Threading the Needle

Different, zombie, aberration. Three words that will get you to know what everypony calls me. My name is Patchwork. I acquired that name when I was just a newborn. I had been delivered with a nasty skin disease, one that rotted the skin from my flesh, and left me with a half exposed body. The disease was kind of like...oh, what do you humans call it....leprosy? Yeah, kinda like that, except for only my skin. Anyyyyyyyyyyways, my parents, being as ingenuitive as they are, decided to graft a dead pony’s skin onto my own, creating a Frankenpony-ish monster, one who was an abomination. My coat is several different neutral colors; black, gray, brown. My mane, on the other hand, is a stringy mess of blue and red. My cutie mark is unknown to me, as the skin on my flank fell off long ago in a bloody mess. My memories are splattered with sewing needles, dead ponies, and blood. Lots of blood. Yet sewing is really the only thing I’m good at. I take it too far, though...like even with my face. My mouth is sewn shut, and so is one of my eyes. Why? For the laughs, of course.

See, the only thing I’m good at sewing is skin. Body parts, organs, name it, and if it’s part of a living creature, I can sew it. Yet my story took a little turn for the worst when I met another pony that took sewing seriously. Things turned sour, worse than sour. They turned rather....acidic.

Outside of Canterlot is where I made my home. A small apartment, 2 rooms. It wasn’t nearly enough space to conduct my...uhm...”projects”, if you will. It's painted swirls of brown and black, along with navy and blood red. The furniture was all broken and in splinters, just the way I liked it. My kitchen was splattered with blood from other ponies, which happened to be my favorite broth to cook things in So I took my time to go to the Everfree to have enough room. I had plenty of decapitated bodies and decomposing animals to work with, and they helped me waste my time away, creating horrid “art pieces” using  body parts, organs, and skin. The only tools I had at my disposal were my feeble magic and my hooves.

The Grand Galloping Gala is THE one even I can NOT stand. All that noise, all those frilly dresses and formal clothing, it’s not my style. I can’t stand fancy-do’s, with my ragged ponysa, my tattered clothing, and my unhevish appearance. Most ponies run at the sight of me anyways, but I live with it.

I’m getting off-hoof again. What I meant to say was that the pony who I now have a rivalry with was at the Gala. I saw her for only a few split-seconds, but I saw her long enough to hear her bragging about her dresses, saying “darling” this and “darling” that. I truthfully wanted to throw up, it was so disgusting. Then again.......others seemed to ENJOY her work....

"Why? Why do they like her stuff, but not mine?” I thought angrily. I had tried to show many ponies my artwork, but they showed these unexplainable displays of horror. Why, I couldn’t tell you. I was frankly disgusted at her pieces. Utterly. Disgusted. All those frills and lace, all the neon colors. It made me want to vomit...again.

“Must I prove myself to the lot of them? I must. I have to show them that Rarity isn’t better than me!” So I set out to meet her. It’d have to be alone, there was no other way. I’d force her to compete with me, if it came to that. I would have the acceptance and affection that I wanted, at any cost.

The trek to Ponyville the next day was rather uneventful, so I shan't describe it to you. Now, to the good part!

I had reached Carousel Boutique by the end of the day, the sun bleeding over the horizon. I lifted my multi-colored muzzle to the sky and inhaled the crisp air. I clasped my hooves together and grinned happily, all in anticipation for what I was about to do.

"This is going to be GREAT. Finally, I'll be accepted, loved, adored, whatever I want!" I did the most stallion-like squee that I could muster, already fantasizing about the adoration I'd receive.

Patchwork! Can I display your works in "The Best of the Best"?

Patchwork!

I shook myself out of that daze and looked up at the Boutique, with its bright colors and fancy exterior. It made me want to vomit, how could ponies live like that? "Dammit, Patch. GET ON WITH IT!", the voice inside my head screamed. So I opened my saddle-bag and rummaged through the rotting body parts until I found a rock. The rock with a note tied to it. A note asking Rarity to have a competition with me. Whenever, wherever. I heaved the rock into one of the top windows, right into the prissy pony's "Inspiration Room"

"All is going well, Patch" I giggled to myself, trotting away. A few seconds later, I heard that oh-so-satisfying high pitched scream of a certain pony. I laughed and kept trotting, back to my humble abode.

Halfway there, I changed my mind and headed to the Everfree, where I kept my spare bodies. I took out one of a filly and ripped skin off the flank, preparing my needle. I then stuck the skin from its flank onto my own and sewed it on, creating another patch of brighly colored skin amonst the others. I removed the eyes and tongue from its body, to use for later projects, then cut off the ears and skinned the rest of it, leaving it hanging out for the birds.

"The next one I cut up will be Rarity's..." I mumbled.