Beginning and the end.
This is the tale of Scrotie McBoogerballs. Scrotie McBoogerballs was a pegasus born like any other stallion, eight weeks early and covered in pus-oozing sores and boils all over his body. His mother’s womb was black and white with rot and pus; she had died moments before Scrotie McBoogerballs popped out of her stomach like a giant zit. His infantile form found his mother’s dead decaying teats and fed on the sour milk festering within.
He was found like this on the side of the road leading off into the wood by a brown stallion with a darker mane and an hour glass cutie mark known to the town as Mr. (Time) Keeper. Mr. Keeper saw movement off the beaten trail and looked closer. There he saw the disfigured form of Scrotie McBoogerballs.
One of his eyes were swollen shut, the squirming swarm of maggots in his eye made the eyelid seem to dance hypnotically. One of the back legs was significantly shorter than the rest, ending in bare bone rather than a hoof. His left wing was also missing, instead replaced with a bleeding bulbous pus-filled boil with several feathers sticking out haphazardly. Its right wing fared no better, completely devoid of feathers, it was nothing more than a wrinkly skin sack full of partially formed bones. There was a small hole in the skin that connected the wing to the body, from which emerged a good sized spider, leaving one to think the wing was also home to a nest of spiders.
Upon noticing the distinct lack of a mane, Mr. Keeper’s eyes trailed to the tail, or lack thereof. With nothing to block the view, Mr. Keeper witnessed the full glory of the foal’s private area. The sac was over swollen and covered in dried yellow pus, making it appear as though it were but a tissue for a very sick pony. If one were to venture closer, it could be seen that the pus was still seeping out of the pours themselves. The sac seemed to throb with the irregular heartbeat, each throb forcing just a bit more pus out to give the sac a fresh coat.
The foal, finished drinking from the teat, revealed a lack of teeth. Not uncommon with foals, but it was also missing the gums to hold the teeth. With nothing to hold them in place, its lips would have curled up into the mouth like that of a pony that has had too much salt. Unfortunately, both the top and bottom lip had a severe cleft, meaning that most of the lips were missing, revealing the non-gummed bone of the jaw. Its tongue was black and shriveled, laying limply in the vast cavity of the mouth and flopping around with each movement.
Mr. Keeper took in all of these details in mere moments, and then spent several minutes throwing up his lunch. There before him streamed the gooey remains of his half-digested daisy and daffodil sandwich. Some of the flowers failed to be fully turned to mush and appeared to be smiling back at Mr. Keeper. Among the bile were larger bits of bread, as well as longer strands of his hay fries. Why Mr. Keeper never properly chewed his food, the world may never know.
Finished with relocating his lunch, he turned in time to see Scrotie McBoogerballs dragging his body toward the refreshing smell of fresh pony vomit. All the way, the friction from the ground scrapped open the numerous blisters and boils along his underside. His “intact” wing snagged on a lower branch of a nearby bush. The skin being mostly rotten ripped apart with little to no resistance. The spider swarm inside the wing was thrown into a panicked frenzy at the destruction of their home. Some of them simply abandoned their home, deemed traitors and deserters by the other spiders.
The loyal portion of the swarm burrowed further into their host, finding an artery and riding it to a potential new home. Upon their destination to the brain, they discovered their promised land. As far as their eyes could see, various types of larvae swarmed between the folds of what little brain there was. With a spidery cheer they descended upon and devoured the peace loving larvae. With an absolute victory of the spiders, the surviving larvae named that day, the day of invasion and utter annihilation, as “The Day of the Great Purge.”
Meanwhile, Scrotie McBoogerballs reached the puddle of vomit. His wing was hanging at his side by just a thin strip of skin, pus filled blood flowed freely down his side. His boils, now popped or scrapped away, also bled or oozed pus, some squirmed and withered with maggots and other parasites feasting on the decayed flesh.
He opened his mouth and began to messily slurp up the vomit, the acid burning away the remains of his tongue and killing several maggots as it flowed down his throat and into his spoiled milk-filled stomach. Enticed by the smell, the nest of flies taking refuge in his lungs crawled their way out through his nose in order to also partake in this feast.
Unfortunately, his body never produced the stomach acid and had no way to resist its strong dissolving power. The worms in his intestines felt the oncoming heat of the acid. As instinct took over, they slithered through the few intestines the foal had and fled to safety. The foal’s ass hole bulged outward as the worms tried to force their way out. The malformed ass hole was still sealed shut with a layer of flesh. Doing what some of them did best, they began to eat away at the obstacle. However, this was of no use, for the acid was upon them.
They writhed in pain as screamed silent wormy screams as life left their bodies. The pressure of the acid on the weakened flesh, as well as the dissolving effects of the acid, proved too great and with a loud “pop!” the ass hole was blown open, spraying the ground with blood, pus, and melted worms.
Meanwhile in the brain, the spiders declared a day of great victory and began to feast in celebration. They began to dig into the gummy brain tissue, the taste and effect was intoxicating. Soon the skull was full of drunken spiders singing drunken spiders’ songs. Several of them, drunk and stupid, began a massive fight. The more scared spiders fled to safety in whichever way they could.
Mr. Keeper was frozen in shock, watching Scrotie McBoogerballs writhe in pain as the acid ate through his body and blow out his ass. Soon after, his limbs and head began flailing about as he convulsed in a seizure. The momentum of his limbs was too great, his rotting flesh too weak to hold himself together, he was torn limb from limb. His remaining stumps continued to twitch however they could. Eventually he stopped all together and grew still.
Mr. Keeper was beginning to come out of his state of shock when Scrotie McBoogerballs’ eye bulged dramatically and spilled hundreds of drunken and disorderly spiders out onto the ground. Thrust into fight or flight instincts, he turned tail and ran into Ponyville as fast as his legs could carry him. He needed to get help, tell somepony, anypony, but for the moment he could only think of leaving what could not be unseen as far behind him as possible.
The spiders decided to head off into the world, and find a safe place where they would be able to raise their spider babies. With a solid vote to find a place of true peace, they turned away from their old home and took the first of many tiny spider steps toward their new future.
To be continued?