The Sane and the Lost

by Sky Blue CMC

Chapter V: Nightmares

You did this...it’s you...it’s you...you killed her...it was all you...her blood is on your hands...and there is nothing you can do about it...it’s you...it’s me…

Those lines repeated in my head, like a nightmare everlasting. Like a shadow waiting to enclose around me and swallow me in its endless oblivion. With the same dark voice that never escaped from my seemingly endless waves of madness. Is there to gain from any of this? Is there anything to feel? No. Just those lines, repeating, and repeating, again and again, her death, playing over and over, all in my head. I can remember everything so vividly like it had happened moments ago.

I had crashed over at my friend Rarity’s house and store, Carousel Boutique. I had finished a night of heavy drinking and the haze was still well within my eyes. The grogginess remained and blurred my vision, which is why Rarity wanted me to stay with her. She insisted that she took care of me. Proving yet again just how generous and nice she really can be.

I had awoken and lied sprawled over her couch. It was soft and warm to the touch, as I remained sleeping soundly through the night. My head felt like someone took an axe and split me right down the middle like a watermelon, a feeling I had not come to get used to. My muscles felt slightly numb but still movable. I tried to muster the strength to get up and try to walk around but I quickly fell back onto the satin cloud of softness. Nothing was too luxurious, Rarity would often say.

As I lied in my hungover state I could distinctly remember sometime during my sleep I had a dream where I brutally murdered someone and I liked it. I was in my own twisted self in that dream and I could remember every detail. The rush. The adrenaline. Relishing in the blood of my helpless victim. It felt as if a weight had been lifted off of me. It was nice.

I quickly shook back to reality. what was I thinking? Was I crazy or something? Did I drink too much? Then a sharp twang struck my brain and it answered my questions. Yes, I had drank WAY too much. I prompted myself to a sitting position, against what my mind and my muscles told me not to. I inspected my surroundings. The extravagance never left my senses, no matter how many times I saw the inside of Rarity’s house. It held a certain grandeur that nowhere else had. The rafters. The ceiling. The chandeliers. The decorations. The ornate wood flooring. Everything. It was like she was standing in someone’s rich mansion. It was as if she went back in time into the Victorian era and she sat in a home of one of the nobility.

Rarity always held a certain fascination with that era. The Golden Age of Canterlot Fashion, she had called it. I can always remember her almost always going on and on about old Victorian fashion and behavior. I certainly always knew that Rarity belonged in that era.

I was promptly pulled from my memory as I heard the bells of the asylum. No wonder most of the people here were mad. Those bells were so loud, I’m fairly certain that, for as far as I can, or rather could, tell, people could hear them in Canterlot. After a minute the ringing stopped and a dead silence fell on my room as I remembered back to that night.

Thunder crashed in the sky and rain steadily fell on the ripe aged wood of Carousel Boutique. The raindrops were large and loud. If anyone had plans outside, then they were cancelled. I still remained sitting in my position facing the hearth that slowly died to a few burning embers. I sat still clinging to that dream, hard as it might be considering my splitting headache but I could suffer through it. Was it a sign of change? Or something else?

I looked down at my hands and clenched them tight. I closed my eyes trying to suppress the fake memory of killing someone. But it only intensified everything about the horror. Filling my psyche was the dark cold abode where I had a tortured victim. I could feel the damp wetness of the room and I looked down and saw my helpless victim. Her arms were raised up pulled by rope bindings, tied tightly around her wrists which were a burned red color from the rope.

She was in terrible condition. Running down her arms from her wrists to her upper arm long gashes ran down the length and slowly seeping out of those wounds was the crimson life force that kept her alive. It glistened slightly in the colorless light. She was a pale color and tears appeared stained on her face from her eyes. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. She looked weak and disheveled from the loss of blood and nothing she could do about that. Her time was done and it was all because of me.

I looked down at my hands and saw the same crimson blood on my hands. In the dream I closed my eyes but I slowly opened my eyes back into reality. I looked and saw my hands stained bright red. The horrifying sight caused me to jump and rush to the sink to wash it off. I turned on the water and I frantically whirled through the kitchen to wash off the blood. I looked back down and my hands were clean of blood. It did not exist. Just a hallucination.

“Darling what’s the problem?”

