I hear the sound of the ponies hooves coming towards my room. I assume their owner will be the one that is coming to interrogate me, to see if i'm sane enough to be admitted to an orphanage or something like that. I'm still trying to decide if i'll act insane just so i can stay here. Truly, it isn't that bad here. I mean i'm with other people who no longer care about society. I think to myself while waiting for my visitor.
The evaluation-pony enters the room with the filly in it and slowly states, “Hello lucky strike, how are you.”
“I-im doing ok mister”, I state while purposefully stuttering trying to fool him into thinking I am no longer a sociopath.
The evaluation pony does not say anything about my stutter but he does write down something with the quill in his magic so I count it as a success. “That is good. I have a few questions for you, do you think you're ready for them?”
“Sure doc, I think i'm ready.” I make sure not to overdo it on the stuttering, but i still make sure to sound a little frightened of the stallion.
“Okay, let us start with something very simple. What is the color of my coat and mane?” The evaluation pony ask as i finally notice his visitor name tag reads “Junction Quil”. I then remember his question and look at his brown coat of fur and black mane with a few gray streaks. Whether they were from stress, old age or just natural, I had no clue.
“Your coat is brown and your mane is black with a few grey streaks”. I say with my voice showing some more confidence so it would seem as though I am beginning to trust him.
“Good, good, now another question, what is your coat and mane colors?” he says though i'm not quite sure what the point was, i mean it's just the same question, but my colors. I try to keep up the appearance that i'm a stupid little filly and hold back a sigh.
“My coat is light blue and my mane is black with a chunk of it being purple, though i don't understand what this has to do with me being able to go back to society”, i say genuinely confused.
“Well we must first check that you see things correctly. Now I guess we can continue to the real questions, but first, actually, I would like to hear what happened from your point of view.”
I smirk, giving up my ruse. Now you may ask, why. Heh, well, you see, I said “screw it” to myself “I ain't getting out here without bloodshed.” I seemed to have forgotten that. I might as well tell my story. His last hour of life might as well be one filled with an interesting story.
The sky was its usual dark self in the night, with a few strikes of lighting filling the sky while rain pours down above, hitting the roofs with a splish and a splash. Now we focus in on a single house in particular for tonight. It will be the birth of a monster, a hero, a vigilante, a sociopath. Whatever your stance on it, it is accepted by all that a murderer was made. Whether I had the right to have done what I did is not such a unanimous vote.
But focusing back to the story at hand, we have a little family in this house. They are not noble family, but by no means are they considered poor. The proud father is named Feather Quill. Now yes, his name is quite weird, but when his wife is named Shooting Star, I think we can look past the silly name. And for the final member of the family, a little filly named Lucky Strike. Her coat was pure blue, as blue as lightning, and her mane was black with a front left piece of it being purple.
Now the family was simply sitting by a fire enjoying each other's company. Life, though, had other plans, or some ponies disliked that they were living. Now why they disliked them living, I have no clue. But all the same, the ponies had hired griffons to kill the family. Now mister therapist, I shall continue in first person, because why the buck not.
I heard a knock on the door. I did not move, for I heard my father move to get it. Then i heard something that shall haunt me for the rest of my life. For it was the sound of claws ripping out my father's throat. My dearest mother ran for the griffons with a spell ready, but alas us ponies are not predators, and one of the griffons saw that my mother had intent to capture and not kill, so he let himself be caught only to order another griffon that had snuck behind her to end her. And at that moment, I had heard my father be killed and saw my mother have her neck slit open.
Now doc, I know what you're thinking. How did you survive. Well, you see, that day I got my cutie mark, and learned why I was named Lucky Strike. For when a griffon had me held in one of his claws against the wall, a bolt of lighting, well, struck me. And for better or worse, it unlocked something inside of me, and I no longer had the innocence of a little foal.
“So, Junction Quil, want to know what I did to those griffons?”, I say, smiling a bit to the therapist, as if remembering a happy moment of her life.
Junction just looks at the filly then back to his clipboard “Sure Miss Lucky. What did you do to the griffons.”
I grab junctions neck and use my magic to twist it like i would a bottle cap “exactly that, only much much slower”. I say after he had died.
I get up and prepare myself for a fight, for I have been in here for way too long.
