind when she needed it. Ariel would follow her sometimes. Ariel hadn’t come that time. She wouldn’t ever follow again. Pinkamena would never skip stones with her or play ‘follow the leader’ again. Lilly didn’t like to play games for some stupid reason.

Pinkamena was running from her father, who had gotten angry again from the quota she had failed to meet. She had tried very hard, but Lilly had skipped breakfast and taken all of the rocks from Pinkamena’s side of the field for her own count.

Lilly was the good girl. She always met the quota. She always got seconds for dinner. Pinkamena was the bad girl. Doing a bad job gave you bad benefits her father would say. She wouldn’t ever get a big dinner like the others.

Pinkamena rubbed the cheek her father had stuck her on. The numbness was dwindling and she could feel it starting to swell. She wiped tears from her eyes as she looked down at the rushing waters of the brook. Her reflection wasn’t visible, so she couldn’t see how bad the bruise was this time. She looked up at the sky and wondered if there were any other fillies somewhere else with the same problem. She saw no pretty shapes in the clouds. There was only a bleak blanket shielding the farm and its land from the sun. She thought of Ariel. Pinkamena thought back to the night she had promised to cure her. She thought about the promise she had so selfishly broken. She broke down and cried. Her tears were lost in the tide of the brook’s current, never to be noticed by anyone.

She remembered that she had to stay quiet so that her father would not find her. She couldn’t stop his wrath, but she could delay it. She wished she had the will power to simply move on and enjoy what little pinch of time she had left before he heard her and gave her something to really cry about.

Pinkamena tried closing her mouth. Her breathing only got louder as she tried to suppress her misery. She felt every second slip away as she smothered herself on the ground to keep the whimpering from escaping into the air. She tried telling herself how weak she was. She even punched herself four or five times as hard as she could. Anything to make herself shut up.

But of course, like everything else she tried, she failed. Effort had nothing to do with it. She was just terrible at everything. She had no worth. Pinkamena had no place in the world. She would never amount to anything. She couldn’t even finish a task as simple as picking up six hundred rocks and carrying each one a quarter mile back to the barrels. She was worth getting smacked. She deserved it for being so useless. Pinkamena was far more furious with herself than anyone else. Nobody would care if she died like Ariel. Pinkamena wished that she had died instead of her baby sister. Her father wouldn’t have cared. She knew that was true.

Pinkamena looked at the rushing current again as she wondered how close her father was to finding her. Every half second or so, she was sure she had heard the sound of the entrance to the clearing opening up. She could swear she heard the thundering of hooves. The brook was too loud for her to hear anything so quiet, so she had to cover her mouth. The sobs still escaped, but they were muffled. It was about twelve minutes before she actually heard something she wasn’t imagining. She heard a stone fall into the water. She whirled her head into the direction from which the sound came, but there was nobody around who could have thrown it. The sound was too far into the current for it to have been part of the shore crumbling. It was most certainly the sound of a rock that had been skipped.

Pinkamena raised her head to get a better look around. There was nothing on the other side of the shore. She was the only living thing in the area for sure.

“Who’s there?” She called, now partially frightened.

It took a few seconds, but ever so slowly, a whispering voice spoke to Pinkamena from above her.

“I skipped a rock.” It said. “Now you skip one.”

Pinkamena was scared. She looked up to see what had spoken, but there was nothing there but the sky of emotionless grey, slowly drifting toward nowhere she could ever go.

The words she said acted on instinct. She shielded her head and ducked to the ground as if she were about to be beaten.

“My daddy says I’m not allowed talk to strangers!” She shouted out of her fort made from her arms. “I don’t know you! Go away! Please!” She begged the voice.

The voice became friendly and warm.

“I know you. You’re Pinkamena Diane Pie.”

Pinkamena opened up and looked around, still ducking in her lingering fear.

“How do you know me? Where are you talking from?” She inquired to the nice voice.

The voice became even friendlier.

“You’ve no need to talk, Pinkamena.” It started. “I’m special and I can hear the things that you think. Go ahead and try it out!”

Pinkamena was skeptical. She thought about her father running in through the reeds, having lured her away from the brook by disguising his voice.

The voice was magical, Pinkamena decided, when it said “Your father really is mean.”

Pinkie thought about the oatmeal she had that morning.

“I bet that wasn’t very good, was it?”

“No it wasn’t.” Pinkie confirmed to the voice in the special new way of talking.

She had stopped crying. She was excited that she had met somebody new. It wasn’t often that she got to do that. Maybe it would come to be that they could be friends. The very idea tickled her all over inside. She had so many questions for the voice. She asked a good deal.

“What is my sister’s name?”

“Lilly” It replied.

“What is my mommy’s name?”

“Marianne.”

“How many years old is grandma?”

Pinkamena didn’t actually know, but she thought of the number three-hundred.

“Three-hundred.” Said the voice.

“Wow! You know everything!” Pinkie thought in wonder as she giggled out loud. Noises coming from her sounded weird now. It felt right to think her words instead of saying them.

The voice chuckled. It was a warm and carefree chuckle. It sounded like the voice was having as much fun as she was.

“Say, Pinkamena. Do you mind if I call you Pinkie?”

Pinkamena’s glee melted away. She thought of Ariel again. Pinkamena frowned and covered her face again.

The voice read her thoughts and knew what was wrong.

“I understand, Pinkamena. You’re right. Nobody else needs to call you that.” It said.

There was a pause. For a second, Pinkamena thought the voice was gone. What she heard then made her feel uncertain. The voice had become an angry one. One that sounded like her father went he didn’t hear the number he wanted when he asked about the quota.

“It’s his fault, Pinkamena.”

Pinkamena was surprised by the sudden change in tone.

“What do you mean? Whose fault is it? What fault are you talking about?”

The voice got angrier.

“It’s his fault. Your father. Ariel would still be alive if it weren’t for him.”

The very mention of Ariel made her want to cry. How could it be her father’s fault? What did the voice mean?

‘You know what I mean, Pinkamena.” The voice responded as soon as she remembered it could hear her thoughts. “He knew that Ariel couldn’t meet the quota either. He wanted her gone.”

The voice turned from angry to creature like. It scared Pinkamena very much. The voice was like acid to her ears.

“He didn’t care about her, Pinkamena. And he doesn’t care about you. Don’t let him get away with it.” It spat at her.

The voice had lost the potential to be her friend. She knew now why her father had told her not to talk to strangers. It was right then that the reeds finally burst open with her father in the center of the split.

She could hear him heavily breathing from where she was, a good twenty meters away. He briskly trotted toward her, gritting his teeth. Pinkamena tried to run away but couldn’t stand up. She was far too scared to move. Her father towered over her when he stopped. Pinkamena had curled into a small ball of fluff in an attempt to shield herself from the initial blow she would no doubt receive.

Her father was patient. He would have waited until she uncurled herself and looked at him in the eyes. Pinkamena wanted to die. Living was too horrible simply looking in her father’s threatening gaze. His expression made it clear that he was absolutely livid. Deep horrifying breaths came from his nostrils as loud as the brook. He only looked down at her and spat.

The saliva landed on her back and ran down her backside slowly. Pinkamena’s body convulsed, letting her father know she had started to cry. He raised his hoof and came down on her. Pinkamena was knocked to the ground, hard. She let out a terrified yelp as she hit the ground. She cowered with her front hooves now shielding her face from any further blows.

“You little shit.” Her father spat in a much worse way. “Get back to the farm before your food gets cold. I’ll deal with you before bedtime.”

He turned around and headed back toward the clearing’s exit. He turned around and finished “If you aren’t back in three minutes, you’re sleeping outside!” Then he casually trotted away.

Pinkamena could do nothing but listen as the sound of her father’s hooves faded away.

Alone again, she found herself being capable of nothing but sobbing.

Voice

The one thing Pinkamena never did that she always felt appropriate, was give the voice a name. Nothing quite fit. Lester, Carl, Hammy, Jim, and John just didn’t fit. Those names were nice. A nice name didn’t belong on the voice. It didn’t deserve a nice name. With all of the effort she put in, a name that fit didn’t exist. Any name was too nice. The voice would always say horrible, rotten, evil things to her. The voice would come whenever she was depressed and she would become depressed whenever he was around. The vicious cycle started a couple of days after the little chat at the river. She would go to work in the morning and think about all of the rocks she would have to move. They would make her hooves ache and sting. Then the voice would suddenly say something. The voice wasn’t above her anymore, it was all around. She felt like he was inside of her head, but that was a silly idea.

“You aren’t going to finish, Pinkie. Just give up.” It would start out.

She would try to ignore, but always end up with her exertions in vein. That’s right about when it would say scary things; things that took an image in her head and stayed.

“Rocks are hard. Smash your head with it so I can be free.” It would calmly suggest. “Nopony will miss you. Your daddy will be happy.”

Sometimes, it made her cry. The pictures that rattled in her brain frightened her to no end as she imagined the blood spilling out of her skull while her flesh cooked in the hot sun. For some reason, her father was there smiling a broad and haunting grimace. These pictures never left her. Not even as an adult.

“Your mother has a carving knife in the kitchen. Take it and stab your daddy. He told me he wants you to. Trust me, Pinkie.” It would promise.

Not only did it horrify her, but it impeded her progress on work further. The difference of what she provided got further away from the quota every day. The motivational blows to the face her father gave her were no good. Those only turned blue.

Lilly however, had become the apple of her father’s eye. Never missing the deadline of six thirty and always meeting the quota. It was absolutely fair, not counting how Lilly was faster and stronger than Pinkamena or the fact that she was two years older. She did such a good job that her father lowered the quota every day to reward her. She would also get seconds at dinner and even dessert. Pinkamena, on the other hand, got what she deserved; smaller portions and a seat at the bottom of the stairs to the basement. Her lack of ‘responsibility’ had gotten her grounded from sitting at the table with her family.

Things were wonderful at that point compared to what was in store for the weeks to come.

One night, while she was carrying out the chore of scrubbing the dishes that she had recently been assigned to, she turned to her father.

“Daddy?” She asked very quietly.

Her father turned to her with an impatient frown.

“No talking during chore time, Pinkamena.”

“But Daddy, it’s really important!” She squealed.

Surprised by her change in tone, he threatened her by raising his hoof.

“Don’t you talk to me like that!” He gritted. “This had better be as important as you make it out to be. The back of my hoof is sore from teaching you, Pinkamena. You don’t want to make it even more sore, do you?”

The filly shook her head timidly. Her father lowered his hoof.

“What is it?”

Pinkamena mustered up every bit of courage in her puny bulk and said it.

“There is this voice that says really scary things to me, Daddy.” She told. “I met him by the river and now he won’t leave me alone.”

Her father looked at her, confused.

“Voice? Scary? What kind of scary things, Pinkamena?”

Pinkamena was too embarrassed to say any of the things the voice did. Repeating them was taboo and sick. She wouldn’t have even said them out loud had she been alone.

“It tells me to hurt myself.” She croaked.

Just thinking about it hurt her. She was scared even without anything to be afraid of.

“It tells me to hurt you too. I’m scared, Daddy. I’m so scared.” Tears started to fall from her eyes as she finished. She suppressed her sniffling noises and forced her gaze to the floor so her father wouldn’t see.

“What’s this nonsense about a voice? Are you talking to strangers in the woods, Pinkamena?” He inquired, coy.

Pinkamena’s words barely made it through her sniffles and snorts.

“No, Daddy! I promise! *sniff* I think he’s in my head! *sniff* Please, Daddy! Help me! I’m so scared! I’m so scared!” She moaned.

Despite his disappointment in her, she was still his daughter. Usually when she cried, he felt gratified. He had the feeling that she had learned something. But seeing her cry about something like this, something she didn’t know about, made him feel sympathy. He wouldn’t comfort her, but he instead called a therapist.

Pinkamena was taken to an office in town the next day.

Pinkamena had never seen any parts of town other than the market she had been taken to once. She and Ariel had caused somewhat of a ruckus while they were there with their mother, so they weren’t allowed to go anymore.

The office was drab and dry. The walls were a color that looked like a combination of brown and grey. A scent in the air matched the wall’s color and the furniture was all a droll and pale shade of red and textured with imitation velvet.

Pinkamena remembered the doctor’s name as Shrinkerton or something else boring. His last name didn’t matter, because she was requested that she refer to him as doctor and doctor only.

When he sat her down on the couch, he closed the door and told her to cooperate. She agreed.

“Now, Pinkamena is it?” He began. “Your father tells me you’ve started hearing a voice in your head telling you to do mean things. Is that true?” He asked monotonously.

Somehow, she felt safe in that room. Maybe it was the idea that she was talking to another adult and her father wasn’t around. She felt that if there was ever a time to say everything, it was right then.

She told about everything. About the river and the pictures and the voice. Oh how she told about the voice and the things it said. Doctors got their jobs because they could fix things. She knew that if she could tell anybody to help her be rid of the horrible voice it would be him.

Pinkamena noticed that he wrote many things down on a pen and pad. She figured he must have been writing down a cure. It was a relief to know that things would be alright.

When she finished, she felt lighter. She was still nervous. In fact, she was shaking after all she had said. But relief was still present, nonetheless. She trusted doctors. She was certain things would be better by the end of the session.

But the doctor finished his notes and did nothing but nod his head twice and grunt.

“Mmhmm…I see.” He said. “I think I understand what the issue is here, Pinkamena.”

Suddenly, her hope sunk like a ship at sea that had just been shot through and through by a canon. It sunk to the depths of her gut as it turned into anxiety and dread.

“Will you be able to help me, doctor?” She asked timorously.

“There might be something I can do.” He quickly replied.

That was a lie. She could tell. It was a dirty lie. He would have said it more sincerely had he meant it. Pinkamena wasn’t old enough to know a word that described the feeling she knew he had, but she knew it all the same. It was over. She was going to be stuck with the voice forever.

“I don’t want to have it in my head! It’s horrible! Please! You have to help!” She burst out desperately.

The doctor’s tone didn’t change.

“Be patient. I said I might be able to help.”

After he said that, he opened the door and led her back to the waiting room where her father was waiting. He told her to sit down and wait. Then he asked her father for a few words in the other room. Absolutely frantic for information, she pushed her ear against the door as they talked. Unfortunately, the only words that passed through that were loud enough for her to hear were ‘Electro-Shock’ and some other big word she didn’t understand. It sounded like ‘Skits of Frenia’.

Hearing the tone they were said in, these words didn’t exactly help her feel better. Neither did the awful things they did to her in the following weeks.

Therapy

Pinkamena was lied down on a table. It was cold. She shivered when the metal came into contact with her soft skin. Two doctors went up to her and lifted her head. Under her, they placed the hardest pillow Pinkamena had ever rested on.

Shrinkerton looked over her with his unchanging monotonous look.

“Rest your head, Pinkamena.” He patiently instructed.

Pinkamena obeyed. Her father had said that this was going to get rid of the voice. He promised. She didn’t know what they were going to do next, but she was ready. She was almost wearing a smile.

The voice echoed inside of her.

“They don’t want to help, Pinkie.” It hissed. “They only want to hurt you. Trust me.”

Pinkie talked back to the voice for the first time since the river. “Go away!” She silently shouted. “Daddy promised that I’ll be better after this!”

A visible scowl was on her face. Shrinkerton took notice. Like most things, they were dealt with by being written down on his little notepad. Pinkamena wanted to see them, but she knew it was rude to ask.

“Alright, Pinkamena. I want you to listen very carefully.” Shrinkerton said. “When I say bite down, I want you to bite down as hard as you can, alright?”

Pinkamena’s head tilted in confusion. “What am I biting?” She asked innocently.

“This rubber fit, child.” He answered, bringing out a thick brown and rubber tool that was apparently designed to fit directly into her mouth.

He brought it forth and asked Pinkamena to open her mouth. Like before, she obeyed. He put the tool in her mouth and told her to hold it.

After that, the two other doctors took what looked like a pair of headphones and put them on Pinkamena’s head. She thought they looked silly. She wouldn’t have giggled had she known what they did. It didn’t matter either way. She would know soon enough.

Pinkamena’s father was waiting at a desk not too far from the table. Shrinkerton joined him and turned on a metal box that was waiting for him in the drawer. He plugged it into the equipment that was hooked to the headphones and put his hoof on a dial.

He looked at Pinkamena, still unchanging in emotion. “Alright, Pinkamena. Bite.”

Pinkamena bit down on the rubber tool, wondering how it would help her. Curious, she turned her head to her father and her psychiatrist.

“Wha Uz Iss Oo?” She mumbled through the rubber.

Shrinkerton didn’t respond verbally. He only glared at her indicating that she lie back down. Although feeling threatened, she obeyed like a good girl. She thought that maybe after she was cured, she would start doing better and maybe even someday pass the quota. That was a good thought. It was the last good thought she had for the next six days.

“This won’t hurt a bit, Pinkamena.” He promised.

Horror like razor blades sliced up her insides. Her heart sunk into a place she couldn’t reach into. What did that mean? Why did he say that?

Adults never said things like that unless it did indeed hurt. Most of the time, it hurt even worse. And Pinkamena was right. It was a lot worse.

The last thing she heard was Shrinkerton turning the dial under his hoof. The next thing she felt was the most horribly morbid pain her little body had ever experienced. It was beyond imagination. Pinkamena had never pictured pain like that. She never knew it could exist.

Nine hundred volts ran through her body and mind. The electricity caused her to violently convulse. She bit into the rubber, alright. She thought she would bite right through it in those abominable first seconds. Every muscle in her constrained and tightened randomly and painfully. She was about to let out a shriek, but was stopped by the two other doctors. They grabbed her jaw with rubber gloves on and forbade her screams of agony from escape. Her muffled horrors were barely heard, let alone noticed. Her very bones vibrated inside the flesh. She was miserable.

As if by miracle, it stopped. The two doctors let go of her. She lost control of her body and lay limp on the table. Shrinkerton looked at her and for the first time she had ever seen, he smiled.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

How could he say that? Had he ever been through it before? Why did he do that? How was he helping her?

Question after question flooded her small mind. She couldn’t do anything about anything anymore. So she did what all children do from time to time. She started crying. She cried on the table as she tried lifting her arm. She could not.

What Shrinkerton said next changed everything.

“Only a few more times, Pinkamena.”

Her eyes widened into the size of saucers. Horror rushed through her again. What she did then was acting on pure adrenaline. She turned onto her side and tried to scurry off the table of death. But the doctors were too quick. They hadn’t been stunted like she had. Not to mention, they were adults. Adults were always faster and stronger.

For the first time in her life, Pinkamena found herself struggling against a grown-up. Trying so very hard to get away. She didn’t care if the door was as far as she got, as long as she didn’t have to get back on that deathly table. She was able to get a single hoof loose, only to have it immediately grabbed again. The feeling of helplessness was unbearable. She shook her head fiercely and continued to cry and shout.

“No! NO! PLEASE! PLEASE! I DON’T WANT TO ANYMORE!!!” Her screams cried through the room. “DADDY! HELP ME! DADDY, PLEASE! PLEASE! I WANT TO GO HOME! I WANT T-“

Pinkamena was cut off by the rubber tool being forced back into her mouth. The other doctors held her down with their forearms as they reached for straps on the side of the table. They slung them over her chest and tightened them a little too tight for her to move.

The tool was still being kept in place by the forceful doctor above her. The other held her jaw shut. Her eyes flailed around the room like a fire. She was panicking. Nothing she could do. Desperation.

These grown-ups weren’t there to help. The voice was right. The vicious, evil, rotten voice was right.

All they had wanted to see was her pain and misery.

For the last couple of seconds, Pinkamena closed her eyes as tight as she possibly could and wished she were gone. She wished she was at home, playing with Ariel. She wished she was baking a pie with her Grandmother. She wished that she was warm in her bed, being told a happy bedtime story by her father just like when Ariel was alive.

Pinkamena learned the hard way that a thousand volts aren’t what make wishes come true.

Shrinkerton turned the dial again.

And again.

And again…

Cutie Mark

Pickaxes.

What did that mean? She hadn’t even met the quota in who knows how long. But there they were; two pickaxes crossed on her flank with a small rock in between them.

A Pickaxe Cutie Mark just like her dear old dad, except there were two of the damned things. It was her special talent. And why not? That’s all she was allowed to do anymore. Her father was sure hard work would scrub that mental sickness away. Bed rest and care was for sneezing and coughing fillies, not disobedient little bastards like stupid lazy Pinkamena.

She just stared at it for a minute or two, hoping that she was looking at it wrong.

Nope.

That was it, alright.

Two pickaxes and a rock. What a special talent indeed.

Her lip quivered as tears gathered in her eyes. Of all things she could have been in life, it was what she had been hoping to leave behind when she was grown.

“Well look at that.” Her father said, looking at her no longer blank flank. “I thought you might have gotten a screwball or something. This is a bit less disappointing, I guess.”

Pinkamena sniffled, trying not to be heard by her father. He’d grown quite sick of the noise and she understood. Pinkamena learned things quickly by her father’s hoof. Black eyes started to be a part of her face, receiving a new one as soon as the other healed.

“Maybe I’ll be a bit cheerier when Lilly gets one. She’s bound to get something nice.” Her father expressed. “Actually meet the quota and you might get to sit at the table.” After that, he turned around and went into the house.

Pinkamena sat on the moist dirt, looking up at the sky. It was grey. A single gigantic cloud engulfed her world, as she couldn’t see the sun or birds above. She turned her head toward what her mother called the garden and looked at the slab of stone jutting up from the earth. The garden was nothing but a few dead daisies and some carrots. The only other thing in that patch of the property was Ariel; her tombstone simply sitting there, reminding everyone that passed by about how dead she was. Pinkamena realized that her baby sister had never gotten her cutie mark. She died with a blank flank. Pinkamena wanted to pretend that Ariel was beside her, telling her how pretty her cutie mark looked. But she didn’t have it in her to put forth any creative mind. She was far too tired. She hadn’t slept in two days. Her loving father had made her sleep outside the previous night as punishment for breaking one of the dishes on what she had claimed to be an accident. She had never been so scared. She pounded on the door, screaming to come in, but her father simply sat in his chair by the fire, smoking his pipe and thinking about how good of a daughter Lilly was.

The voice had talked to her that night. It didn’t really help her feel better, of course.

The Timberwolves are going to eat you, Pinkie. Yum, yum. I bet you taste delicious.

It whistled her songs that scared her. She didn’t want to get eaten. She wanted so badly to be a good girl. She was worthless.

After some time, Pinkamena picked herself up and slowly made her way to the other side of the field. She looked for something that might help her collection count higher for that day. Sadly, the field was clean. She’d have to go further out to find something more. As she headed off, she heard her mother call.

“Pinkamena! It’s time for your medicine!” She shouted.

Every five hours, Pinkamena had to take one of the pills that Shrinkerton had given her father. It scared the voice away, but she knew that they would run out someday. It was as inevitable as what was now on her flank. She had stopped applying herself to everything when nobody was left to make her feel worth something.

Pinkamena turned around emotionlessly and slowly made it back to the house. Inside, her mother was cooking something drab. Whatever it was, it smelled like cardboard. She didn’t care either way. She wouldn’t taste it. The leftovers were what she’d get. Maybe if she was lucky, Lilly wouldn’t eat her bread.

Her mother turned around and looked down at her. Pinkamena’s relationship with her mother had gone far south since Ariel died. She paid far more attention to whatever was out the window for most of the day. She hardly had emotion in her voice anymore and Pinkamena had rarely seen her parents interact recently.

“Your father says you got your cutie mark.” She said as if there was a script in her face. “Glad to see you’re growing up.”

She opened up a cabinet above her and took out a small plastic bottle. Removing the cap, she extracted a single pill from inside of it. She reached down and gave it to her daughter, not even looking her in the eyes.

“There’s a glass on the sink.” She mostly mumbled.

Pinkamena found the glass and popped the pill into her mouth. She drank it down and then went back outside, knowing it would be the last time she would be in the house that evening. She didn’t care. She deserved it. Shame belonged on the shoulders of a filly with a double pickaxe cutie mark.

“Bullshit! You cannot!”

“Can too! I bet you twelve gems!”

“You’re bluffing, Dash. You’re so fulla’ shit.”

Dashclad got off of her haunches and sprang toward her houndaine peer. She bugged one eye out and closed the other as to intimidate him.

“Right, because I care so much about the gems I can’t even eat.” She spat.

Ziccaine and Yakko looked at each other, both knowing she wasn’t kidding.

“Cummon Dash, you aren’t that quick.” Quexel sneered.

“I am too! You’d take me up on the bet if you weren’t such a chickenshit!”

Ziccaine and Yakko whooped at him in unison, showing whose side they had taken. Quexel shot them a quick glare and then looked back at Dashclad, smiling snidely.

“Nobody here ain’t no chickenshit except you, Pony.” He growled.

“Fuck you, Quex! You’re just jealous I can fly and you can’t. You know I could do it.” She flaunted.

“Yea Quex, You just don’t want to lose those gems.” Yakko provoked.

Quexel turned around and yelled at the other two. “Shut up! She doesn’t even loose anything important or nothin’! She’s only trying to get rid of gems, I bet.”

“Well if she can’t do it, then you’re twelve gems healthier, Quex.” Ziccaine replied.

“Z’s got a point, guys.” Yakko threw in.

Dashclad still stood, wings spread, smirking at him so surely. Quexel gave in.

“Alright! Fine! But, to make things interesting, let’s double it to forty!” He shouted.

“Doubling it would make twenty four, dipshit.” Yakko corrected.

“Just shut the fuck up, Yakko! I’m doing it already!”

Quexel reached into his blazer and pulled out a revolver. This particular revolver had been used by his father in the great Gem Hound-Griffon war. With it, he had killed two hundred griffon soldiers (or so he had claimed). The revolver had a longer history however, but for the time being, it was irrelevant.

Quexel opened up the chamber and loaded a single magnum round into the slot on the right just below the top one. He snapped it shut and pulled back the hammer without looking. His eyes were fixed on Dashclad.

“Alright, Dash. This ain’t a ordinary bullet. This one here is a tracer. It leaves a trail behind.” He described unnecessarily.  “It cost me a fucking fortune, so make it count or I’ll fuck you up.” Quexel threatened, faking his pegasus friend out with a quirk of his head.

Dashclad didn’t react. She held her smug grin.

“I’ll be able to tell if you aren’t going faster. Believe me.” He asserted.

“Blah, blah, blah.” Dashclad mocked. “Shut the fuck and up and shoot it already.”

“You shut up!!!” He screamed back.

With that, he jerked the weapon up to the sky and pulled the trigger. The shot rang out all the way down the mountain that they were playing on. Nobody heard them, however. Everyone was under the immense erosion, minding their own business in the caves.

The bullet left behind a smoking trail of green smoke, brightening things up on that cloudy day of grey skies. It whizzed up in the air and kept going.

Quexel looked at Dashclad, her wings spread out, looking up at the trail. He grinned creepily, seeing she hadn’t even lifted off yet.

“Ha!” He shouted. “I fucking knew it-“ But before he could finish, a blast of air knocked him on his ass. Dash burst up into the air, flapping her wings like she never had before.

She hadn’t shown it, but she was nervous. She wasn’t entirely sure she could do it after all.

“Oh man. If I don’t get this, I’ll be a chickenshit for the rest of the year!” She worried silently.

She had to win. She flapped her wings harder. She could see the end of the trail getting closer.

Harder.

“Wow! Look how fast she’s going!” Yakko shouted, watching her from hundreds of feet below.

“Shut up! She hasn’t even caught up yet!” Quexel squawked over his shoulder.

Dash was indeed getting closer. She could see the bullet, shimmering from the sparks it was leaving behind. She was gaining on it.

She flapped harder. Harder. Harder.

She was there. The bullet was at equal altitude of her belly. But that wasn’t good enough. She needed to push harder. She knew she could. The wind didn’t agree with her choice as it tried to push her back down. Her eyes were peeled back by the pure force of her movement.

The tracer round lost its momentum and slowed. Dashclad however, only gained speed.

“She did it! Oh, man! She did it!” Ziccaine blared into Quexel’s ear, much to his discomfort.

“Goddamnit!!! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He screamed at the sky, despising his defeat.

They were silent for a couple of seconds while Quexel simmered. It was soon enough that Yakko pointed back up at the sky.

“Holy crap! She’s still going!” He shouted.

“It’s alright, Dash! You won!” Ziccaine shouted stupidly, thinking she could hear him from her elevation.

Dash couldn’t hear anything but the rushing air in her ears. She had already gained enough momentum. This might be the only opportunity to see how far she could go in a while. She fought the natural air resistance with all of her might. Still rising, the air grew thinner. Thinner.

Faster. Faster she went, flapping her wings all the quicker. Her mane flowed behind her in a perfectly straight stream. She felt something coming on. She heard a somewhat slicing noise behind her now. A white tunnel gathered in her vision. She felt like she was going faster without even trying.

The last thing she felt before it happened was a weak tingle.

Then, it happened.

Dashclad was launched into a speed so amazingly fast that she felt her body stretch out at least a thousand feet. Everything became a linear blur as she zipped by a mile a second. Behind her an enormous explosion of cascading colors sliced through the air, reaching out several hundred miles in the blink of an eye.

“HOLY FUCKING DRAGON SHIT!” Quexel bellowed at the top of his lungs as he and his friends ducked in horror.

The rainbow colored blast zoomed over their heads with an earsplitting boom as the ground rumbled, causing as many avalanches as the mountain could handle without collapsing.

She had done it. The Sonic Rainboom. And as she zipped through Equestria, she got her cutie mark, just as she would have on the day of the race in Flight Camp.

But it was too late.

The day was bleak. The only ponies that saw it that day were a squad of soldiers that had been dispatched to spy on the Diamond Dog colony nearby. They would always have that story to tell their kids; “the day they saw the rainbow explode”. It would most certainly be a fireside favorite in their veteran years.

But it wouldn’t be special for anybody else.

Applejack was being taught table manners when it happened.

Rarity was sulking in her room, uninspired. She didn’t see it either.

Fluttershy had been cruelly stuffed into a locker. She couldn’t see the tip of her own nose in the dark.

Twilight Sparkle sat sadly in her room, looking at illustrations of the Canterlot School for Gifted Unicorns, wishing she had been accepted.

And little Pinkamena just looked up at the sky, wishing she had more to her life than a dead sister and a pickaxe cutie mark.

Departure

Nothing ever really got better. Sadly, it was predictable. Little Pinkamena slowly turned into Big Pinkamena. The same thing went on for so very long. Routine eliminated the feeling of time passing. Things seemed to her like an endless loop. She would wake up and it would be the same day as the last. There was one point however, in which Pinkamena was sent to school for a short bit. She could never pay attention in class though, so they gave her the old dunce cap treatment. It could have been avoided if stupid worthless Pinkamena could have put her pain into words for them. Like everybody else, they got sick of her and kicked her out sooner than she would have enjoyed.

Time slicked right under her nose and soon enough, it had been eleven years of her personal hell. Eleven years of harvesting rocks. Dreams were the only intermission she had in her vicious cycle. Sometimes she dreamed that her father would suddenly feel sorry and come into the fields crying her name. She would ask what was wrong, and he would only hug her. She dreamed about sitting at the table again and having the same size portions as everybody else. She dreamed about finally being loved. But dreams end. The loop did not. Not until the day she had been thrown out, at least.

She had been thrown out at the age of seventeen. On that day, her things were packed and her mother had called her a cab to Ponyville. There would be jobs for her there apparently. Before she left, she checked her bag for the three refills of medicine. She needed them. She would have liked anybody other than the voice to accompany her. She wasn’t very upset that dear old dad wasn’t coming either. The back of his hoof and her cheek were getting a divorce.

Pinkamena felt that things were about to change for the first time in her life. She was on her own now. She could meet whoever she wanted and go wherever she wanted.

“Pinkamena Diane Pie!” Her father called from his den. “Get in here! I got something to say to you!” His voice calmer than expected.

Pinkamena figured that a goodbye was appropriate. It was indeed a goodbye. No more missing the quota.

Pinkamena left her bags in the entry way and walked into the den. Her father was waiting by the glowing fireplace with his pipe ablaze. Smoke poured from his mouth as he exhaled and turned to see his daughter.

“I guess this is it, Dad.” Pinkamena said without emotion. “I’ll admit that I’m a bit nervous about how I’ll do out there.”

Her father let out a cynical chuckle that she hated. She despised the chuckle and its maliciousness.

“You should be.” He mumbled. “You couldn’t do shit for yourself even when we were babying you, Pinkamena. What makes you think you’ll do any better by yourself?”

Pinkamena thought about what she would say. It was futile. Her father would throw something back at her twenty times as horrible and demeaning. Argument was pointless with him, so she was silent.

Her father paused. “You never pulled your weight when you were asked to. How hard was it, Pinkamena? Tell me, please. How hard was it to move rocks, you brat?”

Words like fire and poison. They stung and lingered in her heart. She never forgot many of the things he had called her. It didn’t matter what the word was, it was the thought that they were his true feelings. But she was still silent. This would, after all, be the last time.

“Why couldn’t you be a good daughter like Lilly? You never ceased to disappoint me, Pinkamena.” His voice still calm. “You might have fared better if you hadn’t got that brain sick.”

He was right. Things might have been a bit easier for her had the voice not loomed over her so often, serving as an extra friend to demotivate her. One to tell her how worthless she already knew she was.

“You should have heard yourself whine sometimes. It was dreadful, believe me.”

For the next couple of seconds, Pinkamena hung her head as she stood and listened to her father mock her pain and imitate her cries of desperation. He made his voice so that it was very high and nasally.

“Ehhhhhh-Daaadddyyy!!!! Dadddyyyy!!! Waah! Waah! Voices in my head! Sooo Scary! Waaaaah!!!”

He chuckled again.

“Never shut the fuck up. Pesky little brat you were, Pinkamena.”

It was almost over, she hoped. It was hard to take all of this. She knew she deserved it, but nobody ever told her she had to enjoy it. Nobody could hear what she was saying back to him in her head except for the voice, but the medicine had put him to sleep and he wouldn’t be back for a bit.

“Why’d you go to me, hmm? I’ve always wondered. Why couldn’t you pester your mother?”

Everything she had said to him, all of the emotions that flowed directly from her heart, raw and unfiltered, unafraid of being heard, were tossed off her father’s mental Cliffside. They meant nothing. He cared nothing about her or anything she had pleaded to him for help about. She was unworthy. His own daughter was unworthy to his eye. Her heart ached and sank down into her belly. She meant nothing to him. He hadn’t a single care that she was leaving. In fact, it seemed more like he was leaving her behind. She was on her way out of his life. No more pesky Pinkamena. No more having to deal with her insufferable moaning and whining. He hated her. It hurt so viciously to know that.

“Ariel was a lot like you. All work and no play.”

The mention of her sister brought Pinkamena to immediate attention.

He wouldn’t.

“You know, I think she might have grown up following your pathetic little hoofsteps instead of Lilly’s. She was annoying

too, did I ever mention?”

Don’t you dare. Don’t you *dare*.

“If it weren’t for her being so clumsy, she might not have died and turned your mother into the soulless cow she is today.”

Her gut began to boil. She gritted her teeth and started to glare. She could take all of his insults, but Ariel had nothing to do with her anymore. She hadn’t in years.

Something sparked in Pinkamena. An epiphany slapped her right across the face and nearly sent her to the floor of her torment.

She was innocent.

She didn’t deserve any of this. Her father was the one who was a worthless little shit. He was the bastard that burdened the family. He had picked on his own children to keep the position of the alpha male. Lilly hadn’t been the prodigy he made her out to be, either. She was just a worthless kiss-ass. She clung onto his hind legs so that she couldn’t be kicked by them. His loving wife, having lost her daughter became neglected after her husband decided that he didn’t have enough time to comfort her. The remaining child, now the smallest and easiest to trample, became his punching bag. The defenseless pansy with blind devotion to the leader, willing to sacrifice anything her body could to be noticed. Somehow, denying her the love she desired in return gave him rise. He felt better about himself after having realized that he could instead be in her position; sick, afraid, and helpless. Little Pinkamena. Poor baby Pinkamena, the family punching bag.

No more. This was the time. In life there is always a perfect moment that if not grasped will never arise again. She wouldn’t let this go on any longer.

“I’ve always wondered if things would have been better had you been the one to cut your hoof.” Her father said.

But not half a second later his daughter roared at him as loud as her lungs would allow. It was a primal rage from the very bottom of her soul escaping her mouth as best it could. Fourteen years of emotional torture unbridled and cascading from her voice.

“Shut up! Shut your fucking mouth, you bastard!” She bellowed. “You’ve given me nothing! You’ve starved me of everything! Food, love, and care! EVERYTHING!!!”

Her father, completely shocked by the sudden uproar, backed away a few steps toward the fireplace in involuntary fear.

“I’ll kill you! *I’LL KILL YOU!!!*”

Pinkamena got up on her hind legs, making herself far bigger, and ran toward her monstrous father as fast as she could, screaming.

More involuntary reactions occurred in her father’s body as he reached out for his bottle of whiskey and threw it in the direction of his daughter. It spun through the air and collided with Pinkamena’s forehead about ten feet away from where her father was standing. The bottle made a clunking noise before bursting into many pieces and cutting the underside of her left eye. She lost her balance as the pain exploded in her head and she tumbled to the floor, grabbing her face and closing her eyes tight. She landed on another piece of the glass, making a slash across her cutie mark. Her eyelid bled in unison with the gash on her flank. She lied on the floor in silence, realizing that she had failed once again.

Her father panted in horror, still backed up against the fireplace. He too was silent.

The whole farm was silent for a minute or two.

After finally opening her eyes, she looked at her father in his pathetic fright. He never had any authority over her. It was a lie. He was just another pansy little brat, no better than the cowering little filly by the brook side being spit on by her own father.

Shortly, she felt gratified. But that quickly faded into embarrassment and shame.

She scrambled to her feet and galloped out of the den, snatching her things and ran out the door. Thankfully, the cab was waiting outside already. She ran out to it and jumped in.

“Where to?” said the cabby.

“Ponyville, please.” She trembled, trying to keep steady.

The cabby noticed that the girl in the back seat of his cab was bleeding under her eye.

“You alright, missy?” He asked genuinely.

“Please get me out of here…please.” Pinkamena whispered.

The cabby could have sworn that he saw a tear run down her cheek.

He then turned back to the wheel and drove southwest toward Ponyville.

Arrival

For lack of better word, Ponyville was…Ponyville.

It was exactly the same as it was in every other possible timeline where it existed; quaint and mild as always. The market was thriving, the construction team was looking for new recruits, and Mayor Mare Giles was running once again, sure to win by a landslide as she had several times in a row.

The cab rolled into town just outside the welcome sign. Pinkamena grabbed her bags and left the vehicle. She turned and told the cabby the shameful truth that she had no money to offer. The cabby had seen that her eyes were tear stained and dried blood was forming a natural tattoo down her cheek. He let her know that he was a very absent minded pony and gave her a wink. Pinkamena returned a ghost of a smile and watched him drive away in the opposite direction.

Pinkamena turned to look at her new home. It wasn’t the city of lights as her father had lied. He lied about everything. She could see it now. She had been so blind. But still, it was a pretty little sight to see all of the cozy cottages lined up with the shops and marts. She thought for a moment that she might like it there. So she started toward the market, possibly looking for somebody to meet.

As she walked closer, her eye flashed a searing pain into her skull, causing her to clutch at it and force them shut. She stood there for a bit, waiting for it to stop. In this time, her thoughts turned to the idea of nobody liking her. Just as it had been for her whole life. And why wouldn’t that happen? It was twice as likely as opposed to getting a warm greeting. Pinkamena thought to herself, that if someone had come limping up to her from god knows where, filthy and their face stained with blood and tears, looking for somebody to chat to, her first instinct would probably have been to run away, never looking back at the monster. But once the pain receded, her mind crept back to the warming thought of friendliness.

This was a whole new place. No. A whole new world. A whole new life. Nobody had known who she was or where she had come from. If she wanted to, she could change her name.

These thoughts were nice. Nice thoughts weren’t too common for Pinkamena. She hoped that things would stay like this while she was here, in this new place. She hoped that they would stay forever. Heck, soon they wouldn’t be thoughts. Good things would actually be there for Pinkamena.

Entering the market, she saw many things. The first thing that caught her eye was a large caravan carrying buckets and buckets of red cherries. Pinkamena hadn’t had a cherry since she was very young. She and Ariel had once agreed that it was their favorite part of the ice creams they used to get for dessert.

Second, she saw a stand that was selling what looked like roses and daisies. They were still potted and flourishing. The pony manning the stand was particularly beautiful. Her skin was a creamy white and her mane was three different shades of crimson. A smile was on this particular pony’s face. Pinkamena looked around and saw that everybody was smiling. It brought warmness all over her body. It almost made her want to smile herself.

But she was a stranger. She hadn’t any reason to smile. She hadn’t established anything here yet. But she yearned to very soon.

Third, she saw another cart. This one selling apples. Manning the cart was a maroon stallion. His mane was a deep blonde and cut short. His eyes were different than everybody else in the market. He wasn’t smiling. Perhaps something was getting to him. Pinkamena noticed that there was nobody there to accompany him. No brother, no father. Not even a little sister. Pinkamena didn’t know it, but this particular stallion was possibly the saddest person in the market that day. And why wouldn’t he be? His poor old grandmother was sick with the flu in need of income to help pay for medicine. He would have had more help, had his little sister not ran away to the big city all those years back. She was in law school now, but not one penny had been sent back toward the farm. She hadn’t even spoken to him in long enough. She was as good as dead to him, just like his other little sister, who simply drifted off and never came back one night. They had said it was a case of SIDS, but it was fate. And fate was a rotten bitch to that poor stallion across the way.

Now, After seeing this, Pinkamena would have gone up to the cart and asked him what the trouble was. But instead, she was halted by a gruff voice calling to her from behind.

Pinkamena’s heart sank.

Oh no. She panicked silently.

She whirled around to see what had been calling her. Whatever it was, she prayed that it wasn’t her father.

She sighed in relief to see that it was only another stallion. He was a unicorn, muscular and tall. His stature left a shadow over Pinkamena as he leaned toward her, smiling a suave grin.

“Hi there, young lady.” He started.

Pinkamena was timid. She was not sure how to respond. First impressions would be the most important thing to focus on while she stayed in that town. She didn’t want to come off negatively to anybody or else the same would happen over and over again. She knew that’s how it would be.

“Hello, sir. Nice to meet you!” She paused, realizing she was too enthusiastic. “I’m new in town.” Pinkamena finished eventually.

The stallion’s grin was unwavering. “I noticed. You sure are pretty, missy.”

Pinkamena couldn’t help but giggle a little under her breath. She had only just met him and a random stallion was complimenting her. Were all of the ponies in this town as friendly as him?

The stallion’s grin widened the moment her giggle reached his ears.

“Say, I couldn’t help but notice that cutie mark you’ve got there, missy.”

Pinkamena was instantly reminded of her father. Any happiness that had built up in those past couple of seconds had shattered. She looked at the ground and pouted a little.

“Oh.” She grunted. “That.”

The stallion’s grin grew again. “I’m guessing you’re good at rock-related type things, eh?” He asked.

Though she didn’t want to admit it, it was all she had done her whole life. She would certainly like to think that talent had built in that time. She looked back up at the stallion.

“Yea, I guess so. I’ve worked with rocks for a really long time. And I mean a really long time.”

“Sure! Sure! I bet you have, little lady.”

The stallion suddenly reached out and patted her on the shoulder. Pinkamena looked up at him, a bit off put by the move. He looked directly into her eyes with that smile still as broad as a barn door.

“The name’s Kanker, baby. I think I can tackle you a job around these parts.” He claimed.

Pinkamena did a double take looking back into the stallion’s eyes. She hadn’t been in the town for more than five minutes and she had already gotten a working job.

“Wow! You really mean it!?” She expelled happily.

“I sure do, baby.” The stallion guaranteed.

For the first time in fourteen years, a full smile spread across Pinkamena’s face. Her new life had begun. She was free. Life had finally started for Pinkamena. No more scavenging the fields to meet the quota, no more abuse, all of this behind her and gone forever. Nothing had ever felt so good.

“Oh thank you so much!” Pinkamena beamed. “This I just wonderful!”

The stallion pushed further down on her shoulder to keep her on the ground, shifting his eyes around to make sure nobody had heard how loud his new client had been. That would have been embarrassing. His smile faltered for a couple of seconds in what looked like annoyance. Quickly, however, it bounced back and the stallion turned around and motioned for Pinkamena to follow.

“Come on! I’ll show you to your work station.” He called over his shoulder.

Pinkamena foolishly followed the stallion, not even knowing what job she had just gotten. Kanker had been very lucky to be in town when he was. He had just found himself a perfect new ‘employee’.

The Job

Pinkamena raised her pickaxe and brought it down on a large rock, shattering it into several pieces. She had been particularly lucky that time. There were some gems in the broken pieces. She put her pickaxe down and gathered up the pieces with the gems in them, using her thick coal stained apron to hold them. She got back down on her fours and held the apron tab with her mouth, making her way toward the row’s cart. When Pinkamena got to the cart, she let the apron go from her teeth, causing the gem bits to fall into it. Afterward, she went back to her place in the row, picked her pickaxe back up, stood on her hind legs, and began to swing it at the pile of rocks that had been laid in front of her.

Pinkamena’s teeth chattered and many parts of her body were numb. The snow’s bitter coldness stung her hind legs, which were buried in it up to the ankles. She put her pickaxe down for a moment to rub her hooves together furiously in hope to create heat from the friction. Afterward, she looked around, praying that nobody had seen her.

She had done it three other times now. One would think that it would get easier for her to brave the cold, cold winters over time, but no. It got worse every year.

Nearly four years since she had accepted the ‘job’ offer from Kanker, Pinkamena was now twenty one years old.

Things still hadn’t changed.

The job was an assortment of labors: Finding rocks, moving rocks, piling rocks, breaking rocks, rocks, rocks, rocks.

Rocks.

It was the same bullshit she had been given her whole life.

One would think that it would be bearable if at least she was getting an income, but Pinkamena got nothing more than a rusty shack with some blankets and limited access to a cafeteria nearby. Kanker said that she should count herself lucky he was able to find her very own ‘working station’ rather than having to share one like the others did.

Pinkamena’s colleges did whatever she wasn’t doing. It was a rotation.

The one that Pinkamena knew better than the other, was Cherry Cola; A very hard working earth pony colt. Pinkamena and Cherry had minimal interaction, but they had had enough to know each other’s names and origins. Unlike Pinkamena, Cherry had a home and a loving wife. He accepted the job at minimum wage and had worked there for the last five years, but Kanker always gave him below minimum anyway.

The other pony that worked the field during her shift (which was most, if not all of the day), was named Brolly. He, a white pegasus, had worked there for only three years. For no reason at all, Kanker treated him the best. The best however, was still horrible.

