//------------------------------//
// The New Bearers of Bitter Fruit 
// Story: The Little Curiosities 
// by Comma Typer 
//------------------------------//

1:00 A.M.

The dark hallway’s clock tells her that much. Her hedonistic party-party brother usually comes much, much later. Stupid drunkard, stupid posh university party lifestyle. Empty-nest parents live on the far-off coast to chase adventure on sailboats with some seapony friends. All of her own friends are uniform day larks. If it isn’t any of them….

Teeth bite her lips. Blood runs faster than a storm of buffalo. It hits her.

Burglary.

The not-so-lonely Earth pony zooms down the hall in tip-toe. Tip-hoof quietly. Tries to listen for unknown hoofsteps.

Time to be brave with spoken questions: “Hello? Is there somepony there?” Hopefully, that would alert the burglar and scare him off.

Stupid in hindsight. A regular burglar would not reveal his presence and location so easily.

Clink!

But they can make mistakes. Here’s hoping her enemy is an edgy teenage novice in the art of theft.

The mare’s ears swivel toward the living room, the source of the offending sound. Yes, the living room, the room of valuables bar none save for the occasional bedroom: television, sofa’s spare change or secret money, outdated stereo players, mid-rate paintings, expensive pottery, and precious jewelry.

Have to think, act, like a burglar: trot quietly, don’t let the other pony notice the approach. She creeps up closely to the living room’s door.

Clink! Another blunder by the bumbling burglar. All of doubt’s shadows are banished from the mare’s mind: there is an intruder.

Her head pokes through the door ajar.

That’s the one! Unicorn mare, inspecting the TV remote. Not much else to describe thanks to her baggy black clothes topped with a balaclava. Couldn’t see her cutie mark; would have been a surefire way to get the cops clamping her down.

The unicorn cocks her head. She turns to the door.

The hopeless inhabitant pulls her head back in. 

A flash later, the robber is gone. The remote, too.

A few seconds of waiting, just in case the robber might give her the jump. Don’t close the door. Don’t touch the door. Don’t approach the door. Stay as still as possible until the coast is clear.

“Don’t move.”

The mare would have screamed at the robber’s voice, but hooves silence her muzzle. Her legs kick in muffled desperation, but they kick nothing.

The robber’s breath drags dread up her spine.

“Didn’t expect perfection my first time through.” The robber does not speak; she mumbles with clarity. “Still, I’m getting sloppy. Should be easy robbing the homes of new ponies like you.”

Another scream is what the mare tries. It is futile: her mouth is now gagged.

“No matter. Your new-fangled technologies will fetch a high price back in Equestria. My boss has bidders in Griffonstone, Klugetown, and even the Dragon Lands. They are dying for those devices which can hold a hundred museums’ worth of paintings!”

It has to be her phone. Good thing she placed it under the mattress when the suspicious noises cropped up.

“Anyway, I shall take these other valuables plain and simple. Try someone else on some other day, you see? Ah, and if you contact the police…well, you’ve seen me teleport, haven’t you? So, you better watch out.”

The victim is served a big smack in the head. Then, pushed against the wall, kicked multiple times on the back for good measure: a world of pain throbbing everywhere in her body.

A poof and a flash bring the robber back to the living room. The mugged mare could barely stand up, fatigued and damaged, so she could only stare in her own helplessness as the Equestrian criminal levitates all the jewelry and the pottery in sight.

And vanishes in a teleport into the night.

The resident passes out seconds later.

1:02 A.M., reads the dark hallway’s clock.