Author's Note

Hey there folks. This chapter is kind of where the story earns a bit of that dark rating up there. Before this, the worst that happened was Light Flow bumping into a pole and thinking mean thoughts.

This is just a sort of warning, since even I realize it's kind of a departure from the previous chapters. I'm not quite sure why I wrote it like this, but it was just sort of like something came over me as I wrote it. I may have gone over the 'ironically emo' vibe and into a straight up 'emo' vibe. ~~also yeah i don't actually know what emo means thats right i'm ignorant~~

So anyway I might have gained some sort of real attraction to dead things in the process of writing this.

Enjoy!

Chapter 4 - The Bunny

Light Flow sat alone in his room, as was normal for him. He spent almost all of his time in his room when he wasn't at school or the library. He just didn't see any reason to spend time outside, or interact with anypony he didn't need something from. Though that philosophy was usually tossed aside when his mother forced him to spend time with her.

He loved her, but she could be so annoying. Villains didn't need mothers, and villains didn't play boardgames!

The room itself was the closest thing he could get to a pure reflection of his inner self. It was as if he had filled a bucket with his essence, shook it all up, and tossed it into a room! While he realized too late that particular description was creepy in an uncool way that he didn't like, it didn't change the fact that there was no place he'd rather be,

In a word, the room was black, very black.

He had a black mattress, black sheets, black curtains, black windows... Okay he didn't have black windows, but he really wanted some.

He had a black bookcase, filled with black books written on black subjects. He had a black chest, where he pretended to keep dark secrets, but in actuality it was his dark toy chest. The walls were painted black, and he had a dirty brown wood floor that he covered up with black carpets because his mother said they weren't allowed to paint the floors. He didn't understand why, it's not like anypony would care; but he had to concede some battles to the forces of good and his mother.

After staring around his room at his cool stuff for reasons he couldn't quite understand, he turned his attention back to the horseshoe box he had pulled out from under his bed. He swallowed nervously. He wouldn't lie about that, he was nervous. It felt like there was a little knife in his belly, trying to rip itself up his throat and out of his mouth. He was very nervous, but he was also so excited!

Excitement was such a similar feeling to nervousness, but it felt so much better. It was so familiar to him. The bursting, tearing feeling in his chest whenever a new book came out. That cutting, rending sensation in his stomach when he lit his horn for the first time, and managed to cast a simple little light spell.

He often thought of a quote from one of his old books at a time like this.

This sparks the dark fires in my heart! The cold flare of life stirs in my soul!

He had always thought that was so cool, but he had left that part of himself behind now. Though he did make a reminder to write some of that down in his book of dark poetry. Even villains enjoy reminiscing on the ponies they used to be.

He shook himself out of his reverie, and he focused on the present. This was the kind of thing he'd been dreaming about for weeks now. He had read the measly collection of necromancy related stories that the local library stocked, and he had even resorted to reading anatomy textbooks due to his growing obsession with dead things. But he was tired of reading, he wanted to get hooves-on.

His mother had found it outside in her garden, and she gave it to him to bury. She was considerate like that, she knew how much he enjoyed tragedy. But he wasn't sad, and he wasn't going to bury it. He wanted to play with it.

He lit his horn for a moment, before letting the faint light fade away. He wanted to use his hooves for this. He carefully, almost reverently reached his hooves out and took the top of the box in his shaking hooves. He delicately lifted it off, and placed it on the black carpet beside him. He looked inside, and his eyes lit up in wonder as he viewed the contents.

It was a small, white, bunny rabbit. Barely the size of his hoof, really. It didn't have any visible injuries, but it was thin, and almost pallid. He guessed that it had died due to starvation, but he wasn't sure how. It wasn't like there was a shortage of food around here. Heck, it had even died in a garden full of plants. The only logical conclusion is that it had some sort of eating deficiency.

He stared at the animal unabashedly. He drank in the sight as if he had gone three days in the desert without water. He wanted it to be a familiar sight. His mother was out for the day, so there was no chance for anypony to see him hunched over the corpse of a woodland creature. He didn't really care what most ponies thought, but his mother...

He didn't want her to think he was weird...

He wanted to touch it, but he held himself off from doing so until he took in every detail. He swallowed heavily, it felt like there was something stuck in his throat, trying desperately to claw its way out. He swallowed again, his lips suddenly dry.

He took note of the visible veins running throughout the small creature. They were pressing themselves against the skin of the creature. The usually active functions of the body now ceased, and the formerly red veins took on a greyish blueish tint. He wondered what happened to the blood inside a creature when they died. Did it evaporate or something? Was it absorbed? Did it just clot away into nothingness? His idle curiosities turned to burning questions in his mind, and he made a note to look it up in an anatomy textbook.

He turned his eyes to the tiny bones sticking out of the small thing. The ribs especially were quite obvious. The little sticks of bone designed to hold all the meat of a creature together. They stuck out against the fur of the creature, straining its now-useless skin to a near breaking point. He wondered if the pure white of bone would contrast with the slightly dirtier white fur.

Light Flow wet his lips again, and thought about getting a glass of water or something. He chuckled out loud to relieve some of the pervading pressure that was building in him. The noise reverberated around in his head, bouncing around the walls of his mind. His visual curiosity was sated, he was almost ready to touch it.

He tentatively leaned his head closer. He was almost touching the bunny with his muzzle now. He was so close that he could likely reach out with his tongue and....

No. That wasn't something he wanted to try right now, or maybe ever. For now....

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply though his nose.

...

He leaned back from the tiny thing and tried to reassert his thoughts. Actually, he boxed them up and threw them out of a metaphorical window. It didn't matter what he thought. It was time for the main attraction.

He slowly, so slowly reached a trembling hoof into the box and lightly touched the bunny with the edge of his frog.

It was....cold.

He let out a heavy breath, and pressed his frog against the small form a bit more forcefully. He knew how careful he had to be, since he didn't know the next time he would have any sort of chance to be this intimate with a corpse. It would be very, very bad if he broke it.

His face broke out in a wide grin as he slowly rubbed the soft, cold form of the bunny. He felt the tiny protrusions of its bones sticking through the skin. He felt the hollow feeling of its chest, and heard the bones creaking when he pushed too hard. He was petting it just like a living animal, but it was dead!

He loved the feeling. He made himself love the feeling. It didn't matter if his eyes were welling up a little. The hot feeling in his face was from exhilaration, nothing else! He was still smiling!

He was so happy.

He gently took his hoof away from the unmoving form when a drop of liquid landed on it, and slowly closed the box over it. He slid the box back under his bed as his cheeks matted from the hot wetness pouring down his face. He slowly pulled himself onto his bed with shaking hooves, as little whining noises escaped from his rictus grin. His teeth chattered as he lowered his head onto the pillow, and the cloth quickly became damp.

He sobbed into his pillow, mouth still set into a wide smile.

So happy.