I jumped and focused on the cause of my and I saw that it was Rarity. I tried to control my breathing and found it not helping. that nightmare still plagued my vision. I shut my eyes tight and heard voices enter my mind and they said,

“Kill...do it...you know you want to...you know it is your only release Pinkamena Diane Pie…”

I gripped the sides of my head and I screamed, “GET OUT! GO AWAY! Get AWAY FROM ME!”

Unfortunately, Rarity was too concerned for her friend for her not to seem concerned. I fell to my knees and felt all my sentient thought leave my mind. Rarity knelt down and rested her hands on my shoulders and said, “Pinkie, what’s wrong.”

I did not respond. I was trembling underneath her hands and slowly lost all control of myself. My dark vision was filled with blood slowly draining down from an unknown source. The sound of dying screams of children, women, and men filled my ears as well as a high pitched scrape of a knife over glass. I was overtaken by the darkness i worked to suppress. I snapped.

Faster than lightning I stood up and forcefully pinned Rarity to the countertop, conveniently next to the table knives. She tried to escape my iron grip but she was unsuccessful so she thought reason would do it. She said in a frightened tone, “Pinkie...Stop whatever you’re doing...please...it’s not funny…”

I wanted to scream for her to run as far away as she could. To turn away and never see me again. But I was lost in the moment. My conscience was filled with death and blood. Spreading across my face was an ear to ear grin. The psychopathic grin, promising nothing but death and Rarity saw the murderous look in my eye. I grabbed one of the table knives and took it out of the knife board. The longest one there. I lifted it up and I said after a psychotic laugh, “Let’s play a game. Won’t that be fun?”

She screamed as I brought the knife down. Again. And again. And again. Until she could no longer scream. A crimson tide of blood splattered everywhere as the bright knife shone and finally shoved deep into the nearly lifeless form of Rarity. It splattered over me myself and the kitchen we stood in. All the while I kept the same ear to ear grin. I felt great amusement in all of this. I felt powerful and alive. Lust like a raging desire. It filled my whole soul with its dark curse, prompting me to continue.

Finally after a few minutes lying in my hands was the almost dead form of rarity. Despite nearly thirteen blows to the chest, stomach, and shoulders she still remained alive. Her pure alabaster skin shimmered beneath a tide of blood that spilled from the thirteen new holes in her body. She could say nothing as her strength seeped out from her wounds. I leaned her in closer and I said in a whisper, “That was fun. I think I won though, let’s play another game.”

She tried to shake her head in disagreement but she failed. I continued on without any other cue from her. I shoved the large knife deep into her chest and I ran the blade down and cut a large and long gash down her chest and past her stomach. My smiled widened even further and pulling with all my might I opened her chest cavity, with the sound of breaking bones and splitting meat. I loved each and every sound of it, relishing in the innocent blood that spilled from her. A victory far greater than any war.

I pulled myself out of the memory and I started rocking back and forth in the darkness. Tears started flowing from my eyes. I felt terrified. I muttered under heavy breaths, “Oh Celestia...what have I done...It’s me...I killed Rarity...Oh Celestia I’m sorry...I’m so sorry Rarity…”

I could no longer hold myself and felt an onslaught of emotion crash over me. I cried into my knees and I continued to cradle myself. But to no avail, I still felt great remorse over myself and great sadness. I killed one of my best friends and I deeply enjoyed it at the time. What was wrong with me?

I screamed to the heavens and fell back I thrashed against the wall, the bed. It was everything that could ever have happened to me, all at once. Just have my mind wander somewhere else.

That was until I discovered I was no longer alone when a familiar voice said, “Pinkamena…”

Author's Note:

For As Far As I Can Tell is the third play written by William Daughertip ("Dafferty" or, so frequently mispronounced, "Daggertip" was the first Terrestrian (human Equestrian) playwright, as well as the one to have coined that term. The first actor to have played "Brother Sy" in his first play, whose title is The Sane and the Lost, was (or will have been) a time traveller named Sylus J. Harkens, who acts in it to prevent a time-paradox from cloning (and thitherby dooming) himself. This, like all his plans but one, (acting in the second play, I'm Fairly Certain) fails.) Daugherty's only ever three plays were correctly AND chronologically written as a trilogy thitherof.

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[Sky Blue CMC]

5174407 It is now, and SO is a NEW one of my collegue's chapters! (3, and I have 2)