Chapter 12: Putting Down a Friend
Edited by Imperius
Kindness.
That word feels foreign to me. Know its meaning obviously, yet doesn’t feel like I truly know it. Not many deserve it, very few. Trixie didn’t deserve it, if she did, still wouldn’t give it. Yellow pegasus suggested getting her back to Ponyville, kindness would not be necessary. Lack of kindness would be better. Would make her leave sooner. Walking through the forest calmness helps me think. Wasn’t sure on course of action, something that unsettled me. Had always been sure in deeds and worked with unfaltering certainty. Things always were black and white, right or wrong, righteous or sinful. It wasn’t the same here. Different approach to pastel colored ponies needed. Where to even start, I had no idea.
I took my time getting back to the willow tree that marked the turn back to my home. I felt no rush to be anywhere. Same as it has been for weeks now. Still lost essentially in the mass of green chaos that reminded me very little of the sinful concrete jungle that I stalked. I wonder if they’ve rebuilt yet from the disaster that befell them. It’ll just be the same as before, a new face perhaps but the same sickening soul underneath. They’ve just made more gutters for the blood to refill, and I wasn’t there to stem the tide. New villains would step in to fill the shoes of the old and new scum with form beneath the soles of the city.
I knew if I found a way back to New York City it would be the same as it always was. Why doesn’t that satisfy me as it should? Perhaps it’s the realization that I truly don’t have much time left to my life, or it might have something to do with a girl that sits on a red swing set making flower tiaras.
“-and of course Trixie didn’t even balk at the number of Timber Wolves! Scores of them were sent running by the awesome power of the Great and Powerful Trixie! Tails between their legs and fire at their backs!” the azure unicorn exclaimed loudly, continuing her story to me as I try again to twine rope into a knot. She thinks I’m still listening, that behind my face is an expression of rapt attention. It was getting progressively harder to tune out her loud and obnoxious voice.
I’ve had to deal with the incessant talking of ponies; they were a long winded group of creatures with the tendency to add as much emotion as they could into their stories. Applejack especially liked to talk, in most cases about her family and stories about her closest friends. In honest I found it enjoyable to listen to her, her joy was infectious and I found it interesting to see a different perspective. It was like looking into the other side of life that was as foreign to me as pastel talking ponies. In contrast I’ve found no such joy in listening to the Great and Powerful Trixie speak. On end, since I returned and cleaned out the cave with mint, she’s been talking. I found it easy enough to tune her out at first but I could only do so much. Her voice was like a grating of harsh copper mesh against glass. She went from one embellished story to the next, speaking without pause. Being so long alone has kept her silent, now with company she seems to be taking advantage of the unwilling listening ear. Unfortunate that it was me.
“And now that Trixie has a chance to rest and scheme Twilight Sparkle will rue the day she decided to shame Trixie!” the azure unicorn suddenly declares to the sky. The statement causes me to fumble on twining the rope. The way she said it, hoof risen to the sky like a lamentation to fate and a damnable promise to a unseen god, it reminded me of a distant memory of a younger me, near the beginning where Rorschach had just begun in the place of Walter Kovacs. A flashback to a time before the police strike, before the Keene Act was passed, and when Moloch the Mystic still ran rampant. It was after his hijacking of the Queen Elizabeth II, a luxury ocean liner docked on the East River of Manhattan. A voice cold as ice that I still remember as clear as my own name shouted out from an escaping speedboat, Moloch’s face twisted into malicious sneer to us as we were forced to watch him flee. “I shall return from this defeat and you will rue the day you stood against Moloch the Mystic!” he called out to us, several members of the Watchmen and I, who assembled to stop Moloch and his henchmen from raiding the ship and taking the passengers hostages. Nite Owl retorted in his usual fashion but what he said was lost to me now.
Six years later Moloch reappeared with the bombing of the New York Stock Exchange, killing three dozen people and injuring scores of others. It was the first declared act of terrorism against the United States of that decade and Moloch barely served any time for it. I remembered thinking how flawed our justice system had to be for letting that maniac walk.
I’m paying closer attention now. She had her back to me, hoof to her chin as she schemed. I could only imagine the evil grin upon her face, a malicious sneer like Moloch’s. Unconsciously I find myself coiling the rope around my hands until the thick rope was tight.
