//------------------------------//
// Back to Black 
// Story: Everyone Can Be Special 
// by Fre3doM 
//------------------------------//

It had been at least 10 minutes. The purple pony was still passed out on the stairs. He glanced at it, making sure that he wasn't going to get jumped by it as he left. The door flew open, and he stepped through. The sun had emerged from behind the clouds, and was shinning brightly. "Fuck you, sun." He said to no one in particular, squinting his eyes as it shone brightly. He kicked a stone, watching it fly into the distance. "Everything here fucking hates me. Guess that's no different from back home, is it Marcus? Back home, it was the other assholes at school. And your parents. Here, it's everything. They're practically identical." He slowly plodded his way back to the market, kicking loose cobble as he went. He took an apple from one of the stands, biting into it. At least it was sweet. That was something missing from his life. Sweetness. He thought back. When was the last time he had sweetness in his life?

"Fuck her, that fucking cunt." Marcus said, throwing the apple down in disgust. It splatted against the stone, sending apple chunks around. He began stomping the apple, picturing everything about her. "FUCK. YOU. GO. FUCKING. BURN. IN. HELL!" He yelled with each stomp, staring at the remains of the sweet, red apple. He shook his head, walking over to the fountain, with the damn horse with the damn smile on it, acting like nothing was wrong with the world. He realized he was carrying another apple. He sent it flying into the statue's mouth. It exploded in apple bits. He grabbed his jacket, pulling it tighter around him. He slumped against the fountain, laying his head in his hands. He brought his knees up, trying to hold back everything that was tearing at his insides. He felt like he was suddenly made of lead. He didn't want to move. He just wanted to die. 

When Marcus finally came to, he saw a brown pegasus with a spear clutched defensively in his teeth. Marcus looked at him with fire in his eyes. "What are you gonna do? Fucking stab me? End my miserable fucking life? Kill a no life failure who will never amount to shit? Kill something that's absolutely worthless in every possible fucking way? Huh? WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?!?" The brown pegasus was clad in gold armor, complete with a helmet. A bright blue strip adorned the top of his helmet, like a Spartan's. Marcus began to stand, and the pony forced the spear against his chest. He clutched the spear, and to the guards surprise, he didn't try and take the spear away. Instead, he forced the spear against his chest. "Go ahead. Fucking kill me. Get it over with." The guard was really confused at that point.

The spear was against his white shirt, slowly beginning to force it's way through the cotton. Marcus felt the cold touch of the spearhead come to rest against the skin of his chest. He didn't stop, though. He kept pressing. The soft touch soon became harder, to the point where it was beginning to become uncomfortable. Uncomfortable for a normal person, maybe, but then again the normal person would be uncomfortable by having a spear pointed at them. Marcus felt right at home. This is what happened when an animal was inadequate, a failure, they were killed. "Natural selection says I should die. I'm a failed prototype. I didn't work out."

Marcus' eyes had narrowed to pinpricks, and his grin was sadistic and crazy. "Do it. DO IT!" He yelled at the pegasus. "Force this thing through my chest. Kill me. Take my life. I deserve to fucking die. I'm worthless, a failure. That's what you're suppose to do, kill the failures. Do it. Do your job. FUCKING KILL ME NOW, GOD DAMNIT!" The pegasus went skyward, taking off after forcing the spear out of Marcus' hands. A small drop of red began to spread from the mark, Marcus stared at it, slightly disappointed that there wasn't more of it. "You failed. You COULDN'T. FUCKING. KILL. ME!" The pegasus flew off, into the distance, leaving Marcus there. He dropped to his knees, grabbing a small rock. It met his face. He slammed it into his head repeatedly. "WHY...ARE...YOU...SUCH....A.....FUCKING...FAILURE?!?" He screamed. Not from pain, but from frustration. The rock was bloody, a large portion of the right side of his face bloodied form the repeated force of impact. He was trying. He was truly trying to brain himself with a rock.  

He dropped the bloody stone onto the ground, blood now flowing down his face and into the collar of his shirt. He looked around, stumbling over to a comically over-sized gingerbread house. "What the fuck is this shit?!? IS THIS A FUCKING JOKE?!?! A GINGERBREAD HOUSE?!?!?!?" He didn't know why the existence of a life-sized gingerbread house made him so angry, but it did. He tried the door, finding that it was locked. Unfortunately for the door, gingerbread was not good at surviving force. The door, unsurprisingly, broke when he kicked it. He stepped into the dimly lit main room, looking around. "THE FUCK?" He studied the whole room. "IT'S ALL JUST A FUCKING PASTRY SHOP?!?" He walked over to the display counter, studying the donuts and muffins behind the counter. Marcus clenched his fist, sending it into the counter. It shattered, and he had access to the treats within. Yes, his hand was now cut up, but he got a donut out of the deal.

He bit into the pastry confection, reveling in the taste. It was sweet and sugary, the kind that told him the sweetness was just added in, unlike the apple, which had been naturally that sweet. "Nothing is naturally that sweet. She's proof of it." He sighed, sitting down at one of the table and eating another donut. "Look at yourself, Marcus. You fucked up your face, and now you're in a sweets shop, eating diabetes-on-the-go, by yourself, in the dark. Yeah, you're the definition of a god damn fucking failure." He walked over, grabbing a piece of glass off the counter. It wasn't long, but it didn't need to be. He lifted the shard into the sun, staring at the wickedly sharp razor edge. It was sharp enough to slit his throat. That was all he needed.

He lifted it, feeling it touch the sensitive flesh of his throat. He could picture it, him just bleeding out in a dark lobby, with no one around. If he was tripping, he obviously didn't have someone like Trevor to stop him from doing crazy shit like this while he was on a trip. If he was actually here, and he wasn't high, what was the fucking point? He was alone. Not like he was all that less alone back home, but he was at least with his own species. "Everything here has hated me so far. Might as well fucking end it." He put the shard down, slumping against the counter. "Might as well die with style, not sprawled out with my throat slit open." He once again pressed the shard to his throat, but when he tried to go further, he couldn't. It was then that he noticed the pink pony, holding his arm back, trying to stop him.

"Don't do it. You're not alone."