"Why is it that everyone's always criticizing me? Is my music not beautiful? They must not understand. Oh, dear, I must make them understand. I will make sure they know what these symphonies mean..."
I drew my bow across the strings for the last time as the rest of the orchestra died down. The song was over, and, little did I know, so was everything else. For, as I took my bow for that splendorous curtain call, I was sealing my own sanity away.
It was a calm reception. The audience did not seem as much as thrilled as they were bored. Vinyl Scratch was sitting in the audience and, as usual, making quite the fool of herself. She began calling for an encore in her own ridiculous way. That is in no way something you would do at such a prestigious performance!
"That mare has absolutely no manners," I mumbled to myself. The rest of the musicians seemed to agree with me, all awarding Vinyl with outraged looks. The only pony who was not doing such was Lyra Heartstrings, the outspoken harp player of our ensemble. She was nodding and bobbing around in agreement with Vinyl. With that, the curtain began to close and I made my way to exit stage left.
As the stage hooves rushed to clean up and store our instruments I turned to Lyra.
"Were you merely humoring Vinyl Scratch?" I asked.
"Naw, I just wanted to make sure she didn't feel alone, being the only pony yelling like that." Lyra's stupidity irks me.
"Well, either way, your performance was commendable." I dipped my head.
"Thanks," Lyra grinned and trotted along like a buffoon. "Yours was... interesting." Lyra had seemed a bit stumped for words. She looked proud to have figured something out.
"Interesting? In what sense?"
"Not bad, just... interesting." Lyra said this as she trotted off. I rolled my eyes and snorted. As smart as she may have looked, Lyra Heartstrings was in no way a genius. I shook the feeling that she was insulting me and continued on my way, homeward.
It wasn't even the next morning when I was awoken. Vinyl Scratch was downstairs, hollering and playing her inferior music.
"Oh, splendid, we must have a guest over. At dawn." I said to myself. I stood from bed and passed by my beloved cello, secured in its protective case. The bow, however, was lying beside it. "That's peculiar," I thought. "Did I not put that away last eve?" With a slight shrug I placed it back in the case and continued with my morning preparations. I groomed my mane and tail, brushed my teeth and completed a few short hoof exercises. Then I trotted down the stairs, fearing to meet our guest.
"Hey, Tavi, check out who stopped by!" Vinyl exclaimed. She gestured towards the very same teal mare from last night.
"Oh, good morning, Lyra." I tried to sound polite, though I was still quite confused about her comment.
"Hi, Octavia! Mornin'!" she chimed back. Lyra and Vinyl began to chat as I made my way to the kitchen for some breakfast. During my meal of tea and toast I thought over what Lyra had said. "She was insulting me!" I slammed my cup onto the table, causing a loud noise to echo out. "Calm down," I told myself. "A true lady does not jump to conclusions." I stood and made my way to the den where Vinyl and Lyra were conversing.
"Excuse me," I said, causing them both to quiet down. "I must inquire, dear Lyra, but what did you mean when you stated my performance was 'interesting' yester eve?"
"Well, um..." Vinyl scratch was the one to speak, not miss Heartstrings.
"That's what we were just talking about!" Lyra exclaimed. I raised an eyebrow in interest.
"It was totally awesome, right, Lyr?" Vinyl said, quite nervously if I might add. She grinned in an obvious attempt to cover something up.
"Hello, do you even remember what we were talking about?" Lyra laughed. "But I get it. You're just trying to be nice. That's what I was doin' last night." The teal pony shook her mane out. "But I think Tavi deserves the truth." She turned to me. "Octavia, we both think your 'performance' was really off." This came as a slight shock to me. I was in belief that everypony had been applauding for me. Everyone but Lyra and Vinyl, as it seems.
"Is that what you think?" I said, temper flaring. "I'll have you know that I put all of my effort into such a performance, and it was outstanding in my eyes."
"Maybe you could use some glasses, then!" Vinyl Scratch laughed at her own pathetic joke and briefly revealed her eyes from behind her own 'shades.'