Pinkamena raised her pickaxe again and brought it down onto another rock. As the rock shattered, a small fragment flew right into Pinkamena’s eye.

She screamed in pain, clawing at the spot right on her eyelid that it had penetrated. Normally, it wouldn’t have hurt so bad, but it had hit right about where her father’s bottle had cut her those four years ago.

She was never sure why, but it always ached whenever something stressing or bad happened to her. It hurt the worst when the voice was there though.

Right alongside her, the voice had also grown. It was now unbearable to listen to its hideous, grating voice. Pinkamena would prefer being carved open then to have to listen to the voice for more than a couple of seconds. The medicine now wore off sooner, and the things it said were worse now. Much worse. Things that kept her awake at night.

“Pinkie…Pinkie…I’m becoming real, Pinkie.” It would taunt. “One of these days I’ll just leap right out of your head and chew your guts right out of your belly.”

Pinkamena couldn’t bear it. It was dreadful. No. Dreadful wasn’t powerful enough. She didn’t know a word that was powerful enough to describe the fear, hatred, anxiety and dread the thought of the voice coming back brought.

Some might have asked why didn’t she just quit her so called ‘job’ and find a new one.

Kanker had her medicine.

He had Pinkamena by the throat and he knew he did. She couldn’t look at herself, knowing that not only had she been stupid enough to trust a complete stranger and take the first thing presented to her, but to just give him the medication when he requested it.

Kanker would give her the medicine when she needed it, but only if she had been good. ‘Good’, of course, meant absolutely nothing. Kanker would tease her with tardy judgments, counting off things she had done that ‘took off points’, most of them made up on the spot.

When he had had enough fun torturing her, her would give her the pill and half a glass of dirty water. What Pinkamena hated the most about this routine was the stupid laugh he would always sound off when he slid her the filthy glass. After downing the dose, she would be sent back to work bitterly, back into the cold and out of his heated office.

Pinkamena held her eye tighter, trying to stop the steady bleeding. She crumbled to her knees and began to weep, like she often did at night.

In the midst of a brief memory about Ariel, the voice rang out in her brain.

“Owey! Owey!” It mocked. “Having fun Pinkie? I’ll bet it won’t be long before your blood freezes and you die out here, so I can finally escape.”

Pinkamena’s eyes widened into saucers. She threw her head back and screamed.

No. Please. PLEASE. I can’t bear a single second! PLEASE!

Pinkamena forgot about the cut in her eye and ran toward the small building at the end of the field, which was right on the edge of the Everfree Forest.

As she ran the voice continued laughing. It was like nails being hammered into her heart, head and ears all at once. It echoed in her mind and soon turned into the cackle of crows that were no doubt straight from hell.

Oh, make it stop. Dear God, please make it all stop!

Pinkamena burst in through the door the second she made it and dashed through the lobby, trying to drown out the voice’s hate.

“That’s you, Pinkie. Always running from something.” It cackled.

Pinkamena burst through the doors to Kanker’s office. Kanker, who was enjoying a cigar at the moment, sprang up in surprise.

“Fucking hell! What the fuck do you want, Pinkamena!?” He yelled back in retaliation.

Pinkamena got on her knees and crawled up to the desk.

“Please, Kanker! I need my medicine! Please! Please just skip the routine. I need it right now! She begged.

Kanker hadn’t seen her that desperate in some time. An repulsive idea went off in his evil head.

“Sorry, Pinkamena. I can’t give it to ya unless you’ve been a good girl today.” He said snidely.

Tears gathering in her vision, she bowed down ever further, clasping her two hooves together and shaking them at him.

“Kanker. Please. PLEASE. I’ll do anything!”

Kanker knew she would have said that. He added to the cliché.

“Anything?” He said smoothly.

He put his hoof to his chin and put on the fakest thinking cap Pinkamena had ever seen. His sarcasm made things all the worse. She couldn’t wait another second. She thought she would go mad if she already hadn’t.

“Well…” Kanker finally decided. “There is one thing you could do.”

“Kanker, I said I’ll do anything! That means anything! I just need my medicine, please, Kanker!” She pleaded.

“Oh alright then.” Kanker said with a grin growing on his awful mug.

Then he said it.

“Suck my cock.”

Kanker

What little of the sun that was shining on that dull and grey day was now setting and Pinkamena was very tired from her work. Her shoulders ached and her stomach was growling with pain. Cherry had gone home to his wife, whom no doubt loved him very much, and Brolly had snuck out to his cabin about an hour early, leaving Pinkamena with the rest of the work.

The snow was nipping at her ankles yet again, and her teeth were chattering uncontrollably. Her flat mane was being blown around by the weak gusts, tangling it in some places. She could no longer feel her grip on the pickaxe, for her hooves had gone numb from the wind.

There was one rock left to be broken for that day. The thought of her shed’s quirky (but still functional) heater keeping her warm through the night made her feel a fair amount of confidence. She stood up, raised her pickaxe, and hammered it down. The rock shattered into a few pieces. No gems. She was grateful that she wouldn’t have to also make a trip to the mine cart.

A dismal shred of relief showed itself in Pinkamena’s heart and face. She grabbed the pickaxe with her mouth and began toward the busted wooden shed about three acres away.

Knock, knock.

Pinkamena stopped. Her blood ran cold. The hope was then trampled instantly by a tidal wave of fear. The voice was back. Her dose had worn off earlier than usual.

You’re losing your upper hoof, Pinkie. Maybe I’ll cut it off when I get out.

“No!” She shouted to the invisible evil.

Never did she bother her boss this late in the day and after the incident earlier in her shift, she didn’t want to see him at all for a good while. But he was the only one with her medicine, and there was no way she would brave the night, let alone another second with the voice breaking her down.

Pinkamena turned around and galloped toward Kanker’s office.

Brolly made you work late. You’d be asleep and away from me if you’d had just stopped him in his tracks, Pinkie. It said.

“Shut up!” She screamed to nothing. “Why won’t you leave me alone!?”

Brolly is lazy. Nobody likes him either. You should kill him, Pinkie.

Tears streamed from her eyes, yelling into the open field.

“Why do you hate me!? What did I do to you? Why!?”

You never listen to me, you stupid little bitch. NEVER. How come it’s so fucking hard for you to listen to me? What is so difficult about picking up a rock and beating somepony’s head in? What is so fucking hard? You’re around rocks all the time, Pinkie.

“No!” She bellowed. “No, NO, NO.”

Pinkamena burst in through the doors and dashed through the lobby for a second time that day. She kicked open the doors to Kanker’s office. Kanker was in his chair, eating from a bowl of cashews when he turned around to see his employee burst in.

“Whoa! What the fuck, Pinkamena?” He exclaimed loudly. His mouth had been full of cashews, so he had spit out quite a few chunks whenever he talked.

Pinkamena was breathing heavily. Her heart pounded in her chest, making the voice louder and quieter with every beat. Pinkamena dropped her pickaxe from her mouth and got on her knees.

“Kanker, I need more medicine! Please, just give it to me this once! I’ll pay you back somehow in the morning! I just want everything to be over!” Pinkamena beseeched.

For a moment, Kanker stopped chewing. Then, his trademark smirk spread ear-to-ear

“Hey, slow down, baby.” He smiled. “I’ve decided that from now on, if you want me to give it to you, you have to give it to me.”

Pinkamena was appalled. This very sentence said to her gave her a brief moment to think for herself. All was silent and all was blank. She looked at Kanker hard and saw him for what he really was.

Kanker was no boss. Kanker was no provider. He was a disgusting slob. A loser. Kanker had put on just enough weight to muscle out anyone who opposed him and that was his only form of authority. Kanker was socially disabled and he got what he wanted without any regard for anything. He was a lot like Pinkamena’s father. If Pinkie could reduce her father to cowardliness, she could just as easily try with Kanker.

The voice picked up on her confidence.

Finally standing up, eh? About time you did something else but waste matter.

Trying her best to ignore it, she got off her knees and glared at Kanker. Confusion riddled his face as his employee slammed her forelegs on his desk.

“Hey! What the big fuckin’ idea?”

Pinkamena grabbed his tie and pulled him up to her face. She scowled at him as hard as she could.

“No more of this, Kanker.” She said through her teeth. “I need that medicine.”

Kanker stared into her eyes, surprised at how quickly she had shifted.

“You’re going to give it to me, right now.”

Kanker just as quickly returned the stare and raised his hoof.

“Get the fuck off me, you stupid bitch!” He yelled before slamming right into her nose.

Pinkamena didn’t even realize it had happened until she was about halfway to the ground. She smacked onto the carpet and laid on her side, clutching her nose.

She screamed in pain.

Kanker got up from his chair and kicked her firmly in the stomach.

“Shut up!” He roared.

The kick had planted right into her gut and made her vomit. She hadn’t eaten much in a while, so most of it was stomach acid, burning her throat horribly. It went all over Kanker’s hind legs as he stood over her.

“Son of a bitch! You blew chunks all over me, numb cunt!” He yelled, kicking again.

Pinkamena let out a weak but audible ‘Oof’ as the hoof connected this time with her ribcage. Kanker took a moment to breathe heavily. He crouched down and grabbed Pinkamena’s head so that she was looking into his eyes now.

“I said listen earlier today, don’t you remember?” He asked calmly. “Don’t you EVER touch me again. I am your fucking GOD! I decide what happens around this shit-hole alright?!?!”

Pinkamena couldn’t breathe. The kick had knocked the wind out of her. She struggled to get more that a small breath in without having to instantly let it out.

Well done, Pinkie. The voice mocked, being accompanied by an echoing round of applause.

Pinkamena was lower than anything she could think of. Bravery was worth nothing on her part. She was a ragdoll in this world and everyone she ever met was a rambunctious child with an undying rage that sought to throw her around and abuse her.

Kanker dropped her, stood up and chuckled lightly. He walked over to his desk and took out Pinkamena’s medication.

“You want this?” He teased.

Pinkamena could do nothing but watch as he walked to the sink in the corner of the room, holding her pills with his magic.

“Please. No.” She mustered.

Kanker opened the lid to the bottle and turned it upside down. The pills fell from the bottle in a miniature shower and down the sink’s drain. All of her medicine was gone forever.

She was trapped with the voice for good.

“Ahhhh….” Kanker faked disappointment. “Oops.” He said, his smirk reclaiming it’s place on his ghastly face.

Kanker tossed the empty bottle at Pinkamena, landing on her face, making her flinch. She was in disbelief, praying that she hadn’t seen it properly. Tears fell from her eyes without consent, knowing she was to be forever tortured by a force she couldn’t run from.

You fool. Scolded the voice. Now you’ll have nothing to do but listen to me all day.

Unbridled misery flooded her. She couldn’t foresee the next day. Things were never going to be good or happy again. There was nothing left to hope for.

You should have listened to me before. Why don’t you ever listen to me?

“Go away. Please god, go away.” She whispered.

Kanker cocked his head, thinking she was talking to him.

“What?”

She didn’t care about Kanker. She didn’t care who heard her talking to the voice. It didn’t even matter anymore. Why would it matter now what she said out loud? When did it ever matter? Nobody loved or cared about her.

I’m never going away, Pinkie. I have some things to say and I want you to hear them.

“You’ve said enough. You’ve said plenty throughout my whole terrible life.” Pinkamena sniffled.

Kill your boss, Pinkamena. You know you can do it. What is stopping you?

Pinkamena had a thought. She no longer had anything to loose. She hadn’t been paid once the whole time she had been at the job. This whole time she had been working for her medicine. Now it was gone.

There was nothing left for Pinkamena. She had absolutely nothing to lose.

“I have no idea what you’re dibbling about.” Kanker started. “But you ain’t got no more pills, kid.”

Kanker chuckled one more time.

“There goes your fix.” He finished.

Pinkamena snapped.

Suddenly, she was angry. She was the angriest she had ever been in her entire life. She was angrier than she had been with her father on the day she left home. No. This was five hundred thousand times angrier. She was positively livid.

She started breathing heavily and she gritted her teeth. The fury boiled in her belly like a cauldron’s brew. The wrath of a million war gods empowered her being as she got up from the ground and onto her hind legs.

Kanker’s smirk melted into an unsure frown and his eyebrows rose, a bit scared by the sudden change.

Pinkamena spotted the pickaxe she had drug in. She walked over to it, picked it up, and gripped it in both hooves. She turned toward Kanker and glared at him, a lot harder this time.

“Fix?” She said to him.

“FIX!?!?” She screamed.

“I’LL GIVE YOU A FUCKING FIX!!!!”

Pinkamena let out a war cry as she ran toward Kanker at full speed on her hind legs.

Kanker had less than enough time to react before Pinkamena had reached him. He was frozen by the utter shock and confusion that had jolted through him in the few moments it took for his employee to dart up to where he stood.

Pinkamena stopped in front of him for no more than a smidge of an instant.

Then she smiled, raised her pickaxe, and hammered it down.

The pick burrowed downward about ten inches into Kanker’s neck.  It slashed his jugular vein, ripped through the muscle, and punctured one of his lungs.

Kanker felt every last nanometer of the length of rusty metal in his neck. It was very, very cold. The pain was blinding. It deeply throbbed and it was as if his shoulder was melting.

His tiny mouth let out what he could of the longest, loudest, most primal noise that had ever exited his body. His mind melted like his shoulder as whatever intelligence he had recycled itself back into nothing but pure instinct. The scream continued for too long.

The anger raged on in Pinkamena. She was not satisfied. Not at all.

Pinkamena regained her grip on the pick’s handle, and lifted it out of Kanker with ease.

The pick’s rusty texture further damaged the tissue as it exited. It felt like everything in him was being pulled out along with it like some morbid fishing hook that snagged his insides.

A petite fountain of blood flowed out of his neck and some of it splashed on Pinkamena’s face.

Pinkamena raised the pickaxe once again, and hammered it down with a grunt.

For Kanker, this happened in slow-motion. His eyes flew around the room. At last, they focused on one thing.

The very last thing that Kanker ever saw was Pinkamena’s cutie mark.

It was then that the pick plunged right into his eye socket and partially through the back of his skull. Kanker died instantly. The eye that had not been pulverized by the pick slowly rolled upward and into his head. His limbs grew limp.

Pinkamena dropped the pickaxe, now breathing slowly. Kanker’s body went down with the pickaxe, seeing that they were now one in a sense. He laid there on the ground, eyes rolled back, blood still flowing from his neck and now oozing black from his eye. Pinkamena only stared.

She had done it. She had finally fought back and taken control of her life. She had graduated from the ragdoll’s position. She was free.

Kanker was dead. She had killed him.

Suddenly, Pinkamena did nothing but smile.

She felt good. Oh so very good. Ecstasy filled her to the brim. Oh joy, oh rapture. Nothing had felt so good on earth. Vengeance was not but the tip of the iceberg. The sight of such a brutality and such a horrid fate for such a horrid soul made her brilliant with glee.

She had never felt joy like that before. It felt so good that she wanted to just keep smiling forever.

And in this joy, she noticed one other thing.

The voice had stopped.

Dashclad

Quite a ways away, somewhere far off in the general direction of Sky Mirror Lake, Dashclad was out on the top of her clan’s mountain with her two remaining friends, Ziccaine and Yakko.

Yakko, having some good connections in the clan, had brought with him a large bag of marijuana and just enough acid for the three of them. Yakko had also brought just enough blow to reward himself for being so generous to his friends.

It was about an hour after her first joint that Dashclad started to come down. Usually her high would last a bit longer but she guessed that things happen quicker when you get older. She and Yakko were always the closest in the gang, and Ziccaine had definitely become a better friend to both of them after he stopped hiding in the shadows when Quexel got killed.

Quexel was the head of the gang right up until the day that Dashclad decided it would be funny to hide his stash of porn. After pulling his gun on her and giving out a couple of knuckle sandwiches, Dash kicked him back a little too hard. Quexel had gone careening over the edge of the peak and got impaled on the rocks below. It was Ziccaine’s idea to tell everyone that he had accidentally fallen while showing off.  They didn’t ever mention him again after that and pretty soon they forgot him altogether.

Dashclad looked away from the sky that had now gone back to a gloomy grey instead of a wonderful white. Her head cleared and her eyes un-constricted themselves. She turned over her shoulder to look at Yakko, lying down on the rock opposite to her next to Ziccaine.

“Hey, Yakko.  I’m going low over here, give me another joint.” She called lethargically.

Yakko turned his head back as well. His eyes were bloodshot and his eyelids sagged.

“Chill out, Dash. We’re outta pot, but I still got the snowballs.” He said, waving the three small rips of paper.

“No, you chill out.” She retorted. “How much longer before you come down?”

“Not too much longer, just enjoy the colors, man.”

Ziccaine sprung up from the rock and spit out his smoke.

“Oh shit!” He stressed. “It’s Mizmahl!”

Dashclad shot up much faster than he had.

“What!?”

Yakko took the joint from his mouth and tossed it over the ledge, but not without uttering a stifled ‘Shit!’ to express his worry.

The three put on fake smiles and turned toward the path that led to their hangout, waiting for their Clan’s Head.

A couple of seconds later, a tall and very muscular Diamond Dog walked onto the peak with a stern look toward Dash and her gang. He continued forward and stopped when he was towering above the three obviously intimidated clan members.

“Oh… hey, Mizmahl.” Yakko started. “We were just up here playing some cards, when you walk i-“

“Shut up.” The tall hound interrupted.

Yakko was silent.

Mizmahl sniffed the air and glared at them.

“When are you bums gonna stop getting high all day and fucking mine something?”

“What do you want, Mizmahl?” Dash boldly asked.

“We’ve got some business, Dashclad. Get off your stoned ass and follow me, kid.”

Ziccaine whooped loudly to tease Dashclad before getting whacked upside his head with her hoof.

“Shut the fuck up, Zikky!” She yelled at him.

“She’s not in trouble, dipshits.” Mizmahl said to her friends angrily. “All I said was that we’ve got some business to take care of.”

The Clan’s leader turned around and motioned Dash to follow him. She got up off the stone slab and flapped her wings twice to lift off the ground. She hovered toward him and followed him all the way down the Cliffside.

When they reached the bottom, she started to get a headache. She grabbed her temples and rubbed them hard.

“Does baby have headache?” Mizmahl mocked. “Knock that shit off.”

Dashclad grinded her teeth at him behind his back.

They headed toward the entrance of the clan’s caves. When they went right past them, Dash did a double take.

“Hey, I thought we had business.”

“We do.” He assured without turning around.

“Then where the hell are we going?”

“Stop asking stupid questions. Just follow me.”

Figuring she was already in trouble about something with him, she decided shutting up would be a good idea to get on his good side. So she followed him away from the caves and into the forest next to the quarry.

About ten minutes later, they came to a clearing. Mizmahl stopped and motioned for her to do the same. Dashclad closed her wings and planted her feet on the ground. She looked at her surroundings, confused. Mizmahl  did not turn around.

“Hey, what exactly are we doing out here?” She asked.

“I said stop asking stupid questions, moron.” He replied, still turned around.

He appeared to be looking at the tops of the trees at the end of the clearing.

After a pause, he spoke.

“You know, kid. You’ve done a lot of shit that’s pissed me off.”

Dash knew that talking at this point would do her no good.

“But you’ve always been part of the clan since you were a little baby pony. It’s like you’re actually one of us.”

Dash saw him put his hand into the pocket in his jacket.

Everything was silent for a bit or two.

When Mizmahl finally turned his head, he was smirking. It made Dash feel uneasy. She was beyond confused about whatever he had brought her out there for.

“I ever tell you why we took you away from them ponies?” He asked in a strangely friendly tone.

Dash had never heard his voice sound like that. She didn’t like it.

“Yea.” She said back, trying her best to keep everything brief.

“No, kid. I mean the real story.”

Dash waited to see if he was serious or not. Then she laughed out loud.

“Real story. That’s pretty funny, Mizmahl.” She chuckled.

Mizmahl was dead serious. “I’m not fucking with you, kid.”

Dashclad’s laughing stopped immediately. Her smile melted and she tilted her head in muddle.

“What?” She frowned. “What the fuck is a real story to you?”

“The one where I tell ya how them ponies we stole ya from weren’t no bad guys!” He snapped at her.

Dash’s jaw dropped open.

“But you said that they would have raised me to kill! They would have made me baby-killers! I remember you saying that!” She defended suddenly.

“And you fucking believed me!?” He asked, feigning shock.

He threw back his head let out a loud chuckle.

“Ponies ain’t no baby-killers!” He revealed. “Some old fuck told us to kidnap you all those years back. He said something about the future. He was off his fuckin’ rocker but he gave us the most gems we’d ever seen. So we done found your mother and took ya from her.”

Dash stammered. She was baffled. She couldn’t believe one word she was hearing.

“That’s not true! Shut up!” She screamed in retort.

“And you remember!? I was fucking there, kid. I remember what happened.” Mizmahl shouted.

“You’re lying! Ponies are evil!”

Mizmahl chuckled again.

“Right!” He smiled. “Just like your mommy who done got herself killed trying to save your little life, right?”

Dashclad gasped. She had been wrong. Her life and everything she knew about herself was a lie that she blindly believed. Tears gathered in her eyes and she bore her teeth.

“Why!?!” She bellowed filled with rage. “How could you kill her, you rat fuck!?”

“She sure was pretty. I might have raped her too if the authorities hadn’t have been after us. Don’t worry, I only shot her twice before killing her.” He spoke. “Stupid bitch probably didn’t feel too much pain. But then again, she’s a namby-pamby pony.”

“YOU SHUT UP!!!” Dashclad roared.

“Now about that.” He said back calmly. “That’s exactly why I brought you out here.”

Mizmahl grinned as he pulled his hands out of his jacket pocket, now holding the biggest revolver Dashclad had ever seen. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw the barrel rise and watched her clan’s leader point it at her head.

She started to hyperventilate, frozen in her tracks.

“It’s about time I shut you up, kid.” He beamed. “I kept you around to see if you’d provide, or maybe even help us get the drop on those pony folk someday.”

Mizmahl pulled the hammer back.

“Guess I wasted a good twenty years or something, huh?”

Something deep down that was unexplainable jumped out of Dash’s sub-conscious and made her leap at Mizmahl

just in the nick of time.

Dash’s forelegs collided with his arm and forced it sideways as he pulled the trigger. The shot rang out through the hills, sending the bullet off somewhere else.

Mizmahl grunted and tried to swing his arm back at the Pegasus’s head, but was instead met with the full force of her hind legs’ kick. His forearm shattered like a glass plate as he howled in pain.

He fell to the ground, dropping his revolver, giving the cyan pegasus just enough time to snap back into her mind.

Almost instantly, she started up her wings and took off into the west as fast as she could.

She looked back only once at the mountain she had spent her whole life on. She looked back at the mountain where she lived a lie, hating her own kind for no good reason. She shed a tear, and then looked toward the horizon. Whatever was on the other side was where she would start over.

And by some morbid destiny, just quite a ways away, was Ponyville.

The Everwhite

The crimson trail led out the office’s door, through the lobby, down the steps, through the snow, and toward the forest. Kanker wasn’t that heavy. Pinkamena would definitely be able to drag him all the way to where she planned to put him.

He had started to go a bit pale. His mouth was hanging open and the black was still oozing from his eye socket. It was flowing when she ripped the pickaxe out of his skull, but now it was only oozing again like she hadn’t taken it out at all.

She knew that she would never go back to the fields, but where she would go after that wasn’t what she was trying to focus on. What was really important at the moment was how she would make sure that nobody would find out that she was the culprit; the one who made the world just a little bit better. In the few years that she knew Kanker, she never heard from or of anybody related to him. Beyond that, she found it pretty hard to imagine somebody caring about him in the first place. She had the feeling that somebody would only file a missing pony report if somebody cared. But the trail of blood she left would definitely scare someone, and that is what would certainly start the search if there truly was nobody who cared about the bastard.

She could cover the tracks, but going back at all was a risk. She would do that when it got too dark to see. But for now, she just dragged the bloody corpse through the final stretch of the fields.

When she had made it into the trees, the snow on the ground had gotten significantly lighter. Her footing was easier now and it sped her up quite a bit.

This part of the Everfree forest was practically an entirely different biome. Tropical plants were replaced with pine, evergreens, and cedar trees, with the understory consumed by green shrubs powdered with fresh snowflakes. It had come to be because of the wind carrying seeds and pollen over from the Whitetail Wood, not too far from where it landed. Because of this, this neck of the woods was often uncreatively called ‘Everwhite Forest’, or sometimes ‘The Barrens’ by local children.

Pinkamena dragged her boss’ body another quarter-mile into the brush and took a break. She sat down on a fallen trunk and looked up at the sky, which she found to be mostly hidden from the trees. She looked back at her boss and though about how not even an hour before had she started a new life.

She was not even an hour into her new life. So, since she figured that then would be best, she looked back on everything that had happened to her. She sat there and remembered everything.

Her father’s harsh words came back to mind. His ‘lessons’ had also swum to the surface. Both the words and

harm done, looking to hurt from all the way back in the distant past. Those had stuck the most out of anything.

Why couldn’t you be a good daughter like Lilly? You never ceased to disappoint me, Pinkamena. His voice was so calm. You might have fared better if you hadn’t got that brain sick.

She looked back at her boss and saw him as he was.

He was nothing more than her father in disguise. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. The snake in the grass that is so warm at

first it melts one’s just skepticism and molds it into a trust that will so easily be betrayed. The wrecking ball that can only be avoided by latching onto and not letting go no matter how hard it swings.

Pinkamena was angry again. She exploded with the rage that had only just cooled. She jumped off the stump and charged at the body.

She kicked it in the mouth with a loud grunt. It jarred and flew onto its side with a crack. The jaw had snapped shut so quickly that Kanker’s tongue was severed. The kick had also dislocated the jaw and chipped several teeth. Fresh blood seeped through his teeth and onto the forest floor.

Pinkamena kicked it again, this time harder.

The body shook again and skidded a couple of inches away. This time it had broken a rib and once again punctured his lung.

Ariel was a lot like you. All work and no play. Her father’s words echoed.

She kicked again.

She was annoying too, did I ever mention?

She realized that her kicks did nothing but bring more and more back. Her power diminished quickly and the rage sunk

lower, converting it into wretched despair. Her whole body shook with an unprovoked fear and she fell to her knees once more.

She found that she couldn’t hold back tears, and soon enough, she was crying for the millionth time that day.

Her sobs were loud, but not a single creature heard or cared. It seemed that things had always been this way, even in her new life; the one she had started not even an hour ago.

Nothing was worth it anymore. The rush and joy that had run through her was no longer worth it. It had been in the past, and it likely would never happen again. She had made a visit to the better times, when Ariel and her had played at the brook. Those feelings had gone as quickly as they had come and the visit was now over.

She couldn’t stop. The sniffs and cries were not controlled. She let them drain out of her with nothing but the terrible past in mind. Pinkamena cried on the cold ground until it had gotten dark.

But as she was crying into the night, something else surfaced.

Around some pit stop her train of thought had taken, she remembered the feeling she had gotten when she first entered Ponyville.

It was a peculiar sensation that was mysterious and uncertain, but all the same warm and welcoming. It was her new life. The feeling that she was free of everything she had left behind. Nothing mattered anymore. The world was her oyster. Everything was as open as it was before she had been stupid enough to accept the job that dragged her back down for four years.

With this sensation in her memories, she wondered what it was like for others more fortunate than her. She wondered if this sensation was unique to her, or if it was something that everyone felt at one time or another.

Pinkamena stopped crying. Though there was still sorrow lurking in her mind, she embraced this mysterious and uncertain feeling and it warmed her.

She stood up and picked up the pieces of her broken confidence. She sewed them back together using her will as a needle and this feeling as thread.

The sadness subdued and she knew it would return. But in that moment she discovered that the good moments are the ones to be ceased and the bad are to be learned from.

Her time was wasted mourning over the past. Never before did she see it that the past was called the past for a reason.

Pinkamena leaned over and grabbed Kanker’s arm. She had business to attend to.

She dragged him further into the wood and eventually to the edge of a ravine. Not using too much muscle, she lifted him over her head. She got one last good look at his disgusting mug in the moonlight before tossing him over the edge like

a rock.

His body resisted the wind and tumbled through the air as it fell to the bottom of the chasm. It kind of looked like he was cartwheeling. The night’s dull light made him harder to see the further he fell. Eventually, he simply faded away into the fog and snowfall.

Many seconds later, maybe even half of an entire minute, Pinkamena heard a soft, but unquestionably definite splatter.

At this, she smiled, and forever left the cliff behind along with Kanker.

Not too much further into the night, maybe two hours or so, Pinkamena had traveled well into the woods and away from town. She wasn’t far enough in to have left the Everwhite, but it certainly was far in.

With her newfound confidence, she had started thinking about where she would go next. Ponyville wasn’t a likely choice, but it was still possible. When she could go back, she had no idea.

While these thoughts bounced around in her head, her eyes caught a dim light.

Pinkamena turned her head and squinted to see whatever it was that was illuminating the night sky.

No more than a couple hundred feet away was an orange light bulb hiding behind the dirty glass of a lamp post next to a darkwood cottage.

Knowing without any thoughts at all that shelter was much better than having numb hooves in the snow any longer, she started sprinting toward the establishment.

Getting closer, she noticed that the cottage had a small one lane road leading up to it. Looking down, she saw that it lead directly into the faintly brightened sleeping town not so far away. Also near the lamp post was a mail box positively stuffed with unread letters and notices. On the side it read the initials ‘C.D.D.’.

When she arrived at the door, she looked into the small windows on the sides to see that the house was abandoned and empty.

Pinkamena tried the door, only to find out that it was locked. This little dead end was easily rebounded by checking under the doormat and finding a small silver key that fit right into the lock. She turned it and pushed inward, sliding the wooden door open with a loud creak.

She peered into the empty structure and saw that it was indeed abandoned, not counting the spiders and possible rats.

Pinkamena smiled again, looking into the cottage and seeing that it had equal potential to hers.

She walked in and shut the door behind her.

Not even five minutes passed and she already adored her new home.

R

Traveling south in Ponyville would lead one to the downtown. While it wasn’t quite what other ‘downtowns’ were in size, it still housed all of the taboos.

At the intersection of Libman Lane and Hoofhill there was a block known as Pleasure Island. On it, there were six buildings; a smoke shop, an indoor arena, two convenience stores, a gentleman’s club, and a bar.

The bar; Mel’s Saloon, was named after the owner and bartender, Melvin Lowe. Despite the block’s reputation with the local police department and the townsfolk in general, Melvin was able to maintain a clean, enjoyable environment.

Nearly all patrons were regulars, always enjoying themselves and the presence of their friends, also regulars. Having run the bar for several years, Melvin was also happy along with them.

Out of all the patrons however, there were three that he identified with on close personal levels. These patrons were none other than Berry Punch, Lyra Heartstrings, and Rarity Germane.

Berry had been one of his first customers and stayed one through thick and thin, including a pregnancy.

Lyra had been close friends with Melvin since his childhood and had also supported the bar since it opened.

Rarity, who never pursued her career in fashion design and instead became a civil engineer, had also been friends with Melvin since his youth.

This particular night, it was snowing outside and the cobblestone roads were veiled by a powdery white blanket. It had been a few days after a search for a missing field manager had been initiated that Lyra and Berry were sitting at the bar, having a dispute as Melvin watched.

“It’s not safe for her! You need to pay more attention to your daughter! Your sister can’t always do the work!” Lyra shouted at her ruby-wine colored adversary.

Several empty shot glasses scattered around her, Berry sat in her stool with her head on the bar, quite drunk.

“I love my little princess! Don’t you tell me what to do with her!” She shambled in retort. “Why don’t you take care of your own kid?”

Berry hiccupped.

“Oh wait!” She sarcastically realized. “You can’t! Queer!”

After saying this, Berry mumbled an unstoppable flow of sloppy laughs.

Lyra glared.

“At least I have somepony to hold. It’s not like I go fucking every guy I meet in Manehattan and get knocked up!”

Berry lifted her head up with a gasp.

“Fuck you!” She squawked with one of her eyelids sagging. “Don’t you dare talk about my princess that way, queer!”

Melvin had gotten bored of the routine.

“Alright, you two! Knock that shit off! We’re all friends here.” He mentioned, pushing the two apart.

Berry glanced up from her make-believe pillow.

“Shut up, Melvin. Lyra and Me hate each other’s guts, and you know it.”

Melvin frowned sternly.

“Can’t you two at least try?”

“You know I do, Mel.” Lyra assured, looking at him.

“Yea, you’re good, but you really should stay away from those kinda subjects with her. You know how she gets.”

“Subjects!?” Berry shouted upward. “There are no subjects, ‘cause there’s nothing wrong, queer!” She ranted. “I don’t have todoanythingabouthoweyeshhesafirmatreemarta………..”

Berry’s words started mixing together, and her mind simply stopped caring about the conflict as her head slammed back down and blacked out.

Lyra shook her head disapprovingly.

It was then that the clock struck and the doors burst open as if on cue. In walked a white unicorn mare with jagged violet hair mostly covered by a hardhat. She stopped, took off her fur coat, placed it on the rack by the door, and waved to all the patrons shouting; “R is back! Anypony miss me?” To which everyone happily replied; “Oh, just Everypony!” after which they broke out into a round of enthusiastic laughter as she finished her way to the bar and sat down on her usual stool.

She grinned widely, looked Melvin in the eye, and said; “The usual, Mel.”

Melvin smiled back, reaching under the bar. “Scotch, single malt, no ice. Just like always, eh?”

“Fuck yea.” She replied. “Especially after today’s job.”

“What’ve they got going on for the crew now, R?” He asked.

“They’re making us take over that shithole gem farm uptown.”

Lyra put her beer down and turned to Rarity, intrigued. “Wait a second. You mean the one that had the manager go missing?”

“Well what other gem farm could I be talking about, Darling?”

“Jiminy.” Melvin gawked, pouring Rarity’s drink. “What do you guys think happened to that Kanker guy?”

“They said there were blood stains in his office, so my bet is that he got snuffed.” Rarity replied.

“Serves him right, ya know.” Lyra added. “I heard he was a real bastard.”

“You know, I think the guy came in here once.” Melvin mentioned.

The two turned to him, surprised.

“Yea, I’m almost positive he did. Big bulky motherfucker. Ordered some pussy shit like light beer or something.”

Melvin chuckled loudly.

“I tell ya, this guy was heavy as all hell, but he sure was lightweight if ya catch my drift.” He said chuckling again.

“He couldn’t be as lightweight as Bonbon.” Rarity teased.

“Screw you.” Lyra smiled, elbowing Rarity playfully. “She can hold plenty.”

“Anypony can hold ‘plenty’, darling. It just depends on how well you do it.”

“Whatever.”

“Anyhow, here’s your drink, ya crazy broad.” Melvin finished, sliding her drink over to her.

Melvin had known Rarity long enough to know that she drank all of her liquor from a regular glass, no matter how hard or straight it was. Rarity took a large swig of the beverage and let out a loud sigh when she finished.

She took off her hard hat, revealing her un-brushed and untamed mane. She placed it in front of her and turned to Lyra, putting her left elbow on the bar.

“Speaking of your girlfriend being drunk-“

“Oh, shut up.” Lyra interrupted lightheartedly.

“You remember the time she told us about all those naughty things you two did on Nightmare Night?” She immediately continued.

“Hey!” Lyra’s voice quieted so that no other patrons would hear. “Don’t bring that up here.”

“You know what I never got?” Rarity ignored. “What is it that’s so great about being gay?”

“What do you mean, R? You starting something?” Lyra suddenly scowled.

“No, no!” Rarity assured, surprised. “I’m just confused at why you like mares when there’s nothing like getting pounded by a big, brute, stallion.” She said with sensuality in her voice and eyes.

Melvin quickly became uncomfortable.

“Hey, could you knock that off? The last thing I want is to picture is you all bent over with some huge bastard humping you.”

“Oh fine.” Rarity pouted. “You’re just jealous, Melly.”

“Yea, I think I’d rather pump a watermelon.” He sneered.

“Oh fuck you.” She teased, puckering her lips. “I bet you’d take that back if you weren’t married.”

Melvin smirked.

“You know, on second thought, I think I’ll still take the watermelon over my wife.”

Lyra spit out her drink and guffawed, pounding her hoof on the table. Both Rarity and Mel joined in. Even Berry’s subconscious forced her to giggle a bit in her daze.

Second Arrival

Ponyville was still Ponyville, and Dashclad had still ended up there by destiny’s guide. Having spent the last three days making her way over and sleeping in empty caves at nights, she finally touched down just inside the city’s town square. Around her were many ponies just minding their business, selling, buying, and some trading.

She had expected to be noticed immediately, but not a single head turned when she had descended from the sky and landed her hooves on the cobblestone. It was as if it was completely normal for someone to just fall out of the sky.

Literally having never left the hive’s territory, there were so many things in this new place she had never laid eyes on. She looked just past one of the caravans to see a small rounded hill made of wood and topped with straw. Upon closer inspection, she could see there were holes in its sides made from glass and through it; she could see a pony sitting in a chair, reading a book.

Unfortunately, Dashclad hadn’t the slightest clue what a book was, and she certainly didn’t know that those wooden hills were houses.

Overrun with confusion and a weak fear, she looked in the opposite direction to see a large tree in the distance. It also was decorated with the glass holes and it had a rectangle at the base. This was the one object she recognized; a door. However, she had only seen them made of metal in the underground society. This one was wooden.

Why are these things so obsessed with wood? She thought to herself.

Looking back in the direction of the cottage she still didn’t understand, she noticed another pony was staring at her.

Out of all the things she thought would fill her the first time she met another of her kind, she did not picture it would be panic. It was too sudden and almost rabid.

Oh shit. Oh no! She thought.

The pony now appeared to smile widely and started trotting over to her.

No! What if I say something stupid? What if it doesn’t even speak my language!? Her mind raced. Oh no! Oh shit! What if they find out who I am!? Oh god! What if they hang me!?

The pony drew closer, still smiling.

What if these guys are savages? What if I chose the wrong town!?! I bet they’d love to see a diamond dog swing from her neck! OH GOD NO!!!

In her panic, she started backing up.

*CRASH*

“Hey! Watch it! You tipped my cart!” Yelled someone angrily.

Dashclad cleared the stars she was seeing by shaking her head. An angry, but upside-down pony glared at her from above. She then noticed she was on the ground and looking up. Around her, were daisies scattered all about. She scrambled to her feet and put on an awkward grin.

“Oh, uh…I’m sorry, pony.” She said, backing away again.

The angry pony titled her head, muddled by the strangeness of Dashclad’s clumsy sentence.

Backing up again, she bumped into something a little softer that didn’t tip over. Instead, it made an ‘oof’ noise that sounded not stressed, but prepared.

Startled, she whirled around to see it was the pony that had been approaching her earlier. She let out a stifled yelp, surprised.

The pony was a pegasus. She had a grey coat and long blonde hair. Her eyes were just slightly crooked, but not erratically so. She was smiling very widely.

“Hi!” She greeted warmly.

Dashclad didn’t know what exactly to say. She looked frantically about at all of the things in the square again, all of the wood and cobblestone surrounded by brightly colored creatures just like her. She worried then that she would never understand how these things worked and become an outcast, not welcome anywhere. It was a quiet but strong panic mixed finely with dull fear. It was culture shock.

Dashclad’s eyebrows tensed, making her appear afraid. Without thinking, she sunk her head down as if she were cowering. Her mouth trembled open, trying to think of a response on its own.

“I-….uh…I-i….” she managed.

The pegasus didn’t pick up on this and only continued smiling.

“I’ve never seen you around, you must be new!”

She was new, and knowing this horrified her.

“I-I…I…” She repeated.

“My friends call me Derpy!” She beamed, placing her hoof on her chest. “Welcome to Ponyville, friend! You’re safe here!”

At this, something in Dashclad softened the panic enough so that she looked around her and took a moment to think.

She noticed that nobody was really frowning. The sun was shining and the plants surrounding, planted and natural, were as green as can be. What appeared to be friends were talking with visible smiles and hardly audible laughs and giggles. There were no guards with spears or guns. Everyone appeared to be living life in peace. She hadn’t been there for five minutes and the pony she had never met had called her ‘friend’. She got the feeling like everything was right with the world; something she had never felt herself before. All the lies fed to her about her own kin really had no reason to be fabricated. In nothing more than those brief moments, had she decided that there was nothing to hate about her race.

The panic faded. Her brow relaxed and lifted. She raised her head and looked around for another bit and then back at the pegasus. She was still smiling.

In return, Dashclad spread a smile of her own.

“Thanks.” She finally replied.

At this, the pegasus’s smile opened, revealing her teeth and raising her bottom eyelids.

“No problem!” The pegasus grinned back. “What’s your name?”

Dashclad’s reply was automatic; “The name’s Dashcl-“. She cut herself off.

Wait. What if these ponies know how to figure out Hound names?

This was the perfect time to change her name. In fact, it was probably the only time she could. So she thought.

“Uh…Dash. Just Dash.” She said uncreatively.

“Well, nice to meet you, Dash!” The Pegasus said back, loudly. “You want me to sh-…”

The pegasus’s eyes crossed subtly as her smile faded.

“Do you want me to sh-…Sho-…” she struggled. “Do y-you.. w-want me to shhhh….ow you around T-own?” She finally spat out.

Dash tilted her head. “Uh…What was that about?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Derpy apologized. “Sometimes I can’t say a word or even a whole s-…” She started again. “Sen-…t-t…Tense.” She appeared frustrated. “Like that.”

“Shit, that’s one bad stutter.” Dash said rudely without knowing.

Derpy didn’t mind. “Yea, it kind of is. I have 'cerebral palsy.” She pronounced carefully.

“Well, that sucks.” Dash replied sincerely. “Nice to meet you anyway, Derpy. I guess a tour around town would be nice.”

Derpy’s smile returned instantly.

“Oh boy! Where should we start?”

The pegasus wrapped her forearm around Dash’s neck, shocking her.

“Oh! I know!” She exclaimed.

Derpy then dragged Dash away from the town square and toward the library.

The tour didn’t end for the rest of the day.

The cottage was almost clean now. All of the cobwebs and such had been swept away by hoof. Pinkamena was satisfied with it now, but still felt like it was necessary to be thorough.

As she reached the end of the main hallway, she came across a closet. She hadn’t noticed it yet. She thought she had

been in every part of the house by then, but this little area had somehow slipped her activity.

Opening the door, she noticed that it wasn’t a closet, but a door that opened to a hatch in the ground. A trapdoor of sorts one might have called it.

Curious, she grabbed the black knocker attached and lifted it up.

It was a ladder, only wide enough for Pinkamena herself to hardly use.

It would be silly to just close the hatch and not look back, wouldn’t it? So Pinkamena crouched into the closet and grabbed onto the ladder, descending it carefully, knowing perfectly enough about dry-rot and how it could snap anything this old.

When she reached the bottom of the ladder, she turned around and saw a very short corridor leading to a metal door.

Once again, having gone much too far to so stupidly turn back, Pinkamena went to the door and pushed it.

Being metal, it was quite heavy and hard to budge. Putting her shoulder to work, she had the door open shortly after a very loud and rusty series of creaks and strains.

It was too dark to see what was behind the door.

“Hrmmm…” Pinkamena mused. She wouldn’t give up so easily.

Looking up, she saw a thin chain connected to a dusty light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Smiling weakly in her miniscule victory, she reached up and pulled the chain.

Luckily, it still worked and flooded the room with a dim, almost dark-red light.

Pinkamena’s jaw dropped at the enormous room below, at least fifty by sixty feet in size. It was practically a small warehouse.

The staircase in front of her was wooden and dustier than anything she had seen in the house and the floor below was solid stone. In the middle of the room was what appeared to be a steel conference table. What it had previously been used

for, Pinkamena couldn’t figure in the slightest.

She descended the steps and investigated. Trying to move the table, she failed, as it was bolted to the floor. Now actually on the ground and having a clearer view of the still dimly lit basement, she noticed that there was something mounted on the west wall in a frame. Approaching it, she saw that it was a large collection of hunting knives.

Testing this, she found it was not bolted to the wall. So she took it down and looked at the interior contents in wonder.

The knives were incredible. There were about seven of them in this frame alone. Each getting bigger the closer it got to the bottom.

The bottom knife was not really even a hunting knife Pinkamena thought. It was a carving knife, almost as long as her forearm. It looked unbelievably sharp as well as it was long.

Giles

Pinkamena gasped, frightened, and dropped the frame. The glass shattered as it hit the floor.

She thought she had heard the voice for a moment.

She frantically turned around and started darting her eyes around the room, hyperventilating.

“Hello?” She called, cold with dread.

She waited.

Minutes passed, and the only thing she had heard was a steadily dripping pipe.

She sighed.

Pinkamena came back to her senses and looked down at the shattered frame. She sneered at the broken glass. Disappointed at her clumsiness, she picked the frame back up and removed the knives.

Making sure not to cut herself, she very carefully made her way to the steel table and placed them all down ontop of it neatly.

Tired, she didn’t feel like cleaning up the broken glass right then and decided to let the frame stay on the ground until she returned.

Pinkamena climbed back up the stairs so she could resume her cleaning. She looked back down at the enormous basement and had the strangest feeling she would be using it quite often.

With that, she pulled the chain on the light bulb and re-darkened the room. Pinkamena then turned around, went out the heavy iron door, and pulled it firmly shut.

Apples

Another five or so days had past, and Pinkamena realized that no matter how much she didn’t want to, going back into town was essential.

Food was running low, as the apple tree behind the cottage had been fully harvested (though it was incredible there were apples on it in the winter to begin with) and the canned foods that Pinkamena had found in the kitchen’s cabinets had all been opened and eaten. She had no choice but to go into town and purchase food. A blanket would also have been nice to have, as opposed to balling up on the greasy old mattress upstairs and hoping she didn’t freeze to death while she slept like she did since she moved in.

So it was the next morning that she rooted through the piles of junk she stacked all together during her cleaning and found a wicker basket. Afterward, she left the house and locked it behind her, taking the key along. It would be a lot harder for somebody to just move in from now on.

She started toward Ponyville down the dirt road and noticed that it was particularly warm that morning. The snow on the ground was thin, and the dirt had been warm enough to melt it and soak it up, making the road moist and a might slippery. She looked up and around at the trees, all barren of leaves or fruits.

At one point in the road, there was a fork. Pinkamena looked down the opposite road and saw that it was only a dead end, path wise. Beyond the end of the trail was nothing but snow and the light brush it was covering that drug on until it became invisible through the fog. A weathered road sign was posted at the split and it read two directions. The first, pointing toward town, read ‘Ponyville’, while the other read ‘Swamp’, only it had been crossed over several times with red paint. Pinkamena assumed by the ideological removal of the direction, the so called ‘swamp’ had been deemed unsafe or something similar.

