Kill The Lights

by MemoryLane

Chapter Five

Alloy felt morbidly sick when his first thought upon seeing Buttermilk’s body was “I told you so.”

It was an odd moment, initially, when Buttermilk had bolted from the breakfast table having some kind of fit. In fact, he had no idea the large stallion could move so fast. Alloy couldn’t help but notice Buttermilk’s hoof plastered on his chest as he ran, and the pained sneer on his face. All the while, Alloy’s mind raced faster than he had wished. But no matter how much he thought, Alloy just couldn’t face the truth.

Alloy just didn’t know. He was a scientist, not a doctor.

But that didn’t mean that Alloy didn’t care. Actually, he was curious. Just what was wrong with Buttermilk? Perhaps he had some kind of allergic reaction, or had some kind of medical problem he never bothered to tell anypony about. Alloy was a perfectly healthy stallion, save for some asthma, but something as severe as what Buttermilk was going through should have been shared.

Alloy’s stomach was in his throat, waiting for Sketch and Buttermilk to return. What if something horrible had occurred? What if Buttermilk got injured or something? Alloy certainly hoped not. He never wished bad things upon other ponies, even if they tended to get on his nerves a little bit.

Truthfully, Alloy didn’t know a single thing about Buttermilk, save for the fact that he was cocky, arrogant, and liked to make fun of others. He definately didn’t forget about the fact that Sketch and he were “best friends”. Alloy barely knew the stallion, so why did he feel so ill?

Only a minute had passed since Sketch’s departure did he come running back into the room. Alloy knew what was coming, and frowned when he realized that he was pretty close. Sketch was a mess. His eyes were red and twitching. He was crying hysterically, trying his best to form words through the blood-curdling screaming and wailing. He had collapsed on the ground in a sobbing mess, failing to inform the five other awaiting ponies of just what Sketch himself had seen.

Alloy had seen things. Not with his own eyes, but in magazines, television, movies. He saw things that made his heart stop, and things that made him cry. He’d seen documentaries of war, and death. He’d seen newspapers with pictures of lower-class mares having their children ripped away from them. In no way, shape or form did either of those things make him feel as worse as the live, destroyed kid wallowing in despair on the ground in front of him.

Almost immediately, Swallow was at his side, rubbing his back. In Alloy’s peripheral vision, did he see Tenor and Gallant bolt for the hallway, towards the octagonal foyer. Obviously, they went to investigate. Alloy, at first, was appalled that they left. Upon some thinking, he realized that he really didn’t think it was a big deal. Miso, not completely understanding just what was going on, decided to follow the other two down the hallway, at a much slower and relaxed pace. Alloy almost wished that he was as oblivious as her.

Alloy then joined Swallow in trying to calm down Sketch, who was still frantically crying on the floor. “It’ll be alright,” Swallow cooed “Everything is going to be okay.” She looked at him with wide eyes, eyes that simply couldn’t be ignored. Alloy hadn’t paid attention to her during the game, but for some reason she made him shiver. It was as if he was looking into the eyes of an old children’s doll.

Sketch’s mane was no longer wet from his bath earlier that morning. Unfortunately, his face and cheeks were drenched. “Sketch, what happened? Where’s Buttermilk?” Alloy asked. His only response was another agonizing howl upon hearing the name. Swallow gave Alloy a look. Not a mean one, but one that simply stated “watch what you say”. Alloy understood immediately.

“Sketch, please, calm down. It’ll all be okay.” Swallow pet the stallion’s back, like a mother would her foal.

Alloy couldn’t remember the last time he had a good cry. He did recall, however, being upset once when he was a colt about his Mini-Scientist Kit getting lost in the mail. Unfortunately, he cried so hard that he fell asleep a few minutes later. His parent’s thought it was the funniest thing. In fact, they used to tell it at parties. Specifically, his graduation party.

