It was not his goal initially, to kill everypony.
His house was filled with a foreboding darkness, one that would normally shiver a pony to the core. Creaks and clicks were heard from all around, as mice skittered around in an oblivious stupor. There was absolutely no furniture in the building. All there was was a chair, and a table. It was all he’d ever needed for the last two years. The floor and a blanket was more than enough.
The walls were discolored and cold-blooded, hiding some kind of hostility towards the pony that mistreated such lovely work created so long ago. What was once painted beautifully on the walls was no more, ruined by blotches of the unknown--as well as mildew and cracks. The floors were always stale and bitter, and cold no matter the weather outdoors. It immediately bit at hooves the moment contact was made. The entire room smelled of urine. Underneath the stallion’s desk was a recent puddle. He wasn’t able to get off his chair, so he made do with his seat. The same went with his excrement, but that pile could be find directly behind him. This was extremely common.
His panting was quick and precise, as if one small wrong intake of breath could mean the end of his life. His tongue was dry and mimicked sand, no matter how many times he licked his mouth. The stallion didn’t care, though. He had more interesting things at hoof.
Bloodshot eyes painted his features, the look of an almost rabid dog. Black bags fell underneath said eyes. He had given up on sleep so long ago. There was just no need for it. His future, Equestria’s future, was at the tip of his hooves.
The stallion was a complete mess. His dull grey coat was matted down, dirty and smudged and sticky. He couldn’t remember the last time he showered. It was obviously weeks. It was the same for the condition of his teeth: no memory or their last cleanse. He had been forced to smell the vileness that was his own mouth for a while now. In fact, his teeth were in pain. He paid no attention though. He had blocked out everything by then, even the dull throbbing in his mouth.
His short mane was previously white. There was no way that it would ever become the bright beacon that it once was. His mane and tail were now too dirty--far too damaged--to ever go back to its natural self, even if he were to shower. The top of his head now resembled algae underneath the water. It even felt the same.
So close, he told himself. Over and over again, like a demented metronome. I’m so close. Tonight. Tonight. I’ll be finished by tonight. Please, oh please. Tonight. Tonight. His mind was frazzled, an electrical outlet with too many plugs--sparks flying here and there. It was truly a sight to behold.
In front of the stallion was three things: One, was a pizza box. Obviously, everything was eaten, even the crumbs. Instead of actually getting something to eat, he’d simply had food delivered. He had left the door open, allowing the delivery-pony access inside. The stallion never left his seat. Never. Not in the longest time.
The second thing on top of the desk was a singular light. It radiated a bright beam of hope into the stallion’s face, and his work. It was a guide to him, and the world around him of which he failed to even acknowledge. The lamp kept him alive.
There was one more thing on the desk, and it was the sole reason why the stallion had refused to leave: a typewriter. With every passing moment, a click and a clack rang throughout the empty house. It was music to his ears by now, even though it would have drove a normal pony insane. It was loud and obnoxious, but he didn’t mind. Nothing could destroy him now, unfortunately.
Weeks. Weeks he had been sitting in that chairs. Weeks, his mind had been running a mile a minute. Weeks, he had been running himself ragged.
Weeks, he had been working on his story.
He hadn’t spoke ever since he began. He hadn’t done anything besides write. He just couldn’t stop. Every so often, he’d look over to his large stack of paper located to the right of the desk, sitting dangerously close to a puddle. Every time he pissed, he had to shift his body away from the papers and the other puddles for fear of making it larger--for fear of ruining all of his hard work.
But now, on the 24th day, he was nearing a close.
He was almost constantly shivering, and his body had already began to deplete itself of life. He was so hungry, so thirsty. But there was nothing he could do. When he was done, he could get something to eat or drink. But for that moment, until he was done, he was going deal with it.
But… he was getting closer. His goal was within sight. He was experiencing an illusional euphoria that he couldn’t even explain. It rivaled a rush of adrenaline, but it was based directly off his mentally broken mind.
Tonight, tonight! He kept saying, like a choir was shouting at him in his head. It will be finished tonight!