Moving on, she crossed a cobblestone bridge that went over a frozen stream. The stream brought back vague memories of the times she and Ariel had played by the brook near the farm. It was also the place the voice had first found her. Sending a chill down her spine as she thought about how it had made its home in her mind and followed her everywhere throughout her entire life.

Not long after that, she had simply wandered into town and started looking around the square at different caravans.

First noticing the apple stand, she thought she recognized the large red stallion manning it. It was the same one she had seen on the first day she arrived, Big McIntosh of the Apple Family. But she couldn’t know that, because she had never walked up to him that day. Instead, she had taken the offer of a lifetime. Fortunately, Kanker was dead and far way at the bottom of a chasm, and Pinkamena could do whatever she wanted now. It was the first day all over, so she decided that this time she would greet the apple stand merchant.

Trotting casually up to the stand, she looked at the stallion in the eye.

“Hi.” She said simply.

She didn’t know what else she could have said. The only folks she had talked to in the last seven years that weren’t her family had been her co-workers, Cherry Cola and Brolly.

Kanker didn’t count. He didn’t have a soul.

Pinkamena didn’t have much experience with social interaction, so she guessed ‘Hi’ would serve as a good start for now.

“Uh, Howdy, I guess.” He said back, detached.

Pinkamena quickly surveyed the different kinds of apples on the stand and saw a golden one that looked positively delicious.

“What kind of apple is that, mister?” She inquired.

Big Mac looked over his shoulder, bored, and looked back answering; “That there’s a golden delicious.”

Pinkamena had never heard of such an apple. She could see that there were plenty of them on the stand and thought that she would go ahead and see if they were as they were named.

“I’ll take three, thank you.” She said, recalling back to the basic manners her mother taught her.

“That’ll be twelve bits, ma’am.” He replied.

She never remembered apples being so expensive.  Maybe it was just that variety that made it so. She looked at the granny smiths and decided she would get those instead.

“Never mind. I’ll just have some green ones.”

“It’s still twelve bits, miss.” He said back monotonously.

Pinkamena knew she was being ripped off. Assertion was nothing she couldn’t pull off. Things were finally starting over again. She was in no mood to be played any further.

“That’s ridiculous.” She said firmly. “Why the hay is everything so expensive?”

Big Mac’s brow furrowed at this. He didn’t quite change his tone, but it sped up a little.

“Lookie here, miss. These are my apples. I’ll sell them at whatever price I want.” He insisted.

Pinkamena became frustrated. She was about to protest when she heard somebody else speak for her.

“Oh, they’re your apples, is that right Big Mac?”

Big Mac’s eyes widened and he stood up straight immediately. His partial frown inclined and became more prominent. He looked very concerned.

Pinkamena looked over her shoulder to see who had made him change his mood so quickly. She saw two very lanky red-headed stallions in striped vests walking up and smiling very largely (though one of the smiles was hard to see through a very thick moustache).

The shaven one stopped at the cart and put his elbow down on it, leaning toward Big Mac, getting visibly more concerned the farther he leaned in.

“Did Flam and I hear that right, Big Mac?” He snickered. “Your apples?”

“You know I didn’t mean that, Mr. Flim.” Big Mac responded tensely, not bothering to look in his boss’s direction.

“Oh, you didn’t mean it, hmm?” probed the mustached one. “Then tell us, please, why you said it, Mackey, Ol’ friend.” He finished, holding his hoof up to his ear.

“I didn’t mean it, sir.” Big Mac insisted.

Pinkamena watched as the two stallions both put their shoulders around him and pushed against his face with their cheeks.

“Oh! But that would mean funny business!” smiled Flim, tussling the crimson colt’s dirty blonde mane.

“No better business, brother!” said Flam. “But we don’t operate on that business, do we, Flim?”

“Why it’d violate our policy, Flam!”

“You know the policy, don’t you, Big Mac?”

Big Mac’s lip quivered. He gulped.

“Eeyup”

Pinkamena saw that both of the stallions faces had started to feign surprise.

“What?” Flam mocked. “Well, that’s just the oddest thing!”

“If you know the policy, then how would you explain claiming the ownership of these delicious, stupendous, tasty-full apples, dear friend?” queried Flim.

Big Mac stuttered badly, sweat now rolling down his face.

“I, uh… She- I…a…”

“Why, they don’t belong to you, Big Mac!” Flim reminded. “They belong to us! Remember?”

“Ever since the sale, old friend!” Flam added.

“I’m sorry, sirs.” Big Mac shamefully finished, shaking just barely.

“Well sorry cuts it, I guess…” Flim started. “…by about thirty percent, I guess.” He finished with a nasty grin.

Big Mac’s face went pale. He looked desperate.

“No! Please, don’t!” He pleaded.

“Well, that’s the price, I guess.” Flim said.

“Just as fair as the cut.” Flam completed.

Big Mac looked at the ground in despair.

Pinkamena looked at the big red stallion and knew something was terribly wrong. She felt awful. She could feel strong empathy for somebody she had met not even a minute ago. There was no way she could have known about him having to sell the farm in order to feed what was left of his family and about how he and his poor old granny had to work for the rotten bastards that now owed it. But what she did know was that something wasn’t right.

The two stallions now looked at Pinkamena, who was looking at their employee as if she felt something for him. They exchanged a glance and then looked back at her.

“Say, miss. You were about to buy some apples, hmm?” Flam asked Pinkamena.

She didn’t like the two stallions. Not one bit. It was something about them. Maybe it was their tone. But whatever it was, she knew they were no good.

“Um… No thank you.” She lied. “I’ll just find something else to eat.”

Pinkamena backed away, trying to look left from the two stallions.

The brothers looked at each other strangely.

“Are you sure about that, ma’am?” asked Flim.

Shave and a haircut…

Pinkamena gasped in terror. Her eyes bulged.

… Two bits, you cocksucking chucklefucks.

Pinkamena heard the voice. Her eyes darted around in frenzy.

Hyperventilating, she suddenly turned around and ran away from the cart, leaving the two brothers and the big red stallion very confused.

Pinkamena might have run all the way home had she not heard a familiar voice behind her as she ran for the bridge.

“Pinkamena?” It called.

She stopped and whirled around just to be sure she had recognized it.

Waiting behind her was a smiling colt with a black mane and light brown coat. His cherry cutie mark confirmed it.

“Cherry?”

“Oh my goodness! It is you!” The colt smiled.

Without warning, he ran up to Pinkamena and hugged her before she could stop him.

“I thought you went missing along with Kanker!” He told her, nuzzling his nose on her shoulder. “I was so worried!”

The voice didn’t seem to be talking anymore, so that was all that mattered. Maybe happiness was what kept it away. This thought comforted her, so she returned the embrace warmly. And the two kept it for a while.

She had a friend. Somebody cared.

Cherry

“I just… decided to leave.” Pinkamena explained.

“Oh my gosh.” Cherry frowned. “What if you stayed, and decided to check on him or something?”

Pinkamena giggled lightly.

“Why would I ever check on Kanker?”

Cherry realized how silly that had sounded. He returned a laugh.

“Yea, I guess I didn’t think about that.” He replied. “But really, what if whoever got him had gotten you too? Don’t you think it’s lucky that you left in time?”

“They didn’t get Brolly did they?” She asked, obviously knowing nothing about the incident.

Cherry paused, trying to remember. Suddenly, he flinched violently, startling Pinkamena. Then he relaxed himself, as if nothing had happened.

“No. No, I don’t think so. I might have actually seen him yesterday.”

“You’re still having trouble remembering things?” Pinkamena asked, trying hard enough to change the subject.

Cherry forgot instantly.

“Oh! Well don’t worry about that, Pinkamena.” He answered kindly. “It is permanent, but I really have gotten better. Much better, you know?” He assured.

There was a hint of nervousness in Pinkamena’s voice.

“So, uh…What was the thing called again? The disease?”

Fortunately, Cherry didn’t pick up on it and answered warmly.

“They always told me it was called Parkinson’s. They say I’ve got a really rare case of it. Apparently, it’s the good kind of rare, though. It’s really mild, they tell me.”

“Oh well it’s good to hear you’re doing better, Cherry.” Pinkamena smiled awkwardly.

They stood there at the edge of town square silently for a bit. It seemed very long to Pinkamena, but she didn’t think it did to Cherry. Things were obviously still going wonderful for him. His wife probably still loved him as much as he loved her. Maybe they had even had some children by then. Pinkamena understood why he had somebody to love him; he was warm and friendly, kind and funny, joyous and all around caring.

Pinkamena thought about herself. She didn’t think she could be called any of those things when she thought about it. Nobody had really loved her except for Ariel. There was nothing to love her for. A grinding coldness chilled her heart. She unexpectedly found herself about to cry.

Cherry saw her lip quivering. Her eyes shined and looked away from his. He lifted his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly, worried.

“Pinkamena?” He asked. “Are you alright?”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. She only exhaled. She didn’t dare sniffle. She turned away from Cherry and toward the bridge.

She didn’t want him to worry. He didn’t deserve that. She didn’t want him to comfort her either. She was glad that he knew she was fine and that was the end of it.

“I’m sorry, Cherry.” She whispered.

Pinkamena ran off toward the bridge, leaving Cherry in the dust.

“Pinkamena! Wait!” He called. “Why are you going into the woods!?”

An answer would be pointless. She just kept running. She hoped that he wouldn’t follow.

Pinkamena got her food later that day, just as the market was closing. She made sure Cherry wasn’t around. She didn’t want to be bothering him anymore.

Author's Note:     This is the shortest chapter so far. Sorry about that. The reason; I had written the next chapter before this one and I felt that the last chapter had ended too abruptly. The next chapter takes place in a completely different setting and time of day, having left me with the burden of figuring out how I would just magically jump back to the time frame that the last chapter is in without confusing people. So, simply put, not much was put into this chapter because it's only purpose was to finish where I had last left you off. I'll be releasing the next chapter tomorrow night to compensate for this one's shortness. Thank you very much for sticking with me this long and liking the story this far in (or not). You guys make my day with your kind words. I truly wish I could give you more than my thanks.

Freak

“Class dismissed!” beamed the lovely school teacher, Cheerilee.

At this, all of the precious little fillies and colts got out of their desks and made their merry little ways out the door and toward their warm and loving homes.

Smiles spread on their juvenile faces, careless and blooming with innocence and joy. Every one of the delightful little children were as happy as can be as they went home to see their mothers and fathers, all who loved them so very much.

All of the pure-bred pagasi children spread their tiny wings and flew toward their homes that were built into the clouds; all such good flyers at an early age.

Everything had been wonderful in the schoolhouse just as it had been the whole day.

Cheerilee slung on her saddlebag and started out the door when she looked back at the one student who hadn’t left yet.

“Scootaloo.” She called. “You can’t stay in the schoolhouse. You have to go home, sweetie.”

The orange filly timidly looked up at her teacher from her desk and slowly left her seat. She didn’t look up from the ground while she made it to the door.

“I’m sorry Ms. Cheerilee.” She gloomed.

“It’s alright, dear.” Cheerilee forgave instantly. “I just can’t have you here without an adult, alright?”

“But I don’t want to go home.” Scootaloo reasoned.

“Well, that’s just silly.” Cheerilee grinned.

Before Scootaloo could respond, her teacher walked away. Her head sunk. She really didn’t want to go home. She hated it there. However, it was cold and her plan to stay in the schoolhouse had been thwarted. She signed sadly as she started walking in the opposite direction all the other foals took.

Scootaloo didn’t make it more than about forty feet before she heard somebody calling.

“Hey!”

Oh no.

Scootaloo’s stomach sank. She had hoped that she would be spared that day, but she didn’t wait long enough. She started to think that they waited for her. They did, actually. It was their job anyway. Somebody had to bully the class freak.

“Where are you going, Scootaspew?” tittered the shouting filly.

Scootaloo turned around, hoping that she could be brave.

“Please leave me alone today, Diamond Tiara.” She begged.

The pink foal trotted up to the orange misfit with her friend and stopped for a second.

“Hrmmmm….” She mulled, looking up at the sky with her hoof quizzically on her chin.

An idea appeared to have popped into her upper-class head.

“Oh! How about we just don’t do that?”

Her silver partner giggled as if she had just heard something clever.

Scootaloo turned around, pouting, and continued down the path. Again, she didn’t make it far before a snowball hit her in the back of the head. It startled her, so she leaped a little and let out a small yelp. She didn’t own a scarf, so the ice melted on her back and became incredibly cold water droplets.

Both Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon let out cackles while Scootaloo started to shake from the cold.

Anger rose up inside of the pegasus. She whirled around and shouted.

“Stop it!”

Diamond Tiara looked at her silver friend in surprise.

“Oh. Well, you said stop, so I guess we will, right?”

Immediately after this, she threw another snowball directly into Scootaloo’s face, knocking her back several steps.

It shouldn’t have, but that particular snowball had hurt quite a bit. Although her cheeks were already somewhat

numb from the cold, they stung bitterly.

A chorus of cruel laughs arose from her bullies. She wanted to get them back too much. Scootaloo reached down grabbing a pile of snow and tossed it in the pink filly’s direction. It disintegrated almost instantly, as it wasn’t packed. Seeing this feeble attempt at revenge only made the laughs louder.

“Stop laughing at me!” Scootaloo tried yelling again.

“We can’t!” Diamond Tiara snickered noisily. “How can we not laugh at a freak like you?”

It was only a word. ‘Freak’ was only a word. Her father had always said that words can’t hurt. She wanted so badly to believe him. Her father had to be right. It was all that kept her going. But Scootaloo was weak. She wanted to fight back. She didn’t want there to be called a freak in the first place.

“I’m not a freak!” was the best response she could shout back.

“What!?” Diamond Tiara yelled, now rolling on the floor. “You can’t even fly! You’ve got crippled wings, Cripple!”

She called cripple several more times then, as if that was the freak's name. Scootaloo sunk her head in despair. Why did she have to be born with those wings. She didn't ask for it. Nobody does, for that matter. So what gave Diamond Tiara the right to laugh and laugh at her while she had to deal with what she had been already dealt? Maybe god was in on the joke. Maybe there wasn't a god. She hoped there was.

Diamond Tiara wouldn't stop laughing. Silver Spoon wasn’t laughing as hard, but she was trying to.

Scootaloo had heard her father tell her once that sometimes it was best to just walk away. She thought about him hard. Thinking about him made her determined. Maybe it was some magical force, she didn’t know, but what mattered was that she had turned around and started to just walk away.

Diamond Tiara looked up and saw her victim escaping. She realized something horrible. Somebody was ignoring her. Her laughter ceased.

That was something she hated. If there was one thing Diamond Tiara hated more than anything, it was to be ignored, especially by a freak. She wasn’t about to let that happen.

“Hey! Where are you going, freak cripple!?” She yelled.

“Home!” Scootaloo called over her shoulder. “Maybe you should go there too!”

Diamond Tiara didn’t take shit from anybody. That freak was talking back. How dare she? How fucking dare that little shit talk back to her? Diamond Tiara looked to the side of her. She saw a rock. Taking another dollop of snow, she packed it around the rock, and threw it as hard as she could at the back of the freak’s head.

This snowball went faster than the other ones and collided with Scootaloo’s skull.

*WUNK*

Scootaloo fell.

The first seconds or so were in slow motion. She fell to the ground and noticed the many details of it before her face made contact with the hard surface. The *wunk* had been very loud to her, though not sure what it was, and the back of her head felt like it was sweating heavily. Then, a sheet of white hot pain flared up all throughout her miniscule cranium as the pain became realized. She let out a high pitched shriek.

As quickly as she could, she grabbed the back of her head and applied the hardest pressure her tiny might could manage. More uncontrollable cries of pain escaped while her hooves leisurely became covered with blood.

Scootaloo rolled back and forth, writhing in awful, awful agony. Diamond Tiara picked herself up, still furious, and stormed over to the freak that ignored her.

Silver Spoon had hardly noticed what had happened. She saw her friend throw the rock, but couldn’t believe it. Why would anybody do that? Her thoughts raced as her friend was going to Scootaloo. For a second, she looked like she was going to help.

Diamond Tiara was huffing with anger.

“Don’t you ignore me, freak!” She shouted at the huddled filly she had injured. At this, she stood on her hind legs and kicked Scootaloo as hard as she could.

Scootaloo jarred and let out a weak, sharp squeal.

She lifted her leg again.

“Don’t!”

*KLOC*

“You ever!”

*KLOC*

“FUCKING!!”

*PUNT*

“IGNORE ME!!!!!”

*KICK*

“YOU”

*WHAP*

“FUCKING”

*KICK*

“FREEEEEAAAKKKKKKkk!!!!!!!!”

*KICK* *KICK* *KICK*

Scootaloo lay on her side, a tooth or two in somewhere in her mouth it shouldn’t have been, many cuts all over her and black bruises already developing. Everything was a sort of numb. She couldn’t really feel it, but she had this swollen horrible repeating pulse that was all over. She couldn’t even scream anymore. It was hard enough to breath.

Diamond Tiara was panting like she had just run a hundred miles. Saliva was gathering around her lips, some of it coming out when she respired. Tufts of her mane had gotten out of place from the forceful, spastic movements done so quickly and her tiara was crooked. She loomed over what she had just corrected. The freak learned its lesson, she knew.

Turning back around, she saw her friend’s face had gone pale. All blood had drained from her mug, just staring back

at her friend, mortified.

Diamond Tiara knew what she had done. She had lost her composure. She shaped herself back up as best she could and got back on all fours.

“C’mon, Spoon. Let’s go home.”

Silver Spoon’s mouth trembled open. She tried to respond.

“Uh-y-..-ah-I…”

Diamond Tiara hurried away from the mess she made and past her friend.

“I said let’s go.”

Silver Spoon turned around without hesitation and followed behind her friend from a fair distance. The two went into the fog and out of sight. Scootaloo was now alone.

A buzzing filled her gut. It spread out and made it to her head. The rush engulfed her eyes with the stuff she saw on TV screens sometimes when the stations were off the air. Then she blacked out.

When she woke up, it was late. Thankfully, it had only just started to snow and she was only powdered with it. At least she didn’t freeze to death while she was under.

She tried to lift her shoulder, but she was instantly met with unbearable pain. She let out a scream. She knew straightaway that her whole body would feel just as bad all the way home.

She started crying softly, knowing that staying on the ground all night wasn’t an option.

Scootaloo put on hoof on the ground. It throbbed with the rest of her body, like she was feeling every drop of blood expand her veins and stress the abused muscle. The pain was horrible.

It took her several minutes to get on all of her fours without falling back down and giving up. Her chest was infinitely heavier than it was supposed to be, and it hurt when she breathed. One of her eyes was so swollen that she could hardly see through it.

Taking one painful and seemingly endless step at a time, Scootaloo took a full hour and a half to make it home.

As she approached the building, she looked up and saw that the lights were still on. It was only a little bit further, so she tried moving faster, quickly realizing that it did no good and only made the aching worse.

Reaching the doorstep, she mustered all of her remaining strength to ring the doorbell. After hearing a few muffled hoofsteps shuffling toward the door, it opened. Standing in the doorway was a tall mare with bags under her eyes and a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, clearly very tired.

The tall mare looked down.

“Oh, hey. Look who showed up.” She scorned.

Scootaloo looked down to avoid her gaze.

“Hi, Mrs. Powell.” She replied shamefully.

“Get in here, kid. Do you have any idea how damn late it is?”

“No.” Scootaloo admitted, ashamed.

“Looks like you got in another fight, huh?” Mrs. Powell examined. “When are you gonna grow up, loser?” She scolded.

“I’m sorry.” Scootaloo whimpered.

“No breakfast tomorrow. Maybe that’ll teach you.”

Mrs. Powell stepped aside and let Scootaloo limp in. Afterward, she slammed it closed and shut off the porch lights.

The only thing keeping the outside slightly alight was the dilapidated neon sign at the start of the driveway; reading “Ponyville County Orphanage”.

The Cane

As winter drug on, Pinkamena kept finding herself at the apple stand.

She didn’t buy, but she watched the red stallion that ran it. She didn’t know why. It was something she did whenever she went to the market. She would arrive, purchase whatever she needed, then sit down about a hundred feet from the cart and watch him for around a half an hour at a time.

She didn’t think she had fallen for him or anything. She hadn’t known him for more than a couple of minutes. She thought it was because she knew how he felt.

Sometimes, during the day, the two stallion brothers would come back down and tease him. She would see the stress in his face as he held back his anger. There was nothing he could do about it, she could piece together.

Winter’s end was near, but not too near. It would be another month or so before spring would kick in, and the winter wrap up teams would do their jobs.

It was on a Tuesday that Pinkamena had heard something while watching the apple stand stallion. As usual, he had stood there for several hours and Pinkamena had started to observe from behind a corner at the edge of the market. It lead to an alley, so nobody noticed her, and likely wouldn’t pay much mind if they did. About fifteen minutes in (which seem much shorter to Pinkamena), She saw the two stallion twins stroll in. A visible frown overtook the apple stallion’s face when he spotted them himself.

Pinkamena was a bit of a ways from the cart, but she could still see by the way he breathed out; the frown was playing into his internal emotions much less than one could guess. She could tell he was holding something back. She wasn’t sure if it was anger or misery. She had trouble separating that herself. Emotions would become a large brew for her when things got bad.

“Well, Howdy, Howdy, Howdy!” said the mustached twin.

The other started walking in circles around Big Mac.

“How are sales, buddy boy?” happily asked Flim.

Big Mac was hesitant. He looked like he was conflicted staying quiet; turning his head to the side quickly a few times, making himself look like he had a twitch.

Pinkamena was too far away to hear his deep quiet voice, but she could read his lips just enough.

“As usual, sir.” He said without looking at them.

“As usual!?” exclaimed Flam.

His brother immediately jumped in, as if it was rehearsed.

“But that means you aren’t giving one hundred and twenty percent!” Flim said shocked, putting both his hooves to his forehead. “You have to give one hundred and twenty percent, Big Mac! Or else we just might take that away!”

Big Mac was visibly annoyed now. He still hadn’t lifted his head.

“Alright then, sir. I’ll try harder to sell.” He answered quickly.

The brothers weren’t satisfied.

“But you need a smile if you want to sell!” Flam explained, lowering his head down much too close to his employee’s face.

“Alright, then.” Big Mac responded mechanically.

“He meant right now, Big Mac.” Flim countered.

Big Mac looked at Flam without moving his head and clenched his jaw. After a few more moments, he faked the worst smile ever.

Pinkamena didn’t smile much herself, but she knew when one was false. She’d been around enough cynicism and sarcasm throughout her life to know these things. The twins seemed to also know.

“I said smile, big boy! That’s a train wreck!” Flam spoke.

Pinkamena noticed something about Flim. He had been holding in his hoof a cane. As Flam was talking to the apple stand stallion, she saw he hardened his grip on it. His smile had vanished.

“This is all I’m givin’, sir. I’m not in a good place right now, ya know.” Big Mac smirked.

Flam’s smile also vanished. He looked up at his brother. Flim returned the glance. He then got up on his hind legs and swung the cane up to support his weight.

“Oh, come now. This isn’t about your old Granny Smith is it?” Flam asked now sounding a bit annoyed.

Big Mac lifted his head up and lost the smirk, now back to his frown. He looked at Flam in the eyes this time.

“Well, what else could it be about, Mr. Flam?” He glared.

“The old lady is in comatose. Big ding-dong deal, old buddy old pal.” Flim replied looking down.

“She had a stroke, Mr. Flim. Don’t you think it’s natural that I’m upset?”

Big Mac’s tone was getting louder and Pinkamena felt his anger was starting to engulf the fear in him.

“Upset or not, my friend, you fake it ‘till you make it.” Flam answered.

“She could die, you bastards!” Big Mac exploded.

Flam was taken slightly aback by this. Flim didn’t flinch.

Several ponies in the market turned their heads to see what the fuss was about. Big Mac was now breathing heavily. His face had twisted into a glare.

Flim returned a few glances to the ponies staring at them. His smile resumed. He looked down at his brother and winked. Flam looked up for a moment, confused. Quickly, he smiled back and joined his brother on his hind legs.

Big Mac was now gritting his teeth and looking back and forth at them fiercely. Pinkamena knew that look. He wanted answers and he wanted them now. Hope faintly gleamed in her. Maybe she would finally see the stallion stand up for himself so she could stop worrying about him.

The brothers exchanged glances once more.

“You seem upset, Mac.” said Flim.

“There’s nothing to be upset about.” Said Flam.

You would have to have had a keen eye to have seen Flim clench his teeth and leer for the second he did. Pinkamena saw it. This very moment, as quick as it was, spoke volumes. It was like seeing through a crack in wooden planks that let in a ray of light to whatever was on the other side. This moment was that crack. And the other side was Flim’s insides. Pinkamena saw a rage beyond rage. A rage that had been exercised and catered to, and Flim was about to do exactly that right then.

Directly following this moment was Flim swiftly whipping his cane up in the air then bringing it down on his employee.

There was a loud THWAP as it struck him.

Pinkamena saw his eyes widen then instantly clasp shut as he smacked onto the ground with an ‘oof!’

Pinkamena was stunned. Her mouth dropped and her eyes opened wide.

The other ponies watching did the same. Some even gasped and held their hooves to their mouths. There was nobody in the market not watching then. Everything was silent in the market for a while.

The brothers saw the other ponies, but didn’t stop smiling. Flim never stopped looking at Big Mac sprawled on the ground, trying for breath, as Flim had knocked the wind out of him.

After another few moments silence, he smacked Big Mac again, this time on the head, but not any slower than the last time. The crowd collectively gasped.

Big Mac’s jaw whacked the cobblestone hard. He cried out in pain.

After Big Mac became silent, Flim slowly crouched down to where his face was lying. His grin was unchanged.

“Well…” He whispered. “Now there is…”

At this, he got back on his fours and turned around. Flam followed him as he walked up the path back to the farm. Flim started to twirl his cane as he strolled. He could also be heard whistling a peaceful tune to himself that slowly faded the further he got up the path.

Big Mac was still on the ground and the crowd was still silent. Pinkamena heard somebody say something. It wasn’t in front of her, or behind her. It sounded like whoever it was, was on top of her.

Help him.

This sentence snapped her out of the trance. Suddenly, she was overcome with worry. She came out from the alley and galloped toward the apple stand stallion. She stopped above him and wrapped her hooves around his torso, trying to hoist him up.

The crowd continued to watch while she grunted, trying to help the injured boy.

“Stop gawking, everypony!” shouted someone. “Help him! Come on!”

Out from the crowd came galloping an aqua unicorn. She stood up on her hind legs and grabbed the other end of Big Mac without looking at Pinkamena. Pinkamena didn’t even notice.

He was heavy. It was so hard to lift him. But she wanted to help. She it wanted more than anything.

The aqua unicorn was grunting, strained herself by his weight. She turned over her shoulder and shouted at the crowd.

“Goddammit! I said help him! Help him!”

Out from the crowd came another pony galloping, this one wearing a holiday sweater.

“It’s good, Lyra! I got ‘em!” said Melvin, grabbing Big Mac also.

The three of them, now all straining, almost had him off the ground. Big Mac was moaning quietly.

Another pony came out of the crowd; a white mare with short, scruffy violet hair. She grabbed the open side of Big Mac and joined in hoisting.

“I’ve got him.” She confirmed.

The crowd viewed, still in shock. Nobody could fathom exactly why someone would do something so awful in public and then just walk away, completely unfeeling.

They finally succeeded to get him onto his feet. Big Mac grabbed the side of the stand to support him. He was struggling to stay up.

“Thank you.” He managed to Pinkamena.

She soaked it in. That might have been the first thanks she’d gotten ever. It felt good, but something felt like she hadn’t actually done anything to help.

She hardly noticed it herself, but she was slowly backing away while staring at him, face to face. Maybe it was because she had become familiar to being a distance from him. She noticed that everyone was looking at her. She felt pressure. She needed to figure out how else to help the apple stand stallion, but she couldn’t think at all with so many ponies staring at her.

Pinkamena spun around and started running away.

“Hey! Wait!” Melvin shouted after her. “Who-…Gah.” He saw that she couldn’t hear him anymore.

Lyra looked at Melvin strangely.

“What is it, Mel?” She asked.

“Who was that pony?” He asked.

Rarity looked over Mel’s shoulder to get a look at the mare running away.

“I have no idea, Darling…” she started. “But she looks familiar.”

The Knife

Pinkamena returned to the cottage and locked the door behind her. She hadn’t stopped running the whole way. She was exhausted.

Pinkamena went into the bedroom upstairs and lied down to catch her breath, when she heard her name called.

Pinkie…

It was very soft and it sounded like it was coming from downstairs. Pinkamena bolted up, frightened.

How had somebody followed her? She looked over her shoulder to make sure every couple seconds or so. How had they even gotten into the house? It was locked. Panic rushed through her as she tried to think of what to do.

For some reason, she decided to hide under the covers like a child, shivering from fear.

Pinkie.

She knew who it was now.

Pinkie!

“No!” She shouted into the empty room. “No, no, no, no, no, NO!”

Find me, Pinkie.

Pinkamena grasped at the sides of her head and shut her eyes tightly.

“You were gone! You were GONE!!!” Pinkamena shrieked.

Well, I’m back, Pinkie. And I want to play Hide and Seek!

Frustration and turmoil brewed in her. She had been rid of him. The voice was dead. She killed him along with Kanker.

Nopers. I’m still here, Pinkie. And I want to play!

Pinkamena couldn’t think of anything she could do but scream. Nothing but her own voice could block it out, so that’s what she did.

Pinkamena screamed at the top of her lungs for as long as she could. She slammed her head against the wall over and over to try and shake the voice around. She thought that maybe he wouldn’t like it.

You can act like a fucking idiot, or you can do what I say, Pinkie. Remember what happened the last time you did what I said?

The voice was right. She had listened to him and in turn, he had done what she wanted. Once Kanker’s eyes rolled into his head, the voice had silenced. Maybe it’d do the same if she just played.

She was still scared. She was gritting her teeth and frantically looking all over the room.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

This was followed by the sound of somebody breathing loudly.

Pinkamena did as instructed. She inhaled deeply, closed her eyes, and exhaled. She repeated this until she was calm enough to get off of the bed.

Now, come on. Let’s play, Pinkie.

“O-okay…” She answered anxiously. She gulped.

Pinkamena moved downstairs and looked around the main room. There was nothing in sight.

Warmer. The voice got closer.

Pinkamena turned toward the closet.

Warmer.

Pinkamena opened the closet and lifted the hatch. The room below was dark and dusty.

Warmer.

She went down the ladder. Pinkamena turned down the corridor and saw the iron door leading to the basement.

You’re getting much closer, Pinkie. Oh, I love this game!

Pinkamena was trembling. She had no idea what she would see when she found whatever she was seeking. Pinkamena reached the iron door and pushed on it firmly, making it slide open. She looked down into the black.

You’re hot. Keep going.

Pinkamena grabbed the pull string above her and the lights flicked on.

For a split second, she saw a creature in the middle of the room so vile her heart skipped a beat. But the black evil was gone as soon as it had appeared, and in its place was the enormous knife she had taken from the case earlier.

You found me! You found me! Oh, that was so much fun!

It was nothing more than curiosity that fueled Pinkamena to go down the stairs and up to the knife in muddle. The knife glimmered in the dull red light. She finished going down the steps and picked up the knife, on top of the metal bolted-down table in the center of the room.

Pinkamena stared at it. It was so clean, shimmering in such poor light. For no reason at all she wondered how sharp it was. Pinkamena was startled by the voice.

I’m it!

Pinkamena gasped and dropped the knife in her shock.

The knife hit the floor.

Ow! That hurt! That wasn’t very fun.

Pinkamena looked at the knife and saw that it had jittered a bit whenever the voice talked. She picked it back up and examined it again.

Don’t drop me, stupid!

The voice was in the knife. It was talking to her.

The voice sounded a lot more playful then it usually did. Pinkamena was calm. At least she knew where the voice was. This comforted her somehow. It made her think about the brook and how gentle it was.

“How did you do that?” She asked genuinely.

We can do a lot of things, Pinkie.

“We?” Her stomach sank. “There are more of you!?”

Calm down. I am We. We are many.

Pinkamena looked around the room. She hadn’t the slightest idea what the knife was talking about.

It’s a game I play, Pinkie. Sometimes I jump out of your cozy little head and play pretend with something else. The voice explained. Right now, I’m a knife. My name is Tag.

Pinkamena thought of how strange a name that was.

“Tag?” She asked the knife. “Why is that your name?”

Because it’s my favorite game.

Pinkamena remembered how Ariel and her had played tag whenever they finished early (which was quite rare) and remembered that it was her favorite game too.

“Yea.” Pinkamena agreed much too friendly. “I like that game too.”

Really? The voice asked in excitement. Oh, Goodie! That’s fantastic news!

“Why?” Pinkamena asked innocently.

Because I want to play it right now.

Pinkamena looked around the basement again, as to confirm they were alone.

“But, there’s nopony to play with.” She said.

Sure there is.

Pinkamena thought hard as to solve Tag’s riddle. Then it clicked. She dropped the knife in terror. She backed away from the knife and into the corner of the basement.

“No.” She whispered. “I can’t.”

I’m a knife, Pinkie. How else am I going to tag somebody?

“Why would I…” Pinkamena choked. “I can’t…kill somepony!”

Of course you can. You just don’t want to.

“Who would!?” She yelled at Tag.

I would.

“But you aren’t somepony! You’re a monster!”

The knife rattled hard and its metal clicked on the floor violently. The voice was suddenly booming and horrendous.

Am I, Pinkie!?! AM I!? It bellowed. Who beat his own child and stood by while doctors tried to kill you!?!? And who made all of that a little worse by giving you a shit job and forced you to blow him!?!?  ME!?!? IT WASN’T ME, PINKIE. IT WAS THEM. AND WHEN DID THINGS GET BETTER FOR YOU!?!?! IT WAS WHEN YOU KILLED HIM!!!

Pinkamena stood bewildered. She flashed back to her mother telling her about right and wrong. That melted away and became nothing. The voice was right. The only thing that made her life better was removing the problems. Just maybe, the only way to do it properly was to destroy the problem. The problem had been Kanker, and she had destroyed him.

You want to help that apple boy, don’t you? Tag asked Pinkamena menacingly.

Pinkamena moved from the corner and cautiously went to pick the knife back up.

Solve his problem the right way.

Pinkamena looked down at the knife and saw the brilliant reddish shimmer on the blade.

Play some tag, Pinkie… All you have to do is make those brothers It.

“I’m telling you, Flam. It’s genius!”

“Really, Flim? How much money could she possibly have?”

“The real question is, who gives a shit? Money is money, brother.”

Flim continued to pitch his plan as Flam lit a fresh cigar. He took a drag and blew out a cloud of smoke from his nostrils.

“What are you saying; we just sneak into the hospital?” Flam asked sarcastically.

“No, stupid.” Flim replied enthusiastically. “We act all like we’re visiting, see? And then when the coast is clear…” Flim stopped in suspense.

When he was least expecting it, Flam had his cigar ripped right out of his mouth.

“Yank! The old lady’s toast!”

Flam grunted and knocked the cigar out of Flim’s hoof.

“Fuck you, Flim! That was a good cigar! Demonstrate on something else, would ya?”

“Fuck you, Flam. We’re entitled to whatever she’s got when she croaks. We’ll just plug her back in after she dies, and the doctors’ll think it were natural causes!”

“Alright.” Flam admitted. “You’ve got a plan, but what do we do about Big Mackey? You know that bastard’s gonna be suspicious.”

“He’ll never get his hooves on a single lick of evidence. Besides, who’s gonna believe ‘im?”

“Didn’t he mention something about his sister being a lawyer?” Flam asked.

“I haven’t ever seen her, have you?”

“Guess not, brother.”

“If we ain’t seen her yet, we ain’t gonna see her.”

Flam smiled and raised his glass filled with apple brandy.

“Never pictured myself saying this when we were playing in the sandbox, but let’s pull that plug.”

“Twenty bucks says Granny Smith is going to hell after we kill her.” Flim bet.

“There’s no gambling there, brother.”

A Dream

Blossomforth gasped, putting down her pencil and remembering the two stallions that she had let in. She hadn’t seen them leave yet. Blossomforth looked up and saw the clock on the wall had moved quite a bit since she last looked up at it. They had been visiting their aunt for much longer than they promised. And the longer they remained in the building, the more likely it was that one of the doctors would walk in and catch them.

“I gave them a good time.” Blossomforth said to herself in an attempt to feel less guilty about kicking mourning relatives out.

Blossomforth left the desk and headed toward the elevator.

Arriving on Granny Smith’s floor, Blossomforth noticed something immediately as the doors opened; there was an enormous stain on the carpet near the end of the hall.

Curious, she moved closer to inspect it.

Now closer, she saw that the stain was already matted into the floor and starting to dry. Whatever it was was very deep and thick. She prodded the stain to see if it was damp or not. To her surprise, it was still wet. She looked at her hoof and saw that the liquid didn’t come off.

She scoffed in disgust, reasonably, trying to wipe it off on the flooring.

The first thing she realized was that wiping it didn’t get it off. The second thing she noticed was that it got stickier the more she scrubbed.

“What the-“

She looked at the material on her hoof in the moonlight and saw that it was a deep red. A thought ran through her head and she might have disregarded it had she not looked at the wall next to her afterward. On the wall was a spray of dots and streaks that were the same color as whatever was on her hoof.

Her eyes shot open. She knew what the material was. No doubt.

“Blood!” She yelped. “Blood! Everywhere!”

Without thinking, she barged into the room next to her and flipped on the lights. A few protesting shouts from patients trying to sleep, but nobody appeared to be hurt. She turned out of the room and burst through the door adjacent. She continued to do this frantically, fearing that she would find whoever had caused the mess and have to deal with it herself before having to call for more help.

Someone grabbed her shoulder quickly, making her jump with a shriek. She was turned around and met with Dr. Talostat.

“My god, Ms. Blossomforth! What are you doing!? It’s past lights out on this floor!” He yelled.

Blossomforth couldn’t think of what to say. She had no idea what she was doing, so she just said whatever came to mind.

“Blood! There’s blood everywhere!” She yelled back.

“What? Where? Where is there blood?” The doctor returned, puzzled.

“Everywhere! The hallway! It’s EVERYWHERE!!!” She shrieked.

The doctor held her shoulders simply staring at her in bafflement as her ramblings got less and less coherent until she eventually broke down into tears.

The staff would later find that two body bags had been stolen from inventory. The security personnel held responsible for leaving the supply unlocked were fired and Blossomforth was given a position in the day shift. The blood was not matched with any of the patients in the hospital and there was no visible harm to them that appeared related. All security cameras that might have caught the event on camera had been damaged beyond repair by what appeared to be stabs and slashes from an undefined sharp object. When the local police department became involved, the only other thing they were able to find were a few hoof prints, but they didn’t match with anything they had on record.

The case was closed quickly, a fate similar to the field manager’s murder case, which was discarded when they discovered that several violations of the Standard Equestrian Labor Policy had taken place daily in the fields. They decided that the murder was likely faked and the manager had left town to avoid charges being pressed.

Big McIntosh was eliminated as a suspect when he provided a valid alibi instantly when asked and was soon returned his ownership of Sweet Apple Acres.

Nobody saw a pink mare leave the hospital through the rear exit carrying two large sacks on her back that night. Nobody ever noticed the same mare make her way through town and up into the Everwhite. There was no pink mare brought up by anyone in any of the interrogations that took place in the aftermath, and there were no questions about the window that had been left open on the first floor.

The phone rang.

Thundering trots sounded as the red stallion descended the stairs into his living room and up to the parlor to answer the call.

“Eeyup.” He answered, picking up the handset.

“Mister McIntosh?” asked a droll, nasally voice on the opposite end.

“Eeyup.” Big Mac confirmed.

“We’re glad to inform you that an Annabelle Smith has exited her comatose state and is fully lucid. She is available for visit any time from now to six o-clock.”

Big Mac smiled greatly and slammed the phone down without responding. He exited the house, tossing aside all plans, and skipped his way to the hospital.

Upon arrival, he took the elevator to his grandmother’s room and stopped at the door. Gently, he peered in. He saw Granny Smith lying in her bed, appearing happy. Creaking the door open as not to disturb the other patients in the room, he made it to his granny.

“Howdy, Granny.” He whispered cheerily.

“Oh! Well great to see you there, kiddo!” Granny Smith openly blasted into the room.

Thrown a bit off by his grandmother’s loudness, he regained his composure and looked at her again.

“I got it back, Granny. Sweet Apple Acres is ours again!”

“Well, bust my buttons!” She responded gladly. “And I was thinkin’ this stroke’d set us back a bit with those damn brothers.”

“That’s just it, Granny. They’re dead. Somepony up n’ killed em’.” He smiled. “Everything that was theirs is ours!”

Granny Smith looked up at the ceiling and grinned.

“Goodness. I never thought I’d be rich.” She turned toward the window on the other side of the room. “Those fat rats did have somethin’ good about em’ after all.”

Big Mac waited for a moment and looked out the window with her. It was a beautiful day.

“I love you, Grandma.” He said.

“I had the craziest time in that sleep, you know.” She said, looking her grandson. “Some mighty weird dreams, I tell you.”

“Really?” Big Mac asked sincerely. “Like what?”

“Well,” She started “One of them were about this wacky orchard that talked to me like it were friends from back in school or somethin’.”

Big Mac chuckled at such a strange thought. “That’s it?”

“No, no. There was this other one I just had. Right before I went and woke up.”

“Well, what happened?”

Granny Smith tried her best to recall the images that had passed through her nut while she spoke.

“Well, there was this big ol’ demon a-chasin’ me.”

“A demon?” Big Mac asked, surprised.

“Two, I think.” She continued. “Yea. And then I was cornered with them about to gobble me right up, when all of a sudden, they got beat down by this big pony.”

“Big Pony? Like Princess Celestia?”

“No, no. Much bigger, Arthur.” She assured. “I couldn’t see its face, but it had a big fat sword with a mouth on it.”

“A mouth on a sword?”

“You betcha. That pony struck those demons right on down and saved me.” She finished.

“Golly.” Big Mac said. “That is a strange dream.”

“She was pink.” Granny added.

“Huh?”

“She was pink.” She repeated. “I think that was important.”

Big Mac smiled at his Granny and gave her a hug.  He closed his eyes as they embraced each other. Granny Smith hugged back, but absent minded.

She was trying to remember if she had heard a name in her dream. Ponky? Punky? Soon enough, she forgot without even trying. But, it wouldn’t have mattered. It was just a dream anyway.

Certainly, just a dream.

Cold

Scootaloo shivered under her torn up piece of cloth. She was told to call it a blanket, but it wasn’t. It was a torn up piece of cloth.

All of the other orphans slept contently under their larger pieces of cloth that weren’t so badly torn up in the warmer end of the room while Scootaloo tried as hard as she could to not think about the cold.

Her bruises ached, and the blood that was all over the back of her head had dried making it black and crusty in her hair. She didn’t touch it though, afraid that she would reopen the wound. Her teeth were chipped and she probably had something injured. Scootaloo was a mess.

Scootaloo turned over her shoulder to see if there was any light coming from under the door at the end of the room. Nothing shone under the door, confirming that Mrs. Powell was fast asleep. Checking once more, she squinted to be positive.

Scootaloo slipped out of her bed and got on her belly. It hurt too much to walk. Grabbing her ‘blanket’, she used it to slide her along the wooden floor and toward a desk with drawers.  Upon reaching the desk, she opened the bottom drawer and reached inside. Scootaloo took out two things. The first was a picture frame and the second was a handlebar from a broken scooter.

Scootaloo looked at the photo inside the frame in the moonlight. It was of a strong, resilient orange earth pony stallion and his beautiful pegasus wife. They were both smiling. In the wife’s arms was Scootaloo. She was much smaller in the picture. She didn’t ever remember being like that.

Scootaloo would sometimes close her eyes and try to remember when she was a baby. It never really came back to her, but she did remember something of her mother. She remembered being flown over Ponyville and Equestria while being sung to at night. It was vague and blurry, but she still remembered it from time to time. She never spoke with her mother, though. Her father had been the one to raise her after she had a stroke and passed away. That was what she knew of her mother. Not much more.

She looked at her father in the photograph. She remembered him. She remembered a whole lot about her father. She remembered the time he gave her a scooter for her birthday. She loved it so much and he knew she did. He taught her how to ride it. She also remembered the time they went to watch a movie together. But the one thing she never forgot was the day he went to work and said ‘I love you’ right before closing the door.

“See you tonight, dad!” she had said back with a smile.

That was the same day that the police came and made her sleep in their office for the night. She overheard them talking about a ‘work related incident’, but that’s as far as she ever got. At the time she didn’t even know what ‘incident’ meant. But whatever it meant, it meant something bad. She never saw her father again. He was killed in a coal mine explosion along with two other ponies. They sent her off to the Ponyville Orphanage the next day and she had been living there since. All they let her bring was the photo and her scooter.

The scooter was broken and somewhere in the dump, all because one of the other orphans thought it would be funny to put an m80 in it.

“Stop bitching, kid.” Mrs. Powell told her. “He was only having fun. It’s just a stupid scooter.”

The handlebar was all she had left of it. That handlebar was the only piece left of her stupid scooter. Mrs. Powell threw the rest away even though Scootaloo tried her hardest to fix it. Mrs. Powell didn’t even ask. She just walked back one day and it was gone.

“It was junking up your bed.” Mrs. Powell had said without looking away from her magazine.

Scootaloo had run outside and sifted through the dumpster for hours. She cut her hooves on broken bottles and got covered in scum. When it turned dark, she was forced back inside. All of the children called her ‘Scootaspew’ until it was old. She couldn’t take a shower because she was in trouble for ‘playing with trash’ and that was her punishment. When everybody else was asleep, she cried. She cried and cried until she fell asleep, and nobody even cared.

Scootaloo looked at the photo again and tried to remember how tall her father was, how his aftershave smelled, and how his smile would spread so wide whenever she said ‘I love you, dad’. As his image came into focus, Scootaloo’s jaw trembled and her eyes threatened tears. She carefully closed the drawer and started to slide back over to her bed.

When she reached the bed, she stood on her hind legs and put the photo on the mattress while she held the handlebar in her mouth. Trying to get back onto the bed, she must have twisted something wrong, because a powerful volt of pain shot up her leg, forcing her to let out a yelp. She dropped the handlebar on the floor causing it to make a big bump in the night. She grasped her leg but ended up slipping on the torn up cloth and hit the floor, biting her tongue on impact.

She strained her face to hold back anymore screams, now afraid that she had made too much noise. She held her hooves over her mouth and looked at the crack under the door anxiously.

She heard a creak.

Oh no.

The light on the other side of the door flickered on.

No! No, no, no!