"Well!" I shrieked. I was not being ladylike by any means, and could not even if I had wished so. I did not continue any further but rather marched up the stairs. The rest of my day was spent playing my cello and reflecting on the fuss.
I awoke in the night from quite the odd dream. I had been given a vision of five simple words and nothing else. I ran the words through my head, attempting to analyze their meaning. "Show them a real performance." I said quietly. Somehow, when spoken aloud, the words had an ominous tone. They shifted my temperament from calm to angered. Without cause, mean, or explanation I felt that these words were driving me to take my anger out. I cast a glance at my cello case where, once again, the bow was not in its proper place. Something strange, fueled by the words, it seems, brought me to move towards the bow. I picked it up with great silence, suddenly afraid Vinyl Scratch would hear me and awake from her slumber.
"That is not something you want, Octavia." I told myself in a hushed tone. With the instrumental bow in hand I carefully made my way towards Scratch's room. "She won't mind a visit, I'm sure." I whispered. The door swung open and I, like the hinges, moved without sound. My shadow was cast across my housemate's bed by the thin moonlight. The five simple words from my dream compelled me to move my bow to her neck. Then, foolishly, I spoke.
"Say goodbye, my dear Vinyl Scratch." The moment the words were uttered she was awake. The white mare leapt out of bed and out of my reach. She seemed confused at first, if not befuddled until she realized what I had been trying to do.
"Tavi! You're nuts-o!" she exclaimed. I crept around the bed and towards her. She backed into the corner. "What're you doing?" Scratch demanded.
"Just showing you what a true performance is." I answered. My laugh twisted into a demonic cackle as I pressed ever closer. "Be sure to watch," I said, swinging a hoof towards her face. Her violet glasses fell to the floor and splayed glass around our hooves. I was careful to avoid it as I took one final step closer. "Au revoir!" The bow met her neck in a furious slash. Within moments the critic Scratch was dropped to the floor and gasped for air.
"Sweet... Celestia..." she cried. Blood poured from the gash I'd left and pooled around the shattered lens of her glasses. A pleasant gurgling met my ears as Vinyl tried to speak again. But her life was fading, unlike my spreading simper. A few more gasps and she was gone. I gleefully pressed my hoof onto her neck, causing more warm, sticky liquid to spray from the wound. I twisted my hoof around on her neck until the mare's bone snapped, just for comfort in knowing she was dead.
"That went well," I said. I carried my bow out the door with me and into the night as I ventured once more for revenge. It did not take but moments to reach Lyra's home. The execution was absolutely splendid. Until she tried to fight back.
"No! No, no, no!" she yelled. "I don't care what you're doing, but it ain't going to happen!" Lyra tossed a glass at me; she'd been enjoying a midnight snack in the kitchen when I arrived. That was reason for her noticing me. I easily dodged the glass and took another step forward. I raised my bow as I approached, which was already stained with a touch of my previous victim's blood.
"Enjoy your moments, dearest." I snarled. "For they are your last." I was merely inches from her throat when Lyra kicked me. My bow flew somewhere behind me and I fell to the ground. But only momentarily. I sprung up and raced for the bow, but Lyra was already standing over it. The five words echoed through my mind and I found new confidence. I began to rush at Lyra and crashed into her, casting her into the wall. I picked up my bow again and tried to make my second kill. Lyra was stunned, surely, but she was much more effective in defending herself than I'd suspected. She trashed about blindly, eyes clenched closed in presumable pain. She was able to, yet again, knock my bow from my grasp. I furiously chased after as she came to a stand. I found its landing place convenient. It was lying beside Lyra's harp, which was beckoning to me. I lifted the bow, placed it onto one of the delicate strings and then pulled back. When my hooves met the ground once more the bow was embedded in miss Lyra's heart.
This is the last time I have played any instrument. They're coming to take me away as soon as my final performance ends. But I will enjoy this. With my bow, which is now dyed a splendorous maroon, I scrape the last notes across my cello strings. Everypony is watching me with tears in their eyes; they do not know I am the murderer just yet. But they will, if they are attending this occasion with any seriousness.
Where have I played my last performance, might you ask? Let me tell you in simple terms.
They laughed at my music. I played at their funerals.
