Only Human

8 Months Later

Sweetie's production of Jesus Christ Superstar was not only a hit, in the small world and relatively unglamorous world of American off Broadway remakes it was quite possible to call it the Hit. And if the show in Palo Alto was anything to go by in a years time it might very well be on Broadway. Yes, there was some controversy in depicting a religions Lord and Savior as a pony, but the play had never really been... non heretical to begin with unless the person watching was truly not paying attention. Besides, the fact that they had Jesus portrayed as a Mint Green Unicorn with Pilate and Herod as the tallest white Unicorns they could find made the political overtones relatively obvious to anyone or anypony watching. In fact, it would be fair to say that was the main appeal according to the press. Just how well they made an over 50 year old musical speak so close to today's audiences.
All of this was of course, nice for the lead designer but in the end inconsequential. At the moment she was mostly happy because her sister was happy though a slight sadness was found in her smile. Watching the young mare bounce with every step as she walked onto the stage, flowers and applause surrounding her as the man playing Simon Zealotes hoisted her upon his shoulders. Her hooves waving in manic glee to the equally ecstatic applause, tears of joy flowing from her face like the fake blood currently being cleaned off the cross prop by the tech crew. Rarity for her part took a back seat, though people knew she was involved she did understand that it still might not be best to advertise that fact. Besides this was her sister's triumph, according to the token she clutched in her hand hers had happened 7 months ago.

It was hard at first, giving up a crutch that at that point had replaced her spine as her main means of support. In fact if you asked her during the first week, she'd have described it as torture. Being locked in an apartment, her mind clearing to what she'd done, no one else there but her sister and her own horrible thoughts. She couldn't sleep and barely ate, what little she did at Sweetie's command she often threw up later. It was hard not to throw up when your own blood's natural consistency felt like an alien substance. She said things too, rather horrible things at that, that she hated her sister, she hated humanity, that she wanted to die, and that she wasn't sorry for what she did. Of course besides the wanting to die part she didn't mean any of it, but she needed to get her sister to stop caring. To abandon her like the wretch she was and let her slowly die in alcohol's deadly embrace. Fortunately for her now, her sister saw right past this and kept on pushing her, telling her that she knew Rarity was better than this. That she was still an element of harmony despite how much Rarity protested.

Things got better after the suicide attempt, not that the phrase 'after the suicide attempt' was that possible to begin with. Maybe it was seeing just how low she'd fallen, maybe it was how broken she realized her sister would be without her, may she just realized she lacked the courage to face what might be on the other side. It didn't matter, after that she fully committed to becoming sober despite knowing just what it entailed. Yes there were still panic attacks and the occasional guilt and terror induced vomiting fit but the insults stopped and somehow, every time it stopped, she felt... better. Now over half a year later, it'd be hard to recognize the elegant artist as the shaking wretch who had tried to pull a knife on her own jugular. True, her eyes still wandered with wistful envy whenever she saw anypony else enjoying a drink but she it was growing less and less severe with every time. She suspected that by next summer that desire would practically be gone.

Despite the show's acclaim and rail thin security, the cast and crew managed to walk out relatively unmolested. As usual the celebratory joint for Rarity and Sweetie Belle would be an Ice Cream parlor seeing as a bar was the last place any of them would want to go right now. Surprisingly, a fair bit of the cast and crew came with her in support forgoing the more traditional bar and grill. Including Jesus and Saint Peter, both of them still in costume which was an oddly impressive thing to do on the surprisingly cold February night. It was also the kind of thing Sweetie Belle would normally throw a fit over, but at the moment she was too over the moon to care and so was Rarity for that matter.

If any member of the group had not been blinded by fame's shining light, they would have noticed the dark green unicorn mare pushing through the crowd towards them. She wasn't easy to notice, her body was short almost chubby and overall unimposing, which is perhaps how she managed to get by with merely a few curses and complaints as she made her way towards her target. The Unicorn mare broke into the clearing in front of the group, her bulging eyes clear focused on Rarity. Their redness merely exaggerated by the torrent of sweat that clung to her forehead. Her body was hunched like that of a feral predator as opposed to a sapient Equine. The thespians paused, Rarity reached out her hand, "Ma'am can we help you-". Before she could finish she was on the ground, the mare was on top of her, and she was in excruciating pain.

All she could make out beyond the beating of her own heart and the general atmosphere of horror were the cries of the mare, "ผู้ฆ่า! ผู้ฆ่า!.". The mare screamed with every ragged breath, only stopping to plunge the knife into a new spot on Rarity's torso. Then mid slash there was a loud bang, the mare's eyes rolled over, and she fell to the concrete spasming. That was all Rarity could see, unable to put together what was happening as the world faded to blackness.

Rarity lived, apparently Jesus really did save as the pony playing him had a decent bit of medical knowledge. At least enough to keep her alive till the ambulance came. By all estimations she'd be out of the hospital in a couple weeks, luckily for her it seemed her assailant was too unhinged and uncoordinated to actually hit any essential organs. The papers wouldn't report on who her assailant was or why she did it. No one would know the story of the mother in Thailand changed against her own will, her body used to gleefully kill her husband and children once it became clear changing them would prove too costly for her new superiors. Or how she wept when her mind returned, how she slept on her family's grave for weeks choking on the thick moist air after her tears had run out. They'd never hear about how she sold all her belongings and traveled to a country whose language she didn't even speak for the sake of avenging her loved ones on those she deemed responsible. Or the butcher in a Manhattan Chinese deli who gave her the knife free of charge after learning of her story and intentions and who never faced justice himself. Instead, like millions of others she'd simply be known as another lost confused soul desperately lashing out at those who managed to move on.