Mrs. Powell burst in through the door. The rays of light contrasting with the darkness of the bedroom shone through her cigarette smoke that danced wildly with the wind that the door created. Her eyes were squinted and bloodshot. Her frown was visible from where Scootaloo was. She looked around the room, jerking her head in each direction. Scootaloo ducked and covered her head. She closed her eyes and held her breath, praying that Mrs. Powell wouldn’t see her.

Mrs. Powell looked in Scootaloo’s direction and let out an annoyed grunt.

“Tell me, Scootaloo. Why am I not surprised?”

Scootaloo’s heart skipped at the sound of her name. She scrambled into bed and hid her things under the cloth so that Mrs. Powell would not see them when she made her way over. Scootaloo faked a yawn and rubbed her eyes.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Powell.” She grinned falsely. “I fell out of bed.”

Mrs. Powell glared at her and slowly started moving toward Scootaloo’s bed. Some of the other orphans had awoken by then, and were peeping through their squinted eyes to see what Scootaloo was about to get.

Scootaloo grew more and more frightened the closer she came. When Mrs. Powell was at the side of the bed, she towered over Scootaloo, shading her with her shadow. She took a drag from her cigarette and let smoke exit her nostrils.

“You fell out of bed, huh?”

“Yea.” Scootaloo confirmed nervously. “It’s just so cold, you know? I guess I shook out of my bed.”

Mrs. Powell pursed her lips and looked up to the ceiling, which had a hole in it right above Scootaloo. She looked back at Scootaloo and smirked.

“Oh yea?” She said. “It’s cold, huh?”

“Y-yea.” Scootaloo stuttered.

Mrs. Powell took the cigarette out of her mouth.

“I think I can help, kid.”

Scootaloo’s stomach sank and her eyes widened.

“No. Please.” She pleaded in a low voice.

“You said its cold, right?” Mrs. Powell grinned.

“No! I’m sorry, Mrs. Powell! I’m sorry!”

Mrs. Powell lunged at Scootaloo with the lit end of her cigarette. Scootaloo cowered and tried covering herself with her cloth. But Mrs. Powell tossed the cloth away and grabbed her arm.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Scootaloo cried.

Mrs. Powell pressed the burning tip against Scootaloo’s flesh. A tiny sizzle was heard before Scootaloo wailed in pain. Mrs. Powell smiled a toothy grin as she twisted it back and forth.

“Is that warmer? Is it? Huh!?” She asked. “Answer me when I talk to you!” Mrs. Powell yelled.

Scootaloo just screamed. Pain broke limits in that one single spot. Every second it got worse and each time she thought it couldn’t. She could feel it scalding her, burning her skin. She tried to push Mrs. Powell’s hoof away, but she was too strong.

“Imsosorrymissuspowellimsosorryohpleasestop!!!! STOP!!! PLEASE!!!”

Mrs. Powell suddenly tossed Scootaloo away, making her flip across the bed and hit the floor on the other side of the bed. Scootaloo applied pressure to the burn and bit her lip. Tears freely rolled down her cheeks. She curled up and began to sob loudly on the floor.

Mrs. Powell turned around and left the room. She could hear Scootaloo’s cries from her bedroom. But it didn’t annoy her. She was still smiling. She took her crumpled cigarette, still alight, and took another drag from it.

It felt good.

She continued to listen to Scootaloo’s wails as she removed her robe and slid back under the covers of her queen bed. She turned off the lights and continued her smoking. And then she did something she usually does to the sound of a crying child she had disciplined.

She masturbated.

Bodies

Dead silence. A quiet white noise ran on inside Pinkamena’s head as she simply sat in her basement and stared.

On the bolted down table laid Flim and Flam, deader than dodos. Pinkamena could hardly believe there was still blood gushing from Flim. Kanker hadn’t bled so much. She got covered in it when she had unzipped the bag to lay him out. It poured all over her like a morbid water balloon had popped. Her straight flat hair was crusty from what had dried, and it was starting to matte into her coat as well.

Staring, the only thing that she thought about was how much it must have hurt before they died. She knew that she would never know herself and only sat imagining the intensity of the white hot blade severing the nerves and tendons.

She looked down at the knife. It wasn’t Tag anymore. The voice stopped having fun with that character she supposed. The knife, despite being covered in brownish crimson streaks, still shimmered; even in the dim red light of her basement.

She thought back to when her father would strike her. The fear, the awful anticipation of the inbound pain; cowering and clenching her eyes as tight as she could before the hoof collided with wherever it was aimed. She guessed that was what the two bothers had felt while she was raising the knife. Maybe lesser, maybe several billion times worse, but any which way, she hoped they did feel it. She had hated them.

But Pinkamena didn’t know these ponies. She didn’t even know their names for certain. All she knew was that they deserved what she had dealt, and she didn’t think about it anymore than that.

The stench of the brother’s torn open carcasses would have been unbearable to anyone else in the dark red lighted chamber, but Pinkamena hardly noticed at all. Thoughts consumed her, and she wasn’t completely in the basement herself. She was lost in thought.

She had always been taught that murder was the worst possible thing any one soul could possibly ever commit. To take a life away, to end the path of existence before it ended. She had always expected that there would be a great remorse, something so dreadful it would never end. But, she was relieved. Killing these two felt wonderful.

She hadn’t ever killed before.

Kanker doesn’t count. He didn’t have a soul.

Maybe it was good that she didn’t feel anything. Maybe it was a gift.

Maybe she was chosen to do this; rid the world of these disgusting bastards.

The thought comforted her.

Pinkamena sat in her basement and looked at the bodies once more… and smiled.

It was still dim, but brighter than most days in Ponyville during that time of year. There was no snowfall, and only a thin blanket of the stuff covered the streets.

It was that day that Rarity Germane and her construction team were given a landscaping job in the Everwhite. She had punched in and hopped in the scouting cart, driving off with the rest of the team trailing behind with the much heavier equipment.

The team was supposed to level the bottom of a ravine so that it would be safe for the miners to start digging on a hunch they had about diamonds and coal being rich in those parts. Rarity chuckled to herself while she drove toward the site, thinking about how simple minded jewelry collectors must have been.

“It’s shiny, it’s pretty. I’ll give you a thousand bits for that rock!” She mocked jokingly to herself, cruising along the dirt trail.

Rarity could think of a million other things that she would spend a thousand bits on over a dumb rock. She chuckled again, thinking about how stupid ponies would look at the fancy parties in Canterlot, with their enormous hats and trains and buttons and laces.

When the team got to the site, they gathered around the scouter, waiting for instructions from the foreman.

The foreman, a stallion named Winky, had walked to the site himself, wanting to enjoy the trail as he made it to his destination. When he arrived, he rallied the workers and started to speak.

“Alright, listen up.” He began. “Rarity’s gonna start off by inspecting the area and marking any potential hazards.”

Rarity groaned. “Really, do I have to?” She pouted. “It’s always little Rarity doing the inspections. When am I going to get some time with the bulldozer?”

Winky pursed his lips and talked back in a baby voice “Oh, I’m sowwy, Wawity. I fowgot to put you ahead of evewebody ewse.”

The rest of the crew cackled in unison, while Rarity blushed.

“Sorry, your highness. The job you get is the job you fucking get. Didn’t you already learn that shit in preschool?” Winky added.

The crew laughed again. Rarity mumbled under her breath, trying to keep a grin from spreading across her own face.

“After Rarity gives the clear, we’ll be rolling in. It goes without saying that you guys are going to work as fast and efficiently as possible. Are we clear?”

“Crystal!” The crew replied together.

“Damn straight.” Winky said.

Winky turned to Rarity and looked at her with understanding.

“I know I’ve got you doin’ the same shtick every time, but you do it with more care than anybody else on the team.”

“You didn’t need to tell me that, sir.” Rarity quietly beamed back.

“Good to see you know where you stand above this pack of fucksticks.” Winky clowned.

Rarity giggled and started toward the lift.

The bottom of the ravine was rocky, but hardly too much to handle. The cliff sides were solid bedrock, so there were no direct avalanche threats. Everything checked out, except for one thing.

A stink.

It had been floating around the area the whole time she had been down there, and it was not pleasant in the least. It was so awful in fact, that it had distracted Rarity several times.

While it wasn’t a hazard, it was certainly annoying her. She had no idea where it was coming from. Looking around, she couldn’t see any holes in the cliff’s wall that allow a gas leak, so that was less likely than other theories. Rarity knew that if she didn’t know what it was, there was nothing she could do about it. She wouldn’t have that.

Her radio blipped, letting her know that Winky was growing impatient. She had been down in the canyon for nearly an hour and a half. More of that time than one would expect was spent trying to find the source of the stench.

Rarity grabbed her radio and spoke into it.

“Oh, do be patient! I’ll be up soon.”

“What is soon?” Winky asked on the other side.

“There’s this dreadful smell, Winky. A rotting, stinking, awful, awful smell.”

“It’s probably a dead rat or something.” He insisted. “Get your sweet ass back up here!”

“Really, I’ve almost found it. Just shut up and be patient.”

Rarity shut off her radio to avoid any further communication. The stench was growing closer.

Looking ahead, she squinted to see that there was something blackish red painted on some of the more jagged rocks. It looked pasty. Her suspicions were justified when she sniffed the air and found that the smell was much stronger. Rarity dry heaved the second it entered her nostrils.

It was horrible.

When she reached the rocks, she let out an ‘Ah!’; happy that she had discovered the source of the ghastly smell.

But looking a second time, she noticed something. The pasty blackish red substance seemed to be more concentrated on the other side of the rocks.

Rarity would regret deciding to see for herself what the source of the smell was instead of getting back on the lift. She wouldn’t ever forget what she saw when she climbed over the rocks.

When she looked down, for the first few moments, all she saw was a pile of mush. Then, she looked harder.

Her heart nearly stopped when she noticed that inside of the pile were tattered pieces of clothes. Her mouth began to tremble open as she started to notice more and more things about the pile. Every few centimeters, jutting out of the mess, were teeth. She looked up and saw that intestines were hung across the stalagmites like an organic clothes wire. She saw all this without saying  a word. She simply stared.

But what did it wasn’t any of those things. No. What did it was when Rarity looked down and saw Kanker’s surviving eyeball right under her hoof.

Her jaw dropped to the floor as she tried to scream, but all that sounded was a trembling gasp. Her stomach turned when the smell entered her nose again, only this time, Rarity vomited.

Some of the vomit splashed on the eyeball. Rarity must have thought about it too much, because it made her vomit again.

Tears of terror started to fall out of her eyes without consent. She again tried to scream, only able to manage the trembling gasp again.

By then, Winky had finished coming down the lift to bring her back up himself. Winky approached her from behind, shouting.

“Hey! Rarity! This isn’t playtime! Is the quarry safe or what?” He yelled.

No response.

“Rarity!?” He called at her. “Hey! R! You deaf or somethin’?”

When Winky got over the rock to where she was, he saw what she had seen.

Winky also stood silent for a second or two.

“Holy god.” He finally said in a low voice.

He turned to Rarity, now as pale as a bucket.

“Rarity?” He asked calmly. “Rarity?” He repeated.

She finally let it out; An ear-splitting bloodcurdling scream that echoed throughout the canyon. It went on for as long as Rarity’s lungs could allow. And when she couldn’t scream any more… She breathed in and started screaming again.

Eyes

It goes without saying of course, that the location of the ‘missing’ field manager had been documented. At first, they thought it was an accident. Kanker could have very easily accidentally slipped off the cliff and plummeted down the chasm. But what puzzled those assigned to the case was why there was a gaping hole in his eye socket.

Rarity sat in the stool and stared off into space as her grasp on the shot glass shook vigorously.

It was late, but only so late. Mel hadn’t closed yet, but there were close to no patrons left sitting around. Berry was unconscious on the other side of the bar and Lyra was having a romantic evening with her girlfriend, Bonbon elsewhere.

Tension grew in Mel as he stopped cleaning glasses and stared at Rarity, concerned. She had been in the same position for hours and not said a word. Her lip was still quivering and the scotch had made a ring around the glass from the droplets that had been shaken out from her shivering.

It was fairly warm in the bar, but Mel couldn’t really judge since he was wearing a sweater. He had turned up the heat to see if it would help, but Rarity continued her gaze into nothingness as she shook and trembled.

He waited another moment, and then spoke to her.

“You’ve uh… been sitting there for a couple hours now, R. You alright?” He asked even though he knew she wasn’t.

Of course, Rarity didn’t respond. She didn’t even hear him. All she could hear were her screams echoing in her mind and the only image she could see was the mess; the bloody, disgusting, messy mess.

Mel had guessed that wouldn’t have helped, so he said another really stupid thing.

“You know, I saw a guy’s eye pop out once. It was really nasty, I tell ya.”

The eye

Without warning, Rarity twitched violently and drew in a sharp breath, making Mel leap a bit. After this, she finally broke her stare into nothingness and started shifting her eyes from Berry to Mel. She was breathing quickly.

“Scare the hell outta me, R!” Mel said cautiously. “I have to know, man. Are you good?” He asked earnestly.

Rarity bolted up and looked Mel dead in the eye. He saw fear in her eyes. She was scared. That however, confused Mel. He couldn’t understand why someone would be scared instead of just off put. It was only a dead body. How bad could it have been?

Mel asked his friend just that.

“Jeeze, was it that bad? It was just a stiff, kid.”

Rarity spoke.

“No.”

Her voice was low and raspy. Mel could also hear it was slow and careful, like she was making sure she said what she meant. It was fear. It matched her eyes.

“It wasn’t just a body, Melvin.”

Mel raised his brow as if he still couldn’t understand. Of course he didn’t. He hadn’t seen that awful mess. Oh god what a mess. Rarity felt fur rise on her neck just thinking about it. She wished it had never happened and she had just gotten the bulldozer like she wanted. And why wouldn’t she wish it hadn’t happened? What sicko would have wanted to see what she did?

Rarity finally drank her shot down and then slowly put it back on the bar.

“It wasn’t just a body.” She repeated without looking at Mel.

“That’s what the papers is saying!” Mel assured her, as if he was the one who had seen the body. “They say it were that field manager guy. You know, that Kanker fuck?”

“It WASN’T JUST A FUCKING BODY!” Rarity abruptly roared.

All those left in the bar turned their heads and looked at their favorite guest as she threw her head down and broke into sobs. Mel froze from shock, his hooves held up in surprise. Berry had stirred for a moment and looked up herself to see what the ruckus was. Everyone fell silent except for Rarity as she blubbered and wailed.

“Oh god, his guts were all over. It was a mess!” She screamed. “It was a fucking mess! A blood-gutted atrocity, oh god it was everywhere!” She rambled on.

Mel was dumb, but only enough. He knew it would be good to leave her be. So, all he did was listen. Maybe he’d understand if he did long enough. Maybe he’d understand what it was like to see such an awful, awful mess.

Dashclad had reached the motel’s entrance. She turned back and saw Derpy’s smiling face as it always was. Dashclad couldn’t help but return it like always.

“Thanks for tonight, Derpy. The whole time was just awesome.” She said to the grey mare.

Derpy’s grin got wider.

“Thanks, Dash! I had a great-…” She paused. “T…t-t-..tiiiime too.” She finished after a moment.

“Bowling kicks ass! We didn’t have it back at the mount-“ Dashclad stopped herself. “Uh… I mean back in the city.”

“When are you av-…aailab-ble next time, Dash!?” Derpy asked excitedly. “I can h-harrrdly wait!”

Dashclad looked at her friend and knew that her enthusiasm was honest. She had been so friendly to her, even when she was no more than a stranger from the horizon. Looking at the way her bottom eyelids were being pushed up by her smile made Dashclad want to just hug her tightly. She had no idea why. She never felt this way about anybody. It wasn’t romantic either; it was a genuine care for her new friend. She had just accepted her, and she hadn’t even known her name at the time. Dashclad had never met somebody so kind. Dashclad couldn’t help but let out a giggle at her question.

“I already told you, I’m completely free. I’m game whenever you’re ready.” She replied warmly.

“Oh. Well I’ve got w-ork tomorrow, but I g-get of-ff around f-ffourrr…” She managed to finish. “I guess I’ll see y-you then!”

“Sounds great!” Dashclad smiled back.

Dash looked toward the motel.

“Listen” She said. “I’ve gotta catch some z’s. I’ll be here. Don’t you worry.”

“I won’t worry! I have no reason t-to.” Derpy chirped back.

“Great! Until tomorrow then, right?”

“Right!”

Derpy turned around and flew off toward her house, leaving Dashclad behind. Dashclad turned around as well and headed into the motel Derpy had checked her into. She and her husband and were poor, but they were kind enough to scrap up enough money to help Dashclad find a place to sleep. Dashclad had insisted that they shouldn’t, but they insisted more. After all, there wasn’t enough space in their home for her to stay anyway.

Dashclad was so grateful of her new friend. She couldn’t have been luckier that she was who she just happened to bump into.

Dashclad stood for a moment and thought about how off the odds were that she’d meet exactly the opposite of what she’d expected from her people. Derpy was enough to convince what she’d been told about ponies was the biggest lie in all history.

Dashclad then realized how tired she was. It was late, and the chirp of the crickets made her want to sleep even more so, so she went through the double doors and went up to her rented room, where she slept cozily.

A couple miles away, Pinkamena lied awake in her own bed, staring at the ceiling and remembering Ariel; her baby sister, the only pony who ever really loved her. And then she remembered Cherry, whom she liked to believe was truthful about his worry for her.

And then there was little Scootaloo. She lied awake in her bed, freezing, praying that she could sleep just a little bit. Scootaloo wasn’t thinking about friends. She never had any. She just wanted to sleep so that maybe she could dream. And she knew it was probably hopeless, but she wanted more than anything for it to be a dream about her father.

Neutrality

      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.

Epiphanies

Weeks passed; a few months in total maybe. The police force was still madly flustering about, trying their very hardest to solve the string of murders and missing ponies reports.

They wouldn’t, of course. Though the first two were sloppy, the culprit wised up… no, that wasn’t accurate… the culprit became a phantom. Whoever it was, they left nothing except for blood stains and sometimes pieces of flesh, as dead as the victim. They were so immaculate that there wasn’t even any hard evidence of murder. But they knew. The Ponyville Police Department knew running away from kidnapping and they knew kidnapping from murder. And it drove them positively batshit.

Smokescreen Dean, who had solved fifty two cases in his career, was put in charge of the investigation. Silent despair befell the office when he came back six days later with not one single lead.

A pattern was noticed, however. All of the victims either had a bad reputation, an active criminal record or had been discovered to be in possession of evidence toward crimes posthumously. Assault, abuse of all kinds, embezzlement, grand theft, and even murder themselves.

Strangely, Smokescreen called it a coincidence.

“I don’t think it’s related, no. I can’t see any reasonable motivation behind it. It was a common factor in the victims because it was already a common factor in the first place.” He had said. “Whole lotta good eggs gone bad just so they could stay fresh, ironically. Folks just aren’t as good-spirited as they used to be, I guess. Maybe we’ve all got some evil in us.”

Rarity Germane sat on her couch in the darkened living room, watching the nightly news on her television set (which was really quite bright in that darkness) completely silent but so horribly terrified.

“Twelve missing and suspected dead.” Announced the anchor pony. “The police force believes it to be the work of a lone killer, speculated to be the same who dumped the corpse of Field Manager and convicted felon Kanker Auville into Whitetail Canyon.”

The anchor pony then looked directly at the camera and put on a smile that wasn’t real. It was possibly feigning relief, but Rarity couldn’t tell.

“No leads at the time being,” He said. “But I’ve gotten word that they’ll keep trying until they do.”

Rarity stared at her screen, appalled. Her mouth might have drooped open if she hadn’t started yelling at the screen a few seconds afterward.

“That’s all!?” She said aloud. “You’re trying!?”

She looked around the room furiously like somebody who was terribly frightened.

“Oh, you trying are you!?” She reiterated. “Oh my, that puts every last one of us to rest!”

Rarity laughed weakly for a second or two, but it turned into an unsure and scared whimper.

She hadn’t brushed her mane in days, so it was messy and wiry. It got in her face, but she was too scared to get up, so she started petting the longer parts of it. That helped her a bit. If she pretended hard enough, she could make it feel like it was somebody else’s hair, so she kept at it; pretending she had company over to comfort her.

She hadn’t showered either. She was too afraid to. Every time it crossed her mind she thought about that movie where that mare is stabbed in the motel. She didn’t remember the title, but she remembered that it had been an Alfred Hitchclop picture.

The blinds were drawn so that nobody could look in and know she was there. Rarity had also backed her couch up to the wall to be sure that some sick slimy evil couldn’t sneak up on her.

And although she did all these things, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that she was going to have her throat slit. She had to be alert, so that meant no sleeping. She had to have her wits about her, so that meant no drinking. But she couldn’t know what was in the other room. So it would usually take her a good five minutes to decide whether or not to get up to get some water, fighting against the fifty-fifty chance that the murderer was waiting for her in the kitchen already.

She was shaking. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad if the TV wasn’t so bright. It was hurting her eyes.

“He’s coming for me…” She mumbled to herself as a commercial ran on (brightly). “I saw the body and I bet he knows…”

She took a minute to gasp in between sentences, like how everyone else does when they’re close to tears.

“He knows, oh dear god.”

She shielded her head from nothing and her breathing picked up an unnatural pace.

I don’t want to die. She whispered under her arms.

Rarity threw her head back and let out a wail.

“I DON’T WANNA DIE!” She moaned.

She overheard the television set start a new commercial. It was about cereal or something. The music was much too cheery. Not to mention how bright it was.

It made her angry. Rarity was furious at the commercial playing on her television. Maybe because the ponies in it were smiling (Or MAYBE because it was too bright). She was jealous of those happy characters dancing around on the screen. They didn’t have a serial killer after them. Surely they hadn’t seen the abomination that Rarity Germane had seen on what was supposed to be a normal day.

Suddenly, Rarity thought about her childhood. Things were innocent. Things were cheery, like they were in the commercial. She remembered the times that she had played dodge-ball with Melvin and Lyra after school. She thought about when her mother would take her to the carnival and how she loved the Ferris-Wheel because of how high it went up. She remembered how it felt to know that she was safe from the monsters under her bed, like her father had promised.

She snapped back to the present. All she ever did with Melvin now was get drunk and she hadn’t gone to the carnival since she was twelve. But the worst part was enough to drive her mad, if she wasn’t a bit mad already. The monsters weren’t under the bed anymore, but she knew now more than ever that they were real. She’d seen it with her own eyes; what she saw in the canyon, what she was seeing on the nightly news. It was real.

And there was nothing to protect her.

As she realized this, the TV flashed something of red color. She wasn’t looking at the screen, so she didn’t know what it was, but it was enough to startle her greatly.

Perhaps the killer had been on the screen for that red flash. It was taunting her. Things would always be better for the TV because a serial killer wasn’t after it. It mocked Rarity with its colors and brightness.

The TV probably should have reconsidered before doing something so cruel to her. She was scared, but now thanks to the TV’s inconsideration, she was angry. outraged, if you will. She wouldn’t have it, so Rarity stood up from the couch and grabbed the baseball bat her father gave her on her thirteenth birthday (instead of getting taken to the carnival).

“Mock me, will you? Huh? That’s fair isn’t it?” She said as calmly as she could, pieces of hair plastered to her forehead from sweat.

Some sales pony on the TV responded with “You’ll enjoy it, or else its free!”

Rarity stood on twos and winded the bat behind her shoulder. With a powerful swing, the TV flew off of the stand it was on in a white explosion of electricity as the screen shattered into a hundred pieces. It hit the floor loudly but it made no more noise after that except for a few zaps and sizzles.

She had certainly showed that TV. Nobody was mocking her now. She put down the bat and started to laugh stridently at how well she had got the bastard to shut up. Her laughs made her shake and she fell to her knees. As she looked down, she noticed her hair sagging down into her vision and saw how dirty her hooves were.

She was laughing at nothing. What victory was there? She was still scared and now her TV was destroyed. Shifting her eyes around the room, she saw it was filthy and cluttered.

She remembered a time in her life when she hated clutter and dirt. She remembered the week she spent working furiously on organizing that play for school. Where did she go? From an organized, presentable, well-mannered little princess to a slobby, paranoid, blue collar drunk.

There was no escape. There was no reverse. Nothing would ever be as joyful as they had been to her as a child again. Innocence lost with youth. And to this epiphany, Rarity crumbed to the floor and cried until she fell asleep, which was a miracle seeing the entire time she was still expecting the killer to make a visit.

Pinkamena had changed quite a bit over those few months. It was about the fourth victim that made her realize that all emotions did was get in the way of her job. It was once in a blue moon that she had anything but a deadpan cemented on her face. The last time she really felt anything was when she saw her sixth victim beg for her life.

The desperation. It was there. It was tangible. Pinkamena had seen it in her eyes right before she sliced right into her stomach.

She had felt pity. The look told her very many things. One of them was probably the reason she hadn’t felt anything since. That thing the look told her; it was that some souls will do anything to save themselves, no matter what it is, no matter who they hurt. But some souls are just so wrapped up in their selfishness that they don’t consider what it feels like on the other end, and don’t remember until it’s too late. It made Pinkamena wonder again. Who was she to take these souls from their lives before it was meant to be? Maybe this was how it was meant to be.

Pinkamena, the angel of karmatic justice.

She sat in her basement, like she did quite often as of recently, and tried to think about it. All it brought was confusion, so she ended up just turning it all off. Not giggling at the ghosty but just ignoring it.

After a time, all she did to get through the day was sit in her basement with the bodies and read. Reading was good. Not fun, just good. It helped her learn. She was finally growing up. Not just learning to pay taxes, or getting a real job. She was growing up for real; finally coming to terms with the cruel world that must be fought instead of feared. And Pinkamena realized that the adult world was full of responsibilities… and comparing the number of horrible people dead in her basement and horrible dead people on the outside, it seemed like she was the only real adult in the world.

Yakko was the one who ratted. It wasn’t his fault. They beat it out of him. He didn’t mean any harm, honest. Honest to god.

Mizmahl cracked a ghost of a smile when he heard it.

       “What was that? West was it?” He asked politely.

Yakko hacked up some blood onto the floor. His gut hadn’t hurt so badly since he had the stomach flu as a pup and had to take that awful medicine. He remembered the taste of its gross, syrupy bitterness. Despite him knowing they were totally different, his mind somehow associated that gross medicine’s flavor with dull pain in his crotch from where he got kicked.

It was odd to him how so many terrible things in the world were linked to the strangest of things. He groaned before being able to talk again, weakly.

“West…yea…I think…” He gasped.

Mizmahl bolted up furiously and smacked Yakko to the floor again before he could even get back up. Yakko yelped.

“You THINK? Or do you fuckin’ KNOW, boy?”

No wind in him, he gasped “I didn’t have a goddamn compass on me, man! Fuck you!”

Mizmahl threatened with his raised leg.

“Okay! Okay!” He cried. “Yea, it was west! I saw her! She went west!”

Mizmahl regained his smile. He put his leg down and sat back in his chair.

“Thanks, kid. Finally fucking useful for something, eh?”

Yakko could do nothing about his pain. He grabbed his stomach hard, but it didn’t help. The throbbing was in his head and it made him whine.

Mizmahl reached into his coat with ease thanks to his arm healing up much better than he expected. Yakko couldn’t see what he grasped. Mizmahl looked up at the ceiling of the cell and stopped his bastard grinning.

“You know, Yakko. You ain’t never done me a favor like this.”

Mizmahl never called him by his name like that. It made him confused and without really noticing, pretty scared.

“So I think I’ll help you out too, kiddo.”

He raised his revolver out of his coat.

Yakko saw it and panicked. Moving as much as his body could allow, he grabbed a leg of the chair and tried to slide under it. He also tried screaming, but that failed him for some reason. He screamed, but nothing came out other than a short, dry breath. He just might have made it under the chair too if Mizmahl hadn’t stepped on his tail. A quick, horrified squeal escaped Yakko’s mouth when he felt the foot fall onto him. He squirmed, but it didn’t work.

Mizmahl looked down at the stoner loser pest that had always been existing in his perfect family. It was a cleaning, really. The kid was hurt enough already. It was mercy. Definitely. Making his family better.

Yakko heard a click, then a deafening bang. Then he felt his back melting away along with his strength, whatever was left of that anyway.

Mizmahl was a bit disappointed. He wasted one of his bullets on the likes of Yakko, when he could have saved all six shots for Dashclad. But five seemed nice at the moment. Looking at the map, he saw the closest civilization populated by ponies was Ponyville, and call it instinct, but he had a good feeling that his four-legged flying rainbow pain-in-the-ass was there.

He clicked the cylinder open, removed the now useless shell, clicked it shut again, put the revolver back in its concealed holster where a pocket would usually be in his jacket, and left the cell, then the cave, then the mountain. He continued west and didn’t stop for quite some time.

The shell jingled when it hit the floor, like a tiny holiday bell and rolled just next to the top of Yakko’s head.

Yakko didn’t feel so good. Nothing did. The world was pain and he was pain. It all hurt so badly, he just wished it was gone. He had a metallic taste in his mouth. It was a lot like that nasty medicine he had as a pup. Maybe it wasn’t the flavor that was what made the pain and the medicine similar. Maybe it was just the feeling of displeasure, the feeling of badness. It was really real in a way. Badness was badness, no matter what. Be it pain, suffering, torture of the mind, evil in living things, or the taste of that medicine. It was all still badness.

He thought very, very hard about that for a moment, but it wasn’t long, because he started to forget. He forgot a lot of things as he bled out; his place, his name, even his own existence.

Yakko looked up and saw the brass casing of the bullet. It was reflecting light from the light bulb dangling from the ceiling and into his eyes. It was such a tiny little object, but he forgot about size. He also forgot about everything, so to him the casing was very pretty and brilliant. Blood leaked from him as he continued staring at the casing in wonder.

        For the last few seconds of his life, that bullet casing was his whole world.

        Yakko died with the taste of the medicine lingering in his mouth for some reason.

Ur

Not counting of course, the turnpike from the highway to Main Street, there were only three exits to Ponyville. One, the train station and the trail past it. Two, the road leading to the Everwhite and Whitewood Bridge, which was condemned from that point upward. And finally, the road to the rock quarry.

The rock quarry wasn’t much of a sight, but nobody would know, seeing that it had been declared a danger zone. The reason was no doubt accredited to the fact that beyond that point was a tribe of Gem Hounds, known by the locals and most other ponies as Diamond Dogs.

At the time, Equestria was at war with their kind, whom had a more than irritating habit of robbing, kidnapping, raping, and killing ponies they happened to ‘find’. Because of the war, mutual bigotry toward the opposing forces was welcomed with open arms. Ponies were often told of the ferocious, savage, ruthless, greedy nightmares that wanted nothing more than their blood spilt, while the Gem Hounds spent more than enough time raving about how the filthy, back-stabbing, stuck up elitist mules were trying to pass laws to make genocide legal. This was however, a mostly cold war. Deadly force was only used when a tribe attacked, which was a choice of their own, as the hounds had no unified government and didn’t conspire as a species. Most tribes saw no reason in attacking pony towns or cities because it wasn’t worth the effort, or they just didn’t care.

The tribe of the rock quarry, who called themselves Diamondites, saw the war as an opportunity to open a black market for the town. The Gem Hounds were nothing close to savage in light of technology. They were the first to discover gun-powder, create bullets, and manufacture firearms. They also had a wide array of resources found useful to ponies. Knowing this, the Diamondites embraced the embargo in between species as an excuse to raise prices of useful means. Though only a handful of Ponyville’s citizens knew of the black market, and even fewer were brave enough to actually buy from it, the tribe retained a very high profit and practically thrived off of it.

The tribe’s leader, Pnova, ran the market. His right hand, Deyclad, handled shipments. And Gonxeqhik (or Gonzy) was Pnova’s childhood friend, now his security department during transactions.

It was cold out, but not snowing. The sky was somewhat blue but flat bland grey clouds filled the sky and made things look and feel like a rainy day. Pnova had setup a transaction with somebody in town. It wasn’t direct of course, he would hire criers to tell ponies in the rougher parts of town about his setup and have them come back up to the quarry disguised as hikers, letting him know if somebody had gotten interested. His favorite crier, a colt by the name of Caramel, had told him of a very serious buyer, one that promised that at least something would be bought on the spot.

Pnova was always excited about sure sales. The weight of the gold pieces the ponies called ‘bits’ in his red vest pocket always felt so gratifying. It wasn’t just the thought of him being richer; it was the primal rush of an accomplishment. He felt like he had done well. It also made him feel smart, him having tricked the customer into buying something that was so meaningless to him and getting profit. And not to mention the gems. Oh, the gems! The time he had to wait for his spies to get back from the national exchange was unbearable. Turning the bits into gems was his favorite part. Amethysts, Rubies, Sapphires, Emeralds, Jasper, Crystal, Morganite, Moonstone, Opal! And Diamonds. Oh joy, how he loved Diamonds. Much like everyone in his tribe. They were named after the things they loved them so much.

Pnova stood in the wind dreaming about those wonderful stones when Deyclad shouted something incoherent. It irritated him that he had been so rudely torn from his fantasy.

“What!? I was thinking very happy thoughts!” He shouted in anger after whirling around.

Deyclad only grunted again, pointing toward the entry trail. Pnova saw a figure approaching. He smiled. It must have been his new customer.

As the figure approached, he urged Gonzy to bring up the inventory. Gonzy reached behind a nearby boulder and drug out a large wooden crate. Hardly any movement from them followed that as they waited for the figure to stop in front of them.

The customer was wearing a black hooded cloak and a scarlet checkered scarf, their face was hidden from the illegal merchants.

Now assuming the buyer was within earshot, Pnova started talking.

“Welcome to the black market, friend. What was this I was told about buying at least something today?” He encouraged.

The figure stopped and dropped the hood of the cloak to reveal messy, untamed, violet hair on the head of a white mare with deep circles under her eyes.

All three of the hounds were bewildered.

“A girl!?” cawed Gonzy dumbly.

Pnova knew how business worked. One stupid slip-up or word out of place and the transaction was kaput. He turned around and yelled.

“Stop talking, fool!”

He whirled back around and was slightly startled by the terror in the mare’s eyes. She looked desperate. Normally, this was good for quick sales, but this was different. This mare was scared, really scared. Without knowing it, he found himself being very careful and delicate with his words.

“Eh…” He stupidly stuttered. “What is it you’ve come to us for, pony?”

Rarity frantically searched the surrounding area with her eyes to make sure nobody was watching or following her. She had been very careful; so very careful. Now that she had made the journey, she was at the climax of her trip, so she knew she would have to be quick before she forgot to be on the alert. She faced the hound.

“H-hello…” She croaked.

Her voice was raspy and tired. She still hadn’t slept.

“How much for a…” She finished by whispering something too quietly followed by a please.

Pnova, confused asked her to clarify.

“What was that?”

“I need you to sell me a…” She whispered again.

“Speak up, please.” Pnova asked, using the premium of his etiquette by asking nicely.

“a GUN!” The violet mare shouted abruptly, eyes now bulging.

All three hounds were so startled by this, that Pnova backed up a few steps and shielded his face involuntarily, while Gonzy jumped a bit and Deyclad fell off the rock he was perched on with a thud and an “oof!”.

She was talking quietly again.

“I need a gun, please. Please.” She asked.

Hearing this, Pnova was dreadfully confused. Ponies never wanted guns. They always bought something stupid like oil or velvet.

“A gun?” He said, dumbstruck. “Why do you want a gun?”

Rarity was impatient. Her eyes were slowly turning into a glare.

“Can I get one or not?”

He hadn’t come prepared. The crate was full of materials and liquids. There were no guns except for the ones on his person.

Then he remembered the weight of the money in his pocket. It swept him away. He smiled slightly just thinking about it. He had to give her something.

Then he remembered the pistol in his side. It was traded to him from the tribe near Sky Mirror Lake. It did him no good anyway; he was a two-handed gun type. He smiled at his customer and reached into his vest, pulling out a long barrel revolver.

Rarity saw the weapon and grabbed it with her magic instantly. It was ripped out of Pnova’s hands so fast, he fell to the ground. She surveyed it carefully, but not too carefully. He didn’t want the killer to catch her off guard in case he had followed her, which she was sure he had.

The revolver was steel, with a silvery-brown finish and a black marble grip. Engraved on the left side of the barrel was a sloppy but legible “Ur”.

Rarity opened the cylinder with her magic and counted the chambers it had. She looked at the hounds cautiously. For all she knew, they worked for the killer. She had to maintain a constant alertness.

She gulped like some do when they’re trying to stop crying. “H-how much do you want for it?”

Pnova picked himself up and brushed the dirt off of his vest. He looked back at the pony, still feeling a hidden disturbance.

“Well…” He guessed, working out a ‘fair’ deal in his head. “Two-“

“Two hundred?” Rarity interrupted.

Pnova waited to be sure she was finished.

“Yes, that’s fair, right-“

“Bullets!!!” she screamed abruptly, forcing the hounds to cover their ears and cringe just slightly.

“What!?”

“Bullets!” She reiterated. “Guns can’t kill without bullets!”

Gonzy and Deyclad exchanged worried looks and turned to Pnova, as if they expected him to understand any more than they did. He simply shot them back a worried look. It’s all he could do. He was the one who should have been worried. He was closest to the strange mare.

Pnova reached into his vest and pulled out a small red box of ammunition for the gun. It was a fairly old gun, he’d been told, and in turn it had very old ammo, which was also rare. He held out his hand quite far from his body for a reason he didn’t understand.

Rarity seized the ammo with her magic as well and marveled at the objects she was grasping. She was safe, no doubt; at least a whole lot more than she was with a shitty baseball bat. A sense of triumph filled her, and she started to giggle. It was relief, of course, but the hounds couldn’t know that. Her laughter got progressively louder and uncontrollable. A moment of victory being well celebrated. Rarity roared with laughter and even started coughing.

The hounds slowly backed away, horrified of the clearly insane mare, cackling as she looked at the very dangerous weapon that they had just made the blatant mistake of giving to her. Pnova was struck by the worst of it. He was unarmed. He saw that in his peripheral vision, Deyclad was grasping his 9mm while Gonzy reached behind the rock the crate of goods shared with his shotgun. He was jealous. They were also further away. Not only was he jealous, but he felt stupid and full of regret. What the fuck had he been thinking when handing her his gun!? The mare violently twitched her head so that she was looking at him now. He let out an uncontrolled shriek.

“I have three hundred!” She said merrily.

She tossed a small pouch at the hounds with a conquering grin.

Pnova fumbled the pouch, but ended up catching it anyway. He saw the mare had a deathly grimace smeared across her face. It was ghastly.

“T-thank…you…” He managed. He mumbled while shifting his eyes about his surroundings, looking for a quick escape to the den. “J-just…” said Pnova, stuttering terribly. “Don’t come back, okay, pony?” It was almost a beg.

The mare wasn’t listening. She was clicking the bullets into their chambers happily.

She wasn’t looking at him anymore, so without any particular direction, he bolted. Deyclad and Gonzy saw him run and they instinctively followed. They didn’t want to be shot.

Rarity hadn’t seen them leave and when she noticed she didn’t care. There was nothing to worry about with a gun. The killer might have a knife, but only unicorns could use guns. He was no match now.

She put the gun in her saddlebag, but didn’t let the magic grip off of it. Then she turned around and made her way down the trail back into town.

The hounds didn’t stop running until they reached the den. They stopped at the entrance and caught their breath. Pnova collapsed onto the ground, panting, and his heart racing like he had been. He had never been afraid of a pony before. It was something about her eyes. They might have been the wrong size, or maybe there was a glint in them that brushed him wrong, but none-the-less, he never wanted to see that pony again.

Pinkamena saw that spring was coming soon, so she decided to get to spring cleaning early. She went into the living room, which she almost never used, ironically. In there, she dusted the floor with a broom she had bought in town square. Then she had cleaned the kitchen, which she also never used, all thanks to her diet consisting of nothing but foodstuffs directly from the stands in the square.

While cleaning the kitchen, a sack of flour dropped from atop the cupboard. When she saw it, she sneered. The voice had hopped into it one time and pretended to be a girl named Madame LeFlour. She kicked the sack into the corner and then threw it into the trash. She still hated the voice.

She moved on to the bedroom up the staircase. While moving a dresser out of the way, she noticed a pull chord that was next to it. Despite that room being the only other one she really spent time in, she hadn’t ever noticed this particular cord before.

Curious, of course, she pulled it, only to be thumped on the head by a trap-door staircase that fell from the roof. She rubbed her noggin and picked herself back up, too intrigued by this new space to mumble an ‘ouch’.

She quizzically looked up into the room the miniature staircase led to and decided it would be stupid not to climb up.

Upon entering the space, she realized it was the attic. It was littered with assorted boxes and junk. But the focal point of the room was easily the brightly decorated book on the end table at the end of the length of the attic. She went up to it and scanned the cover.

Memories it said only.

She opened the cover and looked at the first page. It was covered in pictures, some in black and white, others in poor Technicolor. Pinkamena noticed that in each of the pictures, there was one common factor; a Donkey.

In each picture, he was absolutely covered in gear. Around his neck were several cameras, some small, others complicated and goofy, and one big camera in the center of them. Also on his body were coats and jackets and vests, all with at least twenty pockets, stuffed and overflowing with junk and other non-sense nearly spilling out. He wore a fishing hat, and also a charming smile. One of the pictures was of him and a heavily decorated griffon standing on icy tundra both shaking their limbs, since only the griffon had a hand. Written on the white part under the actual picture on the Polaroid was the sentence; For my favorite traveler and best friend, Cranky. Followed by what Pinkamena guessed was the griffon’s signature.

Another picture was of a place she recognized immediately. It was the basement. It’s red light was glowing in the photo, with the donkey wearing a gas mask and mixing chemicals into a tray. Above him were rows and rows of photos hung by clothes pins on a string that spanned the room.

The basement had been a darkroom. It certainly explained the light bulb and its deep redness. But Pinkamena still had no idea why a knife collection had been in there.

When she flipped to the center of the book, she stopped. She noticed something in one of the photos. The donkey was being handed something. He was looking directly at the lens and leaning toward the object, indicating that the he was posing for the photographer. The picture must have been important to him, she guessed. But the actual photo and how it was taken was irrelevant, because the object being handed to him was Tag.

She grabbed the book and got as close to the page as her vision would allow. She even tried squinting her eyes. She wanted to be sure.

Examining it carefully, she saw that it was indeed Tag. She now knew where the knife had come from. The picture was taken inside of a gothic castle, and the creature handing the knife to the donkey was a legendary alicorn with a four-fingered metal appendage attached to his front hoof by magic.

While a look of success was on the donkey’s face, Pinkamena saw a rather relived look on the alicorn’s face. He was happy to be giving the thing away.

Pinkamena silently wished that she could feel the same.

The Photo

Now it wasn’t far at all until the end of winter right then on that day. There wasn’t much snow and the breeze was light (by current standards of course). It was a Wednesday; not happy, but not ruthlessly depressing like all of the other days. Maybe it was all of the anticipation of the bitter season finally coming to an end clustering itself into a manifestation of some kind that just magically made everyone feel like it was a fine day, when really it wasn’t, but that wasn’t the way to think on a day like this. Everyone tried their best to be optimistic and most everyone could except for one poor soul.

Scootaloo was having a particularly rough day. While eating breakfast, one of the other orphans walked by and knocked over her bowl, making her strangely soggy and dry oatmeal all over the floor. They laughed at her. Stupid clumsy little Scootaloo. They laughed hard. The filly that had done it didn’t even try to make it look like an accident, she had looked Scootaloo in the eyes while doing it; directly in the eyes as she knocked her meal onto the ground and making a miserable mess identical to stupid clumsy little filly it had belonged to. She wanted to cry, but her tummy hurt too much. She had been punished with no supper the previous night for asking stupid questions.

Scootaloo had been looking at her photo again. It was the one of her parents. As she looked, the mare that was divorced from Hickory Powell and gained ownership of his orphanage passed by, catching a glimpse of the picture herself. She stopped and loomed over the child, taking a closer look.

“You sure do like that picture, don’t you, kid?” She said.

Scootaloo knew she was there, but she hadn’t really paid attention to what she had been saying because at the time she also happened to be thinking about something. It was a question she had asked herself that she didn’t know the answer to. It was important. She had to know. It wasn’t something that was only important right then like when a child says it’s ‘important’ to go to the carnival or it’s ‘important’ that he gets to watch something on television, it was really important. There was probably nothing in the world that was more important to her at that moment than the answer to her question.

Then Scootaloo realized something. It usually worked. She would ask Mrs. Powell, because adults always knew the answer. They had been around much longer, so they were bound to know and although Scootaloo really didn’t like Mrs. Powell, she didn’t think she was stupid. So Scootaloo looked up and asked.

“Mrs. Powell?” She asked cautiously, knowing what it meant to speak out of place.

Mrs. Powell flinched as if surprised Scootaloo was even alive. “Huh?” She mumbled, now looking at the child. “What? What is it?” she groaned.

“Do you think my dad is in heaven?” Scootaloo asked.

Mrs. Powell was looking into the small pegasus’s eyes. Her eyes glowed almost; from what Mrs. Powell guessed was desperate anticipation. The filly wanted that answer more than anything. So Mrs. Powell turned the smallest smile and told her.

“No, sweetie. He’s dead.”

Scootaloo’s mouth dropped open just hardly enough to see. She turned back to the picture and looked at her father. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t really be gone.

“B-but…he…” She tried.

“That’s what ponies do, kiddo.” She interrupted. “They die.”

Mrs. Powell could see that Scootaloo was trying very hard to prove her wrong. Shifting her head all about and back and forth, trying to find a reason for why he couldn’t just die. But she couldn’t think of a reason, and she finally just looked at the picture one more time.

“Oh…” She croaked.

It was only one word she said, but it said very much. The word was said lowly, nearly under her breath. It was deep and raspy like she had had her soul sucked out along with the word.

She was broken.

         Mrs. Powell felt a strange twisting in her heart. It was the feeling someone gets when they kick a puppy or break a child’s soul and rob them of their innocence. It was a feeling you could only really feel if you did something horrible. She fucking loved it. The idea of her invoking such a feeling of misery, the very knowledge that she had ruined that worthless little freak’s day made her feel wonderful. But that wasn’t enough. You’ve got to milk it. When you burn down a house you don’t just laugh while it goes down, you also dance on the ashes and don’t stop laughing even then. She had to make it just a little worse. The sick twisted mare raised her hoof while the filly was still looking at the picture and struck her. Scootaloo squealed for the quickest second only to be quieted by the floor when she hit it with her face, already beaten and scratched and bruised.

“Stupid question you had there, kid. I don’t like stupid questions.” She lied. “No dinner.”

And then, Mrs. Powell simply trotted off.

