Severity And Auditory Obsessions

by SUPERCHARGER2001

Rating: mature
Tags: Random, Crossover, Dark, Alternate Universe, Romance, Tragedy
Length: 6866

A bleak and nihilistic stash of diluted and controversy short stories.

This is primal sickness at it's best. Not some cheap gore subjects or explicit talk of anything particularity common when discussing disturbing stuff. This is more of a claustrophobic and twisted views of our world bind into the hopes and dreams of Equestria that makes our world no different from theirs.

It's a mix between first, second, third person.

Got the idea off of Dark Avenger, and stories and video games. But most primarily, in terms of structure: I got the ideas from Michael Gira's book and poems.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-01-03 12:44:53 UTC

Half-Life

I wake up, the chipped ceiling stared down at me. The broken chair beside me laid there, split in half. The coffee table kicked over, a razor bent at the base sideways. I could hear them calling, those ponies, the sounds echoing through those vast hallways. Shouts and shouts of ponies running faster and faster. If only I could move, if only I could hear myself breathe. What am I doing? I hear them calling, do I hear screams? I'm not sure. Nothing seems sure right now. I want to talk, maybe get something out just so somebody know's that I am here - waiting.

If only I could scream...

If only I could bleed, someone would come.

I hear something, something crawling through the walls. maybe if I crawled, I could get up. A pinging sound of water drips on my hoof every time I can recall it doing so. Their hooves clopping against the serene floor. The splat of mud coats the once whitened floor, they continued to run. But where? Where are they going?

Helpless is what I'm feeling right about now.

The nerves in my ears are finally coming to as I hear the sounds of the walls shaking in this room. The roaring thunder cackling into the sky, was it bombs? Were bombs dropping? Did the pony politicians finally put the screws into some hay-wired nation like Korea that bombing seemed the only ideal option? What have I missed?

I desperately mustered with whatever strength I had to get up and off this bed. It backlashes as soon I as I sit upwards I immediately vomited all over my coat. A single light bulb above me dangles on the ceiling, swaying back and forth repeatedly without stopping.

The wind howling outside these walls made a tree branch slam against the window. Outside looked tranquil, however. Free from the disturbance outside this room or the menacing wind. The noises of those ponies had finally quieted down, coming to a few and far small cries and screams now. Something was happening. Something bad, I didn't know what, but I knew I was a part of it, also.

I could hear faint usages of magic being used consequently outside this room, but I didn't know what they were using it for.

Quick sounds of shots being fired, it sounds like a battle out there. Something is happening? I don't want to know anymore.

I get up, I bump into the broken chair with my kneecap. I trot towards the door, the walls still banged as this wall of sonic intensity spewed from outside. The blinds were shut, tightly. So nothing but the lone light kept me from falling over onto this messy carpet. I take a close look, kneeling down to inspect the certain colors that covered the rigid dirt-green carpet. There's red on it, it's blood. I jump back in shock. Landing on my back while my head smashed against the bed frame that makes me fall into a daze. The throbbing pain mixed with this unreal scenario seemed totally catharsis since I had no previous recollection of last night, or several nights before-hoof. I slowly bring myself back up, using my legs as leverage I make it up and everything around me seems, for the lack of a better word, fuzzy. The vision in my eyes are blurred, I want to lie back down but I see no point now. Slowly I begin to make the first steps towards the door. The air goes thin all of a sudden, suddenly I turn around as I finally acknowledged somepony screaming behind me. It's not directly behind me, but from outside. I could see blood streaks washing away by the thickening rain drops. It seemed all nice and bright moments earlier. I see a hoof hitting the window repeatedly from the bottom of the windowsill, I was about to go and lend a hoof to the poor fellow until I saw two other ponies lunge on top of the pony. The screams only became more and more sinister, practically crying as these ponies stay atop of their own body. It's a mare, must be. I struggle to check as the surroundings around me still seemed blurry, but manageable enough. I finally get there only to witness the worst of the worst. These ponies were gnawing her body away, stripping and pelting her with their fists. My jaw dropped at the sight of it, suddenly the throbbing pain on my head had no relevance for the term; pain. Pain means letting out your emotions and losing control of society demands you to be in order to live "normally".  Pain meant everything no on wanted to be in, pain meant abandonment, isolation, ambiance and loss of formal self either momentarily or eternally. What she was suffering through right there made me suck up my pain. And forget about it.

