And it's not as fun as it seems.
Saturday night, around 11:30pm. Two ponies were walking home from a recently-built dance hall that was celebrating its grand opening. They were tuckered out from the vigorous exercise that had not had in a while. One was a middle-aged stallion with light brown hair, a soft green mane, and a cutie mark that looked like the face of a happy, cute Antarctic bird. The other was a slightly younger mare with royal blue hair, silver mane, and an odd cutie mark consisting of three concentric circles of various shades of purple. She wore thick glasses over her electric green eyes.
The stallion turned to his wife and said, "Wow, Beamy, I never knew you had those fancy moves in you all this time!" Beamy blushed and said, "Oh, Penguin, don't tell me you don't remember that dance we had on our wedding day!" Penguin looked up at the partly-cloudy black sky and said, "Come to think of it, I do. You wanted to dance with me more then, I was young and HOT!" He pumped his eyebrows up and down in Beamy's face. She giggled and said, "Get out! You'll always be young and hot in my eyes."
Such a sweet moment. So heartfelt and loving. Penguin said, "Same to you, my precious honey blossom." "I know," Beamy said, apparently taking no notice of the previous comment. "Why don't we head over th Sugarcube Corner and get a shake? I heard that Pinkie Pie is working an extra shift tonight." "Great idea!" the stallion changed course. "Let's get one, but with two straws!"
Damn them to hell. They were just within range. I would have to move. Again. Why the hell is it so hard to make a good kill these days?
"Sugarcube Corner, what a wonderful phrase," the couple started to sing. It sounded like that one song from that old Disponey movie, The Dragon King. Celestia, I hated that shit. All wholesome and whatnot. Give me a good slasher film any day. "It means no worries, for the rest of your days. It's our problem free, good spot to eat, Sugarcube Corner."
I slunk around the corner of a thatcher hut. These seemed to be the state-of-the-art house model in Ponyville. They looked like heaps of disgusting garbage, especially to city folk like me. Growing up in North Fillydelphia, I was used to big buildings made of steel, glass, modern shit, but this place looked as primitive as cavepony dwellings.
The couple kept singing their idiotic song, which made me start to wonder if they were intoxicated. They had no cares in the world, no notice that they were being stalked. I was hunting them down, following their every move, my hooves never making a sound. I took great joy in doing this, but some days I did it out of habit instead of personal gratification. As soon as I laid eyes on them, I knew they would be the perfect candidates for my first victims in Ponyville. Whether they were aware of my previous massacres in Las Pegasus, Baltimare, and Manehattan, I had no clue. But they would be the start of a brand new trend.
I hit a trash can lid, causing them to stop their moronic caterwauling and look in my direction. What had I done?
"Holy cuntbusters," Penguin yelled, terror rising in his voice. "Penguin, language," Beamy scolded him. "We don't want phrases like that to rub off on our children."
"Honey, our children are over twenty years old. I'm sure they can handle a little profanity."
"But still, it makes you seem uneducated."
"Alright, fine, but what the f-f-heck was that sound?"
"Penguin, you silly goon. It was probably an insect, sniffing around the garbage cans for a midnight snack like us."
"Oh, you think so?" His smile returned. "Well then, what's there to worry about?"
They resumed their cacophonous yelling. It was incredibly painful to hear, especially for those of us who can tell exactly how tonedeaf they were. I was receiving lots of motivation to stop them in their tracks, but I hatched a better plan. I followed them to the restaurant, and watched them sit down at the bar stools. The Pinkie Pie mare hopped out of the kitchen and greeted them. I sunk down to the ground and put my ear to the wall to hear what they were saying.
"It's been kinda slow, but I was cheerful anyway!"
"Oh Pinkie Pie, we just love someone who loves happiness!"
"Yes, happiness is a wonderful thing to bread around! Er, spread around! That's what I meant."
I sighed. They were definitely drunk. It kind of took the pleasure away from killing them, but fuck it, I wanted them to be my first.
"One barley-grain milkshake, coming right up!" Pinkie Pie's voice rang out once more. Barley-grain. Who the hell even drinks those anymore? I'd rather have a swig of some strong vodka. But then it hit me. I could make my kill anyway. I sneaked around the building, to the electrical fuse box. I pushed down the lever, and all the lights in the building went off. I was pleased.
