Deep and vibrant pigments purposefully painted the evening sky in a fascinating radiance of visible light, displaying prominently the beauty of nature within its grand harmonic Rayleigh scattering. Hues of resplendent yellows, oranges, violets, and reds gracefully danced over glistening waters while a sole, serene breeze swept atop its surface. Crows called in the distance as brown and red leaves lilted from swaying trees, and in the opposite direction one could observe the shadow of the planet itself cascading across the ground. Smells of salts and pines permeated whilst twilight usurped sunset in the dusk illuminated sky.
Aesthetic appeal told one that it was quite the poetic sight, or so considered Sunset Shimmer who -- not far from lake shores -- donned purple-accented, black boots. She, with a sigh and a flick of her eyes, felt a beckoning chill as solar warmth departed the air. Clutching a dear leather jacket in a feeble attempt to trap more body heat, she lowered her gaze to her own reflection and averted it as soon as her mind processed the image ahead. Yuck, I don't look any better than I feel. Without even the heart, or stomach, to stare at herself, she instead assessed that which lay around.
Thin blankets of sand -- descending toward the lake -- covered one side of a narrow path while the other portrayed dying grasses and withering forests. Down the other way was a road which led to sparse residences in the distance and more such flora. Her head hung low, Sunset, whose irises shined akin to the noble aqua, properly observed the state of repair she was in; muddied and scuffed boots were accompanied by torn, tattered clothing, and a less-than-preferred quantity of cuts and scrapes decorated her skin.
Exasperated, she allowed a sharp sigh to cut through the evening's air from her lips and she stumbled away from the lake until her feet flared pain. What have I done? How could I ... Absentmindedly the girl pulled, and sometimes yanked, from red-highlighted, golden hair accrued muck, grit, grime, and dirt -- allowing it to fall unceremoniously unto sand at her feet. Frowning, she stopped to stare over her hands; those grotesque, calloused, ripped and reddened hands infringed upon her sight. Her stomach churned as she thought, all the atrocious acts I've committed with these hands ... too much, and her heart sank like a free-falling bowling ball. Then, given a feeling as though she may truly vomit, weary turquoise orbs shifted unto the lake horizon.
Concluding her assessment, the messy, fiery-haired young Sunset decided she had, in fact, taken quite the rough fall and the landing had been inhospitable. Abruptly, the entirety of what she had worked to achieve was devastated unto oblivion -- because of one, tiny factor I was too self absorbed to see -- and with each of her worldviews became a mirror shattered to trillions of microscopic pieces ... lost then scattered in opposing directions to forever wander the cosmos of an infinite and ever-expanding universe; never again would they be found or restored to what once was. Pillars of sand and salt they were -- brushed away under the slightest of efforts.
Tears, threatening to drape an already tear-stained face, welled in solemn eyes while the oppressive, brutal pang of one emotion violently reverberated throughout each fiber of her being: failure. Ultimately, she had failed ... failed to such an extent that each moment of my existence from now might forever be haunted by my past crimes. Everything she had known would be different, as a world turned upside down with all the effort of a wrist snapping in a split second. Grievances would impact with a force not unlike that of a train and trials of taciturn courts would pass burning judgement at an intensity to compete with the sun itself. Known only to the object of judgement by the asphyxiating constriction that would be the glares of those around her.
Pairs of tears rolled freely and slowly down her pale, plain face; she did not move a single muscle while the light liquid poured. It was not that she was no longer angry or sad, she really wanted to sob and scream a whole lot more, but she was so exhausted from previously having done so much of that already; her body ached and she would most likely be sore everywhere in the following days. However, she did not move, she did not begin trudging home, she did not rant or rave anger, nor did she hark to the beckoning chant that was a warm bed to sleep away her fatigue. Rather, she stood in the sands alone -- staring into the distance idly at nothing in particular.
Trembling legs on the precipice of collapse supported a tremorous body. This tremorous, frail body supported a forlorn consciousness which wandered with many questions such as: what was the price for going as far as she had gone? I definitely went too far. Hurt, humiliation, cheating, lying, blackmailing, she even tried to kill others, and what was worse was that such deeds were not even half of her main crime. When she pondered her transgressions, it led her to wonder: Could I fill whole notebooks simply by listing them?