Finally I get the whole picture of everything; we were in a midst of a crisis in these past couple years. It's been two years since it became public in Equestria. We were fighting for our lives with our own selves. Or more appropriately put it, we were in a raging war that made last century look pathetic in terms of dominance compared with current situations.

I look back in the room and realized that I had killed one of them. During when they just breached this isloated outpost in the middle of nowhere. We didn't expect to get hit, we had all areas secured. All perimeters checked. Traps were set, radars to indicate these enemies based upon their heat signatures made sure we could outlast, out-class and out-beat any rebels, insurgents, the Enigma Chapters divisions, raiders, infected's, even regular civilians. We were destined to withstand it all. What went wrong?

I noticed that I was infected in my encounters with that damn individual. I locked myself in knowing that I couldn't get out, I broke the lock and erased the code which I only knew for this room. That was my job, I was nothing more than a mere janitor and technician for this outpost. I had no experience with weapons or the uses of magic of any-kind. I cleaned these rooms and washed the stallions and mares clothes when they needed tending to. I fixed little odds and ends that needed fixing, or in rare cases I would have to fix and re-establish the radio tower above our building just so we could keep receiving supplies to mandate this outpost.

We were green-marked, which meant highly recommended when shipping resources to bases, outposts, stations, anything that could help with the war effort really. I fidget and look around my body and notice the bite mark on my shoulder as the blood peaked through my coveralls. I could hear nothing now, but chariots lifting off and evacuating any-ponies that needed airlifting out of this dead-zone. The faint cries and pleads of terror had all but stopped. The damn Z's had won.

The z's had won, and I was left to watch it all crumble before I became one of them.

Whether they win this war is not up to me anymore since I'm rendered useless by the military core. But if I had to say...

If the Elements of Harmony can't win this war, what makes anyone else think we could?

Here's Your Money, I'll Force It Down

The air is stale, it reeks of smog and pollution. The air burns through your lungs and stains your skin. You are nothing, you are a clone. A disease walking among the world that big corporations helped created by driving media-circulated messages down your throat. Money follows you, money holds you. Money needs you, it wants your attention. It craves for your satisfaction, it thrives off your pleasures and regrets. It rejoices your anger, it eats away at yourself. You feel at home with money, you work for money. It sinks it's holiness and spreads it's messages through your brain. Creating an euphoric experience. It loves to look at your hard-working, tiresome, stressful and deteriorated face as you come to snatch it whole. It sees your fears and hopes and dreams when you've set your eyes upon it.

It knows you.

It knows you, well.

You sit there and wait, wait and wait. Hoping to collect you're life source. This day hasn't been the best, storms throughout the desolate city were becoming more brash and the increasingly mounds of hail pummeling down the factory wasn't making anyone happier.

You were behind a man. In a big lineup, he's well built and much taller than yourself. He could surely lift more than what your scrawny body could take. You are a small man compared to others around, sometimes the workers often talk behind your back and wonder how some pony so small, weak, and near useless would work in such a place. But don't worry, money is guiding you to success, not others personal opinions. It's your life, screw them.

The smoldering ashes descending down the blackened sky and the sounds of roaring planes and helicopters ascendancy deep into the clouds briefly brought reassurance into your small, but perfect life. A smile slowly curls and forms around your otherwise muted face. Another pony from behind catches it and shouts to the others and suddenly you were being pushed around and called down upon again. But don't worry....

Money will save you.

You watch the sky shift and turn, the thickening black clouds overlap one another and sirens are sure to sound momentarily. It's a rule everypony must follow when facing these weather patterns. Thanks to everything that has been happening, something caused the weather to shift on it's own without the help of Pegasus ponies. Now, the Gray Winter Of Death often clutters and monitors the sky, waiting, watching out for any signs of weakness so it can attack. You think this wouldn't happen in Europoniea since all this started in Equestria, but you've been wrong before....

The slamming of the door at the front shook you back into reality. Only to find that you are on the ground, getting pummeled in the face several times by the large men and his henchman's. You noticed it's harder to breathe until you realized that they've broken your nose and knocked your head back into the ground at least half a dozen times. Apparently you made a wise-ass remark to the larger stallion and when he confronted you whammed your hoof deep into his left cheek, knocking him back while the others grabbed your arms and forced your rump onto the ground before he came back and smashed you in the face. But don't worry, money is here to protect you.

