Sleep, Little Sister
By Eris H. Discordia
Sleep, Little Sister; don't you cry. Big sister will protect you, like a rock by your side. Deep down we are rocks even though we are pies. Hard on the outside, soft on the inside.
-Maud Pie, 10, September 18th, 1997
Written from somewhat a personal experience. I cannot really explain why I had those feelings, but I find venting them out like this after all these years of repressing these feelings have been rather refreshing for me. I love my little sisters more than I can ever imagine, and never again would I ever even dream about hurting them in such terrible ways like which I am about to write. I was deeply troubled after my youngest sister's birth, and it was pity for her weakness and hatred and rage for her enthusiasm and how much attention she had received after it seemed I got nothing. I now know the full reason behind these feelings, and I pray they never return. Also, translating them into a written form was fairly hard and taxing on my psyche. Enjoy the story.
I stand over the sleeping body of my little sister. As still as a rock, colored like a rock, cold as a rock in the pouring rain I stand motionless to the ocean of feelings moving me.
The cradle carrying the body of Pinkamena also stands still, but I hear slight creaks in the wood as my little sibling turns over lightly, causing me to jump, forcing me to break my stance as a rock. Her carelessness and her enthusiasm will tear this family apart. We are Pies, but we are Rocks. There's no such thing as a bright smile here, and there never has been, I've no need for such one dimensional feelings and I do not want the firm foundation I and Daddy have set for this family to wear away like the ocean currents against the cliff of the rocks.
I don't care who asks who am I to decide I have the right to decide life and death. I don't care who decides themselves to end my life after they find this. The deed and choice has already been done, and for whatever reason I've chosen to do either is as unexplainable as a rock within the pond of blood which reflects the sky upon its spread.
She's the flower growing through the crack of a cement sidewalk straight through the solid rock which damages its petals. She'll survive in this family, if I decide against my mindset to kill her, but she won't live with no obvious damage done.
Her calm breathing eases me, as I realize that I am going to take the life of my little sister, and I jerk my head to the side to crack my neck,? with the sound of rolling pebbles, as I consider the method in which I will kill her.
By beating her? Surely my rock hard hooves, able to shatter effortlessly though stone itself, will strike her and each hit will result in a sharp squeak of agonizing pain as she's bloodied by her big sister. The thought sends a lust through me which I nearly act out, but I do not wish to murder her this way. Yes, I will carry it out quickly, but with the act being as loud and inviting to those who hear it as it is, it is too risky as I would love to make a swift escape after I do it. Of course, after I kill the others as well, but I'd like to have them live in great fear before I return to finish them off, one by one.
Maybe if I strangle her. Yes. My strong legs around her tiny frail neck, squeezing too hard to allow air and sound to pass or enter. Such a cruel way to kill such an animated and innocent baby. I'll save that one for later, as such a terrible way to die is yet so cliche, like mountains, which are yet but nothing like rocks. Being made of rocks they are still amalgamated with other forces, not pure clumps of rock. They are terrible, like Pinkamena. She's nothing this family needs, like mountains are to the earth. They look like rocks, act like rocks, and yet are so proud and flamboyant, some even spout flames to assert an unearned dominance over the creation under them. I hate mountains. They do not show many characteristics of rocks, yet but they try so hard to stick out when they don't. There are many mountains in this world, and Pinkamena is a young one, so I will destroy it before it grows out of control.
I could suffocate her with a pillow. To feel her small, powerless hooves clash against mines as the stone poles which they will be as they hold the instrument of death over her, pressed against her face to drain all the air right out of her and kill her with a certain softness which will surely make it seem like an accident. It is perhaps more satisfying than manually strangulating her, since I don't have to deal with the act of the endless embrace I'd have to endure with her. Hugging that baby is something I don't ever want to do.
Like a rock, my heart moves not. Grey is my mind, and unchanging even through all the years that evolution has passed me I want not to change along with creation, but falling from my traps which I as the earth has set up, I'll crush all of them, as they grow weaker each and every day. I as a rock never change, and I'll stand firm on that, and I shall curse myself no matter what circumstance it may happen if it ever does.
