A Night In Canterlot
It was a cold, lonely night, somewhere at the end of winter when a great stallion died. With every squeeze of the trigger, a little light faded from the world, and Canterlot was left dimmer for it. It didn't even bother to rain.
I ran through the dark, twisted streets of southern Canterlot, losing myself in the expanse of its narrow corridors and decrepit buildings. I tried not to smile as the whole of the Canterlot guard failed to pursue me, and withing minutes I was little but a memory to them. I ducked into a nearby alley, leaning over to catch my breath. It took me a few moments to gather myself, and I could hardly wait to say aloud what I'd been thinking the whole way back from Canterlot Castle.
"I killed Fancy Pants."
Just saying those words and knowing that they carried any real meaning was still surreal to me. The look in his eyes when I pulled the trigger, that look when the lights faded out of them forever was burned in my mind. Those few fleeting seconds bore more weight to me than entire weeks of plotting could manage on their own. With the flick of my magic, I'd ended the life of one of the most powerful stallions in Equestria, and I'd hardly felt a thing.
I opened my saddlebags and reached for the revolver. A little pressure on the clasp and the cylinder popped out. I counted four dimples; four spent cases. I'd shot him four times, enjoying every bullet as they turned his pretty little pace int--
"Are you alright?"
I nearly shot the old hag on the spot.
"What?" I asked, turning to face the mare in question. She lay back on her bed of newspapers, dirty and grimy, her once amber coat now closer to a shade of brown.
I could see ribs underneath her fur.
"Are you alright?" she reiterated, a frown on her face.
A part of me knew that standing there with what amounted to a smoking gun meant I'd be better off silencing her, and I could almost do it. Still, a part of me thought of myself as a good stallion, and I didn't have the nerve. Rich pigs was one thing, but killing some homeless pony in an alleyway was low even for me.
I saw the light dawn in her eyes as she spotted the gun I was holding. She frowned, looking at the weapon a little closer, taking in the details one by one.
"Why'd you kill him?" she finally asked.
I didn't question why she knew I'd done it. I didn't even think to ask.
"He was rich."
"What does that have to do with anything?" She scowled. I could see her teeth flash, and for a moment I thought I saw one fall out of her gums.
"I thought the answer would be obvious." I looked her up and down, and I swore I almost spotted a blush underneath all the grime.
"How does his being rich make me any less poor?" she responded. "More importantly, what did killing him change?"
"Well, it's one less little piggy eating off of the plates of ponies who work harder in a day than he has in his entire life," I responded with a scowl. "If for nothing else, there's one less rich cunt out there sucking off of everyone else."
"Really? And you think that by snuffing out the poor stallions life, you've somehow changed the world?" The old hag's face took on a sterner continence. "All you've managed to do is poke the ants nest, and nobody is any richer for it."
"Oh yeah?! And what makes you such a great fucking expert about all of this?!" I knew I had no place yelling at some old mare, but I couldn't help myself. I could feel my blood spike as my breaths came out in more ragged, uneven intervals. "Tell me, old witch; what makes you so wise, so inexplicably brilliant that you'd know what the fuck you're talking about with this? Tell me how some tired old rag like you can sit there starving in some streetside alleyway and still have the utter gall to tell me what I did was wrong!"
"Then you tell me, boy," she responded with a sneer. "What do you know of all of this? What makes you such a great arbiter for who lives and who dies? What hellish bloodline spawned someone like you that you in all your mortal vanity can determine the fate of someone else so callously?"
"J-just shut the fuck up!"
"You didn't know what you were doing when you killed him, did you? You didn't do it for justice, nor even revenge." I watched in fascinated horror as her lips curled back in a sinister fashion, gnarled old teeth taking on a menacing appearance as her toothy grin took shape. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
"No," she said with a cackle. "You did because it felt good."
"That's not true!" I shouted.
"Isn't it, though? Use your brain, boy. You knew who he was. You knew that he had nothing to do with the shitty excuse of a life you've lead. And you killed him anyways. You could've killed any number of other rich suits out there, but you chose the one pony in Canterlot in such a station that didn't abuse his power. Why?"
"I-I..."
I didn't know what to say. What could I really tell her that she didn't already seem to know? That I'd murdered the stallion out of spite? That my entire motivation came from seeing some lucky buck with a beautiful wife living such a happy life when mine was so horrible? How do you put to words that feeling in your stomach when you see something you want and yet can never have?
"I don't know."
Hearing those words come out of my own mouth made me want to vomit. I know who I am. I know what I want and how to get it. How could she so easily throw me off balance like that?
"I guess..." I took a deep breath. "I guess I wanted change."
"It was a stupid idea, then."
"How so?"
"Open your eyes, boy. Where are we?"
I followed the mare's gesture and looked around the sorry dripping excuse for a gutter we were in. The more I looked at it, the more it turned my stomach.
"In a back alleyway."
"Yes. And where would you be if you hadn't killed him?"
I didn't want to answer that.
"You're nowhere closer to where you want to be than where you were when you started." The mare met me square in the eyes, and I could swear that, for a moment at least, I could see the fires of hell itself in them. "You didn't kill him to fix anything, boy. You killed him because you were jealous. You wanted what he had, coveted it in that relentless fashion that only an uneducated imbecile like yourself can achieve. You want his life, boy? You can't take it. You snuffed it out, but it's still not yours. All you managed to do was end it."
"Then what was I supposed to do?"
"Not shoot him on a whim, for one. You could try looking in a mirror and asking yourself why you aren't where he is and look for your own weaknesses rather than shifting the blame on someone else. That's a start."
"I don't--"
"Don't give me that. You know what you need to do."
I did. Deep down, I knew who was responsible for my life. And here this old mare was, telling me what should've been obvious to me from the outset. I let out a deep breath, shuddering at the implications of what she'd said.
It took me a moment to realize that I'd been holding the murder weapon pointed at her chest this whole time. I gently eased the hammer into rest, and slowly lowered it. With a quiet reverence, I put it back in my saddlebags.
"There," she said. "Was that so hard?"
"Not really." I smiled at her. "You know, I'll give it a go. For real, this time."
And she smiled back. Despite all of the dirt, all of the yucky mess that was smeared liberally on her face, she almost looked beautiful. Our eyes met, and little more needed saying.
"You do that, boy, and I'll be a happy old mare."
I turned around to leave, and in some small way I felt like something was different. Something in the air. I'd almost made my way to the front of the alley when she finally stopped me.
"Oh, and one more thing."
Something about her voice was off. More refined, less haggard. I slowly turned around to look at her. Our eyes met, and she spoke.
"If you ever murder one of my subjects again, I won't be so forgiving."
I nodded my head and walked out into the night. In all of it's strangeness, maybe I'd learned something after all.
~ Fin ~