The clouds begin to cry. They cry as the land around you, the buildings around you, the empty streets around you are filled with ashes. Pony ashes. The ashes that no one wants to admit that it's raining ponies. Long lost ponies, all a part of the war effort. You realize that the large man is saying something to you. Why can't you hear? Why is everyone running now? You thought they had enjoyed the show? Wasn't it good enough to beat up the weak? You see as the men pack up the metal case that kept all of their cheques. You're cheque. They're taking it away, you see them run inside as the loud siren pulses through your ear canal, the big man with his black and brown coated fur rests on top of you as he yells in your face. Saliva dripping out, he wants to make you remember this day. You'll never forget this day if you don't get your money, you scream as loud as you can as you lift up the large man and shuffle him over and jump up. The ponies had all but ran inside, with a few stragglers left, you start to run. The fastest you've ever done before, you're pace is confronted when the man you assaulted is beginning to approach behind you with the same speed. The smell of your dirty clothes and torn up blue-striped hat was wicked enough to make even you fall, but you didn't care. Money was all on your mind.

You grab the man with the case just before he approaches indoors, he pushes and shoves, but you do the same. He calls you a name, you spit in his face and try to get a good grip of the box. The man you had been in a fight with comes behind and pushes you all down. The stallion holding the door for others grabs the large man kicks his face with the power of his hooves. The large man falls backwards, you still struggle with the case, the guy's sweat and your foul stench means nothing as you try to pry it open while he continued to hold it tightly. The man with the case fumbles in his jacket pocket before he takes out a stray key and opens it for you, the money flies all over. A mix bag of bits, cash and cheques. He says something and the man above who had helped you previously grabbed you by the scruff of the neck and shoves you to the wall. Ponies from all around are watching, waiting for that anticipation to kick in. All participated on the action, the man with the case struggled but eventually he gives you the cheque that was written and signed for you. He puts in your mouth and yells at you before cobbling you in the stomach. The other man lets you go and begins to walk away, but not before patting you on the shoulder and giving you a blank stare.

You take the money and run back outside, the large man still outside passed out. You don't care if he lives or dies, money has won your heart once more. You scream and shout in bliss as you run away with your award. Life doesn't get any better.

Because money is love, money is life. Money will save you, no one else will. Only money decides your future now...

Blood And Honey

You clean the edges of your knife, a knife that you kept for so long. It was only for protection. But protection can only get you so far, and you weren't being attacked. You simply clean it while you stare at your own mother.

A mother who gave you the birth of life, the birth of thought, the birth of emotions and psychical movement. The mother you played with, the mother you lived with, the mother who got you prepped for school, friends, daily life, and everything involving you. Only you. You were her angel, the child she had to bear and protect and hold dear against all the dangers of the world. She would never let anyone get near her baby boy.

She was a mother who cooked for you, made love with you, fucked you into exhaustion, laughed and cried with, held so many passionate and natural memories with. She was the mother who cared for you, loved you, had high hopes for and knew you would do good. She was the kind of mare you wanted to love, care-for and murder.

She was the exact type of mare you wanted to kill because no one else wanted her, so why should you?

It began as all mornings did, wake up, go take a shower, watch the clouds turn darker and darker. Was the war ever going to end? You didn't seem to mind, she was still here, so what if most of your friends were shipped off to war and you stayed behind? It was a matter of choice, and you chose to stay. Plus the idea of waking up to your mother everyday and morning sex sure brought a smile to your face. She was a real turn-on when she admitted her hornyiness of morning sex. It was something she always liked while his father preferred sex as a rare commodity. It was sad, but also hearthwarming when your father and her husband died last year. A year before the epidemic became global. These days it's often sad that you have to wake up early and work as a guard inside a guard-tower every twelve hours, seven days a week. It was hardly enough time to give your mom some personal pleasure. It was a little while earlier when she first started turning you on, you would never think that a mother could do that. But this surprised you more than anything.

You were fifteen when this first happened. First it was the way she looked on some nights, even in the most boring attire she still had the wild, adventurous and curious vibe. No matter how bad her clothing looked, you guessed it was just natural for middle-aged mares. But damn, you were shocked at how much you loved her. Not the love for life, family way. But the love of your life type of way. This was special, it seemed special. Now it's been five years later and you finally got the wish of your dreams and began to fuck your mother into exhaustion. She was a little hesitant at the idea, intentionally she didn't so much find the idea as weird or beautiful as the fact that her son was admitting this kind of personal feelings. She was beyond flattered that her baby-boy ever thought of her in that way. He wanted it now, he wanted her and nobody was going to change his idea. She was resilient but eventually gave in after months of time and energy he had putted into developing this relationship.