Alloy’s eyes went wide at the sudden realization. “Swallow!” Swallow jumped, but made no noise. Sketch was too out of it to even acknowledge the loud noise. “We need to hurry up and get him to stop crying. Crying contributes to tiredness, and sleep.” As awkwardly as he had phrased his words, he was simply recalling something he read in a study done by some college a few months ago. He wished he would have paid more attention. Swallow, who appeared to be the type to care and love, rather than use force, practically jumped up from her crouched position, Obviously, she hadn’t thought about this either. The more Sketch cried, the more sleepy he’d become afterwards.

“Sketch!” Alloy poked him in the side, hard. Sketch let out a squeal of discomfort. “Stop crying! Seriously! You’ll tire yourself out!” Sketch’s cries reduced to that of traumatic sniffling. Alloy wouldn’t accept that. “Stand up, come on.” Alloy grabbed Sketch’s side, and motioned for Swallow to help him hoist the sobbing stallion to his hooves.

Considering that Swallow was just as fragile as she looked, and Alloy had almost flunked gym class back in grade school, this proved to be a hard task. This is given the fact that Sketch wasn’t even a full grown stallion yet.

When Sketch was on his hooves, and fully stabilized, he looked like he had just gotten into a train wreck. His eyes were sunken and red, and his face was stained with wet tears. His mane looked like somepony had thrown purple paint into the ocean. No longer, was it stylishly parted. Sketch wobbled, as if he was about to collapse again. He caught himself.

“Are you alright?” Swallow asked. Swallow was a full grown mare. Even still, Sketch was only a few inches shorter than her when they both stood side by side. In fact, Swallow could have kissed his nose without having to adjust her height.

Alloy had failed to realize that he had at some point touched the lenses of his glasses. With a sigh, he grabbed them off his face, rubbed it on the outside on his coat, and put them back on. Now, he could see just a little bit better. Why Alloy cared more about his eyesight than the situation at hoof was a complete mystery.

“No,” Sketch replied bluntly. There was a harsh tone in that one word, and it made Alloy almost wince. He wished Sketch could have made this a little easier, and replied accordingly. Alloy wasn’t a psychiatrist. He merely studied chemicals. “I’m n-not okay. I’ll never be o-okay.”

“Why? What’s wrong, what happened?” Alloy asked, hurriedly. Swallow gave Alloy another disapproving frown.

“Buttermilk. I-I walked into his r-room… it’s t-t-trashed. H-He’s lying on the floor… I-I think he’s hurt…” Sketch stammered, desperately trying to relay what he had just seen literally two minutes ago in the deceased stallion’s room. Swallow looked down at the ground. Alloy didn’t know what to do. It was clear what had happened, what Sketch had just saw.

Sketch had walked into Buttermilk’s room, to find his best friend’s dead body.

Alloy couldn’t believe it. He had seen both Sketch and Buttermilk just a few moments ago, at the breakfast table. Everything was good, and calm for the most part. Then, in a flash, Buttermilk was dead, and Sketch was irreversibly traumatized. Alloy knew in these types of situations, death should never be witnessed by a child. It will implant in their brains for the rest of their lives. They’ll never be the same. It could be argued that Sketch was an adult, not a child, physically. Mentally, that wasn’t the case.

“Swallow, could you keep an eye on him while I join the others?” Alloy asked. He almost felt bad for her. For the second time in four hours, the poor mare was left behind. Swallow nodded wholeheartedly, making Alloy feel just a little bit better about it.

“Yes, please. I really don’t wish to see anyways…” Swallow said, turning back to Sketch. His eyes were still wide, and he was staring at the ground. He appeared to be grinding his teeth. It looked as if one wrong word would send him past the breaking point. Alloy did not wish to speak it.

With this, Alloy sprinted down the hallway. He purposefully did not look back.

Alloy reached Buttermilk’s room only a few moment’s later. By that time, he was panting and puffing like an animal. Unfortunately, E had failed to give him his inhaler at the beginning of the game. This worried Alloy, but also helped him think more clearly. It also felt like his lungs were absolutely on fire. It was like somepony was repeatedly stabbing him in the chest every time he took a meager breath. Somehow, he fought through it.