Scootaloo now looked at her oatmeal, on the floor and covered in dirt. Everyone was still laughing, making every second even more horrible then the last. Then, so quickly it was almost frightening, nobody was laughing. Scootaloo looked up and nearly had a heart attack when she saw that Mrs. Powell was looming over her once again.

Mrs. Powell’s eyes shifted from the loser to the mess on the floor.

She spoke very calmly. “The last fucking thing I need is picking that up.”

Scootaloo recoiled whenever she talked. Scootaloo apologized for something that wasn’t even her fault.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Powell. I’ll get it.”

Scootaloo got out of her chair and took a step forward right before being seized by the hind leg.

“Where are you going?” Mrs. Powell asked quietly. She didn’t need to repeat herself of course. It was so quiet in the room one could hear a pin drop, which would result in the punishment of whoever dropped it no doubt.

Scootaloo got a lump in her throat; probably from trying too hard to conceal her fear, which she was doing poorly enough.

“I was g-going t-to get a br-room, you know?”

Mrs. Powell forced Scootaloo to look right at her. When their eyes met, she grinned.

“You don’t need a broom. I didn’t say to get a broom, did I?” She glowered.

Scootaloo hid her face.

“N-nnn-no, M-mm-a’m” she trembled.

Mrs. Powell turned her toward the mess and lowered her own head so it was near the terrified child’s ear.

“Eat it.” She whispered.

Scootaloo was in disbelief. “W-what?” She asked, to be sure.

“Lick it up. Every last tiny bit, clumsy.” She murmured just as quietly.

Scootaloo looked at the pile of mush, covered with dirt and hairs and some other stuff that didn’t help it look any more appetizing. There was no hesitation, no defiance or moment of bravery for Scootaloo. She did as she was told. She leaned over and started eating the spilt oatmeal. She picked up a glob of the filthy stuff and-

“Hey!” Shouted Mrs. Powell.

She firmly kicked Scootaloo in the rear, causing her to fall face first into the mess and grind it even more into the floor. The other children burst out laughing, like anyone with a decent soul would have at something funny. But they weren’t laughing at a joke. Well, you could say it was a joke, but Scootaloo was the only one who didn’t get it.

“I said lick it, dummy!” Mrs. Powell finished. “No touching!”

At this, the children laughed even harder.

Scootaloo tried her best to mute them and mopped up what she could of the meal with her tongue. It was horrible, but she managed to get through by comparing it to the many other things that had happened to her. Mrs. Powell had once slapped her so hard she hit the ground and sprained her arm and right after that, Mrs. Powell had told her about all the ways she could torture her if she told anyone. That was much worse than right then.

But the laughing was getting louder. All of the other orphans bursting with laughter directed at her like poison arrows. Each time she swallowed a glob of the mess she knew she was closer to it being over. By the time it was over, Scootaloo was crying. There was no reason for this not to happen. It had happened enough anyway. All of the orphans pointed, still laughing.

         It was likely Charlie that was the one who threw first. He scooped up some of his oatmeal and slung it at Scootaloo, and it hit her on the back with a wet and muffled sound like an egg would if it were being smashed on a carpet. The others must have found this amusing, because they all threw a bit at her. All of them.

         As this happened, Scootaloo tried to think of the good things in her life… nothing came. Her father was dead and so was her mother. Everyone who had ever loved or even cared about her was dead. And even though she already knew this, it made her much more upset than usual. Her stomach churned. Maybe from the oatmeal, but more likely from the grim fact she’d helped resurface again.

         Nobody loved her.

         Scootaloo turned toward the bedrooms and ran. There was only one thing that had a chance of making her feel any better.

         Mrs. Powell saw her leave. Where did she have to go so quickly? She didn’t know, but she thought it would be best to see, but first she had to shut the kids up.

         “SHUT UP!” She boomed.

         Instantly, all of the children were back in their seats. Not a sound. And none of them were even close to laughing anymore. That was already a distant memory, ancient history. There was nothing so commonly worn as looks of fear and shame in that room in that moment.

         When she was sure they’d quieted, she slowly followed Scootaloo’s trail and ended up in the bedrooms. The only thing she saw in that room was a small pegasus, leaning over and looking at a photograph of her dead parents. She was sobbing loudly, but Mrs. Powell could tell the filly was trying to stifle it.

         Scootaloo looked at the photo, waiting for the moment when her father hugged her for the last time to come into focus. She wanted to touch him. She knew it wouldn’t feel at all the same, but she brought the photo to her cheek and rubbed against it desperately, trying to feel him. It didn’t work. Scootaloo bawled uncontrollably on her bed while Mrs. Powell approached her.

         She was still looking at that stupid picture. Fucking baby. Mrs. Powell was behind the broken filly, looking at the photo too. It genuinely puzzled her when she wondered how a kid could care so much about such a stupid picture. So Mrs. Powell thought she knew what to do to be rid of this childishness.

         “Are you looking at that fucking picture again? Geez, kid.” She said, annoyed.

         Scootaloo looked up at Mrs. Powell and shot her a look of desperation. Desperation really is the word for it. Her eyes were so full of tears and her cheeks were so stained and she couldn’t stop sniffling. Her mouth wouldn’t stay closed, so her whines were loud and vocalized. Then she said something that was the truth. That’s all it was, the barest of the truth.

         “I *sniff* w-want m-my *sniff* daddy…” She begged.

         Mrs. Powell knew she was beyond broken. Her soul had been grinded to dust. But that wasn’t enough. No. She hadn’t danced on the ashes yet. One more thing had to be done.

         What Mrs. Powell did was the most sick, twisted, vile, deplorable thing she’d ever done. She quickly snatched the photo from Scootaloo’s hooves and held it over her head.

“NO!” Scootaloo immediately shrieked. She whirled around and started swatting for it like it was the most important thing in the world.

Mrs. Powell teased her with it, holding it just high enough over her that she could reach.

“You want it? You want this?” She mocked.

Tears ran down her face as she screamed for her tormentor to stop, but Mrs. Powell wouldn’t. But Scootaloo wasn’t prepared for the coup de grace. When it happened, she stopped crying and only stared in a grisly amazement. Mrs. Powell had taken out her lighter.

Her eyes went wide when Mrs. Powell lit it and touched the lighter to her photo.

“NO!!!! NONONONONONONONOOOOO!!!!!!”

Scootaloo wailed and threw herself against her personal Satan, beating her legs with her fists as hard as she could, praying to the ever-loving god that it would be enough to make it stop. But Mrs. Powell kicked her inflexibly in the stomach and she spit up everything she had eaten on the floor - much like Pinkamena that day in Kanker’s office – and went sprawling.

She had just enough time to look back up and see the flame catch onto her picture. The photograph of her family was consumed by the flame in seconds. The most precious thing in her life was destroyed in no more than an instant.

Scootaloo just looked at Mrs. Powell, who was grinning now. She dropped a very small piece of singed paper out of her hoof and it fluttered down to the floor, nothing left of the filly’s only good memory. Her task had been completed.

Mrs. Powell looked right into the eyes of the mortified child and even leaned in a bit.

“I guess there really is nothing good left now, huh?”

Then she just left the room.

Scootaloo didn’t cry. She started at the singed bit of paper left over. There was nothing left in the world for her, so she decided to take a vacation from it for a while. Scootaloo did nothing but look at the burned remains of her mom and dad for nearly three hours. The vomit under her had dried eventually and gotten stuck to her coat, but it didn’t even exist for Scootaloo. The only thing that existed at all was that piece of singed paper. It was the last bit of anything that she cared about in the entire world, so what reason was there for her to see anything else?

The Ninth

It was four days until ‘Winter Wrap Up Day’. According to the Equestrian calendar, it was February the ninth, on a Monday. It was on this day that a large number of things happened; important things, all of which happened relatively around the same time as each other.

The first thing of significance happened early in the day, right before the afternoon. The school bell rang and all of the children rushed outside to have recess. It would be stupid to assume that Scootaloo wasn’t alone during this time. She was hiding in the furthest corner of the playground.

Scootaloo was shivering. She no longer had a scarf. One of the kids had pulled it right off of her neck. She paid hardly any mind to it, though. Her soul had been grinded to pieces.

As she sat there, she looked up at the sky. It was grey, like it always seemed to be. A question rattled around in her head. It was easy; one that everyone has to ask at some point in their life.

She wondered why she was alive.

Now that question is always hard to answer. Nobody just knows why they’re alive, it takes a lot of thinking and soul-searching to find out what one’s purpose is. But Scootaloo sat there and thought and thought, but nothing came. There was no soul to search; it had been crushed into oblivion.

There was nothing to look forward to, nothing to look back at now too. The sky was without definition and detail. There was nothing but an enormous blanket of clouds covering the sky and blocking the beautiful sun. Scootaloo felt like the clouds.

But when she looked at how they flew over the world and thought about all the things they saw, she was jealous. She flexed her wings subtly, testing to see if they worked at all, even though she knew they didn't.

It hurt her to remember she could never fly. Maybe it was god’s little inside joke; the one that only he and the rest of the world understood. Her entire life was just a farce for him to sit back and laugh at; a classic slap-stick comedy starring worthless little Scootaloo.

God worked in mysterious ways, she was always told. His sense of humor was certainly mysterious.

Maybe it was her fault. Maybe she had done something stupid or worthless that made him hate her and she didn’t even know.

In the distance, she saw a lone pegasus fly through the clouds.

It was like the world was taunting her. Nothing could be worse than that. The world was so much bigger than her and she knew there was no fighting the world.

        The pegasus split some of the clouds down the middle while cruising along cheerfully. A feeling flashed through the small filly. It was yearning. For what, it was blurry, but she was almost certain that it was being in her mother’s hooves as she soared though the night sky over the city of lights.

Yes. That was it. The memory flooded back.

It was so vivid. The lights glowed like heaven from below as the clouds tickled her nose. Her mother was humming something that angels sing, no doubt. Her father was nearby too. It was such a simple moment. But that’s all the filly could have wanted in all her life. Even being a mile high, she had remembered feeling safe. It was something she wanted to remember all day, but the feeling faded without permission, and it went un-replaced, making the child feel emptiness indescribable to those who have never suffered such pain as her.

Nothing left to do, she started to weep, of course. Though it was really all she ever did, she didn’t resist. There was no reason to. She wept openly in the far corner of the playground, not noticing the shadow approaching her.

“Waaaaahahaahaaaaaaa!!!!” A harsh voice mocked.

Scootaloo didn’t bother to turn around. It was what the figure wanted.

Diamond Tiara was holding back laughs, like something very funny was going on.

“Crying again?” She taunted, pretending to be surprised.

Scootaloo didn’t bother with a ‘go away’. She had learned by then that nobody listened to that.

“Thinking about, your daddy?”

Scootaloo didn’t answer.

Diamond Tiara quickly grew impatient. She would have to try harder.

“Cripple says what?” She mumbled fast.

Scootaloo had stopped listening entirely. There was no point in that either.

The pink filly grunted, now fairly frustrated.

“Hey!” She shouted. “I’m talking to you, loser! Cripple! Freak!”

Nothing.

She was doing it again. That fucking freak was ignoring her.

Scootaloo should have expected it, but she didn’t. A rock whizzed through the air and struck the back of her skull, making her jar and fall flat on her nose, breaking it.

It took her several seconds to come back. She felt a steady and constant flow from her nose, also feeling a pool forming around her mouth. She lifted her head and saw that the rock had some blood on it as well. After that, she noticed the heavy drops of crimson falling from her face and into the small puddle that had been made in the seconds she had been on the ground. The last two things that bought her back to reality from surprise’s abyss were the least pleasant. Scootaloo’s nervous system finally came to and jolted what felt like a javelin of pain into the back of her head, forcing her to scream. The other thing she noticed, was Diamond Tiara storming toward her.

Her face was distorted. It was mangled into an expression of pure hatred and fury. Scootaloo was able to absorb it quite a bit more than she was supposed to in the swift moments before Diamond Tiara’s hoof collided with her stomach.

Scootaloo lurched over. Diamond Tiara struck her back, making her fall back to the ground. Scootaloo landed in her blood, making it splash just ever so lightly and stain her coat.

No time was in between then. Diamond Tiara kicked Scootaloo in the chin, sending her tumbling under the fence that served as the boarder of the school grounds. Some of Scootaloo’s teeth chipped, while a few came loose and either rumbled in her mouth or flew out. She could hardly tell what was happening. There was no time to figure it out.

Scootaloo’s classmate ducked under the fence and made her way toward the cripple. When she reached her, she hung over her.

Thought she would never have done it any other time, she snorted strongly and then cleared her throat loudly. Diamond Tiara smirked just enough for Scootaloo to look up and see, then spat on her.

The ball of phlegm and saliva landed on her wing and seeped through some of the feathers, embedding itself.

“Having fun, Freak?” She asked.

If it was on any other face Scootaloo would have thought Diamond Tiara’s expression was one of sternness, but she could see more than that. It was a more concentrated actualization of all the hated for her condensed into a much calmer and diminutive expression.

Diamond Tiara stood on her hind legs.

“No…” Scootaloo moaned weakly.

*CLOK*

Scootaloo tumbled further down the hill away from the school. Her ribs were in pain now. Diamond Tiara calmly made her way up to her victim again. Scootaloo shielded her face.

“Are you going to do that again?”

“Wh-…what?” The bleeding and battered pegasus asked.

*CLAK*

Scootaloo wailed in misery as she tumbled even further away. Stopping, she almost vomited. She tried to move, but it hurt far too much. A simple and child-like dread rushed through her as she could do nothing but watch Diamond Tiara approach again.

“Are you going to ignore me anymore?” She playfully asked.

Scootaloo stuttered. She couldn’t understand.

*KLAUGHK*

*tumble*

“ARE YOU!?!” She roared.

“NO!” Scootaloo instinctively howled back.

Diamond Tiara kicked her one more time, firmly. Scootaloo choked for a moment, fixing it by hacking up a good amount of blood.

“Good.” Diamond Tiara finished. “I like it when things are good.”

Diamond Tiara turned around and started making her way back toward the school house, leaving the mess she made behind, squirming and wrecked. But she stopped for a moment. She thought about something. She thought of saying something not unlike something Mrs. Powell would have said. Great minds think alike, of course.

Some hold onto consciousness by a stump after taking such a brutality. Scootaloo was hanging by a string. A primal terror gleamed when she saw Diamond Tiara turn around and start coming back.

Scootaloo braced herself as much as possible, but wasn’t met with any further physical pain. Instead, Diamond Tiara smiled, genuinely. She bent over so that Scootaloo’s ear was right by her mouth.

“My dad owned the coal mine your daddy died in.” She told Scootaloo. “Your daddy died because my dad spent your dad’s salary on my birthday presents instead of paying him. Your dad wouldn’t have worked overtime that day if mine hadn’t bought me my tiara.”

This was topped off with a giggle at the end.

Diamond Tiara turned around again and left for the playground.

There was no way it was a coincidence. There was no luck involved. That was a direct intervention from god. Her father was dead because of Diamond Tiara and her greedy father.

Scootaloo’s mind shattered and became enlightened. She understood everything.

There was no reason for her to live.

No reason at all.

This sudden knowledge made her unexplainably strong, and she stood up from where she had been. Without reason, there are no laws. Scootaloo looked at Diamond Tiara and hated her with her entire existence, more than anyone could ever hate anything.

Scootaloo snapped.

And with that, she sprinted at Diamond Tiara, unrelenting in all ways.

Diamond Tiara heard the fall of hoofsteps. She turned around, but only caught a quick glimpse of Scootaloo’s face. Of course, she wouldn’t have known that. Nothing had ever looked so furious, so livid. It was the face of a hundred demons, all inside the crippled little freak that dared to ignore Diamond Tiara. She couldn’t even open her mouth to scream before Scootaloo’s hoof crashed into her face like a train swiping a car on the tracks.

She hit the ground so hard that it gave her a concussion. Her experience was much like Scootaloo’s. It took her several seconds to actualize the situation and get back into touch with all of the world and even herself. It all came to her at once. The pain, the horror. She almost screamed at the top of her lungs, but froze when she saw Scootaloo.

Her pupils were as small as pinholes. Blood still gushed from her. Her teeth were jagged and clenched. She was standing on her hind legs and what she was holding up was a rock twice the size of the one Diamond Tiara had used.

It dawned on the small earth pony what was about to happen. She gasped in unspeakable dismay.

“No.” She begged. “NO! NO!!!”

Scootaloo brought the rock down on her classmate.

And then she did it again.

And again…

And again…

Roughly an hour later, Mizmahl looked at the town’s sign.

“Ponyville, eh?” He said to himself, unimpressed. “This doesn’t quite strike me as a very well-guarded place.”

He grinned.

“Oh yea.” He said confidently. “She went here.”

Mizmahl drew his revolver and started to twirl it on his index finger as he strolled toward the town square, whistling a song he once heard on the radio.

He would find that to his luck, Dashclad was in the town square with her good friend Derpy, going to buy apples, which she had never had before. What a day it would be.

Scootaloo

It was right about when Mizmahl entered the town square when Pinkamena was trudging through the snow in her backyard and into the Everwhite, holding a fire ax in her mouth.

She had finally run out of firewood to keep herself warm at night and fuel the house’s furnace. While she could have gone into town, she simply didn’t. Something made her want to go into the woods. She didn’t think too much of it. Only an impulse she figured. But it was actually the most important thing in her life to go into that forest on that day at that exact time she did. She couldn’t have known that of course so she simply trudged toward the Everwhite, looking for the perfect tree.

The perfect tree wasn’t too hard to find she assumed. It wouldn’t be too tall to carry back or too thick to grab onto once it had fallen but one that could last a very long while.

But as Pinkamena go further and further into the woods, she found it was nearly impossible to find a good tree. The ones that were perfectly thick were all much too tall and the ones that were just tall enough were always too skinny.

She groaned after a time, disgruntled. Tree after tree after tree. Nothing would work. So she trudged on and on and on.

Eventually, Pinkamena had traveled so far into the Everwhite that the biomes had shifted and she was in the Everfree forest. There was not a single good tree from her cabin to the end of the woods. She looked around the final area that served as a border between the two brushes once more to be sure that there were no potential candidates.

Nothing. Nothing was perfect.

Pinkamena dropped the ax from her mouth, letting its silver head sink into the soil at her hooves. She glared at the canopy covering the sky.

“Dammit.” She mumbled.

Pinkamena looked back in the direction of her cabin and contemplated giving up, when she heard a rustling behind her.

Pinkamena had sharpened her reflexes like her ax in the time she had doing what she did and had the ax up before she even finished spinning around to see what made the noise. It had startled her, she wouldn’t lie to herself.

The Everfree’s bush was barren (as far as she could see) and the only sound Pinkamena heard was her steady heartbeat.

Pinkamena knew better than to call ‘hello’ into the open. She herself had never answered any of her victims when they had said it. Instead, she started backing away. Her eyes darted back and forth, searching for danger.

She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t being brave either. Emotion had become a surplus by then. Pinkamena would smile or frown or enjoy things every so often. Feelings had become much more like a special occasion sort of thing to her.

She heard another rustle. This time she had seen it. It was a small bush covered in peculiar berries and flowers reminiscent in shape to top hats. Pinkamena flipped the ax and stood up, pointing the pick of it toward the bush.

“Get up!” Pinkamena shouted at it. “I see you, GET UP!” she repeated firmly.

Slowly and carefully, out from the bush rose a pair of golden eyes that shone in the shadows of the shade. Pinkamena lowered her ax and let her mouth hang ajar in curiosity while she looked at the creature the eyes belonged to.

The creature was like her. It was roughly the same height and it had four hooves. But she quickly noticed that it was at the same time very different. Its snout was broader and thicker and its mane was stiff and short, standing straight up. But the one thing that made Pinkamena sure it wasn’t a pony was its stripes of black and white. It was covered in them. On its flank was a cutie mark of what looked to Pinkamena like a circular maze with outward arrows surrounding it.

The creature’s eyes went wide when it seemed to recognize Pinkamena’s form as if it was in disbelief.

“Haiwezekani.” It solemnly said.

Pinkamena moved her head around and looked to be sure it was talking to her.

“W-what?” She said, growing uncomfortable.

The creature cautiously advanced toward Pinkamena, looking into her eyes. Pinkamena raised her ax again, making it jump back faintly.

“Stay back, thing!” She barked.

        The creature spoke plainly.

“I cannot believe. Does my spirit’s eye deceive?”

Pinkamena thought she had heard the creature speak English.

“What?” She impulsively said. She shook her head, clearing it of any curiosity. “What are you!? Tell me!” She demanded.

The creature started moving toward Pinkamena again without fear, squinting her eyes, examining the pink pony.

“Hey!” Pinkamena warned, now dimly frightened. “D-don’t come any closer!”

The creature ignored her.

Pinkamena swung the ax downward. The creature paid no mind to the weapon, simply sliding her neck sideways as the ax hit the ground. Pinkamena let go of the ax, strangely terrified. The creature backed her up into the trunk of an Evergreen and stared into her eyes. Pinkamena felt cold sweat exit the pores in her forehead. She couldn’t explain the fear, it was just there. She tried to compact herself against the trunk so that the creature was just slightly further away.

Then it suddenly backed away and gazed at her with a face of certainty.

“I was foolish to doubt.” It spoke. “I should trust my eye.”

It tilted its head and looked at her in what appeared to be amazement.

“You are so very different, Pinkie Pie.”

Pinkamena froze.

“How-” She stuttered. “How the hell do you know who I am?”

The creature frowned. Then after a moment, it hung its head and sighed.

“An evil is breaking the world and all that is right. It is time that’s been stricken with a great plight.” It said.

“Why are you rhyming?” Pinkamena asked. “Answer me! How do you know my name!?”

It was unclear whether the creature had heard her or not.

“I see that you still wish to bring peace, is this true?”

“Huh?”

“You reap spirits of evil, but not for you.”

“What are you talking about!?”

        The creature sighed again.

“You serve the righteous but remain alone. A heart neglected, turned to stone.”

“Shut up!” Pinkamena shouted. “Who are you?”

The creature looked into Pinkamena’s eyes once more. It was clearly impatient now.

“You seek answers but run from questions.” It steadily said. “You would find it wise to heed my suggestions.”

Pinkamena thought, but strangely found herself curious again. The creature seemed civil, so she saw no reason to be alert anymore.

The pink mare closed her mouth and looked at the creature suspiciously, but she listened, quite carefully.

The creature resumed with her rhyming.

“I see your misery and grow sad. The fates promised you love, but you are only mad.”

“The fates?” Pinkamena muddled. “What do you mean? What love?”

The creature smiled just hardly enough.

“But do not despair, child. It will not last. Your solitude is merely an impasse.”

There was no understanding. It was all too cryptic. Pinkamena couldn’t stand it.

“What are you talking about!?” She burst. “Who are you, how do you know me, and what the fuck are you talking about!?”

Completely dismissing her, the creature continued.

“Happiness will come with another.” The zebra said. “A loving teacher, a new mother.”

Pinkamena only groaned this time in frustration.

“Things will be fixed, I know. But it’s unpleasant regardless; blooming with woe.” The zebra said.

She stared one last time and finished with a final rhyme.

“Be safe, Pinkie, and don’t be wild. At all costs, you must protect the child.”

“What child?” Pinkamena asked impatiently. But she blinked, and Zecora was gone.

Pinkamena was in disbelief. She shot her head around in all directions but saw nothing. She would eventually decide it was the voice playing tricks on her. It was certainly likely. However, Pinkamena heard a splash which sent her thoughts scattering. She looked up and saw a fog ahead. It was the kind of fog you could only find in a swamp, so she assumed that’s where the splash had come from.

Pinkamena stood up and followed the sound of the now repeating splash without thinking about it. Heading toward the supposed swamp, she thought she could see something orange lurking about.

As the dead trees passed, she looked into a dark and murky river that appeared to flow a good ways through the forest. Catching it in the corner of her eye, she turned and looked at the bank to see a very small orange pegasus filly frantically digging a hole with her bare hooves, crying her eyes out.

Pinkamena saw that beside her was another filly on the ground. She was entirely pale and she was bleeding profusely. Pinkamena knew it when she saw it. The filly was dead.

        “C-cc-c-c’mon, D-dash!” Derpy called over her shoulder excitedly. “The apples are s-s-soollld over here!”

Dashclad chuckled at the sound of her friend’s cheery voice. It was just a fruit, but she made it sound so much more exciting and new. She had been using her wings a whole lot more often than usual recently. Dashclad thought it might have been some sub-conscious way of expressing her newfound light-heartedness.

Derpy and Dashclad reached the apple stand. Big McIntosh was there, manning it, smiling largely. He was very happy. Everyone in the town square seemed to be happy that day. If one were to have looked around, they would have seen that there wasn’t a single pony that wasn’t smiling or laughing.

“C-ccou-lld I have and apple, Big M-mmac? Please?” Derpy asked politely.

Big Mac would have been friendly to anybody on that particular day. He was just in that sort of mood. But the customer he happened to be serving was an old school mate of his. They considered each other friends. Good ones at that. He reached into the cart and brought out a golden delicious.

“There ya go, Derpy.” He said, reaching out.

Derpy turned over her shoulder to Dashclad with a grin of anticipation.

“Ac-ttt-tually, I was wondering if y-yy-ouu could give me a r-r-egular one. My fr-rr-iend, Dash hasn’t ever tried w-wwww-one.” She explained like she’d rehearsed it.

Big Mac looked genuinely shocked.

“No kidding!” He looked past Derpy at the cyan pegasus as if he hardly believed such a pony could exist. “A pony who never ate apples…”

Dashclad blushed. “Yea, I didn’t really grow up around…” Dashclad tried to come up with a viable excuse. “..you know…, stuff…” She said awkwardly.

        “A place without apples.” Big Mac said to himself, trying to picture what he considered the impossible. “Hot damn.”

He reached into the cart again, putting back the golden apple and this time pulling out a wonderfully ripe gala.

“Well if’n this is your first apple, it’d better be the best in my cart.” He said.

He gave the apple to Derpy, who then placed two bits onto the counter for him and turned around to face her friend.

“C’mon, Dash! Go ahead!” She encouraged.

Dashclad was reluctant for a moment, worried about the off-chance of it turning out to be disgusting. But she quickly shook that off and reached in to take the apple from Derpy’s hooves.

“Alright, alright.” She said, taking the red fruit.

Dashclad opened her mouth to take a bite, but hesitated. She turned to Derpy and couldn’t help but smile widely.

“Thanks, Derpy.” She said honestly.

Derpy returned the smile so hard she had to close her eyes.

Dashclad opened her mouth again to bite the apple when she heard a shout.

“Hey! Pardon me, Dashclad!”

She heard her name. She recognized the voice. It couldn’t be. But before she could confirm it, a blast rang out through the square, and the apple in her hooves exploded. Its juicy pulp flew everywhere; on the cart, on the ground, and especially on Dashclad.

Dashclad was trained to act on her reflexes at an early age along with the rest of the pack. Since she was particularly good at it, she rolled onto the ground and behind the cart before she even noticed. She saw that Big Mac was still standing, apparently staring at wherever the blast had come from. Dash pulled his leg out so that he came crashing down and behind the cart with her.

“Get down!” She screamed to him.

Big Mac hit the floor with a thud and a grunt, knocking the wind out of him.

“Hwa-What the hell are y’all doing!?” He gasped.

“Just listen!” She said, eyes bugging. “Stay the fuck down!”

Her eyes zipped around the area. The square was now full of the screams and galloping hooves of horrified townsfolk. She saw few of them find cover. The others just panicked.

Oh shit. She remembered. Oh holy fuck!

        Derpy wasn’t behind the cart.

Dashclad glanced over the edge of the cart and saw two things. The first was Mizmahl. He saw her too; his eyes had met hers in those swift seconds. The second thing was truly awful. Derpy was on the ground. Blood was steadily oozing out of a wound on her flank. Dash could see that she was alive, but struggling to get up.

Dashclad wasn’t good with words. She never was and never would have been. She had so many other words that she could have screamed at the sight of her friend, but all she was able to shout was simple.

“NO!”

Without thinking, she reached out, trying to grab her friend.

Another shot rang  out.

Part of the cart burst. Splinters of wood shot in every direction. Dashclad felt a blistering heat  slash her shoulder and she cried out in pain, falling over.

“Fuck!” shouted the enormous assailant.

Dashclad squirmed on the ground, trying to apply pressure to her shoulder. She lifted her hoof to see the bullet had cut through the cart and grazed the highest point of her clavicle. It was hardly bleeding.

Mizmahl aimed the pistol at the cart once more and pulled back the hammer. He was thrown off however, by a broom that hit him in the back, nearly knocking him off his feet.

The shot fired and hit a pan hanging in a booth, which ricocheted and guided the bullet into the side of a mare by the name of Rose. She only shrieked a short and shrill note before she was cut off by her head smashing against the cobblestone when she tumbled.

The panic was rampant. It had only been a few brief moments, but that was all it took for everything to descend into complete chaos.

Mizmahl swung his arm backward with the most brutal force he had and struck the stallion that had hit him with the broom. The stallion went flying and crashed into the tomato stand, landing on the tomato salesmare, breaking several of her ribs and goring himself on a primitive steak of wood that had splintered from the broken crates.

Mizmahl turned back around and started toward the cart.

“You piece-a-shit.” He said as he advanced. “You fucking rat! Coward, little cunt!” He barked.

Dashclad didn’t have time to think about which direction to go, she only knew that her time was very, very short. She forced herself to her knees and spread her wings.

Dashclad took to the air and zoomed toward the roof of another stand.

“There you are!” Mizmahl grinned evilly.

She could see in the corner of her eye that he raised his revolver. He looked down the sights. The following seconds were in a kind of slow-motion for Dashclad. She felt the need to be just a bit faster than possible. It was the terror of unadulterated rush. She couldn’t be a fraction of a second too late or she’d die.

Mizmahl pulled the trigger and fired. It missed her. Dashclad landed on the roof and started racing toward its top. Beyond that were the apartments and homes. If she could be fast enough she could make it onto their roofs and have a more solid ground to take cover on.

She scrambled up the cheap wooden incline as Mizmahl ran toward the cart, furious.

“Get your ass down here, you little bitch!”

He swiped the main support beam of the stand and the roof came crashing down, along with Dashclad.

She went wild trying to get free from the mess of cloth and wood. Kicking, flailing and even biting to get out. She was forced to stop though, when she was punted away from the wreck by her pack-leader. She tumbled into the open and lied flat on her back, looking up at the sky. She weakly leaned her head sideways and saw Derpy, still on the ground, now unconscious.

*click*

Mizmahl shaded her entire body as he rose over her. He pointed his gun directly at her head.

He waited a moment and then sadistically spread a rotten grimace.

“Howdy Doody, kid.”

Dashclad saw that his legs were wide open. She didn’t even give it a second thought before her leg was up in the air and landing a direct kick right into Mizmahl’s testicles.

He howled in pain and slipped, throwing the gun out of his hands and hurtling to the floor. The gun landed on its butt and fired its last shot into the sky.

As he writhed on the ground, Dashclad took it as an opportunity to find a miracle. And there it was. A thin metal pick that had some lettuce skewered onto it was just beside her. She removed the lettuce and raised it above her head.

Mizmahl was able to see her come down, and just barely rolled away in time to not be impaled. He pushed up from the ground with his fist and got to his feet, wobbling. Before Dashclad could raise the pick again, he punched her directly in the jaw.

She squealed and let go of the pick, having it slide out of reach.

Dashclad was unable to recover before Mizmahl landed another blow to her face. It ravaged her eye, closing it, so she could only see out of the left.

She tried to back away, but only got herself beat again. She fell to the ground, now barely conscious.

Mizmahl was able to stand up again. He looked toward the pick and reached over, grabbing it with his massive paws. Gasping and groaning, he raised it. Dashclad shielded herself. She was suddenly stricken with grief and despair, making her attempts of speaking only wet moans.

“I shoulda never listened to that fucking old man.” He seethed. “It woulda saved me twenty fucking years of trouble!”

*BANG*

Everything was silent.

Everything.

There were no more screams. Not even hardly a heartbeat.

Dashclad slowly opened her working eye to see Mizmahl’s mouth slowly shaking open. His grip on the pick loosened, and it dropped with a loud metal clang. He looked down at his chest in disbelief. In his shirt was a hole as big as his thumb. It was drooling blackish-maroon all over his chest. Hanging from the hole were strands of ripped flesh, still hanging on.

He limply turned around to see what had made it.

“I GOT YOU!!!” She shrieked. “I GOT YOU, YOU- YOU PUTRID SICKO!!!”

Rarity Germane stood in the square, mascara running down her eyes making it evident she had been crying. In her home only moments previous did she hear commotion. She had looked outside and seen him. The killer. It had to be. He was as tall as she pictured, but only half as scary.

It was an opportunity she forced herself to seize. Though more afraid then she had ever been in her life, Rarity lifted the gun and galloped outside. With no more than twenty feet between her and the mess-maker, she had fired.

She couldn’t believe it. She shot him. He thought he could get her, but she was quicker. She shot the murderer.

Mizmahl would have been shocked –or more likely embarrassed that he had been shot by a pony– if he hadn’t been in such dreadful pain. He lost his balance and took a step forward to keep himself from falling.

Rarity saw him take the step. He was still coming for her. He wouldn’t give up so easily. But she was ready.

“You aren’t throwing me over a cliff!” She said so nervously she was trembling.

“Burn in hell, you bastard!”

The hammer clicked back.

Mizmahl saw the trigger pulled, but nothing after that. The bullet blasted out of the gun and straight through his head. Dashclad felt little droplets of grey matter spray onto her face. Then she lost her strength and blacked out.

Rarity stared for a bit. Then, her eyes grew wide. She must have seen something only for her eyes, because nobody else saw. She started hyperventilating. Then she started to shake her head.

“He’s not dead.” She panted. “No, no, no!” She moaned.

She ran up to the body and pointed the gun at its head again. She fired all four of her remaining rounds into the cadaver’s skull.

“Die, you scum!” she shouted at it. “DIE! DIE! Why won’t you DIE!?”

She flipped the gun and started to beat the lifeless dog with the butt of the gun. The crunching and cracking with every smack made her sob. She broke down and started to scream, tears streaming down her eyes as she pummeled the creature.

It wasn’t enough. He wasn’t dead yet. She couldn’t be safe until he was dead. She pounded away at his face and watched it splash blood and crunch bone and cartilage. He needed to be like the mess. The awful, awful mess she had seen down in the canyon. Only then would she be safe.

The police arrived at the scene, but none of them were brave enough to approach her. The square had remained silent since she had fired the first shot, and really, there was no real noise other than her pounding and sobbing again until roughly an hour afterward.

Melvin saw her, his eyes wide with fear. His best customer and oldest friend reduced to what he saw before him.

And it made him think. It was only a few weeks ago that she was sitting at his bar and cracking jokes with Lyra and him. It made him wonder what makes sanity and what keeps it in check, what makes the world what it is and how we see it ourselves.

Then Melvin had a peculiar idea. He didn’t dwell on it much, but it still rumbled around in his head.

What if there was no sanity? Maybe madness was the realization of our own reality, letting go of everything and becoming our own god.

It was stupid, but he considered it.

Rarity wasn’t thinking about anything like that. She wasn’t done. So she continued letting the tears fall freely as she beat the corpse, and she didn’t stop until she was forcibly sedated by two ambulance drivers.

        Scootaloo tore at the ground. Dirt was getting clumped in her hooves. It didn’t matter. The hole wasn’t getting deeper. It couldn’t ever be deep enough. She turned her head and looked at the pale carcass of her peer. Her eyes were glazed over and a contorted mess of an expression was on her face, maybe once representing fear or raw terror, Scootaloo couldn’t tell anymore, she had bashed Diamond Tiara’s skull with the rock until her skull caved in and her face was more than ruined. After she was done with the rock, she had started kicking her. It felt good. It felt good to give it all back. Soon afterward however, the bell for recess’s end rang and the children were being called in by Mrs. Cheerilee.

Scootaloo stopped and looked at the body. It was awful. She had done that. She looked at her hooves and then to the rock. They were both painted with blood, like it was some messy art project. Her rage flipped, and it had become unfathomable regret. She ducked to be sure she couldn’t be seen by the other children and started shaking the dead pink filly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Diamond Tiara.” She pleaded, shaking harder. “I-I just don’t know wha-…”

She wasn’t moving. Scootaloo didn’t need to check anything for her understanding to come around and kick her in the teeth. She gasped. That was it. She dropped Diamond Tiara and backed away like she had touched something disgusting.

She looked at her hooves again. Blood was stained into the fur. She looked at Diamond Tiara’s husk and then the rock. It was her. She had done it. It clicked in her head and the sound made her pupils dilate.

“Oh no.” She said.

It was simple. Children’s thoughts and expressions are often honest. That was all her mind could preach. Nothing fancy, no poems. She had done something so terrible that she couldn’t think of anything that could describe it. So, she simply said that.

“Oh no.” She repeated.

She crumbled to knees, covering her mouth so it wasn’t gaping openly.

I killed her. She thought.

She didn’t dare to say it aloud. She just didn’t want to. It wasn’t right. Something like that wasn’t right to exit her lips.

Then she thought about something. Mrs. Cheerilee would notice they were missing. She definitely would, she was too clever not to. And if Mrs. Cheerilee found out, she would call the police. And when she was in jail, they would do even worse; they would call Mrs. Powell.

        This is the thought that fueled her to take hold of her classmate and drag her into the brush across the way. From there, she dragged her to the Everfree forest. Nobody looked there. Even the adults wouldn’t go into the forest. But it wasn’t far enough in. They’d find her anyway; it was just something she knew would happen. So, Scootaloo dragged the bloody body of Diamond Tiara through the Everfree forest, and didn’t stop until she reached the river, at first planning to throw her in. But then she remembered a lesson she had taken in geography from Mrs. Cheerilee. All rivers led to lakes or oceans, so tossing her in wouldn’t work either. And so, Scootaloo, now in complete disarray, threw herself to the ground and started tearing at it, trying to make a hole; one deep enough to be sure that they couldn’t find her.

But she knew they’d arrest her anyway. The police were smart. They’d find out in no more than a day. So, really, it was all just a waste of her time. She had done it. She had fought god and broken character in his divine comedy by trying to help herself, but she had only made things worse.

Not unlike a child – when they have nothing left to do – she started to cry again, harder than usual. She was a killer. It wasn’t about getting in trouble she realized, it was her sin. She had committed a crime against nature. She had taken the life of another living member of society. She had cut the road of a soul short and enjoyed it, and it made her sick.

Her sniveling was drowned out by the sound of the babbling river, heading toward a lake somewhere, she was sure. She saw a faint and wavy reflection of herself in it and scowled at its disgusting face, battered and wrecked. It was the face of a monster.

She was a monster. One of woes and tragedy, now understanding it.

She deserved it all. It was her fault. She clawed at the ground to no avail and eventually curled up on her side, pretending she was somewhere else. It wouldn’t last, but it would at least be more pleasant than where she was then. She pretended it was a Sunday evening, and she was in her father’s lap as he read her a story. But it was queer, because the cold wet sand below her was nowhere near as warm and soft as her father’s lap.

So she stopped pretending, scared and confused, and wept bitterly trying to think of something, anything that would end it.

She heard a crunch.

Startled, she gasped and spun around, now face to face with a pink mare with a flat mane and two pickaxes for a cutie mark, only staring.

Pinkamena had stepped on a leaf. That was the crunch. She wanted to stay quiet, because it was like a window into her own childhood; A desperate little filly by the brook hiding from something, maybe someone, frantic for a way out. It was captivating, almost hypnotic to see it in someone else. But now the filly had seen her, and she had to stop staring.

“What are you doing here, kid?” She asked curiously.

Scootaloo backed away slowly, ashamed.

“Don’t go.” Pinkamena said. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

Scootaloo’s voice was dry and frightened.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Policemare.”

“What?”

“She was hurting me and I just-…” Scootaloo almost finished. “I just…”

She glanced shamefully at the corpse and lowered her head, not wanting her horrible face to be seen.

“I’m so sorry.” She broke down. “Please don’t tell Mrs. Powell!” She pleaded.

Pinkamena looked at the body. Whoever it once was wasn’t very nice looking. She’d grown to identify rotten souls. It got easier throughout her life. She looked back at the pathetic child and saw that it was herself.

Pinkamena considered this. Empathy flooded her heart, knowing, not just understanding, but knowing who this strange filly was and what she felt.

        “You can take me to jail; I belong there, but please don’t tell Mrs. Powell, please.”

Something weird happened in the cauldron of Pinkamena’s stomach. It was guilt. She hadn’t felt that since she had stolen a cookie from the jar after dinner that time when Ariel was still around. The closest thing to that had been all the self-loathing throughout her life, and she knew how worthless all of that was now. She didn’t want anybody to go through that, let alone a child.

Pinkamena leaned in closer, but not too much to be sure she wasn’t making the filly uncomfortable. Her tone was firm, however.

“Hey, it’s alright, kid.” She said seriously. “I’m not a cop.”

She thought that idea a little bit funny. She was just about the furthest thing from a cop.

“I’m so sorry…” Scootaloo whispered, now balled up against a tree trunk, trying to hide. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry…”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” Pinkamena asserted. “I’m not here to get you in trouble.”

“dontlookatme…” the small orange and purple puff ball mumbled.

“What?”

“Don’t look at me.” Scootaloo said a little bit louder.

“Why not?”

“I’m a monster.”

“A monster?” Pinkamena said, confused.

“I killed her. I killed somepony. I’m a monster.”

Pinkamena looked around. There were no monsters. But then she looked down and saw her own hooves. She hadn’t ever felt guilt until then. It was strange, now that she thought about it. To feel guilt when you steal a cookie but not when you carve some bastard to pieces with a knife the size of his ego. Then she got an idea. If it wouldn’t cheer the filly up, it would probably make her feel better at least.

Pinkamena stood and turned around.

“Come with me, kid.”

        “Huh?” Scootaloo grunted, poking her head out.

“I said come here. I’ve gotta show you something.”

Pinkamena started to walk away from the stream. Scootaloo watched as she got further away. Suddenly –and she was never sure why–, she got up and started to follow Pinkamena out of the woods.

        Scootaloo followed the pink mare all the way through the Everwhite and to a cottage.

“This way.” was all Pinkamena had said throughout the trip, when she opened the door, inviting her inside.

Scootaloo was still shaken, but she couldn’t help but be fascinated by the cottage and its warmness. It was even nicer than the school house.

From there, the mare led her to a closet, which had a hatch in the floor, which she had her climb down. At the bottom, she was led down a hallway and up to an iron door. Pinkamena slid her basement door open and walked up to the balcony of the stairs.

Scootaloo entered, not able to see her hoof in front of her face. It smelled dreadful. So much so that Scootaloo wanted to hold her breath.

“Take a look at this, kid.” Pinkamena said.

Then she pulled the cord to the light.

Red light poured into the room and Scootaloo saw what was in it.

She gasped.

Several dead bodies were scattered around the room. One of them had his stomach wide open, so Scootaloo could see all of his guts. Another one had her jaw removed.

Scootaloo slowly turned around to look at Pinkamena, who was looming over her and staring into her eyes, deadpanning.

“You’re not a monster, kid.” Pinkamena said solemnly. “I am.”

Scootaloo shook. Her legs felt like jelly. She knew that running would do her no good. She was going to die and there was nothing she could do about it.

She gulped hard.

Pinkamena looked down at the frozen filly, understanding of her reaction.

“I just thought you might want to know how much worse it can get, I guess.” She said, looking off the balcony. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”

“W-wait.” Scootaloo inquired. “You’re not gonna kill me?”

Pinkamena looked around the room as if she was searching for something. She looked back and turned a very weak grin.

“Course not.” She confirmed calmly.

“Don’t go telling anypony, though.” Pinkamena requested, already knowing she wouldn’t dare. Scootaloo nodded.

After this, Scootaloo looked at the bodies again; scared but somehow fascinated. She didn’t like it, but it sparked an atypical interest.

Pinkamena pulled the light, shutting it off, and then led the child out of the basement and back into the cottage.

“Don’t worry about your friend, kid.” Pinkamena said, leading her to the door. “I’ll take care of it.”

Pinkamena opened the door and stood to the side. But Scootaloo didn’t leave. She reluctantly leaned toward it, but then drew back. Pinkamena tilted her head.

“Go on, now. Run along, kiddo.”

“It’s really warm in here.”

“Warm?”

“I don’t have any winter clothes. The other fillies stole them.” Scootaloo explained. “And it’s just so warm in here… can I stay for a little while?” She asked shyly.

“Stay?” Pinkamena repeated, seeming to find it such a strange word. “Why don’t you go home? Go see your mom and dad?”

“Oh…” Scootaloo’s ears drooped along with her head. She started at the floor and shuffled her left hoof half-heartedly. “My dad is…”

She had difficulty saying it.

“…dead…” She finished, feeling abashed.

Pinkamena was about to say something else, but she saw the filly’s eye sparkle. A tear ran down her muzzle.

Pinkamena sighed, and then closed the door.

“You don’t have a place to stay, huh?”

“I live in the orphanage, but Mrs. Powell hurts me really bad. But I’m always misbehaving, so she told me I deserve it.” Scootaloo tried to justify.

Pinkamena looked around the living room and pointed to a corner of the house that she had stacked some spare blankets in.

“You can stay there.” She said. “But don’t ask for any food. I’ll give you what I want.” Pinkamena made clear.

The filly wiped the tear away.

“Really?”

“Yea.”

“Oh wow!” She beamed spontaneously. “Thank you so much!”

Scootaloo sprinted to her makeshift bed and hopped onto it gleefully. But she turned to see Pinkamena giving her a cold stare. She quieted down and curled up, making herself comfortable.

She cleared her throat.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Scootaloo said politely.

“Call me Mrs. Pie.” Pinkamena said.

Then she hesitated.

“…Or Pinkamena if I say it’s alright.” She insisted.

“Okay.” Scootaloo agreed.

After this, Pinkamena remembered she had left the ax outside. She opened the door and exited the cottage, slamming the door with her hind legs.

Scootaloo looked around the cottage and thought it was pretty. She didn’t think a monster could have lived in such a nice house.

        Rarity was admitted to the Ponyville Psychiatric Ward after being checked at the hospital. Melvin and Lyra volunteered to help her in any way possible. She was in a flickering state of psychosis for two and a half months.

The incident in town square left three dead and five injured, excluding Mizmahl. The casualties included Crafty Crate, who died minutes after he was thrown into the tomato stand, and Rose, who succumbed to the bullet wound and failed to be resuscitated by the ambulance teams.

Diamond Tiara and Scootaloo were reported missing by a hysterical Cheerilee. The children in question were only searched for when the incident’s immediate aftermath had been fully resolved.

