The day was September 12th, 2290. And we were feasting that day. It wasn't time to weep or sorrow, no, that was tomorrow. But we would honor the likely innocent ponies and populace that Redstar torched hours ago. We were still rather shaken from our endeavor and our sodomite guest was worse for wear.

She chanced a glance over her shoulder every few minutes. Every few moments, I had to remind her how safe we were. I told her Celestia would never punish her for reform and that she was good and forgiving. I sawnher skepticism more than once.

But once we cooked, her heart opened and we were situated in Her graces. She'd never enjoyed a charitable meal before, she confessed to me. I asked her why and she simply said 'because nopony else treated me like a person.'

I stayed wordless and inefficiently lost in half-thoughts and countless pictoral theories of her life before. And I prayed for her. Because I was lucky. I was pampered. I felt my shame and thought it queer to be so numb to the troubles of the wastes.

Pain was learned. And though I felt it losing them, my tribe and loved ones, I felt godly pain. Mortal pain was for savages. I didn't cry for caps. I didn't cry for knowing. I cried for the others without and their godless lives, squandered by parents and business that sold them to slavery and Sodom.

I felt my hooves shaking just pondering it. I made the meals and I did it with them, the lost just like me. We were all children in her eyes. She had a plan for all of us, I rationalized, unabated in deep, existential fear of the unforgiving comsos.

I knew Celestia was good and great. But there were forces at work that weren't Celestian at all. I dropped a ladle I'd have used to scoop the stew with. I caught the pot from tilting and my left hoof was scorched in turn. It cursed and bit at me. But I stayed distant. It was only seconds before the pain set in but nothing felt vivid. Nothing felt natural. Tequila took a cleaning rag and stayed it for me, bracing the pot back in place.

I heard her weeping. I heard her sniffle and ache below speaking tone. She strangled the air from me and I held her loosely against the counter. We kissed and one more time, I was feeling again. I felt equine thanks to her. I told her I was sorry, to forgive me and my careless ways. She brushed my cheek and told me that I'd done alright.

Tequila and Carbon Copy took over the manual labor. I felt ashamed with idle hooves, but I directed them all the same. We were composing a traditional Roaming dish, as ironic as that was. But the Mother Goddess was good and she demanded tribute, if only by inequine grace and altruism. The Book of Luna said otherwise, but the Celestian Bible said she was a saint among saints. Her kindness was legendary and she begat the prodigal princess by virgin birth.

It was a fairytale, yes. But the more I reflected upon the grace of the mother godess, the more I saw... it was simply hope. It was simply faith that Equestria could learn once in blue moon, to host strangers properly and show them the good way.

I told Carbon Copy to shorten the balsamic vinegar and stir the honey in when it was. We grilled the porkchops shortly after and glazed them with honey vinegar sauce. I brushed them down myself with a sprig of rosemary from the botanical basement. I couldn't deny the unique and irresistable blend of oils hissing away on our scavenged grill. Twas foreign to my close-minded tastes and purely uniform pallete. I was used to clear-cut tastes and citrus flavors with overwhelming spice. I was never introduced to the concept of smokey, sweet and sour meat like pork loin agrodolce.

We topped the agrodolce pork chops with a traditional morcilla and a side of laverbread. The laverbread was an important meal not only to the rich seafarer population of Point Lookin, but the many parables and chapters of Twilight Sparkle, the prodigal scholar. It was fine and gelatinous with a hint of crumbly, crispy goodness from the associated bread fiber. I ate voraciously, thankfully. Tequila later noted I forgot to say grace but I hushed her lips and told her grace was in our meal.

Sadly, Celestia had other plans for me.

The others were eating in the relative comfort of their dining area and I was urged to inspect the entrance. I rose up and trotted over. And there, from the intellectually advantageous angle of the kitchen corner, I heard it. Somepony was bashing the front door down. I'd locked it countless times but somepony else dared to enter our temple to She. And I felt it deep inside, the innocuous urge to open it. What was more than two or three guests at the dinner table.

I did as I wished and presented myself.

Twas a man, his two daughters and a new daughter. He told me his name was Lots, short for Lots of Money. And he'd come to seek refuge from the outside storms of marsh-ridden Merryland. I hadn't noticed, none of us did, but the outside world was pouring down on us. He spoke to me with glistening tears and sobs of inexpected awe. He said 'bless you' and he said 'bless you all.' I held him loosely and told him to come inside. He'd break bread with us, I instructed, cautioning him to avoid loose floorboards and strange rubble.