Soon, life would take on a whole new meaning in terms of sexual activity and the meaning of true love. They were unstoppable in this duo of sex, passion, fire and the dirty desire to make their lives special, and unique. Both knew that they wouldn't tell their friends and their family because nobody approved of incest. And any incestuous experience was still considered punishable by death, depending on the circumstance. Some could get away with it, if it's business or market related reasons, otherwise it's beyond forbidden and considered a taboo.

This was real love to them, not blind love, but real love.

One night, she almost looked too beautiful, you ripped her clothes off just enough so you could put your hard shaft into her guarded pussy. Some nights she was too much that you came right on the spot when you first started to fuck her senseless. Sometimes you both would put each in blinds and walk around the room with a recording placed between your privates, telling each other of their favorite sexual positions and secret fetishes that they had kept in hiding. Sometimes it turn him on so much that his cock would lift the recording away from his privates that it would fall to the ground, but by that point they were already fucking one another. Other nights they were successful and both of your naked bodies would begin to touch and caress each other before she went down on you. She was always kind in going down first because she liked to suck you off before you shot a load inside her. She liked the pre-cum swirling around her mouth and coating her teeth before sucking it down with a look of determination cultivating in her eyes. Here you were, being sucked off by a 36 year old women. You couldn't be more happier. You had more sex than you ever had in your short life. And you were only twenty one.

One fond memory reminded him of the good times.

She was both curious and sad at times that you would want someone like her, and wouldn't rather go for a women your age. But you didn't care, this is what you want, this is what you needed. The thoughts reeled around your head as you came close to cumming in her mouth. She stopped sucking on your shaft and simply used her wings as they arched to her sides and caressed your hard penis. You grabbed her mane and played with it firmly while keeping a steady grip so you don't fall over. She muses a few, but deviously short words on what she is planning to do to you when she is done massaging your hard cock. A devilish smile curls around her face and the fire in her cheeks blossom as she licks the tip of your penis. Her saliva coating the tip, it becomes so red that she know's your ready. She uses her wings to jerk the shaft while she licks each of your balls. Lightly sucking each one, a little force is being put by her mouth that it feels like she is vacuuming them. The hot air and saliva trickling down your balls and falling to the floor.

She picks up speed with her wings, the anticipation is killing you both. Before he exhales in a complete daze, you look up at his face slowly numbed by the beautiful sensation of you sucking and jerking off his balls and cock. His speech was in slow slurs, but his excitement was evident. He was going to blow a big load and she didn't want to be there to miss it. His balls contracted and lifted up to his cock, which then made her immediately place her lips onto his pulsating penis. Blood racing through his cock to his tip, she was sure she could taste it also, but she focused back on both her wings and hooves to caress his hungry dick. Her tongue tickling and playing with his tip, he replied gracefully, "Almost there....almost," as his eyes darted back to his mother's head bobbing up and down, front and back. She looked at the moment he looked, and then his cum washed away her face as it came out it large gulps. Dripping heavily, and excessively, the hot cum tickled her neck as it dripped down onto her stomach, it coated her light brown mane and with her mouth now plugging his cock, she could have this life-source all to herself. She used her hooves to pick up the pace and jerk his cock viciously to let much as she could ooze into her awaiting tongue. A second load exploded and he screamed in bliss as she happily smiled at his submission. Letting her mouth be capped on tightly to milk him dry. Her tongue overlapped and licked his tip ferociously while his cum swirling around her mouth created an intense ecstasy.

That was before you killed her.

It had been one slow night at work that evening.

And you decided to come home early.

Put Your Knife In Me, And Walk Away...

Watching the world turn into ash one by one was both sad and enjoyable for Ted Gunner. A man who was a coward in the highest degree, but managed to succumb a worldwide dominance in the ever crumbling world.

"The world of the dead," he winced proudly, staring out in the streets below him. Hanging at the top of the floor, he watched as the once bustling streets that could fill an entire arena with blistering, loud ponies sounded more quieter than a turtle. The city was dead, Detroit ceased to exist as a viable city. What remained was merely a quarter of a quarter of it's past glory. 112,000 remain of a once 10 million-sized population. Nearly every corner of most streets were empty, dozens of suburbs remained closed off. Others burned to the ground, factions formed and the policing in this city was more overwhelmed with insurgents and the Enigma Chapters Division than those of the living dead. It was rare not to be out-manned by the dead, most of Equestria fell that way, but it's managing...considering what other nations are going through.