Months of planning the idea. Weeks of writing it out. Days of excruciating pain and self-inflicted torture. But, it was all worth it. His mind was fractured by success and dreams.
But, he still didn’t mean to kill anypony.
It was four o’clock in the morning when the clicking of the typewriter finally came to a halt. For the first time in ages, the house returned to its natural silence. The stallion could actually hear the crickets chirp outside, and the early morning songbirds that devoured them.
His mouth was so dry that it hurt even more. With every word he spoke, it ripped his throat. He didn’t care. He just didn’t care enough. “It’s… done. Done! Done!” A grotesque smile wrapped itself around his face, damaged teeth showing in the light of the lamp. “Done! Done, done, done!” he shouted, manically.
There was a joyful feeling, an almost childish one, that opened itself up inside of him. He jumped up from the chair, barely missing his droppings, and backed into the middle of the room. 798 pages, and they were all his! A part of his book! His book!
His dream to be an author was now a reality. Now, ponies from far and wide would know of who he was, and what he had just done. His multi-week struggle would eventually pay off, that much he knew. He was going to be famous! He was going to make a name for himself! He was going to make everypony near him proud.
He laughed like a scientific genius. Though, it was more with relief than sickness. The inner workings behind dementia were illogical and irrational, but that didn’t stop the stallion. He was too happy, too excited.
His eyes shining brighter than the words he had just written, he grabbed the gigantic stack of literature in his hooves almost comically. He knew where he next destination was. He needed to go make copies, lots of them. He was going to show this story to everyone. He was going to make the world acknowledge his existence. He was very much alive, and he was very much looking forward to praise. He ran out the door, towards the nearest printing press he could find.
On the top of that very first page, was the title of that upcoming book.
In big bolded letters, it read: “The Saddest Story”.
Twilight Sparkle was eating cereal when the epidemic first began.
It was a Monday, and not in a good way either. The day was dreary, and there was a depressing overcast that shrouded that town of Ponyville is a haze that dignified a nap and a blanket. However, that was not going to stop Twilight. Even though she had just woken up, she simply didn’t feel like succumbing to the ways of the world. Besides, she wasn’t all that sleepy.
Twilight levitated another spoonful to her mouth, taking a brief delight as she felt the sensation of nourishment sliding down her throat. For some reason, she was absolutely starved.
She didn’t have all too much on her list of things to do today. In fact, today was most likely going to end up being one of her rare days to relax. Though she didn’t entirely feel like wasting the day away, maybe her friends could provide some entertainment for a while. Surely, somepony’s up to something somewhere.
With Spike at the store fetching groceries, Twilight felt a slight pang of loneliness vibrate though her bones. A tiny regret was knocking at her brain, telling her she should have went. Though, she just felt like she couldn’t. She was unable to describe it, but it was more like a silly hunch than an actual desire.
Another bite, another spoonful gone. Just what was she going to do today?
Oddly, she didn’t feel all that hungry anymore. Getting up from her table with a heaving sigh, she magically dumped the remnants of her breakfast in the sink. She’d wash dishes later. But for now, it could wait.
For some reason, she just felt sad. No rhyme or reason why, but everypony had those moments where the mind craved for something that wasn’t obtainable at the moment. Spike would be back shortly, then she’d perk up for sure. Spike almost always knew what to say.
There was a knock at the door, one that jarred Twilight out of her silly train of thought. Somepony was there, outside. But what for? “Coming!” Twilight called. A little more eagerly than necessary, she made her way towards the door. The dishes made a clattering noise in the sink the moment Twilight magically let go of them, and it made a rather large noise that echoed throughout the library.
Twilight opened the door, using her hooves. “Oh,” Twilight exclaimed, as she was met with a none-too-familiar face. “Hello, Prose,” she said as an interested smile adorned her lips.
A unicorn mare smiled back at Twilight. Eyes that mimicked poison shone behind her reading glasses. “Haha, surprised to see me?”
