Hide From Your Fears

Sweetie Belle was the funny type. She was great at making me laugh and she was always amusing when she did her stuff. In the first two weeks of me joining the school, I had taken a liking to her. I understood her plight to get her cutie mark, which kinda helped get me into her good books even though I had already received mine two years prior. At first she was hesitant with me. I seemed a little threatening and scary, but I soon got her to be my friend, the hard way.

I had my own pen and paper everywhere I went. I would use the highest quality ink, and write down all of the threats that I had been abused with throughout my short life. Making it fancy was the final touch. I researched the English language, dating far back to Anglo-Saxon times and even as long ago as the Romanes. My head was a library of knowledge of the dialect and I was able to pen out words so professional that a king (or princess) could have written it. Hurtful words were encompassing about four pages each month, and each year, I would compile all of them, and burn them in my back garden with a box of twenty matches that I bought every year on New Year’s Eve with which I started a light show at midnight. It felt good to see all of my enemy’s words being destroyed before my eyes.

When Sweetie began to become ignorant and was reluctant to answer my questions, I kept the sheets of paper from before I change schools. I picked up a piece of paper one night and wrote down words of hurt on the paper. I would compose these letters late at night using the candle light to guide me. Unicorns had it easy. I, being an earth pony, had to use my mouth to write everything which was a very laborious task, especially with my impatience. Sometimes I would throw the pen at the floor and smash my head into the wall to relieve the stress. After this, I would instantly blow out the candle and sneak into bed before my parents checked on me.

After they would leave, I would relight the candle and keep going. Sometimes I even punched myself in the stomach mid-sentence to stop my body seizing up. There were many cases where I had done so. I would cry for the attention of my parents and head to the hospital because I was internally bleeding. One time I hit myself so hard that I coughed up blood on my desk. I didn’t bother cleaning it up because I was too lazy, so I went down to the crafts shop the next day and bought some red paint to cover it up. My useless parents never noticed.

When I had written my first letter, I burned the corners slightly, before turning it over. I thought about signing it, but then that would make it obvious, so I racked my brains all night for something to make my mark. The next morning I had come up with something. It was simple yet powerful. I wasn’t allowed knives upstairs, so I took an empty drinks can, tore it in half and placed it to my wrist. In a last second hesitation, I pulled it away because I wasn’t sure if I should do this. After a stern talk with myself, I tried again. I stuffed my mouth with a folded piece of bread, and slashed down the flesh. I screamed into the food and bit down through it in pain. I got my pen ready with a small pot underneath it. Blood dribbled out, onto my nib and into the pot. After I had collected enough, and when I started to get a little light headed, I wrapped a bandage about my self-inflicted wound, and got to work.

The mark was simple. It was a letter ‘D ‘, written in blood.

The next morning, I got up early and walked around to her house, Carousel Boutique. There was a doormat outside that said, ‘Welcome’ in big, friendly letters. I laughed and thought to myself, “This won’t be.”

I taped the letter to the mat and walked back home where I slipped back into my bed just in time to be conveniently fast asleep when my mother trotted into my room and opened the curtains like she did every morning. I sat up and yawned loudly, trying my best to make it sound real. She walked out and downstairs, letting me get ready for the hilarity that would be Sweetie Belle.

Letter 1 (2nd September):

I know who you are. You know me. I see you every day. I know where you reside. I have methods of removing your blood. I have a match that has the capacity to burn everything you own to the ground. I could kill you with a single touch. You stand on a knife edge. You can’t hide from me. Don’t try to run. Do not cry and do not speak to anyone about this or I will be the one to end your life. It doesn’t matter where you go, because I will be waiting for you.

D

Sweetie Belle was a mess when she got into school. She looked like she had seen a ghost and her eyes swivelled every way. She was greeted by her two over enthusiastic friends, Applebloom and Scootaloo. I sat on a bench from a distance, my usual trilby atop my head and a pencil twirling around my hoof.

“Come on in class!” called Cheerilee from the classroom window. “It’s time for another great day of learning!”