I hate her. She very well may be the pony in my life to change me, and for an infant to do that will be very humiliating on my part. I will never love her. I am jealous of her potential, and my rage and envy want nothing to do with her than to end her puny existence and bring order and rocks back to this family. I can for see it, we will no longer farm rocks to farm rocks, for the rocks, living by the rocks; we will transform into a family that eats that disgusting rock candy, all because our youngest member is too weak to chew it in its purest form. I never want that to happen. This is my family and I will do anything to keep it just the way it is. And by doing that, I will kill Pinkamena and leave for a while as I will fake my death by burning the outhouse which holds all my belongings down. Since my parents are dumber than rocks, they'll just assume that Pinkie suffocated herself in her sleep and I, being in the back in the outhouse, saw this and felt too guilty to live with myself so I burn it all down. I did consider burning Pinkamena's body with the outhouse, but that would make it seem too much like a coverup, which it most likely already sounds like.
What about stabbing? Pies are soft, like Pinkamena is, and not as hard as a rock like I am. Again, so frail, even less than a pebble, which used right could kill anypony. Pinkamena could never hurt anypony. She's a Pie. Soft. Not like a rock. Hard. Like me. Pink is the color of the weak, as Grey is for the strong, something she'll never understand, and in a moment hopefully, speaking from the moment in which I've had these thoughts, not of course after, she never will. If I take a knife and hack at her soft body, I'll find as her blood sprays on me like an ocean's water being displaced by a fastly moving boat and within a cool, calm, ocean breeze. Of course, this rock would never be worn down by the water which is Pinkamena's blood. The blood will be on my hooves, but it will never ail me to know what I've done. I am a rock, and when the rock crushes the pie, only the pie is crushed. Not the rock.
Maud is ready to stab Pinkamena to death, with a pillow to silence her as she may choke on her own blood during the process. But even in the darkness, the moonlight shines upon Pinkamena's face to show her open sapphire blue eyes, looking right at her big sister with utter happiness. Pinkamena squealed with happiness and outstretched her legs and hooves to be picked up. Maud rose the knife, and saw that Pinakmena was in no way distressed or surprised. Merely happy to see her big sister. She loved her, and wanted Maud to love her back.
Trembling, holding the knife, Maud finally succumbs to her inside softness and throws the knife to the ground, falling over onto the cradle and looking right back to Pinkamena, with tears quickly and endless forming in her eyes, streaming down like a waterfall. Maud picks up her infant sister, who laughs with the sudden answering to her call to be lifted, and holds her close in an embrace. Maud regretted every single jealous and angry thought she had against Pinkamena and the others, wishing she could take them back and relive her life from Pinkamena's birth, so she could let her know from the day she was born that she loved her and would never let anything happen to her.
She cursed herself at that very moment, for breaking her promise and for also vowing to kill her little sibling. She wanted already to make it up to her, to reaffirm already this new love and overwhelming joy she had for Pinkamena as she held her.
I cross my heart and hope to fly; Stick a cupcake in my eye.
Maud sat down on the carpeted ground and rocked Pinkamena back to sleep, with this new vow still fresh in her mind. To protect her little sister from any and everything that could hurt her. To watch her grow old and develop each and everyday she is around. She would keep true to her promise, and even if she could not express feelings for it, she would do everything Pinkamena asked her to. Because she was her little sister. Because she loved her.
I still don't know why I wanted to be like a rock so much, so much I'd think of killing my own little sister.
I just hope I'll be there for her, when she's hurt, when she's okay, when she's just being Pinkie. I may be the oldest, but that doesn't mean I have to be the brightest shining star in our family. I don't have to be jealous or angry anymore. Like a rock, I'll never change.
My love for rocks may be great, but there's nothing like that soft feeling I get on my insides when I think of Pinkie. She's my little sister. And no matter how much family pride I have to "keep the honor", my love for Pinkie will forever be greater.
I hope whoever finds this account won't think less of me, but will heed my warning of not succumbing to jealousy, and see the light in whatever situation they are seemingly "trapped"in. It may not even be a trap, or a vex or vice of any sort. All it is is another way for you to realize to appreciate fully what you do have, and even though that message seems as old as rocks, keep in mind that anything that can withstand the flow of time is a mountain.
If anything, I don't think I'd be wrong in saying that I may be a rock, but I'm a rock for my little sister. And she is the highest peak of the tallest and most eye catching, mind boggling mountain out there. I'd be more than happy to always be this close to her.
I love her.