Twilight's disappearance had Equestria shaking for a while during the beginning. The fall of Canterlot signified the true end of Ponykind. But here was the man of the hour, still standing on his four hooves and making the biggest name possible for himself. News reporters around the world wanted his interview, tabloids still had a reason to be made - newspapers were booming in Eastern continents; all because of him. One man, and his ideals brought him the most fortunes that anypony could have ever asked for. He was sure that nobody to top this cat. He ruled the mainstream media, well, what was left of it anyways. He took what was left behind by previous corporations and salvaged and opened up many new business all with his brand stamped on them. Before all of this, he was what you called, a coward with hopes and dreams. Then, with the slow uprising of the dead, he sought his chance was now or never. He took it and never looked back. In a month, he opened up his first international business down in the depths of New York's underworld. Selling cardboard boxes and providing plastic utensils and small commodities that were cheap and could be mass-marketing sold. In three months, he took over the mining facilities in Trottingham after all the original employee's and the company supplying the funds to run it bolted. Using the E.C.D when they weren't given a title in the early days, and simply resided as mercenaries, prisoners, civilians, thugs, rapists, murderers. This was before they became an official society bent on overthrowing the Equestrian government and taking over the world for their own selfish reasons. He took control of it with a 40% causality rate against 1 million undead. It was a vast project that rendered him nearly broke, and costed him a permanent scar across his face. Still, with the resources in mind, he made a killing selling coal, jewelry, oil. It served him well, until he had won the battle of Lake Michigan....

By this point, he had severed ties with the newly formed E.C.D, formally known as bandits. And got his own military started, he captured three main cities in total and over two dozen towns and started building new homes. He became a part of real-estate while keeping ties with several of his other businesses. His brand name; T.E.D (Technological Evolutionary Divisions) housed many opportunities for the poor, and the helpless. Those who were in safe-guarded zones provided by Princess Celestia and the Equestrian government could relocate to one of the many renovated towns or cities to begin again. With the option of rebuilding a new life and starting fresh, free health-care and a society to live under. Ted Gunner's society, that is. He was all about equality, but was raised under a Communist family in Asia before moving to Equestria to begin again, himself. He slowly, in a matter of 12 months, became one of the most powerful stallions in the world. The revenue in Equestria was booming, but it wasn't Equestria's money to have. It was Ted Gunner's, and if Ted wants something, he'll take it. He has shown several times over, and with enough of spunk and charm, he could start his own country within Equestria, because there wasn't really any government anymore...

Why? Because it was in shambles, the government was beyond in financial debt, Ted Gunner's wasn't going to offer them a hoof. And they wouldn't ask for it either. No real government was able to protect everything because Equestria's plan of attack was to wait out until the dead died off. So, they took a portion of the survivors in Equestria at the time, because it was an impossible task to save everyone when the dead would only follow and consume whatever was in their path. A quarter of the civilians that did get saved, were sent off to the mountains high up in western Equestria. There, they could recuperate and begin to train every individual who was fit enough to either fight, or able to create a stable life up in the mountains. Ted Gunner's was the man who knew it all long before Equestria even had a chance to finally tell the public. One thing Princess Celestia knew, though. Once this war was over, they were going to have a lot of enemies and Ted Gunners would be their biggest.

Nobody

You sit there and watch the planes leave.

You feel famished as you down the last of your whiskey.

You feel numb. Broken, torn and a sense of regret.

And you've traveled so far....

The stench of a foul body reeks this place, then again, another Z had just tried to maul the chef only moments earlier. The fourteenth in the past six days.

You wondered what good of use you are, now. The E.C.D just signed your discharge papers and you were free to walk. But walk to where? You certainly didn't know, and they hadn't plan on pointing the way.

The room you currently bath your sorrows is bleak and deafening. The lights barely hang in their place. You easily feel empty once you hit the bottle, but that doesn't matter. You can hear your demons calling out to you and telling you drink life away.

They laugh as you crack up another bottle, the barman suggests you had enough. You say otherwise.