Of course, she was certain she would not have to, for anyone who did speak to her would almost certainly be speaking to remind and reprimand her of the horrid things she had done. Again, of course, that was under the assumption that anyone would actually be willing to associate with her, and a strong part of her silently hoped that no entity actually would. This was not due to an antisocial function or other disorder of the sort, but rather because she did not want others to remind her of her own self indulgences. Hell, she could barely stand looking at her own reflection and she prayed to any universal overseer that may exist that all this was a horrendous nightmare.
Nautical twilight then reigned over a sunset sky this lone girl attempted to use to preoccupy herself by pinpointing what few stars she could; this menial task provided some escape she could put her focus toward while pondering her next possible actions throughout life. I could run away and try to start over. After all, what's left for me here; for what should I stay for? ... who am I kidding, I don't deserve such convenience. I mean, what's out there for me anyway? Not a means of erasing what I've done, that's for sure. Truth understood, there was just as little for her anywhere else as there was for her in this place of her unforgivable deeds; If people wanted to, they could just up and write me off -- forgetting me as another monster of the times.
Strangely, strongly, a part of her did not want to be forgotten as such; though she was becoming more exhausted by the moment to think about it. Losing the energy to ponder the stars, she instead cast her focus to her boots; the feet and protective wear in conjunction beneath her gaze carried her so far. They had done so much work for her, but she questioned whether or not she traveled the right paths with them. Some secluded section of Sunset's tired heart knew without a doubt that she had not, but it seemed impossible to actually embrace that side of her. On some level it actually hurt for her, and she had no clue the very first step to addressing that level. Perhaps it was some stubborn instinct or habit she picked up but she could not accept that all her past endeavors had been for naught.
Satisfaction would have come to her urge to kick the sand around if only she had the energy for it. Instead she settled on glaring at the granules by her feet while pondering her actions' consequences. Maybe others are right; maybe I am lucky the authorities weren't brought into all this, but -- at the same time -- what am I supposed to do with this 'leniency'? Sure, I could repair damage I've caused in physical terms, but all those I tormented with my ... fanaticism ... that's another can of worms. Those damages, she believed, could never really be mended. However, trying to right her wrongs was not the extent of her sentence; she would have to live and deal with those she'd hurt, scorned, shunned, and treated like dirt regardless of her beliefs.
Swallowing a whole bottle of her own medicine, she supposed, was only fair. There was no formal repentance of her actions nor some kind of twisted reverse psychology. Rather her penance, nontraditional though it was, was simply to go on, deal with her past, and try to live with herself. Wholeheartedly she did not know that she could; a traditional reprimand is sounding better and better by the moment. Letting a shaky breath that was meant to be a sigh escape, she scuffed her boots against the ground and slowly turned to begin trudging wearily in the direction of what was her room.
Whilst walking, she reflected as to what others may think of all this. There was no doubt in her mind that she may as well be treated and glared at like the most disgusting piece of trash that everyone collectively wanted to be rid of; to be disregarded and kicked around at another's leisure seemed reasonable. The outcome was not one of preferable nature, but she would deal with it as she had known, after past events, that she in fact deserved at the very least as much for her crimes. Dealing with such treatment would not be simple for her -- she had always been on the other side of that equation -- but she knew that, despite her wishes, she would have to resign to said fate sooner or later.
Everyone would, if they even did, look at her with condescension, judgement, and much rebuke. Many questions of their mercies ran through her mind: would anyone actually think of her as possibly reformed, would she ever have the same opportunities, would they even consider speaking with her in the first place, or would one single person ever forgive her? She had answers to many of them, most resulted in the negative, but a couple rang through her head with a relentless obstinacy. Forgiveness for my crimes and sins? This was completely out of the question, for she knew none would ever look at her and state that they would put behind the things she had done.
From a different sect of her mind, another question sprang during her exhausted trek back to her residence: would anyone ever even consider me a person again? ... long shot. Of course, she could not blame any of them if they perceived her as not, for she wasn't. After all, she was far from anything like a human -- or even an accepted being of her original, equine race. As a matter of fact, she was no greater than a monster, and she cried the last water behind her eyes as she thought of what she knew she had become. Only two things did she pray for: one that her prayers would be heard, and the other that she could sleep at night knowing all she was.