“Oh I already have it all planned out, monster! I can see it now, Trixie triumphantly walking through Ponyville. Fireworks across the sky as ponies stare in awe at her approach.” She said, visualizing the scene in front of her and away from me.
I shift now to listen better, I barely notice I haven’t let go of the rope around my hands.
“And when Twilight Sparkle appears I’ll overwhelm her with an attack so devastating that she’ll be brought to the ground. She’ll be helpless before me!” she cackles evilly at the thought of her dastardly deed, one that never actually happened or ever will happen.
I shift forward. Memories of the cruise liner still crawl across my mind and images of the dead at the Stock Exchange flash by like they did on the television screen. I remember scaling side of ship. Used garrote to strangle one of Moloch’s henchmen. I don’t remember if I killed him or not. I hope I did.
“And with her helpless before the Magnificent Trixie-“
My hands are reaching out, her neck looks so inviting. Wouldn’t take long. Kill her and be done with it.
“ -I’ll cover her in glue and feathers so she knows the embarrassment that Trixie has suffered!”
What…
My hands fall back to my side and the rope goes limp again. Trixie is still laughing over her supposedly devious plot. Childish, all of these ponies, to even begin to think they were capable of anything beyond a pillow fight was setting myself up to disappointment. I turn back around and toss the rope down. She hears the sound of the rope striking the ground and cocks her head around to look at me, “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” I grunt. I stand up and shove hands into my pocket, “Voice is giving me a headache.” I can at least take pleasure in the scowl she gives me; at least it was quiet compared to the screeching of her voice. “Still refuse to go back to town?” I ask her.
She turns her chin to the sky insolently, “Not until I’m ready.”
I harshly retort back to her, “Figured, have someplace to be. Will be back later today. Don’t wander off too far.”
She jumps around, “Wait, you’re leaving again?” She catches the worry in her voice and huffs again, “Fine then, Trixie needs time to herself anyway without a monster hanging about.”
I grumble, dislike being called a monster, especially by such an annoying sound, but dislike speaking to her any more than I have to more than correcting her. I would rather there be peace and quiet, and since that wasn’t possible I suppose a different droning sound would be better. I already dislike my options.
“An’ apparently Fluttershy didn’t even want to be a model the entire time; she just wanted to make Rarity happy. Ah sure am glad that got settled, though it’s a shame I gotta get rid of my Fluttershy banners fer the apple stand.” Applejack happily recalled to me as she bucked the tree with her hind legs, sending a torrent of apples into the waiting buckets underneath.
Wordlessly I grabbed the nearest one and moved it onto the cart. It was the usual routine. She’d talk, I’d listen, and most often the task at hand was harvesting apples. Never cared much for attending to farm work but manual labor helped clear my mind. Helped as well to have a different sound to focus on, one that didn’t drive me to kill.
Wasn’t entirely sure even what the story she was telling me was about. Apparently Fluttershy in the span of a few days had become a famous model, not sure how it was possible. The canary colored pegasus was frightened of her own shadow, doubted she’d be able to stand the rigors of modeling. Then again never understood mentality of fashion world. Main problem was keeping secrets from one another not about her short lived fashion career (I’m glad she doesn’t talk about such superfluous things to me). For some it was a natural reaction to confrontation to lie, never turns out right in end though. Secrets always came to light. Disastrous results.
She offers to pull the cart as she usually does but I shake my head as a sign to tell her no, needed to keep myself busy, not idle. “Still ah can’t quite understand why they’d be keeping secrets from one ‘nother. Ah mean it sounds like that whole mess could’a been avoided if’n they’d just told each other what they felt sooner.” She said, thinking aloud, as she walked next to me.
I shrug, can’t pretend I fully understand it either. Gave my opinion anyway, “People pay heed to their appearances, don’t want to lose expectations others have of them. Lying, convenient way of avoiding the problem.”
“Ya sound like you’re talkin’ from experience.” she bantered back to me.
I smile, a feature that should be lost on her yet somehow I think she sees it. My mask is getting thinner each day. “Grew up in city, cities built on secrets and lies, you go digging deep enough, and you’ll find that being honest is just an appearance as well.”
“Ah didn’t get that feeling from the time ah spent in Manehattan.” She replied.