“Whoops, not at all! I forgot you were coming today!” How had she forgotten? It was the second Monday of the month. Of course. Prose was the librarian back in Canterlot--Twilight’s old fortress. Ponyville’s shipments of new books had stopped coming annually, but Canterlot’s didn’t. Luckily, Prose was a very nice mare, and took time out of her day to deliver extra unnecessary copies of books that their library already had. There was a large box on Prose’s back, neatly wrapped with a silver bow.
Prose’s light blue body shimmered, even in the poor weather. Twilight opened up the door a little wider when Prose’s mouth did the same. “Please, come in!” Prose didn't hesitate. She trotted inside of the library.
Twilight had always like Prose for some kind of odd reason. Maybe it was the strange, mature vibe that she tended to give off--even though they were the same age--as well as the fact that she was extremely bright and kind. She had read all of Twilight’s favorite books as well. What else were librarians supposed to do? When Twilight and Prose had left off last month, they had both been reading the latest book by Shutterwell. Twilight had long finished it, and had been dying to discuss it with somepony.
As soon as Prose entered the library, she let out a mighty groan. The box on her back was placed gently on the ground next to her. “Whew,” she said. “Heavier than you’d expect, those books.” Straight curtains of her brown mane hung downwards, fluttering with every shake of her head. Twilight had always wondered why Prose didn’t use magic when carrying those books, but she never gotten a clear answer.
“Truer words…” Twilight said, purposefully letting the words drift on. “I’m surprised your back isn’t killing you.”
“Oh, don’t worry.” She reached behind her, and gently rubbed her spine with a pained grimace. “It definitely is. I took the train here, so… not like I’ve really been carrying them for long. I’ll be alright.” Prose paused, another silence bringing the room together. “Where’s Spike?”
Twilight enveloped her horn in magic, and got to work untying the bow. Deep inside, she was childishly excited to look at this month’s new shipment of books. Normally, there would be at least seven or more of them. For some reason, the shipment looked a little larger than usual. “He’s at the store running errands for me,” Twilight said.
“That’s too bad,” Prose said, biting the inside of her mouth. Her voice was almost always eerily calm and melancholic, despite her actual emotions on her face. “Or, perhaps he remembered me coming and decided to run for the hills.”
“That is also a valid guess,” Twilight answered with a playful smile. “I’m only kidding. Spike thinks you’re the coolest.” The bow was proving difficult to remove, so Prose got down to help manually.
“Haha. True. So what’s new with you? Been a month since we last talked. I’m sure something interesting happened.” When Prose looked down a little further, her glasses fell. She pushed them up just as the bow decided to finally give way. Twilight almost immediately started to open the box.
“As of recent? It’s been really quiet. Been reading and studying, passing the time.” She snuck a brief look at her friend. “We still need to discuss Shutterwell, from last time.”
Prose’s ears perked upwards, and a grin formed on her face, as if she had just gotten the most devious plan. Twilight knew that that wasn’t the case, and that Prose was only playing around. “You mean Yonder Bay? I’ve read that three times already since then. Don’t even get me started on that book.”
The box opened. Twilight looked inside, while Prose didn’t. The librarian from Canterlot had been the one to pack the books initially. She already knew what was inside. What really surprised Twilight was that the books were in mint condition. Untouched by anypony, fresh off the shelves. That, and most of the books were just recently released to the public. “Wow, Prose! You’re really donating these? These books are phenomenal!” Prose smiled warmly.
“It’s no problem. We got more copies than we need--figured the ponies here would appreciate it,” she said modestly.
Twilight shook her head. “I don’t think you understand! Some of these books… I’ve heard residents of Ponyville talking about them for a while. They’ll be thrilled!” Twilight took out a few books and read their titles out loud. The first ones she grasped with her magic floated around her field of vision. She hardly needed to turn her head to read the titles.
“Remembering Star Child.” Next book.
“Descension.” Next book.
“Of Lilies and Labyrinths.” There appeared to be more books in the box, but Twilight didn’t look at them yet. She set the three she already noted to the side, and stood up. “Thanks a bunch, Prose. It means a lot.”