Miso was sitting outside of the room upon his arrival. She was staring at the ground, sadly, and lost in thought. Alloy had no idea why Tenor and Gallant let her wander into the room in the first place. Surely, the mare knew of the situation now, and was thinking about her own death as well. Alloy wished he spoke her language. If Alloy was stuck in a strange place, unable to communicate with those around him, he’d be panicked. If ponies started dying, he’d be driven insane.

Nevertheless, he walked into the room anyways. For the first time in his life, Alloy saw a dead body.

Sketch was correct about the state of Buttermilk’s room. It was completely destroyed, and it looked like a tornado had run rampant inside the tiny quarters. The massive chandelier lied in ruins on the bed and the floor, in tiny little sharp pieces. There were a few holes in the wall made by something that was definately not a hoof, and Buttermilk’s belongings that used to reside in his dresser were strewn about the entire room. There was a medicine bottle clenched in the yellow stallion’s left hoof, which Alloy disregarded for the time being. Some kind of book sat two feet away from Buttermilk’s body.

Buttermilk’s body. Alloy originally wanted to relish the fact that he was right. He knew from the very beginning of this game that it was not a joke. Fortunately, the situation didn’t call for gloating. In fact, he felt like he wanted to vomit. He’d seen dead frogs in biology class back in grade school. But a fresh body? He never could have dreamed of anything like this.

Tenor and Gallant were standing on the other side of the room, in front of Buttermilk’s bathroom, and away from the body and glass. Tenor’s face was pale as a ghost, this given the color of her coat. She looked disturbed, and was doing a terrible job of hiding it. Her jaw was clenched, and her body would shiver from time to time. The only thing that told Alloy that Tenor hadn’t become traumatized by the situation was the fact that her eyes were still burning with attitude. After all, Sketch and Tenor weren’t all that different in terms of age. The idea couldn’t be excluded.

Gallant, on the other hoof, was practically the polar opposite. In fact, he was still standing up straight and keeping up the authoritative attitude that Alloy had already gotten used to. It appeared like the gears were spinning in his head, because his eyes didn’t seem to be focused upon any place in particular.

Alloy didn’t exactly didn’t know what to say at this point in time. He also wanted to make his presence known. These two things caused him to mumble incoherent words in a desperate effort to break the numbing silence. “I… erm… so…”

Tenor didn’t take her gaze off the body. “This is unreal,” she trembled.

“What… happened in here?” Alloy asked. Gallant simply gazed at him intently for a matter of two seconds, and then turned back to Buttermilk with a shrug. Alloy hoped that Gallant actually cared about all this. It was damn near impossible to read him.

“We can’t panic,” Alloy started. Tenor looked at him, while Gallant didn’t care less. “We can’t. If Miso and Sketch see us panic, then this will only get worse.” Tenor’s nostrils flared.

“Worse? How can this get any worse?” she said. “Were stuck in some kind of makeshift prison. We have a dead body on our hooves. We have a traumatized delusional little freak in the other room. Yeah, I think a little freaking out is overdue, Four-Eyes.” Alloy pursed his lips irritatingly. He pretended to ignore the insult altogether.

“If we freak out now, then we’ll only end up like Buttermilk. Would you like to end up like… this?” Alloy pointed a hoof towards the dead body. That shut her up.

“I’m just trying to think of what the Hell just happened in the last five minutes,” Gallant said. “You think he had some sort of heart condition?”

A light went off in Alloy’s head. “Perhaps. He was clutching his chest as he ran out of that room.”

“He was also crying like a little baby.” Alloy shot Tenor the dirtiest look he could manage. She didn’t seem to notice. Alloy’s eyes shot to the little pill bottle in Buttermilk’s hoof. He had wanted to wait a moment before pointing it out, but he just couldn’t. He was just too curious.

“Lemme see something…” Alloy said, inching his way closer to the body. Tenor had started to intervene, opening her big mouth, but Gallant shushed her.