“Hurm, you told me about that, wasn’t too surprised. Was sheltered, upper class, the well-off make good excuses to ignore their fallacies. Good enough to point where even they fail to realize the fibs they tell themselves. Made sense you didn’t feel like you fit in.”
Applejack nods in understanding until she struck fully by what I said. She stopped trotting and watched me pass with a strange look, “Was that a compliment just now ya gave me?”
“An observation is all,” I reply as I pull the cart. I can see from the periphery of my eyes the grin she had. Don’t understand what need she had to be happy. Only said what I saw, should have been obvious to her as well she was inherently good. Not often I could say that in line of work, or perhaps former line of work to be exact.
Applejack goes on ahead to get the barn door open once we’ve cleared the orchards, leaving me alone to pull the cart past the fields where the farm’s cows graze. Still perturbed that cows talk here, was uncomfortable with the urge to eat them yet knowing they were intelligent enough to speak English.
Something wasn’t right in the fields though. I stop the cart and straighten my back to look over the simple wooden fence. There were no obvious signs of trouble but I could feel a certain tenseness about the distant herd that I’d liken to a crowd of onlookers who have just witnessed some horrible accident. Standing there mouths agape, not one to step in to help. I hop over the fence, leaving the cart where it was to investigate.
Instantly the cows shy away from me as I approach. They never talked to me in the rare occasion I saw them or were near them. Somehow they felt something was very off about me, animal intuition perhaps. Something in the middle of the herd though frightened them even more than me. Like human faces I can see the look of silent terror, an aghast look of unease, I expect the worst. The cows parted, not to let me pass but out of a respectful fear.
In the center there lay a cow with a pink hat on, a limp daisy springing from the side of it. A noticeable distance had been taken between the rest of the cows and this one. They seemed to be avoiding her like the plague yet still held close enough out of concern for her well-being. It was that or they were just curious. I knelt down, expecting the cow to shy away from me as they usually do. I feel unease when she doesn’t respond to my movement. Leaning over I put a hand to her forehead to get a better look at her. She struggles weakly but seems too confused to understand what was going on. The daisy cow’s dilated eyes were darting wildly around, unfocused but taking in everything it could in a silent and hysterical manner. As if she was in the grips of a tormenting fever. I take my hand away and remove my glove to be sure; placing my palm down on her damp forehead I can feel an unnaturally high heat. I move my hand down to her chin, she won’t stop trembling and I think now it isn’t because of my touch. Pulling her lip down I can see her mouth was dry with the exception of foamy white saliva that was seeped into the corner of her mouth by gravity. Dehydration, yet there is a full trough of water nearby. Taking my hand away I notice the soaking ground around her, she’s been sweating profusely and it appears the other cows have been dampening her with water and wet cloths in hopes of easing the raging fever she was suffering from.
I put my palm to the side of her chest and feel a fast and irregular heartbeat, it felt like she was in a panic and I could tell she struggled to move her tired form. It hasn’t been long since she collapsed but I assume the symptoms have been steadily getting worse up to this point. Disconcerting, the cows were quick to inform the Apple family of any one of their numbers falling ill, unless they knew something that they were keeping secret. I check the rest of her body but find nothing noteworthy. Then I checked her back hoof and saw the deep brown mark of a healed wound.
I grab her hoof and she instinctively kicks me in my kneeling knee. Painful but far weaker than any hooved animal should put up. The sign of aggression shocks me, these cows were pacifists at worst and never lashed out against anyone for any reason. I examine the old wound, likely a week old; it’s healed correctly as I can see no signs of torn tendons or broken bones yet the wound itself showed signs of being necrotic. Infection perhaps? Why keep that a secret? I trace the lines of the wound with my eyes and notice a familiar pattern to them.
I pull up my sleeve to see the bite mark of one of the timber wolves; it was near identical to the wound on the cow’s leg. Same shape, same puncture marks as my arm had. So she’d been attacked and infection set in, why keep it a secret? My musing is abruptly ended when I hear the sound of choking. I turn to the Daisy cow’s head. Her eyes were still darting madly around and she acted like she was choking. A slow mournful cry and gasp was heard through the herd. Those closest whispered amongst themselves as they took a few steps back.