Though, it was hard to speak, like a big lump was shoved down your throat over the course of the last few hours. Maybe you drank so much that the alcohol simply hardened inside your throat. This worries you as you take another swig. The man repeats himself, this time he pulls out a wooden baseball bat. Filled to the brim with nails sticking out, you try to muster a reply to make him shut up.

"But I'dd hann drinkin' sov muchh..." the man gives you a cold stare as he slowly crawls his hoof up to the weapon.

You never expected to be that drunk so quickly. Oh well, you remembered that T.E.D is hiring.

You start to get up and try to be nice by putting two bits on the table but instead you missed and they landed inside your drinking glass. You turn to the barman and try to muster a coherent apology but you just wave your arm and begin to walk out. Hoping he understood you're pathetic attempt. He just know's that you will be back tomorrow. Your a miserable sod with no future, and he could use the free money. Even if it meant that he had to look at your sorry ass for six depressing hours, it was still worth the effort.

Finally you get outdoors and notice the thick smoke in the air. Probably those factories again, you thought. Walking down the empty sidewalk you see the usual twenty foot walls and expect nothing of it. They were spread along the parts that T.E.D or the Equestrian military never seized yet. It was a massacre out there sometimes. T.E.D bombarding areas just for fun, killing stragglers or the infected. The military growing more anxious that the T.E.D might gun them down one day, and the military blames the E.C.D for being militias...

Here in the ruins of New York, things might get better if everyone collectively worked together for once, he bickered with himself.

You shouldn't really care anymore. They abandoned you, the war abandoned you and signed you off as useless, worthless and a nobody. But you know why you left, don't you.

You stare at yourself once you reached a public bathroom out on the street. It was a simple bathroom that couldn't have spanned more than fifteen feet. A mirror hung above a sink in the mares stall-room. At this point you couldn't give a shit what was meant for what. A pair of sunken, sad, and pitiful eyes stare back at you. A stallion with too much weight on his shoulders that it would kill a filly, you look at yourself and only see pain. A pain, a cancer that has gone on far too long. You grind you're teeth into submission, babble in you're head about redemption and yet you still go after the bottle when life becomes tough.

And you call yourself a solider...

A weight on your shoulders is right. You are pathetic. You are nothing. A nobody. If glory hasn't driven you this far in life, then self-pity and guilt must have.

You pull out the electric pulverizer, a weapon you hadn't bothered to hand in once they stripped you of your uniform, and you contemplate suicide.

It'd be perfect. A dark secluded place in the middle of nowhere, inside an empty bathroom that no one will ever look. You're colleagues didn't think much of you since you've never really opened up. The amount of amps embedded in this weapon would kill you within seconds. It's a standard practice that was originally used against the ponies with the Black Plague in Europoniea before the whole Z thing erupted.

You take you're arm and place your hoof behind your temple, closing your eyes you wish not to watch yourself die. But rather let your pained scream be the last thing you witness before you leave this burning world.

Just then a stallion busts through the door you thought was locked. You turn around and the man jumps you and brings you down. You fall over and try untangle yourself from his tight grip on both of your wrists, his body pinning your shoulders. You attempt to scream but he shuts you up, he then pulls a serrated knife out of his back pocket. The man was wearing a green stray jacket, fitted with several large pockets top to bottom. The knife had a name carved onto it, the man stuffed his hoof under you're shirt and ringed you up to his face. He responded with two words, "Love, mom." before showing the two words on each side of the knife. He was about to stab you before you turned on you're electric pulverizer that was still gripped tightly in your hoof and dragged it up towards the middle of both your faces. The immediate shock was so intense both of you violently shook while you held the button with all your strength before you're body gave in. The smell of burning char filled your nostrils and suffocated you're lungs before the rate of you're heart pounding through your own ribs accelerated at an alarming speed. The man above you couldn't stop shaking as he sat there numb, screaming, and the hot wet tears streaming from his eyes coated your brown and bruised coat. You could feel him shrink inside and lay there like a bug, slowly dying while the killer simply watched.

You realized as this poor man died above you, that you were not dead. You simply had been given a second chance briefly before you either took your own life, or death had to take it for you.

Either way, you shoved the body off you and coughed violently before noticing that you burned you're entire face. Now no one will notice you...

The adrenaline in you're body was like shooting cocaine again, you hardly noticed the after-effect of pain. You could feel the entire front of your face all hard and hot, but despite the adrenaline already wearing off, you could care less.

