Maybe he just wants to hang out...
Author's Note
It's short, I know, and there's literally no vomit in it at all. Sorry to disappoint.
But I actually kinda enjoyed writing this.
Maybe he just wants to hang out...
The days have passed slowly since you came here. Each one has been more tedious than the one before, and it weighs on you heavily. You shouldn't be in this land. You shouldn't be in this situation. You miss your home, your old life, some semblance of reality. A man can only go for so long being around adorable pastel ponies before he just snaps. The saccharine words, the random music wafting through the breeze, the lack of any significant change. It should be a paradise, but instead it feel like a monotonous, never ending, squeaky-clean hell.
There are always happy endings here, intolerably often and usually musical. Well, you know for sure you won’t have a happy ending since you’re stuck here. And as you sit here this way too hot summer day, you feel stretched to the point of breaking. You can feel that you've held out as long as you can. Today is the day.
The clouds float lazily overhead, the grass presses up against your profusely sweating palms. A world in artificial feeling technicolor spreads out before you, lilting music threaded through the occasional gust of wind.
You hate it. All of it.
With a heavy sigh you rise to your feet and dust off your tattered pants. It's time. It’s been time for quite a while, but today you’ll act. You have to.
Twilight sees you coming from the door of the library, and greets you with a warm smile.
“Good Afternoon, Anon,” she says brightly. “Enjoying the sunny weather?”
“No. I want everyone and everything to die in a giant unavoidable explosion and from the subsequent radiation mutations that would surely follow. Especially this day.”
“Well that's good,” she says, just as brightly, as if she didn't hear your answer.
You noticed long ago that ponies don't notice any sort of assholishness here. Honestly, they just don't seem to hear it, like there's a mental block against anything to serious or adult. Sure, they get sad sometimes, and there are occasional issues to deal with, but if anything too dark comes up, they just don't see it. It isn’t there, it doesn’t exist, and they carry on as if things hadn’t happened.
You even shoved kitchen appliances up Spike's ass till it looked like he was pregnant with a porcupine, and he just smiled and giggled like a twink the whole time. Really took the fun out of it.
You're not sure if they don't want to see it, or if they're just genuinely unable. It's like this place was made only for the eyes of sensitive, naive, easily-triggered children, and you are definitely too old for this shit. As you muse over all this, trying to figure out the best methods of getting your day’s goal accomplished, an idea strikes you. You turn to Twilight with a sullen, life-hating expression and look her smiling face squarely in the eyes. She grins back.
“Twilight?”
“Yes?”
“I hate my life here, I hate everything in this place. I hate all of you horrible misshapen pastel creatures, and I'm going to go inside and kill myself now.”
She continues to smile, and doesn't even flinch.
“It IS nice weather today, isn't it?” she says.
Yep, fucking nothing. It's like anything inappropriate you say is censored by some unseen corporate hand. Another idea occurs to you.
“Twilight...would you like to help me do it?”
She brightens at the word “help.” Through the delusional brightness, it seems to ring clear as a bell and hit her right in the colorful sparkly magic feelings.
“Help? Why of course, Anon! What are friends for?”
“I wouldn't know. I hate all of you faggots, remember?”
“No need to thank me.”
“I wasn't, you grape-colored cunt.”
She smiles and blushes slightly.
“Oh Anon, you're so sweet.”
Pathetic.
You gesture her inside with only your middle finger and she gives a little bow as she goes in. Once inside, you ask her for a rope and she retrieves one without question. You don't even thank her as you order her to tie it tightly around the stair railing like a cruel dictator to a pedantic jester. She just obliges cheerily.
“Oh, are you going to be hanging flowers or banners?”
“I'll be hanging something.”
“Oh good, I can't wait.”
“Me neither. Now hurry up or I'll stick my god damn cock up your urethra."
"No, I've got it, but thanks for offering to help, Anon, you're the best."
"Please drown in a bathtub full of leeches and syringes."
As she finishes up, you emotionlessly tie the other end of the rope into a noose and pull over a chair. She watches you with curiosity, but not much concern, as you stand on the chair and slip your head into the noose. Obviously, the suicide is too dark for this place to comprehend. She probably sees you hanging up some artistic beauty instead. Maybe a nice dangling flower vase.
“Hey Cunt.”
“Yes, Anon?”
“I'm going to put this rope around my neck and tighten it. Then I need you to put this chair back where it was.”
“But you're standing on it.”
“I know that you fucking idiot. Put it back anyway, pull it out from under me to do it.”
She stares at you dumbly, still smiling as if you’d said nothing and had just made sweet dove cooing noises at her. You let out a frustrated sigh.
“It would help me ever so much,” you say with as much force and sweetness as you can manage.
Again, she brightens at the magical word ‘help’.
“Of course, anything for you.”
You watch her, almost amused, as she readies to kill you. This is the ultimate fuck you to this forcedly happy simplistic world, you decide. You've gotten Twilight to agree to kill you, and she has no fucking idea. In fact, she’s enjoying herself. At least this is one bit of amusement before you go. Twilight’s horn glows as the chair also lights up a faint, magical purple below you.
“Ready?” she asks cheerfully.
You nod.
“But first,” you say officially, using your very best public speaking voice. “Fuck this place. Fuck you. And fuck whatever makes you think you're doing something good right now. Fuck this G rated bullshit, I hope you someday realize what you've done and that it hurts you inside for the rest of your life. I hope a bear rapes and kills you, then shits you out all over Equestria. I hope trees grow from it and that Applejack fucks her ass with them and then dies from a ruptured colon. I hope you suffer till the day you die and even after that. And fuck whatever god or master made this place. They can all suck my dick, because this world is nothing but fucking watered down kindergarten bullshit. Now do, it you little lilac cumdump.”
You extend a middle finger as Twilight swiftly removes the chair out from under your body and you fall downward, stopping short with a sharp crack. Your hand falls to your side, limp, and the obscene gesture fades.
Twilight regards your swinging body with a broad smile.
“Oh,” she says gleefully. “Whenever did this amazing Celestia banner get hung here? I'll have to show it to Anon when he visits!”
Your suicide was graphic, well planned and orchestrated, and made a vicious statement about life in Equestria and how happiness is not always achieved through sunshine and smiles. But the powers that be rule with an iron fist. Nothing so inappropriate as your suicide is allowed to exist in this happy wonderful place.
Which is why all traces of you will be cut from this weekend's episode.
Hasbro. Always. Wins.
-End-
