A Hundred Horrible Deaths for Rainbow Dash

Number 3

A thunderstorm was raging that day in Ponyville. Rainbow Dash could hear the wind and thunder in all of their fury as she watched the spectacle from her bedroom window. Although she literally lived inside a cloud, for some reason it never had any trouble withstanding the forces of nature.

She turned over on her bed and dug back into her book. She had only been taking a brief mental break. She was already on the last few pages of the latest Daring Do book, Daring Do and the Land of the Diamond Femur. Her eyes were glued. The rate at which she took in each paragraph was breakneck. The wind outside was just barely keeping up.

But in an instant, she stopped.

Her eyes widened on a particular passage. She kept reading it and reading it over and over again to see if she had read it correctly. When she realized that it was the truth, she slowly raised her head and revealed a particularly dumbfounded expression.

She snapped up the edges of the open book and chucked it to the ceiling. “Flippin’ mole men?” she exclaimed, hooves held up in bewilderment.

She held that posture for a long moment, but then it hit her that her book had not fallen back to her bed yet. She looked above and saw a small indention in her cloud ceiling quickly reform itself as good as new. That only happened when something traveled directly through it.

“Ah!” She leaped in horror. “I didn’t finish it yet!”

She sped to her window and almost unlatched it in her panic, but she froze and took a calming breath at the last minute. The wind out there would make quick work of her, she realized. Then, as she looked at the curtains that draped her window, she got a brilliant idea.

She took the bottom of the curtain and wrapped it around her neck. According to her logic, she would be able to fly onto the roof and retrieve her book without getting blown around too much.

Her logic, however, proved faulty, because Rainbow Dash was immediately flung against the side of her home and completely unable to gain control of herself. Her body flapped like a writhing Pride flag until she finally suffocated. When the storm finally calmed, she hung limp just feet beneath her open window. After a few minutes, the curtains detached from the window frame and allowed her corpse to crash into a pile of her own excrement that she had created post-mortem (while covering her up respectfully).