Trust
It’s not a senseless killing. The idiot police finally figured it out; these ponies chosen were killed purposely because of who they were, they weren’t picked at random as thought before. Only took them three murders to figure that out. I wonder when they’ll figure out the who, what, and why. If we looked at how long it took them to figure out the first part it should only be thirty or so more murders before they eventually catch the pony responsible, but will they ever catch them? The whole of Ponyville could be dead by the time they get around to solving this case. Maybe they need some help from other police forces across Equestria, but they would only join in if somepony was murdered in their own area.
Mrs Cake’s dead, the latest news screaming on the bulletin board, enticing everypony to read. There’s a big panic now. If they’re choosing victims then it could be any of us. Well, except the murderer that is; they’ll only find out who it is when they’re the only one left besides the killer, that’s when they’ll catch on.
Who is the murderer? Wouldn’t you like to know you ridiculous ponies? The vultures that prey on any information they don’t know, that’s what you are. You used to be nice when I was younger; at least I thought you were. I was wrong. I was always wrong about everything. I was a little gullible foal who believed what you said, but not anymore.
Snails is crying, I can see him. He loved the cakes from SugarCube Corner and now he couldn’t get them until Mr Cake felt up to baking again, if he does ever feel like cooking again. I wouldn’t if I were him. I would have run away and hidden myself from everypony around me; I would lose myself in my bittersweet tears and choke on my empathetic emotions. I would still do this; I wouldn’t pretend I had no feelings like I had been preconditioned to do as a young filly. I needed to be brave and fight against my true thoughts, not blurt them out whenever I felt it necessary. I suppose, unintentionally, I am still like this, but that is what makes me a good rebel; that is what makes me the best.
The best at what, is what most of you would ask. You don’t know what I do; you don’t know what I’ve done. I could never do anything really important, I am much too silent to do that, but I’m only silent because I have to be otherwise my career would be down the toilet. I do have a job, or at least I have to do some labour to do every day. Torture if you ask me. Only two more days until I have to go back to it but I’ll still be fighting at the same time, I’ll never give up my cause.
It’s important little filly, your friends would never understand me and my ways, but you do. I can see you looking at me, peering round at my face as if you know my thoughts and you know my plans. You want to join me I know, but your friends scare you, they hold you back. They control you as my friends had always controlled me. They will go you know. They’ll walk up and leave you at the first sign of something better. Everypony wants to escape at some point; everypony loses ponies they love because they find something better. Then we, their friends or family, are left staring at an empty road just waiting for them to turn around and change their mind. Even if they come back they’ll never be the same as they were.
How many ponies do you think have lost their loved ones little filly? Not through death or that stuff but through actual choice on the other ponies behalf. You can say that you’re proud of them, say that you’re going to be fine without them, but you never mean it. You lie as other ponies lie to you. And that’s why, when you eventually die, you realise that you never had the chance to do anything different. You never had the chance to walk away and forget because you were weak, supposedly.
They lie, little filly, they lie. You’re not weak because you care or feel lonely; you’re only weak if you let them go without saying anything. I didn’t say anything; I know I am weak. I shall always be that way until the day I go, and then I shall regret my decisions fully. But you don’t have to be that way; you’re a foal, there’s still a chance for you to be great, to be free and strong. I can help you. I can help everypony who needs to feel that strength, but then it will be up to you. After that it will be your choice whether you are going to carry on building your body into the weapon you can be.
Don’t let the rules make you fall down. What they tell you to do, ignore it. It’s taken me years of my life but now I realise the truth about this world we live in. It’s not the only one, it’s not the most powerful one, and it’s certainly not the perfect world it pretends to be. Perfect? Is that really a word? It can’t be real, yet we still strive for perfection.
Little filly, your friends stare at the sign with such conviction, but you don’t. You barely even notice what the sign says. I know why. I know why you fear the words it says. The hunt now has to begin. The hunt for the cruel hearted who would do such a horrible crime against pony kind. It’s not horrible when it’s the right thing to do. You shouldn’t worry or fear, nothing bad will happen to us. I promise.
The murderer’s out there and the idiot police would never suspect the truth. Only some ponies will have figured it out eventually, and they are dead. Dead as a doornail, dead as a statue, dead as a Big Mac. They’ve forgotten Mac and Cheerilee now, they weep for another pony instead; all of this chopping and changing must give you a massive headache.
I suppose I should walk away before I am noticed. If I stay and keep up this unenthusiastic look then I will be spotted as being the odd one out. I’m sure that this tyranny is not over…and it most likely never will be.