Prose simply waved her off with a dismissive hoof. “I just said, Twilight, it’s no big deal. Enjoy the books, really.” Twilight received a warm smile. “Most of these books are actually created at Popu-Palace Printing Co., and you know how their books can take a beating. These’ll last you a while.” There was a slight pause. “Besides, I’ve already read all the books in this box. You have some catching up to do.”
“And how,” Twilight declared. She couldn’t explain just how much the donations of books meant to her. Believe it or not, but most of the Ponyville populace had a thing for reading. Twilight had actually read a statistic somewhere that claimed that Ponyville was the third most literate town/city in Equestria, next to Manehatten and Canterlot--of course. “I can’t wait to get started. Rainbow Dash was telling me that she needed a new series to delve into.”
“Well, looks like I did my job, then.” Prose stood up, and adjusted her glasses once again. They didn’t appear like they wanted to stay on her face. “So, Shutterwell? I can’t stay forever. I left the library unattended.” To most ponies, this wasn't the biggest of deals. However, The Canterlot Library is fairly popular, with ponies coming from all over at different times of the day just to grab a good book. Twilight agreed immediately.
“Oh, really? Well, I’m going to go grab my copy of the book, and set some tea on the stove. Then we can get started.” Twilight stood up from her position on the floor, and Prose gave her an accepting nod. “I’ll be right back,” she added. With an almost filly-like smile on her face, she bounded for the kitchen. It was only once in a blue moon that she got the opportunity to have an intelligent conversation with somepony surrounding literature, especially a book. Sure, Ponyville enjoyed reading, but not so much sitting down and discussing.
With Twilight’s smile just as large as her hopes, she entered the kitchen.
Prose simply chuckled a nostalgic laugh, and turned back to her books on the floor and in the box.
Prose enjoyed Twilight’s presence, that was for sure. She felt that Twilight and her read books for different purposes: Twilight for learning and Prose for recreational and conversational reasons. But, every time that Prose and Twilight got together, it was like a meeting of the minds. Two different sides of the spectrum coming together.
She turned to look at the clock placed gingerly above the doorway. 10:34 AM. What was she talking about? She still had time to kill. After all, her train didn’t pull into town until noon, and she wouldn’t be carrying all those books on her back. It’d only take her a few minutes to get there.
Prose could hear the sound of a clanging pot coming from the kitchen as Twilight began to set up the tea. To her, the library looked the exact same from when she came over last month. Though, that lone fact caused her to become slightly restless.
How could she spend her time as she waited? That question was obvious. Little did Twilight know that Prose had packed her Shutterwell book as well. Though, it was at the bottom of the box, initially packed first when Prose was gathering the donated books. Also, this was done so that Prose could warn Twilight that that book was actually hers, and not to be given to the library.
She turned back to the large cardboard box, and let out a soft breath of air. Considering that Prose’s magic abilities were extremely lackluster, the unicorn sat back down and rummaged through the box of books with her hooves. Some of these books she was very leery to donate. You could never tell if a book were to become super popular until after the fact. She’d need every copy that she could get if that were the case.
But she knew that her hunch would be correct. After all, she’d already read the books, and to her they’re not really best-seller material. With another sigh, she pulled out book after book. She gave brief reviews when she tossed it aside. Poorly written... great read.. didn’t enjoy... oh--this one is now on my favorite’s list. Hmmm…
She was nearing the bottom of the box when something struck her as odd. She had reached the Shutterwell book. Weirdly, it was the second book from the bottom. “Huh?” she said. She was positive that the book she was going to need was placed underneath the rest. Prose had a spectacular memory, so she could actually recall her doing it. What’s the other book?
With her eyebrow cocked, she removed the Shutterwell novel from the box and set it aside. Not hesitating for a mere moment, she nabbed the book and held it in the light. She pushed the box away entirely, letting the book set on the floor in front of her.
The book itself was massive--much bigger than your average recreational book. In fact, it could have easily been mistaken for a tome. The book was obviously not published by a company. In fact, she could tell by the lack of--well, anything, that the book was not put together in the standard way. The entire book looked hastily put together, but it remained intact.
