Death Rides A Pony

Twilight Sparkle. Twilight Sparkle.

She woke up the way she tended to wake up these days, her mane squished to one side, her horn poking against the left hand wall in her bedroom, the place smelled of paperbacks and sap and that's how she liked it.

Twilight Sparkle hadn't woken up the way she would like to. A colt beside her lovingly stroking her mane whispering words from Tolstoy in her ears and talking of her dear Princess Celestia.

Spike however woke up a different way. He was being torn limb from limb by interdimensional monsters, his screams couldn't be heard from the room over because his screams were localized a dimension away, not a distance but a concept.

His wails were echoing in the chamber of the mind but couldn't pierce the drywall. Spike had dabbled with the forces of the occult before but not like this, this was different. Spike, much like Tom Hanks in the film Big, yearned to be larger. He thought he could woo Rarity and numerous other pretty little horses by breaking the maligned 5 foot 11 inches mark. In attempting a beginner level incantation, he accidentally found himself in the plot of the popular computer game Doom.

His cry for help became a cry of agony. Claws and tendrils pierced his scaly exterior and burrowed through his organs, laughter rang from all sides. The creatures, horrific and grotesque hoped to sap his essence, maybe they could cross the dimensional threshold and partake in horse misadventures, maybe they could trot that plot that Spike hoped to for years and years.

Spike, in his last moments thought of Rarity. He remembered her long hind legs, her defined plot, the thickness of her flank and her immaculate hide. This hard on, throbbing and misshapen would be Spike's last.

'This dragon's getting a woody from the shit' one of the monsters proclaimed, pointing to the dragon's member. 'Ey, you getting' off on this?'

'Why are you dimensional superbeings doing this? Why me? I'm just a baby dragon man, I'm not hurting anyone – I just wanted to grow, I'm tired of being a friend zoned manlet, a fucking cuck. You must be able to relate...'

The words, panicked and desperate found their way through gasps and coughs, Spike was in shock. Blood and bile foamed over his bottom jaw.
'I can't' the monster whispered in his ear 'I'm 6'1 nigga.'

And everything went black.

Thomas Ruggles Pynchon Jr, is an American novelist. Studying at MacArthur, Pynchon is best known for his dense works of fiction that walk the line of being esoteric and being poignant pictures of a then new and troubled America.

Twilight Sparkle rolled out of her inflatable bed and yawned a final yawn. She was ready to tackle the day and do some good research, that which would benefit pony and critter alike.

'Spike! Get up sleepyscales. I need my number one assistant up and ready to work' Twilight had manipulated the child for years now, having him do manual labour she could accomplish effortlessly with her powers. She liked the idea of Spike, assistant, acting footstool getting her things and liking every minute of it.

She hid her subjugation of Spike behind the guise of friendship when in fact she was a cold domineering horse beast. Her ascent to regality only furthered her iron hoofed ambition. Her piqued inflection, her wide eyes, these were textbook traits of a horsiopath.

A knock. Another. She found herself growing aggravated with the baby dragon's sloth. This was her time he was misusing. 'Come on Spike. Baby dragons only really need 6 hours of sleep. Get up.' Her tone shifted from motherly to commanding, cold and harsh.

'Listen—' Twilight teleported into the room ready to berate Spike, possibly eliminating meals for the day, she found a heap of flesh, pounded sinew and tissue where the dragon once lay. 'Dear sweet Celestia...'

'I have to buy a new dragon.'