Slowly my mind was putting the pieces together. A wound on her leg, a bite mark from a predatory animal. She was feverish, delirious, and I realize now what I had taken to be mad motions of her eyes I think was her attempts at pinpointing every little sound and movement that was happening around her, she was hypersensitive to everything around her. Finally she was dehydrated and seemed unable to swallow water. What little saliva she could form was foamy and drooled from the lips of her mouth.
I sigh as I pull my hand away from her hoof, letting it drop to the ground. It didn’t take a veterinarian to realize what she had. I’ve seen it before in rabid dogs that roamed the streets at night for food. I see now why the herd was keeping her a secret. They knew what was going to happen and they were terrified to see it, perhaps by keeping quiet they thought they were helping her. By the time they figured it out she was beyond helping. The inevitable end had to happen, she was suffering.
I stand back up and replace the glove to my hand before shoving them both into my pockets, again the herd parts a path for me to leave. Their attention was more on the agonized moaning of their friend dying of a fatal and frightening pestilence than me. I spot Applejack waiting by the cart looking for my whereabouts, she sees me come from the field and watches me hop the fence before asking what was wrong. I tell her one of the herd was sick and left it at that, didn’t want to tell her anything for certain before I was sure. I ask her to fetch Fluttershy to help. She leaves without question, galloping down the path in the direction of the pegasus’s cottage. I know the distance well; I have time to move the cart into the barn, and to make sure as well that axe blade kept inside was sharp.
After some time Applejack and Fluttershy return to find me at the fence again. “Mr. Rorschach, Applejack said something was wrong with one of the cows! Is one of them hurt or sick?” the pink maned pony asked, clutching a box of first aid in her hooves. I don’t answer her, she’d see for herself soon enough. I tilted my head towards the field to gesture for them to follow me. They shared a perplexed glance before they followed over the fence; they still sometimes had trouble following my cryptic ways.
After some walking on the wide green pasture I spotted the herd again. They hadn’t changed from the way before. Applejack came up beside me; she too could sense the tenseness that was in the herd. They had congregated amongst themselves into small groups of harsh whispered debates. One of them looked up and spotted the farm mare, “Oh Applejack dear, it’s terrible!” she called out. The rest of the cows looked up at the sound, once they spotted Applejack they rushed to her, all talking at once to try and frantically tell her what was wrong.
I took the chance to slip away, dragging Fluttershy with me despite her wish to help calm the cows down. I turn her towards the one cow that hadn’t rushed for Applejack’s aid and she gasped, rushing in a flash of yellow towards the fallen cow with the pink hat. The young orange mare meanwhile was trying her best to understand what was being said, but it was all she could keep them from panicking. “Girls please calm down! Everything’s gonna be alright with Fluttershy here. Now please one at a’ time tell me what the hay is going on!” Slowly the clamor died down and I, standing off to the side, could hear the faint beginnings of a story that I already deduced.
Fluttershy was at the sickly cow’s side when I stepped over, she herself looked in pain at seeing the condition the cow she repeatedly called ‘Daisy’ was in. I watched in silence as she expertly examined the cow’s injury and the symptoms she was having. I was content to let her come to the same conclusion I did until the yellow pegasus reached for the cow’s head. Daisy reacted violently, lunging at Fluttershy’s hoof as I pulled her back. I doubted Daisy could do any damage, she was too far gone, but the spittle she threw around was pure pestilence, it could be dangerous to get it in the eyes or mouth. With tears in her eyes Fluttershy looked up to me, I nod to confirm her thoughts. She stifles a sob with her hooves, the tears were running freely from her as I passively stare at the cow’s struggling form.
Applejack trotted over, away from the herd, “The girls told me what happened, apparently a Timber Wolf got into the pasture and got Daisy by the leg. They ran the wolf off but Daisy has been feeling sick ever…” her voice trails off when she sees Fluttershy silently crying and the collapsed Daisy, croaking a sickening sound trying to breathe. “Oh no…” she whispers, I can see her legs start to tremble. In an instant Fluttershy is with her, embracing her to comfort each other for a fallen friend. I stand by the side watching the cow desperately take in air. I’m focusing on where her carotid artery was and the vertebrae in her neck, not the scene of emotion next to me.
“Rabies…” Big Macintosh said quietly. He’s seated at the table with Applejack and Fluttershy while I’m standing nearby looking out the window towards the field. We’d just gotten back from the them to tell Big McIntosh the news. He was taking it much better, in my opinion, than Applejack or Fluttershy.
