Insanitys spewed out like Truth
Pinkie pie sat in a metal chair. Her hooves chained to the table in front of her. She starred at her reflection within the polished metal of the table.
Her hair was darker in comparison to its natural poofy hue. Her hair hung flat and lifeless to the side of her head. Her eyes showed that of a mad mare within their deep blue depths.
Her eyes wandered around the room she was in. large cold concrete walls surrounded almost every side of her. The wall on her left however was slit I half. The bottom portion matching with the other cold walls in both color and material. But the top half was like that of a large mirror.
She glanced at her reflection but she couldn’t dare to look at herself fully. She scared herself.
* Clang *
She looked to the large steel door adjacent to the large mirror and saw two officer’s standing in front of the door. One was pale unicorn.
She had a coffee brown mane and large dark green eyes. Her cutie mark was of that of a star. She was holing a cup of what pinkie assumed to be coffee in her magic.
The second officer was a very pale pinkish white and she had blue hair with pink and green highlights. She had green and blue eyes one had a strange symbol inside. She looked to be a Pegasus? No she was holding keys and a clipboard in her magic. But she had no horn.
Before pinkie could ponder any longer the door had opened and the two officers walked in. They sat in two chairs that were placed on the other side of the table.
“I’m officer mocha” Said the mare to her left as she began to intro duce themselves. “And this is our chief phycologist Heartwick” she said as the seconded mare looked up at pinkie and began to right notes in her clip board.
“Oh she can go!” said pinkie in her ever chipper voice. The mare on the right looked back up at her and continued writing. “Why do you say that?” Heartwick asked in a monotone and calm voice.
“Because I’m not a madmare silly!” pinkie said still chipper.
“I see” she replied to the pink mare before scribbling down more notes.
“Let’s get to the point” said mocha before she brought out a tape recorder.
Can you please tell us what happened on your side of the story Ms. Diane Pie?” Mocha asked
And pinkie began her tale.
* * * * * * *
TRUE! -- Nervous -- very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am, but why will you say that I am mad?
The disease has only sharpened my senses.
Not destroyed nor dulled them.
Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth.
I heard many things in hell.
How, then, am I mad? Heck no! And observe how healthily and how calmly I can tell you the whole story.
But is impossible to say how first the idea entered my Mind. But once conceived, it haunted me day and night.
Object there was none. Passion there was none.
I loved her.
She had never wronged me. She had never given me insult. For her bits I had no desire.
I think it was her eyes! Yes, it was this!
She had the eyes of a vulture --a deep bloody maroon.
Whenever they fell upon me, my blood ran hot; and so by degrees -- very gradually --I made up my mind to take the life of my dear friend, and thus rid myself of the eyes forever.
Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmares know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded --with what caution --with what foresight --with what dissimulation I went to work!
I was never kinder to her than during the whole week before I killed her. She had been staying with me whilst her house was being re-built for a large storm had decimated it.
And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of h door and opened it --oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head.
Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly --very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb my best friends sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see her as she lay upon the bed.
Ha! --would a mad pony have been as wise as this? And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously --oh, so cautiously --cautiously (for the hinges creaked) --I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye’s.
And this I did for seven long nights --every night just at midnight --but I found the eye’s always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not her who vexed me, but those Evil Eye’s.
And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously to her, calling her by name in a joyous tone, and inquiring how she has passed the night.
So you see she would have been a very profound mare, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon her while she slept.
Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. A watch's minute hand moves more quickly than my hoof did.
Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers --of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph.
To think that there I was, opening the door, little by little, and she not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea; and perhaps she heard me; for she moved on the bed suddenly, as if startled.
Now you may think that I drew back --but no. this room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness, (for the shutters were close fastened, through fear of robbers,) and so I knew that she could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.
I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my hoof slipped upon the tin fastening, and my friend sprang up in bed, crying out --"Who's there?" in her raspy voice.
I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear her lie down. She was still sitting up in the bed listening; --just as I have done, night after night, hearkening to the death watches in the wall.
Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief --oh, no! --it was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe.
I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well.
I knew what the poor mare felt, and pitied her, although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise, when he had turned in the bed.
Her fears had been ever since growing upon her. She had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to herself --"It is nothing but the wind in the chimney --it is only a mouse crossing the floor," or "It is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp."
Yes, she had been trying to comfort herself with these suppositions: but she had found all in vain. All in vain; because Death, in approaching her had stalked with his black shadow before him, and enveloped the victim.
And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused her to feel --although she neither saw nor heard --to feel the presence of my head within the room.
When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing her lie down, I resolved to open a little --a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it --you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily --until, at length a single dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from out the crevice and fell full upon one of the vulture eyes.
They were open --wide, wide open --and I grew furious as I gazed upon them. I saw it with perfect distinctness --all a sharp red, the swirling bloodshot eye chilled the very marrow in my bones; but I could see nothing else of the mares face or person: for I had directed the ray as if by instinct, precisely upon the damned spot.
And have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over acuteness of the senses? --now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton.
I knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the poor mare’s heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.
But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye.
Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder every instant. The terror must have been extreme for her! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! --do you mark me well?
I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old bakery, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror.
Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me --the sound would be heard by a neighbor! The mare’s hour had come!
With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. She shrieked once --once only. In an instant I dragged her to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over her. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done.
But, for many minutes, the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased.
My friend was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, she was stone, stone dead. I placed my hoof upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. She was stone dead. Her eyes would trouble me no more.
If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs.
I then took up three batches of cake batter from the kitchen of the bakery, and mixed finely chopped pieces of the flesh in quite well. I then replaced the batter so cleverly, so cunningly, in the oven that no pony’s eye -- not even hers --could have detected anything wrong.
Not even the cakes.
There was nothing to wash out --no stain of any kind --no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub had caught all --ha! Ha!
When I had made an end of these labors, it was four o'clock --still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the front door. I went down to open it with a light heart, --for what had I now to fear?
There entered three stallions, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbor during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises.
I smiled, --for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. Dashy, I mentioned, was absent at the Wonderbolts academy. I took my visitors all over the house.
I bade them search --search well. I led them, at length, to her chamber. I showed them her treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought them into the kitchen and showed them of my cooking, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, I offer them a bite.
The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat, and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things as they took bites of the splendid cakes freshly baked and frosted.
But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but still they sat and still chatted and ate. The ringing became more distinct: --it continued and became more distinct: I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definiteness --until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears.
No doubt I now grew very pale; --but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased --and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound --much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton.
I gasped for breath -- and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly --more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone?
I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the stallions -- but the noise steadily increased. Oh Godess! What could I do? I foamed --I raved --I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased.
It grew louder --louder --louder! And still the stallions chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty Godess! --no, no! They heard! --they suspected! --they knew! --they were making a mockery of my horror! --this I thought, and this I think.
But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! --And now --again! --hark! Louder! Louder! Louder! Louder! --
"Villains!" I shrieked, "Dissemble no more! I admit the deed! --tear up the cakes! --here, here! --it is the beating of her hideous heart!"
* * * * * * *
Pinkie took a deep long breath as she finished her story, her eyes wide with fear her body shaking violently as she gasped for air in her mentally induced horror.
“Shhhh… it’s okay just take deep breaths” The mare on the right cooed in a motherly tone.
Pinkie sat there her shaking becoming less ramped and her breathing slow yet her eyes were still wide open. She looked up at the officers a large gapping smile cut itself into her face.
“IM NOT MAD I TELL YOU!” She shrieked with panicked and pained laughter as she cried. Her mind turning onto itself as she shook violently once more.
The mare on the right scribble down a few last note’s before nodding to her partner.
As the took there leave the shrieking only grew louder as the pinkie mare pulled on her bonds violently as she laughed and cried at the same time.
“DASHY FORGIVE ME” she screamed....this lasted for an hour
Author's Note
I know that the "cupcake" story has been battered and bruised but I don't care