You take a picture of a man you once knew, a man you couldn't care for and lost to those blasted zombies during the very early stages of the war. When the infection wasn't even publicly acknowledged. You reply slowly, each breath becoming harder than the last, but you managed to make a coherent response despite you're drunk state and near-death experience.

"Royce, hehe, you ol' kidder. I'm...I'm...I am..." he starts to fade, maybe his body had finally given up, there was only so much abuse you could take before you simply lose the will to fight. And he fought enough in his life already...

He sputtered a final fitting words for his best friend. "You...little bastard...I'm coming mate, I'm coming home now."

The Most Unfortunate Lie

Locked.

I demand you to be locked up.

I want you locked.

Locked. Locked in my chest. Forbidden from my lair. I want you to feel the burden of unlimited lies.

Stay locked inside the room. The dark room. The dark passage. The unknown that seeps through your shivering back and encapsulates your pain-driven thoughts of mortal submission. I want you to feel the heave of terror, the pain that shoots through your torso. You're upper thigh. The right leg. The magnet that connects each limb and the mind that only wallows for Mother.

Yes. Be my son. Be my son. Be my seduction to brutality, misuse, regret, hatred. I want you to feel hated. I want hatred to stem from your internal shell while your external swerves for the passive outlook. You hear my voice, right? You hear the bellows of whining that spheres your life into a grand-scope of obsession. An obsession that aches through your hands. Throbs through your brain. Manifests into malicious smiles and cackling stares of hollowed-out cheeks. The mossy withered hands that continues to vaguely speak, the internal fire bursting through the tips of your cold fingers. Why did Mother lock you in? Why did she lock you in?

Tell me why Mother locked you in? Tell me why Mother scolded the hatred upon your innocent eyes? You want to puke your little guts, but she wants you to chin up and take punishment with gratitude. She loves the pleasure of deceit that salivates your hopeful mind. The view of her cold stare and muted response clashes with your whiny shouts and wallowing soul.

Are you frustrated? Vexatious of her deadpan response? She needs her supply, she wants you crying icicles. She wants you to feel like a burden.

Have you lied? Have you lied all along? Have you puked your guts at her rigid feet? Will she lock you in? Will she pry your feet? Will she whip your hooves, or will she lick the hot tears stemming from your red eyes? Will she ever care to love? Will she ever care to breathe hope? Will she ever care to not lie? Or will she smother the internal oath of love?

Can you dream for a better time? A time when they both cared? Not when one left out while the other released their frustrations onto you. Did they ever care? Do you deserve the future of pampering after abuse? Is it a hallucination? A hallucination? Well tell it as it is....

Are you a bellowing heart beat that flickers at the sight of self-esteem? Like the part of being a robot. A tool. A godless being that is contrived and distorted until you are a true slave of your own whims. Are you deluded?

One fucks with. One fucks with.

Will she rip her heart and plaster it on your sleeve? Plaster away after she was gone? When she dies! Will you love? Will you love her after she died of poetic justice?

Will the naked bodies caressing inside the screen bring hope of satisfaction? Will it? Are you a rapist? A rapist I ask? A rapist I beg? Are you a rapist I ask? Tell me, has she made you naughty? A naughty being contrasted into a reality of shame? A shameless guilt to fuck for pleasure? A pleasure to bite off the drenched nipples that seep through the white blouse.

A liquid exchange of our mangled and milky hardness that split through the starry eyes that trickle gold on our faces.

A gold of passion. Internal passion brought by the way Mother once treated you.

Masochism? You're not sick. Fuck you. You're not sick. What kind of pony are you, now?

Equestria might beg for redemption, but just look at the underworld and tell yourself you are sane....Go on! Tell yourself that you are sane.

You think you own the world, now. Huh? The trickle of your transparent vulva matched with the so-called curves bustling through your new lingerie. You might be elegant, but you are not immortal.

Take a look at what Mother did to you. Take a fucking good look. She made you a deity whore. Now accept it. You are no mere man, but a clown showered by past idiocy.

Locked.

Locked.

Locked.

Yes. You are locked.

A fathers greatest disappointment.

The Most Unfortunate Lie.

Alcohol The Seed

The droopy look that enchanted the appeal of others burrowed deep into his sockets. His face bestowed upon the misery while his body showed the inner child boxed without remorse. The stallion often pondered the edges of his own self. Littered with strife, he sulked down the refined meed and cough hoarsely with his head flushed with anger. The entrapment of a thousand worries broken down into mere bits of fiction by the alcohol that blinds his sight.