The book was a bright white, shining even though there was absolutely no light coming into to room. It was untainted, and unmarked. It was a very, very clean book. In big, black, bold letters, the title was plastered across the front. It appeared to be hoofwritten in permanent marker.
THE SADDEST STORY
For the first time in a while, Prose had found a book that she had never heard of before. Normally, she’d be excited, eager even, to get lost in a new book for a few hours. In fact, this book appeared long enough for her to take an entire day to read it. That being said, she was a fast reader. But, what threw her off was the fact that she had absolutely no idea where this book came from, or how it even got to be in the box in the first place.
She read the title of the book again, this time out loud. The amateurly designed book peaked her interest, but she was still skeptical. Upon further inspection which consisted of a full turn of the book, she wasn’t even able to figure out what the read was even about. What kind of book was released into the public without even telling readers what it’s about? The description that’s usually located on the back was usually what drives somepony to read said book in the first place.
She felt off. In fact, she had felt off the moment she had picked up the large white book in her hooves. But, she couldn’t just ignore it. Her dedication to literature had already made her decision on her course of action. There was never a book that Prose had come across that she didn’t read. Biting the inside of her cheek, and adjusting her glasses, she opened the book.
She began reading.
Meanwhile, Twilight Sparkle was pouring her tea into tiny cups with a grand smile on her face. Her magic had enveloped the kettle pot, as well as her book. She had so many thought provoking questions to ask Prose. When two ponies read the same book, surely somepony got something out of it the other did not. While Shutterwell was a fantastic author whose name would go down in history, the book raised the questions that she couldn’t answer on her own.
Twilight set the cups of tea on the kitchen table, where she already had plans to hold the actual two-pony book club. “Prose? I got the tea in the kitchen,” she called. Her head turned back to the table with perked ears that anticipated Prose’s response. She took a cautionary sip of tea. Strangely enough, there was no noise coming from the other room. Twilight paused.
Did she not hear? Unlikely, considering that the kitchen was only fifteen feet away from Prose and the box. She called again. “Hello? Prose?” Twilight furrowed her brow. Not wishing to be kept waiting, she carefully set down her cup of tea by her preferred seat and walked towards the doorway that lead to the foyer.
What she saw scared the living wits out of her, and would etch itself in her mind forever.
Prose was standing in the middle of the room. Her purple eyes were wide open and staring into oblivion. Her pupils had shrunk to the size of peas--in fact, Twilight couldn’t see them at all. It was as if there were just whites behind those circular rimmed reading glasses. Books were scattered all over the floor in a heaping mess. A white one was opened, right in front of her.
What made Twilight’s heart beat a mile a minute was that Prose was crying--blood. It poured down her face, down her neck, down her chest. It dripped onto the floor, creating a small puddle of bloody tears. It absolutely covered the area underneath her eyes, leaving her forehead and mane completely untouched.
“P-Prose!” Twilight blurted out without thinking. She took a step back, her own eyes wide open for a completely different reason. She could feel her own legs weakening with every passing moment she stared into Prose’s bleeding eyes. Twilight was caught so completely off guard, it took her a moment to collect her bearings and think straight. It was something out of a horror movie, to her.
With Twilight’s shriek, Prose’s stare shifted. Now, Twilight was the target behind the bloody eyes. When Prose’s head moved, so did her mane. Some of her brown curtains pressed against the side of her face and chest, dying it a scarlet red. Her mouth parted just slightly, as if she had just realized that Twilight had just arrived. Prose said absolutely nothing, and simply gawked at her “new” visitor.
The sun outside was never there to begin with, but Twilight could have sworn that the room had just gotten a whole lot darker. Unable to speak, unable to form words, the two just goggled each other--one in absolute terror, the other with indifference.
“Twilight…” Prose groaned. Her voice was so very low. She sounded like she like she would had she just screamed her voice away. She spoke in a slow and pathetic manner, as if she was singing an anthem of woe.