Stepping over many dangerously sharp pieces of glass and debris, Alloy looked like he was making his way through a minefield. He was positive that--in a place like this-- there would be no first aid kit lying around should he cut himself. He didn’t wish to take the chance. In a matter of thirty seconds, he was standing a mere foot away from Buttermilk.

Alloy was extremely close to vomiting all over the scene, but he hid that fact well. Buttermilk, untouched since his death, appeared to be a lighter hue when compared to when he was eating breakfast not even ten minutes ago. The poor stallion’s eyes were perpetually closed. Slightly trembling, Alloy reached down and pulled apart his eyelids. In return, Alloy receive the morbid sight of two glassy green eyes staring back at him. They appeared to be staring through Alloy’s very soul. Alloy was unsettled, and the little voice in the back of his head told him to leave the stallion alone. For some reason, he just couldn’t do that.

The whites of Buttermilk’s eyes were bloodshot. Alloy wasn’t sure if this was because of the poison taking its effect, or if Buttermilk was much more tired than he let on. It’d answer the question of why he was asking the others for tips to stay awake moments before his departure. With a sigh, he closed Buttermilk’s eye.

Not daring to mess with Buttermilk’s body more than he should, he let out a shaking breath. In Alloy’s mind, he believed that touching the natural state of a deceased pony was frowned upon. If he died, he would like to lie there until the right ponies, specifically specialists, would carry him off towards his own funeral. The strange idea made Alloy a little sicker.

“What’s that in his hoof?” Tenor barked from behind. Alloy jumped, and just barely missed a sharp piece of glass not even two inches away from his hoof. Alloy wanted to glare at her, to make the discovery on his own. Alas, it was too late. Oh well.

“I’m getting to that.” Alloy, without giving the other two another look, reached down towards the pill bottle. Buttermilk’s hoof was still wrapped around it, and it had took way too much effort to pry it free. With each jerk, or touching of Buttermilk’s body in general, he held back a gag. Eventually, he pulled it free. He brought the bottle to his eye, and squinted to read the tiny lettering.

“Talozipherin,” Alloy read out loud. Tenor cocked her head. Gallant merely shifted his weight on his hooves. “Gallant, you’re right. It’s heart medication.”

Gallant simply nodded. Tenor rolled her eyes. Alloy bit his tongue and read the rest of the information on the pill bottle. “So… what does that mean? I don’t get it. He took his pills and decided it was time for a nap?”

“Given the circumstances, I really doubt that,” Gallant replied.

“Well what do you know? Not like you saw it all go down, grandpa.”

“I have enough common sense to know that that’s not possible.”

“Oh yeah, well what’s your answer then?”

“Same as yours should be.”

The only reason why Alloy had not gotten involved in their argument, or at least tried to put a stop to it was because his mouth was practically touching the floor. His thoughts were clustered, like in a black and white movie. He could see it all. Buttermilk’s running away from the breakfast table, his entry into his own room, him destroying his room, him passing out. It made terrible sense in his mind. “Hey… uhm, guys?” he said. Tenor and Gallant stopped bickering and turned to him.

“What? What is it, Alloy?” asked Gallant. For once, the stallion was showing a small trace of emotion in his voice. Alloy read the information from the bottle.

“Talozipherin. To be taken orally once every four hours. Side effects may include irritability, excessive hostility, sore throat, headaches, or… sleepiness…” Silence. “I get it. He took the pills so he wouldn’t… I don’t know… have a heart attack or something.”

Gallant nodded. “Makes sense. Every four hours? Well, if he took the medicine right when he woke up, assuming…” Gallant trailed off. Obviously, not wishing for there to be any sign of awkwardness is the room, he continued. “So he had to choose between having a possibly fatal heart attack, or falling asleep… sounds rough. Poor guy probably knew he wasn’t going to last long in this game. So many odds stacked against him…”

“So? Which one was it? Did he have a heart attack, or did he fall asleep?” Tenor asked. The mere thought of trying to figure that out hurt Alloy’s brain. He was irritable and hostile the moment he woke up, seeing as he most likely took the medicine as soon as he woke up four hours ago. But still…

“His eyes were closed when we came in here. He fell asleep.” Alloy said with certainty. It really didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that much out. There was another lull. “So, now what do we do? We can’t just leave him here. He probably has a family out there looking for him.”