Applejack solemnly nodded, “Fluttershy and Rorschach agree, there ain’t anything we can do fer her now… And Daisy always was the most lively one of the herd.”
“She always had a nice thing to say to anypony passing by,” Fluttershy said quietly in response.
“She’s also Applebloom’s favorite cow,” Big Macintosh said in his deep bass voice. The statement cuts through them deep though I feel very unmoved by it.
“Should… should we tell her?” Fluttershy asked meekly, now trying to hide behind her mane after asking the question.
“Daisy is Applebloom’s friend, she should know… but she’s just so young,” Applejack said.
“What are y’all talkin’ about Daisy for?” A tiny voice asks from the kitchen doorway. We all turn to see Applebloom. She still had her school saddlebags on, she must have just now gotten back from school.
“Oh dear,” Fluttershy said teary eyed again. Even Big Macintosh’s composure seems shaken now that Applebloom was here. Applejack said nothing, she opened and closed her mouth several times to say something but each time nothing came out.
“What’s goin’ on? What’s the matter Applejack?” Applebloom asked, I could hear her voice crack at the worry that was growing in her from each of the pony’s reactions. They had weak constitutions for such things as death and pestilence.
“Your cow has rabies.”
Each head turns to me at the sound of my harsh voice. I turn around from the window to look down at Applebloom, “Your cow, Daisy, is suffering. Little help we can offer.”
She takes a shocked step back, “W-w-what?”
“Won’t need to do anything,” I turn to Applejack, “I’ll handle it.”
“Handle it? Applejack what’s he talking about?”
“Move the rest of the herd to another field. Don’t need them panicking. Rest of family as well can stay in, best you don’t see it.”
“See what?! What are you saying, Rory?!” Applebloom cried out.
For a moment I just look at her, I see an innocent child before me confronted with the single, ultimate truth that each living thing must one day come to terms with. The very fact of nature that one day, by one way or another, all life dies. Cruel she has to find out this way but she’d have to deal with the realization after the matter at hand was dealt with. Daisy couldn’t be allowed to spread it to the rest of the herd.
“Better she not suffer more than needed,” I tell her. By now no other pair of eyes is willing to look at the horrified and pained look in Applebloom’s eyes. No one but me. She deserved to know, she should have someone to blame it all upon. I look to Big Mac to see him looking at me, his face is stoic as always but behind it I can see the sadness in his eyes. I jut my head towards the door and we both walk across the kitchen to it.
“Applebloom, Ah’m so sorry,” Applejack began but before she could finish Applebloom raced out after us. Big Macintosh had broken away to gather the herd in another pasture while I went to the barn.
I came out with the axe in hand to find myself being stared down by a resolute and angry Applebloom with the yellow pegasus and orange mare trying to calm her down. She can’t hear them; she’s too focused on me.
“Ah won’t let you hurt her!” Applebloom shouted, tears glistening in her eyes. I don’t answer, it was best if she could vent it all out. “She’s just sick is all! She’ll get better! It isn’t right what you’re thinking of doin’!”
I pass by her, headed towards the fields. Applebloom chases after me while shouting as best she can while keeping up with me, “Stop! You can’t do this! It ain’t right!”
She cuts in front of me and forces me to stop; she shouts at the top of her little lungs, “If you do this Ah’ll never forgive you!” The statement hangs in the air; the other two mares stood nearby, too shocked and saddened to talk to her anymore. Even I feel a pang of something in my chest. Wish I could say I felt something else, some little indecision in what needed to be done. Confronted by this innocent foal who saw me for the monster I was I should have felt shame.
And yet I felt nothing.
Emotionally spent Applebloom sits down on the ground. Softly she begins to cry, a heart wrenching sound to the mares and even to me. It wasn’t the sound of a child denied her favorite toy or the sound of a child who has been scolded, it was deeper than that, a part of her soul crying out in sadness and anguish. Applejack and Fluttershy embrace the crying foal, tears in their eyes as well as they did their best to quell their own sadness to comfort her. I should feel something for this spectacle of sadness and emotion, and yet all I can feel is the heavy weight of the axe in my hand and the mildly uncomfortable heat of the sun.