A high-pitched voice sounded right next to me. "Hey mister? What are you doing with the lights?!" Pinkie Pie was standing no more than five feet away from me.
Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.
I restored my body from its system shock, then put on a convincing friendly everyday-Joe voice. "I'm sorry Miss Pinkie Pie, I'm the guy from the electric company, and they sent me here to make sure the fuse box was a-ok."
Pinkie Pie stared at me blankly for a few seconds, then said, "Okie-dokie-lokie. I wanna watch you change it!" Holy fucking shit, the whole world was against me tonight. "Ok then, just one second." I reached into my leather jacket pocket and pulled out my paralysis string. Harmless in the long term, but a tight hold around a pony's neck could be fatal. I just wanted her out of the way tonight, so I quickly wrapped it around her neck about as tight as a small square knot. She wouldn't lose air supply, and they would find her in the morning.
I watched her body fall limp to the ground, still full of life. That would buy me some time. I pulled a steak knife out of an inner pocket in my jacket, and went inside the kitchen entrance. Penguin and Beamy were whispering about darkness and why they couldn't see the milkshake in front of them. It was perfect. The gods of chaos were in my favor after all. I closed in.
I covered Penguin's mouth with my hoof and used my own mouth to cut a clean, deep hole in the base of his neck. I moved upward and forced the knife up the bottom of his chin. There was a satisfying, meaty squish as metal met tongue, and I felt all signs of vitality leave the stallion's body. I pulled the knife out front ways, cracking his lower jaw in two, and his corpse fell to the floor with a thud.
"Penguin, are you alright?" The voice of the newly widowed mare sounded out. Did the Seagram's get to you? Did you--" She was cut short by the insertion of a steak knife in her right temple. I twisted it around a couple of times, then whispered a single word into her ear: "Surge."
My birth name. My true identity. I was in no danger of anyone else finding out. My dear victim Beamy certainly wouldn't tell. I pulled the knife out of her head and listened to the pleasing sound of the blood gushing out of the wound. Trickling down the body, forming a gooey puddle on the floor. My work here was done. I took out a bloody rag from my jacket inventory and cleaned my knife. Shiny and new. I scanned the other contents of my jacket: Silent guns, razor bullets, a wide assortment of cutlery, including a spoon. No idea how that got there.
I took out the spoon and got a big scoop of pony blood from the floor. I set it down on the counter and said out loud, "Keep the change." I went back around the building and turned the lights halfway on. The unconscious body of Pinkie Pie was lying there, looking peaceful and cozy. I stared at her for a long time. The reason was unclear to me, but I shook it away and stomped on her back hoof with my front. "Try to give me away, will you?" I snarled, and then went back to my current residence.
My home. A rusty woodshed deep in the Everfree Forest. It didn't offer much, but it was a good hideaway in this part of the land. No one would go this deep into the forest without a marked trail. I used mine: a half-inch red scratch on every fifth tree to the right. Unnoticeable to the untrained eye. I closed the iron door and lit my lantern. A neatly folded stack of papers was on the gnarled workbench. I took a sheet off the top and wrote my victims' credit card information and exact cause of death on it. I remembered from memory.
Penguin Clubby, 47, M, throat cut and mouth impaled.
Beamy Beacon, 45, F, head impaled and twisted.
I looked at the words on the page, but then I felt something. A feeling I had not felt in a very long time. Guilt. Guilt was crawling all over my body, I could feel it creeping up my spine. I shouldn't have done it. I was having an epiphany. I was a heartless, cold-blooded psychopath. I had murdered hundreds of innocent civilians without remorse, and I did it all for my personal entertainment.
I broke down. I may have fallen asleep during my waterworks. I don't remember.
I may have been a horrible pony, but I have reformed myself. I have forgiven each and every one of my recorded victims. I compiled everything into this notebook that you are reading. If you see this, know that I am where I deserve to be. I destroyed my life. I ruined it. I will place this somewhere and then destroy myself.
And to you, whoever finds this notebook, take it to Princess Celestia. Please let her know that Surge Deathslash is truly sorry. She will understand.
Tell her that her brother has finally repented.
