Can I still get into heaven...
It'd been six days since the murder. An innocent bystander to a selfish blood lust. A bottle of AppleJack Daniels sits tipped over on the rug by a white suede couch that had been flipped to be used as a make shift barricade. A cigarette lazily hung from the pony behind the couches mouth, his eyes bloodshot and tired. There was shuffling behind the door but he payed no mind. He know who was here and why. He glanced down to the bottle. Scoffing, he struggled to his feet. Walking to the coffee table in front of where the couch was, he kneeled and picked something up. The glint from its cold steel reflected a brilliant silver.
The shouting behind the door increased in volume, they kept pleading for a peaceful solution but why? Why would they give him a peaceful solution when he took the life of one so young and undeserving of their untimely demise? He knew he couldn't come away from this with no repercussions. He looked down at the piece in his hoof. Angrily, he glared at it. "I hate you. You're the whole reason this happend! I wish I never got into this life." Tears began to drip from his muzzle, onto the piece. The cold steel apathetic to his plight. Shimmering the same brilliant silver as before. He looked on and saw his reflection. A shattered remnant of what once was.
Flashbacks to his childhood flooded his mind like a broken dam. His memories of his friends, playing hoofball, and going to school in north Las Pegasus. It was never easy, he worked hard for everything he got, growing up without a dad around those parts was more often than not a normality. He became the man of the house at an early age and got a job to support his mother. They still lost everything but they had each other.
When his mom died was when everything really went south. He went to drugs as a way to get away from the anguish. He became addicted and fell into the wrong groups. Doing horrible things just to feed his addiction. He thought often of his mother so he often used to escape the memories and the guilt of becoming something he knew his mother wouldn't be proud of.
He got clean a couple years later after overdosing and almost dying. Though he was clean, ponies can't just leave the life. The only way out after you learned everything was in a bag. He hated what he had become, and would rather die than keep living this life. But life doesn't always play the song we want it to. Not long after that he tryed to leave and was almost beaten to death by the leader for treason.
Being near death is an experience. Being in the twilight of life and death with the deafening silence blocking any outside interference. It puts things in perspective. He decided this was the last time something or somepony would dictate how he lived. He plotted against the leader, trying to figure out the best way to take him out and get himself as far away from this pathetic excuse for a life.
He saw him. Standing at a bus stop, blocked from the rainfall thanks the the small roof over head. Cloaking himself in the nights embrace, he studied him. Invisible thanks to the night and rain he decided now was the time. Pulling out his pistol, he aimed and fired four times. The smoke cleared and his target wasn't there. Instead, the lifeless body of another in his place.
He remembered it perfectly. The way the blood pooled around the dead pony's head like a halo. The feeling of remorse and sickness overwhelming, he ran. He ran back to the hotel he was staying at, not pausing for anything. He his and cried for a long time.
Banging on the door brought him to reality. They could have kicked in the door, but knew the gun was still with him, the one he'd already used, so they feared what he'd do. They keep trying to reason with him, preaching hope and forgiveness, saying there's always a chance. It was to much, he felt his world collapsing, and tears streamed down his face. "Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself? Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself?! Can I ever be forgived because I killed that colt?! It was an accident, I swear it wasn't meant for him! And if I turn it on me, if I even it out, can I still get in or will they send me to hell? Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself?!" He pressed the pistol against his head, cocked and primed, ready to answer his question. They doors blew open.