As soon as Tenor heard this remark, her face turned just a little bit green. She shook the feeling off, quickly.

“Well, I’m sure E isn’t going to let us give the guy a burial. There’s really nothing much we can do.” Gallant paused. “We could clear off all the shards of glass and rest him on the bed, but-”

“The guy is a lard ass?” Tenor interrupted.

Gallant sighed. “No, there’s just too much glass lying around. It’s dangerous in here as it is.” Alloy nodded in understanding. Tenor rolled her eyes. “I think it’s best if we just left the room entirely. He’s dead. Let him be.”

“But-” Alloy started. Gallant held up a hoof, as if telling him that he didn’t want to hear it.

“We need to lock the door or something on the way out, so the kid doesn’t stumble in here again,” he scoffed. “We don’t need him being exposed to this again. Dunno why he’d come back in here, but you never know.”

Alloy nodded, and turned towards the only thing in the room that was large enough to cover the door. “Good idea,” he said. He motioned his head towards Tenor, then the dresser. Luckily, in Buttermilk’s rage earlier, it was already on the other side of the room, away from any major pieces of glass. “Gimme a hoof, will you?”

Tenor groaned. Gallant walked out.

---

In the end, Tenor felt sick to her stomach.

She had tried so hard, even though she knew it was pointless. She had tried to view this game as a gigantic joke. She had tried to pretend like nothing bothered her. She had tried to just live her life.

But now there was a dead body. A real, deceased corpse, just a short walk away. In the same house as her. Her mind was on the fritz. What freaked her out more was the fact that she knew absolutely nothing about Buttermilk. How old he was, where he came from… there were just blanks in her mind where words and descriptions should be.

What if the same thing happened to her? What if she were to up and die? Nopony knew anything about her other than just her name, and her drumsticks. Her impending death was slowly creeping up to her, like a snake slithering through grass. She couldn’t let that happen. What purpose did her life serve, if she was only meant to die in some cruel game? Her life had more to it than… this!

Tenor knew that she was brought into this world nineteen years ago for a reason. Whether it be make a change, or become a rockstar, or even to win this thing and have a new story to tell. Pffft, the news media would be all over this. “Local Phillydephian Found After How-Many-Days After Surviving A Sick Game Made By An Even Sicker Stallion!”

Perhaps that was it. Maybe… she was brought into this world so that she could beat the other six, and win the game. She wasn’t sure. But even still, her life was threatening to come to an end. Her life was short, should she die. The young don’t die. That’s just not how it was supposed to work.

Tenor spent the next two hours pondering this. It must’ve been somewhere around eleven in the afternoon, based upon when they had their breakfast. Buttermilk had been dead for two hours, at this point. Buttermilk was on everypony’s minds.

The six of them sat in Sketch’s room--the one nearest the hallway. Sketch absolutely refused to go near that breakfast table anymore, or near Buttermilk’s room. The only thing Swallow could do to help the kid calm down was to bring him to his room. The other four obviously didn’t wish to be alone after what happened, and realizing just how real the game was. Sketch sat on his bed. Gallant stood near the door. Swallow and Miso lied on the floor. Alloy stood in the darkest corner of the room, as far away from Sketch as possible. Tenor had actually jumped up and planted her flank upon the dresser, near Sketch’s pictures. She was shivering, and hoped that nopony would notice.

“So… now what do we do?” asked Swallow. She gazed up at everyone from her position on the floor.

“Ain’t much we can do.” Gallant shrugged. “We’ll just have to stay awake.”

Alloy’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be insensitive.”

“It’s true, though.”

