Aforementioned Disability: A Large Set of Unfinished Stories

Such a vacant space, smelling of decaying blood and having no trace of any light. The darkness was so unbearably dark as if living inside a empty black hole. A sudden groan and then there was a loud bang of metal crashing into the floor. A squeaking came up in the quiet silence of the room. A little flame sprung out from a glass lamp atop of an old wooden table splattered with traces of blood and pieces of bone. A disheveled maned pink-pony turned the tiny turner on the glass lamp, growing the fire until there was enough light to see comfortably. Pinkamena grunted, applying her strength on the table to set herself some stability.

She breathed hastily, the air so cold in the air that it chilled her lungs. She picked up the metal handle of the bright lamp with her mouth and searched her familiar surroundings. The first thing that caught her eye was the open toolbox that was filled with her instruments of horrible decapitation and general monstrosity. A few differing knifes with different purposes and hammers for breaking down matter were scattered across the floor. She first picked up the toolbox and set it atop of the table, setting it upright while leaving its top open.

She went towards the floor and picked up the first knife's base to eye point. The reflection of the blade showcased her sombre self with a splotch of crusted red covering where her eye would be. She picked up the rest of the scattered blades and hammers, placing them in its allotted place. Leaving the toolbox in its place, Pinkamena looked around her room to notice her bed, locker, shovel, and refrigerator situated where they always were in the little cabin she was in.