“W-What happened? Are you alright?” Twilight paused for a moment. “You’re bleeding.” Twilight had no idea why she stated the obvious. Perhaps it was so could not only get the information through to Prose, but to herself as well.
The mare in question said absolutely nothing. She simply stared at Twilight sadly. Her frown was growing larger as time went on.
After a full minute of panic coursing through Twilight’s veins, it left. “Prose, please, you’re hurt. Your eyes… they…” Twilight couldn’t even bring herself to put it into words. “Come on, let’s go to the hospital-”
“I’m so sad.”
Twilight stopped. Prose echoed through the quiet library air. Her voice was beginning to sound different, as if she was under some sort of trance. She sounded eerily calm given the situation.
But what was that Twilight heard? She was sad? “I… I…” Twilight didn’t even know how to respond to something like that. “Something’s wrong… come on, Prose. We need to get you some help.”
Twilight took a step back… when Prose took one step diagonally. “I’m just so sad, Twilight.” While also becoming slightly closer to Twilight, Prose was also in the path of one of her many bookshelves. Prose took another step. It seemed apparent that she’d reach the large bookcase before she’d reach Twilight.
“Prose, wait. I… I need to think. W-What’s going on here?” Twilight’s head was beginning to hurt. What had happened? She’d left Prose alone for five solid minutes, and now she was bleeding and… sad. So sad. It didn’t make sense, and Twilight knew this. Twilight just needed a moment to think about the situation before she took action.
“Sad. Adjective. Definition: feeling or showing sorrow; unhappy,” Another step towards the bookcase. Why was she going over there? Was she going to switch directions when she realized that she couldn’t go any further? For Twilight, everything was happening a little too fast for comfort. She couldn’t think as clearly as she’d like. “Example: ‘They looked at me with sad eyes, ones that tore into my very soul.’ Synonyms--sorrowful, dejected, depressed, downcast-”
Closer and closer did Prose become to the bookcase. “Why are you… talking like that?” Though this was not the most important question, it was the only one that Twilight was able to ask. All the other questions were knotted and tied with others, becoming one big mess of words and emotions that she just couldn’t untangle without a minute to think. Prose kept going.
“--Miserable, down, despondent, glum, gloomy, forlorn, crestfallen, inconsolable.”
Prose had reached the bookcase. Fortunately, the blood falling from her eyes created a trail from where she was standing by the box not only two minutes ago. She reared up the bookcase, facing Twilight directly. “Prose! What’s going on! Please, stop!” Twilight begged. Mustering up all of her courage, she took a step forward.
Prose readied her hind legs. Twilight realized way too late what Prose was doing. “I’m just so sad, Twilight.”
With a mighty kick, one that surprised even Twilight with its power, Prose connected her hind legs with the base of the bookcase. A loud CRACK was heard.
The bookcase slammed back against the wall. Then it wobbled. “Prose, look out!” Twilight ran towards her friend, but it was still too late.
The bookcase that Prose had chosen to topple was the only one that was not connected to the wall. Additionally, it harbored some of the heavier books that Twilight owned, not too mention that the bookcase itself was at least more than a hundred pounds on its own.
Twilight had tried to catch her friend--tried enveloping her horn and moving Prose out of the way, but it was in vain. With a creak and a groan, the bookcase fell forward. Right towards Prose.
With a ferocious CRASH, Prose was crushed by the immense weight of Twilight’s books, as well as the bookcase. Books flew everywhere, just barely missing Twilight’s own head as she tried to shield herself from the destruction only a few inches away. The bookcase shattered in places--splintered. There was sharp pieces of wood littered about.
Twilight, when it was all said and done, stared open mouthed. Tears flowed down her face as images of Prose floated through her mind. In front of her very eyes, Prose had just killed herself. Twilight didn’t need to check. There was no point. Twilight wasn’t sure if the blood on the floor was from Prose’s eyes just moments ago, or not.
“Prose…” Twilight said softly, before falling down onto her rump. Her lips quivered. Her mind went blank.
The inside of the Ponyville Library had once again turned to silence.