Mizmahl was sent to the mortuary and only identified by his collar. He was listed as FUBAR in regards to a non-professional level examination. All of his teeth were broken down to the nub if they were lucky enough to still be there. Most of his brains had to be scraped up from the cobblestone and his wasted skull resembled the maw of a jagged volcano. Some of the morticians joked sickly about his face representing lasagna. Any which way, he was cremated and remained unclaimed for five years. After this passed, he was disposed of. His revolver remained in the police evidence room for however long it took for them to no longer need it, and it ended up being auctioned off eventually. The winner of the bid was Rose’s friend, Cherry Berry, who promptly had it destroyed as an act of vengeance. Somebody, not anyone important, sent his collar back to the Sky Mirror Lake’s tribe. Ziccane’s brother was promoted to the position of tribe leader. Mizmahl was given a short and effortless memorial service. No more than two generations later, he had faded from the tribe’s memory completely after his right hand passed away. All that remained of him after all of this was some graffiti carved into the lower parts of the mountain side that read; Mizmahl: Warrior, Leader, and King of the Rock.

The incident went down as the ‘Ponyville Square Massacre’, uncreatively. It, unlike Mizmahl, never faded from the town’s memory, and left an ugly scar on its tacky and quaint history.

~AN: This is the longest chapter of the story so far. Nearly seven thousand words. It is also the thirtieth chapter overall, which I made to be a milestone on purpose. You could call this the end of the beginning, but I wouldn't call it that myself. I actually have no idea how much longer the story will be. All I have to say right now, is thank you so very much for bringing me this far in. I wouldn't have continued if it weren't for you, the reader. It makes me so very happy that you enjoy this little tale I've spun. All I ask is that you leave a comment on this chapter. Whoever you are, I'd just like to hear your opinion, no matter how short. I don't consider it an obligation, but I'd really appreciate it. Thank you dearly, friends. - BrianVanStralen

Memories

        Melvin Lowe, who was known as Mellow by most of the townsfolk, sat in a waiting room in the psychiatric ward downtown. To his closest friends, he was simply called Mel. One of the select few that called him Mel, Lyra Heartstrings, also sat in the waiting room. She was next to him and next to her was Bonbon Sweettart, her partner of five years and whom Lyra believed to be her soul mate.

The trio sat silently, waiting to be called in. They were visiting Rarity Germane, who had been checked in two days previous. Mel and Lyra had known Rarity since they were children of six, first meeting each other in school. Melvin and Lyra had been best friends for an extra year and Rarity had just joined the curriculum due to her being five, a year younger but only by seven months.

Not quite outcasts, the three foals simply didn’t like the others like they did each other. They spent most of their time in the Everwhite and Everfree forests, two places they came to know incredibly well. Rarity was the idea guy. She’d always think of something to do. Sitting around bored, she would be the one to suggest they go hiking or throw stones into the river. Rarity held a place in their hearts that was more than special. It was practically sacred. So they waited in silence, hearing nothing but the clock tick at a pace closely resembling that of a snail’s lazy stroll.

After getting sick of it (and boy was he), Mel looked around the room, making sure of something. Then he reclined and pulled a pack of cigarettes out from his sweater’s thick sleeve. He turned a sly grin toward Lyra.

“There ain’t a ‘no smokin’ anywhere I can see, ah?” He chuckled, breaking the silence.

He grasped a cheap cigarette, sticking it in the corner of his mouth, then reached over, offering one to Lyra.

“Grant ya a grant?” He grinned.

Lyra frowned, tempted, and even leaned in slightly but she was stopped by Bonbon’s voice.

“Lyra! You promised me.” She scolded.

Lyra sighed. “Sorry, Mel. I promised.” She said, accepting defeat.

Mel pulled the pack away and shot her an understanding look, though obviously disappointed.

“Yea, yea. More cancer for me, right?”

Lyra nudged him with her elbow. “Hey,” She smiled. “At least she still lets me drink.”

Melvin and Lyra laughed out loud as Bonbon rolled her eyes teasingly.

Bonbon didn’t know Rarity very well. The only time they mingled was during the holidays. But still, she was a friend and she would always make sure anything that was important to Lyra was important to her.

Mel reached into the pack again. He had smoked enough of the pack to be able to fit his lighter inside of it to make it more convenient, which he promptly pulled out.

It was a zippo that was given to him by Rarity on his twenty third birthday. Silver plated, it also had his name engraved on the front, a surplus that Rarity had spent fifty bits on he discovered after prying enough. With it, he lit his stog and inhaled until its tip glowed. He snapped the zippo shut, but didn’t put it away. The engraving had caught his eye. He looked at it and frowned, then sighed. Smoke flooded out of his mouth and he closed his eye, letting his head hang.

Lyra saw him and the lighter. She gently patted him on the back.

“There, now.” She said comfortingly.

Mel sat up and opened his arms, looking at her sadly. Lyra accepted the embrace without pause and they both rested their chins on each other’s shoulders.

“This is real fucked up, Lyra.” Mel said, close to tears.

Lyra shushed him. “She’ll be alright. That’s what this place is for.” She consoled.

Mel pulled away quickly.

“Look at this. Look!” he said, upset. “It’s a nuthouse! A fucking nuthouse, Lyra!”

“Mel…” she tried.

“A loony bin! A funny farm, a wacky shack! Jeezum crow, they locked her up, Lyra! Ole R’s in the fucking asylum!”

“Stop it!” she shouted.

Mel stopped.

“She’s sick, Mel. She’s very sick. She didn’t do this when you got tossed in the hospital cause a your stomach flu. This is the same goddamn thing! She needs us right now and it’d murder her if we aren’t able to get a hold of ourselves! Cause somepony’s gotta get a hold of her!”

Mel turned and looked back at the lighter. He remembered the look Rarity had when he said how much he loved it.

He paused. “You’re right. This is for her.”

“There ya go, Mel.” Lyra calmed.

Several minutes past before a rather fat mare entered the waiting room and called their names. The three stood up, entered the hall, and after a short walk, ended up at Rarity’s cell.

Rarity was seven again. She was running toward the Everwhite with something hidden away under her mane. She had to keep her balance though, or it would fall out. She was smiling, but very, very nervous at the same time. If she got caught before making it into the brush, somebody would call her parents.

Past the bushes, past the trees, and she was home free. She could do whatever she wanted now. The forest was no-man’s-land. She could yell and cuss or whatever she wanted, it was their domain.

Now free, she galloped forward two hundred paces. She counted in her head.

1, 2, 3, 4…

It was fast in her head but somehow it was slow all the same. She always liked how the mind worked. She didn’t think about it much, but it would fascinate her with what the mind could do that the body couldn’t.

As she got to one hundred and ninety, she saw the swing. Lyra and Mel had hung it just the other day. She couldn’t be there that day, she had a fever and her mother hadn’t let her go to school even. When she reached two hundred, she stopped so fast she nearly skidded. She looked around practically ecstatic.

“Mel! L!” She called around her.

They weren’t there yet. Maybe they were, only playing hide and seek or something.

Rarity heard a creak, like metal.

Lyra and Mel dropped down from the trees, tackling her. They were laughing wildly when they brushed each other off.

“Hey!” Rarity greeted.

Lyra was smiling, but she hesitated.

“Hey, Rarity.” Lyra said.

Rarity felt a bit unsettled by the way Lyra said it. She was smiling brightly like usual, but her voice sounded upset and just the smallest bit frightened.

“Are you alright, darling?”

“Yea. Yea, I’m fine…,Rarity.” Lyra said in the same tone.

“Hey, Rarity.” Melvin said then.

“Hi, Mel.” Rarity said perkily. “Say, is Lyra alright? Does she have a cold or something?”

“No. Everypony’s fine.”

“Good… That’s nice to hear.”

Rarity shifted her eyes, making sure no adults were spying.

“Hey…” She whispered to them. “I’ve got something.”

“You do?” Mel said, confused.

Rarity reached into her ruffled mane and pulled out three cigarettes. She had the most mischievous grin spread over her face.

“I stole them from mother. She’ll never know.” She giggled.

“Oh…” Mel said, sounding disappointed. “So them’s lung darts, ah? I remember this…”

That wasn’t right…

Melvin was supposed to say Whoa! No way!

She remembered. That wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.

“No…” She grumbled to herself. “That’s not right…You didn’t say that…”

Mel furrowed his brown and titled his head a bit.

“Huh?”

“That’s not how it works, you said something else…” Rarity groaned.

Her head gave a volt of pain and she hit the floor. The Everwhite slowly faded when stars ate it up and turned it all into black. She forgot all about it and reset. It’d be right the next time. She knew it would.

“Rarity Germane. Here it is.” Said the fat mare.

“Thank you, nurse.” Bonbon said.

Bonbon wanted to wait outside. For the first bit she wanted to provide support, but the sounds of the other patient’s howls and barks and chirps had frightened her a good bit. Lyra and Mel were the only ones going into the cell.

When they stepped inside, they saw Rarity. She was on a cot. When they looked around, they saw that there were morbidly crude drawing made with what they guessed was black marker all over the walls. Melvin could have sworn one of them looked kind of like a swing.

Mel turned to Lyra to see if he was reacting properly. Lyra’s brow sunk and her mouth drooped open. Melvin saw a shine in her eye before she clasped her mouth shut with her hooves.

“Oh god…” She muttered despairingly.

Rarity was tied down. Plastic straps wrapping around her body like seat belts trying to keep her from flying out the windshield during a crash. Across her face was a sick, evil grimace. It was far too wide and her eyes were par too peeled. They looked like they had been open for days. Her coat was rustled and dirty and her mane was even worse.

She was counting quickly under her breath.

1, 2, 3, 4…

They approached. Why, they didn’t even know. Both of them were secretly horrified.

Rarity’s head twitched suddenly and she started searching the room.

“Mel! L!” She chirped.

The nurse creaked the metal door open and poked her head in inappropriately, in order to make sure there was no trouble.

Rarity miraculously found her friends and focused her pupils on them.

“Hey!” She greeted.

Lyra hesitated. She looked away for a moment and then sighed.

“Hey, Rarity.” She moaned.

Rarity tilted her head to an unnatural angle and put on a confused smirk.

“Are you alright, darling?”

“Yea.” Lyra tried to reply. “…yea, I’m fine…,Rarity.”

Lyra turned away quickly, muttering another quick 'oh god'.

The tables had turned. Melvin had to take action now. Maybe he was better readied. He didn’t know, he just did it.

“Hey, Rarity.” He said.

“Hi, Mel.” Rarity said perkily. “Say, is Lyra alright? Does she have a cold or something?”

“No. Everypony’s fine.” He lied.

Rarity untwisted her neck.

“Good…That’s nice to hear.”

Rarity shifted her eyes around the room sloppily and violently. Mel tried his best not to be startled.

“Hey…” She whispered, looking back at him again. “I’ve got something.”

Mel went with it. Like Lyra had said, it wasn’t about him. Though, he was a bit thrown off.

“You do?”

Rarity brushed her mane with an invisible brush. After a couple of seconds, she held up a small amount of nothing. She had the most terrible grin spread over her face.

Mel wasn’t sure what it was supposed to be at first.

“I stole them from mother. She’ll never know.” She started giggling.

Mel remembered. It was the same as the day they had started smoking when they were seven years old. The puzzle finished in his head and he let out a relived; “Oh…”

“So them’s lung darts, ah?” He assured. “I remember this.” He said to himself aloud.

Rarity stopped smiling. She looked around again. Then, without warning, she lifted her head and smashed it on the cot.

Melvin jumped back, alarmed.

“Nooo….” She moaned quite sadly.

*SMACK*

“That’s not right…”

*SMACK*

“YOU DIDN’T SAY THAT!” She screamed.

*SMACK*

Mel freaked out. He grabbed her before she could hit her head again.

“Rarity! Rarity! Knock it off, kid!”

He was shocked when he was thrown aside by the fat nurse and landed on his ass.

“Hey!” He shouted once he had realized it. “Get offa her!”

Melvin tried to push the mare aside again but he was easily pushed right back down.

Lyra was crying loudly. Bonbon was holding her.

“You leave her alone!” Mel yelled, tears involuntarily running down his cheeks.

“Sir.” The fat nurse said calmly. “She needs to be sedated or she could seriously harm herself. Please.”

The nurse pulled out a syringe and stuck it into Rarity’s neck.

She flinched for a moment, making a very childish whine. Then she settled down and stared back up at the ceiling, breathing very softly and then closed her eyes.

She forgot all about it and reset. It’d be right the next time. She knew it would.

Right around twenty years before that, Pnova’s father and Mizmahl were sitting in the Ponyville Quarry’s cave system at the Dog’s tribe bar. Mizmahl was having a ground ruby cocktail and Pnova’s father was having a straight vodka bottle.

Pnova’s father was born Clericlad. Clad, being the most common name suffix in the culture was Clericlad’s least favorite title for a pack leader. So, he changed it to Floisähutt when he assumed control of the quarry.

Mizmahl had just completed signing a treaty with the quarry, lifting a embargo they’d had on each other for a time due to bad blood.

Mizmahl took a big gulp of his drink and slammed his glass down on the bar.

He chuckled. “I’ll tell ya, Floise… your guys serve a mean brew.”

“I know.” Floisähutt replied proudly.

They both sipped simultaneously.

“Things is gonna be different with yous and me.” He promised.

“I know it, pally.” Mizmahl replied. “Our dads? Ha! Fuck em.”

“So long as I get more diamonds and gets rid of them rubies that’s been stackin’ up round here.”

“Aaay, I got diamonds up the ass at back at the lake, man. Take em all for all I care.” Mizmahl welcomed.

They clinked glasses and laughed loudly while the bartender covered his ears in annoyance.

Floise leaned in.

“Hey.” He said. “Wanna see somethin’ sweet?”

“Why ya gotta ask, man? Just fucking go when you wanna show, eh?”

Floise stood up and led Mizmahl to the top of the hills where they sat and stared up at the stars. It was childish, but quite amusing when drunk.

An old Gem Hound legend told that stars were just heavenly gems and brave warriors were allowed to partake in when they died.

“Beautiful ain’t it?” Floise asked, dazed.

“I’ll hand it to ya, man. You got it nice up here too. Just a little less cause a that pony town down there.” Mizmahl replied staring up with his hands buried in his pockets.

“They ain’t bad, them ponies. They never come up heres anyway.”

Floise interrupted himself when he suddenly snickered.

“Hey… Mizmahl…” He snorted.

“What is it, Floise?”

“Ponies have this thing, right? Where they wish on these stars…”

“Ha! What?”

“Yea, I know!” He guffawed. “And see, if the star falls, the wish comes true…”

“Heh heh. Ain’t that somethin’…” Mizmahl sniggered himself.

A star shot across their view.

“Hey! Look! Speak a the devil, eh?” Floise pointed.

Mizmahl grinned impishly. He nudged Floise.

“Hey, hey…I wish I had all the gems in the world…”

They burst out laughing. Floise almost fell over and he might have, if he hadn’t stopped when it happened.

An awesome light burst infront of them. It was far too bright to look at. They had thought it was an explosion at first and shielded their faces.

When it cooled, it had turned into a vortex of stars. They looked at it in awe as it spun slowly. No words came to mind, so they just stared at its brilliance.

Out from the nova came a grey and very sickly looking old unicorn. He was dressed in a royal blue robe decorated with stars and wore a hat lined with bells. On his face was a twisted and odd beard and out from it hung a sharp tooth that might be found in normal circumstances on a large tiger. The horn on his head was twisted and periwinkle, much like the mythical Capricorn. His eyes glowed yellow with blood red pupils and he was grinning a sharp toothy smile.

Mizmahl drew his revolver on reflex and shot at him. The bullet bounced and flew into a rock next to the portal pony.

“What a friendly greeting.” He smiled.

The two dogs stood, legs shaking with fear. The old pony looked them in the eye.

“Business is a must, of course.” He said. “I am Starswirl: A very, very opportunistic employer. How would you fine dogs like to have all the gems you could ever want, hmm?”

They slowly turned to each other in shock.

Floise waited for a moment.

“Hey, Mizmahl…” he said. “I’m startin’ ta think that ponies ain’t so full a shit…”

Sins

Beatrix Allison Lulamoon was born in Canterlot, but she grew up in the Trottingham orphanage. On her twelfth birthday, she ran away and started to study magic while she lived on the streets. Her best friend, Kylie Vinyl, eventually traveled with her to Fillidelphia after running away from her abusive mother. Together, they raised enough money to lease a large warehouse, which they converted into a rather popular hangout called ‘Club Hayley’. After no more than a year, they were the acclaimed by the partying community. Kylie, who donned the pseudonym DJ ‘Vinyl Scratch’ PON3, ran the music and the club itself, while Beatrix was the head of entertainment.

Entertainment meant two things. The meanings depended on the company. Public company knew Beatrix’s entertainment as the show that was put on every night; “The Great and Powerful Trixie’s Marvelous Magical Display”. The crowd would watch in awe, as the great (and powerful) Trixie would perform spectacular illusionary tricks of magical mystery. Private company however knew of Trixie’s much more expensive version.

Bluntly, Beatrix was a backstage prostitute.

Though she enjoyed it at first, it quickly became degrading and tiring. So, four days after her twentieth birthday, she left the club to be run by Kylie. She spent the first couple of months as a traveling magician; performing for a crowd free once or twice as “The Great and Powerful Trixie’s Travelling Caravan”, and then start charging.

Soon however, she found herself back in Canterlot. There, she charged a significantly higher fee and in turn was more than capable of staying in a hotel rather than sleeping in her caravan. It was on that night that she met her master, who in turn would lead her to gather the others.

       “Well don’t you feel good when you do it, honey?”

Thinking back on it, it was much better than where she was right then. Anything was for that matter. Beatrix would have rather been on her knees, drinking gutter runoff in the rain than be where she was at the time.

“It was good at first.” Trixie said honestly. “But the boys got really gross and kinky.”

“But those ones pay the best, Sugar Pie.”

“Mmmm…Pie…” drooled Plum.

Cherry Jubilee scoffed, disgusted as some of his saliva fell on her arm. She swiftly struck his jaw, sending him flying out of his nearly broken chair.

“You little fucking piggy, you!” She screamed at him.

Plum cowered where he lay. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Jubilee!” He squeaked, protecting his face.

“Knock it off, the both of you!” Trixie growled. “He says we have to be on our toes! We won’t be ready when it happens if all you losers do is beat each other up!”

“But we don’t even have all of the elements gathered yet…not that I’d want any more filth around.” reminded Octavia.

“Silence! I’m getting to it!” Trixie pointed angrily at her.

“Unlike you, savage, I was born in Canterlot among the princess’s cabinet. And not even I use ‘silence’ in my vast vocabulary.”

“Oh boy, here we go again.” groaned Lightning Dust. “The whole I-was-a-royal-bitch routine.”

“I said Quiet!” shouted Trixie.

“I thought you said silence.” Cloudchaser giggled foolishly.

“I meant shut up!” Trixie yelled. “And put that out!”

Cloudchaser instead decided to take another hit from her bong and blow it in Trixie’s face. Trixie in turn, smacked the bong to the floor, breaking it. Cloudchaser stood up, now very wet.

“What the hell, man!?”

“You weren’t sharing anyway.” Lightning Dust said rudely.

The small two queen bed apartment was bustling with argument, tension, and disharmony. Trixie grabbed her ears, grinding her teeth and growling. After boiling over, she screamed. Luckily, she had been loud enough to shut everyone up.

“We’ll never be able to do this if we aren’t uniform!”

The very second this escaped her lips the room boomed a flash of blinding lighting. All electrical power in the room went out and a low rumbling grew louder and louder in the blackness. It was much like what you would hear if you stood on train tracks and waited to be hit. Terror had stormed in and if anyone had seen the group, they would likely be confused with ghosts. Even Cherry Jubilee froze. Another lightning bolt struck and Trixie was smiling. Her eyes were gone though. Her eye sockets were simply empty. She wasn’t there. A low yellowish light illuminated from the back of her skull. It was the only source of light in the room.

A voice came from her. It sounded just a little bit like her, but it was an illusion. The real voice was deep and unnatural. It was like a monster had taken her vocal chords and used them like a kazoo.

“Uniform!?”

Trixie threw her head back and roared a deathly cackle.

“That is the very last thing I could ask for… ever!”

Trixie hovered just barely off the ground. She sharply turned her head to Cloudchaser, whose mouth was hanging open from the shock. She stared at her for endless seconds until finally lighting up her horn with a red glow and completely fixing the broken water bong.

“Enjoy yourselves!” She welcomed grandly. “Do what you love! It is after all, why you’re here!”

Trixie turned to Plum, trembling on the carpet and attempting to discreetly wet himself.

*SNAP*

A large selection of candy and pastries snapped into existence in front of him on a golden platter. He looked up, forgetting his fear instantly and began gorging himself disgustingly.

“Ha ha!” Chortled Trixie. “Plum gets it! Fantastic! Marvelous, boy!”

Cherry Jubilee unfroze momentarily to cringe at Plum’s gorging. Her face contorted into an expression of total revulsion. Trixie turned to her.

“Oh my, what a fat hog.” Trixie pretended to agree.

“Hey!” Plum shot back unenthusiastically, trying to not be distracted from his desserts.

Cherry Jubilee gritted her teeth.

“Doesn’t he just disgust you?” coaxed Trixie. “He needs some manners taught to him. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Jubilee?”

As if that sentence had been what unleashed her, Cherry Jubilee leaped at Plum and started to smack him viciously.

“You like pie, fatty? You fucking like it!? Huh?!” She screamed at him.

Plum verbally protested, but focused more on trying to crawl back to the platter for one last bite. He stopped talking however, when Jubilee jammed a fritter into his throat and started to strangle him.

Cloudchaser hardly paid mind to this as she relit her bong and started dragging. Lightning Dust scowled at her jealously.

“You just hate her don’t you?” Trixie muttered to her.

“Huh? Wha?” Cloudchaser slurred, confused.

“So lazy, yet so successful.” Trixie taunted. “You work so much harder, but all she has to do to graduate is smoke all day. Totally fair, in my opinion.”

Lightning Dust was very quick. Cloudchaser hadn’t even seen her swipe it away from her. Lightning smashed the bong on the ground once again.

“Don’t fix it this time!” She commanded Trixie.

“Hey! What the fuck is your problem, bitch!?” Cloudchaser squawked, outraged.

“No! I’m gonna say something about this right here!” Lightning spat back.

The room broke out into an uproar of madness and disharmony. Nothing was coherent any longer. Trixie hovered over to Octavia.

*SNAP*

A very handsome worker boy was in the room, deeply confused by all of the sudden dissonance he’d been snapped into. Trixie winked at Octavia, which must have been a cue of some kind because Octavia immediately tackled the boy and forced her tongue into his mouth lustfully.

The puppet master looked through his slave’s eyes into the room and saw his masterpiece as Plum stuffed himself while Mrs. Jubilee strangled him and Lightning Dust slung her worst at Cloudchaser, talking about how much she should be in her place while Cloudchaser ignored her, not caring in the least and how Octavia had pulled the stunned boy into a corner and started thrusting her hips into his.

Beautiful, isn’t it? said Trixie’s master grimly.

Trixie could say nothing. She was being choked. Her soul, smothered by his influence.

You’re missing Greed. Her master scolded. Puzzles aren’t solved without every piece.

"Please god…." She was able to moan, desperately.

I am your God. asserted the spirit of Chaos.

Breakfast

       “Jeez, kid.” Pinkamena said dully. “It’s just toast.”

Scootaloo looked just slightly guilty.

“Oh, I’m sorry Mrs. Pie.” She apologized.

Though it was hard to make out what she said as her mouth was very full when she said it. Scootaloo swallowed loudly (but did so with a smile so bright she almost looked jubilant) and wiped her mouth with her napkin before opening her mouth again.

“It’s just that I’m so used to oatmeal and water for breakfast. This is just so, so good!”

Pinkamena looked at her black and burnt toast. It appeared to her that it was passable as safe to eat, but she couldn’t wrap her head around the idea of it actually tasting as good as the child made it sound.

Scootaloo finished her meal rather quickly. Pinkamena had hardly touched hers by the time the filly had wolfed it all down. With nothing in particular to say after that, Scootaloo took her plate and started toward the sink with the intention to start washing it. But she did something stupid again. Scootaloo proved worthless yet again when she tripped and fell to the ground, letting the plate hit the floor and break her glass, making the shattered bits go everywhere.

Pinkamena whirled around to see the mess and the child sprawled on her floor. Scootaloo had tried to scramble back to standing on fours, but she ended up slipping on a jagged piece of glass and cut her hoof. When she realized that Pinkamena was already looking, she gave up and lay on the ground, pressing the fresh cut as hard as she could and bit her lip so she wouldn’t cry.

Pinkamena grunted, frustrated and made her way over to the worthless wreck of a filly. As Pinkamena bent over to start picking up the glass, she noticed Scootaloo cowering.

“What are you doing, kid?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Pie! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s just a glass. Relax.”

Pinkamena went past Scootaloo and picked up several shards of glass. Scootaloo looked up and stared at Pinkamena like she was some marvelous exhibit. Pinkamena looked over her shoulder and glared at Scootaloo strangely.

“What? What is it, kid!?”

“Y-…you’re not gonna hit me?”

“What? Why the heck would I hit you?”

“Mrs. Powell always hit me when I did something stupid. I’m really stupid sometimes, and I thought you were angry at me…”

Pinkamena opened her mouth but stopped herself before the first phoneme exited her lips. She looked at her guest and suddenly noticed how Scootaloo looked exactly like her. And suddenly, little Pinkamena was in the room, covering her face on the floor next to some mess she didn’t mean to make, waiting to be struck by her-

Rotten, blood-gutted, shit-eating, putrid, alcoholic, sadistic, cocksucking

-father. And she would have been given something she didn’t deserve, ever.

Little Pinkamena hadn’t had anyone that loved her in a long time and those who had loved her were dead, decomposing in the worm-infested underground. So Pinkamena realized she had an opportunity; little Pinkamena never had anybody, but why couldn’t she now?

Pinkamena took Scootaloo by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes.

“Listen to me. Right now. I would never ever hurt anypony that didn’t deserve it.”

Scootaloo looked back and saw that she was dead serious.

“D-do I deserve anything?” She asked nervously.

“You could never do anything to deserve me. I promise.”

Scootaloo relaxed her shoulders and smiled. Pinkamena let her go and resumed picking up the broken glass. After she had thrown it all away, she headed toward the basement door.

“Where are you going, Ms. Pie?” Scootaloo called, curious.

Pinkamena turned around and said nothing. Something about her eyes made Scootaloo lose her courage and turn back to the den. Despite having woken up only an hour ago, she curled up in her blankets and closed her eyes. Within minutes, she had dozed off.

Hay diddle doo da, hay doddle de. Tra-la-la-la-la-la sang the voice.

Pinkamena tried to ignore it. She was focusing.

Howdy, howdy, dah duh, sassa-frassa woop de doo!

“Shut up.” She said firmly.

Pinkamena had recently stolen a bottle of sulfuric acid from the construction offices the previous night. The reason for this was that the bodies had started to deteriorate and the smell was escaping the basement now. Not only that but she needed more space, as it was getting crowded.

Crowd of the sinning dead, ha!

“Shut up!” Pinkamena barked.

The bottle shook just hard enough to make a drop hit the concrete and started to sizzle. Pinkamena took a deep breath and calmed herself. She began to pour the acid into the container again. The acid guzzled out of the bottle’s mouth and splashed into the bucket where the rotting corpse of Flam was stuck. As the acid trickled down his remains, so did his flesh. The compound smoked as it ate through the cadaver’s flesh and muscle. Pinkamena had actually bought the rubber gloves and gas mask. There was no point in stealing those two particular items, as Pinkamena was pretty sure that purchasing everyday kitchen appliances wasn't suspicious.

Pinkamena watched in a dull daze of interest as the remains of the putrid soul that once was simply melted away into a goop at the bottom of the container. The bottle was nearly dry by then, and she decided it would be best to save the remainder. And she would have done that, had the voice not screamed at her from out of the blue. An ear splitting scream, maybe one of a young female being butchered, blasted in her ears, taking her by surprise so efficiently, that she threw the bottle up in the air. Gravity eventually got to it, and it struck the floor and broke, leaking the corrosive fluid all over the floor and on Pinkamena’s hooves.

“Ahhhh!!!!” was all she could expel when the acid touched her. “Goddamnit!” She screamed, jumping out of the way and behind the metal table.

Pinkamena hoisted her leg up to the table and examined the burns. She was bleeding and a scar had already developed.

“God damnit!! Goddamnit, I’m burned!! Ahhhhrggh!!!”

The words didn’t alleviate the pain, so she threw everything she could off of the table and smashed any glass within her reach. Within seconds, she had turned the basement into a wreck.

Pinkamena seethed and gritted her teeth, wildly tossing her head around to avoid more screaming when she heard the door slowly creak open.

She heard the quietest voice whisper into the enormous space.

“Ms. Pie? Are you okay down here?”

The door swung further open as whoever had whispered made straining noises, making it obvious how difficult it was for them to move the large metal door at all.

“Ms. Pie? Are you alright?”

“Scootaloo?” Pinkamena called, shocked.

“I uh… heard you screaming, and I saw that your closet was open. So I just thought that maybe I could see if you were okay.”

Pinkamena noticed something. The pain had stopped. It was still there, but she didn’t care anymore. Maybe it had something to do with the kid and what she said. Whatever it was, Pinkamena wasn’t angry, as if by magic.

She waited. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

She moved away from the table and saw the mess she made. Pinkamena felt stupid. She needed to clean it.

Pinkamena used her adult voice. Over time, she had come to know that it worked very well in certain situations.

“Go back upstairs, kid.”

Scootaloo stuttered. “Oh-uh…yes, mam, I-I mean Ms. Pie.”

Scootaloo then clumsily ran back through the corridor and back into the house.

Pinkamena heard the filly’s little hoofsteps along the floor. They were light and cautious, but they tried too hard and ended up sounding goofy and cute.

Pinkamena didn’t mean to, but this sound made her grin.

Convergance

Mrs. Powell smacked Cheerilee across the face and it was very audible. Cheerilee gasped, but her episode subsided. She snorted one last time, and was silent.

“There is no need for violence, Ma’am.” said the policemare sternly.

“No, no.” Cheerilee reasoned. “I really did get a little too emotional.”

She took a deep breath. “I haven’t lost a student since I was twenty. Six years ago, I had this little colt in my class. His name was Boxcars and he was just so sweet-“

“Nobody gives a goddamn about your life story, Cheerilee.” Mrs. Powell interrupted.

Cheerilee stopped and sunk. “I’m sorry.”

The policemare continued “These children. They’re both students of Miss Punch?”

Mrs. Powell didn’t let Cheerilee answer. “So she’s told me a million times over now.”

“And they were last seen in the schoolyard?” asked the policemare.

“I just sent them to recess. It was recess…” Cheerilee mumbled.

“Which one of them was in your care, Mrs. Powell?”

“The orange one.” Mrs. Powell replied. “She’s always been a troublemaker, that one. I bet she ran right up to a couple of those dogs looking for a fight.”

“Well, Ma’am, as far as the investigation has shown, the shooter in the town square was alone and the attack wasn’t a group effort. I highly doubt either of the children are missing because of hounds.”

“Whatever. It still wouldn’t surprise me. Little punk always threw herself into more conflict and left me to pull her out of it. Now she’s gone and dragged some other filly into her problems.”

Cheerilee looked back up at the policemare.

“Actually…” she started reluctantly. “It had recently come to my attention that the other filly involved bullied Scootaloo quite a lot. Verbally, sometimes physically even. I would punish her, but the bullying would only get crueler.”

“So?” Powell groaned, dragging her cigarette.

“If anything, I might go as far as suggesting that this bullying could possibly be the source of the disappearance.”

“What, the kid ran away or something? If so, why would the other one also go missing?”

Cheerilee grew anxious again. “I-I don’t know! Guilt!?”

        She began to hyperventilate again.

        “I just want them to be safe! I want the little children to be safe!”

        Mrs. Powell struck Cheerilee again, harder. Cheerilee yelped. The policemare pounded her hoof down.

        “I said no violence, Powell! Final warning! She shouted. “Your behavior is unacceptable, and I won’t have it in my office!”

        “Whatever.” Mrs. Powell replied, not even looking up.

        “No, not whatever! ‘Yes, Officer’ is what you’re gonna say or I’ll arrest you for assault!”

        “I came in here to give you the information I had on my own time, so don’t tell me you’re gonna do shit unless you mean it, Officer. We’re both wasting time here.”

        The officer sat down and glared harshly at Mrs. Powell. Everyone was silent.

        After a moment, Mrs. Powell blew smoke from her nostrils and looked up.

        “Last I saw Scootaloo, she was on edge; had a lot of things going through her head.”

        The officer leaned in and raised her brow.

        “I’m thinking…” She inhaled the nicotine and blew it out again into the ceiling lamp’s rays. “What if she got tired of getting shit?”

        The room wasn’t any nicer from last time. The straps on the bed were loose for the time, but a nurse outside of the room was always ready to change that if it was necessary. The lights were off except for the very dim lamp on the plastic end table near the door.

        Rarity stared at the ceiling, faking a very big smile so that she wouldn’t scare her friends away. Mel was having a rough time feeling comfortable while Rarity smiled. It was too wide and toothy. Something about it made Mel’s stomach feel queer. It looked like she was trying to not be afraid of herself. Mel was also depressed by just being in the room. He didn’t want to even think about what it was like to be a patient.

        Lyra sat in the chair next him, holding Rarity’s mane and stroking it gently.

        “That’s… very nice, darling…” Rarity said softly. “Please don’t stop.” She insisted.

        “Of course I won’t, honey. I promise.” Lyra replied motherly.

        Mel only sat silently. He turned his head away from time to time to get a break from having to see his dear friend like she was.

        Rarity noticed.

        As if interrupting herself, she threw out her arm and put it near his hooves.

        “Mel, sweetie? Could you hold my hoof, please?”

        Mel stuttered “Are-a-…are you-“

        “PLEASE.” she moaned.

        Mel grabbed her hoof without thinking. He quickly scooted closer to the bed so Rarity didn’t have to hold her arm out so far anymore. Everything was quiet again.

        Rarity’s eyes fluttered after some time. She began to drift off.

        “I love you both.” She said sleepily.

        “We love you too, Rarity.” Lyra replied.

        Mel was still shaken. “Y-yea…We love ya, R.”

        They both watched Rarity sleep for three hours before the nurse kicked them out. The duo then got their things and made their way through the eerily silent halls to the exit. As the two walked out of the hospital, Lyra looked to Mel.

        “I love you too, Mel.”

        “Yea. Me too…” Mel replied lazily.

       Lyra stopped. Mel looked over his shoulder and saw her serious expression.

       “I mean it.”

        Mel was silent.

        “Bonbon is my soul mate, but you two are the love of my life.”

        Silence still.

        “I’ve known you and her since as long as I can remember. You two are a special kind of love to me.”

        Mel finally spoke. “Do you think it’s ever gonna be the same after this? When she gets out?”

Lyra had stopped now.

“Do you think that when she gets better we’ll just go back to the bar and have a nice tall glass and be all like ‘ah, hey! You guys remember that time R was in the cuckoo nest? Ha ha ha! What a month!’”

“…Mel.”

“I’m scared, Lyra. I don’t want things to change. I really don’t.”

“Please…”

“I just want to go back to the bar and forget this all happened, Lyra! I want her to be happy again! I want her to be our friend again! All she is now is scared and defenseless. When is she gonna come back!?”

“I don’t know. But I promise things will get better.”

“How do you know, Lyra? How do you know things will ever be the same?”

Lyra didn’t reply. Instead, she leaned in and kissed Mel tenderly on his lips.

Mel was entirely silent. For a moment, the only noise in the world was the night’s wind blowing. Lyra stared into his eyes.

        “I never said that. I said things will get better.”

        With that, she left for home.

        Mel stood outside for five minutes or so. And after pulling himself back, he went home without any sound but his hooves trotting along the cobblestone.

        “Ponyville, eh? My uncle lived here for a while.”

        “Shit. This is my hometown.” said Cloudchaser shocked. “You’re sure this is where she is?”

        “How do you know it’ll be a ‘she’? I for one am hoping for a boy for once.” Octavia interjected.

        Plum feigned a cough. “*cough* slut! *cough*”

        “I haven’t met me a good boy in some time, anyway.” Cherry Jubilee mentioned. “At least not one worth spitting on.” She harshly added toward Plum.

       “Quiet! I can’t hear!” Trixie shouted above everyone.

        “Well sheesh, don’t wake everyone in the town.” Lightning Dust muttered.

        “I said quiet!”

        Trixie’s followers were quiet.

        “Yes. She’s here. And if she’s not. She will be.”

        “So this is it, huh?” smiled Cloudchaser, like a long wait was over.

        “Yes. We’ve finally found our Greed.”

        For the first time in a while, Trixie smiled.

A Visit

Mrs. Powell burst into her orphanage, startling any of the children playing in the hallway. She glared at any of them that were still smiling until they changed their mind. Afterward, she made her way upstairs without a word.

When she arrived in her bedroom, she quickly undressed herself and plopped down onto her mattress with a new cigarette in one hoof and her lighter in the other. She joined the two and sucked the orange side until the white tip glowed. Smoke gushed into her lungs, only to be sent back out after a moment of silence.

“My blue asshole, search warrant.” She grumbled.

As she took another drag she stared up at the popcorn ceiling and thought about how it used to remind her of her aunt’s house. Now all it reminded her of was her pansy ex-husband; how he would kiss her neck after sex and say he loved her. Bullshit. He wouldn’t have done what he did if he loved her. She may have gotten the last laugh in the end, what with getting possession over the orphanage in the divorce, but that didn’t change the fact that he betrayed her. Mrs. Powell rolled over in anger, turning her eyes away from the ceiling and trying to focus on the present.

But that wasn’t much better either, now that the police were coming back to the orphanage. What evidence could there possibly be? She destroyed everything that orange little shit stain had, so she didn’t figure they’d walk out with anything useful. But if one of the kids got brave and told the cops something like they did last time, they’d throw the whole damn book at her.

That’s what had gotten her so riled up; knowing that there could be one little bastard who’d have the gall to squeal, just like last time.

But that was back when the kids were still used to Will’s way. It was entirely possible that she’d beaten the last bit of courage out of them since. But the possibility was still there.

She couldn’t let it happen.

Mrs. Powell stood up and flicked her smoke into the trash bin next to her vanity mirror before she left the room and went back downstairs.

When she got to the bottom, she shouted.

“Kids! Kids, get in here right now!!! All of you!!!”

Like dogs being called to food, all of the children came flooding into the main hall and positioned themselves in an orderly line. Not one of them had a smile on their faces.

After counting them silently, Mrs. Powell began to speak.

“Kids.”

They remained silent and alert.

“I have a couple of friends from the police department coming over in a few days.” She said in an eerily gentle voice. “And they’re going to help me find out what happened to our friend Scootaloo, okay?”

The children did not break eye contact with her. Some refused to blink. Some were sweating.

“Now you all know I care about you, right?” She continued sweetly.

The children nodded stiffly.

“And that’s what the police are going to think also. Isn’t that right?”

The children nodded again.

Mrs. Powell smiled at them.

“Good.”

Her smile faded.

“Rumble?”

The small grey colt flinched at the mention of his name. His heart began to race and his eyes bulged out of their sockets. The other fillies turned their heads to him, all looking just as shocked. There were a few seconds of nothing but the sound in his blood pumping in his ears before he built up the courage to reply.

“Y-..y-yes, Mrs. Powell?”

“Are you going to even think about last week’s mistake when the police are here?”

“N-nn-n-“

“Are you?” She hissed.

“N-n-no, mam. I promise.”

“Oh, thank goodness! I was afraid I was going to have to fry your little eyes on the kitchen stove, sweetie!” She chuckled evilly.

One of the younger fillies gasped involuntarily as she said this. Mrs. Powell promptly picked up a wooden toy carriage from the floor and threw it right at her head. The filly yelped and hit the floor. Her soft whimpering echoed through the building momentarily. The next sound that filled the house was Mrs. Powell trotting slowly back up stairs.

The children didn’t disperse until at least twenty seconds after she had left their sight.

It was not uncommon in Equestria for ponies to change their names once they got their cutie marks. The new name was called a "fatunym", which was chosen to represent the mare's newly confirmed strong suit. When Lilly got her cutie mark, she donned her own fatunym; "Limestone" Pie.

Pinkamena never changed her name. She hated her cutie mark. She hated herself. She didn't have the self-esteem to bother.

And of course Ariel never got one, for obvious reasons.

Now, this is only noteworthy to mention due to the fact that Limestone was in town and looking for her dear sister, Pinkamena. It had been a good five years or so since she'd last seen her (or communicated at all for that matter) and she'd figured it was time to pay a visit.

Now when she entered the town, she gagged a little. Despite living on a farm her entire life, she somehow maintained her arrogance when she looked at the quaint little village.

“Oh my god” She sneered in faux awe. “Leave it to my clever little sister to run away to here, of all places”.

Pinkamena’s father had given up the reigns of the rock farm as of recently and given them to Limestone. Limestone had done the farm some good for once in twenty years, they actually had some business and a potential investor, and within the first few months if that wasn’t enough. With the money, Limestone had improved the old house, purchased newer and better equipment, and bought a car.

And not just anybody owned a car. You knew you had it going when you owned a car. Limestone had gotten an earlier model, but it was still a car. Maybe this is where her sense of superiority came from, but that was entirely debatable given several other factors that aren’t even worth getting into.

She had parked her car just outside town square and wandered in when she gagged. She looked around and saw all of the shabby stands and carts, with obviously poor patrons and owners all wallowing together in their rural cesspool.

One particular stallion caught her eye however. He was a huge boy, bigger than her definitely, and he was manning an apple stand with a weak smile across his face. She walked up to him with confidence and looked at him directly when she spoke.

“Excuse me?” She said flatly.

The stallion turned to face her.

“Eyup.” He replied.

“I’m looking for my sister and I was hoping you’d seen her.”

“Not sure, miss. I see a lot of ponies around here. Not so much recently though. I think everyone’s scared.”

Limestone tilted her head, puzzled. What could there be to be scared about in a place like this, other than being unsuccessful?

“And why do you think that is?” She inquired, curious.

The stallion chuckled a little under his breath. “I know ya ain’t from around here, cause you ain’t got the look about ya”.

Limestone felt relieved to know she didn’t look like anybody else in that horrible town.

“But you’d have to live under a rock not to know about what done happened right here in town square not a week ago.” The stallion finished.

“Well, I am a rock farmer.” She snickered lightly.

The red stallion let out a fair laugh after she finished.

“That’s pretty funny, miss.”

“No, actually. I really am.” She said, suddenly serious.

“Oh…” He replied awkwardly.

“You say something happened here?” She asked, still surprised. She doubted it would make the news if this town fell through a fissure in the earth.

“Some Diamond Dog shot this place up. Killed a couple people.”

“Goodness!” Limestone gasped.

Limestone looked around in a minor panic. Shoulder to shoulder, eyes shooting back and forth for anything grey and big.

“Those filthy Stone Mutts live here!?” She cried, disgusted.

“Heck no.” Big Mac shot back, just as shocked. “They live up in the local quarry over there.” He explained, motioning toward the mountain behind her.

Limestone sighed loudly, relieved again. “Thank god. I can’t believe you haven’t evicted those awful barbarians yet. You definitely have a just reason now.”

“Nope.” He said. “The one who shot up the square is dead as dirt. His head got blown clean off by some lady.”

“Eeww..” Limestone moaned, no longer wanting to be touching the ground. “What does that have to do with anything? You’ve still got a reason to set fire to their… mud pits, or whatever they live in.”

“See, now that’s the deal-breaker right there.” He answered. “Ya see, she wouldn’t have no gun if she hadn’t bought it from them marketers in the quarry. And them marketers wouldn’t have given it to her if they were gonna shoot up the town any time soon.”

Limestone scoffed. “Still, I need to find my sister.” She explained. “She has pink hair, pink coat… pink everything really. Maybe a messy mane, down over her eye?”

“Eyup.” He reacted positively. “I see her all the time. She’s real friendly but real quiet.”

The stallion pointed up toward the Everwhite. “She usually comes from that direction, but I have no idea where she lives. Can’t be much up there I reckon, though.”

“Thanks, errr…” Limestone waited.

“Ian McArthur Apple, but my granny calls me Big McIntosh.”

“Yes. Thank you…Ian.” She said.

Then she headed toward the bridge and crossed into the woods for the first and last time.

Catching Up

In the Everwhite, there were all kinds of variation in the flora. The bastard bushes and flowers, though strange at first sight, harmonized radiantly. Lily noticed as she walked down the quiet forest road and feigned boredom with it, masking her feelings of jealousy for such natural beauty. The farm had nothing so nice.

She wouldn’t admit it ever, of course. She was much too proud of her accomplishments since her succession from her father that she refused to criticize the farm at all, despite it being a spiraling vortex of misery. Even now as a successful young adult, the farm drained her soul of all its emotional capacity.

She quickly became impatient while following the trail and even considered turning back, but just then she saw a petite cottage at the top of a hill no more than another minute or so away.

“Oh, finally.” She groaned to herself. “Though I’m not surprised by how far away she is from everypony.”

Lily approached the cottage, gussied herself up at the door, making sure her appearance was better than her sister’s surely would be, and knocked.

Pinkamena had woken up smiling for the first time in nearly thirteen years. Scootaloo was still asleep, breathing silently into her side, tickling her just so. Before getting up, she stared at the child for a little while. She was so quiet and looked so peaceful, despite the cuts and bruises that littered her body and face. For some reason, the sight kept the grin from leaving her face as she got up and headed down to the kitchen to make breakfast.

As she made the toast and poured the juice, she found herself very light on her feet, almost dancing. The past few mornings had been nicer than usual, but this particular morning was something magical, and she didn’t even know why.

She had melted all of the bodies in her basement and dumped the rotten slush into the river out back over the last couple of days, making her basement once again empty except for the table and its other original furniture and decorations. The smell was the only thing that still remained of her karmatic duties, and it was putrid. She had tried pouring an entire bottle of cheap perfume on the floor to cover it up, but it disappeared into a drain in the center of the room that she had never noticed before. The little bit that stained into the concrete was nowhere near enough to mask the odor of her righteous deeds.

Despite this, Pinkamena hadn’t gone anywhere near her basement for the entire week. Maybe it was due to The Voice not having talked to her at all in that time. Coincidentally, The Voice had stopped around the time that Scootaloo had started sleeping next to her. At first, it was so that they could team up against their nightmares and be there for each other when awoken from them. But even after the nightmares stopped the little foal still climbed into that bed and snuggled herself tightly against Pinkamena’s side every night.

Scootaloo’s nightmares had certainly ended, since she was obviously dreaming about her parents most nights, as evidenced by her sleep-talking about mothers and what not.