One of his daughters wandered by the library and I deeply urged her to turn back. I even scooted her away from what was possibly the biggest miracle of her life. The tomes and texts of Caviar Mansion were not for the faint of heart. They jaded the ignorant to principles of numbers and geometries, frequent ribosome and chromosome shifts in the equine code. It was, for the lack of a better term, a place for scientists and skeptics. Though I advocated the joy of learning, growing up on facts and figures starved one of their childhood. It made one... eerily mature by the end of their studies.

We'd gathered round till I heard yet another knock at the entrance. I scoffed hard and lit a cigarette for my compense. Yet another guest. Why did everypony arrive on sacred holidays. I wanted tribe. Not gentiles and blasphemers. So I greeted. And there, beneath my gaze, were smugglers. One was scarred in many places. And he spoke by six men. He was armed with one lever action and one lumber axe. His associates were armed the same, but most were muscular and much more imposing than I'd ever seen.

"Is that tight bitch here?" He asked, leaning lazily against my doorframe.

"Describe to me this 'tight bitch.'" I answered, crossing my chest.

He chuckled and turned his head to the others. We were engaged at last. The greasy, sleazy villain before me had an evil look about him. His smile was wretched and aggravated me in countless summaries. In every orifice, in every meaning of the word 'disgust', I was plagued with judgement. It was him. It was Tequila's rapist.

"Short. Likes to scream. And tight as fuck. She took all of us and came every time, isn't that right boys...?"

I furrowed my brow. And I became ugly. I grit my teeth and crouched to pounce. His eyes grew wide and he stared me down with fear and shock. I would raze him. I would burn him like Sodom.

"Wh-whoa wh-what is it man, take it easy- I-I was just jokin'...!" He pleaded, shoving backwards into his men.

"You took my woman. You took my wife." I grained, low and furtive.

"Now I take you to Hel."

He fired. They all did. But I screamed and lit ablaze. The flame of gunfire struck me alight and I rushed them like great waters over ancient stones. I tackled him first and struck him blind. His eyes were mush and I bludgeoned his skull in till his cheeks were swollen. Till the bones so carefully shaped in Celestia's image were fragments of calcium, I struck him down. My head swirled. I was hot. I was so fucking hot and I raged my breath away in loud barks of unrefined hate.

"Veniat-!" I spoke in my trance.

"-sol et aestu!"

My voice rang deep and burned the ears of the Sodomites. They lit aflame and charred in mere moments. But the flames died down once the sixth was stricken. He and his wicked brothers had no breath to scream. Instead, they writhed on the grass of Eden and coward inside it like dumb animals.

They writhed like snakes and I too joined them with my belly low. But I did so to see them, to magnify my view of sweet, sweet vengeance. I was nearly collapsed from the spell I tongued. But I was almost alive. I was almost awake. I shambled over to the dead ones and ate their flesh. I ate them to fuel my resolve just as Mother said. And I took to heart the words she spoke that first day...

'I'm sorry you don't know who you are or who I am.'

I wretched in eating them. I barely had the resolve to eat them as was. But they were ponies. I was a pony, too. It felt innately disgusting and weird to consume my own. I binged bites and full-body tears through sick visions of mothers eating their young. I was being led astray. Mother knew best. Mother was caring for me when she died for her own flesh and blood. A soft crunch left my mouth and I ate the skin of Sodomites. They roasted shortly but I drooled, too. The fruit of bloodshed was the enemy. The enemy was my spoil.

I wiped my mouth and licked my chops. Because I was full. I wanted but I did not sin. Gluttony lay with Tequila. I craved her more than else. She was my fruit and my feast. The storm grew still and drizzled over them, they like ants on a sidewalk stepped on by indifferent titans and Chronos spawn. My insides were full and tight. And I retired to Caviar Mansion with the unconscious leader in my care. And I threw him down to the lowest levels. He would stay in Mr. Caviar's botanical basement.

And I... would join the others and say grace, for the bounty provided before me.

Celestia was good. And I was her child. I feasted just for her in the comfort of my tribe, us misguided and strange chileren. We ate till all was scraps and the porcelain we ate on grew streaked with grease and fork marks. I wished Tequila goodnight and Carbon Copy to stay out of the botanical basement. Because, I told her very well and clear, I had a slave down there.

The truth, her ignorant mind would never know, was much more severe than that.

Author's Note

Vengeance is the bane of mankind and peace. But is it so bad when vengeance is lit by careless fire and careless sparks.

What is best in life, eating to survive, or eating to taste?