I walk around the three crying mares and climb over the fence. My shoes hit the green grass with a soft thud with each step I take into the field.
Macintosh has already cleared the field. All around us there was nothing but green pasture and the sounds of birds singing in the nearby trees. It was a peaceful day that would go uninterrupted, heedless of the deed I was about to do.
A group of crows has gathered nearby, sensing the impending event. Watching them land I come to a slow realization that a group of crows was called a murder. A murder of crows to watch the execution.
Daisy’s eyes are no long wild in delirium, they’re focused on me. They’re focused on the axe I had in my hand. I wonder if she could even form coherent thoughts anymore, or if self-preservation was still a clear instinct in her mind. I cannot tell. She can only look at me with pleading eyes as she croaked and mooed in tormented anguish. Does she plead to take the pain away or for me not to do it?
I look up to make sure that no ponies were around; I didn’t want any of the innocent things to see the blood that would be spilt. The murder of crows would bear enough witness to the execution for they were far from innocent. They stare at me in silence, beady, black eyes glinting with expectation. There are a dozen or so of them, sitting in the cool green grass, their impatience was obvious, their message plain; kill her and be done with it.
I look back down to Daisy. She can sense the resolve in my stance and she struggles meekly on the grass. She’s trying to get up but she can’t get her hooves to the ground again. She lifts her head but it falls back to the ground from the exhaustion of dehydration. Her pink hat tumbles off; it lies on the grass by her head with the limp daisy sticking up to the sky. I ready the axe in my hand, one of the crows squawks its impatience at me.
Daisy lifts her head up again and pleadingly moos. I lift the axe head up, my arms poised to spring. She chokes on her own foamy spittle while trying to moo again.
The axe glints silver off the sun, raised to strike down not on a slab of wood but a living thing. Daisy manages to keep her head up to watch me, I can barely see my own face reflected against the gleam of the axe, the black blots formed a smile too wide for my face.
She moos a third time and was cut short as I plunge the axe downwards upon her neck. The murder of crows scatters to the sky as a blue coated figure watches from the tree line.
I made the pyre off of the pasture near the forest line. Couldn’t risk burying her, the chance of an animal feasting on her and catching the disease was too great. All things were cleansed in fire, it felt right this way and there would be a chance to bury her beneath rocks once it was done with.
I sit watching the fire burn, well aware of what lay beneath the pyramid of branches. Daisy’s pink hat is held softly in my hands; absently I feel its fabric while I watched the fire dance before my eyes. A black pillar of smoke thick with the smell of burning death was strong. It marred the sky like a burnt scar, a miasmic blackness against the deep blue of an otherwise seamless and perfect sky.
I think back to Applebloom and look of pained anger she gave. I can understand her grief, it was logical, but I couldn’t feel the same way she could. They all understood what had to be done but they shied away from it. I wonder what they would have done if I wasn’t here, if I wasn’t the one to do it. Did they have what it took to bring mercy in the form of death? Could they live with it? I was beyond such petty thoughts of guilt; it no longer occurred to me anymore what it meant to regret taking a life. Felt nothing from the act anymore. I was numb to it, the lines that defined right and wrong were so clear there couldn’t be any doubt who deserved death and who did not. There was nothing to contemplate, nothing to be guilty about.
It greatly confused me to know that they will grieve. Their friend, Daisy was her name, was dead the moment disease set in. From that point on she was no longer the Daisy they knew. She was just a mad animal. Just like any other mad animal she had to be put down before she could hurt the innocent. There was never any other alternative, no redemption from madness and no full cure for it. Mad animals can’t be helped.
Mad animals deserved to be put down.
[Sorry about the long wait, been rather busy. Hope you enjoyed this chapter and also want to officially welcome readers who came by thanks to EquestriaDaily, hope you like the story as well! -Ex Nihilos
P.S. special thanks to me mate Imperius for helping with editing and bouncing ideas, also a shout out to me mates who worked on that Crossroads project with me!
P.P.S Ghost edit, so I was thinking about asking around to see if I could get some good ole cover art or fan art besides what I got now for Rorschach in Equestria, PM with directions to point me in the right direction to get in touch with some artists or on the off chance you yourself are an artist! (I ask nothing special, no demands to be had, just want to see what creativity there potentially is out there]