Pinkamena had also stopped having nightmares. Her father was entirely absent from her unconscious mind in the night now, and she instead dreamed about meadows and rivers with bright and cloudless skies overhead as she frolicked about with a friendly figure she could never remember in her waking hours.

But she did have one dream that happened more than once. Reoccurring night terrors were common for her, but not so much dreams. And in it, she is at a table, talking, laughing, and monkeying around with five other ponies. Most of them she has never met before, but she does remember two of them looking familiar, at least knowing that they were real. All she remembers when she wakes are two of each kind. Two Pegasi, two Unicorns, and an Earth Pony just like her. They all harmonize like they know each other in this nightly vision, but she can’t recall meeting any of them, let alone know their names.

Her train of though was interrupted however by the sound of a chair scooting across the floor. Pinkamena turned to see that Scootaloo had woken up and come down without making any other sounds. She finished scooting the chair from under the door to the table and quietly sat down, waiting for breakfast.

Pinkamena grinned at the child. “I ever tell you that you’re really super sneaky?”

Scootaloo returned the smile. “Morning, Miss Pie. I’m only quiet because I don’t want to bother you. I guess it’s an old habit.”

Pinkamena pulled the crispy waffles from their iron and put the two of them on separate plates. As she placed one of the plates in front of Scootaloo, she tussled her mane.

“I don’t think you can ever bother me, kiddo.”

Scootaloo giggled a little bit and began to eat.

As Pinkamena went back to get her own plate, she heard something she never had before in that house; someone was knocking at the door.

Scootaloo looked at the door, confused. She knew that her pink friend had no friends except herself, but she would never say that out loud. So she looked at Pinkamena with her head tilted just slightly and her eyebrows curving upward toward each other.

Pinkamena cautiously went to the door, just as confused and opened it.

Dashclad walked into the room and saw many things, but what stood out to her the most was Cherry. He clearly hadn’t slept for however long he’d been there, if he even left since she last visited. He also looked weak and Dashclad could guess that meant he hadn’t eaten much either.

When he saw her, Cherry faintly smiled.

“Hi, Dash. Come on in.” He ushered.

“Cherry, you look awful.” She said, concerned.

“She’s getting better, Dash.” He ignored. “T-they say that she might even walk on that leg again!” He said as joyously as he could.

Dashclad saw her grey and blonde friend turn over in her bed, not looking much better than her husband. In spite of this, she still smiled better than him and even waved lightly.

“H-h-he-y, D-da-a-s-sh” She managed.

Dashclad forced herself to smile back at such an awful sight. She did that. She hurt her friends like this.

“Hey, Derpy.”

There was a pause as she frantically tried to think of a follow up.

“Do you feel any better?” She ended up with.

Derpy frowned. “W-well… I d-don’t f-f-ff-eel too good. But the doc-t-tor said that the bullet didn’t d-d-d…” She struggled badly. “-diii-s-s-aable anything. So I’ll walk ag-gain if I work hard.”

A flash of despair filled Cherry’s face but he repressed whatever it was when Dashclad looked back to him.

“Sadly though, she’s gonna need a crutch for the rest of her life.” He said. “But hey, what’d you expect, considering her cerebral palsy.” He choked out the fakest chuckle ever.

“I-it’s okay though. The only real th-thing t-that does is p-p-ut me out of the p-p-ostal serv—vice.”

Dashclad knew that she couldn’t afford to find a different job. She had put two-and-two together when she saw their house. By the end of her treatment, they would probably be homeless.

She did it.

She did it.

SHE DID IT.

“Sorry, guys!” She burst out. “I only came in for a really quick visit, cause I have to go somewhere.” She lied.

They both looked so understanding at this. They smiled real smiles and nodded. Like they didn’t matter at all and were hindering her life’s progress by taking her precious time away.

“T-that’s okay, Dash. T-t-th-anks for stopping by!” She replied.

“Yes. Thank you so much, Dash.” Cherry also said.

Dashclad left the room as fast as she could without looking suspicious. The guilt was consuming her in that room. It was a cancer that spread and spread at lightning speed. And she knew that she could run, but she couldn’t hide.

Melvin cleaned his entire inventory of glasses and mugs. He didn’t have anything else to do. Nobody was coming in that late. Lyra and Bonbon were having a romantic dinner somewhere and he knew where Rarity was. Boy, did he know.

Melvin knew a lot of stuff. He was sure of what he felt and what he wanted.

Melvin knew that Lyra was right. She always was. But he didn’t like it. He didn’t want change. Change was scary. He just wanted things to go back to the way they were. But they weren’t going to. Not no way, not no how. He knew all of that for certain.

“Ughhhhh…” His only present customer mumbled.

“Shut up, Berry.” He firmly insisted.

“N-nooo…”

“Ain’t you got a little girl to take care of?” He asked, annoyed. “Where the fuck is baby Ruby?”

“Don’t you talk about my beautiful princess, you sweater…wearing…Mel…” She slurred.

“You’re here twenty-four-fucking-seven. How do you even have the time to sober up and go home?”

“Cheerilee is watching her, for your F-Y-I.”

Though he fought it at first, Mel couldn’t help but laugh at little bit at this one. “For my, for my information?” He chuckled.

Berry returned his chuckle even though she didn’t know what there was to be laughing about.

At this, the saloon doors burst open, and Melvin saw six ponies pour into his business and take seats next to each other at the bar.

The one in the middle had a hood up and he couldn’t see their face. They looked a very odd bunch.

“You know, you think I’d expect more customers at this time of night, but I don’t very often.” He said to them.

“Welcome to Melvin’s Saloon. What can I get ya?” He greeted properly.

“Milk, please.” Said an older mare with complex cherry-red hair.

“Milk?”

“Yes, please.”

“All by itself? No White Equestrian or anything?”

“Yes, dear. Milk. Thank you.” She assured.

The mare’s voice was very motherly and pleasant, but also very direct and business-like.

“I’ll have a apple juice please.” Said a very plump, stubby stallion.

“Fuck, what are you guys, religious or something?” Mel joked lightly as he readied the two drinks.

The hooded one look up at him and he could see her eye glow a very eerie yellow. Melvin froze and stared at her eye. He nearly dropped the drinks just staring into the eye like a deer in headlights.

Melvin knew a lot of stuff. And he knew straight away that the eye was pure evil.

The hooded mare snickered.

“I guess you could say that. Yes…” Trixie said.

Lily

“L-…” Pinkamena was stunned. “Lilly.”

Lily shot a smug grin at her sister. “Sister.”

Scootaloo tried to look around her caretaker to see who was at the door. Limestone caught her eye just as she did the same.

Limestone burst into the cottage, knocking her sister to the side, not even noticing.

“And who is this, now?” She asked Scootaloo in a condescending tone.

Scootaloo had talked to enough adults to know this tone. It was the one that said; you look incredibly dumb and immature. I’m going to assert that by talking down to you.

She answered anyway. “I’m Scootaloo.”

Limestone turned to her sister without changing her expression. “Good job, sister. Where is your prize of a husband?”

Pinkamena glared at Limestone as she regained her footing. “I don’t have one.”

Limestone smirked. “HA! Well of course not.” She chuckled. Clearly it was a very silly idea, her sister finding somebody that loved her. “I’m only kidding, you know.”

Pinkamena wasn’t falling for that bullshit. For what possible reason would her sister come back into her life other than to brag or tease? Her morning was ruined.

“How did you find me?” She suddenly wondered.

“Some large boy in town directed me to this…lovely home you’ve given yourself.” Limestone replied, scrubbing her surroundings visually.

She had to ask. She already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it just so the point could be reached and she could kick her sister out faster. “What are you doing here?” Pinkamena asked through her teeth.

Without hesitation, she flew into a memory of her success and prosperity. “Oh, just to catch up about the farm is all.”

Scootaloo knew she wasn’t part of the conversation, but she asked anyway because she was so hopelessly curious. “What farm?”

Pinkamena quickly turned to the child. “Nothing.”

Limestone pushed her sister aside again. “It’s where we grew up, sweetie. A rock farm. I own it now.”

Scootaloo cocked her head. “Rock farm? How does that work?”

“It’s like mining! But better.” Limestone exaggerated.

Pinkamena’s face grew grim. “It’s yours now?”

“Why yes, sister. Father gave it to me not too long ago and I’ve flipped it into the green already.” Her sister answered pridefully.

A flash of joy surged through Pinkamena, but it quickly dissolved into anxiety. “I-…is daddy dead?” She asked hopefully.

Limestone’s face went blank. She hesitated at the question.

The room was silent for a moment or two as the two sisters looked at each other very seriously. It was in that silence that they had the first connection to each other in years.

“No…” Limestone finally answered. Her tone was rather gray.

Pinkamena only responded by breaking the stare and looking to the ground. The connection was gone, but there was an understanding. Neither of them were happy with her answer.

Limestone perked back up like a spring being sprung and soared back into her fantasies of wealth. “I have a car now. It’s on the edge of town. What do you have, sister?”

“Go away.”

Lily turned back to Scootaloo “Oh, she’s just jealous. Your babysitter could have gotten a share of the farm too if she’d stayed back home.”

“I’m not her babysitter.” Pinkamena growled.

Lily ignored her. “It would have been big with us two. All three of us would have been nice, but our other sister died when we were very young, you know.” She told the filly.

This set off a trigger in Pinkamena. It had always been there but she always forgot about it; how it’d always just brush her the wrong way whenever someone talked about Ariel.

Pinkamena lightly shoved Lily out of the way. “Don’t talk about Ariel, Lily.”

Limestone scoffed loudly. “You act like I don’t even care about her! I loved our sister! And it’s Limestone now!”

“Then why won’t you say her name, Limestone!?”

“What name?” Limestone asked.

Pinkamena couldn’t believe it. Had she actually just asked?

“Your. FUCKING. Sister’s! ARIEL!!!”

Limestone was stunned by her sister’s rudeness. She put her hoof to her chest and gave her a look that said; how dare you call me out on my sneakiness.

“I didn’t need to. That’s why.” She whipped up.

Pinkamena was disgusted. The mare in front of her was nobody to be respected no matter what she had. This shallow excuse for a woman didn’t even have the decency to speak of her dead sister like she was real.

At this, they had at it. Pinkamena began to rant as Limestone began to accuse. They did this rather loudly and Scootaloo had no idea how to respond to it. So she ducked and turned her face away from the two of them, too frightened to say or do anything.

At some point, Limestone noticed this and abused it to divert attention away from herself.

“Now see what you’ve done? You scared your little butler with all of this screaming!”

Pinkamena stopped. She analyzed the words her sister had just said. Was it so hard for Lily to picture somebody that loved her? Even calling her a friend would have been better. But no. Lily assumed that the two had no relationship at all because she obviously thought very little of her. Lily clearly thought Pinkamena incapable of having loved ones. That brushed her wrong too. Just a little bit too wrong.

Limestone noticed that her sister had stopped arguing. Her wonderful situational awareness had diffused the situation and she had won. Good for her. Good for Limestone. She smirked again.

“Good.” She said. “Glad to see you’ve finally come to your senses. Spooking ‘The Help’ is never supportive of their overall conduct you know. Especially for one so yu-“

Pinkamena’s hoof slammed into Limestone’s cheek like a solid brick of concrete. Limestone’s sentence slipped out of her mind and she crashed onto the floor, quickly coming to terms with the pain she was experiencing. Blood gushed out of her nose and mouth. She screamed.

Scootaloo gasped, startled greatly by the new development.

Limestone grabbed her nose and mouth in hopes to halt the bleeding, muffling her cries of pain.

Pinkamena stood on her hind legs and towered over her sister. Limestone cowered and shielded her face with her free hoof.

“Don’t you ever talk about my daughter like that!” She yelled.

Scootaloo was shocked by her friend’s words. She would have never seen that coming. Not in a million years. But she liked it. It made her feel strangely warm in her tummy. She really liked to know what Pinkamena’s feelings really were.

Limestone gave a shrill yelp of terror when Pinkamena crouched down closer to her ear. She was shivering.

“Get out of my house.” Pinkamena whispered. “Get the hell away from my family.”

Limestone screamed again and crawled out the door as fast as she could. She didn’t dare stand up until she was off the porch. When she did stand, she scurried away like a rat. Like a prissy little rich rat with a little car and a little farm nobody gave two shits in the world about.

Limestone never saw her sister again.

Pinkamena slammed her door and turned back inside. Scootaloo was looking at her with wide eyes. The two looked at each other understandingly for a while.

“Sorry about your sister, Ms. Pie.” Scootaloo finally croaked out.

Pinkamena thought about this silently. She looked at the child, so vulnerable and innocent, broken by everyone, nobody to love her. Tossed around like a ragdoll her whole life.

Pinkamena grinned ever so subtly. She went to Scootaloo and wrapped her arms around her tightly. Scootaloo seemed confused at first, but quickly returned the embrace and giggled with joy.

“Thanks, Ms. Pie.”

“Mom.”

“What?”

“Call me Mom.”

Scootaloo suddenly wanted to. And after a few moments, she did.

“Thanks, Mom.”

Pinkamena shook. Scootaloo looked up and saw tears running down her eyes, but she was still smiling. Scootaloo smiled too and only held on tighter.

“I love you, kiddo.” said Pinkamena.

“I love you too, mommy.”

Third Arrival

It was only a few days or so before Scootaloo started saying ‘mom’ or ‘mommy’ automatically without thinking anything of it. When she did give it thought, she guessed the reason for its falling into habit so quickly was thanks to her desperate need for a mother. This really was what she always wanted anyway; somebody to love her the same way her father did. She was very happy around Pinkamena. She would smile all the time and even get excited sometimes. Scootaloo was very happy indeed.

Pinkamena didn’t smile nearly as much as Scootaloo did now, but she certainly did more often than usual. Pinkamena was also generally less depressed and angry and even sometimes perky on a good afternoon. She hadn’t known the kid very long, but Scootaloo had changed her life. She hadn’t heard from The Voice in the longest time, and frankly, she would probably have killed herself with anxiety trying to make sure the kid didn’t see the body she would’ve had to drag back. She hadn’t gone down to the basement either. She would read in her bed or in the living room now like a normal person. Yes, this was easily the best time in Pinkamena’s life. She couldn’t think of a time less stressful and glad.

It probably would have gone on for the rest of both their lives.

But it didn’t.

No, fate can be shaded but it can’t be repelled. And fate just hated the two of them. There isn’t a reasonable explanation as to why, but what does it matter anyway? They could take refuge in those little periods of happiness until it came back and stole it away from them. No sir, nothing good could ever stay with poor, worthless, stupid, useless little Pinkamena. Not since she was born, not ever.

Now, fate can’t just will things into being. It must seek a path through cause and effect, and in this particular case, it was The Children of Discord that ruined Pinkamena’s happiness. The Children of Discord didn’t know Pinkamena, and they hardly intended to know her. Though fate set up an event that would ruin everything like the sick twisted chaos it is.

It started when the Flim Flam Brothers case was opened up again. Their mother had finished her grieving and decided to take action by suing Sweet Apple Acres. Though there was clearly no evidence linking him to the murders, Ian “Big Mac” Apple was summoned to court as the primary defendant.

Despite regaining the farm, Big Mac was in financial trouble at the time and couldn’t afford a proper lawyer. So, he made a choice he’d later regret.

Big Mac saw the cab roll up to the entrance of the east orchard. It stopped, and out from the carriage came his little sister Applejack, dressed up all fancy with a red bow in her mane to keep the bun up. She carried a black leather brief case out as well, making herself look even more official. Big Mac had pictured the reunion being more memorable. He remembered his sister being bright and beautiful, her eyes with a twinkle in them that reminded him of a ripe and fresh granny smith. The pony now approaching him was flat and drab, no sparkle in her eyes. When she was close enough he saw that the greenness of her pupils were a cloudy forest color, like the hide of a snake. Still, he had missed her and reached out to embrace her.

“Applejack!” He said heartily as he tried to hook his elbow around her.

All she let out was a confused “Oh!” when he succeeded.

“I missed you a whole dang lot since you were last here.”

She humored him and smiled quickly back when he took another look at her face. “Yes. It’s been some time, Ian. You got a lot bigger than I expected.”

Big Mac let go and backed up a little bit. His sister had never called him Ian. Nobody did, ever. The only time he ever really mentioned it himself is if somebody asked or he was signing something. His sister had changed. He knew then and there that things weren’t going to be like they had been. She would hardly be his sister during this visit. She was his free lawyer.

This made Big Mac very sad very quickly. But thankfully, he was a solid stallion and he had quite the poker face, so he went with it. “Uh…yea. I guess I am pretty big…”

“Let’s get started then. Is there somewhere we can talk more properly?” She asked.

“Eeyup...up at the house.” He said without really looking. Then a little light popped into his head. It shoved away some of the darkness in his heart too. He had remembered that Granny Smith was in the house. Applejack loved Granny. Granny was AJ’s hero.

“Granny is here, you wanna see her?”

“I’d much rather talk to you about the plaintiffs. I’ve dealt with them before and they’re very serious. I’ve actually been looking to settle a score with them anyway.” She said, grinning slyly. “It’s just lucky that you called me to the case.”

“Oh…” Big Mac answered somberly. “Well, alright then. Maybe we’ll see Granny after that.” He added as he started toward the driveway.

“We also need to talk settlements, Ian. That’s very important too.” Applejack threw in, rather greedily.

Early spring it was, and Canterlot shimmered like a diamond every morning when the sun rose. For hundreds of miles the brilliant capitol could be seen perched ever so carefully on the mountains, serving as a beacon of prosperity and glory.

Then there was the princess. Oh did the citizens of that city shout and cheer when she would pass through the streets in her lectica. The undying, burning love and worship for their motherly matriarch was profound. It wasn’t a very rare occurrence when those within proximity of her would break down and cry. And she would wave and smile at her subjects, because she loved them too. Not the way other leaders feel for their people, but true and nurturing love. She would be nothing without them and she knew that better than anyone.

But she couldn’t show her pain. No, that would crush the people and she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t tell them either. It would cause too much panic. So she smiled and waved to the loyal girls and boys and tried to revel in the moment, for every second that passed, she was closer to the return of her sister; who had sworn to kill her the day after the Summer Sun Celebration.

“Nightmare Moon is not going to kill anypony and especially not you, my princess.” swore Shining Armor, the captain of the royal guard. “I’ll roll heads before anyone harms a hair in your mane.”

She did not face him. She only stared at the oracular stained-glass window in her throne room, depicting the corruption of her sister. “No blood will be spilled, Captain. Please. I can’t hurt her again.”

Shining paused. “I’m sorry, your majesty. I hardly meant to insult your sister.” He apologized sincerely.

“I know that, Captain. You’re a good soldier and I know that you’d never directly insult anyone, let alone me.” She said, still facing the window. “You’re kind of heart and I understand you only want to protect me. But this is my concern.”

The captain waited for her to finish.

“I will face my sister alone. You will defend this country…”

Silence befell the room with such intensity that one could hear steps from the other wing. Then she spoke again. Her voice cracked momentarily however, and Shining only knew why when a tear hit the floor.

“And when she kills me…” She sniffed. “I can finally forgive myself…”

Inferiority

The books weren’t all the same, but they felt that way. Despite the covers of each being unique, it didn’t matter to her. The words on the pages were just a jumbled combination of letters if you didn’t look hard enough, and she had to make it that way to concentrate. It was her job anyway, bookbinding. Twilight Sparkle was a book binder.

Everyday she’d bind a few dozen books and then send them off to the depository where they’d be sorted, bought, whatever. Sometimes she would bind several copies of the same book and send them to a publisher, but that wasn’t very common.

She didn’t have a boss, but she wasn’t in charge of her job either. She would get requests and orders from previous contacts and that was how she knew what her workload was. Thankfully, the requests never stopped coming. She was always working.

It didn’t pay much either, but it kept her hanging on for god knew how long. She always wondered what her salary would have been if she had passed that stupid exam. Wait, were Celestia’s students paid at all? Was the prestige of being her student enough? It was silly now that she thought about it, a student being paid. Though she guessed she might have been given a penthouse or something of that il-

“Twily?”

Oh no. Not him.

“Twily, are you here?”

Twilight Sparkle stopped her thread and needle’s endless loop to stare at the wall ahead of her. She heard his voice, but she didn’t look. She didn’t dare look.

Shining Armor grew closer to her. “How are you doing today, sis?”

She said enough by continuing to stare at the wall with her empty gaze.

Shining frowned and raised his hoof to his sister, but she batted it away. “Don’t… touch me.” She finally replied.

Shining complied and put his hoof back to the ground slowly. Then, he looked away as well. “Why don’t you look at me anymore, Twily?”

He knew why. He knew what the worst thing about looking at him was.

A few moments of silence dwindled, but where shattered by Shining’s voice. “I just wanted to say hi to my little sister! Why can’t I just come by and say hello to my little sister, Twilight?”

Her voice was low and automatic. She always said the same thing. “I’m really busy today, Shining. I’ve got a lot of work to do and I hardly have time for visitors.”

“The Summer Sun Celebration is coming up. Will you have time for that?” He asked frustrated, already knowing the answer.

“I don’t have time for parties, Shining. It’s imperative that I finish my workload as efficiently as possible.” She said, still refusing to look at him.

The room fell silent once more. The stallion frowned and turned back toward the exit, and Twilight could have resumed and just gone back to her numbing, simple work if he hadn’t stopped in the doorway.

“When did you stop loving everything?” He asked.

Twilight raised her head again. She appeared rather annoyed this time. “What is this supposed to be, Shining?”

“I remember the Summer Sun Celebration when you were six.” He stopped himself. His eyebrows drooped and he shifted his eyes to the side to reconsider what he had just said. “No.”

He walked back up to her and pointed. “No, you weren’t there. All I can remember is a little purple filly. I know she can’t be you because of the look she had on her face when that sun came up.”

She didn’t have time for this. There was no time for remembering. Things had to be done. That’s how it always was; completion then re-evaluation. That was the Twilight method. “Shining, if there’s a point to thi-“ She was jerked away. That wasn’t part of the method.

Shining was her big brother, of course he was stronger. Her bookbinder’s twigs were no match against his royal guarding toned pythons. He forced her body away from the desk and aimed her chest at his. Both his hooves were around her torso though, and he still couldn’t control her eyes.

“Look at me, Twily! Look at your big brother for god sake!” He growled, shaking her.

“Let go of me!” LET GO OF ME!”

“Why can’t I see her again, huh? Why won’t you let me see that she’s still there!?”

Twilight tried to buck his shins, but they were much too far out of reach. Her struggling was pointless. She’d get a glimpse of him eventually.

“LET. GO. OF. ME!!!” She squirmed.

“I want to see that filly, Twilight!” He very nearly shouted. “Why won’t you just give me a glimpse of that wide-eyed little kid who believed there was wonder and joy in everything!? What happened to her? Where did the sense of adventure go? What made you lose your magic, Twilight!?”

She was so focused on pushing away that she had forgotten her horn. Shining couldn’t have dodged it even if he’d seen it coming. The book she had been binding was bound with his face, sending him flat onto the floor. Twilight scrambled to her hooves and picked the book back up, heaving from the struggle.

She saw him. She knew she shouldn’t have. And that was when she cracked. It wasn’t fair. Why did it have to be this way? She crumbled to her knees and began to cry. On his lapel was a brand new badge. She knew it would be there, but she couldn’t deny its existence now. She’d seen it.

There was always a new badge. Ever since he got accepted into the academy, there was always a new one every time. It wasn’t enough that he was the captain of the entire royal guard was it? He just had to be the best; the envy of the whole royal force. It wasn’t enough that the monarch of the entire country entrusted her life to him was it? It wasn’t enough that he had always succeeded more than his sister was it? It wasn’t enough that he never even tried to do any of these things was it?

No.

He just had to be who he was. He just had to torture her. He just had to keep raising the bar and reminding her that no matter what she did, she’d always be…nobody.

A nobody to her idol and hero, a nobody to her peers, a nobody to her parents, a nobody to…everyone.

That’s what a kiss-less virgin bookbinder was. A nobody. And that’s who she was. A kiss-less virgin bookbinding loner with no friends. And there she sobbed. On the floor of her cheap, lame, drab apartment, like a child.

Shining picked himself up and saw his sister. He reached out for her one last time. “Twily, please.”

She lashed out at his hoof, startling him into reeling it back in. “DON’T TOUCH ME! I SAID DON’T TOUCH ME, SHINING!” she wailed in anger.

Shining stood and stared, shattered by the sight in front of him. His sister bawling on the floor, with nothing he could do.

A ray of light flickered in his vision, and he turned to see that mounted on the wall was something that he hadn’t seen in some very long time.

It was a frame with an acceptance letter in it; the one Twilight had received the week before she’d taken the entrance exam. Under her name, the document was altered. He remembered the document reading “failed” in red ink below, but it had been scribbled out and taped over by a picture of the princess.

Understanding

Dashclad hadn’t visited the two in around a week. The guilt was too strong. Though, strangely it was the guilt that brought her back to them in the end. It was, to her surprise, alleviated briefly when she looked into the room and saw them.

Cherry was smiling as he watched his wife trot around the room cautiously. When she noticed their visitor however, she gasped with excitement.

“D-dd-dash!” She joyfully called.

She tried to sprint to her friend but nearly slipped, which apparently almost gave Cherry a heart attack. So, she limped the rest of the way. Dashclad couldn’t help but smile either.

“Hey, Derpy.” She finally answered.

When the happy gray pegasus reached her friend, she wrapped her into a hug so tight, Dashclad could hardly breathe.

“It’s good to see you too, Derpy.” She responded, patting her on the back.

“It’s b-be-en a while. H-h-how’ve you been?”

Awful. Her wrongdoings were unspeakable. She’d further crippled her already struggling friend for life. The damage was undoable.

“Fine.” She lied.

“The d-octorssss said that I s-shhould be walking in just another month or s-sss-“

She became noticeably frustrated.

“S-sss-ss-“ she ached to finish.

Dashclad thought about the word. It was so simple. “so”. That was it. Her friend couldn’t say it because of something she couldn’t control. But she didn’t stop. She always persisted until she ended up with what she wanted. Dashclad didn’t know many other ponies but she hoped that there were a lot of them like Cherry and Derpy; determined and optimistic. She didn’t know anyone quite like that until she met them.

“s-sss-… or s-soooo.” She ended pridefully.

There was no beating her. She was shot in the leg and she had been treating it like a minor inconvenience.

It was driving her mad. Dashclad just couldn’t understand how someone could be so strong. What was the harm anyway? Like there was anything that could offend the two of them. Dashclad asked the itching question.

“How can you be happy?”

Derpy’s eyebrows wrinkled strangely. She craned her head toward her husband for a moment to find that he was just as confused.

“What do you mean, Dash?”

Dashclad didn’t tiptoe around it this time. She needed to know.

“You got shot in the fucking leg, Derpy!”

“W-ha?” She grunted.

Dash pointed behind her. “Same with you, Cherry! The two of you are just smiling like everything’s all right! It’s pretty damn clear that nothing is okay right now!”

The room was full of nothing but Dashclad’s huffing for a moment. Then the two looked at each other. Cherry’s smile was gone, but he wasn’t frowning. His wife mirrored the expression.

“Because we have each other.” Cherry explained.

“Y-yea. As ll-long as there’s some-w-one who loves you, there’s no rea-asson to be sad.”

After that, they stopped talking. They didn’t take any extra time to explain why those things were, they just said it like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Dash thought for a moment about this. At first there was an aching confusion. Then her mind flooded with vivid images of her life. She had friends, but none of them were really very good ones. Nobody had ever really told her they loved her, but she hadn’t told anyone either. Had her entire life just been a build up to this question? If Cherry and Dara could be so happy with a life so simple, why hadn’t she?

It was complete silence in the room for that time. Dashclad looked at her two friends. They looked back. She hadn’t ever been treated so kindly and generously by anyone else in the world. Since, she had felt special about them. Perhaps it was love, but she had no way of knowing that. But for now, she could at least consider it a possibility.

Dashclad took another moment, and then leaned in toward her friends. When she was far enough in, she wrapped herself around Derpy’s neck and hugged her back.

The two were right to have not said anything more. Nothing else needed to be. There was an understanding. Dashclad hugged her friend because she loved her.

And suddenly, the guilt was lifted.

Rarity was drowning.

“Oh nonononononononooooooo…..” She moaned. “I didn’t do that.”

The doctor didn’t take the pictures away. “Yes you did, Miss Germane. This is you and this is what you did.” He said very insistently. “You need to understand that to let it go, Miss Germane.”

There was a feeling of overwhelming dread in her but she felt like if she knew why, she’d fall into something and hurt something.

These somethings were also vague, so she decided it was best to ignore them.

“No, no, no, no, no.” She repeated, plugging her ears with her hooves childishly.

The doctor twisted the big plastic knob, making the image larger. “Look at it Rarity. You did this.”

“I really didn’t, Melvin dear.” She said through her teeth.

“I’m not Melvin, Miss Germane. I am Doctor Remus, your mental coach.”

He looked at her directly again. This only made her fake a laugh and turn her eyes away.

“That’s not funny, Lyra. Please don’t joke like that. Those pictures are filthy.”

“I’m not Lyra either, Rarity Germane.” The doctor said with increasing insistence. “I am Doctor Remus Wilde, and I am your mental coach. Your friends are not here, and I am showing you what you have done, Miss Germane.”

He adjusted the photo again.

“I mean it, Melvin. A joke is a joke, but this has gone far enough.” She said sternly without turning back.

“Miss Germane.”

“Rarity.”

“…Rarity, look at these photos. You are the cause of these events and they are the root of your pain. Please. I only want to help you.”

“I didn’t do those dirty things, it’s not funny. I’m not a dirty person.” She whined.

Doctor Remus pointed to the focus of the shot. Mizmahl’s brains and were fresh on the pavement and his skull was wide open like a windowsill into his head.

“You killed this hound, Rarity. You shot him to death and then bludgeoned his corpse. You did this and you have to know that you did it.”

“I didn’t do it, Melvin.” She growled.

“I am not Melvin.”

With this statement came a strange kind of confirmation. Something blinked in her head and it was magically clear. She knew everything now, but that was nowhere near a good thing. She fell into her mind and broke. She broke.

“SHUT UP!” She screamed violently.

She slammed her hooves to her ears and began to dig them in. She shook her head back and forth until she couldn’t see or hear anything. She was startled when she felt somebody grab her arms to pull them away, but she kept the silence by screaming as loud as she could until they gave her arms back. That of course, didn’t help either and very quickly she felt a sharp pinch in her neck. That made her shriek extra loud. Where she would go next was up to god. Rarity drifted away from reality once again to seek refuge in the embrace of her dreamless sleep.

Connections

Offhandedly, one day, Scootaloo had mentioned that she had never seen a city.

“Miss Cheerilee told us in school about how big they were and how fancy everything is.” She explained. “I don’t think I’ll ever go, but the drawings we saw were really neat.”

Pinkamena had been taken once or twice to one by her mother on business. Though she didn’t remember any joy, she vaguely remembered having a sense of wonder at the sight of the lights and citizens. Feeling robbed of life experience; she realized that she couldn’t bring it back, so as she fell asleep that night she decided to do the next best thing.

Pinkamena walked in through the front door, back from town. Scootaloo perked her head up from her bed and raced to the entrance.

“Is there anything for lunch, mom?” Scootaloo asked quickly, having skipped breakfast.

Pinkamena was fighting a smile. “No, I haven’t made anything.” She replied, moving to the other side of the room. She then began to pack her saddlebags with books.

Scootaloo sighed, disappointed. “Is there anything I can make myself?”

Pinkamena didn’t really ever like theatrics but this was a special occasion. “No, none of that either.” she insisted with a rising sense of excitement.

Pinkamena turned around and smiled at the child, prompting a confused look from her.

“We’re not going to be eating here for a few days because I want to take you to the city.” She revealed.

The filly beamed with joy. “No way!” she shouted. “Which one!?”

“Manehattan.” She said, flashing two train tickets.

Scootaloo’s eyes widened greatly. “Wow! Thank you so, so much, Mom!”

The filly was so ecstatic that she lunged and hugged Pinkamena’s leg tightly. Pinkamena couldn’t help but giggle just a bit at such an adorable display. She herself had never been treated so nicely by an adult, let alone anyone in her family. To see the elation in Scootaloo’s eyes gave her much satisfaction. Maybe it was the fulfillment of her fantasy through somebody else, but for a moment she considered it could also be love.

“Our train leaves in an hour or so, so you pack whatever you need by then.” She instructed.

“Yes mam!” Scootaloo saluted, darting off to her nook.

Pinkamena turned back to her saddlebags to pack some other miscellaneous devices when she heard something.

They rise…

Pinkamena whirled around at this, looking to Scootaloo.

“Did you say anything, kiddo?”

Scootaloo popped her head up from the mess she’d made trying to decide what was appropriate for a vacation, having never been on one. “Huh? No, I don’t think so.”

Pinkamena looked around the rafters for rats or the like.

Nothing was there.

So she shrugged and went back to packing.

Big Mac and his lawyer sat in the waiting room of the mayor’s office. The lawyer just happened to be his sister, Applejack, though it wasn’t as evident as it had been a decade or so ago. His composure was lax and patient, while Applejack constantly had a smirk of thought smeared over her face.

It seemed to Big Mac that she was always scheming, plotting against whoever she may be thinking about. That was to be expected of somebody who was defending you in a court of law, but not of your sister, especially after so many years apart. In this time it seemed that they had become opposites.

Even the Film Flam brothers had synergy. Not anymore of course, but that goes unsaid.

They hadn’t talked at all the entire time. Big Mac wanted to, but he never knew quite what to say. He was the type to speak when spoken to. However, a secretary burst in after a good half-hour of silence between the two.

“The mayor will be with you in just a bit, Miss.” She said to them from the doorway.

Big Mac began to say thank you.

“What’s taking her so long?” his sister interrupted.

She probably hadn’t noticed him open his mouth. He doubted it was on her mind.

“She’s speaking with another group.” The secretary replied.

“My client and I are dealing with an accusation of double homicide.” she announced dramatically. “Can you tell me what’s more important to speak of than such a serious claim?”

“I have no idea what they’re talking about miss, I’m very sorry.” The secretary clarified.

Applejack had been raised in Manehattan. Big Mac was sure things were different around there. There were so many folks trying to be heard, you must’ve had to shout all the time just to get what you wanted. He figured that’s why his sister walked up and leaned in so menacingly at the secretary.

The girl was very obviously not prepared for the sudden aggression and cowered against the door frame.

“Where I come from, ponies do their job.” Applejack seethed.

“I-i…” squeaked the defenseless secretary. “I’m sorry…”

Applejack leaned in further. “Sorry? Did you just say you’re sorry?”

Big Mac stood up and placed a hoof on her shoulder. “Come on now, leave her be.”

“No, no, no.” she insisted to her client over her shoulder before turning back. “What kind of secretary are you, who doesn’t know what goes on in her bosses’ office?” she glared.

“Uh, p-please. The Mayor will be ready shortly…”

“I don’t want shortly, I want now!”

Sure enough, out from the hall burst a periwinkle mare, her apparent entourage in tow. She trotted with a very arrogant air though she didn’t look too worthy of high status, what with the cheap cap that covered her head and the large bandaging over her eye and cutie mark.

Applejack forgot about the secretary she’d been harassing immediately allowing her to slip away, now focusing her impatience on the obvious origin of it.

“Have a nice, long talk with the mayor? I’m running a double homicide case, you know.” She snarled at the group.

“AJ…” Big Mac reasoned.

“No, no, I apologize.” The strange mare finished. “Trixie and her associates did waste much time with pointless bickering.” She glared over her shoulder.

The lot of them looked shameful at this.

“You wouldn’t have let it happen if you knew who I was.” Applejack boasted rudely.

The mare’s expression melted into one of interest. “And who are you then, might I ask?”

Big Mac watched his sister spread a smile. The smile was the final nail in the coffin. He’d seen it before when the Flim Flam brother’s got ideas. It was the smile of a snake. His sister was dead. He couldn’t lie to himself anymore. No Apple would have done it.

“Jacqueline Apple, Attorney at law, Manehattan.”

Trixie turned the same grin. “Might I trouble you for a card? I think you’d be perfect for a problem my underlings and I have been facing.”

One of her group, a rather stupid looking boy, chuckled lightly at this before getting whacked over the head by an older mare.

Applejack smiled again and reached under her lapel, bringing out her card and giving it to the mare.

“Thank you very much. You have no idea how grateful I am.” Trixie finished, leaving.

Applejack was clearly very proud of the transaction. She turned to her client.

“See that, Ian? That’s called networking. And all it takes is to be a little assertive.”

“All that talk about how important our case was, Applejack.” He started. “That kind of entitlement can make a pony sound real greedy.” He warned.

She scoffed.

“Well look what being greedy just got me.” She said, walking into the office with her nose high.

Twilight scanned the numbers of the pages to be sure that none were missing in this particular copy. She counted exactly four-hundred forty two, the correct number before sewing it shut and placing it onto the pile of identical books off to the side.

She picked up another stack of papers and began again.

Five…Ten…Fifteen…

Stray thoughts sailed past her stream of consciousness.

Twenty…Shining raised the bar again…Twenty-Five…He’ll never stop…Thirty…You’ll never catch up…Thirty-Five…Worthless little virgin…Forty…Stupid, worthless…For-forty two…

…Alchemy…

The word had focused in from her peripherals inside of the book. She waited for a moment to think. Soon enough, a fork began in the stream.

She resumed counting.

…Forty…Forty Five?...Saltpeter…Fifty…Charcoal…Fifty…Fifty…Fif…ty…

…

Her mind wandered back to her old history class. Two paths connected and exploded in her mind. From the blast came a flood of something she had missed greatly; inspiration.

…Sulpher…

She looked around her apartment, devoid of prizes or achievements. Her mind wandered back to her brother, the opposite.

…the bar…Fifty Five…can’t be set…Sixty…if there isn’t a bar to begin with…Sixty-Five…

Purity

The walk to the train station was fun, if not giddy. They had started off walking, but somewhere in-between Scootaloo had started skipping. Pinkamena couldn’t help but feel light in her belly at the sight of the happy filly, so she joined in. By the time they arrived, they were laughing with each other, not really knowing why but not caring. After that had subsided, they hopped on the train as quick as it had pulled in and were off to the grand city of Manehattan.

The ride was just as exciting. Hills and trees raced by, steadily becoming more sparse as the world evolved from country to city. They felt open, both environmentally and emotionally. Pinkamena hadn’t tried to contain herself at all. It was a special occasion anyway.

“What are we gonna do when we get there, mom?” Scootaloo asked at some point.

“I booked us a room at a hotel. We can leave our stuff there and look around the city. A nice mare gave me a pamphlet at the post office about places we could see if we wanted.” Pinkamena answered, digging the booklet out of her bag.

Scootaloo reached out, grabbing it and looking through the pages. Though she stopped short.

“What?” Pinkamena asked, getting the book back quicker than she expected.

“I don’t like spoilers. I wanna see all of those things for real, for the first time.”

Pinkamena understood. Now that she had mentioned it, she had wished the same thing herself, almost regretting looking over the pamphlet several times.

The rest of the ride was nothing overtly noteworthy, though internally, the two were having a thrilling party. Exploring new things, some would find a chore simply doing.

The two hopped off of the train, surrounded by hundreds. Scootaloo had never seen a crowd so dense. Pegasi flying in and out to wherever they may go, troves of business ponies flooding out of other trains.

Scootaloo held Pinkamena’s hoof through the crowd, but didn’t let go even when they had found the clear. Pinkamena made note of it, but said nothing. It was a silent agreement, saving themselves the embarrassment of having to explain their feelings to each other. They didn’t need to say anything anyway. They knew. It was a waste of their time.

“So, this is where all of the donkeys and cows and griffins came in from?” she inquired in wonder.

Pinkamena pulled out the pamphlet to find the matching picture of the enormous monument they stood in front of. Finding it, she read the box of text to the side.

“Looks like it. At least a whole lot of them.”

She had done this a couple times since they had begun their sight-seeing journey. The city was much bigger than either of them had suspected. They had planned to walk everywhere but they were exhausted by the time they had reached their third destination. So they had hailed cabs since.

They stood beside their latest cab, meter still running, taking in the sight of what the pamphlet called “The Statue of Liberty Lands”; apparently a monument to a mare called “Liberty Lands”, who helped thousands take citizenship in Equestria some good years back when the city was just a town.

Pinkamena was unimpressed by all of the statues and buildings. They had meant something a long time ago she understood, but that didn’t ring to her somehow. She didn’t look at any of the sights for long, but she did look at Scootaloo. She’d stare and wait for her to smile or start skipping or running. It felt nice to make her happy.

There was nothing selfish about it. It was a pure feeling. This was what must have driven The Voice away. Purity; making others happy, gaining nothing yourself.

They had seen nine statues, four buildings, and six monuments. Pinkamena was exhausted. Scootaloo, burned out by the sensory and emotional overload was already asleep. After it had gotten dark, it wasn’t much longer before Scootaloo started drifting off in the cab. She’d only wake up for the destinations, missing all of the sights on the way. Eventually, they had called it a night and Pinkamena had let her ride on her back.

Now, as she walked steadily back to the hotel (having run out of money for cabs), she felt the slow rise and fall of the filly’s chest as she snored cutely into her ear. Occasionally, she would unconsciously hug Pinkamena’s neck like a teddy bear.

Pinkamena felt happy. There was no shadow of pain or depression. This was a good time. The child’s innocence radiated, making her care very, very much about her safety.

As they approached the door, Pinkamena looked over her shoulder and stopped to pat the child’s head when she felt a bash and was knocked aside.

Scootaloo would have fallen off and onto the ground if not for Pinkamena’s reflexes. She caught the child in a brief panic, eyes wide and awake. Rage boiled up, realizing that this was someone’s fault. She whipped her head back in a glare.

The pony she saw was a pegasus; yellow coat, pink flowing mane. She appeared knocked away by the blow as well. Regaining her bearings, she locked eyes with Pinkamena. The glare stabbed her. She looked and saw the sleeping child and the pony she had thrown a-fluster. She gasped, putting the puzzle together in her head.

“Oh my goodness!” she said earnestly. “I’m so, so, so, so, sorry!”

“Watch where you’re going! She could’ve hit her head!” Pinkamena hissed under her breath.

“I’m sorry! I really mean it!” the pegasus reasoned, now matching Pinkamena’s volume.

“What are you in such a hurry for?”

The yellow girl looked to her saddlebag, then looked back submissively. “N-nothing. I’m just- I’m so sorry.” She begged.

Pinkamena let up when she recognized the look. The girl wore makeup (poorly), covering up bruises. She didn’t meet Pinkamena’s eyes entirely, almost like it hurt, anticipating the chance to look away. She kept her hooves away from anything but herself and her tail was lightly tucked. The girl was weak. She was sorry alright, sorry to have burdened anyone with her existence.

Pinkamena frowned and sighed, placing Scootaloo back on her shoulder.

“It’s alright. I’m sorry.” She said simply.

The girl was near her age, maybe a year or so older. Pinkamena had been like her when she was about ten. If she was this old without having changed, she never would. Pinkamena had no business with strangers anyway. Why bother helping what was so far gone?

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you, it was an accident.”

She began to enter the lobby. “Have a nice night.”

The pegasus was astounded by the turn-around, having worked herself up for a longer conflict. It took her a few seconds before stuttering a reply, almost too late. “Oh. Uh-…y-you too!” she squeaked.

Pinkamena nodded quickly behind her shoulder, moving toward the elevators.

The girl waited until the mare was out of sight before she entered the hotel herself. She didn’t say anything to the clerk except for a quick and quiet ‘thank you’ after simply handing him her reservation receipt and receiving the key to her room.

Pinkamena set Scootaloo in the left half of the queen sized bed in their room and planted herself in the other, turning out the lights and going to bed with minimal pillow-thoughts. She didn’t know what happened only three doors down later that night and never did. Nobody did really, because it happened all the time.

Fluttershy checked into her room, still a bit shaken about the encounter with the mare outside the lobby. She looked around the room, luxurious and clean. She suddenly thought about the turmoil she’d cause for whatever nice janitor she was going to trouble. That was her, always causing trouble, always weighing everyone down. Worthless, good-for-nothing Fluttershy.

She placed her saddlebags down by the bed, making sure not to disrupt the perfectly made and adjusted sheets. She appreciated a nicely made bed and knew the work that went into it. She had selfishly taken advantage of such a luxury until Lars had beaten it into her thick skull. After that, she was the best bed-maker she knew.

That was a selfish thought. Prideful too. Pride was a sin. She was a sinner, always had been. Her father knew what he said and meant it too. She wouldn’t question the knowledge of a god-fearing military pony, let alone her own father.

She thought too much. She wasn’t a good thinker. She couldn’t think of one time an idea of hers had turned out well. A nice husband was what she needed. He’d do all the thinking for her.

Lars would have been a good contender if he hadn’t been crushed to death at work. Maybe Garret would have been the right husband too if he hadn’t been hauled away by the police.

That was her fault. She had called them when Garret got angry at the dinner she made. It was a moment of weakness. She was too afraid to think about what she was doing. Garret loved her. She knew because he had promised. He just needed to ‘learn her good’ sometimes as he’d say. Perhaps Swisher was the right man for her. He would give the best advice.

Shut up, you talk too much.

It was true. She had nothing to say anyway.

If you had a brain, you’d get it in through that sissy little noggin that you should stop trying!

She did try too hard. Swisher didn’t need a partner; he needed someone to humbly serve him. She was too bold in that realm. She needed to let him win the bread.

Why don’t you just fucking kill yourself!? You pathetic slut!

She hadn’t done anything right in a long time and she did sometimes find herself thinking about a boy who wouldn’t teach lessons so hard.

Swisher was out with his friends for a few days, so she got her money and went to Manehattan. That was far away enough. He wouldn’t be able to get mad at her in time if she was this far away. She spent the money booking the room and spent the change on some supplies at a hardware store and a pharmacy. She didn’t think of it as much of a big deal outside of her own perspective. It happened all the time.

Carefully, as not to mess up the bed, she fished the contents of her saddlebags out and onto the floor. Picking it up, she looked at the bottle of aspirin. On the side it read “do not exceed more than 6 tablets in one day”. Feeling dirty and sinful, she downed seven tablets with a glass of water she ran from the bathroom’s sink.

She didn’t feel much different, so she waited patiently for a good ten minutes. She thought a lot during that time. She wished she could just turn off her brain and take orders instead of burdening everyone she met with her clumsiness and stupid ideas.

Wouldn’t be much longer before she couldn’t do either. That soothed her a little.

She thought about how angry Swisher would be when he found out she had left. She didn’t like making him angry. He didn’t need to be angry. He worked so hard and she’d always find a way to muck it up.

Then she thought about how rotten selfish she was. Going through all this trouble, almost injuring that child and angering her mother.