I actually didn’t know what I hated more: the ignorance of Sweetie or the teacher. I could hardly stand her constant ecstasy and her wonderfully styled mane and tail. That day was unlike no other. It was all the boring stuff about maths and stuff that we learned every day. Sweetie sat silently in the middle of the room. Her book lay open and the page was completely blank. Suddenly, Diamond Tiara leaned over and whispered in her ear while Cheerilee was explaining basic algebra.

“Hey, you know what that page reminds me of?”

“No,” said the white filly, not caring about the obvious insult that was coming

“…Your flank!”

“Thanks,” still not caring.

“Hey! Stop being mean to her!” I threatened.

“What is going on over there?” exclaimed the teacher.

“Diamond Tiara was being mean to Sweetie Belle!”

“…WAS NOT!” complained the brat.

“Diamond Tiara, is this true?” (Cheerilee)

“Of course not!” (Brat)

“Diamond, be honest!” (Cheerilee)

“I am miss! I am!” (Brat)

“Ok! I don’t want to see any more fighting out of you. If I do, you will be sent out!” (Cheerilee)

Letter 2: (3rd September):

You’ve done well. I am still not done with you though. I want you to place this note on your back for your school day. Don’t take it off under any circumstance. Remove it before midnight or you will see my knife blade tomorrow.

D

The filly looked even worse than before. I greeted her at the school gates before her other friends did. I asked what was wrong and she showed me the note taped to her back. I led her over to my usual bench where she sat down, head in her knees.

“Oh no!” she said, fear in her voice.

“What?”

“N-Nothing!”

“You’re acting very strangely lately,”

“I… I…!” Tears. She cried quietly into her elbow. I took the risk and pulled her into a soft hug. I patted her head and she wept into my chest fur.

“Shh, it’s alright. I’m here for you!”

“R-Really?”

“Yeah, I’ll protect you,”

“Th-thanks, *sniff* *cough*,”

My plan had worked. I had lulled her into a false sense of security, and I was now free to do whatever I wanted. She called me her friend the other day so now I was able to do what pleased me. I waited until my family was asleep, and I snuck out of bed. I threw on a black coat and a pair of sunglasses and slowly cracked the door open. I slunk out and came to the top of the stairs. I knew from experience that there were dodgy steps that would make it obvious that something was on them, so I sat on the hoof rail and slid down to the bottom where I planted my hooves carefully and strolled into the kitchen.

I knew that my coat would be ruined, but I didn’t care. The knife sat in my pocket as I approached carousel boutique. I took out the paper clip and screw drive from the garage and picked the front door lock before entering the home. I saw one of Rarity’s beautiful dresses and walked up to it. It was a deep blue colour with orange swirls around it. I ran my knife across the chest, tearing the fabric. Rarity was my next target. Her door was unlocked, so I tip-toed silently to her bedside.

I placed the knife on her bottom lip. The metal made her jolt slightly and she woke up. She magicked off her eye cover, and I plunged the knife blade straight into the top of her mouth and into the brain. She couldn’t even scream before she was dead. I pulled the knife out with blood smeared on it from tip to base. Opalescence lay in his basket blissfully unaware of the current situation. I smiled at the thought that entered my head.

The full grown mare’s weight was enough to crush a few bones in the cat’s body and maybe even kill her outright. I walked out of the room, Rarity’s dead body crushing her feline pet.

I pushed open the door to Sweetie’s room and walked to the bed. I held the knife above her head before she suddenly opened her eyes. A scream was let out and she held her covers up to her neck.

“Hello there Sweetie Belle. I think that those letters have made us rather acquainted!”

“DON’T KILL ME!” “HELP ME RARITY!”

“Don’t bother screaming. Rarity is dead,”

“NO! WAKE ME UP!”

“You aren’t dreaming,” “How’s about you think about my knife?”

The corpse lay there, knife embedded in her skull. I leaned over and kissed her dead lips, before removing the knife.

Letter 7 (8th September):

I stood there, silent for a while. The knife was in my hoof, covered completely in blood. I laughed at my horrible life, and raised the point to my neck. I slit my throat. I lost consciousness, and died. I love you Sweetie Belle. I’m sorry for killing you. I felt the only right thing to do was to kill myself. Love, Relentless.

D

The End.