I see them outside. I hear the children playing, but it fills me with sorrow, not joy. I know what they will become, and what they will do. Criminals, vagabonds, thieves, cutthroats, and martyrs, the lot of them. They do not realize this yet, but they will.
All my life, darkness has followed me, held me. It creates a cradle, embracing me in its folds. It welcomes me, and feeds me. The darkness in my soul feeds off of the creeping evil, for I know many things. For there to be Good, there must be Evil, Light and Dark. Many choose the former, but I indulge not only the light, but the black void within myself. Nopony else understands, especially not Twilight Sparkle or her friends. They're blind to this fact, but Discord is not. He too, knows both must, and will, coexist.
As I slide the blade along my hooves, my thoughts go back to them. My family despised me, I was too different. I saw things they didn't, I thought about their ideas, instead of going along with them. I didn't conform to their way of thinking. But I knew, one day, they would beg for me to forgive them. After years, they finally saw the truth, and came to me for guidance. I laughed at them, spitting in their faces. They disgraced me, threw mud into my eyes, and beat me for my differences. And I was supposed to forgive them? Never.
I slide the knife again, the warm blood running onto the floor. The black, cracked walls around me bring comfort. Five lonely candles sit on the floor, and in the middle lays a star. A six cornered star. Fools confuse pentacles, a sign of the five elements, for the pentagrams, a sign of Beelzebub himself. I wear both around my neck, and a two way cross on my chest, carved into my flesh. I think of my childhood.
I was always the quiet, self aware social outcast, huddled in a corner. I didn't have friends, and I didn't get many of the things I needed. In school, I was constantly bullied. The teacher did nothing to help, but instead had me standing by the perpetrators at lunch. They did nothing to help, so I took some steps I shouldn't have. At recess, one day, I walked up to the bullies, and hit them both in the face with a large board. They both needed the hospital, but I felt alive. I had finally finished their reign of insufferable torture.
Of course, my mother had me pulled from school. She took me to see doctors, and they diagnosed me with ADHD and Asperger's Syndrome. This provided more complications than before, and we found out that I had severe pareidolia. I saw faces and patterns in all things, and this frightened my family. They called me a freak, and a monster. I didn't know why, at the time, but it was the turning point. I ran, I ran until my legs could work no longer. And I was back at my house. I opened the door, and ran to my mother. She wept, and I joined her. To this day, my mom, cousins and my uncle have been the only surviving members of my family that accept and love me. I reciprocate this as much as I can, and lived for a long time in their shelter.
Then, I discovered my sexuality. I liked both colts and mares, and when my family found out, they shunned my very existence. As always, only my mother, uncle and cousins accepted this. They loved me, and I loved them. But society hated me.
I was always labeled a freak, an outcast, an abomination towards my family's name. My teenage years came around, and I fell in love. Her eyes, her smile, her laugh, and her overall personality drew me to her. We had an awkward first meeting, but soon hit it off. We dated for months, and decided the next step would be telling our families. But that day, her job called her to an assignment over in Trottingham, and that was the last we ever saw of each other, though we still keep in contact.
I'm sixteen now, and everything despises my very existence. I have been bled, regurgitated, spat, and defecated on, and I see no escape. Death would only bring sorrow to my loved ones, though it would certainly bring me sanctuary. I do, however, find solace in writing songs, poetry, and stories. I have shown these to my real family, and they are proud. I don't see why, as they are mediocre, but I accept their decisions, as they do mine.
I cut again, then again, then again. It fills me with joy, knowing I still feel. I can say I know far more than most my age, as they only care about mares and money. I pity them, for they know not what shall happen in later days. They call me a genocidal maniac, but they see not the victim I hold. I laugh, and it turns into a maniacal rhythm of uncontrollable giggling. I stumble around the room, continuing my laugh. I can't stop, and soon my eyes flash red. I see my other friends. My rope, my knife, and my glorious dagger, encrusted with emeralds and rubies.
Holding my head, as I stumble about the room, cackling endlessly, I happen across a photo. Faded, torn, and battered. It depicts my love, flowers in her hair. She died yesterday, an accident at her workplace. She had been moving boxes of food for homeless ponies, and a truck had run her over. The news hit me like an anvil, tearing my soul apart. I'm alone now. My love is dead and nopony else would care enough.
I cut again, and continue to laugh. I care about nothing anymore, as nothing can fix it, any of it. Only pain brings me comfort, and only silence brings me joy. Deafening silence, filling my ears with nothing. Outside, thunder claps, and I look out of the window. A lone filly stands there, crying. Everypony else has left her. Queen Chrysalis would be happy, this filly seems to be crying for her mother. Such love is untainted, and perfect for feeding. Princess Luna, if you visit my dreams tonight, I'll be waiting. If you can't make my pain end, even temporarily, then all hope is lost for me. I cut for the last time, and my laughter unending fills the room, and the last of my strength fails me.
