What Desperate Thoughts?

by TheSakrament666

Rating: mature
Tags: Tragedy, Alternate Universe, Sad, Dark
Length: 1395

When a lonely stallion has everything taken away, will he be able to move on? Or will he go out alone?

A lonesome stallion reminisces about his shattered life. Can he move on?
(I drew the cover art this time, this is the FIRST story I've written that features cover art by me. I'll mention when I draw a cover, but if I don't then it's not my art.)

(Alternate universe tag: Luna never existed, and Twilight never became a princess.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-10-09 07:50:06 UTC

We All Fall Down

If this accidentally breaks a rule, please tell me so I can fix it, this is my first story on here.

  What has happened to my life? Where did everything go wrong? So many questions, and yet never given the means to answer them. As I stare in the mirror, hooves trembling, bloodshot eyes stare into my soul. My eyes, recoiling from my own presence. I stare at the dark room surrounding me, and what I see fills me with such pain. The walls are cracked from being beaten, the rug on the floor threadbare. The lack of light in the room helps me think.

  When the changelings invaded Canterlot, my previous home was destroyed. All my memories taken with it. My only connection to my parents, gone. That's when it started. I sought refuge from the gasping lungs of the world, hiding in this run down cottage. With light, I cannot see, but here, I am free. Free from society, from the Princesses rule. From the thing that sickens me. All of my life, I have been alone, my life like a corpse, festering in an alleyway or backstreet, but I can't see. Not anymore. My parents had died in the changeling attack. The only possible thing I could find solace in was a wretched, tattered photograph that I salvaged, depicting my first ever bass guitar. Without it, I would have literally nothing. What desperate thoughts can these be?

  In my dreams, I see them, laying in puke and innards alike, their skin flayed. Broken bones smashed against the cobbled streets, fighting for their city. The sound of their screams resonates somewhere behind my forehead. I look at the picture of myself, and it fills me with terror, not fond nostalgia. What will I become, will I be a parasite? Surely the Princesses would help if they could. But then again, they failed to see the changeling queen, Chrysalis, beneath their very muzzles. My whole family, gone, strewn upon the blood soaked ground.

  Why does everything have to be so cheerful? It is a lie, a shadow of what life really is, manipulated and twisted to make it seem more lively. It pontificates on my very soul, smiling in triumph, as life rears its disgusting, putrid gaze to mine. It licks its lips, for it knows that it has won. We will all fall down, in a muddy, rotting hole, where only the true filth may be found. The stench is an intrusion to the nostrils, poking and prying to get in, to no avail, for I have seen so much worse. The fallout of Canterlot, the reconstruction, the events forever burned into my shattered, frail mind. Society projects an image, of collected ponies, trotting about to whatever business they may have. But behind it is decay, rot, and putrid content in every home. And the innocent, trying to look forward to later days, but all they find is cruel, disarming fate. Hooves will leave a mark, yes, but tragedy and destruction leave scars that will linger until the final breath.

  To me, all this happiness and joy, makes my stomach churn in sorrow, for I can never know these things again. My brother had been away for years, searching for the dragons, and we never heard from him. Then one day, we just gave up. That was a week before the changelings decimated the Royal Palace. The purple unicorn and her friends stopped them, but they were much too late. Destruction lie bleeding, tattered and maimed on the streets. The clattering of hooves rings in the air. It was but a whisper.

  I have heard tales of the unicorn, her name is Twilight Sparkle, one of the Elements Of Harmony. The late arrival of her and her friends filled my soul to the brim with rage. I ran. I ran until there was nowhere left to go, and I wound up here, in a place called Ponyville. Rather odd name, but it sufficed for years passed. I live a reclusive life, and occasionally I will see that pink one, with the poofy mane bounce by. It fills me with hope, that some still experience happiness.  Life is fragile, but others, at least, can continue it unfazed. They are stronger than I.

  I lay there, and watched the world crumble. I held my mother, as she lay dying in a pool of warm blood, and her dying breaths have stayed with me for these past years. My father was gone before I could find him. That thought haunts me, that I can never feel their hooves caress me, their warm smiles, welcoming any and all into their pottery shop. No longer...

  My childhood was banal. I had two friends, both of which moved on to other occupations, leaving me to wallow in self doubt. My cutie mark hadn't made an appearance, and my only passions were music and reading. One day, as I celebrated my seventeenth birthday, my dad gave me a shiny deep blue bass guitar. I strummed on it, and started singing. That was when my cutie mark appeared, a microphone and  a bass guitar in a cross shape. I was ecstatic. I later formed a band, and we had it all. And then my grandmother died. It left me full of sorrow for many years to come, but I'll never forget the day she died, for it was the catalyst of the events that led me here. I'll never feel her hooves tousle my hair again, never hear her gravelly voice sing to me.

I hit a depression stage shortly afterward. My hooves no longer worked, they trembled too much. My parents tried to console me, but they knew that my music days were over, just as much as I did. My guitar was most likely buried beneath the cascading rubble when the explosions started. I will miss it terribly, but at the very least I was able to use it, and it gave me such joy. Oh, if I could just feel that again, even just for a sliver of a moment. The innocence, lost in time, never to return.

Later in the year was the mass burial of all who were caught in the battle at Canterlot. My parents were buried beside each other, as is befitting a dead husband and wife. When it came time to pay respects, I took out the acoustic guitar I had made, and started playing. It was a melancholy tune, filled with loss, sadness, and most of all confusion. What did I do now? Where could I go from here, when all I loved was taken from me? I had no other family: or so I thought.

  In the Crystal Empire, lies my only surviving family member. He sent me a letter, and he said he would help me. But I know better. I know that once I step a hoof outside, I will be met with the festering, decaying filth of a world with no mercy. The only comfort that crosses my mind, is that of the deep, endless void, waiting for my time to come, so it can finally embrace me. Only then will I ever be happy again. My wife died after a miscarriage, and it broke my soul. Cut it down the middle, so the blood of my sorrow drenched the floor. I know it's too late for me, so this is why, when I am met by the Princesses on my death bed, I will have the last, dying laugh. Not even Discord could match it. Oh, he will be met with his match, for the thin piece of glass between sanity and liberation is ever so slightly cracking.

  The comforting thought of the inevitable end makes me smile, for the first time in many painful years. Oh my darling, I shall be with you soon, if fate smiles. If not, my last shred of sanity will diminish to nothing more than a piece of ash. My thoughts are only filled with her smile, her laugh, as I throw the rope above the beam. I am ready to meet the end, and I only hope that Celestia be there waiting to welcome me. Grabbing the chair, I steady myself, looking at the photograph in which I looked so immensely joyful. I tip the chair slightly...