“We need to keep everyone awake,” Swallow said. Her voice was as small as ever. “There’s… an even number of us. We can do what they did in kindergarten? Accountability buddies?” Tenor recalled that. Everypony was teamed up with another kid, and they were both tasked with making sure that the other got their work done. Tenor hated it. She was paired with this skinny, snot-nosed kid of whom she almost immediately hated. Stupid elementary school. More importantly, stupid teacher.

“Really? We’re grown-ass ponies, Swallow. I don’t think that’ll help.” Tenor crossed her forelegs.

“Well, in groups of two, it’d be easy to help keep each other awake. I mean… if we’re all just hanging out in a group like this, that’ll work too.”

“Last time we were in a group, we still lost somepony.” Once again, everypony save for Sketch and Miso glared at her. Tenor was totally used to it by now. Sketch sniffled. His eyes were as red as tomatoes. His quiet sobbing made Tenor uncomfortable.

“Don’t talk about it.” Gallant ordered. Tenor threw her hooves in the air, and leaned back against the wall, as if irritated.

“We need to come up with some kind of plan. Or else we’re all just going to fall asleep one by one. The sooner we come up with something, the better.” Alloy readjusted his glasses.

“Do you have one, city boy?” Gallant said. They talked as if the two had chatted about this earlier. Tenor pondered what else the two of them talked about. In fact, she hadn’t seen Gallant without Alloy directly by his side since the game practically began. Something was up. She’ll inquire later. Six or so hours into the game. She was already becoming paranoid. She couldn’t tell if she was tired or not.

Oh well. With how much Sketch had been crying, Tenor knew that she’d last longer than him. After all, she knew that the moment she ran away from the breakfast table. She didn’t try to help. Not because she didn’t care, but because it was in her best interests. Who cared? Now that the kid had tired himself out, Tenor knew that they’d be down to five ponies in a matter of a few hours.

Tenor didn’t feel well after thinking that way. She wasn’t the nicest pony… but damn… did she feel terrible. She didn’t want the other ponies to die… but she didn’t wish to either… it was difficult.

There was a small pause. Strangely enough, Alloy opened his mouth again. Tenor had a feeling that what he was about to say was only about to piss her off even more.

“Actually… I do have an idea. Swallow, can I talk to you for a second?”

Author's Note:

Any predictions?

Anything you say or comment will not sway the storyline of this... well, story.

Speaking of which, feedback is very much appreciated.

Stay tuned for more.

-Cyneryk

Comments

[SuperPinkBrony12]

Poor Sketch is likely not going to last much longer, he's burned himself out crying over Buttermilk's death.

[Derpyx0]

I feel as if Sketch is going next... But that would be too obvious...

[Sketch-Pad]

Hmmm. . . I feel like Sketch is going to be the next to go, but at the same time I don't.
I noticed how you were comparing him to a child, for the most part, and It made me think of something ~ Usually if a kid gets scared or traumatized they become afraid of the thing that traumatized them ~ In this case probably sleep or death. I can tell that he would be tired out from crying ~ But at the same time I feel like he would be so utterly scared to fall asleep or even close his eyes that he would keep himself awake. It would be like having such a terrible nightmare that it just keeps you up and not wanting to sleep. You get what I'm saying?

I also feel like Tenor is going to get into an actual fist (well in this case, hoof) fight. That would keep things interesting, but if she knocks someone else out because of violence, they could always die that way. Why Tenor, I'm not sure. It just seems like something she would do.

Anyways, good chapter! Looking forwards to the next chapter!
~Sketch

[sugarush13]

...I feel like Sketch will commit suicide. Like, make a note or something and go to sleep. Also, Alloy seems too important... so far we seem to be getting the most information about him and tenor. My guess, those are the last two. I think miso will disappear and into her room and sleep... and Gallant, I feel like E will kill him. Let us find out soon...

EDIT - You should do something where once a pony dies you make their picture on the coverart black, or crossed out... or do that but put it at the end of each chapter so there are no spoilers