Her father sometimes called her ‘the little hive-whacker’. Looking back, she realized that he was dead accurate. Why shouldn’t he be? Father knows best.

Wanting to be done with thinking, she got to work one of the ropes, counting the twists and making sure the loop was on the right side, just like in Swisher’s knot-tying book he had kept from scouts as a boy. That was sweet she thought. She hadn’t kept anything from her childhood except for some scars and some bad memories. What kind of failure doesn’t have one good thing to remember about their upbringing? A perfect one. She was the perfect failure.

She tied a good noose though, she found. Satisfied, she flew up to the roof and carefully tied the other end around one of the rafters. Overlooking her good work, she smiled. So far so good. Maybe she wouldn’t screw this up. It was pretty important, after all.

Now feeling a little bit better, she took the other rope and fashioned a knot in it after tightly fitting it around her wings. She tested it, and sighed in relief when she could not move them. Wouldn’t want to chicken out at the very last second.

Smiling, she grabbed a chair by the window, positioned it under the first rope, and stood on it, grabbing the rather neat noose. Looking through the hole she could almost see the brighter saturation of a world without her. She was doing a favor to everyone. Swisher, her father, that mare she bothered in the lobby, and so on. To do something for others without gaining anything for yourself. That was no sin. It was pure.

“Oh!” she cooed.

She had noticed the bottle of aspirin on the ground.

“It’d be such a shame to waste.” She reasoned.

She reached down and picked it up, pouring the other sixty tablets into her mouth. She grabbed the glass of water and poked her head through the noose. After that, she washed the pills down with the rest of the water, opening her throat like Lars had taught her for what he called ‘sexytime’. She smiled again, remembering how that was the one thing Lars never got angry about. She didn’t like it much during, but it was always so nice to see him smiling while she looked up at him.

“Sorry, chair.” She said, hoping it wouldn’t break when it fell, and kicked the chair from under her.

By reflex, her wings tried to spring open and save her, but the struggle was meaningless. The pills were probably helping, because she didn’t feel as scared as she thought she would. Pressure built in her head and her body shook, but she was thinking pleasant thoughts. Her belly hurt from the swallowing, but she was glad she didn’t waste.

A snowstorm crept into her peripherals, slowly swallowing her vision into a final winter. Her eyes rolled back, pushed by the pressure in her head. Her tongue fell out of her mouth when her throat wanted to cough, but she only uttered a few wet and short hacks.

The lack of blood to her brain kept her from all those sinful thoughts and she felt wonderful. Her face vibrated to a jolly jig and her belly tickled sweetly. Her voice rattled, but she had meant to laugh.

Then, like a color television screen, her thoughts burst into a white glow and just as soon shrunk into a little white dot, then faded away with nothing but a statically charged screen as her throat let loose its last.

With her limbs limp and her goofy smile wide, Fluttershy died.

She got thrown into a morgue about fourteen hours later. Nobody really cared. Because it happened all the time.

Something snapped, and the connection was severed. The two twins drifted away with no overlap to keep them in place. She had been split off once again, sighing in grief.

The zebra had awoken in her hut, rattled and tired. She knew the feeling, not upset, but disappointed that there was nothing she could have done. She got up and muttered something to herself in her language of another world.

The final nail had been hammered into place. There was no likeness to the original realm any longer. Her omnipresence suffered a little every time this happened.

A curse? Maybe. Though she knew that it was an important task. None other in maybe even the whole totality of this world could handle. To keep worlds from slipping away from their template, it was quite the task.

It was somewhat comforting this time, however; knowing it was beyond her reach. She could not have prevented it she would tell herself. It was much less painful then.

So the zebra packed her things and left her hut, traveling from the Everfree to the sea, and then rafting to another place, now looking for a place to settle down in this new world. Perhaps for a purpose in place of the old one, now moot and hopeless.

She traveled out of this story, no longer having a place in this new world, now an antithesis of the old. It was pure now, in its deviation. Sadly, there was nothing left to reflect the old world that could have been.

Prelude

In Ponyville, there is an urban legend about a pony that butchered other ponies. According to the legend, the reason she did it was because she was crazy. Her madness is what drove her to kidnap and brainwash fillies that wandered too close to her home into helping her carry out her murderous deeds. No matter who tells the story and no matter how different the details in between the beginning and the end are, it always ends with; “Nopony ever saw her again”. Naturally, this frightened children, and was often told to them at bedtime to keep them from misbehaving. Sometimes it would be added that she still kidnaps the rotten kids unless they behave. It was also told traditionally at sleepovers and on Nightmare Night around a fire. The story was uncreatively called ‘The Butcher of Ponyville’. But despite how uncreative the name was, it was one of the most popular and well known ponytales in the town for quite an age.

But from where I stand there is one part of this story that I find far more horrific than anything else anyone has ever added to it.

It’s true.

But of course, like all urban legends, the folks that tell them tend to stretch it a little more every time they tell it. There are things about The Butcher of Ponyville that are nothing more than make-believe. The butcher’s name was not frightening. The butcher’s face was not grotesque. The Butcher’s cutie mark was not a knife or a scar or a blood stain. The butcher wasn’t old. And most importantly, the butcher did not kidnap children.

The pony everyone had labeled a butcher was once called Pinkie Pie. Only her baby sister Ariel called her that. Her mother and father would always call Pinkamena to dinner. They would always call Pinkamena to do the laundry. They would always call Pinkamena to harvest the heaviest of rocks. Pinkamena Diane Pie was a miserable little filly, who grew up to be a miserable mare with two crossed pickaxes as a cutie mark. Nobody ever cared about her. Nobody ever listened to her heart crying desperately for love. Nobody was ever there for Pinkamena. The only thing that kept watch over her throughout her entire life was The Monster.

It never happened. The Sonic Rainboom was never performed by the daring little Rainbow Dash because she had been stolen away very early in her lifetime by a pack of Gem Hounds. The Gem Hounds raised her in their world and taught her their ways of life. Her name was changed to Dashclad so that she could be properly integrated into the Gem Hound culture.

Any which way, she never made her way to Flight Camp, and she never got in a race with the camp bullies or stopped them from picking on little Fluttershy, who would later develop a social disorder that led to her suicide in a Manehattan Hotel. Rainbow Dash never won the race and finished with the Sonic Rainboom, accidentally giving five other little fillies their cutie marks simultaneously.

Little Twilight Sparkle never passed her exam. She lost faith in all aspects of magic and went on to be a bookbinder.

Rarity never saw the gems inside of the rock her horn had taken her to. She eventually gave up her high class attitude and became a construction worker.

Applejack never left her aunt and uncle’s apartment. She was sent to law school and quickly became a very greedy lawyer.

And Pinkie Pie, poor, innocent, helpless, tired, neglected, little Pinkie Pie never saw the wondrous cascading beauty of the rainbow. She never smiled that day. She never threw her poverty family a party that spread smiles across their faces from ear to ear. Instead, she was smacked for not meeting the harvest quota, and her baby sister Ariel contracted an immunodeficiency virus from a sharp rock she cut her hoof on.

The Elements of Harmony never came together and stopped Nightmare Moon. Instead, she ended up being destroyed by The Children of Discord. They were praised as heroes and knighted by Princess Celestia. A statue forged from black steel was erected in the Ponyville Town square in their honor.

Princess Celestia also gave them a statue in the royal garden right next to a memorial shrine for her lost sister.

It never happened. Not one thing.

Pinkamena quietly snuck into Ariel’s bedroom. The only light in the room was that of a candle, which made every illuminated object in the room (as little as that may have been) a deep sunset orange.

Ariel hacked a small amount of phlegm into a handkerchief that was already filthy enough. This was followed by a hushed but still very audible whimper.

Pinkamena was just out of the candlelight’s reach for her joke to work. She popped out at her little sister’s face and said ‘Boo’! Ariel gasped loudly, frightened. After a moment or two, she realized who it was. She sighed in relief that it wasn’t a monster to gobble her up.

“Don’t scare me, Pinkie. I thought you were Nightmare Moon for a second.”

Pinkamena smiled a bit.

“Sorry. I only wanted to make you happy.” She whispered toward her sister’s illuminated face. “Are you feeling any better?” Pinkamena asked, caringly.

“I’m feeling pretty hot right now. I woke up from sweating so much.” Ariel paused. After a few seconds she started to cry. “It hurts, Pinkie. I want it to stop.”

Pinkamena could more easily rearrange the cosmos with a spoon, but she wanted to help more than anything in the world.

“I promise I’m going to find a cure for you, Ariel.”

Ariel beamed just enough to signify the hope that had been sparked in her.

“You mean it?” She pleaded.

“I cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.” Pinkamena sealed. “That’s what sisters are for.”

Ariel giggled under her blanket. It was then that the two sisters embraced each other in the dark. They held on for the better of five minutes. Afterward, the two whispered for an hour or so before they were caught by their mother and sent back to bed.

Pinkamena looked in her mother’s medical manual to find a cure for her sister. Nothing turned up, but she aimed to keep her promise. About halfway through the day, her father walked in.

He was visibly furious at the mess she had made.

“Pinkamena Diane Pie! You’re supposed to be in the fields! There’s a harvest that needs to be harvested, now get going!” He bellowed at the filly.

Pinkamena loved her sister, but feared her father more. So she did as she was told and went out into the fields with her other sister, Lilly. Lilly and Pinkamena were working to put the same rock into the wheel barrow when Pinkamena mentioned her promise.

Lilly only stared blankly. “You honestly think you can help Ariel?”

“I know I can! Mommy says that you can do anything if you set your mind to it!” Pinkamena reasoned.

Lilly laughed in a way that Pinkamena never forgot. It was cruel. It was rotten and vicious. Its intention was to cripple her hope. In a way, it did. Pinkamena skimmed through her mother’s old books less enthusiastically, and she stopped being so sure all together.

It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Ariel died two weeks after Pinkamena’s promise.

The last thing she had heard from her baby sister was said the night before she succumbed to the virus.

Pinkamena was just about to head off to bed when Ariel breathed; “Thank you, Pinkie. Thank you for finding that cure just for me. I promise I’ll do the same whenever you get sick…I love you.”

Pinkamena almost smiled as she said goodnight to her sister.

She awoke to the sobbing of her mother the next morning. She knew exactly what had happened when she looked out her window and saw an idle ambulance parked just outside of the farm. Pinkamena had broken her promise. Nothing had ever hurt so badly in her entire life. Something changed her forever that day. Something more than a promise broke. And it may very well have been a devastated little filly’s soul.

Humiliation

Pinkamena stood awestruck by the words that had come out of her boss’ mouth. Even the voice stopped for a second or two.

“W-“ Pinkamena stuttered. “W-what?”

Kanker’s smile spread wider.

“I’m pretty sure you heard me, baby.” He grinned. “Give me a blowjob.”

Pinkamena’s mouth slowly drooped open. Horrified, all she did was watch him sit at his desk, smile unwavering. Kanker waited patiently for his employee to give her answer. He was no longer flaccid, for he knew what the answer would be.

Quickly, the voice began again. It resumed the cawing of the ravens and the echoes of hell. Taking Pinkamena by surprise, she gasped, startled.

“What’s it going to be, Pinkie?” It teased her. “Give the big boss man a good ol’ sucky sucky or else I’ll cut you from the inside.” It chortled.

“No!” Pinkamena screamed in fear.

Kanker’s smile flipped.

“No? What the fuck do you mean no!?” He blasted at her, pounding his fist on his desk.

Kanker hadn’t heard the voice, so he hadn’t known that she was talking to it instead of him. Pain coursed through Pinkamena’s eye causing her to clutch it again, falling to her knees. She cried out.

“Kanker! Please! PLEASE!” Pinkamena begged.

“Please WHAT!?” He yelled back, now very angry.

“My medicine! God in heaven, my medicine!!!” She screamed piercingly.

“You ain’t getting your fucking medicine unless you blow me, you pink fuck!”

“You don’t know how horrible this is, Kanker! You don’t know!” Pinkamena started weeping.

The voice mocked and mocked her all the while, singing to her and echoing and cackling in the voice of a million demons. Nothing was so ghastly.

“Remember what your Granny said, Pinkie!” It tittered. “Giggle at the ghostie!”

Pinkamena grasped her head with her free hoof, now bending over on the floor.

“You don’t know! You don’t know!! YOU DON’T KNOW!!!”

Kanker couldn’t stand the noise. The ear-splitting whining cascading out of his stupid employee’s mouth. He knew exactly what to do. He’d done it with others before many times. It wouldn’t be hard now. Kanker bolted out of his chair and ran toward Pinkamena. She looked up for a second and was only able to gasp before he clocked her. His fist tore right across her eye, ripping the old scar open. Pinkamena tumbled a few feet away, straight to the ground and onto her face. She laid there with her eye slowly oozing deep crimson, hearing nothing but Kanker panting. The voice had gone all spinny for the moment, spouting pure gibberish and getting the echoes all wrong all while having gotten instantly quiet. Leisurely, Kanker walked over to where Pinkamena laid, sprawled and bleeding.

His voice was colder than the snow outside. “Listen here, bitch and you listen good.”

Pinkamena felt the ground disappear and opened her good eye to see that Kanker had started levitating her with his magic. He brought her eyes to his and glared.

“I don’t like whining, baby. The only thing that’ll get you your fix is making that mouth useful and smoking my pole.” Kanker seethed quietly.

Tears still flowing down her cheeks, Pinkamena saw blind rage in the black abyss of his eyes and knew that withholding her medicine wasn’t the worst thing he could do to her.

“The choice is yours…What’s it gonna be, little missy?”

There was no escape. The voice would not cease until she was dead and she knew it. She needed her pills and there was only one way she could do it.

Pinkamena decided before the voice unscrambled itself.

“Fine…” She whispered shamefully. “I’ll do it.”

Kanker’s evil smile rebuilt itself from the ashes that were his anger, now stronger and wider than ever. His belly filled to the brim with anxiety as he anticipated the tight, wet, and warm sensation that was about to surround his lower regions. He was now practically ecstatic. His cock had already been hard enough while smacking the bitch. Now he was finally going to get off with something other than his hoof for once in a long time.

“Good girl.” He snickered. “Do it under my desk. That’ll be hot.” He said, trying to hide his eagerness.

Kanker dropped her from his magic field and grabbed her shoulder, dragging her toward his desk. He led her to a small opening just under the desk’s surface where he was supposed to put his hind legs. Without care, he shoved her under and sat on his chair, more ready than ever.

Pinkamena was petrified.

Her first sexual experience was forced on her. She had been backed into a corner and given no other choice but to give in. She needed her medicine. Relief was all she wanted. It was close, but having the voice stay with her any longer was far worse than what she had gotten herself into. There was no turning back anyway. She had no idea what Kanker would do if she changed her mind now. Hell, he might even kill her, and who would know? She had nothing in the world except for the voice and the drugs that kept it away. That was her life; always trying to keep the horrible voice away. And nothing made her see that more than what was in front of her right then. She was about to pleasure the most rotten stallion in the whole world just so she could send the voice away one more time. But it would be back. She knew it would always come back. It would never leave her until she died. Now that Kanker knew she would do anything for her dose, he could ask whatever he wanted. She had done what could never be undone, and knowing that, even in the first couple of seconds, was nightmarish.

“Here we go.” Kanker said excitedly.

Kanker reached down; unzipping the jeans he was wearing and whipped out his large manhood. Pinkamena cocked her head backward so she wouldn’t touch him when he aimed it toward her face. She could no longer see anything but his hind legs on the chair, the blue wallpaper behind him, and his cock.

Kanker kicked his right leg up suddenly, scaring Pinkamena and making her jump a little.

“Hurry up, or I will kick you, baby.” He told her completely nonchalantly.

Pinkamena, now driven by fear and panic, finally opened her mouth as wide as possible and put her bosses’ penis in. She started to suck it like she would a straw, only to be smacked across the face immediately.

“Go deeper!” Kanker commanded. “No teeth either, you stupid cunt!”

Adjusting to his request, Pinkamena gagged several times.

“You’re supposed to make it sexy, you fucking bitch!” He yelled downward.

Again, more miserable than she could bare, she did what she always did around then. Pinkamena began to cry softly. She tried with all of her mind and soul to think of better times. Pinkamena thought of Ariel and her family. She thought of everything good that ever happened to her.

Sadly, this didn’t last long. Pinkamena gagged hard as Kanker tried thrusting himself into her throat.

“I said no teeth! I’ll knock the fuckers out if you can’t do it your stupid self.” Kanker raged. “And don’t get any of those tears on me, baby. It turns me on, but I don’t want to get wet at all.”

As this all happened, a thought crossed Pinkamena’s mind.

There was not a soul in the whole world that loved her.

Nobody had ever cared about her heartaches except for her dead sister.

To the bastard in front of her, tears were nothing more than a fetish that got him off faster. She was nothing more than an object to him. His empathy was nonexistent. Knowing this devastated her to the very peak of inner-torment. Nobody loved her. And nobody ever would.

When Kanker finished, he told her to spit out what was in her mouth into a cup he handed her. After that, he grasped into his desk and pulled out the bottle of pills, reaching in and giving her two of them. When she timidly asked if she could have anything to wash it down, Kanker simply smiled again and looked at the cup she had spit into. After making her drink his wretched fluids, Kanker did something that made everything just a little bit worse. He chuckled the stupid laugh he always did, louder than usual.

“I’ll see you next time, Candy Mouth.” He sneered.

Then he sent her back out into the cold, not caring one single bit about her in any aspect available. Pinkamena’s scar had stopped bleeding because all of the blood had frozen on her face. The voice had also stopped, everything now silent outside her head and in. She slugged her way back toward her pile of rocks.

“Nobody loves me.” She coldly repeated to herself.

Nobody.

The Hospital

Ponyville’s hospital was strict about their schedule. Lights out was lights out, no excuses; same for visiting hours and the meals.

It had only been a little more than a week before that a new nurse had been hired. Her name was Blossomforth, who had recently become a registered nurse. Ponyville being her home town, she naturally applied for a position at the hospital.

Blossomforth was a very friendly girl. It was in high school that she decided she wanted to help those in pain. It took her a good amount of time and effort in medical school to get where she was, but the position they gave her was not the best choice. When her application had been accepted, she was employed into the night shift, due to the day shift being packed.

It was the incompetence of her employers that left her the only nurse in the complex after hours (other than Nurse Redhart, who would habitually do nothing but read to the patients all night). Often, all she did during those hours was sit at the front desk and write poetry, either that or take inventory.

It was on the day that Pinkamena had met Tag that Blossomforth didn’t have to take inventory, so unsurprisingly, she had taken out her note pad and started writing all over the page.

The room was illuminated brightly by white fluorescent lights and a faint, constant humming filled the whole establishment.

Blossomforth had just finished a line when the glass doors had been knocked on. It had startled her, seeing she believed in monsters. She looked up after recovering from the slight shock to see two smiling stallion boys. They looked like twins, as the only difference she could make from that distance was that one of them was mustached.

Usually, the security guards would have turned folks like this away, but she guessed that they were off on break. Blossomforth hated how the guards got breaks. It was stupid. All they would do is go somewhere else to continue doing nothing. She knew for a fact that two of the security personnel took advantage of their breaks and used them to have sex behind the building.

Todd and Travis were incredibly irresponsible and probably wouldn’t have turned them away had they been on post anyway. Blossomforth had initially liked Travis and even attempted to date him, until finding out he was gay. It hadn’t been very long, and she already hated two of her colleagues.

Groaning, she put down her pen and approached the double doors. She stopped by the glass and looked at the twins firmly.

“I’m sorry!” she shouted so that they could hear through the glass. “No visitors!”

Their voices were muffled through the glass.

“Oh but please, mam! Please!” pleaded Flim.

“Yes! We’ll only be a minute!” followed Flam.

Blossomforth shook her head.

“I’m so sorry, sirs! But I can’t let you in, it’s not the proper hours!”

“Oh but it’s our dear auntie, Mam!” feigned Flim.

“She’s very, very sick, mam! She doesn’t have much time left!” added Flam.

The two boys put on puppy eyes and smiled widely. Blossomforth turned and bit her lip, conflicted. It was in her nature to be so understanding. She had remembered needing to visit her sick grandmother and how important it was to her. Empathy overpowered her, making her turn back and smile.

“Alright, then.” She said, using her key to unlock the door.

*click*

The doors slid open, and in strolled the stallion brothers.

“Thank you so much, mam. I promise we’ll be out before you know it.” Flim thanked.

“You have to be quick.” Blossomforth insisted. “I could get in trouble if the doctors find out, so try not to be seen.”

The brothers looked at each other slyly.

“Don’t worry about us being seen, miss.”

Flam shot a flirty look at Blossomforth, to which she blushed.

“You should be the one worried about being seen. You might get swarmed by stallions.” Flam told her.

Blossomforth giggled as lightly as she could, trying to maintain her composure.

“Who is the patient?” she asked.

“One Annabelle Smith.” Flim answered.

Blossomforth remembered seeing the name on her favorite room number. She had no reason to look it up.

“Oh! I know that one! She’s on the second floor, room nineteen.” She dictated bubbly.

“Thank you very much, miss…” Flim said, waiting for her name.

“My name is Blossomforth, but my friends just call me Blossom.” She shyly responded.

“Glad to meet you.” Said Flam. “We’ll be quick. We promise.”

Flim started toward the elevator as Flam followed slowly, looking over his shoulder at the nurse’s behind as she re-locked the doors. Flam quickly crashed into the wall and fell flat on his ass, groaning loudly.

“Making yourself look stupid is the price for tomfoolery, brother.” Flim teased from the open elevator car.

“Shut up.” Flam angrily replied.

He picked himself up and joined his brother in the box as the doors began to close.

Pinkamena had been following them all day. Be it in the shadows, or in broad daylight while they were in the square that day, she had followed them every step of the way. She was positive she would have been caught by then if it weren’t for Tag.

It was like magic. Every time they were about to turn around and spot her, Tag would know, and he would tell her.

Duck.

And she would duck just in the nick of time.

It was apparent now that whatever Tag told her to do was likely for the best. She was still worried that Tag wouldn’t hold up his end of the bargain when she finished what he had wanted to do, but Tag had heard these thoughts and re-assured her every time.

I promise. If you play the game how I want, exactly how I want, I’ll go on vacation. I’m your friend, Pinkie. Really I am.

For the time, she believed him. What else would she have done all that day? Probably eat, sleep, and try to figure out if the radio in the living room worked anymore.

She hid Tag in her saddlebags, where he wanted to be. He had said it was warmer than the outside, since it was winter time.

It was very late at night right then, as she looked out from the bushes adjacent to the hospital. She had seen the twins go in and the nurse re-locking the doors. There was no way she would get in. She would have to do what Tag asked whenever they came out.

No!

Pinkamena was startled.

Do it inside! I want to play inside!

Pinkamena sighed.

“Well then how do you think I’m supposed to get in?” She whispered impatiently to nobody into the night.

The windows. The windows are unlocked, I can see it.

Pinkamena figured there was no harm in trying the windows, so she jumped out from the bush and tiptoed toward the building.

When she reached the side, she stood on her hind legs to reach one of the windows. She had to stretch in order to touch it. She couldn’t look up. To her surprise, the window effortlessly slid open.

Gripping the grooves of the window’s opening, she tried to hoist herself upward, only to end up failing, and landing on her back from the fall with a grunt.

Use the box.

Confused, she looked around her to see what Tag was talking about. Sure enough, she noticed there was a small wooden crate pushed off into the hedges. Now having placed it under the windowsill, she climbed ontop of it and grabbed the grooves again, this time much more easily, and successfully lifted herself up into the dark, empty room.

She snuck to the door and peered out cautiously, trying to see how far away from the desk she was. Luckily, she was all the way down the hall and right next to the elevator and stair access. Pinkamena opened the door carefully as to not make it creak and attract unwanted attention. She made the opening as narrow as possible and slid through, while sucking in her gut.

Again, she tiptoed toward the elevator and readied herself to press the up button on the console.

No!

She stopped dead.

Use the stairs.

Tag was right. Using the stairs would be far quieter. Besides, she didn’t want to take the chance that this was one of the elevators that make a loud ring whenever they arrive on a floor. So, Pinkamena moved to the stair access door and turned the knob. She opened it and crept into the bright hallway.

The door made no noise at all when she closed it, as if it was catering to her.

Up. Go up. They’re hiding there, I know it!

Pinkamena felt nervous. That was the only word she could think of. Nervous wasn’t close enough to what she was feeling. She was petrified about what she was going to do.

She was about to murder two living beings.

With Kanker, it was different. He had caused her terrible pain. She didn’t even know these two brothers.

Don’t be nervous, Pinkie.

Pinkamena suddenly collapsed and sat down in the stairwell. She looked at her hooves and saw how filthy they were. She steadily began to cry. She thought back to Ariel and her playing tag. Then she realized how miserably cynical everything had always been. Even then one of the purest memories she had was being corrupted by the voice and it’s evil.

You want me to stop sugar coating it, Pinkie? I can do that.

“Don’t call me Pinkie!” She shouted carelessly through her tears. It echoed loudly.

Kill those two stallions and I’ll return the favor.

“But I don’t want to kill anypony!” She wept.

Pinkamena put her face in her hooves.

You killed Kanker without a problem.

“He wasn’t a pony! He was a monster!”

Remember that apple stand stallion?

Pinkamena stopped.

Would any good pony do what those two did to an innocent stallion? They are monsters, Pinkie.

She remembered the cracking noise that the apple stand stallion had made when his head hit the ground. It reminded her of how helpless she had felt when she was under Kanker’s desk, not sure what he would do if she resisted.

She wiped the tears from her eyes and forced herself to stand up.

You don’t have to like it, Pinkie. Just do it.

Pinkamena looked up at the door that opened to the second floor. It wasn’t very far away. So Pinkamena ascended the staircase and approached the door.

The second floor had the lights turned off. If they weren’t, light would seep into the patients’ rooms and certainly cause some complaining.

Flim and Flam walked down the hall toward room nineteen nonchalantly as they talked about the assets that they were about to cease.

“What do we do with the money? I say we invest in that carrot farm across town.” suggested Flam.

“No dice, brother.” decisively replied Flim. “You know we’re spending it on machinery for the Acres.”

“Yea, I guess we’ll need it when old Mackey offs himself.” Flam agreed.

The two started laughing, but were interrupted by a creak from behind. Flim stopped and turned around to see a mare down the hall, standing on her hind legs and hyperventilating. The light was terrible so he could hardly see her face. Flam turned around and saw the mare as well.

Something in him drowned. He didn’t like the way she was standing. It made him feel all too uneasy. He wanted to start backing away, but his mind had put a lock on all of his muscles. It knew moving would do him no good.

Flim narrowed his eyes to get a better view of her.

“Hello?” He called. Maybe it was a doctor. But no. He recognized her. He never forgot a face. It was the pink girl from the market that day Big Mac had claimed ownership of their apples.

She moved very slowly, but it didn’t take her long to pull something out of her saddlebags.

It was a very sharp object. It took a few seconds for it to register in Flim’s mind what it actually was.

His face went pale and his stomach sank.

It was the biggest carving knife he had ever seen in his life.

Flam couldn’t believe what he saw. It was so unexpected. Instantly, his mind went to panic and he felt adrenalin rush through his veins, but he still couldn’t move. All that happened was his mouth drooped open, staring at the knife as it glimmered from a ray in the moonlight.

The exact same thing happened to Flim, except he had just enough luck to be making some noise. Flim stuttered uncontrollably.

“Kn-n—n…mu-m…muh-“ He blathered.

The mare moved. She put one hind leg in front of her, and then the other in front of that. Oh so strangely she limped her way toward the brothers. And oh so fortunately for her, they couldn’t move.

She began to pick up speed as she advanced down the hall. And Flim’s stuttering got louder and faster. The limp had turned into a walk, and then turned into a sprint in a matter of seconds.

Flim got a glance at her cutie mark.

How curious. He thought.

At that moment the mare came right at him faster than all hell.

Flam watched in raw terror as she lifted the knife high above her head and plunged it into his brother’s throat.

It sounded dreadful.

*STLEEEEAAAKKKKkkk…*

He had seen the knife enter, but it had gone in too easily. He had always pictured it would be harder to get stabbed. He saw his brother’s eyes widen to an insurmountable size. He was still stuttering, but it was getting faster by the millisecond. His brother started babbling faster than he thought possible, until he finally stopped for a second.

The mare was glaring into his eyes.

Flim wailed at a deafening level, and Flam was sure it would have been louder had the blood not been blocking his windpipe.

Little droplets spurted out of his mouth and into Pinkamena’s face. She didn’t seem to notice. All she concentrated on was pushing the knife in further.

Her pushing eventually got him to trip, and Flim hit the floor, while Pinkamena collapsed ontop of him. The fall forced the knife a little further in, slicing right through the other side of his esophagus.

At this, she pulled out. A small splash of crimson cascaded out of the wound, as he tried to scream again. He rolled onto his side and grabbed at his throat, trying to desperately to close the wound. But before he could move enough, she brought the knife down again, this time into his belly and through his stomach.

Flam had gone somewhere else while he watched his brother die. His reality could not be. It was impossible. Instead he had retreated to a place of non-existence, where there was no such thing as thinking, and all he had to do was exist.

Flim’s eyes rolled into his head and he squirmed around as blood filled his mouth all the way up. It spilled a little every time he turned to far on his side.

Pinkamena didn’t think. All she did was work. There was nothing in her while she worked. No soul was occupying her husk. Maybe it was playing tag with Ariel. But wherever it was, it tried not to be in reality. She effortlessly slid the knife out of Flim once again, and stabbed him somewhere else. She repeated this as many times as she needed.

Any shed of sense that was left in Flim wasn’t very effective, as he could hardly focus on trying to resist rather than the pain he wanted to end. With each white hot penetration, he could feel himself getting weaker. Panic was engulfing his mind and not a single thought could linger for more than a couple of microseconds. He knew nothing anymore. There was no more distinction between things. The world and his existence were just a pile of sloppiness. He edged closer to death and began to let go without even knowing it. And soon enough, Flim was dead.

Pinkamena pulled the knife out of Flim and panted for a good ten seconds. Her job wasn’t done. Her sense had returned a bit early, but she could still work. A new sense of being had enthralled her. She saw that once it was over, there was no more pain. It would be much better for both of them if she finished quicker.

She slowly turned her head toward Flam. He simply stared with his jaw on the floor, likely far more gone than he needed.

Pinkamena mindlessly raised the knife again.

Flam’s mind had bidden it’s time. It was ready to react now. It converted all of his shock into pure adrenalin and slung his consciousness back to reality. But it was too late. By the time Flam had come back, all he could do was scream for a moment.

“WAIT! NO-“

He was cut off by the blade that had been charged into his brain.

Everything melted into light. Flam saw everything get incredibly bright and then it became pitch black quicker than anything he had ever experienced.

And Flam was dead.

Pinkamena ripped the knife out of his skull and looked at what she had done.

Good girl. She heard.

And then Tag left. She was alone in the hallway.

Pinkamena looked down at what she had done. The two brothers lay dead in front of her.

Blood was everywhere. She saw that the rips in Flim’s clothes were black around the edges, stained more harshly by the gore. The carpet had gone from bland beige to what looked in the moonlight like a deep, morbid orange.

It was spectacular.

Pinkamena thought of the apple stand stallion. Then she smiled.

She had expected remorse and fear, but all she felt was peace. She was finished. She helped the apple stand stallion just like she had wanted to.

So Pinkamena got off her hind legs and plopped herself down onto the floor, where she sat, looking out the window at the end of the corridor. The moon shone brightly, and she thought of Ariel.

She was happy.

Dreaming

Dashclad walked through the halls of Ponyville hospital. The fluorescent lights above were flickering and the air wreaked of cleaning agents and latex. The only sounds she could hear were either of her or the lights humming. She was slow, and her hoofsteps drug along the linoleum as she made her way to room eight-dash-five. Butterflies panicked in her churning stomach and her sunken heart was far too recessed into its own hole, dug by her guilt. When she reached room eight-dash-five, she stopped and put her ear to its door. She found that there was a faint sniffling going about on the other side, making her want to open it even less.

After a deep but broken sigh, she opened the door anyway.

There were around six or seven beds in the room, three to a side, but only one of them had a patient in it. On their bedside was a bouquet of flowers with some colorful note nearby. Dashclad couldn’t read, and even if she did, she could neither see it from her distance, nor care about what it said. What hurt her most about being in the room was that she knew the patient. Dashclad looked at the small plastic label on the wall.

Room 8-5: Dara “Derpy” J. Hooves

Dashclad turned back to the occupied bed and was only able to see her friend’s legs popping out from under the bed’s blanket. The rest of Derpy’s body was obstructed from her view by another pony lurched over her and twitching occasionally. It was a stallion; light-brown coat and black hair. He was crying, but not loud enough to be heard without listening.

Dash reluctantly approached the bed and hesitated to speak.

“Hey…” she finally mumbled.

The young stallion looked over his shoulder. His eyes were red and his cheeks were stained with dark streaks starting out of the corners of his eyes. He sniffed loudly and tried his best to smile when he looked to see who had greeted him.

“Oh.” He emoted hopefully. “Hi, Dash. I’m glad you came to see us.”

“Is she up?”

“Oh. No. They put her under with some of the-“

The stallion’s sentence ended abruptly by a violent twitch that made him squint one of his eyes forcefully and clench his teeth as he made a “Keethk~!!!”

Dash flinched, startled.

“Are you alright?”

The stallion motioned for her to stay back.

“I’m fine. Please. Don’t worry about me. You’re the one recovering.”

“Don’t be stupid. You know I owe you two everything.” Dash said seriously.

“You don’t owe us anything, Dash. It’s all part of being a good neighbor. Really.”

“Well fuck that! Just look at her!” She shouted spontaniously.

The stallion was silent. He turned back to the pony in the bed. His green eyes were still when he looked at her. The only noise heard was the beeping of the electrocardiograph. Dashclad heard the stallion let out a sharp sigh before he broke down. His crying was deep and quiet. It was from the pit of his soul.

“It’s times like this that make me wonder.” He got through. “Why to her, Dash?”

He tried to calm himself down so that his words were easier to understand.

“Why her? She so wonderful. She’s never done anypony in the world any harm. Why her!?”

Dash didn’t have an answer. So, she didn’t say anything.

“I mean…” He tried to calm down again. “God is supposed to love us. She’s supposed to bring good will to those who serve. All my beautiful Dara’s ever done is just be loving and caring to everypony, but she gets s-“

The stallion twitched again. This time it was so powerful that he was shaken out of his seat. Dashclad acted on instinct, lunging forward and catching him just before he hit the floor.

“Are you alright!?”

The light-colored colt was panting. “Yes.” He gasped. “Please, Dash. Don’t worry about me.”

“Are you kidding me!?!” She yelled at him. “You almost cracked your head on the floor!”

“I’m fine, Dash. She isn’t.” He returned firmly.

Dash helped him back to his seat. There was another silence for however long it took for the stallion to re-rail his train of thought.

“…But she gets shot…” He moaned. “For no reason. It just happens, these things. We can hardly pay for the rent or food as it is. With her in the hospital and no worker’s compensation, I’ve got to feed us until she gets better.”

He turned back to the bed and stared at the pony in it for a time that made Dash feel uncomfortable. Then he resumed.

“She never has a selfish thought. Not one. Not one… She loves everyone she meets and doesn’t care who they are or what they’ve done…”

He sniffled.

“She’s like an angel.” He managed to say before breaking again.

Dashclad watched. She didn’t want to, but it was hard to look away. She had come to see them, and here they were. And the foulest bit of it all was that it was her fault.

Her fault.

Mizmahl wouldn’t have gone to Ponyville if she had just stayed dazed in the field and gotten her skull blown open that day she got high with Yakko and Ziccane. Three ponies would still be alive, her only friends wouldn’t have to suffer like they were, and she would have just died. Maybe even without any pain.

But it was done. It happened.

“You know…” The stallion mumbled unexpectedly. “At least we’ve got you to support us. You’re such a good friend, coming to visit and all. Dara and I couldn’t be happier that we met you.”

Dashclad’s stomach churned. His ignorance to the truth killed her. She finally got herself to look away, too ashamed to show her face.

“I uh-“ She started. “This is a lot to handle, Cherry. I’ve gotta go…”

“Oh. Well, have a wonderful night, Dash. God bless you for stopping by.” He said with a half-hearted smile.

Dashclad left the room without looking at her friends again. She left the hospital and walked back to the hotel she was staying at (and it didn’t make her feel any better remembering that her two friends had been kind enough to pay for her room). But above all other horrible things clouding her mind at the time, one thing kept coming back; it was all her fault.

Her fault.

Her fault.

Her fault…

The psychiatric ward’s lounge was calmer than Mel had pictured. Not many of the patients were making noise or yelling like he pictured, and there wasn’t a straitjacket in sight, much unlike he’d pictured. It was rather calm actually.

The only thing in the room that unnerved him to any extent was the number of patients staring out the windows at the rain. One of them had her mouth just barely agape, with her eyes fixed, unblinking at the raindrops trickling down the windowsill.

“Mel.”

Lyra broke him out of the trance this particular patient had lured him into, and he turned his head to see what his friend had to say.

“She’s over here.” Lyra said, obviously having a difficult time staying calm.

She led Mel toward the left-back of the room, which had an indoor bench and a short book case on top of a reddish rug. Sitting on the bench, was Rarity Germane. She looked better than when Mel had last seen her, but really anything looked better than her being tied down to a cot with foam running down her cheeks, screaming at the top of her lungs.

Lyra and Mel approached her and sat down on a couch adjacent to the bench.

“Hey, Rarity.” Lyra said to her friend when she turned to see them.

When Rarity smiled, Mel could tell it wasn’t real. He knew she wasn’t alright and it made him hate his own guts for not telling her that she didn’t have to pretend for him.

“Melvin! Lyra! Oh, darlings! I’m so very glad to see you both.” She beamed forcefully.

Despite knowing how unconvincing she was, she still reached out to hug the two of them. When they returned the embrace, she found it increasingly difficult to let go the longer she held onto them. Rarity was in fact very happy to see her friends. Nothing could have been better for her, given the circumstances.

“You’re huggin’ a bit tight, R.” Lyra said honestly.

Rarity replied with a mumble of sorts. Then, she shook. Mel and Lyra couldn’t see, but they could certainly hear that she started crying.

Lyra broke away from the embrace to see if she was stable, but Rarity squealed childishly like she had been startled or frightened. Mel choked when Rarity lunged at Lyra, trying to force her back into the hug.

“No, please don’t stop! No! I don’t want to go back!” She whined.

“What is it, honey?” asked Lyra, surprised.

Rarity responded with a laugh. The laugh was high but weak, quickly turning into a wail. She grasped her friends tighter, burying her wet eyes further and further into Melvin’s shoulder.

“I-I d-dd-don’t even kn-n-now what’s real anymorrrrre...” She sobbed. “I saw us as kids. I saw it w-wwith my own eyes. In the w-woods…the everwh-w-white. It wasn’t real. Oh Celestia, oh Holy god, it wasn’t even real!”

She took her head off Mel’s shoulder and looked at him directly in the eyes. Her eyelids were bloodshot and mascara ran down her cheeks heavily. There was a blankness in her pupils. Melvin didn’t know what it was, but he thought that it was helplessness; the feeling that animals must get when they’re cornered by their predator and dragged down to the ground, nothing in their heads but the swimming panic and horror as they attempt to escape the inevitable torturous end but fail.

“Don’t let me go. I don’t want to go back. I want this to be real. Please…”

Mel waited. He looked over at Lyra, who looked back with an understanding face. The two simultaneously turned back and squeezed Rarity harder.

“This is real. I promise, R.” Lyra comforted.

“You can’t prove it…” Rarity whispered sadly.

Despite this comment, the three friends sat hugging each other for nearly twenty minutes.

It was getting dark. They hadn’t had anything else to do that day anyhow. Melvin had closed the saloon and Lyra was unemployed anyway, so that was good enough for them to take such an opportunity to spend time with the one whom so obviously needed it.

“You’re sure everything is alright here? You didn’t look so happy last time we were over here.” Lyra probed, concerned.

“No, really. Everything is just fine, I promise…”

Rarity looked back at her cup of tea, but didn’t sip. She stared at it somberly.

“Don’t bullshit us, Rarity.” Mel caught. “Is there anything that’s making you uncomfortab-“

“-I have these dreams at night.” Rarity cut. “There’s this mare and she’s just…evil. I don’t know how else to put it, she’s evil and she’s followed by something even worse.”

Rarity sniffed.

“Sorry, it’s a bit hard to even talk about.”

“Don’t worry about it. Don’t ya think it’s a little stupid to think that excuses aren’t worth anything for you?” reassured Lyra.

Rarity laughed nervously, and then cleared her throat.

“This even worse…thing, well…things, plural, come out of the back of her head and starts to eat ponies in the town. After that, it gets bigger and bigger, and it isn’t long before it starts eating everyone.”

“Everyone? Like the world or something?” Mel inquired, muddled.

“I think. I usually wake up right around that part. It’s dark when I wake up and I’m always so scared. I don’t like being alone. The doctors won’t have anyone stay in with me…”

“We’ll stay, R.” Mel said without hesitation.

“What?” She looked up, surprised.

“We’re staying with you for the night. A friend’s always there; through thick and thin and all that jazz.” Lyra agreed, already willing.

Rarity’s eyes shifted from one friend to the other, as if making sure of their sincerity. She started crying. Lyra and Mel leaned in, shocked.

“Oh, what is it, darling? Is there something wrong?”

“Damn it! It’s alright, Rarity. Lyra and me don’t need to stay or nothin’ if ya don’t want.”

“No, no. I’m happy.” She said, looking up and forcing another grin. “I’m touched is all.”

Mel put on a little more sincere smile. “We wouldn’t leave you for anything, R.”

Rarity lunged for the both of them and wrapped them in her arms tightly.

“I love you two so much.”

Lyra closed her eyes. “We love you more, sugar.”

Rarity’s voice changed. She broke away from the hug and looked at Lyra as seriously as she ever had. Lyra leaned back in astonishment.

“No.” She said firmly. “You don’t.”

“W-what?”

“I love you more. I owe you two my life. I probably would have taken that gun to my head and ruined my wallpaper with my brains if I didn’t love you two enough to hold on.”

Everything was dead silent. Nobody had expected anything like that. Rarity held her stare and made sure that Lyra understood her blunt honesty for nearly thirty long, grimly disturbing seconds.

Her thoughts jumped out of the pool in her subconscious mind and punched back in as her lights turned on. When she opened her eyes, the room was very dark.

Pinkamena sat up in her bed and listened, hearing the loud and steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. She turned to her right and opened the drawer in her bedside table blindly, grabbing a box of matches after fumbling several other miscellaneous unseen items and brought them to her lap. Pinkamena opened the box and brought out a single match, then struck it on the strike panel, resulting in the room lighting up in a limited orange glow. It wasn’t enough to see past her comforter though, so she brought the burning match to the candle welded to the bedside table by wax and held it to the wick until it passed on its glory and went out. The room became brighter, just slightly, and was now just visible enough to see everything important.

Pinkamena scanned the room, looking for whatever might have woken her up. She saw the dresser, which had a terrible nightmare crawling all over it.

She groaned, aggravated.

It was just The Voice, playing a stupid prank on her. She ignored the creature and looked out toward the window at the end of the left side of the room. It was closed, and nothing was visible out of it other except blackness. The rest of the room was empty.

Pinkamena sighed and lied back down on her back, closing her eyes.

*Creak*

Pinkamena sprung up and drew a large carving knife from under her pillow in a single swift motion. She silently rolled out of her bed and slowly creped to her door with masterful prowess. Pinkamena waited without breathing, putting her ear to the wall. There was a quiet pitter-patter getting closer to the door. She backed up against the wall opposite to the hinges and raised the knife. Sure enough, the door creaked open and someone entered the room.

Pinkamena came out from behind the door.

“Wrong house!” she said aloud.

Scootaloo turned around too quickly from her fright and tripped on her own hooves, crashing to the wooden floor screaming.

“I’m sorry! I’m sooooorryyyy!!!” she wailed, horrified.

Pinkamena gasped and dropped the knife immediately, which struck the floor with the blade’s tip and made it stand up. Pinkamena got to her knees and helped the squirming filly to her hooves. Scootaloo was frantic.

“I had a nightmare and I-…I just thought it’d be okay if I came up here and…” She didn’t look Pinkamena in the eyes. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, Ms. Pie, I’m so sorry.” She wept.

Pinkamena looked at Scootaloo and once again saw herself. She flashed back to her childhood and her bedroom melted into her parent’s, and she saw herself by her father’s side of the sheets, tears running down her cheeks too.

“But-b-please, daddy!”

Her father’s voice echoed and stung her ears. His words seemed not unlike poison.

“Oh, for Celestia’s sake. Shut you’re goddamn little mouth.” He hissed. “It’s your fucking brainsick. You’re just hearing things cause you’re crazy.”

“Please daddy, please…”

“I will smack you, Pinkamena. I swear to god I will.” He spat.

Pinkamena left the room, still crying, and made her way back to the terrors and darkness in her room. She remembered the fear, the dread that she experienced. It was worst when she was going back to her room, knowing that not only was there no one to protect her, but nobody who cared.

Pinkamena snapped back to the present and saw that little Pinkamena had turned back into Scootaloo. Scootaloo was still visibly upset.

Pinkamena leaned further down, closer to her guest.

“Sure is good you came to me, kid.” Pinkamena whispered.

Scootaloo cocked her head, confused but strangely calmed.

“Monsters won’t come anywhere near me. They’re scared.”

Scootaloo’s frown slowly corrected itself into a grin of amusement. Pinkamena helped her up and headed back to her bed, coaxing Scootaloo to follow. Pinkamena got under the covers and Scootaloo shyly followed. After both were under the covers, Pinkamena looked at the filly, who was obviously quite happy. Scootaloo looked back up and smiled widely.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Pie. I promise I won’t bother you like this again.”

“No.” Pinkamena insisted. “You need to do this more often. You’re lucky, kid. My dad never let me sleep in his bed.”

Scootaloo couldn’t respond. She was obviously very grateful because instead of saying anything more, she threw her arms around Pinkamena and squeezed as hard as she could, closing her eyes. Pinkamena didn’t return it, but she patted the child on the head.

Pinkamena turned to her right and put out the candle, making the room pitch-black once again. She lied down, feeling Scootaloo do the same, and closed her eyes to sleep.

About five minutes later, Pinkamena was about to drift off when Scootaloo turned on her side and sleepily wrapped herself around Pinkamena’s side. Surprised, Pinkamena lifted her head and turned over her shoulder, seeing the filly’s rough shape, her eyes closed and smiling. She was asleep.

Scootaloo mumbled quietly, dreaming.

“I love you, mommy…”

Pinkamena thought for a moment. Then, she smiled and closed her eyes to sleep.